#have not been on tumblr long enough today to see if this is the take people even have on here but it’s def what i was seeing on twitter!
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okay don’t jump me for this i just logged on. but i think buck’s name taking the place of midge’s on the poster is less about tim outright saying that buck is in love with eddie/will realize it and that’s where the story is going and more about him taking midge’s place re: questioning eddie’s obsession over chasing shannon’s ghost—saying this is not healthy and you’re driving yourself into an obsessive spiral over something that doesn’t exist the way you’re seeing it. like i think the subtext that buck is in love with eddie is there, and any way you cut it he’s going to be acting out of love for eddie! but the choice to ‘cast’ buck as midge is more about framing him as the voice of reason and eddie’s anchor to reality than being an outright admission that buck is going to realize he’s in love with eddie during the vertigo arc. do you feel me.
#have not been on tumblr long enough today to see if this is the take people even have on here but it’s def what i was seeing on twitter!#also i haven’t watched vertigo in years so if i’m missing nuance here. well. oops#911 spoilers#911 abc
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| after hours c.s. |
chris sturniolo x fem!reader
summary: chris practically begs his best friend to massage his back, but after an awkward discovery, y/n finds it difficult to keep her hands -- and her eyes -- on the job.
warnings: smut; established friendship; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; hand job; squirting; unprotected p in v; dirty talk(!!!!); 18+
notes: whew! long time no see! life has been putting me through the absolute ringer lately! i haven't felt like a real person in months! i still don't tbh! im working on it! but i have absolutely missed writing and tumblr and u all so much! pls forgive my absence on here i literally haven't even been able to open this app since october when my life went south. my semester is over now so i have one major thing off my plate, so im hoping i can be a bit more consistent with writing. I MISSED U ALL SO SO SO SO MUCH and i hope u enjoy this chrissy one shot that i started months ago and just finally finished it today. love u all <33333
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“No Chris.” I chuckled, standing up from my couch and walking to my kitchen to put away our leftover dinner. “Please,” I heard him whine behind me, “My back is killing me Y/n.” I turned around, facing my best friend still sitting on the couch where I left him. I laughed at his fake expression of misery, and the hand pressed to his lower back was a nice touch. “Chris, you know I’ve made it a rule not to massage my friends in my free time.” I explained, putting my hands on my hips. He groaned dramatically. “But why? You have all your stuff in the next room!” He began standing up from the couch, being sure to make it seem like a painful struggle.
He was right. I was a licensed massage therapist, and had recently started my own practice from the comfort of my home. I had turned my den into a massage room, fully equipped with a massage table, calming music, and essential oils. But I had made it clear to all of my friends — especially Chris — that I wasn’t going to massage them after-hours. Of course, I would treat them free of charge, but they had to book during normal hours. I was brand new in this career, and I wanted to ensure professionalism right from the start.
“You already know why.” I replied, turning away from him and opening up the fridge to put away my leftovers. As I leaned down into the fridge, I gasped as I suddenly felt a hand press against my lower back. “Just right here.” Chris whispered behind me, circling his thumb along my lower back. “It���ll only take five minutes.” I shuddered at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his touch. Chris had a habit of turning on his sex appeal when he needed something from me, and even though him and I were only friends, it unfortunately worked.
I turned around and closed the fridge, coming face to face with my friend. His eyebrows were knit together in what I could only assume was faux pain, because there was a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair before pointing at the closed french doors leading to my massage room. “Go in there, take off your shirt and lay on the bed. Call me in when you’re under the sheet.”
A smile consumed his entire face, and before I could change my mind he walked over to the room and shut the door behind him.
Chris’s POV:
As I shut the door of the massage room behind me, I stood for a moment to take in the room. She had never let me in the room before, in fact she made it known that she considered it separate from her home and so she didn’t like going into it when she wasn’t working. I always joked around with her because of that, asking her if it was really a secret torture room, but as I saw it for the first time, I couldn’t help but smile. It was professional, but still had personal touches that made it clear that it was hers.
The lights were dim, enough to see clearly but dark enough that everything had a blurry haze to it. It smelled like that shit she diffuses in her bedroom — I think she told me once that it was lavender or something. I noticed the various candles dotted around the room, and took it upon myself to light a few of them. As I lit the last candle on the small table beside the bed, I noticed an old phone connected to a small speaker. Finding that the phone didn’t have a password, I opened it and hit play on the playlist that showed up first, smiling at the title: music that makes strangers fall into my bed.
I chuckled to myself. Not so professional, sweetheart.
Typical spa music filled the small space, and I couldn’t lie, it did add to the meditative atmosphere of the room. Looking at the massage table in the middle of the room, I remembered what I was actually in there for and felt a wave of excitement hit me. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that my back had been hurting — not exactly, at least — but I had definitely been exaggerating. The truth was, I just really wanted to see what her hands could do. Not wanting to waste any more time, I took of my clothes and climbed onto the table, slipping my lower half under the thin white sheet.
“Y/n!” I shouted, “I’m all set!”
Y/n’s POV:
From my place at the kitchen counter, I heard Chris’s voice and my stomach did a flip. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, I had given a few of my other friends massages before, but for some reason I had been dreading the idea of giving one to Chris. Maybe it was because him and I had such a playful relationship, and I was so used to being professional with my clients, I couldn’t quite envision how combining my two personalities would go. Still, I took a deep breath and headed for the room.
Once I opened the door, I noticed the candles were lit and soft music was already playing. Looking at Chris, laying face down on the table, I chuckled. “I see you made yourself comfortable.” I remarked. Heading towards him, I noticed the pile of his clothes on the floor, including his sweats and boxers. “Uh Chris,” I began, stopping at the top of his head, “I said you only had to take off your shirt, remember?” He lifted his head from the table, looking up at me briefly. “I know. It’s just that the pain goes pretty low down my back and I figured it would be easier to just take everything off.” There was a playful look in his eyes. “It’s what I’ve seen them do in the movies.” He added softly, making me chuckle.
“It does make it easier,” I replied, moving so that I was now standing on his right side. “It’s really just about what you’re comfortable with.” As I spoke, I began running my hands down his back, from his shoulders down to his tail bone, to check for any tightness. He remained silent underneath me as I applied pressure on certain areas. “So, you said right here is sore?” I asked, pressing down on the same spot that he had when demonstrating on me. I heard a muffled hiss and watched as he nodded his head. “And the pain kind of shoots down to here.” He added, awkwardly moving his arm behind him and trailing it from where my thumb was down to just below the white sheet.
I hummed in acknowledgment, pumping the bottle of massage oil beside me and rubbing it in my hands. “Okay, I’ll get started. Let me know if the pressure is too much.” I said the same thing that I said to all of my clients robotically, before working against his muscle. It was pretty tight, but definitely not as bad as he was making it seem before on the couch. Like I do with my other clients, I stayed silent to encourage him to relax against my pressure. A few groans of pain fell from his lips as I worked, but he encouraged me to keep going each time I asked if he was okay.
I noticed him shuffle a few times under the sheet. “Are you uncomfortable?” I asked him softly, wondering if maybe the massage table was too hard. “N-no, I’m fine.” Was his reply, and even though there was a slightly panicked edge to his voice, I took his word for it and continued working my hands lower down on his back. I felt my cheeks grow hot as my hands pulled the white sheet lower to gain access to his pain. I had never seen this much of Chris’s body before, and even though I was trying to be professional, I felt like the act was a little too intimate.
I rushed to finish up, and after about fifteen minutes I was satisfied that the knot in his back had improved. “Alright, I think I’m done. Want to flip onto your back for me?” I asked, pulling the sheet up slightly. “W-why?” Chris asked, his tone filled with alarm. “I usually finish every session with a neck massage. Sometimes the neck gets stiff from the way it lays when you’re on your stomach.” I replied. “Oh, uh, it’s okay.” He replied, refusing to move. I rolled my eyes. “What? Not even 30 minutes ago you were begging me for a massage, and now you’re turning it down?” I crossed my arms and moved over to his head, “Come on, turn over. It won’t take long.” I reassured him.
He sighed, and, holding onto the edge of the sheet, slowly turned over. I stifled a gasp, because between his legs, the thin white sheet had tented, and I could clearly see the outline of his erection. I was thrown off, unable to take my eyes away from it, but quickly recovered — clearing my throat and dropping my eyes to his face. His eyes were still closed and his cheeks were flushed; I could tell he was embarrassed. In a normal circumstance, I would think that I would have made a joke about it, and he would have just told me to shut up. But at that moment, there was something so real about his exposure and humiliation, and so I knew that I would just ignore it.
I began massaging his neck, trying to focus on my actions and regain my professionalism. But, I couldn’t stop looking at the white sheet; it being the only thing between his cock and my eyes. I could tell that it was huge, and I watched as it grew harder and harder as I continued working his neck. It went from standing straight up and wobbling in the air as Chris breathed, to being pressed right against his front. The sheet draped around it, perfectly outlining its girth, and I could see a small bead of dampness taint the sheet a translucent shade of white at its tip. My mouth watered and my mind wandered. I felt my own body begin to react to the sight in front of me, and the tension in the room began to grow so heavy that I began to gasp for air.
“I-is the pressure okay?” I asked, doing my very best to keep my voice strong as I worked his neck. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously before nodding his head. “It’s good, Y/n.” His reply was so simple, but there was something about the gruff undertone, the almost indiscriminate breathlessness as he said my name, that caused my knees to weaken and my throat to turn into a desert. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the soft music playing throughout the room as my blood pumped deafeningly in my ears. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his bulge for more than a few seconds at a time — it seemed so hard that it had to be painful. My eyes continued to flutter between his flushed face and pulsing member until suddenly, when my eyes returned to his face, his bright blue eyes were wide open and staring right at me.
I felt a new wave of heat crawl up my face at the fact that I had just been caught red-handed staring at the one thing in this room that both of us had been actively ignoring. I opened my mouth to attempt to explain myself, but his words beat me to it. “I’m sorry.” He murmured sheepishly, his face turning the same shade of red that I imagined mine to be as he squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately, I began shaking my head rapidly. Partially as a reassurance to him and partially as an attempt at erasing the last two minutes of my life. “No! Don’t be sorry. It happens all the time.” I rushed out, doing my best to make light of the situation. “No it doesn’t.” He replied flatly, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. I forced a chuckle. “Okay fine, it doesn’t happen all the time. But its not not normal.” I tried again, brushing a soft curl out of his face.
Chris was silent for a moment, his eyes still squeezed shut in either embarrassment or concentration. I had stopped massaging his neck, but my hands were still on his damp skin; my thumbs drawing gentle circles against his rapid pulse. After a moment, an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. “It won’t go away.” He said, his voice laced with genuine disgust. “I’m sorry Y/n, this is creepy.” A forced laugh, then another sigh.
The room fell silent again as I tried to find the right words to fill the space. Words that would reassure him more genuinely than more “it’s okay’s”. Because, from the way my pulse had quickened, and from the way my core had grown so slick from arousal that I could feel it dripping steadily onto my panties, it really was okay. It was more than okay. So, instead of trying to find the words that could possibly portray just how okay it was, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.
