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pretentious-blonde · 10 days ago

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pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve's father gets in his head, and he takes it out on the one person who has only ever asked him to love her

warnings: toxic parents, arguments, crying, MEAN steve, hurt steve (i'm sorry)

a/n: im sorry (again), i wrote this on two separate five hour train journeys, so i apologise to the elderly gentleman opposite me for witnessing the five stages of grief i went through. @allergictosoup thought about you, so buckle up

welcome to pt. 7, can be read as a standalone

next part

series masterlist

Flour dusts every surface of the Harrington kitchen. Particles drifting through the air in soft swirls that settle on the counter, some even managing to make their way onto the tiled floor.

You’re not even sure how it got this out of hand. One minute, you and Steve were diligently following a cookie recipe—or, maybe it was muffins—and the next, he was downright threatening you.

It felt almost unfair how he leveraged his height to corner you, using the same relentless technique he must have honed on his high school basketball team—leaving you with no room to slip past him.

You’re cornered against the fridge, glancing for your closest escape route, your cheeks hurting from nervous laughter.

“Come on, honey,” he croons, voice dripping with mischief as he edges closer, a devilish glint in his eye. “Usually, you like my cream.”

For a split second, your brain short-circuits.

“Ugh, Steve!” you shriek, scandalised and horrified, your laughter bursting out before you can stop it. Your hands fly up, shoving at his chest as he boxes you in. “You did not just say that!”

But he only smiles wider, utterly unrepentant, eyes twinkling as he takes in your exasperated expression. He gasps in mock horror as you smear some of the flour residue on his shirt.

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing, huh?”

“It is,” you declare as you gaze up at him smugly, a fresh, white handprint marring his navy polo.

“Alright,” he bends his arms to engulf you, whipped cream at the ready. “You asked for it.”

You duck under his shoulder and dart toward the counter, squealing when his other hand snakes around your waist. “Steve Harrington, if you get that on me I—”

He smirks, hold in you tighter, leaning in like he’s about to whisper a secret.

“Too late.”

Before you know it, he swipes a small dollop of cream onto your cheek. You shriek, raising your hands as if to grab him, but he’s faster. Dodging your retaliatory swing, he nearly collides with the kitchen island, laughter echoing off the walls.

“Ok—please! You win!” You finally beg, giggling.

His grin spreads across his face, and for a moment, you think he’s going to comply. Then he arches a brow, stepping closer, feigning another attack.

“I swear to God, if you so much as—”

The phone rings, slicing through the chaos. You both freeze, breathless.

“Saved by the bell,” he says smugly, using his pinky to flick a tiny dab of cream onto the tip of your nose as a final victory.

You huff, wiping it away with the back of your hand, but you’re still smiling. He grabs a kitchen towel on his way to the wall-mounted phone, wiping his hands as he picks it up.

You watch him. Even with his disheveled appearance, he’s effortlessly stunning. There’s something boyish about him in the aftermath of his teasing, his eyes alight with mischief as he takes in your irritated expression.

He doesn’t look the least bit sorry—and if he apologised now, you wouldn’t believe him for a second.

“Harrington residence,” he answers as he tucks it against his shoulder, still slightly winded from the physical exertion.

It only takes a few seconds. A muffled voice crackles through the line, and just like that, it all drains away.

In an instant, his entire demeanor shifts—shoulders tightening, brow furrowing, the remnants of his smile vanishing without a trace.

“Oh… hey, Dad.”

He straightens as if bracing for impact, his hand raking through his hair in that telltale nervous tic you’ve come to know all too well. The motion is restless, almost absent-minded, but it betrays everything he isn’t saying.

“No, yeah, of course,” he says. “Thought you were coming back Thursday?” A pause. You hear a faint rumble of a voice from the other end, and Steve nods like his dad can see him. “Yeah… I’ll take care of it. Sure.”

He hangs up, his fingers lingering on the phone for just a second longer. When he turns around, the corner of his mouth moves in what might pass for a grin if you weren’t paying attention.

But you are.

You’d heard about his parents in passing, though any mention of them was always met with a swift change of subject. It was clear the topic was a sore spot, and you never pressed—some wounds were better left untouched. There was an unspoken understanding between you: his parents had never been his greatest supporters, but he didn’t dwell on it. He had Robin, the kids, and now you—a mismatched, unconventional family where, despite everything, he had found a place to belong.

“Steve?” you ask gently.

“Hey, honey.” He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Gotta drop you home, okay?”

His voice is casual—almost too casual, the kind of forced nonchalance that immediately sets you on edge.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“My parents are coming home… in a few hours.” He gestures around the flour-strewn kitchen. “They’re, uh, back early. You know how they get about the house.”

There’s something in the way he speaks, a little too even, too measured, as if he’s trying to smooth over something. Your brows knit together, suspicion flickering in your eyes as you search his face for cracks in the façade.

“Oh,” you decide not to press. “Alright, well, I can help clean? We haven’t even started actually baking yet, so...”

No. Absolutely not.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He shakes his head, a hint of that lopsided grin returning. “I’ve got this. I’ll save you some, okay?”

“Are you sure?” You study his expression, noting the strain just beneath the surface. He’s definitely not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be, but he’s trying.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he insists, stepping closer to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Think I can handle a little cleaning.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, your heart gives a little flip. For a moment, it feels almost normal again, lips sugary sweet on yours.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your coat and guiding you toward the front door. “I’ll drive. Promise I’m not a fan of this either.”

There’s a flicker of humour in his eyes as he helps you slip your arms into the sleeves. But it still feels as though he is ushering you out of the place.

“Hm, fine. But you better not eat all of them.” You tell him, trying to coax out a real smile. “They were a joint effort.”

“I won’t,” he says with a grin that’s almost genuine. “Promise.”

You can’t shake the worry in the back of your mind, but he’s doing such a good job acting like everything’s fine that you decide not to push.

He’s Steve, after all—he’s handled plenty. If he says he’s got this, he probably does.

He hurries around the living room, heart hammering in his chest. He’s in overdrive, picking up discarded socks, tossing them into a laundry basket, and wiping away streaks of flour on the table.

There’s still residue smudged on the hardwood and batter-encrusted mixing bowls cluttering the counter, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the muffins. You were so excited about them in the first place.

He promised he’d finish them for you, so he popped them in the oven anyway, cranking the temperature and muttering a silent prayer that they’ll actually turn out okay. It feels ridiculous, making time to bake when he knows his parents are about to walk through that door and nitpick every speck of dust they can find.

But he can’t help it. He pictures your smile, the way you’d probably tease him about being sentimental, and he clings to that for a second.

He hears tires crunch against the gravel. A breath catches in his throat.

They’re here.

The front door opens. Footsteps in the hall. He steels himself, leaning against the counter like he’s cool, collected—like he hasn't spent the last two hours in a panic.

“Steven?”

He hates that name—so formal, so stiff. Only ever used by his father, and therefore only said with coldness.

“In here.” Steve replies.

Mr. Harrington appears with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes skim the room with mild disinterest, like he’s barely registering the baking utensils piled near the sink.

“You’ve certainly left your mark,” he remarks flatly, setting the bag on a chair. “We leave you alone for a couple weeks and this is what happens to the house?” He shakes his head. “The house you don’t pay for.”

Steve swallows, cheeks warming already. He has no rebuttal for that, and it stings.

“I was gonna clean up,” he starts, rubbing at a flour stain on his shirt. “Just... got caught up in the baking.”

His dad’s eyes flick to the mess, then settles on the oven.

“Baking?” The sarcasm is mild, but pointed. “Sounds productive.”

A defensive retort swells in his chest. He’s too worked up to let it slide.

“I was—doing it with someone.” He mutters out. His father’s gaze flicks to him, bored. “My girlfriend,” Steve adds. “The one I told you about?”

There’s no real surprise on Mr. Harrington’s face, just the slightest arch of his brows—barely a sign of acknowledgement. Steve feels a sharp sting of irritation. He’s mentioned your name before, more than once—dropped it casually in passing, threaded it into brief phone calls, even muttered it during those rare, fleeting visits.

And yet, it’s clear now that none of it stuck.

“She still around?”

The question stings more than it should.

“Yes,” Steve says, jaw tightening. “She’s still around.”

Mr. Harrington gives a dismissive shrug, dropping the bag onto a chair.

“Huh.” He glances at the flour smears on Steve’s shirt, then back to the general state of the kitchen. “I assume this girlfriend of yours is the one with the real job, right?”

“She’s a journalist at the Hawkins Post,” he clarifies as he exhales slowly. “It’s not like—”

“Right, an office job,” his dad cuts in. “Something stable. Maybe you could take a page out of her book. Instead of playing clerk at that Family Video.”

The words sink into him like tiny barbs. Sharp and painful.

“It’s a job,” he fires back, voice tight. “I’m making money.”

“Making money,” his father echoes flatly, “sure. Must be enough to keep you rolling in dough.” He glances to his son after the ill joke, eyes dull, as if he’s reading a newspaper he doesn’t care about. “Could be worse, I guess. You could be back at that ice cream place.”

A hot surge of anger flares in his chest, impossible to ignore. It burns at his father’s indifference, the way he effortlessly dismisses things that matter to him. But there’s another touch of resentment, small but undeniable, curling at the edges of his frustration.

Toward you.

He loves that you’re driven—admires it, even. The way you carve your own path, the independence you wear. Your own place, your own ambitions. It’s everything he wants for you, everything he respects.

But sometimes, it does make him feel like he’s lagging behind, stuck in some endless game of catch-up. And hearing his father throw it in his face? That’s just twisting the knife.

“Where’s Mom?” he blurts, hoping to derail the conversation.

“Meeting me in Evansville,” his father replies, running a hand through his hair. “I won’t be here long, so you can relax. You won’t have me breathing down your neck for more than a day or two.”

Relax. Yeah, right.

He shifts on his feet, hating how resentment twists in his core.

He doesn’t want his dad around, but there’s also that pang of disappointment—like he’s never worth sticking around for anyway. Mr. Harrington rolls up his sleeves, staring at his flour-stained clothes with faint distaste.

“You should probably change,” he remarks. “You look awful.”

Before Steve can speak, the oven timer goes off with a shrill beep, making him jump. He strides over, turning it off and tugging the tray of muffins from the oven. They’re a little golden around the edges—exactly how you wanted them.

For a second, he imagines you here, teasing him about his shirt or the bit of flour in his hair.

You’d probably know exactly how to handle this.

He sets them on the cooling rack, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air. Behind him, his father is already rifling through his bag, not even sparing the fresh-baked goods a glance.

Embarrassment prickles at the back of his neck, creeping in like a noose tightening around his throat. He can feel his father’s presence, the weight of his judgment making his hands tremble as he carefully decants them.

He almost regrets letting you pick the pink casings. They stand out—bright, cheerful, undeniably soft. He remembers the way you squealed in the shopping aisle, eyes alight with excitement, how you turned to him with that look—the one he could never say no to.

And so, of course, he agreed.

Because it made you happy. Because that was enough.

But now, under his father’s silent scrutiny, those same bright casings feel like a spotlight, like something he should be embarrassed about. They’re not the kind of thing his father would ever see as ‘manly.’

He hates that he thinks that.

He hates that he has to think that.

“Hope you didn’t make a huge batch,” Mr. Harrington says absently. “Seems like a waste if it’s just you.”

Steve’s grip on the rack tightens, but he forces a deep breath.

“They’re not for you,” he mutters under his breath.

He almost regrets speaking up—pushing back never gets him anywhere. It never has. But he can’t help himself.

“Hm.” His dad barely reacts. It’s the sort of non-answer that grates on his nerves more than an outright insult. “Anyway,” he continues, “go get changed. I’ve got some calls to make.”

Steve hesitates, his eyes sweeping over the kitchen. It still needs a proper cleaning, but that can wait. Right now, all he wants is to get out of there—to put as much distance between himself and this moment as possible.

There’s resentment. It’s pointed at his father for being so dismissive, but there’s a traitorous thread pointed at you, too—at how you seem to have your life figured out, while he’s still stuck in this stupid loop of disappointment.

“Fine,” he mutters. He tosses the potholder onto the counter and trudges out of the kitchen.

Climbing the stairs, he tries to ignore the storm of frustration swirling in his head. He’s so tired of feeling inadequate. So damn tired of just bored disapproval in his dad’s eyes.

And if he’s honest, it scares him how easily that frustration can twist into resentment toward you—as if you being successful somehow makes him look worse.

He stumbles into the house, shoulders heavy under the weight of a long shift. The overhead lights in the hallway feel too bright as he heads straight for the shower. His clothes reek faintly of the store—a scent he’s gotten so used to, he hardly notices it anymore.

But it’s there. And he knows his dad smells it, too.

Steve tries not to think about it, tries not to think about him, as the hot water cascades over his tired muscles. Tonight’s supposed to be his night—your night. You’d made plans to see that new movie you were buzzing about, something you’d both been looking forward to.

He’s been distant this week, but only because he doesn’t want to drag you into this—doesn’t want you to see just how bad it’s gotten with his dad living under the same roof again.

Water off, towel around his waist, he pads back into his bedroom and rifles through his drawers for something decent to wear. Jeans, clean shirt, maybe that jacket you said you liked. He checks himself in the mirror, fusses with his hair—he just wants to look put together.

He’s about to slip on his jacket when he hears the door open behind him. Turning, he sees his father standing in the doorway, arms crossed, scanning the room like he’s taking inventory.

“Hey,” Mr. Harrington says, clearing his throat. “I’m off.”

“Yeah… alright.” He nods, tries to keep his tone light. “Talk later.”

He goes back to checking his pockets for his keys, wallet—waiting for his dad to leave. But the older man remains planted, gaze still on him. Eventually, he stills, looking back.

What now?

“Listen.” His father sighs, pressing his lips together. “I’ve spoken to your mother, and we’ve both agreed that when we’re all back here, it would be a good idea to have a discussion. A proper discussion.”

Steve’s gut sinks. He forces a calm he doesn’t feel.

“About what?”

“Come on,” his father says, giving him a flat stare. “You’re not stupid.”

“No, about what?” Steve’s jaw clenches.

“It’s just….” He pauses. ”You have no direction.” Mr. Harrington exhales, like even speaking to Steve is a chore. “No goals, nothing you’re striving for.”

Those words dig in like glass splinters. Steve forces himself to breathe, reminding himself of all the good things in his life—you, his friends, the sense of contentment he’s so close to finding.

“Listen, Dad,” he starts, voice tight, “it’s not like I’m not happy.”

His father’s mouth twists, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

“I don’t understand how that can be true.”

“Well, lucky for you,” he swallows, holding back the flash of anger clawing at his throat, “you don’t have to understand.”

Mr. Harrington’s gaze narrows. “It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

“What about her?” Steve’s heart thumps, a little jolt of protectiveness sparking to life.

His father waves a hand dismissively. “Let me know how long that lasts.”

“Now I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Jesus, Steven,” his father cuts him off, “wake up and think for a second. That girl is going places. You think she’s gonna stay in Hawkins forever?”

He feels something twist. He doesn’t want to consider it, but the thought’s already worming into his head, even with your prior reassurance.

You’re so damn ambitious, so ready to chase the next big thing. You moved to Hawkins on your own—who’s to say you wouldn’t move again if it meant climbing the ladder?

His silence stretches, and that seems to spur his father on.

“Girls like that always want more. They need someone who’s going to add to their life, not drag them down. And from the looks of things right now, you don’t exactly have much to offer.”

Steve’s throat tightens as he tries not to let his father’s words sink too deep. But he can’t help it—he’s suddenly thinking about all the things you love: work, reading, writing, devouring books at an alarming rate.

And him?

He can’t remember the last time he touched a novel. He’s thinking about the times you’ve told him about your articles in excited detail, and he just nodded along, telling you it sounded amazing, without any real critique to give.

What if that’s not enough?

He's had these thoughts before, but now, they seem harder to push away. Especially with his own flesh and blood repeating them back to him.

His father’s watching him, expression grim, like he’s waiting for a reaction. And finally, Steve snaps out of it, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“Dad, seriously, can we not do this right now?”

“Clearly, there’s no good time to figure this out.” Mr. Harrington’s mouth sets in a hard line. “Your mother and I want you to find a new job. A real job.”

“I’m not doing that,” Steve says, voice shaky with suppressed fury.

He likes his job, even though he moans about it non-stop. He likes that it’s easy enough to leave behind at the end of the day so he can spend time with you.

He knew that he shouldn’t have pushed back, it never works out in his favour. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him from the words that spilled out of his father at that moment. Years of resentment leading up to one of the worst interactions he could have ever imagined.

“Just—look at yourself, Steven! You can’t stick with anything—sports, school, friends—all of it, you just quit the second it’s not convenient. Basketball, football, every damn team you tried out for—quit when it got hard. Remember that?”

“And don’t get me started on the so-called friendships you let fade. You can’t keep anyone close. You can’t even hold on to the people you claimed were so important to you back in high school. They’re all moving on, building real futures—and you’re just stuck in the past.

“And college? Jesus, don’t even try defending yourself there. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for your mother and me to tell people our son couldn’t get the grades to even apply? Now here you are, wasting away in some run-down video store. I mean—for God’s sake–-you could’ve at least found a respectable job if you weren’t going to stick with school. But no—you’re working a job any clueless teenager could do, living here, making nothing of yourself, with no plan for the future.

“You know what that looks like to everyone else? It looks embarrassing. And I’m sick to death of explaining it to people. I’m sick of defending you when there’s nothing to defend.

“So here’s the deal. You have three months—three, Steven—to figure your life out. Find a job with some kind of respect attached to it, or at least prove you’re trying for something better than that worthless retail gig. Because if you can’t pull yourself together by then, you’re out of this house for good. I’m done watching you throw your life away.”

Then he turns on his heel and slams the bedroom door behind him, the sound reverberating in Steve’s ears long after he’s gone. Completely shattering him in the process.

For a moment, he just stands there, chest heaving.

It feels like the entire room has shrunk around him, the walls pressing closer, threatening to suffocate him. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, white-knuckled.

He thinks of you—your voice in his head telling him to breathe, that he’s got this, that he’s enough. But it’s drowned out by the echo of his father’s voice, the condemning words bouncing around his skull.

All at once, he can’t contain it. He roars in frustration, snatching up the first thing within reach—some old textbook—and hurling it across the room. It hits the wall with a dull thud, slides to the floor.

The sight of it fuels him, and in a blind rush, he tears at the piles of clothes on his bed, toppling anything and everything, yanking drawers open only to slam them shut again. He barely registers the sting in his hands when he punches the wardrobe door, the hollow crack echoing in the small space.

His breathing is ragged, tears hot behind his eyes, though he refuses to let them fall. He can’t stand the thought of crying because of that man, can’t bear the humiliation of it. But it’s all so overwhelming—the heartbreak of possibly losing you, the fear that maybe his father’s right, the suffocating knowledge that he has nowhere else to go.

After a minute—two, maybe three—he sinks to his knees in the midst of the chaos. His chest aches, his throat tight. He stares at the scattered clothes, the overturned laundry basket, the scattered tapes and magazines.

Tears threaten to rise again, and he sucks in a sharp breath, willing them back. There’s no point—no way he’ll be seeing you tonight, or maybe ever again. Not after this. Not after it had been made so clear to him.

You were never going to stick around.

He stays in his room for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the house around him. Eventually, he drags himself downstairs, peeking into the hallway just to make sure his father is gone.

The silence is suffocating.

He sinks onto the couch, eyes unfocused on the flickering TV screen, and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get through the next few months.