I felt him tense at the first brush of my lips against his, clearly shocked by the sudden close proximity of our mouths; closer than they had ever been before. So, I pulled away for a moment, finding his piercing eyes to search them for whatever thought is running in his mind. They were wild, racing across my face trying to make sense of what just happened. But there was something else there, something erotic that was blurring the line between right and wrong. Between professionalism and spontaneity. Between friends that fuck around and friends that fuck. I could tell that we were both balancing on that same fine line, but when I brought my lips back down to his, and when he opened his mouth to welcome mine with the kind of hunger than can never be satiated, I knew that we both came to the same conclusion.
Our lips moulded together in rhythmic wonder as our tongues explored each other. Immediately, I felt his body relax as his hands reached up and wrapped themselves in my hair. A soft moan of satisfaction fell from his lips as I nibbled on his bottom lip, causing my body to react in a way that was foreign to me. I felt goosebumps raise up across my skin as if his hands were all over it. He pulled his lips from mine and used his grip on my hair to tilt my head to the side, giving his swollen lips access to my neck. He sucked and nibbled against my electric skin just below my ear, and I felt as though I could fall apart and dissolve into a puddle just from that. “L-let me make you feel better.” I managed to moan out through the waves of pleasure I was feeling. My eyes wouldn’t leave the rock hard bulge under the white sheet, just barely out of my reach. Chris groaned against my neck at my words, and I watched as his cock twitched under the sheet as if it heard my words itself and was begging me to help it.
After another moment of Chris devouring my neck, tasting every inch of it as if he couldn’t get enough, his grip on my hair loosened and he allowed me to straighten up. I looked down at his face, now even more flushed than before. His lips had gone bright pink and were so beautifully swollen from their journey against my skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and, after a short moment, his eyes fluttered open and landed on me. “You sure you want to do this?” He asked, his voice slightly tentative, and I knew what he meant.
A kiss between friends is one thing. It can be brushed off as a slight moment of weakness, can be something that the two friends can one day laugh about as they look back on their friendship. It can be never spoken of again, can be hidden from their other friends deep in the vault of the minds of the two people that shared it. But anything more than that, any other touching, or licking, or exploring of the other person is not as easily ignorable. In friendships there is deep love and strong understanding of the other person. Once that love and understanding collides with the act of literally merging together, of being as physically close to another that you can be in this lifetime, it’s not so easy to ignore. My mind may not be able to shut out the events that transpire with Chris tonight ever again. We may never be able to chalk it all up to a moment of weakness, or keep it a secret from our mutual friends. We may never have the same friendship we had before I agreed to this massage. But there is no way to know that for sure. What I did know for sure in that moment, with Chris staring up at me with eyes filled with intoxicating desire, with my own body vibrating with lust, was that I wanted this.
So without a word, I walked down his body towards his beckoning cock. I took a moment to just gaze at it, closer to it now than I had been all night. I rested a hand on his thigh hidden beneath the sheet, and watched as his cock once again twitched. I chewed on my bottom lip in an attempt to keep myself from moaning just from the sight, and after a moment let my eyes flutter back up to his face. “I’m sure Chris.” I replied softly, searching his expression. “Are you?” I asked, realizing that he was likely considering the same potential outcome that I had been. He kept my gaze for a brief moment, his eyes focusing on different parts of my face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He replied finally, a cheeky smile growing on his face. I felt my own expression mirror his own, and without wasting another second I began peeling the thin sheet down his waist.
My smile fell the moment his bare cock was finally exposed, and was replaced by what I knew was the expression of desperate hunger. His length was impressively long, and I felt my mouth water at the thought of running my tongue along its veins up to its swollen head. Reaching to my left, I pumped some massage oil into my hand. I brought my cupped hand above his upright cock and let the oil drip between my fingers and coat him. He released a sharp hiss at the feeling of the oil as it trailed down his length towards his base, and I watched as his hips thrust forward desperately from the barely-there contact. A bead of pre-cum suddenly dripped from his slit, and I used my thumb to collect it before finally pumping my hand up and down his shaft. Immediately, a deep moan fell from Chris’s lips as I worked his oiled cock in my hand. I focused on his body language as I adjusted my movements to figure out exactly what he needed to feel good.
When I went slow, I watched his breath grow steady, telling me that I should pick up the pace. When I used a softer touch as I moved along his cock his hands would stay relaxed at his side, but I knew he liked it when I used a bit more pressure along his tip as his hands would tighten into fists against the sheet. But when I used both hands, twisting in opposite directions with the occasional brush against his balls with my pinky, I discovered that was what he liked most of all. A deep grunt followed by a moan fell from his lips, and his right hand flew to my upper thigh; where he gripped so hard I was sure that he would leave a bruise. “Fuck, Y/n.” He breathed out as I continued with these movements.
His hand traveled further and further up my leg until his fingers slipped under my loose-fitting shorts. I continued to stroke him with both hands, even when I felt the tip of his fingers just milimetres from my trembling core. They brushed against the ever-so-soft place between my pelvis and my pussy, and I bit back a moan. Subconsciously, I adjusted myself so that my legs were wider apart; giving him access to touch even more of me. My hands continued to work his cock as his fingers inched closer and closer, before finally, I felt the very tip of just one of his fingers reach my core and dip into its warmth. My knees buckled at the barely-there contact just as he released a muffled moan. “Jesus fuck, Y/n,” My eyes flew to his face and the translucent arousal that I found all across it was almost enough to push me over the edge. “Put that on my face right fucking now.”
His demand was so jarring, his voice so gritty and raw, that I didn’t hesitate before peeling my shorts down my legs, lifting myself onto the massage chair, and straddling his face. Immediately, his hands gripped onto my thighs and pulled them apart; giving his eyes untethered access to my glistening core. “You’re fucking soaked.” His words came out in an almost-whisper, as if he hadn’t actively planned on speaking them aloud. Still, they shot straight to my lust and I leaned forward, resting my head against his chest to allow him to see even more of me.
I gasped as I felt his thumb against my slit, collecting my arousal. I heard a wet sound and then another deep moan. “So good.” He whispered before suddenly his warm mouth was suctioned to my clit. Immediately, I dissolved into a puddle of desire as his tongue swirled and licked against my sensitive bundle of nerves. Moans fell from my lips as my brain turned to mush from the relief of finally having his mouth on me. I began moving my hips against his face, chasing a high that I so desperately needed. Satisfied moans slipped from his mouth into me, and I felt a sharp slap against my ass cheek that added to my intense need.
I had turned into nothing more than a dead weight on top of him, his lethal tongue paralyzing me. But as I opened my mouth to release a guttural moan, I felt my lip brush against the tip of his cock. Without a second thought, I slipped his cock into my mouth and began pumping up and down. Another moan fell from Chris, vibrating against my clit and causing me to moan around his girth. “Fuck.” Chris muttered against me, and I responded by deep throating his cock until my nose pressed against his bare thigh. “Mmmm, Y/n.” Chris breathed, removing his mouth from my clit. I stopped my movements as well, waiting on shaky legs for him to continue.
“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.” He began, gently running his knuckles against my ass cheek. “And I don’t want to do that yet.” He slipped two fingers into my core effortlessly, causing me to immediately begin rocking against them. “Mmm. Thatta girl.” He breathed, presumably watching for a moment as I rode his fingers just inches above his face. “What I want you to do is focus on making a mess all over my face, then after that I want to cum with these tight walls wrapped around me.” His words caused my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and a sharp moan fell from my lips. “Sound good?” He asked, his voice muffled as he reattached his mouth to my throbbing clit. I nodded my head maniacally as he resumed his impressive movements against my nerves. He kept his fingers inside of me, and as I slid my soaked cunt against his face, I cried out at the added sensation of his fingers filling me.
“Fuck C-Chris.” I moaned, my words nearly incomprehensible as I grew closer and closer to my climax. He could tell that I was quickly approaching, and tightened his grip on my ass cheek with his free hand; pressing my cunt so hard against his face I was afraid that he would suffocate. “G-gonna cum!” I warned him just before the tumultuous waves of my orgasm took over. My body began shaking as I came hard against his face. I had never before felt so out of control of my own body, and relished in the feeling as my back arched and a plethora of moans fell from my mouth. I felt a gush as I squirted against Chris’s mouth, and trembled at the guttural moan he released as he began lapping me up.
Once my mind reattached to my body and my orgasm had finishing ripping through me, I rested my head against his stomach as he ran his hands along my tense back and dropped gentle kisses against my sensitive core. He let me lie there on top of him for a few moments, catching my breath and slowing my heart rate, before gently lifting my limp body off of him and sliding off of the massage table. I sat up on the edge of the table, facing his standing figure before me, and my gaze landed on his excruciatingly hard cock. He grabbed my chin and lifted my head up before pressing his wet lips harshly against mine. He tasted like me, and immediately a new wave of arousal filled my core.
As his tongue flicked into my mouth, I reached between our bodies and began stroking his cock. He thrusted into my hand instinctively, and a moan fell from his lips as his hand shot to my core where he drew torturously slow circles against my over-stimulated clit. Caught up in how good we were making the other feel, our kissing slowed and our mouths eventually turned into matching O’s; eyes shut in pure bliss. I dropped my forehead against his bare chest, and watched as our hands worked on the other’s body, slowly working up the nerve to do the one thing we hadn’t yet done with each other.
“You still want to do this?” Chris asked, his voice strained. I jolted slightly at his words, shocked at the fact that he seemed to be reading my mind. A sharp wave of pleasure hit me from his fingers and I moaned softly before looking back up at him. “Mhmm.” I breathed, meaning it. “Do you?” I asked in return as I felt his cock jump in my hand. “So much.” He replied before lowering his head and planting another deep, wet kiss against my mouth. After a moment, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. He took a moment to admire my bare chest before kissing each of my painfully pebbled nipples. “God, you’re unreal Y/n.” He moaned, running firm hands against my completely naked frame. I arched my back against his touch and shut my eyes blissfully.
He leaned forward and ran his tongue along my collar bone. “You ready?” He asked. I felt his hand replace mine on his shaft, and bit my lip as I felt him line the head up with my soaked core. He used his free hand to hold firmly onto my lower back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist; using the grip to press him against me. “I’m ready.” I replied breathlessly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Without wasting a second, Chris kept his glazed eyes on mine as he slowly pressed his hips into me. My jaw dropped as his girth stretched my walls out further than I thought possible, and the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that can not truly be described with words turned my brain into mush.
Chris hissed as he bottomed out in me, his cock taking up every inch of my cunt. He remained still as he rested his forehead against mine, his breath erratic and hitched. “Fuck.” He finally groaned out, his body more tense than I’d ever seen it. “You okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck. He nodded. “I’m gonna cum in, like, record speed here Y/n.” He replied, taking deep breaths and keeping his forehead pressed to mine. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay Chris,” I replied, running my hands through his hair. “Just give me what you’ve got.”
My last seductive whisper seemed to give him the motivation to power through, because immediately he snapped his hips into me. I released a sharp moan from the depth of his movements, and that was enough to bring him fully back into it. Using the grip he had on my lower back, he plowed into me relentlessly. My eyes were rolled into the back of my head as I felt my walls stretch with each thrust; allowing him to hit my g-spot each time. “Jesus!” I cried out, gripping onto his shoulders in a weak attempt at holding onto my sanity.
“You’re so f-fucking tight.” Chris groaned into my shoulder as he continued to drive his ruthless cock into me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies smacking against each other, adding to the indescribable arousal I was filled with. Chris’s hands began travelling all across my body, taking his time on my tits as his thumbs drew circles around my hardened nipples. He gave my tits a harsh squeeze before travelling down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin as he reached my clit and began rubbing it in rhythm with his thrusts. “God, keep going baby.” I moaned, wrapping my legs even tighter around Chris’s waist, “F-feels s-so good!” I cried just as Chris lifted me up off the table and slammed me into the wall. I released a sharp gasp from the shock, but as he continued pounding into me, my pleasure was intensified.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Chris growled as he nibbled against the skin on my neck. “You always this fucking wet?” His dirty words make my head spin. “N-no. I’m n-not.” I reply honestly, feeling my juices spread all over his front. A wicked smile covers his face. “Just for me then, huh?” His tone was arrogant, but there was an undertone of overwhelming arousal in it that told me he needed it to be true. I nodded my head rapidly. “Y-yes Chris! O-only this wet f-for y-you.” I managed to reply just before my second orgasm swept in and overtook me.
Just as I began riding my high — my nails digging into his skin and my mouth sputtering out profanities — Chris stilled inside of me and released a ragged “Oh fuck!”. I felt his cock pulse inside of me, painting my walls with his warm seed as my orgasm milked him dry. He released soft grunts against my neck as he rode through his own high, and I relished in the feeling of his cum as it dripped from my cunt.
After a while, both of our bodies relaxed and we rested against one another as we caught our breath. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of regret to wash over me, as one would expect it to after fucking your best friend, but it never came. In fact, I was so relaxed in that post-sex liminal space, pressed against the wall with Chris’s softening cock resting in my core, that I almost couldn’t believe that we had never done that before.
I was pulled from that thought by Chris placing a deeply passionate kiss to my lips. There was no lust, no untethered desire attached to it; it was almost as though this kiss was the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of a new, more exciting one. Our lips moved in slow motion, as if we had kissed like this a thousand times. With his lips still on mine, Chris slowly helped me down so my feet were on the ground. After another moment of our mouths merged as one, I pulled away and was immediately wrapped in a hug. Chris’s warm body felt so familiar, even more familiar than before, and I closed my eyes and took in the moment, as I knew it was the start of something new.
“Well, I think we have some things we should figure out,” Chris said, and I felt a soft chuckle against my head tucked into his chest. “Because I don’t know about you, but there is no way I can go the rest of my life without doing that again.” It was my turn to laugh, and I pulled myself out of his arms and looked up at his face. “I think I am officially under your spell.” I replied, feigning a smile. “Let’s go sit down and figure this all out.” I grabbed my discarded shirt and threw it over my head before walking towards my living room. “Oh by the way Y/n,” Chris grabbed me by my waist from behind as we walked through the door, “My back feels great now, in case you were curious.” I rolled my eyes with a smile and continued walking. “You have magical hands.” He whispered, and all I could do was laugh and give him a half-hearted shove.
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#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x you#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo
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Somebody [SVTHUB world tour collab]
pairing; choi seungcheol x f!reader
genre; smut (minor dni), fluff, angst, romance, fake dating au
summary; When you need someone to help you out of a bind quickly, you pick the first person you see to be your “boyfriend”, you just didn’t expect it to be your single hot dad neighbor, Choi Seungcheol…
content warnings; single father!seungcheol, teacher!reader, seungcheol has a child (obviously), eating/drinking, jeonghan/joshua (implied relationship but not stated), betting metioned, alcohol, medical field - doctor!seungcheol, doctor!joshua, mentions cheating in past relationship, mentions death/accident of spouse - widow!seungcheol --- i am sure there are more, if there is anything important you want me to add let me know
smut warnings; unprotected sex (birth control mentioned), creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), begging, crying (pleasure), multiple orgasm, lots of pet names, marriage kink, seungcheol carries the reader and is larger than the reader, manhandling, shower sex...again if I miss something let me know.
w/c; 25.2k and some change (623 extra words for patreon bonus)
svthub world tour masterlist
a/n; thank you to my @junkissed for proofreading for me once again, i love you so so much. i really hope you guys enjoy my little addition to the svthub world tour and those on tumblr will join me in Barcelona for the bonus 💕
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You were exhausted. You had been living in your new apartment complex for around three months, yet you still weren’t completely unpacked. Between work and just a general unwillingness to complete a single project that had to do with your personal life, it seemed easier to let the boxes sit where they lay until they became an inconvenience. Today, they were an inconvenience.
So now you find yourself having worked a full eight hour work day and you still managed to unpack four of the daunting boxes, and you were feeling pretty good about yourself. At least you were until you made your way down to the parking lot to put the boxes into the recycling bin and heard an unwelcome voice.
“Y/N… hey.”
Your ex-boyfriend’s voice made any strength you had in your arms leave as you attempted to push the boxes into the large blue bin. He didn’t live in your complex. In fact, you had moved out of your shared apartment with him, which was at least a 20 minute drive away. It should surprise you that he would show up uninvited and unannounced, but after a five year relationship with him, you knew he was persistent.
Wiping your hands off on your jeans, you clear your throat and turn to meet the man’s eyes before looking for how you were going to get out of the situation. You weren’t afraid of your ex; it was more that he didn’t know when to stop. You had told him time and time again, after a very messy breakup where you had caught him cheating, that you wouldn’t take him back. It didn’t make it any easier that you had the same profession as him and when things had been great, the two of you had applied at the same place.
“Alex… wild seeing you here. You don’t even live here.”
He knew you were being evasive. You did the same thing at work, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still try. Persistence was key. There had been something there between the two of you that made a relationship last for as long as it did, and if he worked hard enough, he could get it back. At least that’s what he thought.
Sighing, Alex watches you turn away from him, heading back towards the building. Following behind you, he groans when you shoot him a dirty look.
“Babe, seriously? I’m looking at the apartments in the area. I thought I’d just stop by and say hi.”
Rolling your eyes, you use your body to shield the keypad so you can type in the code to unlock the complex’s door, hearing the code get denied, once and then twice. You were flustered and hitting the wrong buttons.
“Sure, whatever. You have a perfectly fine apartment, and don’t call me babe. I’m not your babe.”
When you can’t seem to get into the building, Alex sighs again, reaching out to try to comfort you, but he only manages to make you uncomfortable as he grabs your arm, telling you to calm down. You look to the door surprised to see it opening, a larger man furrowing his brows at the sight in front of him before you give him a relieved and pleading look.
"Oh, thank God, hi honey. Alex, have you met my boyfriend?”
Tilting his head in confusion, Seungcheol looks between you and the man holding your arm before he sees the desperation on your face. You were in some sort of distress. He knew you lived in the building; in fact, you were his neighbor, though he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to you yet. Seungcheol knew he could say he didn’t know you, go on his way, staying out of your business, but something about you and what was happening told him he needed to play along. Extending his hand towards the one around your arm, Seungcheol gives the man a tight warning smile.
“Hey man, I’m Seungcheol.”
You feel Alex’s hand slide from your arm, his brows furrowing at the new information. Watching the two men, you feel your heart in your throat as they shake hands and the man named Seungcheol moves closer to you with a smile, looking at you expectantly.
“It was great to meet you Alex, but uh...” Clearing his throat, Seungcheol tries to think about how to get you out of this without making you uncomfortable. Shrugging, he sighs and just goes for it. “I was just coming to see why you had been gone for so long. Dinner is ready.”
Your cheeks burn as Alex stares at you, his eyes narrowing. You can tell he is almost looking for holes in your and Seungcheol’s story, but when you smile and Seungcheol puts his arm around your shoulders, Alex rolls his eyes. You weren’t sure if he actually bought the entire story on the spot, but it had been enough to get him to put his hands in his pockets and for him to back up, muttering.
“I’ll see you at work, Y/N.”
Offering your ex a strained smile, you lean into Seungcheol until Alex is out of sight. Taking a deep breath, you feel the pressure of being around him lift off of you before you glance up at Seungcheol and give him an apologetic look. Moving his arm, Seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head, turning back towards the door and using his keyfob to open it for you, letting you slip by him.
“Uh…thank you. Seriously. I’m so fucking sorry to drag you into that.”
Leaning against the metal doorframe, Seungcheol just smiles and shrugs. His eyes stay on yours as you walk backwards for a few steps towards the elevator.
“My pleasure, honey. Have a good evening.”
You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips when the handsome man teases you. Backing into the elevator door, you laugh and shake your head, turning to press the button before glancing back to look at Seungcheol, still watching you for a moment before he waves and lets the door shut, leaving you alone.
Finally, in the elevator, you can take a breath as you lean against the wall. With each soft ding of the elevator as it climbs the floors, you chew at your lips and laugh under your breath at how the exchange between you and Seungcheol has ended. It was silly for you to feel so smitten by someone who had just helped you out of a hard situation, but god had he been attractive.
Walking towards your apartment, you sigh, taking your key out of your pocket as you glance to the door next to yours. Your brows furrow as you remember the first few days when you had moved into the apartment complex and you had met your neighbor in passing. He had been nice, asked you if you needed any help, but most of all, he had been attractive. Feeling your heart sink into your stomach, you picture the face of the man who had asked if you needed help moving boxes and it’s the same face that had pretended to be your boyfriend.
“Sara!”
Jutting your hip to the side, you barely manage to let one of your students run by you as he heads straight for a friend. Smiling at the interaction, you don’t notice the boy's father trailing behind him, a small backpack in his hands.
“Matthew… You need to apologize to your teacher. I know you are excited, but still watch where you are going.”
Shaking your head, you start to turn around towards the somewhat familiar voice when the small boy pouts up at you. He is so cute that you can’t stop yourself from squatting down to his level to smile at him and adjust his small tie on his uniform.
“‘M sorry, teacher. I haven’t seen Sara all summer. Daddy wouldn’t let me stay at her house because I’m a boy.”
You find yourself nodding along with his words, sympathizing with him until you can’t help the small laugh that slips from your lips.
“It’s okay, Matthew. There will be plenty of time to play with Sara at school. Cut your daddy some slack, okay?”
Ushering him along, you watch him for a moment longer, half turning towards the boy's father but still not quite looking at him. You have a habit of watching your students more than you do their parents, it would only take a second for a five year old to find trouble.
“Don’t worry about Matthew. No harm done.”