Steve had never been one to leave you hanging. That was the first clue something was off.

It’s Friday—your day. The one evening you both set aside, no matter what. By the end of the week, you’re both drained, desperate to shake off work and just be together.

Your schedules don’t always line up—his weekend shifts, your late nights—but Fridays are non-negotiable. You made sure of that, telling your boss it was the only evening you needed off.

You’d spent the whole afternoon daydreaming about it, picturing whispered commentary during the previews—because Steve could never quite keep his mouth shut. He always had something to say, too eager to share his thoughts, even when it earned him a few irritated shushes from strangers. He’d turn to you with that sheepish blush, murmuring an apology before inevitably doing it again. And maybe, if he’d remembered, he would’ve brought the muffins you baked earlier that week.

When he didn’t show, you lingered outside the theatre, wrapping your jacket tighter around your torso. You’d picked out a dress he’d once admitted was his favourite, fussed with your hair until it looked just right. It felt silly standing there alone, trying not to look too disappointed as other couples filed in.

But Steve was never late, much less a no-show. It just didn’t happen.

By the time you reach your car you are more concerned than frustrated. Maybe he’s with his father—he barely hid how tense it made him. It’s possible he’s sick, lying in bed refusing to call because he hates worrying you. Hell, he’s a big baby sometimes—always trying to hide his vulnerability. You tell yourself it’s something along those lines as you start the engine.

The drive to his house feels longer than usual. Every turn builds a knot in your throat, and your brain sprints through every worst-case scenario. It was a gift and a curse to have such an overactive mind.

But when you pull up, there it is: Steve’s car, parked at a slight angle like he always does. No sign of his parents’ vehicles, though. The driveway is eerily empty otherwise. You turn the key, nerves skittering through your chest.

Knocking on the door yields no response. Yet the windows glow with gentle lamplight—a habit you once teased him about. ‘Conserve energy,’ you’d nag. He’d roll his eyes but always hit the switch when leaving. The fact that they’re still on now makes your pulse spike. Peering through the window, you see no movement.

“Steve?” you call softly, tapping on the glass.

Still nothing.

Worry nudges you into action. You crouch down, lift the door mat, and fish out the spare key—the same key you’ve begged him to hide somewhere else at least a dozen times.

Your heart hammers as you open the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the silent entryway.

“Steve?” you try again, growing more confused.

You shouldn’t have to break into your own boyfriend’s place just to find him. Yet here you are, turning on your heel at every shadow, hoping to see him emerge from the corner with some sheepish grin and a perfectly reasonable explanation.

But of course, life would never be that kind.

He sits hunched on the couch, his body all stiff angles and clenched fists. Usually, you’d see him sprawled comfortably, a grin tugging at his lips, something soft in his eyes whenever he looked at you.

But tonight, there’s nothing soft about him—his posture is wound tight, like a spring ready to snap. The air crackles with a tension so thick you can practically feel it pressing on your skin.

You step deeper into the living room, heart thudding heavily in your chest. He’s always been the sweet one, the one who’d drop everything just to see you smile. But now, that warmth is nowhere to be found, replaced by something guarded. Something scary.

A word you thought would never have been possible to describe your Steve.

“Steve?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, thick with caution.

His gaze stays fixed on the floor for a long moment before he finally sighs.

“Yes?”

He sounded hollow, like he was done with you. Like he didn’t even have the energy for this conversation.

“Where were you?” You ask with uncertainty, hating how small your voice sounds, but you’re too unsettled to hide it. “... I waited.”

“Sorry,” he rubs his temples, though it doesn’t feel like an apology, it feels like a statement. Something he is supposed to say. “Didn’t feel like going.”

Your stomach twists, a sting of hurt blooming in your chest.

He never talks to you like this. Ever.

“Uh, okay,” you say, trying to keep your tone steady despite the ache behind your ribs. “When were you going to tell me?”

His only answer is a ragged breath, and then he drags his hands down his face, the weight of the entire week pressing on his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he mutters, “I had other things going on, okay?”

Every syllable strikes like a blow, and you can practically see the frustration rolling off him in waves. Your own pulse thrums as you struggle to navigate what is happening, feeling fully out of your depth.

“So you wasted my time because you can’t pick up the phone?” you ask, trying your best not to let your voice shake—but it does anyway.

At that, he finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. You expect to find the tender brown gaze you know so well, but instead, you see anger there—a bitterness you barely recognise.

“Oh,” he snaps, “because your time is so important?”

His words lance right through you, and a flush of heat crawls up your neck. This isn’t the Steve who calls you pet names or who leaves little notes around your apartment just to make you smile. This person feels like a stranger, and you can’t even hide the waver in your voice as you press forward.

“Steve,” you whisper, “what is this?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, scrubbing his fingers over his scalp as though trying to ground himself. You see something flicker in his eyes—anxious, irritated.

“Can’t I have one bad day without you being on my case?”

The words punch the air from your lungs. A bad day?

Of course he can have a bad day. But that is not what this feels like. His anger is directed at you. You have not the faintest idea as of why, and that thought unsettles you as he is not letting you in to fix it.

“I’m not trying to be on your case,” you say, voice filled with a confusion that’s fast morphing into desperation. “I’m trying to get you to talk to me.”

His lips curl in a scoff. “Yeah, well, not everything needs to be talked about to death.”

A tremor of frustration flutters through your stomach. Why on earth is he acting like this?

“I’m not trying to talk it to death,” you manage, forcing each word out carefully, “I’m trying to understand.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to.”

He levels you with a stare so intense it makes your heart pound. Each word is laced with a fury you can feel, and it’s so unlike the man you know that it sends your mind reeling.

Before you can reply, he shoves himself up from the couch, stalking toward the hallway like he can’t stand to be in the same room as you. You’re left in the sudden void of his absence, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You lurch forward, catching him by the arm, your grip gentle but urgent.

“Is this about your parents?” you ask, breath hitching. You know enough about his situation to deduce that fact, it would be the only logical explanation. “You know this isn’t the way —”

He twists away from your touch so violently that you stagger back, a jolt of invisible pain shooting up your arm. Alarm flares in your chest as you see his eyes—there’s a dullness in them, a coldness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Isn’t the way what?” he challenges, voice shaking with pent-up rage. “No, seriously—what is it? Am I not handling this in the right way?”

You want to tell him no. You want to tell him that this is not the right way to handle it. But the way he is staring at you lets you know that your pleas will fall on deaf ears.

You can see just how worn down he is. That expression—something’s building into a storm inside him. But his voice is sharp, slicing through the empathy you’re trying to offer. He hurls more words at you, each one stinging deeper than the last.

“You want me to cry on your shoulder?” he hisses, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Let you tell me how I should feel? You’re always right, after all.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. You reel back, tears prickling at your eyes. He’s never spoken to you like this—like you’re the enemy. You were supposed to be a team. A unit that supported each other—talked to each other—not whatever this was.

This was scary.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you say, your voice cracking.

His laugh is hollow, painful to hear. Almost mocking in tone, like you were too dumb to figure it out already.

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean, sweetheart. Always gotta be the smartest person in the room, right? Always got the perfect words, the perfect answer… like you’ve got life all figured out.”

You feel raw, exposed, like he’s peeling back layer after layer just to wound you.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t even seem to care about the words falling out of his mouth.

“Where is this coming from?” you plead, practically choking on your words. Inside, your heart is tearing.

This is the same man who used to beg to spend every moment with you. The same man who waited for you after your shift with candy in the glove box. The same man who showed up to your apartment whenever he got the slightest inkling that something was wrong.

Now, there’s nothing but resentment in his eyes. Nothing recognisable as yours.

“You think I don’t see how you look at me sometimes?” He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, anger carving lines into his features. “Like I’m some fucking idiot—some dumbass wasting his time working minimum wage while you’re off playing reporter, living on your own like you’re so fucking independent.”

Your breath stutters, and a stinging heat blooms behind your eyes, tears threatening to spill. You’ve fought so hard for your career, your home—and he’s always been proud of you. Always your number one supporter, even when it got too tough for you to carry on your own.

At least, you thought he was.

“You know how hard I worked for that, Steve,” you manage to say, your voice trembling.

“Oh yeah, and you make sure everyone knows it, don’t you?” He barks a harsh, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Perfect job, perfect apartment. Well, congratulations, sweetheart—you did it. You’re better than the rest of us.”

His words feel like a knife twisting. This bitterness, this rage—it’s as if he has been pushed so far that he desperately needs an outlet, and you’re the only one here.

You’re the scapegoat.

You’re the collateral damage.

“Is that what you think?” you ask in disbelief. “That I—what? Look down on you?”

He meets your gaze, and for just a second, you see the flicker of something else—pain, exhaustion, maybe even fear. Then his jaw sets, and he spits out the words like their poison.

“I think you pity me.”

A silence runs through the room, lingering in the air after his words.

For a moment, you see the fragile boy beneath his anger: the same kid who once prowled the halls of Hawkins High with a chip on his shoulder, always desperate for approval but never sure how to earn it.

You remember how he confessed, quietly one night, that he’d been bad in high school. But you never imagined this—the cruel sneer, the razor-sharp tone, the venom in his stare. Willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“Steve, if you feel that way, maybe we can—”

“Don’t fucking analyse me!” he snarls, the word cracking across the room. “I’m not one of your leads for you to pick apart.”

The accusation stings, but before you can gather yourself, he lashes out, swinging a kick toward the coffee table. The impact jolts the furniture with a dull thud, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor. It’s not aimed at you, but the fury in the motion makes your stomach lurch.

You flinch—an involuntary reaction, your hands instinctively shifting, breath catching in your throat.

Everything seems to stop for him in that instant.

His anger halts, mid-flow, eyes widening at the sight of your trembling form. You can practically see the realisation crash over him.

You’re scared. Of him.

He’s never seen that kind of fear on your face before—and it hits him like a freight train, knocking the breath from his lungs. For the first time in his life, he truly understands what it means to have someone be afraid of him, and the realisation sinks in his stomach like lead.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice shifting from explosive rage to desperate remorse. “Angel, wait—”

Your eyes sting with tears you refuse to let fall, but the shock and hurt are already etched across your features. You take an unsteady step back, and he tries to reach for you, fingers twitching with regret.

“Please don’t be scared— I didn’t—” His words tumbled over each other, pleading, panicked. He moves closer again, arm half-extended.

“Don’t,” you repeat, your voice thicker this time, harsher. “Don’t you dare touch me after that.”

The words cut through him like broken glass. You can see it in the way he staggers a little, anguish flickering across his face as he tries to gather himself.

“Listen,” he starts, voice trembling, “I—”

“No,” you say firmly, turning away, each step feeling like it’s taking every ounce of will you have left. He follows, heart thudding, panic rising.

“Please—” he calls, voice strangled. “You said you wanted to talk—let’s talk. We can talk for however long—just—”

You’re already at the door, blinking back tears. Your hand is on the knob, and you glance over your shoulder, voice shaking with anger and hurt.

“I’m going home, Steve. I’m leaving.”

“No, don’t—” He begs, chest tight, desperation thrumming like a live wire under his skin. “Please don’t go.”

But it’s too late. You slip out the door, and his heart seizes. He charges after you, no shoes on his feet, stumbling into the cool night air. The gravel bites at his soles, but he barely feels it, his voice cracked and hollow as he calls after you.

“Come on, sweetheart—we never fight like this,” he pleads, each word drenched in remorse. “Please—we don’t do this.”

You grip your car door, shooting him a look brimming with hurt, tears still shimmering in your eyes.

“You know what else we don’t do?” you manage, voice raw, unsteady.

His face crumples. He already knows what you’re about to say. Knows it’s true.

“We don’t use each other as punching bags when our feelings get hurt,” you continue, anger and betrayal bleeding through every word. “Grow the fuck up, Steve.”

You slide into your car, turning the key as he watches, frozen in the driveway, his heart pounding so hard it drowns out everything else. The engine roars to life. He wants to scream, wants to beg you not to leave, but the words stick in his throat.

The tires crunch against the asphalt, and then you’re gone—taillights disappearing around the corner, leaving him standing there in the silent darkness, a chill sinking through his bones.

His father was right in some aspects—that you would leave. But Steve never thought that he would be the one to make you go.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #stranger things fic #stranger things x you

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puppetmaster13u · 8 months ago

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Eeee Glad yall like them <3

Hm. That's a good question about the Lazarus waters. I don't think so, in like a forced way. It might count enough that it's possible for them to do so- but the issue is that Lazarus Waters will kill someone if they're not near death when exposed. (At least that was the rule originally, who knows how things have changed in other comics) If they do get in Lazarus waters or come into contact with it, I do want to say it supercharges their bioluminescence lmao. Like they will light up.

Hunting galas are definitely a thing. And it gets violent I bet. Mouths and hands covered in blood and viscera that'd freak out anyone not from Gotham (or used to it in those that have married in but haven't begun their own changes yet) There's definitely a kiddie pool during those galas too. Shallower water for smaller kids learning or still building up tail strength and jaw muscles. People will be gossiping and their hands will dart out and pick up a squirming creature to casually rip open or snap the neck of before snacking.

Oh my god, Gala foods. There's a whole new level of that. I bet sushi and takes on sushi are common. Easy to hold and to stuff with goodies.

@just-a-madderslife had a fun idea of there being almost raincoat fashion and honestly that's fun. I bet there's a challenge or something of making raincoats that don't look like raincoats. Custom ones that mimic the patterns on their scales and such, dark interiors with flickers of bright colors that almost look like shimmering shapes in dark waters, y'know?

@meowmeowmeowmeow4x Honestly I feel like Damian would know about his less human-ish half from the beginning. Talia and Bruce and co have a decent relationship in this timeline, and I don't think any of them would exactly hide it from him. The Al Ghuls have also had magic run through their bloodline before, so I wouldn't be surprised if Bruce even grudgingly contacted one of his league contacts, or even the Al Ghuls themselves, when the curse first happened. (Heck, maybe that's why they have a decent relationship, communication for the win) So I think Damian would be pretty proud of it, maybe even a little self conscious about how much smaller(& clumsier in the water) he is compared to his adoptive siblings, who have been there for most of their lives.

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(So Anyway that last bit with Clark from @f4nd0m-fun had me in a chokehold that spiraled so have a not-drabble lol) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment Bruce registered what he was seeing, he’d admit there was more than a hint of cold fear that washed down his spine. There was a reason he’d drilled it into his children’s heads to label any food they brought from home. So maybe realizing his breakfast was missing made him panic a bit.

Look, he’d seen what happened when an idiot or two insisted on eating something his fellow gothamites warned them they couldn’t. Most did not survive and he could only hope and pray that no one had eaten any of it yet- or if they had they were perhaps immune. Somehow.

He’d been on monitor duty for practically the entire night and didn’t want to deal with this first thing! In fact he was this close to hysterically screaming, which any of his coworkers could agree was not a normal thing.

Maybe he was speed-walking more than a bit faster than he usually did and was maybe tapping out commands to open up the video from the entire night before. But it was understandable! He didn’t want to get one of his coworkers killed because they decided to eat literal poison!

He didn’t care if anyone saw him not-running (because he wasn’t!) but he was admittedly glad that no one saw him quite literally run right into Clark. Smacked right into his front and risked breaking his own nose like he’d done so with a concrete wall.

“Shoot- erm, sorry-” Clark’s face was flushed in embarrassment, hand not holding him up from falling holding a pan of something or other that smelled baked. Bruce might’ve still been hungry under all the panic and worry even if he’d not admit that out loud.

“Out of the way,” he practically growled, the dread about potential injury and death to his allies making him not care for any type of pleasantries. Even if the kryptonian’s midwestern disposition practically demanded them lest he look like a kicked puppy.

Clark looked utterly stricken, already having the aura of an apologetic dog who ate part of the couch while you were away. He’d apologize later, but he couldn’t waste even a moment-

“Aw sorry, erm, didn’t know you’d be this upset-”

What was he- No. Bruce stilled from where he’d been going down the hall, very slowly turning to look at the kryptonian. Him?! Of all the people in the Watchtower- “Clark,” he didn’t know why the kryptonian had paled, he thought his voice was perfectly pleasant. “Did you eat my breakfast, that was clearly labeled?”

Well he didn’t look poisoned at least, though that wasn’t going to stop Bruce from tearing him a new one, previous concussion or no.

Mermay Special Prompt 3

“Are you kidding? No one goes to Gotham, that place is like,” Aquaman made a motion with his hand, a not-quite grimace on his face. “Like things should not be living in the water, like it should be impossible, and things should be dead, but they aren’t and it’s like, like the equivalent of an undead apocalypse over there!”

Bruce rolled his eyes behind his cowl, taking a sip of his coffee as the others continued drinking. Socialize, they said, it’ll be fine they said. Well excuse him, but the waters weren’t that bad. Sure there were always dumped bodies, and chemicals from the rogue attacks, but it was far worse at one point.

One thing he’ll always be relieved for is how the… curse (thank you broken statuette back in the beginning of his vigilante career that fused with the other many curses of Gotham) made the people of Gotham actually care about the waters around them.

Though also, he couldn’t help but thank anything that might be listening for the fact that the curse only interacted with Gotham waters, because losing legs with any risk of a drop of water would be downright annoying.

“No dude, you don’t understand, no one goes there for a reason! That shit is horrific- someone saw a big thing with bits of rebar stabbed straight through it and still chased after a big alligator-thing!” Oh. Oh that had been him. Oops. Hopefully his kids didn’t find out about this, but they were probably already on the cameras. Dammnit.

#*wheeze* h20 au #mer au #cryptid batfam #I bet Bruce tries to hide he has a favorite food truck that's only around during the summer #Everyone knows though & the truck owners know to set an order aside for him #It's sticks of fried octopus & pufferfish covered in a sweet peach-nightshade sauce that has extra seasonings that change each week #He likes to eat them on blueberry bagels while working on things #Damian builds up his poison resistance as he changes & goes with him a few times too #Mostly for their honey date sauce & pokeweed berry lemonade #I bet pizzas and bagels in Gotham get CRAZY change my mind #Honestly I bet Clark sees someone reach for Bruce's lunch at some point & superspeeds over to snatch it because #Bruce told him EXACTLY the kind of stuff he puts into his food & Clark now ALSO has anxiety about someone trying it & dying #They eventually get a locked mini fridge that no one knows where it came from only that it's there now with a big sticker of POISON INSIDE #Honestly thinkin about Bruce getting a painting or picture of the family done to put in the manor but everyone in aquatic form #All moody lighting and dark shapes in the background as they all bare their teeth in grins #Which is now making me once again think of that moment when Clark hears Bruce's heart shift (probably only recently memorized it)#& comes zooming over when he hears it again only for Bruce to be mid transformation out of aquatic form #Nightmare fuel shit lmao #Gothamites are having fun & chillin with their crimes #Meanwhile the atlanteans & outsiders are going through a lovecraftian horror movie series lol #Oh my god I bet Gotham has the CRAZIEST aquariums ever & like not just professionally but also just in people's homes #omg Helena's nursery has a lil wall aquarium & nightmare fish & bat & cat mobile over her crib #long post

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dumpywrites · 10 months ago

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Cat-enaries - Min Yoongi / Suga

Part two of Cat-astrophe

Summary: all these series of meaningful acts, but you still don’t know where your relationship stands.

Genre/tags: Fluff, smut (protected sex, vanilla)

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her/afab reader

a/n: this is my first time writing smut! T_T

Ever since that eventful night you spent at Yoongi’s place, where both of you got drunk and eventually ended up sleeping on the same bed together (just sleeping!), and him wanting to get to know you more, you continued to see each other more and more. Mostly after you came back home from work, but it could be on weekends too if both of you did not have any other plans.