Seungcheol grins at you as you watch the kids so diligently. He had no idea that you were his son’s teacher; this was a happy surprise, or perhaps an awkward one. He hadn’t really made up his mind yet. It isn’t until you finally glance at him and your mouth falls open in confusion that Seungcheol presses his lips together and winces at your reaction.
“Didn’t know your boyfriend had a kid, huh? Is that a deal breaker?”
You can feel your cheeks burning at Seungcheol’s joke, but your eyes quickly move over him before you give yourself something else to do by reaching for Matthew’s bag. It was better if you kept yourself busy and just did your job. Laughing a bit awkwardly, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and bite at your lip out of nerves as he lets you take the bag and you move to the small wooden cubbies to find Matthew’s name.
“Uh… I will be honest, I didn’t. I’m sorry again, by the way. Even more so now. I swear to you, I’m not a complete mess; I’m a good teacher.”
Shaking his head, Seungcheol finds himself frowning when you seem to find the need to explain yourself and defend your position. He hadn’t meant to cause that reaction.
“I—no… I’m sure you are. I’ve heard nothing but great things about you leading up to today. I apologize… that was rude of me. I was just trying to make a joke. Break the tension.”
Feeling a pang of guilt at your reaction as Seungcheol frowns, you take a deep breath and shake your head. You didn’t want him to feel bad. It just wasn’t the most ideal situation to find yourself in with a parent. Running your fingers over your hair, you press your lips together and scrunch up your nose, drawing Seungcheol’s attention to it. He smiles, finding the expression on your face cute. You were cute.
“No, no, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve only been here a couple years and this is my first year without working in someone else's classroom. I just don’t wanna mess up.”
Seungcheol nodded, understanding the feeling—perhaps not in the same profession, but he had been there in his own way. Gesturing towards the kids, Matthew in particular, as your eyes once again move over the kids, more of them making their way in, he shrugs as he speaks.
“With how you have been watching them... I don’t think we have a single thing to worry about.”
He finds himself wanting to stay, if not just to talk to you but also to Matthew. It was his first day of big boy school, and even if Matthew looked like he was doing just fine with the adjustment, Seungcheol couldn’t say the same for himself. One glance at his wrist, seeing how much time he had spent standing in the classroom, however, makes Seungcheol sigh and run his fingers through his brown hair.
“I gotta go. I should get out of the way anyway. Matthew…”
Hearing his name, the small boy perks up and looks towards his dad with a grin before making his way over. Ruffling his hair, Seungcheol practically pouts, making your heart feel heavy. This part was hard, even for you. You didn’t have children of your own, but the sentiment was still there when you watched loving parents leave their children for the day.
“I love you. Please be good. Learn somethin’?”
Giggling, Matthew leans into his dad’s touch and rocks on the balls of his feet as you take a step away to give them a moment to themselves.
“Love you too. I’m so smart, Daddy. Teacher will be suppised!”
Rolling his eyes at how cocky his son sounds, Seungcheol groans under his breath and looks at his watch again.
“Yeah, alright, it's 'surprised’ and stay away from Uncle Jeonghan. Learn some humility.”
“I don’t know what that means, Daddy.”
Your small laugh draws Seungcheol’s attention and makes him grin as he ushers Matthew towards you.
“I bet Miss Y/N knows and she will let me know if you’ve put it into practice when I pick you up after school.”
Winking at you, Seungcheol turns to head out the door, glancing over his shoulder to wave at you as he goes. Looking down at the small boy with an expectant look in his eye, you bite at your lip and try to think about how you are going to explain humility and modesty to a five year old on a Monday morning.
“That’s so good!”
You clap as you watch a few of your kids preen with pride after counting to ten. They had been working hard after recess and a snack. It had been a good first day and you were proud of each and every one of them, even if you couldn’t help how your eye kept going to Matthew. He was so cute—not that all the kids in your class weren’t; there was just something about his gummy smile that reminded you so much of his dad.
Looking up at the clock as the bell rings, you quickly look back at the kids, who mostly look confused until the door opens and parents start to file in.
“Hey! Everybody… I know you want to see your parents, but let’s remember to grab our bags. Cubbies first, please!”
You watch as most of the kids listen to you, moving in small lines to the wooden cubbies to grab their jackets and bags before finding their parents and heading out the door. Bending to pick up a few toys, you furrow your brows when you hear your name. It’s said by a small, familiar voice—Matthew, who pouts at you when you finally meet his eyes. He looks around, seeing most of the room clearing out, but his dad is nowhere to be found.
“Hey, what’s up? Maybe your daddy is running late. Maybe mommy is coming?”
Shaking his head, Matthew gives you a confused look as he tugs at the bag on his shoulder.
“I don’t have a mommy. Can you call my daddy?”
Feeling a pang of guilt at mentioning his mother, you squat down to Matthew’s level so he doesn’t have to tilt his head back to look up at you anymore. You knew you could call Seungcheol if you needed to, but school had just ended. Maybe you could give him a few more minutes. Reaching for Matthew’s bag, you sigh and offer the boy a smile, watching him match it with that cute gummy grin.
“How about we give him a few more minutes and if he doesn’t come, we can call him? You can pick any book you want and I’ll read it to you.”
The idea of choosing any book in the room is enough to make Matthew okay with your terms. Wiggling out of his bag, he goes to the shelf, looking over the book covers as you stand and put his bag on the table with your purse. Checking the clock, your brows furrow with a sigh. It wasn’t that late and you were sure this wouldn’t be the last child you would be waiting for.
Cursing under his breath, Seungcheol looks at his watch as he speed walks through the school halls towards your classroom. He was over 30 minutes late and he was sure you were upset with him. He should have called but he was more concerned with trying to get to the school in one piece.
Reaching the door, he starts to speak when he hears your soft voice and for some reason, it makes him stop in his tracks. He sees Matthew sitting in your lap as he rests back against your chest, a book in your hands. You smile as you read the book, trying to come up with a voice for each character, making his son laugh. Seungcheol almost feels bad for interrupting the moment, but then he feels bad again for leaving you here at work with Matthew for so long.
“Y/N…”
Lifting your head, hearing your name, you smile at Seungcheol, feeling Matthew slip off your lap and run towards the door. You were definitely second best, but that was completely fair. Seungcheol holds the back of Matthew’s head as the boy wraps his arms around his legs and pouts up at him, asking him where he’s been.
“I got caught up at work; I’m so so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Moving towards the table, you pick up Matthew’s bag as you shake your head.
“It’s no problem. It happens. Maybe you could just text me to let me know if you are gonna be late?”
Nodding, Seungcheol lets out a breath, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck. You were right.
“No… yeah, absolutely. I’ll make it up—”
“Oh! Hey… Seungcheol, right?”
Your smile fades hearing Alex’s voice as you watch Seungcheol’s brows furrow in confusion. Moving quicker towards the door, to hand Seungcheol Matthew’s bag and get his attention, but his eyes move to your ex.
“I—yeah… I gotta get Matthew home.”
Looking towards you as if asking for an explanation, Seungcheol takes the bag from your hand while ushering his son out the door. You try to let him go, gesturing towards the hall, when Alex scoffs and gives him a once over muttering under his breath.
“Seriously, Y/N? A parent...”
Swallowing hard, you feel your chest tighten when Seungcheol stops in his tracks. You wouldn’t blame him if he told Alex it was all bullshit right there. It would be smart of you to do it, he wasn’t going to let it go either way. Starting to speak, you stop when Seungcheol is quicker, keeping his voice low as he smirks at Alex.
“Is there a policy against that, Alex?” Glancing at you, Seungcheol reaches out to grab your hand, squeezing it lightly, winking at you before dropping it. “See you later, Y/N.”
Your cheeks burn as you watch Seungcheol walk down the hall with Matthew. The young boy glancing back to smile at you curiously before looking up at his dad and saying something you can’t make out. Beside you, Alex’s jaw tightens as he watches you keep your eyes on the man leaving. What he wouldn’t give for you to look at him like that again.
“There should be a policy against it…”
Shooting him a look, you turn towards your classroom, your hand on the doorframe as you speak.
"Well, there isn’t, Alex, but there is one about harassment. Leave me alone.”
You watch his mouth open and close a couple of times as you close the door in his face, leaving you in peaceful silence to wrap your mind around what had just happened.
Wiping sweat from your brow, you glance around your living room at the boxes that had once been piled up in a corner. It had been difficult to tell if you were moving in or out, but as you broke down, one last box signified that you had officially settled in. It had only taken you months to do it, and for some reason this Saturday felt like the right moment; everything was feeling like home in this apartment for once.
Grabbing as many of the boxes as you can, you let out a groan at how many trips you are going to have to take as you make your way to your front door and push it open with your shoulder. Cursing under your breath to the sound of your keys hitting the floor at your feet, you try to lean down without putting down the boxes when a hand brushes over your fingers, taking your keys from you. Before you are able to say anything, your eyes meet Seungcheol's, and your lips pull up into a shy smile.
“Your hands seemed full.”
Nodding as you take the keys and slip them into your back pocket, you don’t notice Seungcheol glancing into your apartment, seeing the pile of boxes. It isn’t until he clears his throat, gesturing inside, that you tilt your head curiously.
“Want me to help with the rest? I think we can get them all down to the bin in one go.”
Your first instinct is to tell him no, that you don’t want to bother him, but there is a look in his eye that you don’t want to turn him away. So you step out into the hall and smile at Seungcheol instead.
“I mean, if you are really offering.”
Laughing, Seungcheol nods and slides past you, glancing around your apartment with a grin before he leans down to pick up the larger pile of boxes, heading back towards you.
“It’s not a big deal, Y/N. I was hoping to talk to you today anyway.”
Moving through the hall with Seungcheol at your side, you use your elbow to press the elevator button, your head once again tilting to the side, almost like a puppy hearing a new word as you listen to him speak. He wanted to talk to you. You try to think of the reason, but only one comes to mind.
“Is it about Matthew?”
Pursing his lips briefly, Seungcheol quickly smiles at your assumption and nods to cover up any doubt. You weren’t wrong in thinking he would want to talk about his son. You were his teacher, it was only fair that he would be the topic of normal conversation.
“Mmm, he loves school. I think you are the main reason.”
Shaking your head, you step off the elevator and head for the main doors out of the apartment building with Seungcheol in tow. When you stop to lean your boxes against the wall, opening the door for him, Seungcheol smiles at you as he moves through the door, only to stop and hold it open for you with his foot.
“Thanks, but no... I think it’s his friends. He loves hanging out with Sara.”
Seungcheol lets the door close behind you before trailing along at your side as he shakes his head. He knew how much his son liked his friends, but there was something different about Matthew since he had started school.
“It’s more than that. He’s eager to get there. He can see Sara anytime, and that doesn't have to be at school. He wants to get to Miss Y/N’s class.”
Feeling your cheeks heat up, your lips pull up into a smile that you are unable to hide even as you look down. It was one thing to be told you were good at your job; it was another to hear that a student wanted to go to school because of your class. It was everything a teacher wanted to hear.
Watching Seungcheol push his boxes into the bin, you run your fingers along the underside of one of the boxes still in your hands. You weren’t sure if he even understood the gift he had given you while helping you with a mundane task that you had been dreading. Glancing down, you take a deep breath, hoping the butterflies in your stomach will calm down when Seungcheol’s voice brings you back to reality.
“Here, let me put these in there too.”
Meeting his eyes, you swallow hard, feeling his fingers glide over yours as Seungcheol takes the boxes from your hands. When you glance away with a small smile on your lips, he takes notice. Pushing the rest of the boxes into the bin, Seungcheol bites at his lip, trying to choose his words carefully, before he turns back to you and scratches at his brow.
“Anything else to throw away? Is what’s his name lingering around? I can toss him in too.”
Feeling your cheeks burn, you scoff into a laugh as Seungcheol moves back to your side. Walking in tandem towards the building, you glance up at him, shaking your head as he laughs, along with you leaning to knock your arm with his to let you know he is joking.
“Alex… and thankfully he isn’t. God, I am so sorry about all of that. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved to begin with.”
Shaking his head, Seungcheol purses his lips, watching you take your keys out to tap your fob against the reader, letting him open the door for you.
“It’s not a big deal. You seemed really uncomfortable. I was happy to help… I mean, I still am. He strikes me as the type to not give up easily.”
Scoffing once again, you follow Seungcheol to the elevator, leaning against the wall as you meet his eyes. That was an understatement. If he was able to tell from just a couple of meetings with your ex, that should say plenty about Alex’s character. You find yourself allowing your eyes to move over Seungcheol’s face, his handsome eyes, and his plump lips before you sigh and look down at your hands as the elevator steadily climbs the floors.
“He’s not. He thinks that’s a redeeming quality.” Sighing into your words, you push off the wall as the doors open, stepping out into the hall as Seungcheol follows you. “But he’d be wrong. I couldn’t ask you to help me anymore. You’ve done so much.”
Offering Seungcheol a smile, you walk backwards for a moment as he tilts his head, his own smile lifting at one side as his eyes move over you. You were so cute; he knew it was dangerous this game he was playing. He wanted to get close to you and he knew there were better ways, this had just been the one that had been presented to him.
“You didn’t ask. I’m offering… Speaking of, you busy this evening?”
Shaking your head, you slide your keys from your pocket as you watch Seungcheol lean against his door. You can’t help but notice the way your eyes once again move over him. He was possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen and also the most unattainable. You needed to remember who he was and the boundary that was set, even if it was blurred.
“Mm, no. Why? Need some help with Matthew?”
Seungcheol sighs into a laugh. It wasn’t unfair that you’d assume he wanted to ask you something involving his kid, but he just smiles as you look at him curiously, as if realizing for the first time that Matthew isn’t around.
“Oh… no. He’s with my parents this weekend. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over for dinner?”
Your brows furrow at Seungcheol’s question. That boundary was getting even more blurred as you considered his question and he seemed to see you struggle before he laughed and bit his lips before speaking up again.
“We can talk about how to pretend to be a good fake couple. You know, for appearances sake. Maybe get Alex to get a life.”
While Seungcheol’s explanation wasn’t entirely convincing, you smiled and nodded. In truth, you didn’t want to turn down the dinner invitation. You didn’t want to tell Seungcheol no and that you didn’t want to spend more time with him, even if Matthew wasn’t involved. It was a dangerous line you were walking.
“Great! Uh… around 6?”
At 5:55 you were considering texting Seungcheol to tell him that you had suddenly come down with the flu. Your anxiety was causing your heart to rise into your throat as you tugged at your shirt, trying to make sure you looked decent.
With your hand hovering over the door, you whine to yourself before knocking lightly at Seungcheol’s door and waiting. Maybe he would make it easier on you and just not answer the door, but then the idea of that makes you frown. You hate the idea of not being able to spend the evening with Seungcheol. Even the idea of something disrupting it causes disappointment to bubble in your stomach until the door opens and you are met with his handsome face and a gummy smile that matches your favorite one of Matthew’s.
“Hey, you look—uh… I mean, you look pretty. Come in.”
Seungcheol stumbles over his words, the flush of his cheeks evident as he shakes his head, trying to keep his head and not overstep with you. He knew where he stood and where he wanted this to go, but you had made yourself pretty clear the first day in your classroom. You were his son’s teacher and now this situation... It was odd. Seungcheol was just happy to at least have you in his life as a friend, if not more.
Swallowing hard, you look down to hide your smile as Seungcheol compliments you. You weren’t sure how to react, so instead you pressed your lips together and gestured outward to his apartment.
“Your place is so nice.”
Shrugging, Seungcheol leads you towards the open kitchen and living room area where, the dinner, he has been working on bubbles quietly on the stove. You watch him adjust the temperature and stir a sauce as he sighs, tilting his head.
“It’s a mess. I should have cleaned up more. I don’t usually have company besides a few friends, but they are used to Matthew’s shit laying around. Here, do you like this?”
Holding the wooden spoon out towards you over the bar, Seungcheol watches as you blink at him a couple times before leaning forward to take a bit of the sauce off the spoon. It is savory and delicious as it hits your tongue and the back of your throat. Closing your eyes, you nod and lift your fingers to brush them over your lips as he watches you with a smile on his face at your reaction.
“It’s delicious, Seungcheol.”
Turning down the heat even more, Seungcheol moves to the sink to strain another larger pot as you watch him closely. His voice is calm and soothing. Everything about him makes you feel almost instantly comfortable in a space where you thought you’d want to hide under the table without a reason to truly be there.
“I don’t know if it’s all that great. You are being nice, but this is my go to for dinner. Matthew likes pasta and I’m halfway decent at it. So I hope you actually like it.”
Licking your lips, you lift your hand to cover your smile as you watch Seungcheol putting the finishing touches on dinner. He moves with ease, his eyes catching yours every once in a while, making your skin erupt in chillbumps as you glance away shyly. You could feel yourself getting too comfortable around him if you were to let your guard down, and that was all your body was telling you to do.
“Mind to grab a couple of those wine glasses?”
Glancing to your right, you shake your head gently before collecting two of the fragile glasses as Seungcheol moves past you towards the table. You hear your stomach growl as the smell of the pasta and garlic bread greets your nose when you get close enough to set the glasses down. Smiling, Seungcheol sneaks a look in your direction, watching your brows furrow and your lips turn down in embarrassment as he hears the grumble coming from your stomach.
“I—sorry. I didn’t eat lunch.”
Shaking his head, he picks up the bottle of wine, twisting the opener into the cork as he takes a breath to cover a small laugh. Seungcheol swore he could feel the effects of the alcohol before even taking a sip, with you standing so close to him and with how sweet you were. He knew this was a dangerous arrangement. Not that either of you would be doing anything wrong, but as the moments ticked by, it was getting difficult not to give into lingering glances.
“You have nothing to apologize for. Except perhaps to yourself. You need to eat regularly, Y/N.”
Groaning playfully, you hold the glasses steady, allowing Seungcheol to easily pour wine into each before he moves your chair, letting you sit down first. You can feel your cheeks flush up into your ears. The sound of blood rushing to your head has your hand reaching for your wine, bringing the glass to your lips to take a sip of the liquid courage as Seungcheol lifts your plate, putting pasta on it with an appreciative hum.
“Thank you. I promise, I’m usually better about eating... and I always make sure the kids eat their lunch and snacks at school. So don’t think my own behavior somehow reflects—”
Moving his hand from the serving fork, Seungcheol slides it over yours, meeting your eyes as you start to ramble. You were spiraling and there was no reason for it.
“Hey… I know you are a good teacher. I don’t worry a single moment in the day about Matthew’s wellbeing when I know he’s with you. Don’t worry about that.”
Taking a deep breath, you flex your fingers under Seungcheol’s palm, feeling his hands wrap around yours as his brows furrow. You can see the look in his eye and how he’s searching to make sure you understand what he’s told you, so you nod. Even if you didn’t completely feel adequate, you needed Seungcheol to let go of your hand before you fainted into his floor or made a run for the door.
“Mmkay… I–mm…” Smiling, trying to compose yourself, you watch Seungcheol’s hand move from yours to his wine, making you feel like you can take a breath. “The wine is very good. Thank you for inviting me to eat.”
Letting the wine glide over his tongue, Seungcheol smiles against the glass. He had noticed that you were starting to panic, but so was he. It hadn’t been his intention, but the alternative was you feeling like you weren’t good enough and that just wouldn’t work for him. Gesturing towards your plate, Seungcheol clears his throat and tilts his head before picking up his own fork.
“Thank you for eating with me. I’m a sad, lonely sap when Matthew is gone on weekends. You saved me from boredom.”
You weren’t sure how truthful Seungcheol was being but his words made you feel warm and they made you settle into your chair. They gave you a purpose to be there and not rush. You didn’t want him to be lonely. You suddenly realized how quiet it was in the apartment. You were used to that in yours but you could also sometimes hear Seungcheol and Matthew through the walls and they always sounded happy together. Of course, a weekend alone might be lonely for him.
Two glasses of wine down and after refusing another helping of pasta, you felt even more relaxed around Seungcheol. He was funny and warm. You understood even more about Matthew after spending time with his dad. They were like a mirror image of one another and as much as you adored Matthew, you could see yourself feeling that way about Seungcheol as the night carried on.
Soon you found yourself on his couch, another glass of wine in your hand as you pulled your legs up under you. Seungcheol grinned at you as you told him about going through your first year of assistant teaching. He could tell that you had a passion for your career and it was just one of the many things he was starting to love about you. This was becoming one of the easiest and equally difficult evenings of his night. While he loved talking to you and being close to you, he couldn’t help as his eyes moved over your pretty face and along your neck as he pictured getting closer to you and seeing if you’d let him touch you. Instead, he kept his respectful distance and admired you.
Watching Seungcheol stand up to grab another bottle of wine, you tilt your head, letting your eyes move along his fit frame. You weren’t blind. You were a woman, you had needs, and god, if your body wasn’t screaming at you that you were an idiot for not trying to get closer to the man who had been smiling at you for the past few hours. You were simultaneously enraptured by him and terrified of him. You could see yourself falling for him and it would be hard and messy. It couldn’t end well, because the first person you saw in your mind was Matthew.
Looking back around the room to pull your mind back to the present, despite the euphoric cloud of alcohol, you smile seeing the pictures of the boy on the wall. There were so many, from the time he was an infant to now. You could see pictures of Seungcheol and Matthew with others as well. A woman who you assumed was Matthew’s mother and some men who looked to be around Seungcheol’s age, perhaps brothers. A wave of longing hits you and you rest your head on your arm, a frown on your face as you keep looking around, finally noticing the degrees on the furthest wall.
Narrowing your eyes, you struggle to make out the words, finally sitting up and leaning forward to read as Seungcheol moves back to the couch with a sigh. Reaching for your glass, the man says something you don’t pay attention to as he tries to hand you the glass.