After a while you began to know some of Yoongi’s friends, and same thing for him as well. He had a small circle but you were surprised on how they bring out the best out of him. He had been doing all these small gestures just like randomly giving you snacks, offering to babysit your cat when you were busy, or just simply wanting your company while he was producing music. Occasionally he would invite you to a party from his management, where you met his co-workers.

He would only introduce you by your name though, never any label following behind the introduction. A friend? A neighbor? No, just your name. All these things he had done, and never once did he ever mention about relationship, or at least to put a name on your situation.

It had only been three, going on four months, you kept telling yourself. Maybe he wanted to get to know you slowly and throughly and did not want to rush things. But then again, you knew how straightforward Yoongi was and he would had at least said something about it if that was the case. Maybe it was for the best, reminding yourself of the traumas you got from your past relationships, maybe it was better to take things slowly. But what made you anxious was the thought of falling by yourself.

Tonight you both agreed to watch a horror movie together at your apartment, with the occasion being you just got a promotion. The promotion happened two weeks prior, but both of you were busy. Yoongi had already sent you a dozen of donuts as a celebratory gift, but you insisted on wanting to spend some quality time with him.

“Have you eaten?” You asked as you opened your apartment door for Yoongi.

“I have.” He simply said and immediately bent down to greet your pet who was meowing by his feet.

“He misses you.”

“We see each other a lot, don’t be a clingy cat.” He smiled and booped the cat’s tiny nose. He picked Cookie up and lightly kissed his forehead before letting him back to roam around the house.

The scene made your heart race and you cleared your throat. “Well, I also miss you.” You said, hoping Yoongi would catch your intention.

“I miss you too.” He giggled and ruffled your hair instead, before walking to sit down on your sofa, completely unaware by how disappointed you were. “We’re watching Exhuma, right?” He asked.

You hummed in agreement, hoping he wouldn’t catch the slight disappointment in the tone of your voice. “You wanna drink something?”

“Anything’s fine.”

You muttered an “okay” before going to your fridge and grabbed two cans of Sprite and small bowl of popcorn you had made beforehand. You sit down next to him and played the movie and thought to yourself. There wasn’t really anything affectionate happening after you spent the night at his. You had never really kissed officially with you being sober, maybe only once when he kissed your forehead when you went to roller skate together, that was if that could even be counted.

That day you were struggling to keep your balance and he caught you in his embrace just when you were about to fall frontward. He was laughing and despite being annoyed, you couldn’t help but to get swayed by the sound of his laughter. You didn’t get to process it that much when you felt his lips lightly pressed against your forehead. It happened just for a few second before he let go and simply asked if you were okay.

Reminiscing the moment had your whole body warm. You put your feet up and hugged your knees together. Yoongi looked to your side, noticing your behavior.

“Are you cold?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” It was the opposite, you dummy! You secretly complained.

“Here,” He grabbed you by your shoulder and scooted you closer to him. “Better?”

“Slightly.” You said, you didn’t realize you were pouting while saying it.

Yoongi sighed, but a small smile was on his lips. “Only slightly?”

“Only slightly.” You were annoyed by this point, but you felt awful for wanting to ask, and basically begging, for any skinship from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He softly asked while stroking your shoulder gently.

“Do you not like me like that?” You said while avoiding his gaze. ��Am I reading the whole situation wrong? Do you just wanna be friends?”

Yoongi chuckled and it annoyed you further more. He had the audacity to find this hilarious while you felt confused and hurt.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny.”

“On what situation is what we’re doing considered as just friends?” His words immediately made you look back at him.

“I don’t know! You never really said anything about us being a thing, anything, and…” You found it hard to admit that you basically were asking for his affection. “Nevermind, this is stupid! Let’s just get back to the movie…”

“Look at me.”

“No.” You refused, even when your heart was beating faster at his request.

“Y/N, look at me.” He said again, this time softly grabbing your chin to make you face him.

Not a single word came out from him after that, only him dipping down quickly to meet your lips. You were surprised but shortly melted into his kiss and found yourself returning it. He was taking his time tasting your lips. His kisses were very gentle that it almost made you beg for more. Slowly his tongue made an entrance and you welcomed it swiftly. A small low moan escaped your lips as you parted them wider for him to access you.

And when it was done, mainly because both of you were completely breathless, Yoongi hugged you. He chuckled and this time you couldn’t help but to smile as well.

“I like you. Maybe in love at this point.” He confessed with you still wrapped in his embrace. “I couldn’t recall when exactly the shift to love began and I’ve been thinking to myself these past few weeks… but every time I see you, I keep wondering if there was even any moment when I wasn’t.”

You blushed at this and snuggled closer, hugging him tighter.

“I feel like I’ve been buying extra portions of my food a little too often, been on Instagram more just to send you some random internet memes that you like so much, been making sure I hear that door opening sound when you come home from work, been thinking about you twenty four seven that my music starts to have your vibe, the melodies just sound like they were made for you and I couldn’t even explain how…” He chuckled at the last mention. “The composer even told me that my work has a romantic touch to it lately.”

He broke the hug so he could look at you and smiled, showing his gum a bit. “I’ve given up cause honestly, I can’t even remember what was life before all these feelings.” He shrugged playfully. “Honestly, I don’t think I even wanna remember how life feels without these emotions.”

Your eyes got teary all of the sudden. Your view was getting a bit blurry. A small laugh, mixture of both relief and happiness, escaped your very own lips before you crashed them back on his. Yoongi immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back close to him. The kiss was more desperate this time, demanding, needy, but most importantly, filled with overwhelming feelings you both had for each other.

Yoongi swiftly pulled your body and brought you on his lap without breaking the contact on your lips. A muffled squeal came out from you, but you instantly put your arms over his shoulder, deepening the kiss.

After moments of tongue dancing between the two of you, you pulled back first because once again he had you breathless, but it seemed like he didn’t want you to rest yet, as the moment you pulled away, his lips found their way on your neck, leaving trails of the softest kisses. You bit the insides of your lower lip, trying to subdue the moans that were eager to get out. His thigh being exactly between your legs was certainly not helping you either. Hearing you trying to conceal your voice made him looked up. The sight of you flinching concerned him.

His right hand palmed your cheek. “I’m sorry, are you uncomfortable? Is this too much?”

You blush at the tenderness and shook your head in disagreement. “No… uh, I’m not uncomfortable…”

Yoongi smiled at you and quickly kissed your forehead. “Okay.” He simply said, before he went back to put his attention on your neck, showering it with pecks. You were still making low sounds, not trying to conceal your voice as much, just humming with your mouth closed. Your body was still tense but was progressively easing the more his lips kisses you.

His hands started to move up underneath your top, just shyly under your bra, as if he wasn’t sure if you would grant him more than that. When an open-mouthed moan finally came out from you, Yoongi took it as his green light and began to bring the movement of his hands upwards, gently fondling your clothed breasts, which promptly made your body turned into jelly against him. You could only bury your head on his neck, letting him continue toying your chest.

Your eyes shot open at the feel of him unclasping your bra. The touch of his palms meeting your bare breasts sent heat through you that instantly went south. You whimpered and hugged him close, burying your face further on his neck.

“You okay?” He chuckled, not stopping but decreased the pacing of his hands. The angle now making it awkward due to your body pressing closer to him.

“I’m just shy.” You said while still not moving from your position.

“You don’t wanna continue? Cause I don’t mind.” He said as he moved one hand to soothe your back.

“N-no, Yoongi I just… kinda just getting all insecure cause it’s the first time you’ll be seeing me and I’m just scared if I’d look weird to you.”

“You’re perfect.” He told you and he meant it.

“I haven’t done this in a while.” You said with a slight moping tone.

“So do I.” He took your hands to pry them apart from him. He guided them to his chest where you could feel his heart beating rapidly. “Do you think I’m not nervous?”

You looked at him and couldn’t help but to smile. But when you looked down, you realized a growing bulge was present and that seemingly he was not only nervous, but excited as well.

“You also seem excited…” You giggled.

“Not exactly my fault now is it.”

“It’s okay,” You looked up to the ceiling. “I may or may not be soaking through my panties now as well.” That earned a groan from him.

“Do you want me to help?” He breathed out. His hands now holding your waist steadily, thumb grazing your underboob. “Or we could totally just makeout and it’s alright.”

“Yoongi.”

“Yeah?”

“Continue… please.”

He groaned once again before lifting both your top and bra at the same time. As the garments sat just above your chest, the view of your nipples perking out just for him had the man salivating. Slowly, he lifted you to his side and laid you down so you could rest on your back on the sofa. He bent down and proceeded to pepper your chest and breasts with soft feather-like kisses, almost as if you would break if he pressed harder. He looked up and felt his ego somewhat boosted with the scene of you biting your lips, whimpering.

He kissed your right nipple and began to sensually nip and twirl his tongue around it, that was it for you. You fully moaned when his right hand pinched your left nipple and twisted it. You brought your hand to your mouth, trying to repress the arousing sound coming from your mouth from being too loud.

“It’s just me.” He mumbled into your skin, one hand went to trace the line on your back.

But that’s the problem. Yoongi himself was your main weakness.

He continued to play with your twins, lapping the buds with his tongue, making sure he gave both of them the same treatment. Slowly his right hand traveled downwards, caressing your middle through your sweatpants. Your breath hitched.

“Everything okay?” He asked again.

“Y-yeah.” You managed to vocalize.

“Can I take these off?” He said, tugging slightly at the band of your pants.

You only nodded and he kissed your forehead. He proceeded to deliberately slide down your bottoms, leaving you with your exposed panties.

Yoongi gulped at the sight of your damp underwear. A small patch of wet spot could be seen and he could not lie to himself and felt proud of his doings. He bent down and kissed your lips for a second before flashing a soft smile.

“Can we continue in your room?” Before you answered, he followed. “I want you to feel comfy while I eat you out.”

That sentence almost had you hollering.

“Okay…” You breathed out heavily and took his hand, dragging him inside your bedroom.

Just after he closed the door, for a split second you saw a smirk visible on his face, before he scooped you up in his arms. You gasped, and he quickly pecked your lips before gently laid you on the bed. He brought his right hand to caress your thigh softly, slowly moving upwards to your crotch area. You moaned instantly at the contact.

His middle and ring finger moved up and down, petting your core through the cotton cloth. The pace slowly increasing, and so did the volume of your pleas. You could feel your body turning into jelly already when neither his fingers or lips had touched your naughty bits yet.

Finally you felt one of his finger tugging and pulling your underwear. You gladly, almost too eagerly, helped him by wiggling out from it, as you watched him pulling it loose and dropped them to your floor. He pulled you slightly so you were close to the edge of your bed, and he bent down on his knees. He gaped at your glistening core, and he really was ogling for a hot minute, lost at his thoughts.

“Stop staring at me like that.” You quickly clamped your legs together.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t believe this.” He chuckled, hands on your thigh, meddling your legs back to spread out for him. “I haven’t done this in a while…”

“You’ve told me.” Your eyes searched for his.

“No, I mean, I might be rusty… if it feels weird or if you wanna stop, we can stop anytime.”

You could see the nervousness and self-consciousness in him and it made you wanna love him even more.

“I just wanna taste you so bad right now.”

He hunched closer in between your legs and dived in. He licked a bit, tasting you in his tongue. At that moment he decided it was his favorite flavor. He licked a full strip your labia, before then letting his tongue danced around it, making out with your cunt. He tried to make a mental note on which part made your back arched, which side made you moan louder. Hoping the next time, if you would let him, he promised himself he would make you feel ten times better.

A loud yelp came out from you when he slid in his middle finger. You bit your lips, feeling shaky. He carried on trusting you, slowly in and out, pacing increasing at the same time as his tongue on your clit. He then added his ring finger and you felt it effortlessly sliding into your sopping wet hole. The attack from both his tongue and fingers quickly trembled you down. You felt your stomach came into a knot and your insides clenched.

“Y-Yoongi… I…”

You could not form a sentence and Yoongi seemed to be too immersed to respond your pleas as he kept his tempo. You were grasping onto the bedsheets, back arching towards him, and then the orgasm hit you.

The image of Yoongi smirking with your slick trailing down his chin would now be forever embed on your brain. It would certainly be in your dreams for quite some time.

“That was… okay, right?”

“That was incredible.” You said through panting.

The guy smiled and kissed the crown of your head. He pulled his t-shirt off in one go and kissed you once again. You broke off the kiss first, pulling him by the neck so he could crawl on the bed with you. Now with you under him, he then kissed your neck before sliding your cropped top over your head, making you fully bare before his eyes.

“Beautiful.” Yoongi said in a low voice.

The compliment flipped your stomach upside down. “How come I’m the only one completely naked…”

Your comment earned a smile from him. “Would you help me then?”

You blushed, but did not oblige. You didn’t waste any time and helped him out from his pants.

“Wait.”

He suddenly stopped mid through. His pants were already down to his knee area, and it couldn’t be helped that all your attention were now heading towards his massive bulge that wasn’t in any way shy behind his boxer brief. He stepped down the bed, finally taking off his pants fully. You could see him taking out something from his back pocket before he let the cloth fell down joining the rest of your clothings on the floor.

“You came prepared.” You commented with a teasing smile after seeing the item he took out from his pants.

Yoongi just looked at you with a hint of red decorated his cheeks. You found it extremely adorable that he was bashful about it.

You took his hand and pulled him back with you on the bed. He put the condom on your bedside table, before dipping in to kiss you. It seemed like you both had found out that kissing each other was the best thing and you felt dumb for not doing it sooner. As he kissed you passionately, you were hesitant for a second, but you slowly brought your hand to feel up the swelling bump on his below. You swallowed his groans in the kiss as you continue to stroke up and down. Breaking the kiss, you mumbled something about wanting to return his favor, but Yoongi grabbed your wrist immediately, stopping you from taking off his boxer.

“At this rate I’m going to cum in my pants so maybe next time, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead.

When he free himself from his underwear, your jaw dropped along with it. Of course you were no saint, you had caught a glimpse of his groin area before when he wore that one gray sweatpants that you fancied. You were in fact suspecting that he was at least a little above average, but not this. He had completely proven you wrong. Quite frankly, you had never thought about how beautiful a male part could be until you saw his.

You gulped your saliva and salivate the mesmerizing scene in front of you, watching as he ripped the condom pack with his teeth and rolled the rubber from his tip downwards. He positioned himself in between your legs, sliding his tip up and down on your entrance, which made you whimper instantly.

“Yoongi… please…” You pleaded.

“If it hurts even just the slightest bit, let me know, okay?” He said, caressing your hair.

You only nodded and soon after you felt his tip entering you ever so gently. You moaned loudly and it seemed like the movement not only affect you, but Yoongi also, as you saw him closing his eyes shut, grunting along with you. He slid in very carefully, making sure you were adjusting well with his girth. When he reached a certain length, you yelped.

“Did I hurt you?” He suddenly asked out of worry.

“No… it just… it just feels very full.” You managed a smile to reassure him.

“Okay.” He breathed out, combing his locks through his fingers. “Let me know when I can move.”

You touched his hand to catch his attention. He looked at you with a wary expression. “You can move, I’m not that fragile.”

He muttered a stuttered “okay” before sliding himself deeper. He lunged deep and out slowly, making love to you passionately. He intertwined his fingers with yours, going on a soft tempo, as if he was trying to confess his feelings through, making sure you feel how sincere he was. You brought your hands to cup his face, then stroked his hair, before putting them over his shoulders to pull him close. Your lips met again in the middle, muffling your moans through the tongue lacing activity. His hands were cupping your breasts, fondling with them as your kisses went harsher and sloppier.

And when he moved from your lips to kiss your chest, you bucked your hips against him, with your hands ruffling his hair as he tongue your nipple carelessly. His tempo began to distort and the knot in your stomach started to feel too much and you knew you were close.

Not long after you came to release, he followed soon after the feeling of you clenching hard over his cock. The sound of both your heavy breaths filled the room. Yoongi once again dipped down to kiss you. Starting from your forehead, your nose, your cheek, and lastly your lips. You giggled in between every single one. He then got up to tie the ends of the condom, timidly walking towards your bathroom to where your bin was. When he was done, you were now lying to your sides, curving your legs in a fetal position.

Yoongi approached you and slowly cuddled you from behind. You automatically scooted closer to his body warmth.

“This is oddly familiar.” He chuckled.

You recalled the first time you spent the night at his place by accident, when you woke up with him cuddling you exactly like this. Minus the nakedness of course.

You turned your body to face him. A huge smile was plastered on your face. “I hate you.”

“I’m sorry?!” He eyed you with an annoyed expression.

“I’m so madly in love with you it’s insane!” You smacked his chest lightly.

“I’m sorry, I guess I was just afraid of moving too fast. I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time and I was worrying if I’d make you uncomfortable…”

“I thought you had decided that you don’t like me or something… I was even jealous of Cookie when you kissed him!”

“I noticed.”

“You noticed?! And you chose to do nothing???” You huffed.

“You looked cute so I decided to leave you be.” He snickered.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re evil for wearing that extremely tight crop top today.” His eyes travelled down and up to your nude body.

“It was… on purpose.” You bit your lips. “I guess it worked? Haha?”

He raised one of his eyebrows at you and smirked. “Give me five minutes and we can go again.”

“Oh my god??? Who are you?! Give me back my cute and shy Yoongi!”

You squealed as he laughed and hugged you close.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You said, followed by a loud smack of smooch to your cheek from him, then he flashed you his gummy smile.

Thank you for reading! 💎

taglist: @yunaurlove @waitaminswife @yoongisababygoat @hazyjoon @callsignwidow @ai-des-blog-blog @jovanaprime @bangtanmisser7 @angelk0503

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fanfic #suga scenarios #suga imagine #yoongi imagine #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #bts smut #suga x y/n #suga x reader #suga x you #min yoongi #bts suga

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dxrlingluv · 2 months ago

Text

Player || Lee Myung-gi

Series : Chapter 1 : Cards and Debt, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Description :

Driven by love and desperation, you risk everything to participate in a mysterious game with a life-changing prize. But the opulent setting masks a deadly reality.

As the games escalate in brutality, you must outsmart your cunning opponents, confront your deepest fears, and make impossible choices to stay alive.

Will your love for your boyfriend be enough to overcome the unimaginable horrors that await?

Lee Myung-gi x Fem!Reader

You slowly rose from your bed, the sun still hiding behind the fog that accumulated from the coldness. Suddenly, you hunched over to the side of your bed, and puked out everything you ate from the night before. You groaned, your head feeling heavy from all the tireless work and studying you had done the day before.

Grabbing your phone from your bed side desk, you checked the time. 6:34 AM, it read. You groaned yet again, opening your phone and deciding to message your boyfriend good morning.

y/n 🌸

- good morning ! i hope you had a decent sleep. we should definitely meet soon, i miss you.

You waited for a minute or two, just staring at the message you sent as it went from delivered to seen. Not a second passed, your boyfriend replied.

myung-gi 🩷

- yeah.

You sighed, gripping your phone tight to your chest, a heartache slowly forming as you stared up at the ceiling.

You wondered what he might be up to right now. He's never really been this cold before until last week, but you guessed that it was because he's busy trying to pay off his debt. You feel bad that you couldn't help him a little.

You know that he's not telling the truth about how big his debt really is, but being an ex-YouTuber with a lot of subscribers that fell for the crypto coin scam, there should be a lot.