“Y/N? Is white wine okay?”
Blinking a couple of times, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and look at the glass in his hand with a clueless look on your face. A smile spreads over his face. He tilts his head and lets you take the glass from him as you gesture towards the wall with your other hand.
“You—wait… You’re a doctor?”
You weren’t sure what you had assumed Seungcheol did for a living, but a doctor hadn’t been on your bingo card. Looking around the room as you feel reality setting in, you can see that things make a bit more sense. The furniture was really nice. The wine was delicious and tasted expensive. Seungcheol, even in lounge wear, looked expensive.
Shrugging, Seungcheol purses his lips as he takes a sip of the wine from the glass in his hand as he looks at his medical degree on the wall. He hadn’t really considered that you didn’t know or that it would matter. Meeting your eyes once again, he sighs and leans back against the back of the couch, getting comfortable.
“Mmhm, family medicine. I have a small private practice in the city and a couple days a week I work out of the hospital in the emergency room. Are you that surprised? Do I not look smart enough to be a doctor or something?”
Sitting up, you shake your head so fast Seungcheol is afraid you might get whiplash. Reaching forward as he laughs, he runs his fingers over your arm as you lift your glass to your lips, finally taking another sip to calm your nerves before explaining your apparent shock.
“No…No—of course you are smart. You just don’t look like a doctor. I didn’t expect you to be... you know.”
When you don’t elaborate, Seungcheol laughs as he leans to put his glass on a coaster on the end table. You take another larger sip of your wine as your eyes fall to the fingers of his other hand as they rest against your forearm and the couch. It isn’t lost on you, no matter how tipsy you might be or how much you enjoy his fingers on your skin.
“I don’t know. Tell me. You can tell me anything.”
That was a very dangerous thing to say to you and Seungcheol seemed to know it as he watched you snort into a laugh. Giving you the smile that you had grown to love so much, he bites at his lip and leans forward slightly, listening to the laugh fade as your eyes focus on him.
“Seriously, tell me what you mean.”
There was a lump in your throat and wine wasn’t going to get it to go down. You weren’t sure anything could. No matter how much you swallowed or cleared your throat, it was only when you glanced down at your wine that you were able to feel the pressure subside enough that you could talk.
“I—you know what I mean, Seungcheol. The whole package, I guess.”
Shaking his head again, Seungcheol sighs out a laugh, wishing he could just get you to say what you mean instead of this game where you beat around the bush.
“Package? Like from Amazon? What are we talking about here, Y/N? Help me out.”
He was frustrating in the most adorably clueless and teasing way. You had a feeling he knew what you were hinting at, even if he was trying to play dumb; he was a doctor after all. You had already insulted his intelligence once. Glancing up long enough to meet Seungcheol’s eyes, you take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh that sounds more like a laugh as you speak.
“You’re incredibly attractive, a doctor, obviously successful, and a good dad. The whole package. I don’t think you can order that on Amazon.”
Seungcheol bites at his lip after hearing you explain your words. It was better than he had anticipated. He felt bad for making you say it, he knew it had to be somewhat embarrassing, but he had to hear it. He might never hear it again, because at the end of the day, this wasn’t a real relationship.
“Mm, well, that’s good for your boyfriend to know.”
Opening your mouth, you look confused but Seungcheol grins and picks up his wine, letting you off the hook as he takes a sip and continues.
“You know, fake boyfriend.”
A small, confused laugh slips from between your lips as you nod, trying to act like it is easy to understand and it all makes sense. You try to pretend like this is going to be easy and that him “helping” you keep up this ruse is a good idea, but who was it actually helping?
“Right, my fake boyfriend. My fake doctor boyfriend.”
Smirking, Seungcheol rolls his eyes and watches you finish off your glass of wine. He hated the word fake. Was it horrible of him to hope for a time when he could remove the word fake from his and your vocabulary? Yes, he knew it was. So he just takes a deep breath and points at your wine glass.
“More wine, fake girlfriend?”
Your laugh is so pretty, it almost breaks Seungcheol’s heart. He watches your head tilt back and his eyes move along your neck and back up to your face as you sigh. It’s when you glance at the clock on the wall and pout that he matches the pout, knowing what you are going to say.
“It’s so late. I should go home.”
Two in the morning. That was much later than you had intended on staying, but the look on Seungcheol’s face made you almost reluctant to get up. You were tired, the wine was doing a great job at aiding that fact, but it didn’t lessen that pout on his handsome face. You watch as he nods, a soft sigh escaping between his lips before he takes your empty glass and stands up.
“Thank you again for coming over. I really did enjoy it. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
Your eyes follow Seungcheol into the kitchen as he puts the wine glasses into the sink. When he glances over his shoulder at you, giving you a hopeful look you can’t disappoint him even if your brain is screaming about how much this is going to hurt you.
“Absolutely.”
“That’s all you did?”
Groaning at Jeonghan’s tone in his question, Seungcheol pushes a plate of leftover pasta across the kitchen island towards him and Jihoon. Lifting his hands, he gives his best friend an incredulous look before stabbing at his own food with a pout on his face.
“What did you expect him to do, Jeonghan? Jump her the first chance he gets.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes as he shoves a fork full of pasta into his mouth, talking between bites. Out of the two men, in his own opinion, he had the most level head in this situation. He understood why Seungcheol had let you go home and why he hadn’t made a move. Jeonghan, on the other hand, stared at his friend as if he had two heads and was growing another.
“I expect him to grow some fucking balls. You deserve some happiness, Cheol. You have this hot little teacher next door that you won’t shut up about; she comes over, and that’s—that’s it!”
Jeonghan made it seem like he had committed a crime by respecting you and your position as his teacher. Not that the two of you had exclusively said you didn’t want to actually explore things, but it was an unspoken thing. Seungcheol wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t get through medical school on a wish and a prayer.
“I’m helping her with her stupid douche of an ex. It would be wrong of me to actually make a move. Plus, it would be weird for Matthew.”
Finally swallowing a bite of his food, Jeonghan scoffs around the pasta at Seungcheol’s half ass attempt at an excuse. In his mind, it didn’t make any sense and he was grasping at straws. He had seen his best friend fall for someone before and he didn’t want to see him lose that chance because he was scared.
“Bullshit, it would be weird for Matthew. He already talks about Miss Y/N all the damn time. He likes her more than he likes me at this point. It’s offensive…”
Chuckling, Jihoon gets a harsh side eye from Jeonghan that he matches with one of his own.
“I think it’s hilarious and I think that you need to stop riding Cheol’s ass. If he wants to ask her out, he’ll do it. If not—”
“He’ll die alone and pouting.”
Dropping his fork into his plate, Seungcheol lifts his hand to push at his temples as his friends continue to talk about him as if he isn’t even in the room. Both of them had good points and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Jeonghan had some of the better ones. He knew he was being a wimp when it came to you, but he wasn’t ready to bet and lose.
Noticing that Seungcheol had gone quiet, Jeonghan turned his attention back to him, letting out a sigh as Jihoon did the same. Neither of them liked the look on his face. They had been friends with him for over a decade and been through a majority of the highs and the lows. They had been there for the best of his life so far and the day that he thought his own had ended because hers had.
Rubbing his thumb into his palm as he thinks about what to say next, Jihoon furrows his brows deeply. For a moment, he looks annoyed, but that’s because he is. He’s annoyed that he’s going to agree with Yoon Jeonghan for the first time in a long time. Sighing in a groan, the man leans forward and taps his fingers on the island as he tries to make his point.
“Listen, I’m not saying I completely agree with Jeonghan—”
“But clearly, he agrees—”
Shooting a look at the man, Jihoon watches a smirk pull up at Jeonghan’s lips as he stops talking, letting him continue.
“But... even I can admit that something is going on in your head, Cheol. I’m not going to push you as hard as him, but don’t let it slip through your fingers because of the unknown.”
That was what terrified him. The unknown. You could reject him completely. He could look like a fool. You could accept him and fall in love with him. Then he might lose you. There was so much unknown. The unknown had ruined his life before and only the people closest to him and his son had kept him from drowning.
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
Nodding, Jeonghan lifts his hands off the island and takes a deep breath, letting it out as he meets Seungcheol’s eyes to answer his question.
“And what if it does?”
Forcing a smile on your face after a long day, you stand up as the bell rings and parents start to move into the room to collect their children. Taking your time, you note each one, telling them to have a good evening and that you will see them in the morning.
It wasn’t that you hadn’t enjoyed your day, but you could feel a headache behind your eyes and fifteen screaming five year olds was a lot for anyone. So as the numbers started to dwindle, you could feel the anxiety starting to fade from you.
“Hey, buddy!”
Glancing up as Matthew squeals happily, you watch him run towards a slender but fit man that you vaguely recognize. Perhaps he had been on Seungcheol’s walls in one of the pictures, but you didn’t have a name to put—
“Uncle Jeonghan!”
Ah, so this was Uncle Jeonghan that Matthew talked about so much. Picking up your clipboard, you furrow your brows, moving over to him and the man as you quickly make sure the man’s name is listed as someone authorized to pick up.
“Have a good day? This must be Miss Y/N that your daddy talks about all the time.”
Lifting your head from the clipboard, you meet the man’s eyes as your cheeks start to burn. Opening your mouth, you close it quickly as he smirks at you and ruffles the boy's head as he clings close to him.
“I—Yoon Jeonghan? If you could just sign for Matthew, since you're not his legal guardian and only listed as an authorized person, it’s policy.”
Taking the clipboard from you, Jeonghan grins as you seem to shy away at his words. He could see the appeal. You were beautiful and seemed responsible. You were exactly Seungcheol’s type.
“No problem; Y/N. Cheol had to work in the ER today so here I am to save the day. I honestly don’t know why he didn’t just ask you to bring him home.”
Scoffing in surprise, you watch as Matthew gasps and looks up at you like a new toy.
“That’d be so cool! Miss Y/N, can you one day? I can show you my toys.”
Not wanting to disappoint the boy, you give him a strained smile and meet Jeonghan’s eyes, realizing he was an enabler. Seungcheol should have warned you about him, but maybe he didn’t even realize how your first meeting with him would go.
“Maybe… I’m your teacher, Matthew. We play at school—”
“Well and his neighbor and his daddy’s girl—”
Shaking your head, you watch as Jeonghan bites his lip to stifle a laugh before nodding and holding up his free hand as a way of surrendering. Apparently Seungcheol had shared some details of your “relationship” with his friend. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, but you had a feeling this man was the type to pull you out and back into the spotlight.
“Maybe one day, Matthew... but let’s not get our hopes up.”
Pouting up at you, Matthew just nods and moves away from you both to go get his things. Letting out a breath, you take back your clipboard and put it down on a shelf behind you as you and Jeonghan glance towards the small boy as he pulls on his jacket.
“He’d let you take him home.”