The only thing you wanted to do was to help him find a way to pay off all his debt and restart his life, you'll do anything.

Facing your phone once again, you messaged him one last time before starting your day off, free from school and work.

y/n 🌸

- let's meet up later at our usual place, 11 AM sharp.

Closing off your phone, you decided not to wait for a reply. Standing up, you stretched and immediately went to the bathroom of your small apartment to clean off. After cleaning yourself, you went to the kitchen section of your apartment, opening up the stove, putting on a pan and pouring oil, then grabbing 2 eggs from your small fridge.

Yeah, sure, egg for breakfast, how original. But as a college student, you can't afford to lose even a little amount of money.

After cooking the eggs, you decided you also wanted buldak noodles to come with it.

You sighed for the nth time, staring at your phone. He didn't even bother to reply an 'ok'. Seriously, what has gotten into him?

Hours passed and it's not 10:30 AM. Deciding to take a quick bath, you went off. Locking your apartment door behind you, you check your phone again but seen no response or confirmation.

Arriving at the train station, you awaited for your train. Feeling your back ache from standing, you decided to sit down but immediately regretted it as you felt dizzy yet again and felt like puking. What has gotten into you this time? You can't be sick.

You then felt a presence beside you. Looking over, you saw the guy already staring at you which made you make a face. "Uhm. Can I help you?" You asked him.

He continue smiling at you, then showing you his suitcase and opening it. "Would you like to play with me?"

You stared at him in bewilderment, "Play... with you. Is this some kind of scam?" You accused as you stared at his suitcase that contains a red and blue papers and an uncountable amount of money, and you don't feel bad about accusing him one bit.

He chuckled, staring at his suitcase for a moment before looking at you and speaking again, "No, ma'am. We would only be playing ddakji, if you win, I will give you 100 000 won, and if I win, you will give me 100 000 won in return."

You stood up abruptly in shock, "What? Is this- Are you serious?"

He only nodded in return, slowly standing up to come face to face with you.

"I'm sorry, even if I wanted to- I don't have that amount of money," you admitted, dejectedly.

The business man's smile only widened in return, "You can pay with you body then." And before you can protest, he continued, "If you win I will give you 100 000 won, but if I win, I will slap you."

Now that sounds more like it... a slap isn't too bad, plus you're great at playing ddakji yourself so this shouldnt be a problem.

"Okay, lets do it."

...

100 000

Slap !

100 000

Slap !

100 000

...

"That should conclude our game."

"Wait- But I'm not done yet!" You exclaimed. Hoping to get at least 2 or 3 more wins.

The business man's smile ignored you as he fished out a calling card from his pocket. He offered it to you with a smile, too uncanny to your liking. You stared at him in confusion, staring between the calling card and his face.

"If you wish to play more games and win a bigger price, just call the number on this card." He said, answering the million question on your head.

You felt uneasy about this, "Now, this- This is a scam!"

"L/n Y/n, [birthdate], 23 years old, formerly used to live in seoul with your parents until you had to move out to pursue your college degree. You are not in debt, but you desperately need to help your boyfriend with his." He calmly said.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, how did he know this... This made him more suspicious but now that he mentioned your boyfriend's debt, you felt more desperate and wanting to trust him.

Dejectedly, you accepted the card from his hand. You stared at the symbols on the front, a square, a triangle, and a circle. Deciding to call the number later, you placed the card on your pouch.

"How did you-" You started, but was immediately cut off when the man you were just talking to disappeared as if he wasnt even there in the first place.

"Y/n."

You whipped your head to the side when you heard a familiar voice call to you. You smiled.

"Myung-gi."

You ran up to him and hugged him tight, "I missed you so much."

He hugged you back just as tight, "It's only been 3 days, Aegiya." He let go as he stared lovingly at your eyes.

You stared back with a small loving smile, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a hat, most likely to keep his identity as hidden as he can. He was also wearing a grey jacket that fits warmly against him. Even with just a simple outfit, he still looks stunning.

You pecked his lips as he stared at you in shock, "Not here, Aegiya," He muttered shyly.

You feigned shocked and hurt, "Wha-! You dare do that to me, you lover!?" You playfully smacked his arm to which he just laughed at with you following suit.

The both of you decided to eat lunch at a park, having only buy decent meals, enough to fill up your stomachs.

You hummed at the delicious sandwich you just tasted, deciding to talk to him, you asked, "Hey, Myung-gi."

That catches his attention as he paused from chewing his food and looked at you. He hummed, as if to tell that He's listening.

You continued, "You've been so busy lately, if I hadn't told you to meet up with me, would you have asked to meet up instead?"

That made him quiet, slowly chewing for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he quietly said, refusing to look at you.

"For what?" You asked, trying to search anything from his face as he apologized.

He was silent for a moment before responding again, "For everything."

You smiled, sighing from your nose. "It's okay...

I will always forgive you."

#lee myung gi x reader #lee myung gi #squid game x reader #squid game #squid game player 333 #player 333 #player 333 x reader #player 333 squid game #myung gi x reader #x reader #reader insert

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thewritingrowlet · 6 months ago

Text

The Twins and Their Queens pt. 1, ft. NMIXX Jiwoo

tags: blowjob, creampie

length: 11k+

author's note: this marks the start of another (mini) series, where we follow the lives of Shane and Shaun, Harvey's little twin brothers. For now, I think the series will have 3-4 parts just like The Outing Trip, but time will tell.

Jiwoo wakes up feeling excited today, and she has a very good reason for it: she has secretly made a promise to cook for you to celebrate the 2nd anniversary early, and today, precisely 7 days before the actual anniversary, is the day to do so.

She contains her excitement as she slowly and carefully gets off the bed. To be sure that you won’t wake up and spoil the surprise, she puts a spell on you—she even wiggles her index finger around like a wand for good measure. “Stay asleep, Shane—stay freaking asleep. You’re very tired after working all day yesterday, and you want to sleep until the day changes again.” She hears a hum escape through the small gap of your lips, which makes her confident that the spell is working. “Good boy,” she pats you through the air.

She tippy-toes her way out of the bedroom and gently closes the door behind her; she’s doing everything she can to make as little noise as possible. She looks towards the TV to find the small clock sitting on the shelf: 5:04 a.m. “Should be plenty of time,” she says to herself.

Jiwoo ties her hair in a bun as she prepares to start cooking. She grabs some items from the fridge and sets them on the counter next to her phone. “Right, so,” she opens her memo app and looks at the ingredients list, “noodles, boneless chicken thighs, potato, and onion—that should be everything.”

She drizzles a bit of cooking oil into a non-stick pan that she has prepared and— “oh, wait, the chicken.” She was supposed to cut the chicken into cubes first, so she turns off the burner and places the chicken on a cutting board. Jiwoo skillfully cuts the chicken and then turns her attention back to the pan. “Now we can really start,” she says.

Jiwoo throws in the small pieces of chicken into the hot pan and stirs it around, making sure that it’s cooked through. After that, she tosses in the potato and onion (that she has chopped into cubes secretly yesterday before you got home) and stirs again for a few minutes. Once the potato becomes a bit translucent, she drizzles some more oil and adds black bean paste into the mix. “2 cups of water, okay.” Jiwoo grabs a measuring cup from the cupboard and fills it with water, repeating it again after that to meet the needed measurements. “Hey, Nudle, start a 10-minute timer for me,” she says to her phone, and it responds to her in its catchy voice.

She decides that she’ll use the time to wash the dirty knife and cutting board and wipe the dining table clean. After that’s done, she lies on the sofa to catch her breath. “I hope he doesn’t wake up now,” she thinks to herself while eyeing the bedroom door. For some odd reason, suspense enters Jiwoo’s mind; it’s as if she was watching a horror movie. “Oh, God, please don’t wake up. Han Jaehyun, please don’t wake up—not when I’m this close.” The ring from her phone steals her attention, and she immediately turns it off, concerned that maybe you’ll hear it and wake up. “Okay, okay,” she takes a few deep breaths to calm down, “everything is fine—everything is just fine.”

Jiwoo makes her way to the kitchen again to cook the noodles, which is the second last step to this sneaky adventure. She brings a pot full of water to a boil and throws in the noodles. They’re not dried noodles, so cooking them will only take around a minute, maybe a minute and a half. After that’s done, she turns off the burner and— “FUCK!” She accidentally touches the edge of the hot pot when reaching for the strainer, thus forcing her to let out a scream of profanity because of the combination of shock and pain.

“Are you okay, babe?” Your sudden presence shocks Jiwoo to the core; she didn’t expect you to sneakily come out of the bedroom like this, hence the little jump. That said, she currently has a bigger problem on her hands—literally. “O-oppa,” she says weakly, in pain from the burn, “h-help me, please.” Jiwoo briefly explains that her fingers are burning, so you drag her over to the sink and run some water on her hands. “What were you up to, baby?” You ask in a gentle voice as quiet sobs escape your girlfriend’s lips. “I-I was making some jjajangmyeon for you, oppa.”

You don’t know what to feel right now: you’re touched that she’s making a surprise for you, but at the same time, you hate seeing her get hurt like this, even if it was an accident. “Oh my God, baby,” you feel like your heart is being wrung, “are you feeling better, though? Is this working?” She nods and pulls her hands away from the sink, not forgetting to thank you for the help. You quickly glance at her face and see that there are tears on her plump cheeks. You turn her face towards you and gently wipe her tears with your thumbs, putting on a kind smile in the process.

“You can continue, babe; I’ll watch.” You place a hand on the small of her back and keep an eye on her as she strains the noodles and divides them into the two bowls. Jiwoo then pours a nice amount of the black sauce mix into the bowl. “Let’s eat, oppa,” she says. You stop her from grabbing her bowl and instead pull her into a lifted hug.

“Thank you for all of this, baby; I appreciate everything, seriously,” you say right into her ear. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she replies in a sad tone, “fuck, you’re so fucking stupid, Kim Jiwoo.” “Oh, c’mon, don’t say such thing,” you deny her attempt at self-deprecation, “you just had a little accident, babe—it doesn’t take anything away from your efforts, trust me.” Jiwoo lets out a hum, and you take it as a sign that she accepts your consolidation. “Now let’s eat, baby. This looks so damn good, and I can’t wait to shove it into my mouth,” you say, hyping her up.

You lower her gently onto one of the two chairs at the table and spray kisses all over her head. “Oppa, please, the food will get cold,” she tries to make you stop. You do stop, but before you grab the bowls from the counter, you turn her head towards you and come in for a kiss. It feels like she’s not too interested in kissing, but when you try to pull away, Jiwoo chases you. “Thank you, oppa,” she says after breaking the little tangle. “The pleasure is mine, baby.”

You take the two bowls from the counter and place them on the table. “Thank you for the meal, baby,” you say. Hearing you thank her again makes Jiwoo feel better about all of this, and it looks like she’s not too upset about “failing” the surprise. “I swapped out the pork belly for chicken, oppa,” she informs you as her chopsticks dance in her bowl, mixing the sauce mix with the noodles.

“Oh!” The first mouthful takes your soul high to the sky, making your body sink limply into the chair. “Oh, my—oh my God, Jiwoo-yah,” your eyelids shut tight as you savor the taste, “this is incredible—the chicken is soooo juicy, too.” Unfortunately, you can only chew for so long before you must swallow. Fortunately, you still have plenty of this heavenly food in your bowl. “Thank you for the meal, baby,” you repeat, “thank you so, so, so, so much.” Your sweetness makes Jiwoo feel better once again, and her lips, without her realizing, are forming a wide smile. “Th-thank you, oppa,” she fans her red cheeks to cope with the heat.

You keep your attention on your bowl, shoving more and more food into your mouth at an uncontrollable pace. “Howy shid,” you swallow the food in your mouth before continuing, “I don’t have the adjectives, but I know my brothers would fight to have a bite.” Jiwoo can’t take it anymore. She rushes to you and squeezes your cheek in playful aggression. “Youuuuuu,” she kneads your face like they were bread dough, “you are sooooo—arghhhhh.” You let out unintelligible sounds as your face contorts from her touch. “B-babe, stop,” you hold her wrists to halt her, “you haven’t even taken a bite, have you?”

With a sigh, she returns to her seat and puts some noodles in her mouth. She starts chewing in silence while her eyes roam around. “Hmm,” she rubs her chin as she thinks about the taste, “could use a bit more salt, but yeah, this is pretty good.” “Pretty good? What do you mean pretty good? This is very good,” you argue. Your girlfriend lets out a long sigh in defeat. “Fine,” she says, “thank you for the kind words, oppa—I love you.”

You leave your seat and pull her onto her feet. “You know what I want, don’t you?” You expect her to come in for a hug, but no, she’s getting down on her knees. “Wait, wait, not that one,” you pull her onto her feet again, “I meant this.” You wrap your arms around her and make sure your hands meet perfectly on the small of her back. You whisper all the praises you can come up with, and most importantly: “I love you, precious. I love you so, so much and thank you for cooking for us this morning.” Jiwoo responds by giving you a peck, letting you know that the praises are well received.

“Come on, oppa, let’s shower,” she pulls away from the embrace, “I’ll take care of this, so you can go first.” You thank her one more time—you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve thanked her so far—and make your way towards the bathroom while Jiwoo stays behind to wash the dishes.

In the silence, Jiwoo finds herself grinning widely. “That was a success in my book,” she giggles, “one point for Kim Jiwoo—whooo, let’s go!”

“Oppa, do you think I can work at Harvey-oppa’s company? Will he take me in?”

“First of all, why do you want to work for him? Is there something wrong with your current job?”

“Nothing is wrong, but I feel like working for him would make me feel more motivated—y’know, he’s family and all that.”

Your heart flutters a little when you hear Jiwoo refer to your brother as family; she understands the importance of family and sees your brothers as her own, and you’d like to think that this is a good sign for the relationship going forward.

You clear your throat to focus back on her. “Okay, so do you want me to talk to him? We can call him now,” you offer her some help. Jiwoo says that she’ll try updating her CV and send an application first, and if that doesn’t work, then she’ll consider resorting to nepotism—not the prettiest or classiest approach to say the least, but it does have a high chance of success. “Okay, you do that,” you say, “maybe I’ll join you one day.”

“Why aren’t you working for Harvey-oppa? Is that not what mama and papa want for you and Shaun-oppa?”

“Yes, but Yunho-hyung is paying me very handsomely, and I don’t feel like leaving his company at the moment.”

“Ckckckckck,” Jiwoo shakes her head, “imagine not working for your brother because someone else pays you more—couldn’t be me.”

“I need the money to buy a ring and a house for you, baby,” you say in your head while putting on a smile as a front. “Well, it’s time to go to work—let’s get changed, babe.” You and Jiwoo exchange pecks for good luck and walk towards the bedroom together to get changed.

Jiwoo boots up her laptop as soon as she arrives at her cubicle. “CV, CV—where is my CV,” she browses through a bunch of work-related folders to find it, and she finds this file named “CV KIM JIWOO” that was last modified around a year ago. Before she opens this file, she looks around to make sure no one is watching—it’d be awkward if someone found out Jiwoo is trying to leave this company for another.

Jiwoo scrolls up and down through her CV, trying to figure out which part is out-of-date, and she finds that only the experience and skills need to be updated. She adds one more bullet point to the list of experience and explains briefly the things she’s accomplished in her current company, such as projects she’s taken a part of and awards she’s received. Just those two things alone take up over half a page since Jiwoo is very good at her stuff and well-liked by her co-workers, which means that she’s very often included on projects—it also means that she makes a lot in bonuses since each project usually comes with one. Jiwoo’s cursor hovers over a particular project that she’s very proud of, considering its complexity and how well she did her part. “If this doesn’t land me a job at Harvey-oppa’s company, then HR is cooked in the head and he needs to find replacements,” she says to herself.

Moving on, she adds some new information to the skills section of her CV. She recently got 855 on a TOEIC test and is very proud about it, so she replaces her old score of 820 with the new one. “I’m sure someone of foreign descent like him will appreciate good English proficiency,” she thinks to herself. One thing to note, however, is that her application will first arrive in the hands of HR and not one of the big bosses like Han Harvey, and she hopes that everything written on her CV is enough to impress the lower-level managers—if she can help it, she wants to get the job legitimately, not through nepotism.

Before she wraps this up and starts working, she reads her CV one more time from the top. “Name is correct, date of birth is also correct, address is—hmm, should I use Shane-oppa’s address?”

While Jiwoo thinks about it, someone taps her shoulder from behind. “What the—oh my God, unnie!” Jiwoo just got caught off-guard and red-handed by her co-worker, Soodam, who must’ve snuck up behind her when she was deep in her thoughts. “Hey there,” Soodam greets Jiwoo with a smile, “looking to jump ship, cookie?” Jiwoo minimizes the window on her laptop and turns to Soodam with red cheeks. “P-please don’t tell anyone about this, unnie; I-I just want to explore my opportunities,” she says. “Do you think I can go with you, Jiwoo-yah?” Soodam’s question startles Jiwoo. “Y-you want to leave too, unnie?”

Soodam explains that she thinks she’s not getting paid enough for the amount of work that she does and would like to “explore her opportunities,” just like Jiwoo. “I’ll talk to my boy—” Jiwoo covers her mouth to stop herself, but Soodam catches the slip. “Boyfriend, huh? What can your boyfriend do for us?” Before the conversation goes even further, Jiwoo pulls Soodam closer towards her. “My boyfriend is the brother of this other company’s boss,” she whispers to her, “I told him I’d try doing things legitimately first before… y’know.” “I’m with you,” Soodam says, “good to know that you have insider ties, though.”

After parting ways with Soodam, Jiwoo pulls out her phone to text you. “Oppa, who do I send my CV to?” She sees that you’re not online currently, so she locks her phone and gets ready to start working for possibly her last day at this company.

You see Jiwoo’s text on your notification bar, but you don’t want to answer right away; you first need a second opinion on this matter, and there’s no one more qualified for that other than your dear sister-in-law. “Noona, I need you; please pick up,” you say while waiting for her to pick up the call.

“Hello, this is Kim Yooyeon.”

“Oh, yes,” you sigh in relief, “noona, this is Shane.”

“Yes, I know,” you hear a chuckle from her over the phone, “can I help you? Are you looking for your brother?”

“No, no, I’m not looking for him—I’m looking for you,” you say, “can we talk? Do you have time?”

“Yeah, sure—what do you need?”

“This morning Jiwoo asked me if she could work for Hyunjin-hyung because she said it’d make her feel more motivated because he’s family, and now I’m wondering if I should tell him about Jiwoo’s intentions.”

Your noona stays silent for a moment, trying to come up with a solution.

“Jiwoo said she wanted to do it legitimately, but I want to help her—you know, with insider ties” you pile on.

“Well, in that case,” she says, “I’d say just let her do it her way first, and if that doesn’t work, then we’ll consider other methods.”

“Do you know when Hyunjin-hyung is coming home, by the way?”

“No, I don’t,” she lets out a deep sigh, “I miss him more than anyone, I can assure you that.”

“Noona,” you get ready to move on to the next subject, “I want to get married.”

“Huh? What?” The suddenness most likely surprises Yooyeon. “Wait, what? Why so sudden? Have you even talked to Jiwoo about this?”

“No, I haven’t—I just envy the way the both of you are so in love with each other,” you say, “do you think I have a chance at marriage, noona?”

“What the h—well, yes, I do; I think you’re a nice guy and Jiwoo is a nice girl,” she says, “you know, you’re being such a terrible little brother right now—how can you ask a woman whose husband hasn’t been home for a week about marriage?”

You’re not sure where she’s going with this. “Sorry, what?”

”Ugh, forget it,” she says, and based on her tone, you can picture her rolling her eyes, “anyway, like I said, let Jiwoo do it her way and then we’ll see what things look like.”

You thank her for the help, and after exchanging goodbyes, you hang up the call, and now that you have an answer to this equation, you turn your attention to Jiwoo. Via text, you send Han Group’s HR’s email address to her. You end the text with, “You said you wanted to do this legitimately, so I wish you good luck, baby.” “Thank you, daddy,” she replies, “I’ll send it right now—I love you!” Your eyes blink rapidly in a combination of disbelief and startlement; she just called you daddy as if you were in the bedroom. “Time and place, Jiwoo-yah—my God.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.” You reply to her and delete her text just to be safe.

You always pick up Jiwoo at her office after work, and today is no different. You stop on the side of the road right in front of the glass front doors of her building and wait for her to come out. After a few minutes, you see her walking out with another woman. “Wait, that’s—”

You jump out of the car (after looking at the side mirror first) and meet the two women. “Oppa, this is my co-worker, Soodam-unnie. Unnie, this is my boyfriend,” Jiwoo introduces the two of you. Soodam’s eyes widen in shock, “wait, are you—” “No, I’m Shane—you’re thinking about my twin brother,” you cut her off, and you swear that you can see her sighing in relief.

For context, Shaun, who is always into older women, tried courting this Soodam lady a few years ago, only to find out that she was engaged to another man. That was almost disastrous, by the way; your older brother even had to intervene.

Jiwoo looks at the two of you in confusion but quickly moves on to another subject. “Soodam-unnie also sent an application to Harvey-oppa’s company,” Jiwoo briefly gives some context. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Inside, however, you wonder if it is indeed so, because Shaun works at Han Group, and considering that he is in a relationship with someone else, this could be problematic. “This is not your problem, Shane,” you think to yourself.

You shake hands with Soodam with a smile on your face—a smile that’s hiding awkwardness behind it. “Nice to meet you, miss,” you say, and she says the same to you. You shoot a quick look at Jiwoo, who immediately catches the signal, and the two of you get ready to part ways with Soodam. Jiwoo hugs Soodam and then walks with you to the car, leaving Soodam alone on the side of the road.

In the private space of your car, Jiwoo airs her confusion. “Do you know her, oppa? Why did you mention your twin?” You shortly explain to her the history of Shaun and Soodam and why Soodam was visibly startled to see you. “So Soodam-unnie reacted like that because she must’ve mistaken you for Shaun-oppa—did I get that right?” “You did, baby,” you say, “and now I’m concerned that they’ll see each other again if she moves to Han Group.” “My God.” Jiwoo leans back in her seat as she tries to process this shocking reveal. “Don’t tell Seeun-noona about any of this, babe; we don’t want to get Shaun in trouble,” you say to her.

After catching up with your family’s little history, Jiwoo mentions that she wants to eat out for dinner. You ask if she has preferences, and she says that she wants to get tteokbokki. “You and your tteokbokki, babe—you’d think you would’ve got sick of it by now,” you comment, earning a giggle and a playful slap from her.

After a short drive, you find yourself stopping in front of an alley where Jiwoo’s favorite tteokbokki restaurant is located. You get out of the car with her and make your way towards the restaurant. She’s been to this place a lot; the middle-aged lady at the cashier (who you assume is the owner) instantly recognizes her and guesses that she wants the usual.

There aren’t that many empty seats at the moment; it seems like a lot of people have the same idea and want to have tteokbokki after work. You scan around the interior and find a table in the far corner of the restaurant, whose occupants are about to leave. They seem to have left the table clean, and you fast-walk towards it to claim it before anyone else—you’re the designated seat finder in this relationship, so leaving Jiwoo behind to sit first is A-okay.

Jiwoo joins you shortly after and sits across from you. Usually, she’d rather sit next to you, but the space doesn’t really allow that; to your left is the wall and to your near right is another table. She rests her head on the table, looking very exhausted after working today. “Tired, baby?” You pet her head gently, running your hands through her hair the way she likes it. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, “I had a lot of work today.” You praise her for working so hard all the time, and even though you can’t see it, she’s probably grinning in pride right now.

You tap Jiwoo’s arm to get her to straighten her posture as a server is on his way to you with your orders. He places a large bowl of tteokbokki and another large bowl of popcorn chicken somewhat crassly—he also has a sour face. “Yeah,” Jiwoo says, “he isn’t known for being the nicest guy around.” You’re starting to feel disgruntled; if you were alone, you wouldn’t be so mad to see poor service, but considering that you’re with a loved one, you feel angrier—no one gets to be rude and ruin the vibes when you’re with those you love. “I don’t mean to be arrogant, but we can easily buy out this place and replace that guy,” you snark. “That is arrogant, oppa,” Jiwoo rubs the back of your hand gently to calm you down. “Please, it’s okay—he’s probably just tired, oppa, like we are.” You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and apologize for your attitude.

Your girlfriend picks up a piece of tteokbokki and immediately chases it with a large piece of chicken. As you watch her eat, you can feel the heat in your heart gradually dissipate, and a smile is forming on your face. She picks up a piece of tteokbokki and immediately chases it with a large piece of chicken. You decide to put down your chopsticks and enjoy the sight of your girlfriend eating in front of you, not caring if she finishes the whole meal by herself.

It seems like she’s very hungry too; it took her until halfway through the meal to realize that you haven’t eaten at all. “Oh my God, oppa,” she exclaims, “why aren’t you eating?” “Ah,” you’re snapped out of your trance, “I was too busy watching you eat, baby.” You’re torn between two options, though: do you want to get some food into your belly after working all day, or do you want to keep watching your girlfriend eat oh-so-cutely?

“Say aaah.” Jiwoo decides for you by guiding a piece of chicken towards your mouth, leaving you with no choice but to open your mouth. There’s a grin on your face as you chew, and you can see her grinning too; you realize that only Jiwoo deserves your attention right now—it doesn’t matter if anyone else tries to ruin the mood; she’ll easily draw a smile on your face. “Thank you, baby,” you say to her, “I love you so much.” “I love you too,” she replies, “now eat, please.”

You get back to your car with Jiwoo after finishing the meal. “Would you like to get anything else before we go home, baby?” “No, let’s just go home, please.” Based on her tone, you can tell that she only has little energy left in her tank. “Home it is.” You turn the steering wheel to the left and place a foot on the accelerate pedal to join the moving lane.

The traffic isn’t too bad; it’s just that this specific traffic light is infamous for its long queues during rush hour. In the corner of your eyes, you see that your girlfriend is sleeping in her seat with her mouth slightly open. Unfortunately, it seems like her current position isn’t too comfortable, but there’s nothing you can do at the moment. “We’ll sleep properly at home, alright, babe?”

After getting through the traffic light, you pick up the speed, aiming to get home as soon as possible so that Jiwoo can rest properly. You take advantage of slower drivers and change lanes whenever possible, earning some honks from other drivers occasionally. “Screw you—pay attention to the road next time,” you comment.

You go through the last turn before you reach your apartment building and quickly go up to your designated parking spot. Once your car is neatly parked, you turn off your car and turn your attention to your girlfriend, who is still asleep. You then rush to your unit with Jiwoo’s limp body in your arms.

“We’re here, baby.” You lower her gently onto the bed, and she’s still asleep. You prepare a T-shirt and shorts for her to change into for later. “I’ll shower first, babe.” As you’re leaving, however, you hear a grunt of disapproval from your girlfriend. “Oppa,” she calls to you with raspy voice, “don’t leave me.” You join her in bed and pull her into a cuddle. “Wait, don’t you want to change first, babe? I prepared some clothes for you.” You can tell that she doesn’t want to move too much but her work clothes are anything but comfortable. “Help me change, oppa,” she says.

“May I?” You ask for consent, which Jiwoo gives in the form of a nod. You start unbuttoning her shirt from the top. With Jiwoo’s cooperation, you free her arms from the restraining sleeves of her shirt, and if it weren’t for her bra, she’d be entirely topless right now. You move to take off her trousers, but first: “may I, baby?” Jiwoo nods to your question, expressing her consent one more time, so with that, you unzip her trousers and pull them down her legs until they’re properly off.

Jiwoo lifts her butt off the bed when you try putting on a pair of shorts for her. “Last one, baby.” You put on a T-shirt for her, and she cooperates once again by putting her arms through the sleeves herself. “Good girl,” you peck her on the forehead, “my turn now.”

You change into a T-shirt and shorts before joining your girlfriend in bed. “Hngh,” Jiwoo grunts again while reaching her arms out, asking to be held. “Of course, baby; I won’t forget about you.” You pull her into your embrace and close your eyes, savoring the lingering scent of her perfume from this morning. “Let’s rest a bit, okay? We can worry about other stuff later,” you say.

Something is telling you to open your eyes, so you do—what time is it, even? In your half-asleep state, you look around the dark bedroom with your half-open eyes. You can see and feel that Jiwoo is still in your arms, which is a good start. You gently run your hand on her back, just the way she likes it.

If there’s anything that could be considered “wrong” with you, it’s your inability to keep your hands off your girlfriend, but at least she’s okay with it most of the time; physical contact is one of Jiwoo’s favorite things in the world.

“Oppa,” she calls to you suddenly, “I want to be with you forever.” You really want to say that you’re working on it, but you don’t want to spoil your plans, so for now, you give her a basic answer: “I want to be with you forever as well, baby; there’s nothing more that I want for us than that.”

“Do you think we have Harvey-oppa’s approval?” Ah, she’s concerned about your older brother, the honorary head of the Han family. “You do,” you assure her, “he and Yooyeon-noona know what kind of person we are. Not only that, but they also know that we’re in love with each other.” Jiwoo lets out a hum, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“Their anniversary is around the corner, right?” Jiwoo moves on to the next subject. “Huh, you’re right,” you just realized now. “We should call them, oppa; you know, say congratulations and all that,” she suggests. “We’ll call them this morning before leaving for work, okay? Let’s try going to sleep again for now.” You peck her head a few times and close your eyes again.

The morning rolls around, and you wake up after what felt like a few minutes of sleep (it was probably a few hours in actuality). “Baby, sweetie, cookie—let’s wake up, hey?” You poke Jiwoo a few times to wake her up, and she slowly opens her eyes. “I’m tired, oppa,” she says. You look at your phone to see if she has time for extra rest. “You have 30 minutes, baby—I’ll take a shower first while you sleep, okay?”

While standing under running water, you remember Jiwoo telling you that your brother’s anniversary is coming soon. “I should call them after this,” you think. You quickly finish showering and check up on your girlfriend again.

“Baby, I’m sorry but your time is up.” You hate breaking it to her, but you have no other choice. With a groan, Jiwoo gets off the bed and wraps her arms around your body. “Take care of me, oppa.” You’re not sure what kind of taking care of she needs, but you think that it’s probably best to have her shower first. You lift her by her thighs and carry her towards the bathroom.

She lightly bites you in the neck when she notices that you’re taking her to the bathroom. “Oh my God, I hate you sometimes—why are you doing this to me, oppa?” “Sorry, baby, but this is necessary.” You gently lower her onto her feet and make to leave the bathroom area. “Wait!” Jiwoo halts your steps by hugging you from behind. “Please—please don’t leave me.”

You’re not sure why she’s behaving like this. “Baby, are you okay? You don’t act like this usually.” “I-I don’t know,” she says, “I just don’t want to be left alone.” “Okay, so do you want to shower with me, or do you want me to wait here?” Jiwoo takes a sniff and lets out a grunt after. “You already showered, so I’ll just shower alone—wait here, please.”

Jiwoo lets go of the hug and walk backwards to the bathroom, keeping her eyes on you the whole time. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” You sit on the floor in front of the bathroom and simply wait for her to shower. “What’s going on with Jiwoo, man?” You ask yourself, wondering why she’s acting like this out of nowhere.

You feel someone poking you on the knee. “Oppa, what are you doing?” You open your eyes and see Jiwoo, fresh out of the shower with wet hair, kneeling in front of you. “Did you fall asleep, oppa?” “I must’ve,” you rub your eyes to get yourself together, “you’re done showering, baby?” Jiwoo holds your hands and tugs, signaling to you to stand up, so you do just that. She then comes in for a hug, placing her head on your chest. “I’m sorry for being difficult, oppa.” You assure her that she has nothing to be sorry for. “You’re always so kind, oppa—thank you,” she says.

You lie down on the sofa while Jiwoo dries her hair, and you’re reminded again that your brother and his wife, Yooyeon, are celebrating their anniversary today. You come up with a congratulatory message and send it to Yooyeon. “I think I’m looking to propose by the end of the month, noona,” you add.

The app says that she’s typing, and the timing couldn’t be any more perfect: Jiwoo is asking if you can video call your sister-in-law. “Sure, let’s do it,” you say. Once she’s ready, you start the call.

“Hey, guys,” your brother greets you from the other side of the screen, “good morning!”

You take the speaking baton first. “Good morning, hyung and noona—congratulations on the 6th anniversary, guys!”

Harvey thanks you for the congratulations, and in return, he asks how you and Jiwoo are doing. “We’ve been very good, oppa,” Jiwoo takes the baton from you, “I know we’re not married yet, but our 2nd anniversary is around the corner.”

Truthfully, you forgot that it is indeed around the corner; you shoot a glance at the sleeping TV, which screen saver says the date and time, and see that your anniversary is 6 days away.

“Ask Shane to take you on a dinner, Jiwoo-yah; I’m sure he has the money for it,” your brother says, snapping you out of your little trance, and the gears in your head start turning, trying to quickly come up with a plan to celebrate your anniversary.

Through the video call, you see that your sister-in-law is aiming her camera at the food on their table. “Ahhhh, unnieeee!” Jiwoo slaps your thighs repeatedly, reacting hysterically to the Morningside logo on the bowl shown on the screen. She promptly turns her attention to you and whispers something right in your ear. “Oppa, can we go to Morningside this weekend?” You respond to her suggestion with a nod. “We’ll join you next time, unnie—we have other things to do today,” Jiwoo says.

You take turns with your girlfriend to start conversations with your brother and his wife, and after a few minutes, you notice that she’s almost ready to end the call. “Harvey-oppa, Yooyeon-unnie,” Jiwoo says, her tone sweet and sincere, “congratulations on the anniversary, seriously. I hope me and oppa get to live happily together like the two of you.” “Thank you for the kind words, cookie,” Harvey says, “we’re rooting for the both of you—see you soon!”

You exchange goodbye waves with the people on the other side of the screen then end the call right after. “Visit us this Saturday for Jack-in-the-box,” says a text message from Yooyeon, making your heart rate climb. “What does that mean, oppa?” Jiwoo points at your screen, right where the floating notification is. “I-I don’t know,” you answer nervously.

You’re nervous because truthfully, you know what it means: you, Shaun, and Harvey came up with that term to secretly refer to “getting a ring and proposing” when Harvey was courting Yooyeon a few years ago. So the fact that he’s said it now after all this time must mean that he’s in full support of your relationship and encourages you to commit further, which is both exciting and nerve-wracking.

“You believe in us, don’t you, hyung?” You say in your head while trying to maintain a straight face. “You’re acting weird,” Jiwoo comments with a chuckle, “first it was me, and now it’s you—what’s wrong with us today, oppa?” You let out an awkward chuckle, still trying your best to not show your nervousness. “Well, I guess we’ll find out,” you deflect, “c’mon, let’s go to work.”

Before you know it, it’s now Saturday. Your brother invited you to his house a few days ago for Jack-in-the-box, a secret term that hasn’t been mentioned in years—one problem, though: how do you go to his house alone, because Jiwoo most likely would want to tag along if she’s free.

You sit on the sofa, rubbing your chin to come up with something to dissuade your girlfriend from coming along, and that’s when she walks out of the bedroom with a question. “Oppa, Soodam-unnie asked me to hang out at a café with her—can I go?” “Of course, baby,” you put on a smile for her, “do you want me to take you there?” She takes you up on your offer and gets back into the bedroom to change, and you let out a deep sigh of relief; you don’t need to fool her into not tagging along because she already has something else to do.

After dropping off Jiwoo at the café, you start driving towards your brother’s house, which is quite close from where you are. There’s little-to-no traffic today, since it’s the weekend and still early—it’s barely 10 a.m.

You pull into his driveway next to his car and get off yours. “Hi,” your brother greets you from the front door, “come in, we need to talk first.” You follow him inside but see no sign of his wife. “Where’s noona?” He says that she just got out of the bathroom and will join you soon.

Your brother takes a seat on the sofa while you take the cushion chair to his left. “Oh, you’re here,” Yooyeon greets you, “this must be for the Jack-in-the-box thing.” She takes the empty spot next to her husband. “Can one of you explain what that means?” Harvey explains briefly what it means: “we’re also going to help him buy a ring,” he adds.

“Do you think you’re ready for this?” Your brother’s question makes you nervous. “I do,” you answer, “I, erm, I think we’re in love, a-and, you know—” The way you’re stuttering makes them laugh. “Well, I hope that you’ll be less nervous as the day goes.” Harvey stands up from his seat, and when the (honorary) head of the family stands up, you follow. “Let’s go get breakfast first and then we’ll visit the jewelers, hm?”

You depart in your brother’s car to ensure maximum secrecy—Jiwoo wouldn’t recognize this car if you happen to pass in front of the café she’s at. You take a seat in the middle row behind your brother because obviously the front passenger seat isn’t vacant. “We haven’t done this in so long, haven’t we, hyung?” Your question makes Harvey smile. “We haven’t, true—we’ll do this again with everyone once Shaun and Seeun return from New York.”

You’re promptly reminded of your meeting with Soodam. “Hyung, I met Soodam-noona a few days ago.” His unique, sharp eyes look at you through the rear-view mirror of the car. “Yeah? What did she say?” “She thought I was Shaun,” you answer. You hear a deep sigh coming from him. “That’s fine, I guess—it could’ve been worse.” Yooyeon is curious: she doesn’t know who Soodam is, and in turn, doesn’t know what Shaun has to do with her. When she asks, Harvey explains in longer form their history, and at the end, you see her placing a palm on her face.

You, Harvey, and Yooyeon sit together at a 4-person table at Morningside, which happens to be somewhat empty currently. Here are the things you and your company ordered: two Singaporean-style toasts, two congee with char siu beef, and three hot lychee tea.

“Shane,” Harvey whispers to you while looking over your shoulders. “Jiwoo is here.” You turn around in shock, and would you look at that: she is indeed here—Soodam is also here. “Oh, shit, the surprise is spoiled,” you think, and you feel like you understand how Jiwoo felt when her surprise was spoiled a short while ago. “She doesn’t see us, though,” you comment.

While it is true that Jiwoo doesn’t see you, Soodam does and tells Jiwoo about your presence. She jogs towards your table and gives you a peck on the lips. “Oh my God, what a crowd—hello, my name is Kim Jiwoo. Pleased to meet you,” she says, earning a collective laughter from your group. “Crazy coincidence, isn’t it, baby?” “It is—we could’ve gone together, oppa.” Jiwoo then asks again if she can hang out with Soodam, and obviously, you let her go. You’re not holding her back from hanging out with her friends (aside from her male co-workers who have tried shooting their shots but that’s a story for another time).

“God,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I thought it was blown.” Your brother lets out a laugh, fully understanding of your feelings. “Keeping a secret from your beloved lady is never easy—ask me how I know” he adds, and Yooyeon joins him in laughing.