Furrowing your brows, you glance over at Jeonghan and shift on your feet at his words and the implication behind them. Noticing how you seem to nervously shift from foot to foot, Jeonghan smirks and glances down at his phone in his hand, answering a text from Seungcheol as he speaks to you.
“One day he’ll man up and ask you out for real. This fake dating shit—”
“Don’t curse in my classroom, please.”
A laugh slips from between his lips as he glances up from his phone to offer you an apologetic smile before nodding and continuing.
“Sure, sorry. As I was saying, this fake dating nonsense you two have going on right now isn't going to work. I can already tell you like him.”
Insufferable. That's how you’d describe Yoon Jeonghan. You had known him for less than ten minutes and already you knew he was going to be an issue in your life. Crossing your arms, you start to sigh into your words, a dramatic big breath, when Alex’s voice once again ruins your moment.
“Matt, buddy, let me help.”
Jeonghan watches as your head moves like prey sensing a predator towards the other teacher, who was now helping Matthew with his bag. His eyes move to his godson’s face as he grimaces as the man tugs on the straps, keeping them tight on his arms.
“He’s fine, Mr. Alex. Thank you.”
You still sounded like yourself, with that sweet tone to your voice, but even Jeonghan could hear the hint of malice behind it. So this was Alex, and now Alex thought it was okay to mess with Seungcheol’s son. The “fake” dating made sense. This man did not understand boundaries and used everything in front of him as an open door.
Stepping in front of Alex, you smile at Matthew and the smile transfers to the boy’s face. Jeonghan feels relief wash over him at the sight as you kneel down, adjust the straps back to where they were and then tie his shoe properly.
“I was just helping out a student, Miss Y/N.”
Oof… There was so much tension in this room that even Jeonghan felt like he was going to drown in it. Stepping forward, he clears his throat and offers his hand towards Matthew, letting him take his fingers.
“And while I’m sure she appreciates that, and the parents do... I don’t know you, Mr. Alex, was it? From where I was standing, some strange man was touching my godson, which honestly made me nervous for a moment. I’d be more careful; this isn’t your classroom.”
Standing up, you feel your cheeks burn under Alex’s eyes as he looks to you to defend him, but you don’t. Jeonghan had a point. Not every parent or guardian knew who all the teachers were, not even the students knew the other teachers. Simple acts could be misunderstood and while he was doing something to “be nice” and it was innocent, you knew there was another reason he was inserting himself into your and Matthew’s lives.
“Well, I do apologize for the misunderstanding. My classroom is right down the hall. I was just coming to see Miss Y/N. We are very close.”
Jeonghan just smirks at the man and shoots you a glance before looking at his phone and seeing a reply from Seungcheol.
“I’m sure you are.” Dismissing the man, he looks at you and smiles brightly. “Y/N, dear… Cheol asked me if you wouldn’t mind helping me with Matthew once you get home? I’m an awful cook.”
Opening his mouth to say something, Alex stops when Matthew squeals with delight and grabs at your shirt, begging you to come over.
Another point to you and Seungcheol.
Staring at Seungcheol’s apartment door, you listen to the sound of Matthew’s laughter. While you knew why you had agreed to Jeonghan’s ridiculous plan, you weren’t sure why you were attempting to follow through with it. You could so easily just text Seungcheol and tell him that your evening got far too busy, and you wouldn’t be able to help Jeonghan out with Matthew, but suddenly it felt important to you.
Jeonghan had been doing a good job, for the most part, at keeping Matthew distracted from asking when you were going to come over, but every few minutes the question kept coming up. He knew there was a slight chance you might bail on them, but he had a good feeling you wouldn’t, so he simply told Matthew, “she’ll be here soon,” each time he asked. So when you knocked on the door, a little after 6:30, Matthew squealed in delight and beat Jeonghan to it by a mile.
“Miss Y/N! I’m so excited. I have coloring pages and my trucks to show you. Can we paint?”
Shaking your head, you run your fingers over Matthew’s head with a sigh as you listen to Jeonghan chuckle under his breath a few feet away. It was clear to see that the little boy had you wrapped around his little finger. You weren’t supposed to have a favorite student, and maybe that wasn’t even what was happening here, but you adored Matthew. Him and his gummy smile.
“Maybe? I’m supposed to help with dinner. What did your Uncle Jeonghan have in mind?”
Giving you a once over in your more casual clothes, Jeonghan nods in approval before gesturing towards the kitchen as if you didn’t already know where it was.
“Luckily for me, Cheol is a great father. He left a note that says, 'stuff for pizza in the fridge’, so it looks like it’s pizza, Teach.”
Rolling your eyes, you let Matthew hold on to your waist as you make your way into the kitchen and glance at the note in question.
“And you can’t make pizza on your own?”
“Uncle Jeonghan burneded my chicken nuggets last week. Can you make me pizza, Miss Y/N?”
Letting out a breath, you meet Matthew’s eyes before looking back up at Jeonghan, who grimaces at the mention of the chicken nuggets. Maybe it was a good thing that you were here if this man couldn’t even be trusted with the most simple of foods.
It didn’t take long for the three of you to get into a comfortable rhythm. You quickly took over things in the kitchen, leaving Jeonghan to entertain Matthew, which in turn kept him from being under your feet. It wasn’t until you were putting the homemade pizza into the oven that the evening started to calm down and you were able to really look around you and feel your heart tightening. You wanted this. Not with Jeonghan, though he was starting to grow on you as a friend, but you wanted to be around Matthew more and to help with him.
Feeling your cell phone vibrate in your back pocket, you wipe your hands off on a dish towel and slip it from your pocket only for a smile to pull at the corner of your lips.
Seungcheol: I owe you big time
Glancing towards the living room, you press your lips together watching Matthew and Jeonghan sitting at the coffee table with crayons covering most of the surface. Now that feeling of wanting this more often was even stronger as you thought about Seungcheol, wishing he was here… even though that felt wrong on some level. You shouldn’t want something with a parent of one of your students… there had to be something wrong about that, or at least Alex was good at making you feel like there was.
Y/N: Don’t say that yet. Pizza isn’t out of the oven yet. I might burn it just as bad as Jeonghan.
Grinning as he leans against the wall of the break room, Seungcheol allows himself a moment to just enjoy the idea of you in his apartment. He knew he would be there in a few more hours, but picturing you with Matthew seemed so domestic. Jeonghan was right, as much as Seungcheol hated to admit it… he wanted more with you than some fake relationship.
“What are you smiling at like that? It’s creepy…”
Scoffing at Joshua Hong’s teasing words, Seungcheol quickly replies to you before clearing his throat and sliding his phone back into his coat pocket. He had never been good at “acting casual,” and most of his friends knew that, so this time was no different.
“Nothing, why are you? You know, being nosy? Don’t you have a patient in Five?”
Joshua smirks as he watches Seungcheol scratch his neck. He could see that his friend was nervous and that, paired with the stupid, love-sick smile he had been wearing, could only mean one thing.
“I just discharged that patient. Are you simping that hard over some girl? Choi Seungcheol, are you fucking someon–”
Lifting his hands, Seungcheol is quick to let out a panicked sound in order to stop Joshua from continuing. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Jeonghan on almost a daily basis. Dealing with both Jeonghan and Joshua, now that was a nightmare.
“Shut up. I—no. No, I’m not fuck—I’m not sleeping with anyone. You spend too much time with Jeonghan if you are talking like that.”
Joshua had never known Seungcheol to be so proper and flustered before, and honestly, it was pretty amusing to see him sweat over something as simple as a girl.
“Hannie and I enjoy our quality time; thank you very much. Get the stick out of your ass and tell me what’s going on, or I’ll just have to ask him. I’m sure he knows.”
The idea of Jeonghan being able to explain his love life, or the lack thereof, to anyone but especially to Joshua was a terrifying and humiliating thought. Shaking his head, Seungcheol groans and reaches for Joshua’s arm, stopping him from leaving the break room as he glances towards the clock to see how much time he has left on his break before he explains from the beginning.
Seungcheol: Well burnt or not, can’t wait to get home and have a slice. See you in about an hour?
You had stared at your phone and Seungcheol’s text for a bit longer than you had meant to. When Jeonghan pursed his lips and glanced over your shoulder to see what had your attention so enraptured, you gasped, pulling the phone to your chest.
“Sorry, I said your name a couple times, but you were staring at your phone like it was a bomb. I had to make sure you didn’t need help with it.”
Furrowing your brows, you clear your throat and put your phone face down on the counter, turning towards the oven and leaning to glance at the pizza through the window. You were avoiding the topic, but Jeonghan wasn’t the one to just give up.
“You set a timer, didn’t you? Should come out right in time for us to eat. You know, Matthew, me, you, and Cheol.”
Glancing over your shoulder, you narrow your eyes at Jeonghan and straighten to your full height so that you feel a bit less small in front of him.
“I wasn’t going to stay for dinner.”
Tilting his head, Jeonghan starts to speak when Matthew whines and the sound of his little feet hitting the wood floor draws your attention. You get ready to explain to him that you need to go, that you have so much you have to do before bedtime, but one look down at him and the pout on his face... all excuses die on your tongue.
“Please don’t go! Eat pizza with me. You said maybe to playing with trucks.”
You watch as tears start to gather in Matthew’s eyes and it almost breaks your heart. Even Jeonghan feels a pang of guilt knowing he had pushed a little too hard, and he finds himself hoping you’ll stay as he looks at Matthew, his small shoulders lifting to take a breath, trying to keep himself from crying.
Squatting in front of Matthew, you run your fingers over his cheeks and offer him a smile, happy to see his lips pull up even slightly in return. It was easier to say no at school. You knew you had authority and there was more to say no to. Children would get into trouble more often if you gave in, but here, what would you lose if you said yes? What harm could it really cause?
“I—I’ll stay for dinner. I made really good pizza. I would hate to miss out on it or your trucks.”
Wrapping his arms around your neck, Matthew grins as he giggles. He had known a lot of sadness in his short life, but his father and those around him had worked hard to show him even more joy. This was more joy. There was something special about you, and it wasn’t just that you were his teacher or that he liked you so much; it was more that you felt so warm and made him wonder what his mommy would have been like. Not that he would tell you that, at least not tonight.
Patting Matthew’s back, you glance up at Jeonghan as he purses his lips, the look on his face a mixture of apologetic and appreciative. It takes a moment before you are finally able to pull away from the boy and meet his eyes, seeing a bit of wetness on his cheeks, but that big smile on his face remains even as you wipe the tears away.
“The pizza has to cook for a bit longer. Wanna show me what you and Uncle Jeonghan were working on?”
Letting out a deep breath as he walks through the door, Seungcheol finds the stress of his day quickly replaced by fondness. He knew you had decided to stay for dinner, but seeing you in his living room with Matthew for himself was a different story. Now he couldn’t help the smile that played on his lips even as Jeonghan watched him carefully, studying him for what seemed like a full minute before Seungcheol finally moved further into the house.
“Thought you were going to stand in the hall all damn night.”