The smell of butter steals your attention, and when you turn your head around, you see a server walking towards your table. “That must be your toasts, noona,” you say, and indeed, it is her toasts. You help the server distribute food to your brother and his wife. “The tea will be out after this—please kindly wait,” the server says, already way kinder than that guy working at the tteokbokki restaurant. “Sure, no problem—thank you,” you reply with a smile.

Yooyeon is the first to both take a bite and react to her food, letting out satisfied hums while chewing her first mouthful. “I really can’t have enough of this,” she comments. Harvey reacts to that by giving her a peck on the cheek—a cute sight, really; you love seeing your brother interacting with his wife and how in love they are with each other.

After a short ride, the three of you arrive at this seemingly none-of-the-ordinary jewelers.

You ask Harvey if he’s been here before. “Hm? Oh, yeah,” he says, “I bought a necklace for Yooyeon-ie from this place a few months ago.” “You did, hon?” Yooyeon scratches her head as she tries to remember. In playful aggresiveness, your brother pinches his wife cheeks for failing to remember. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She exclaims frantically, and your brother stops right away. “Come on, let’s find something for our cookie,” he says, leading you and Yooyeon inside.

“Ah, welcome, Mr. Han,” a staff member in a neat three-piece suit greets your brother. He then takes turns to shake your and Yooyeon’s hands. “My little brother here is looking for a ring,” Harvey says. “Do you know the measurements, sir?” The staff turns his attention to you. Your eyes land on your sister-in-law as you think about Jiwoo’s finger size. “Should be similar to my noona here,” you say. Yooyeon takes off her ring and passes it to the staff who then takes a measurement.

“Size 6, hey?” He shuffles some shelves around and place one that’s packed with brilliant rings on the top. “Here are the options we have currently, sir—we can also make a custom ring but that will take longer and cost more,” he says. Harvey can tell that you’re nervous about the price, so he whispers in your ear that he’ll take care of it. “Your job today, Shane, is to choose one that you really like,” he says. “Thank you for this, seriously,” you whisper back to him, getting a soft pat on the back from him.

You first point out to the staff member that you’d rather choose from this abundance of choices than wait for a custom-made ring. “Can I look at that one, please? Row 3 column G,” you say. You flip it around in your hand, inspecting small diamond main piece. “Jiwoo doesn’t like flashy stuff, so I think this is definitely one of the choices for now,” you comment. You place the ring on the glass counter and start looking for other options. “Row 5 column C, please,” you say. Upon closer inspection, however, it doesn’t look as good as the first one.

Initially, you thought that you should find 3 rings to choose from, but aside from the first ring your eyes landed on, nothing else catches your fancy. “Guys, what do you think?” You turn to Harvey and Yooyeon for opinions. Yooyeon defers; she thinks that you should choose what you like. Her husband, on the other hand, thinks that your choice is a good one. “I would buy that if I were proposing—I’m not, just so we’re clear,” he adds, laughing at the end. “I’ll take this, please.” You hand the ring back to the guy, earning a praise for your “good eye” from him.

Today is the day of your 2nd anniversary with Jiwoo. Not only that, today is also the day she’s doing an interview for the job at Han Group she has applied for.

Jiwoo says that she has permission from her manager to take today off so that she can go to the in-person interview. She also asks you to drop her off at the Han Group building on your way to work. “Sure, baby—let’s leave after this, okay?”

For the interview, Jiwoo opts for a white shirt and a black skirt—a very typical interview attire worn by fresh graduates looking for a job. She walks into the building and sees a reception desk that has someone attending it. “Excuse me, miss,” she says quietly, “my name is Kim Jiwoo. I’m here for an interview.” After looking at the screen in front of her, the staff tells Jiwoo to go up to the 4th floor, where an interviewer will join her soon.

Jiwoo sees an open room with a big conference table on the 4th floor. “This is it, probably,” she thinks. It is when she’s right at the door that she sees the short list of today’s interviewees: Kim Jiwoo and Lee Soodam. She also sees that each person will be given around an hour for the interview.

“Hello. You must be Kim Jiwoo.” A female around her age enters the room, making Jiwoo jump a little thanks to the shock. Her eyes widen when she sees the person behind this lady. “Hi, cookie. How are you today?” Harvey’s sudden presence stuns Jiwoo: no one mentioned that he’d be in the room where it happens—what if she lets him down? What if he thinks that Jiwoo isn’t needed at Han Group?

“Mi-mister Han,” she stutters, “p-pleasure to meet you, s-sir.” Harvey laughs. “You thought I wouldn’t know, Miss Kim? I have eyes and ears everywhere, you know,” he says. Jiwoo remains quiet as Harvey moves to take a seat at the other end of the table. “Please, there’s nothing to be nervous about. We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?” “Y-yes, sir,” she replies nervously. Harvey shows her a kind smile. “Well, let’s start now, Miss Jo,” he says to the interviewer.

Miss Jo, paying little attention to personal details, throws some work-related questions at Jiwoo, and she answers each one as best she can, glancing occasionally at Harvey. “Wow, their smiles are very similar,” she thinks. Miss Jo then turns to him, passing the speaking baton over. “So, Miss Kim,” he starts, “can you tell me what you’re looking for at this company?” Jiwoo’s heart races as she tries to come up with an answer. “With respect, sir, I think working at Han Group w-would make me be more motivated,” she says the first answer that comes to mind. “Really? How so?” In her head, she wonders if she should say the same thing she did to you: because Harvey is family. “Ah, whatever—here goes nothing.” She takes a deep breath and answers: “b-because I’d be working for fa-f-family, s-sir.” Her stutter was worse than earlier, making her want to slap herself for it.

Harvey grins. “Family, Miss Kim?” He asks, and she’s starting to regret saying such answer. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “First, I like that you refer to me as family—I’m sure your significant other would be delighted to hear it if he was here. Second, I think that someone can only be really motivated about work if they enjoy and find satisfaction in it. Sure, working for family sounds like a good time, but at the same time, there’s the burden of relationship in that; there’s a chance that you’ll find it difficult to make objective decisions or critics because, well, they’re family.”

Jiwoo can’t help but stay silent during Harvey’s speech, feeling the pressure of the big boss’ commanding presence. “Any opinions on that, Miss Kim?” “N-none, sir. I understand what you said, and I think it made sense,” Jiwoo replies. Harvey whispers something to Miss Jo, and after a short back-and-forth, she leaves her seat and walks out of the room.

Harvey summons Jiwoo to sit next to him, and she complies immediately. “Jiwoo-yah,” he says, his tone softer than earlier, “why are you here, seriously? Answer honestly, please." She wipes the stray tear her glassy eyes released. “I-I meant it, oppa; I want to work for you because you are family,” she emphasizes. He puts his hand on Jiwoo’s, rubbing the back of it gently, the exact same way you usually do. “If you’re so sure, then I’m not stopping you—welcome to Han Group, Jiwoo-yah.” Jiwoo, without asking for permission first, jumps to hug Harvey. “Thank you so much, oppa. I won’t let you down, I swear,” she says tearily. “I know, cookie,” he replies, “go home for now, your work here can start some time else.”

As soon as you enter your apartment, a fragrant smell enters your nostrils. “Jiwoo-yah, where are you, baby?” You hear her reply from the kitchen area, so you drop everything at the door and make your way towards her.

“Welcome home!” Jiwoo hugs you warmly as a welcome. “Thank you, baby—what is this smell, by the way?” Over her head, you see that there’s a pot sitting on one of the burners. In it, there’s rice cake swimming in a bubbling red sauce—oh, there’s popcorn chicken on the counter, too. “You hated the service at that tteokbokki place, so I made it for you,” she says. You barrage her head with kisses, showing your appreciation for her efforts. “You always spoil me with your cooking, baby,” you say at the end.

Your girlfriend asks you to sit at the table while she gives final touches to her cooking. She then proceeds to put some in two bowls and places them on the table. “Thank you for the meal, baby!” You grab the chopsticks she has provided and immediately put a piece of rice cake in your mouth. “Oh, that’s so good.” You then chase it with a piece of chicken. “Wow, that’s also really good.” Your eyes land on Jiwoo, and you see that she has her happy face on; her plump cheeks are squished by the wide grin on her face.

“There’s no way it’s that good,” she thinks you’re exaggerating. “Why are you putting yourself down? Just take a bite and see for yourself, why don’t you,” you say, and based on your tone alone, Jiwoo can tell that you’re starting to get annoyed by her attitude. “It’s not that, oppa; it’s just that when you cook, your food doesn’t taste as good as when you buy it,” she reasons, her soft tone different to yours.

She takes a mouthful of food and thinks about the taste as she chews. “It is good,” she shyly admits, “I see why you like it so much.” “See? Don’t put yourself down so much next time, okay, baby?” Jiwoo nods and promises that she’ll keep it in mind and never do it again.

“Oppa,” she moves on to another subject, “I got the job at Han Group.” “Yeah? How did the interview go?” Jiwoo first mentions that Harvey was present during the interview and how surprising it was for her to see him. “I had a feeling that you wouldn’t have gotten away with being sneaky,” you say, adding a chuckle at the end. “You didn’t say anything to him, though, right?” No, you didn’t say anything to anyone about Jiwoo’s sneaky job search—it’s just that your brother does have eyes and ears everywhere.

After dinner, you find yourself chilling on the sofa with Jiwoo. She’s resting her head on your thighs while her hands are busy with her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. You, on the other hand, can’t be bothered with it; you have a bigger thing to think about: how do you propose to Jiwoo? “Should I take her to the park? Do I just do it here?” Your brain gets busy trying to figure it out. “Fuck, man, what do I do?”

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, and apparently, it’s loud enough to reach Jiwoo’s ears. “Are you okay, oppa? Do you need anything?” Nervousness is peaking in your head right now and you’re starting to sweat. “Can we talk, baby, please?” Your girlfriend lifts her head off your lap and looks at you nervously. “What do you want to talk about, oppa? Am I in trouble?” You close your eyes and take another deep breath. “First, I’d like to apologize for being so boring like this, but I’m just stumped and don’t know what to do,” you begin, making Jiwoo both nervous and confused.

You get off the sofa and get down on one knee. “Miss Kim Jiwoo,” you fish the small velvet box out of your back pocket, “will you marry me?” She stays silent. Her palm is covering her mouth. Her eyes are as wide as they can be. This isn’t quite the reaction you were hoping for, and as you wonder if you’ve made a bad move, your eyes wander off towards her knees.

“Yes, I will,” is her answer. When your eyes meet with her again, you see that tears are coming out of her eyes in abundance. “I will, oppa—I will marry you,” she repeats. Seeing her cry makes you emotional, and without command, your eyes start releasing tears. “I’m sorry, I should’ve come up with something grander for my proposal,” you say, feeling regretful. She joins you on the floor and hugs you tightly. She assures you that it’s okay and you have nothing to worry about. “It doesn’t take away from your efforts, oppa,” she uses your words against you. Deep inside, however, you promise that you’ll propose again with a grander prelude—Harvey proposed to Yooyeon at The Sapphire, maybe you can replicate that.

Jiwoo lets go of the hug and looks at the ring that’s still sitting in its tiny pedestal in the box. “I-I think you’re supposed to put it on my finger, oppa.” You chuckle. “Sorry, baby. I’m new to all of this,” you crack a little joke, earning a giggle from your girlfriend. You pull the ring out of the box and slide it onto her ring finger on her right hand. “I’m yours forever now, oppa,” she says while turning her hand around to inspect the ring. “This is a beautiful ring, too.” You place your forehead on hers, still unable to calm yourself down and stop the tears. “I love you, Jiwoo-yah. I love you with every cell in my body.” Jiwoo says she loves you more, referring to you as her fiancé.

“Oh, speaking of fiancé,” she says, pulling away from your embrace, “now that we’re really official, I want to go to university again, oppa—you know, get my master’s degree and all that.” You wipe your tears off your face and gather yourself. “O-okay, go—hah—go on.” “Can you, erm, can you pay for that, please?” Obviously, you’re not stopping your fiancé from getting higher education, so without thinking twice, you say yes. “I’m sure it’ll be beneficial for all of us, baby, so go ahead. Let me worry about the tuition,” you add.

In joy, Jiwoo jumps to hug you, and only now are you remembering an important fact. “Happy anniversary, baby.” Your fiancé lets out a chuckle. “I thought you forgot about it, oppa.” “I’m sorry, baby. I’m a freaking mess today,” you say. “Let me help fix that mess.” Jiwoo plants her lips on yours while her hands are fixed on your shoulders, and at this point, you swear that every mess in your heart and mind has been washed away. “Thank you, baby. I needed that so bad,” you thank her for the help. “Can we go to the bedroom, oppa?” “We sure can, baby.” You carry her in your arms and walk towards the bedroom.

“We’re here, baby,” you say as you climb onto the bed, “so, how do you want to cuddle?” Your fiancé frees herself from your arms, shaking her head as she does. “If we’re getting really married, oppa, you need to get better at catching signals,” she says. You look at her wordlessly while she takes her T-shirt off and throws it over her head. “Oh, she wanted to have sex—was I supposed to know that?”

Your attention is shifted towards her when you feel her fingers on the first button of your shirt, stripping you out of your work clothes. “You just proposed to me and agreed to pay for my master’s, and you thought I wanted to just cuddle? Ckckckck, you’re terrible at this,” Jiwoo expresses her disappointment. You want to defend yourself, but you can’t seem to find the words. “Sorry,” is all you can come up with. “No need, it’s not too late to make it right.”

Jiwoo plants her lips on yours again with different intentions this time. “Take me,” she whispers to you, “take me just like you usually do.” “How bad do you want it?” You’ve now gotten yourself together and are in the correct head space for this. She starts humping your thigh, letting you know how wet she is down there. “C-can’t you tell, oppa?” “I think I can,” you giggle, “let’s start, shall we?”

Yes, we shall. You roll until your fiancé is lying on her back, and her beauty instantly catches your attention. “My God, you’re so beautiful, love. Who am I to be so lucky to be with you?” Your words satisfy her, as shown by her precious smile on her face and her soft hands on yours. “Who am I to be so lucky to be engaged to you, oppa?” You ask if you can show her how much you love her. “Show me, oppa, and I’ll do the same,” she says.

You put your lips on her neck, nibbling and sucking until it’s marked with your love. “Oh, yes, please keep going,” Jiwoo eggs you on. “You’re mine, baby, and I’m yours—forever,” you whisper to her, giving her goosebumps. “I’m yours, oppa, and you’re mine,” she replies. “Please take me already—I can’t wait any longer.” You chuckle. “One second, baby; let me finish marking you first.”

You’ve sucked and nibbled for a few more minutes now, and when you pull away to inspect your work, you see a decently sized dark circle on the side of her neck. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.” You straighten your back, and that’s when Jiwoo asks you to “put it in.” Obviously, you know what it means, but it doesn’t hurt to tease her just a tad more. “Put what in, baby?” Your fiancé takes a deep breath, annoyed and impatient. “Your junior,” she says, “put it in me.”

You move towards her legs that are still covered by her mini shorts. When you grab the waistband, Jiwoo places her hands over yours. “Yes, baby?” You ask in case she wants to change her mind.

“Let’s make some promises before we start, oppa.”

“Sure, baby. What is it?”

“Promise me that you’ll pay for my tuition.”

“We’ve talked about it before, but yes, I promise.”

“Promise me that you’ll love me forever and never leave me for anyone else.”

“I promise.”

“Lastly, promise me that you’ll call me love—you know, since we’re getting married.”

“I promise, love.”

“Great,” she smiles, “now we can start.”

With her consent, you pull down her shorts down her legs and past her ankles. Oh, look at that: there’s a big wet spot on her panties—how cute. You free yourself of your work clothes, and while you do that, Jiwoo frees her tits from its constraints. “Respectfully, you look very, very hot, love,” you say, drooling as you do. “And all of me is yours, oppa,” she replies, “my lips, my breasts, my vagina—everything.” “That’s certainly one way to put it,” you think to yourself.

You hold your cock in one hand, and without struggling too much, you ease your way into her warm and wet core. “T-took you long enough,” Jiwoo quips, “oh, yes, that’s good, oppa.” You wrap your arms around her body, and in response, she wraps her limbs around yours, locking you in place to make sure she has maximum physical contact. She proceeds to let out moans right into your ear, showing you how much she’s enjoying this. “I love you, baby—fuck, I love you so much,” you whisper. “W-wrong pet name,” she still has the head space to say such thing.

“I’m about to burst, oppa,” she says, “please—oh, God—please, oppa.” You notice that her embrace is getting loose, so you take advantage of it and straighten your posture, thus allowing you to deliver better thrusts. “Go on, baby,” you urge her, “burst for your fiancé.” Obviously, words aren’t enough; you need to keep up the tempo to be able to send her flying across the finish line.

Jiwoo’s moans become louder as she inches closer towards orgasm—she’s also squirming around. You grit your teeth when you feel her insides squeezing your shaft. “Come on, love; cum for me.” You turn up the pace to the highest you can possibly do while making sure you’re hitting her deepest points. You pull out just in time as she screams from the top of her lungs, her thighs trembling from the hard-hitting orgasm.

Amidst her moans and pants, Jiwoo manages to ask you to hold her, so you do just that, enveloping her with your arms. “That’s good, love,” you praise her, “you’re so good at this.” “Th-thank you,” she replies with heavy breaths. You pamper her with endless sweet words while waiting for her to calm down; among them is, “I love you and will spend the rest of my life with you.” She can’t string together a proper reply just yet, but that’s fine; you’re certain that the message is well received.

Her pants have died down after a few minutes, and when you check on her, you see that she’s fallen asleep. “How cute,” you pinch her cheek lightly, “well, good night, love.” Without letting go, you roll over so that she’s lying square on your body and close your eyes.

During your sleep, you’re shown a dream. One where Jiwoo is on her knees while moving her mouth up and down along your length. You put a hand on the back of her head, assisting her in making sure that her hair doesn’t get in the way. “That’s good, love—that’s very good,” a praise freely escapes your lips, just like usual. Your praise excites Jiwoo, making her bob her head faster. Unfortunately for you, you’re starting to lose your grip on the scene, seeing it slowly fade away to be replaced with a different one.

At least that’s what it seemed like was about to happen. Instead, your brain wakes you up. “Wait, I know this feeling,” you say in your head. Your eyes roam downwards as you try to get a grip on the situation around you. “Love? What are you doing?” “What do you mean what am I doing? What does it look like, oppa?” Well, it looks like she’s stroking your cock, kissing your tip occasionally. “I thought you wouldn’t wake up,” she says.

You tell her that you saw her sucking you off in your dream. “I mean, I was sucking you off in your sleep,” she reveals. “So that was a mix of dream and reality, wasn’t it, love?” Jiwoo laughs. “Even in your dream, you can tell that I’m touching you.”

Jiwoo asks you to sit, so you sit and lean against the headrest. She then crawls between your spread legs and takes you deep in her mouth. Just like you did in your dream, you place a hand on the back of her head, petting her gently as you do. “That’s so damn good, love,” a praise freely escapes your lips, just like usual, and as per usual, it excites Jiwoo. You can feel her moving along your shaft faster, pushing through the gag reflex. “Fuck, you’re going to make me bust,” you say the first thing that comes to mind.

You’re ready to send your load straight into her stomach; your cock is throbbing and cum is pooling on your tip, and—ah, fuck, she removes you from her mouth. “No, no, no,” she wiggles her finger in front of you, “you don’t get to cum in my mouth anymore; I’m your fiancé, not your girlfriend.” Your racing heart doesn’t allow you to come up with a reply, but that’s okay with Jiwoo.

She turns her back against you and move backwards until her entrance is hovering right over your tip. “From this point onwards, you can only cum in my pussy—is that understood, my dear fiancé?” “Yes, love, I understand.” Happy with your answer, she lowers herself until you’re fully inside her. “Oh, fuck,” she lets out a gasp, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” She starts fucking herself on your cock, her hands and knees serving as stabilizers. You lean back and admire the way her hourglass figure looks from behind.

“I-I thought you—oh my God—I thought you were close, oppa?” “I am,” you admit, “I’m about to bust any second now.” Hearing such an answer invigorates Jiwoo, giving her the push she needs to keep going until you cum.

With a profanity, you send your load deep inside her, and Jiwoo plants her butt on your crotch so that nothing leaks out. The warmth of your ejaculation makes her let out a very long moan. “Do you want to be a dad?” “No, love, not yet,” you reply between your heavy pants. “Then you’ll need to buy me some pills—we’ve run out of them.” “We’ll get some later before we leave for work, love.”

That’s one question answered, and it’s time to address the other one: how can you prevent her from making a mess on the bed? “Just carry me reversed like this to the bathroom and pull out there,” she suggests. You gather the strength in your legs and stand up. “Hehehe,” you let out a suspicious laugh, “come to think of it, we’ve never had sex while standing up.” “Let’s not—oh, fuck—let’s not get ideas now, oppa; I don’t have the energy for more.”

You arrive at the bedroom with no accident, which means you can now “safely” pull out of her hot core. “Fuck, that’s a lot,” you comment. “That’s just how much you love me,” she giggles, “so what do we do now?” You don’t know what time it is (because there’s no clock in the bathroom, obviously), but you guess that it’s probably best to quickly clean up and go back to sleep soon.

You’re back in bed with your fiancé after quickly cleaning up. Jiwoo puts her right hand in the air and inspects the ring (despite the darkness of the room). “When did you buy this, oppa?” You reveal to her that Harvey bought it for you when you went out with him and Yooyeon. Jiwoo bursts out laughing. “I bet you were sweating bullets when you saw me walking in with Soodam-unnie—you thought the surprise was ruined.” “You have no idea, love,” you chuckle, “well, at least it all worked out in the end.”

“I love you, oppa,” she says, seemingly out of nowhere. “I will be the best person I can be for you—for us.”

“Certainly, love. I will be the best person I can be for you as well, because you deserve the best of me.”

“Sounds like we have a good future,” she says, “well, let’s go back to sleep now—good night. I love you.”

“I love you more—way more than simple words can express.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #nmixx smut

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epickiya722 · 6 months ago

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I don't think I expressed enough how much I do actually like that Yuji is this... I don't know how to really put it into words but... how Yuji is this unique embodiment of horror and strangeness.

Like, just the details of his character makes him stand out to me. Everyone in JJK has some bit of oddness to them, and he has own unique kind.

He looks like sunshine personified and he is. He is the sweetest kid there is. And he looks like the typical "Oh, he must be the normal one who has to adapt to the horrors the other have to go through" character. Ha ha... no, he is the horror. He is the "creepy child" trope without even showing that he is.

Yuji is the kind of horror you actually have to put thought into to even realize "Oh, wait, that is actually fucked up". Fridge horror, the horror that you think nothing too much of until you really open your mind to it.

Like, he's this own level of odd with how he behaves and thinks.

First, it's his interests. Yuji didn't mind really being in the occult club. Of course, his reasons was that the club time allowed him enough time to see his grandfather. But also, even though he didn't have to really participate, he actively does. Iguchi and Sasaki exploring haunted places? Yuji tags along and isn't frightened at all. Mind you, they like going go haunted places because they like being scared. Why folks watch horror movies and go to attractions, right?

Yuji will play with an oujia board.

Fan of a movie series titled the Human Earthworm and actually can find the beauty and love in said movies. He's so real for that.

So far it's just simple stuff like that, right?

First time seeing a curse? Admits to being scared, but barely even flinches. When Megumi talks about the Cursed Finger and mentions how curses want to eat it? His response?

"Why, is it good?"

IT'S A FINGER?!

When informed about Inumaki's technique? What was the example he uses? "So if he says 'die' then it will happen?" Out of all the examples?! He was more impressed by the technique than actually fearful of it.

That Cursed Doll he had to train with? Called it "cute" and Gojo questioned that. In fact, when meeting Yaga, Yuji commented on how the dolls were cute.

How he fights is even a little odd and unsettling. He immediately goes into action, doesn't even need to hear the bell. He always has this look on his face that "Yeah, your kneecaps are mine". Not once has I ever recalled he actually smiles during a fight. Unlike some of the others who have showcased some enjoyment or some type of being unhinged in a "to hell with it" mood, Yuji always has this almost animalistic glare, that kind of unhinged. He isn't holding back, even against normal people like the high school bullies in chapter 163. Sometimes I question if he even knows how to hold back.

He doesn't like to get violent or kill. If he has to, he will. But it's just not anything he can brush off or be like "Yeah, I like doing it".

Then the idea of dying? Yeah, Yuji makes it clear he knows people will die. Execution placed on his head? He accepts dying with Sukuna instead of asking if there's any way to work around it, find a solution. Keep in mind, Sukuna is downright evil and does nothing but make life hard for Yuji every chance gets.

However, by the end, Yuji changes from choosing to die with Sukuna, so that no one else has to suffer, to offering Sukuna to live along side him even if no one accepts that.

Oh, let's not forget his family.

Yeah, Sukuna I just mentioned? That's his uncle by soul reincarnation. Jin, Yuji's dad who we don't really know what happened to him, is the reincarnation of Sukuna's twin that Sukuna ate in the womb. Doesn't stop there.

EDIT: Ah, wait, no! Turns out Wasuke, Yuji's grandfather, is who shared the soul with Sukuna!!

Yuji's mother, Kenjaku? Actually a 1000+ year old sorcerer who body hops by implanting their brain into whatever body they find convenient for their plans. One of those bodies happen to be Kaori Itadori, Jin's wife. Jin's dead wife. Kenjaku played wife in a woman's dead body, the same body Yuji was born from.

Yuji was born out of a corpse. With one of the Cursed Finger somehow already sealed inside him.

His other family members include Death Paintings: Choso, Eso, Kechizu, Noranso, Sho-oso, Tanso, Sanso, Kotsuso, and Shoso. His older siblings (technically) through Kenjaku, who was possessing Noritoshi Kamo's (the ancestor) body at the time. And guess what? Their blood consists of a human's blood, a cursed spirit's and Kenjaku's.

Yeah, like them, Yuji isn't really human. Again, born with one of Sukuna's Cursed Fingers already sealed in him. Without Cursed Energy, he was already outrunning cars and possessing strength not normal for the average human.

Oh, wait, and let's not forget his 'appetite'. He will eat anything if it means saving people. And he has. Other than Cursed Fingers, the other Cursed Objects Yuji consumed are his own siblings 4 - 9. Mind you, they were akin to fetuses contained in glass jars. (He isn't happy about eating them or anything for that matter though. I wouldn't be either.)

In all, he's just fridge horror with a some goodness mixed in there. I'm just rambling here.

#he's my favorite character just know that #he's just a strange little guy without even trying to be #he's MADE that way #just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk manga spoilers #jjk spoilers #itadori yuji #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji

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disillusioneddanny · 1 year ago

Note

For your random fun one shot

There's a fruit out there called Synsepalum dulcificum(aka miracle berry) that messes with the taste receptors(sour things taste sweet etc). Ectoplasm has a similar effect(for the purpose of the prompt that is, idk if it actually does).

So danny (either as Danny or as phantom)does shots of ectoplasm and tries a bunch of other heroes' favorite foods(starfire's cooking, red robin's and or oracle's caffeine abomination, random leftovers in the fridge, etc) and live streams it for charity while answering fan sent questions.

But then one of the flashes knocks over his shot glass while running by and all the food becomes animated and there's an epic food fight in whichever cafeteria he's in

enjoy a taste of chaos >:))))

Danny’s taste was a little fucked, he would be the first to tell you. There was this thing with ectoplasm that made his taste receptors just a bit different anytime he drank some. And because of this, his favorite thing was grossing out his Titans team mates any chance he could. The team had just as much fun as he did and it was technically Impulse’s idea to do this new tik tok series to introduce himself to the world as the newest member of the Titans.

So, here he was, sitting at the break room table in the tower with vials of ectoplasm and the most fucked up foods his team could think of sitting before him.

There was a cake baked by Miss Martian that Superboy had winced at. A veggie lasagna made by Beast Boy that Nightwing eyed warily. A strange coffee and energy drink combination courtesy of Red Robin. Some kind of casserole that Stafire had excitedly made, and a random assortment of the weirdest snacks that Impulse could find. The entire team was now watching in horror as Danny took a shot of ectoplasm and looked over the terrifying arrangement of food in front of him.

“This feels like a fucked up mukbang,” Danny said with an amused smile.

Red Robin snickered from behind his phone. “What are you going to try first, Phantom? Everyone in the live are making bets on what you’re going to eat first.”

“Are we sure this isn’t going to kill him?” Superboy asked worriedly.

“I’m already dead,” Danny said with a shrug. His teammates all gave him that same look of horror they did any time Danny reminded them all of his mortality. He supposed it was easy for them to forget that Danny was a ghost when the only other ghost they really knew about was Deadman and they were two completely different types of ghosts.

Not only that, but Danny still hadn’t mentioned to any of his teammates that he was only half dead. He had yet to reveal his secret identity to any of them. He had only been a member of the team for about a month and none of them had shared their identities with him so it was only fair that he didn’t share that part of himself with them yet either.

“Oh right,” Nightwing said faintly, that look of horror still on his face.

Danny just gave them a sharp, fanged smile and grabbed the first thing on his tray. A small rock of kryptonite. He supposed it made sense to eat that first considering Superboy was looking sicker and sicker the longer they sat there.

“Are you sure it’s fine for you to ingest kryptonite?” Wondergirl asked, looking a little uneasy.

“Of course, my body breaks it down just like it does human food. It’s all just turned into ectoplasm and energy,” Danny said before popping the rock in his mouth and crunching on it like it was just a piece of bright green rock candy.

He crinkled his nose at the taste, it was almost like eating pure sugar, it kinda made his teeth hurt. The same way it did when he was a kid and got his first cavity.

“Well?” Impulse asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “Is it everything I imagine kryptonite tastes like?”

Danny snorted. “It tastes like I’m eating pure sugar,” he said before drinking another vial of ectoplasm.

“That’s so crash!” Impulse shouted, slinging his hands out in excitement as he did. The following events were like slow motion.

Impulse’s hand knocked straight into the tray of ectoplasm vials that seemed to scatter across the table, hitting each fucked up and questionable piece of food or drink on the small table.

From there chaos just simply erupted. Danny braced himself as the pieces of food started to slowly but surely float off of the table, the coffee-energy drink began to take form and create a small fizzy, coffee scented blob ghost that careened straight towards Impulse’s face.

The veggie lasagna quickly grew pinsharp fangs that it gnashed and chomped at Beast Boy, loud screeches coming from its body.

“Oh no,” Danny said, his face pale beyond belief.

“Ph-phantom?” Nightwing stammered, his eyes wide with horror as the casserole that Starfire made started to slowly but surely inch its way towards the eldest hero.

“Red Robin, end the livestream,” Danny hissed as an ectoblast started to form in his hand, his other hand inched towards the thermos that he kept at his hip.

“But-” Red Robin let out a screech as Impulse tackled him just before a random giant pretzel launched itself at the vigilante.

“End the livestream!” Superboy screeched as he shot lasers at the hurtling ball of cabbage that had launched itself at the hero like a cannonball.

“I’m not ending the livestream! We just got so many more viewers joining!” Red Robin shouted back as he started fighting back the chips that were now being flung his way.

“Brace yourselves!” Wondergirl yelled as jello slung itself around the room. Danny just let out a groan as he started shooting ectoblasts, doing his best to subdue the ecto infused food.

He was never letting his team convince him into bringing out the ectoplasm again. This was the worst idea they had ever had.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dis writes #dp x dc crossover #dis dreams #batman #danny fenton #dc x dp crossover

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rangerbarbz · 1 month ago

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Mirror, Mirror

Author’s Note: Y’all please don’t hurt me i know this isnt an update on my ford series but i had to get this one out of my system i fucking love this man

Mirror, Mirror

You applied your mascara in the dingy mirror in Stan’s bathroom in the light of some ancient, yellow light bulbs. Anytime you got ready, it was always in the same spot: sitting on the edge of the sink. You didn’t mind doing your makeup in there, but there were no full length mirrors in the house for you to see how your outfits came together. Of course, you could always ask Stanley and he would give you an honest answer, but you wanted to be able to tell if your outfits were cute when he wasn’t around. He was at the store right now picking up a couple of things so you decided to message him.

You: Hey honey ;)

Stanley <3: What do you want?

You started giggling. He always acted like he didn’t enjoy buying you things, but he really did like spoiling you. He got you anything you wanted usually before you even asked despite his cheap persona.

You: Well… I was wondering if you could pick me up a full length mirror please? They have some pretty cheap ones at the store.

Stanley <3: Sure. Why do you need one?

You: YAY!! Thank you, baby. I need one for trying on outfits. I was going to put it in our room if that’s okay with you.

Stanley <3: Sounds good. Where are you thinking about putting it?

You walked into your shared bedroom to scope out a potential spot for your new mirror. You saw a patch of bare wall in front of where your bed was. There was plenty of room for you to attach it to the wall with some sticky strips you had.

You: [picture of wall] I was thinking right here. It’s in front of our bed. What do you think?

Stanley <3: That’ll be fine. Can you turn the camera around?

You looked at the message puzzled.

You: Why?

Stanley <3: I wanna see that sexy face of yours that’s why.

You felt butterflies form in your stomach at his response. You quickly took a selfie of just you smiling. Your hair was a little frizzy and you just had mascara on, but Stan loved that look. Hell, you could look like a hobo and he would still try to get in your pants. You pressed the send button.

Stanley <3: That’s my girl ❤️I’ll see you when I get home. I love you.

You: I love you too, handsome 😘

You sat on the edge of your bed kicking your feet, giddy from Stan’s messages. There was something about his bluntness that just got your heart beating like crazy. You then decided to place your phone on your nightstand and play some music while you straightened up around the room. It wasn’t too messy. There were just some clothes that needed to be folded and put away. You sang softly to the song that played as you placed the last of the clothes in your drawer.

You then heard the front door swing open and Stan’s thundering footsteps. You smiled and began hurrying down the stairs. You saw him placing grocery bags on the table with his back turned to you. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki pants, and the new belt you had got him for his birthday. His fez was scarce from his head showing off his thick, gray hair. You had encouraged him to start growing out his hair and stop wearing his fez as often. He was now beginning to form a delicious cowlick at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you for getting these, Stanley,” you murmured, running a hand up his back and placing it at his shoulder to give it a squeeze.

His body jolted at the contact. “Jesus!” He placed his hand over his heart. “Don’t scare me like that.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “See, this is why I don’t invite you over to the house when I watch horror movies.” You placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Scaredy cat.” He gave you a glare, but with the smirk on his lips, you knew he wasn’t serious.

“You want this mirror or not?” Stan asked, stepping back to reveal a beautiful mirror that had been leaning against the fridge out of your view. It was a cream color with delicate flowers carved into it and LED lights around the rounded arch. It was much nicer than the cheap one you thought he was going to get you.

“Stan!” You ran your fingers along the sides of the mirror while he gave you a toothy smile.

“Ehh? You like it?” He spread his arms out and raised his eyebrows.

“Honey, I LOVE it! Thank you so so much. It wasn’t too expensive was it?”

He scoffed. “Nah, it was a steal.” Then, he winked at you.

You frowned and squinted your eyes at him. “Stan, did you steal this? Like, for real?” You had been trying to get him out of his shoplifting habits. He had been getting better, but the man still fell off the bandwagon occasionally.

He paused. “Maybe.” You smacked him on his shoulder

He held his hands up in a defensive manner. “Look, babe. The guy at the cash register was an ass to me when I came in. I had to blow off some steam, and maybe I broke my stealing streak, but look!” Stan gestured to the mirror once again. “I got you a frilly mirror for you to get ready in. Thought you’d like it.” He was now smiling fondly at you, hoping for your approval.

You returned the smile and placed the mirror back against the fridge. “I do like it,” you reassured him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you.” He placed his strong hands at your waist and squeezed softly before kissing you. His stubble tickled the soft skin of your face.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Stan said, his hand now rubbing the small of your back. “Now let’s get this mirror set up.” His hand left your back to give your ass a playful swat.

You laughed and followed his lead. He was carrying the mirror with just one arm as he stepped quickly up the stairs. When you made it to your room, you both worked together to use your sticky strips and his leveler to make sure it was perfectly positioned on the wall. It was easily the most delicate thing to ever grace Stan’s bedroom. Besides you, of course.

Stan sat on the bed while you stood in front of the mirror. You did a couple of practice poses in the light of the mirror, mimicking how you would try on future outfits. “Oooh. Sexy. Stunning. Work it, work it, work it.” You struck a silly pose with each phrase earning a laugh from Stan. You saw his charming smile in the reflection. Gah, you could just eat him up.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” Stan said, patting his lap. You giggled and walked backwards towards him. “That’s it. Put it in reverse.” You burst out laughing and finally sat yourself on his wide thighs.

“Oop, I forgot something,” you joked, standing up.

“Uh, uh,” Stan tsked, wrapping his arm around your torso and pulling you back into his lap. You squealed excitedly. “You ain’t going anywhere. I gotta try this mirror out for myself.” His hands found your hips and began to massage them through the thin fabric of your shirt. You immediately knew what he meant and you felt that familiar fire in your belly.

He lifted up your shirt a little revealing your midriff. “Mind if I keep going, sweetheart?” he asked with a devilish grin, kissing underneath your ear and keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You nodded as a small exhale escaped your lips. “Good,” he said. He patted your elbow. “Raise them arms up.” You smiled and lifted your arms so that he could remove your shirt.

Stan let out a low whistle at the sight of you. “Goddamn.” He began to knead your breasts over your bra and bit at your neck. His fingers then nimbly unhooked your bra from the back, pushing the straps gently off your shoulders and tossing the article of clothing to the side. His big hands held your breasts and massaged them; you took your hands and placed them over his. He groaned, sucking the dip of your collarbone. His thumbs then grazed over your nipples, hardening them further before he pinched them. You sharply inhaled and tilted your head back as Stan chuckled darkly.

“Like that?” Stan spoke against your cheek. His stubble was once again tickling you. This time it was a more intense feeling, adding to the arousal building between your thighs.

“Yes,” you whined. He smiled and kissed your skin softly. His hand then traveled across your belly to your loose shorts, pulling them down along with your panties.

“What about this?” His pointer and middle finger slid over your cunt, gathering the slick at your entrance and bringing it to your swollen clit. You gasped loudly as he rubbed slow circles against it. You began grinding on his calloused fingers, wanting as much friction as possible.

“No one but me can get you wet like this,” Stan growled, the tip of his middle finger dipping slightly inside you.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “Stanley…” You craned your head towards him, but his other hand quickly grabbed your face. His thumb rubbed your cheek bone soothingly before he physically turned your face back to the mirror.

“No, doll. Look at you, not me.” He breathed deeply. “Because I wanna see your face when I do this.” Stan slid his finger in fully, a guttural noise escaping his throat.

You gasped at the sudden, delicious stretch that he was giving to you. You watched your reflection in the mirror, seeing the way you took his thick middle finger over and over. A lewd squelching noise filled the room making Stan’s cock twitch. It made him feel so good knowing how much you had been wanting this, wanting him.

“That feel good, baby?” he mumbled, his nose pressed to the side of your face. He continued to pump his finger in and out of your cunt at a quickening pace, hitting that sweet spot every time.

“S-so good,” you answered shakily. Stan groaned letting his other hand grope at your breasts, watching the way your flesh filled the palm of his hand. His cock was straining in his pants; you could feel his tip press into your ass through the fabric of his khakis.

“Fuck, you’re so damn sexy. You gonna cum on my fingers? You gonna do that for me, doll?” Stan was breathing against your neck now, eyes locked on the mirror in front of him. He watched you writhe in his arms as you nodded. He then growled and picked up speed, wanting so badly to see you come apart in his arms. You began to feel that tightness in the pit of your belly.

“I’m so close,” you whispered. “Please…” Suddenly, you felt your body start shaking, overcome with the ecstasy that Stan’s touch gave you. Your eyelids fluttered and your chest rose and fell. He groaned, watching you intently.

“Goddamn, I almost came in my pants just watching you,” Stan murmured, removing his finger from you. “Think you got one more?” He smirked, kneading the flesh of your hips.

You grinned at him in the mirror. “Yeah.”

He gave you a devilish smile. “That’s my girl.” He patted the side of your thigh. “Alright, hop off and get on the bed.”

You chuckled and did as he said. You kneeled and faced towards the mirror, leaning into the soft comforter with your forearms. Stan walked to the back of the bed kicking off his shoes and settling behind you on his knees. His mouth was slightly agape and his eyes were wide as he looked at you in the mirror.

“What?” you asked softly. Your tone caught him off guard. When your voice got this way, it just did something to him.

‘I’ve just, ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Was he nervous? “You just look really pretty, that’s it,” he grumbled. “Don’t think too much about it.” He always made himself flustered giving you compliments, and it was the cutest damn thing.

“Aww, thank you, Stanley,” you replied through giggles, flashing him a smile. You saw a grin spread across his reddening face while he looked down, fumbling with his zipper.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” He didn’t give you time to respond because he was then teasing your entrance with his tip and grabbing your ass gently. You squirmed, arching your back to gain more friction.

“Hold on, baby. I got you,” Stan reassured you. You could hear his confidence return to him due to your neediness. He pushed the rest of his cock into you easily. You gasped at how full you felt while Stan let out a faltered moan. “Fuck, you feel good.”

You whined as he thrusted into you, starting a steady pace. Your fingers were intertwined with the bedsheet while Stan’s were pressed into your waist. The pressure on your G-spot and the way he grazed your clit was too much. Your body inched forwards subconsciously, trying to ease some of the stimulation. Stan immediately noticed and grasped your waist pulling you back back to him. “You ain’t getting away from me that easy.’’ His gravelly voice sent shivers down your spine. He began to thrust into you faster, his hands groping your breasts. You howled from the pleasure racking your body. He moaned loudly, leaning onto your back and pressing you against the fabric of his shirt. His eyes were filled with lust as he watched your reflection. Your eyelids parted from being screwed shut to see an absolutely pornographic scene before you.

Stan was sweating, still in his clothes from earlier, fucking you without abandon. His hands were now splayed across your stomach, trying to get you as close to him as possible. The grunts leaving him were quickly bringing you to the brink of another orgasm, and he could feel it. He then, still on his knees, held you against his chest and bounced you on his cock. One hand held you while the other rubbed circles onto your clit.

“Come on, sweetheart. Make me yours. Cum on my cock.” He was now kissing all over your neck while you rode out your second orgasm, your cunt clenching around his cock. Stan followed suit, a string of curses leaving his lips into your collarbone. You watched as his cum leaked out of you in the mirror, your breathing syncing up with his. When both of you had a moment to recover, he lifted you off of him gently.

“Alright, let me get you cleaned up. I did a number on you.” Stan reached over to your bedside table to retrieve baby wipes that were tucked away in a drawer. You laid on your back as he carefully wiped away the evidence he had been there. “You’re good.” He patted your thigh and gave you a kiss on his forehead. “Now, go take a leak. Love you.” You stumbled to the bathroom, and when you returned, Stan was smoking one of his cigars. His pants were unzipped but his boxers were pulled back up; the first three buttons of his shirt were undone revealing his curly, gray chest hair. You curled up next to him, laying your head on his chest while his strong arm pulled you close to him.

He blew out a puff of smoke, a sweet tobacco smell filling the room. “Thank you for the mirror, Stan.” You kissed his stubbled cheek as he tapped the ash off his cigar into the ashtray you made him.

“No, thank YOU,” he replied. “Best thing I’ve ever stolen.”

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #grunkle ford #grunkle stan #stanley pines #ford pines x reader #pines family #imagine #fluff #stan pines smut #gravity falls smut #stanely pines #stan pines #stan pines x reader #ford pines smut #book of bill #gravity falls fanfiction

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delirious-donna · 11 months ago

Text

A Kiss But At What Cost? [Part Seven]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: The time calls for a movie night and one you’ll be sure to rope Kento into. A good old-fashioned slasher movie sounds just right, but how will the end of the night go once you’re all spooked out?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: SFW, fluff, two oblivious idiots, yet more emotions, bad communication, mentions of horror movies and tropes, if you can tell me what the movie at the end is you get a gold star

Part Six | Series Masterlist | Part Eight

Popcorn? Check. Cozy blanket? Acquired.

“Hm…” You hummed quietly, turning on the spot in the living room. The lights were set low, the thickest of the blankets from the basket in the corner ready for you to crawl beneath for your movie night, but something was missing.

A drink, of course.

Padding back into the kitchen, you bent your head to investigate the contents of the fridge, debating on a Diet Coke or a beer. The noise of someone clearing their throat made you jump, bumping your head into the door of the fridge in the action of whirling around.

“Ouch!”

Kento winced before quickly schooling his features into neutrality. You turned with a frown etched on your brow, and he couldn’t blame you for it this time. Moving forward, he stood by your side to reach inside and a grab out a bottle of beer, popping the top easily.

Your scowl deepened, more annoyed at the flutter in your stomach at his ease of opening the beer without even looking at the damn thing. “Aren’t you going to apologise?”

“Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t think you’d still be so jumpy this far into our little arrangement.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a quick sip, eyes moving to the ceiling which presented you with the open opportunity to watch whilst his throat worked to swallow the frothy liquid, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

A thought leapt from the recesses of your brain, and your pout turned into a wicked smile before he could blink. How would mr ‘stick-in-the-mud’ cope with a couple of scary movies? It would be beyond hilarious if he turned out to be a scaredy cat given his imposing stature and presence, and the chance to find out was too delicious to pass up.

“Got plans this evening?” you asked with an expression you hoped looked nonchalant. Before he could answer, you pulled out a can of Diet Coke and cracked open the ring pull with a low hiss.

“None to speak of. Why?”

Your hand linked through his arm with a wide grin, pulling him away from the kitchen to the cozy little nook you’d crafted for your movie spree. You gestured towards it with a theatrical “ta dah” and glanced up to meet eyes of hazel alight with confusion and a hint of intrigue, if you weren’t much mistaken.

“What’s this? You’ve made a… nest on my couch,” Kento guessed, scanning the bowl of popcorn and bar of unopened chocolate resting on the faraway arm. He wasn’t so stupid not to realise that this was clearly a movie night, but he was doing his damnedest not to think too much about your hand curled around his bicep. One wrong move and you might take that touch away, and he didn’t want that, not yet.

“Wow. Don’t tell me you didn’t watch movies with Karin growing up, because I know it’ll be a lie. That girl is more of a film buff than I am, no way you escaped that.”

Kento scoffed. “You’re correct. I did not escape, though there were many times I sorely wish I had. If I have to watch When Harry met Sally one more time, I might do something drastic,” he admitted with a laugh.

“Not a fan of romcoms, Nanami?”

“I didn’t say that, and it’s Kento, stop changing it back. There are a few that I can…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Tolerate, I guess.”

Your eyebrows rose in clear curiosity. Slipping your hand out of his arm, you rounded the couch and settled next to your snacks to pat the seat next to you in invitation. Kento swallowed, a wash of heat licking up both sides of his neck and he fought the urge to pull at the neck of his sweater.

“I don’t have any romcoms on the menu for tonight, sadly…” You added just to see his eyes narrow and his lips thin in displeasure. “Come join me, please? I’ll even share my popcorn.”

A moment passed where you simply stared at one another, your heart in your throat at the thought of being rejected, but it didn’t come to pass. Kento took another swig of beer and made his way to you, sinking into the couch with a sigh of resignation that didn’t sound genuine at all. You hid your smile behind the can in your hand, twisting to look at him and meeting determined eyes.

Kento crossed an ankle over his knee, settling against the cushions. “I’ll pass on the popcorn, too noisy,” he teased, smirking when you blew a raspberry in his direction. “So, if it’s not lovey-dovey nonsense, what are we watching?”

He should have taken the wide, almost twisted grin as a hint, but once again he was oblivious to your devious ways. What a fool he was. Except, in the long run, you were the one who would have something to worry about…

A piercing scream tore through the sound system, followed immediately by one of your own, although thankfully not as loud. You pulled the blanket to your face, covering your eyes from the gore feast on the screen. It didn’t help that you could hear Kento chuckling by your side. So much for the idea that he might be the one taking the starring role as scream queen… dammit.

The first movie had been a classic, one you had both seen before and it was nice to be able to laugh along with your handsome companion at the overused tropes featured in many of the slasher movies from the eighties and nineties. Groaning almost in sync when the lead female chose to run deeper into the house than take the open door that led outside and booing when the killer miraculously managed to traverse the same distance as the comic relief sidekick without even breaking into a light jog.

It gave you time to indulge in conversation as well as keeping pace with the plot. You shoved him playfully when he refused to indulge your curiosities as to which, in his words, lovey-dovey movies he enjoyed. Not even your best pleading puppy eyes could get him to relent, the curl of his lips so telling of his enjoyment at your frustration.

However, he did share some juicy tidbits about his sister that you were sure to tuck away and use to embarrass Karin at a later date. She more than deserved it given that other than one short and snappy text message, you hadn’t heard from her in all the time you had been staying here. Some friend. The bluster was all feigned when you examined it, and you refused to dig any deeper.

Karin and Kento were so different you would have never guessed they were related, yet you liked them for completely different reasons. You wondered if you would keep in touch once… no, it couldn’t be like that, and you knew it deep down. This was a temporary situation that would be forgotten soon enough, you lied to yourself with a long swallow of your drink. It wasn’t worth ruining the evening by moping. Deciding it was for the best, regardless of what your heart tried to yell, you forced the feelings into a box and refocused on the here and now.

It warmed your heart to watch as Kento slowly relaxed further, his limbs losing the tension from when he first joined you, an arm draped along the back of the couch and his beer balanced on his thigh, hand loose around the glass bottle dripping in condensation. He was pretty funny when he wanted to be, making you nearly choke on your drink several times over when he offered his bitingly sarcastic commentary on the situation on screen. At times you thought his ears even looked a little red, but you couldn’t be sure given the lack of lighting. If it was true, then it was adorable that he got enjoyment from your genuine reactions to his jokes.

With the second movie fast approaching the climax of the horror, you regretted the decision to ramp things up. Most of the movie you had spent tucked tightly beneath the blanket covering your lap, squeaking at every little jump scare and even more so when Kento moved unsuspectedly. All of it was ammunition to the laughter Kento levelled at your expense, and more than once you reached out to smack at his arm with him feigning noises of hurt when you knew very well it was the lightest of touches.

Oh, he was a menace alright.

Kento, not for the first time during your stay, felt like he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. He watched your bravado disappear in the face of a movie you weren’t familiar with, and tried not to think too deeply when he felt the desire to pull you into the side of his body. It wasn’t worth the headache. His beer was long finished, and his hands felt too empty, fingers twitching against his thigh and pinching at the stitched seam of the couch to distract himself from what he knew would be inappropriate thoughts. He would not sully this evening with his own selfish desires.

You shrieked once more when the villain popped out unexpectedly, however, this time you lunged sideways and buried your face into his arm that lay between you both. He nearly yelped himself, barely holding back the strangle of surprise when your nose rubbed into his bicep and your small fingers curled around his forearm. His heart rested in his throat, glancing down with wide eyes and almost missing when you spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Tell me when this bit is over.”

Tentatively, he lifted his arm and your hold tightened as if he were trying to shake you off. Kento murmured a gruff affirmation and refocused on the TV. You dared to lift your chin, blinking at his unwavering expression fixed straight ahead whilst he settled his arm around your shoulders and gently drew you closer. His jaw clenched, and you nearly backed away despite your heart hammering in your chest from the movie playing, but when his fingertips rubbed gently against your upper arm… it was game over.

You melted into his side, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne surreptitiously and smiling into the soft knit of his sweater at the lingering aroma of coffee that infused his clothes. Clearly, he was a man that ran hot given the output he was currently kicking out and the longer you remained in this position, the less you felt like the blanket was necessary. It was far from unpleasant, in fact, you longed to wrap yourself in his warmth. Who needed a blanket when you could have him instead?

Closing your eyes, you smiled indulgently, knowing it would be hidden from view. This was nice—more than nice—it felt right. Like you belonged here, and you should make up for lost time by refusing to move when he inevitably tried to pry you off.

The moment didn’t come.

At last, when Kento signalled that you could look again, he didn’t make any move to shove you back to your corner of the couch as you had assumed he would. No, instead, he slouched deeper into the seat and rested his cheek atop your head like a boyfriend or a lover might do. It was comfortable, welcoming after all that had transpired in such a short space of time and honestly, you wished you had the courage to fist the front of his sweater and drag him into the desperate kiss you longed to bestow on his lips.

The walls that both you and Kento had built around yourselves were beginning to crumble like sandcastles being washed away by an approaching tide. The water was unstoppable, or so it seemed and the air in the room felt charged with possibilities.

The credits rolled and neither of you made a move. Kento held himself back for fear of something he couldn’t define, and you lacked the courage to be the first to act after the incident in the bar. Two idiots, that’s what you amounted to, and it was endlessly frustrating.

“I guess it’s time for bed,” Kento said, straightening in his seat but still making no effort to untangle you from his chest.

Alarmed, you jerked upwards and shook your head violently. “Oh no no no. There is no way you go straight to bed after horror movies!”

“I don’t plan on staying awake all night if that’s what you’re insinuating,” he countered with a sharp arch of one eyebrow. Your hand remained flush on his thigh now that you weren’t moulded into his body, and he did his best not to notice.

“No,” you pouted, exhaling loudly through your nose. “We watch something funny then go to bed. And you have to stay with me because…”

“… because you’re scared.”

You smacked him dead centre in his chest, rolling your eyes when his chuckle deepened into a rich baritone belly laugh that made your legs tremble. Thank god you were sitting down. “Shuddup.”

There was a part of you that wanted to retreat into his warmth, to make yourself a home in the space beneath his arm and listen to the beat of his heart until you found yourself too tired to resist the pull of sleep, but that was asking rather a lot.

Not for the first time, you wondered if he could read your mind, or if your thoughts were simply so obviously written across your face. Kento lifted the remote with his right hand and waved you towards him with the left. There was something unreadable in his expression, a tightness around the eyes and chiselled jawline. Again, you wondered how much of this he wanted to participate in, but the allure of his offer was too tempting to miss out on.

You resumed your position, legs tucked up and your torso leaning into the strong support of a man you were falling for. Fuck… why did it have to be like this? Closing your eyes for a moment’s reprieve, you resolved to do something about it—anything—because living this way, with these feelings and desires was taking its toll.

“That one,” you piped up when Kento passed over a movie you knew inside out. You convinced yourself that a good laugh would solve all your immediate problems and wriggled into a more comfortable position. The other matter could wait until the morning.

“A fine choice,” he murmured more to himself than anything. A smile returned to his face when the familiar movie of an overzealous police officer deployed to the seemingly pristine British countryside for showing up the city force began to play on the screen.

An hour in and your delightful laughter had stopped. Kento felt the rhythm of your breathing deepen, a swivel of his eyes told him exactly why—you were fast asleep. He gazed at your sleeping face for longer than he realised, his neck stiffening from the awkward position but not caring for the dull ache. Your features were smooth, relaxed in a peaceful slumber. There was no sign of your trepidation following the scary movies and he smiled gratefully.

You were so pretty. The truth of those words cemented into his brain, and he doubted anything could dissuade him. He couldn’t remember a time when he had gazed longingly at a previous girlfriend or lover like he was right now. There was something different about you, and yet so right that he ached to admit it out loud. Ever since the woman in the museum had mistaken you for a couple, offering advice that seemed to be tailor made specifically for his worries, he couldn’t get the idea of opening up out of his head.

His fingers graced the apple of your cheek, stroking your skin delicately like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. Your face turned into the soft affection, a long comforting sigh exhaled through slightly parted lips and Kento fell even further. Why couldn’t he have met you under normal circumstances? A memory of your frantic flailing when he surprised you in his bathtub brought humour to his heart rather than the mortification of the day itself. It certainly made for an interesting story…

It took longer than it should for Kento to realise the movie had ended. Black velvet darkness decorated the quiet room, voyeuristic shadows clinging to the walls from the dark light of the blank television screen, still on but with nothing to display. The silent witnesses watched on whilst his heart beat faster and faster, head moving closer to your face until his lips brushed your forehead with heartfelt reverence.

The kiss was momentary, one singular frame in the grand scheme of his life, but to Kento, it felt like the defining moment. His old life, daily routine, the endlessly long hours at work, working out every morning simply to fit the aesthetic he believed to be the most suited to his lifestyle, it all seemed completely meaningless.

He thought of the books that lined the shelves of his office, most still unread. The places he dreamed of visiting—far flung countries with soft white sandy beaches, foreign cities with beautiful architecture to explore and even places closer to home that he never had time to venture to. How much of life was he missing out on? The food he could sample. The interests he could test out to see if any stuck, the people he could make friends with, the woman he could love…

Shit.

You were changing his entire world, and you had no fucking clue. He shouldn’t have kissed you. That realisation burned into him with vigour, the blazing inferno of his self-loathing at taking something that was not freely given, churned his stomach. Should he wake you and admit what he had done? No, it wasn’t fair to you.

Kento manoeuvred himself into a position to reach beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease into his arms and you didn’t even jostle at the movement. His eyes never left your face as you nuzzled into his chest, small fingers holding onto the fine threads of his sweater as if you were scared to lose your place, to lose your security. He wished he could be that for you, but he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough.

With the utmost care, he placed you into your bed, carefully unpicking your fingers and pressing the sheets into your palm as replacement before tucking them around you. Kento smiled when you murmured something unintelligible in your sleep, turning onto your side and burying your nose into your pillow with a gentle moan that spoke of nothing but comfort and peace. Despite kicking himself for the earlier kiss he had stolen without permission or consent, he found his nose and lips nestled in your hair once more. Again, the kiss was fleeting, and he stood to his full height and wished you a pleasant sleep under his breath before closing your door and disappearing behind his own.

He had a lot to think about, some decisions to make that could alter the course of his life and it was likely that not much sleep would come to him this night despite his earlier conviction that he wouldn’t be awake all night.

Sighing heavily, he scrubbed a palm down his weary face until he could catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the strain evident in his features.

“What do I do?”

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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