Scoffing at Jeonghan’s words, Seungcheol shakes his head before meeting your eyes trying not to lose himself in your soft smile. You are so beautiful and it was becoming impossible for him to pretend like he didn’t like you, and that he didn’t want to see what this could be without some silly stipulations to your relationship.
“How’s the evening been so far? Don’t I get a hug?”
While his words were meant for Matthew, you still pressed your lips together feeling a slight urge to stand up and move into Seungcheol’s arms too. He looked incredible, even as tired as he was. You were having a hard time not staring at him, and Jeonghan was taking notes.
“I think the uh—the pizza is cool enough to eat. So you have good timing.”
Nodding to your words, Seungcheol squats down to hug Matthew. You watch fondly as he rocks the small boy back and forth a few times, causing him to let out a delighted sound before Seungcheol stands and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Awesome, thank you again for helping, Y/N. I’ll… uh get changed and meet you guys at the table.”
Swallowing hard, you nod as your eyes follow Seungcheol through the room until he is out of your line of sight. A small chuckle to your right pulls your attention back to the present and to Jeonghan, who simply lifts his brows and pats Matthew’s back, ushering him towards the dining room.
“Pizza time, buddy. Too much ogling is going on in this room for my stomach to handle.”
Looking up at Jeonghan, Matthew tilts his head as he walks beside him, a look of confusion on his cute face.
“What’s ohgling?”
With a groan, you drop your head into your hands for a split second before moving to your feet and following along with the two just in time to hear Jeonghan explain how to say the word properly and that it means to look at someone for a long time because you like them. At least he had kept it PG.
“Can Miss Y/N tuck me in tonight?”
Matthew’s words make you stop what you are doing mid-bite. Jeonghan’s smirk only grows as Seungcheol tilts his head, looking at his son and over to you as you give both of them a deer stuck in headlights look. The evening had gotten exponentially more interesting since Seungcheol had gotten home. You two weren’t fooling anyone, at least as far as Jeonghan was concerned, and this was the cherry on top.
“I–well… That’s up to Miss Y/N.”
Meeting your eyes, Seungcheol looks a bit worried that you might say no. He wouldn’t fault you if you did, but he hated the idea of his son being disappointed. You could see the look and it was so very similar to the look in Matthew’s eye that your stomach was in your throat. Why were these two so impossible for you to refuse?
“I don’t mind.”
Clapping his hands together, Jeonghan gives you both a wide smile before pushing his chair back from the table and wiping at his lips.
“Great, now that’s settled, means I can get headed home. Thank you for the lovely dinner, Y/N. Please invite me again.”
Following Jeonghan, Seungcheol gives you an apologetic look as you start to speak but can’t seem to find the right words to defend yourself. While you had grown used to his teasing over the past few hours, it didn’t make it any easier to handle in front of Seungcheol and Matthew. You could feel heat rising in your neck and face as you turned your attention back towards Matthew as he grabbed your hand and tried to tug you out of your seat.
“Come on! I gotta show you my room and my trucks. Daddy says they are the most coolest.”
You were lucky to have such a sweet distraction, just two of your fingers in his small hand as Matthew led you down the hall and away from the embarrassment of Yoon Jeonghan’s words. After watching you and Matthew for a moment, Seungcheol then glances back at his best friend as he slips his shoes on and offers him a triumphant smile. In his mind, clearly, he had managed to play matchmaker well if you were staying longer than he was. He could almost hear the wedding bells in the back of his mind, but the look on Seungcheol’s face was one of doubt, which always leads to delays.
“You’re welcome. Get that stupid look off your face and seal the deal.”
Scoffing, Seungcheol double checks that you can’t hear either of them before he meets Jeonghan’s eyes once more.
“Would you shut the hell up? I–we don’t know what’s going to happen. She was doing me a favor because you trapped her in a moment—”
“No, she came over because she wanted to. She could have canceled and she could have left hours ago, Cheol. She wants to be here and she wants to be here with you. You weren’t here to see her schoolgirl crush smiling at her phone every time you sent a message.”
Pressing his lips together while learning about the couple of hours before he had gotten home, Seungcheol couldn't stop how the corners of his lips started to turn up. He wanted to see that smile. He loved your smile. He loved how you made Matthew smile. God, he was falling for you and it was that hard sort of falling that people warned you about.
“Really?”
Shaking his head, Jeonghan reaches over to pat Seungcheol’s bicep as he rolls his eyes at his friend’s reaction. You were the school girl and here was your school boy. It was a match made in heaven, and it was nauseating to be around.
“Really, Casanova. Don’t let her slip through your fingers because you’re a pussy.”
Seungcheol groans, his smile falling at Jeonghan’s wording. Why did he have to be so crass? No, he wasn’t some church going perfect angel himself, but at least he didn’t go around calling people a pussy.
“Get out, seriously. If Matthew starts saying shit like that, I’m personally making you pay for his therapy sessions.”
Getting one last cheeky grin from Jeonghan, Seungcheol closes the door and makes his way back towards your soft voice. It was getting late and being a school night, it was around the time he would normally get Matthew ready for bed. He almost hated the idea of that tonight. He knew that Matthew wanted you to tuck him in, but what would that mean afterwards? Would you have leave right way? Could he talk you into staying for a glass of wine? It was a school night for you too…
“No, that truck was my favorite too. Get your teeth in the back too.”
Surprised to hear you and Matthew in the bathroom, Seungcheol tilts his head and leans against the wall, watching you smile at his son. It was surreal to see something like this. He had always wanted this for Matthew—and, if he could be selfish, for himself.
This wasn’t something he had gotten much of from his wife before her accident. She didn’t get to help him put Matthew to bed once he was old enough to remember her. While Seungcheol would always regret that, he found himself allowing himself a bit of time to relish Matthew’s little piece of normality with you.
“Good! Big smile.”
You laugh, your heart full and warm, as Matthew shows you his clean teeth. This was dangerous. You were so in love with this family. You could see yourself doing this every single night and never getting tired of it. There was something about Matthew and Seungcheol that made your life feel complete and that was terrifying in ways that you couldn’t even explain to yourself.
“One of my favorite smiles. Time to change? Then I can come tuck you in.”
Turning to follow Matthew, you stop short, seeing Seungcheol watching you from the hall. You get hit with a sudden rush of anxiety, wondering if you have overstepped, but the smile and look on his face tell you that you haven’t. You watch his fingers glide through Matthew’s hair before he glances back at him, telling him not to bring trucks into his bed, before he looks at you and takes your breath away with a smile.
“You’re a natural.”
Shyly, you shake your head and move towards him and Matthew’s bedroom, stopping just outside to give the boy time to change.
“Just teacher things, I guess.”
Seungcheol shakes his head and fights his urge to reach out and pull you towards him. You were standing too far away from him and with how he was feeling, all he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and do exactly what Jeonghan had told him to do. Why was he dancing around this? You were everything he had been wanting and not even the fear of the unknown was enough to keep him from taking that leap.
Starting to speak, Seungcheol watches you take a deep breath when Matthew’s small voice makes him stop before he even gets started. You instead watch as he smiles and rubs the back of his neck, gesturing for you to go ahead. Biting at your lip, you nod and give him a small glance as you pass by, only for your breath to get caught in your throat when Seungcheol’s fingers trail over your fingers just before you cross over the threshold into the bedroom.
“Go ahead; I’ll say goodnight once he’s tucked in. Something tells me he might get upset if I try to interrupt.”
One last look towards Seungcheol, and you move into Matthew’s room and sit on the side of his bed as he grins up at you. Your stomach was doing flips as butterflies held a rave inside of you, but with a deep breath, you managed to keep your cool and tuck the covers around Matthew.
“How’s that? Too tight?”
Shaking his head, Matthew wiggles under the covers to show you that he can still move easily as you run your fingers over the top of his head, feeling his eyes move over your face.
“Okay, good. Sleep well and I’ll see you at school in the morning.”
“Mmkay, Miss Y/N.”
You smile at his tired words, starting to stand when Matthew whines and you stay right where you are, giving him a concerned look at the sudden change.
“Can I have a hug for bedtime?”
You knew you would say no. Sure, it would make Matthew sad and, in turn, make you sad, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as what you chose to do. Instead of saying no, you nodded and leaned down to let him wrap his arms around your neck and hold you close to him as he whispered his thanks for the day and told you goodnight. You could feel the tears rising in your eyes even as you willed them to stay back.
“It’s my pleasure, Matthew. Tha–thank you for hanging out with me. Sleep tight…”
Seungcheol had to take a deep breath while watching his son cling to you like a safety net. It almost broke his heart to watch you sit up, but then you ran your fingers over Matthew’s face and whispered goodnight and Seungcheol could have sworn he saw tears in your eyes. Was that a good sign or a bad one?
Sliding past Seungcheol, you sniff softly but smile at him as you let him move into the room. You find yourself wanting to watch as he finishes up the bedtime routine, but your heart won’t let you. The tears on your cheeks tell you that you need to run out of this apartment as fast as you can, but you wait, feeling the need to say your goodbyes to Seungcheol.
The soft click of the door shutting draws your attention back towards Matthew’s room and Seungcheol as you wipe your cheeks quickly and put your smile back on your face. You didn’t hate what you were feeling; it just terrified you to no end. You had never pictured a family with Alex; no matter how many times he had brought up what a fantastic mother you were going to be to his children, it wasn’t something that you could see. Looking at Seungcheol, you could picture that future and you weren’t even in a real relationship with him. What did that say about you?
“Hey, thanks for doing that. He’s already out like a light. I never get him down that easy.”
You only manage to hum into a small smile at Seungcheol’s words as he moves closer to you, his presence making it harder for you to choose if you want to stay or run.
“It’s no biggie. He’s a great kid.”
Nodding, Seungcheol opens and closes his hand a few times before taking the leap and reaching out to wrap his fingers around yours, feeling your hand shake in his. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was? Maybe you could already see where this was going? Maybe, just maybe, you wanted it too.
“He is… But, um, could I say something? Not about Matthew and you hear me out?”
Those butterflies had taken something strong at their rave and you felt like you were going to be sick with nerves. Your head was woozy even as you nodded to answer Seungcheol, unable to find the right words. Swallowing hard, he sighs into a small laugh before reaching up to scratch at his brow with his free hand, keeping yours in his other.
“I–okay, I’m just gonna say it, alright? I love having you around. I really like this, you know? Us. So I was thinkin’ if you aren’t busy, maybe we could get dinner this weekend? Just the two of us?”
Letting out a breath, you pull your fingers back and smile at Seungcheol, trying to think straight, but nothing in your head makes sense. You were panicking. The look on Seungcheol’s face told you that he could see you were panicking as you took a step back from him and literally looked for your escape route.
“It is so late. I have work in the morning, but you know that. Thank you so much for dinner. I mean, you know what I mean.”
Following you, Seungcheol runs his fingers through his hair, feeling panic start to roll through him as you pretend that he hadn’t just confessed to you and asked you out. Was he that bad of a choice? Or was this about something else? Were you afraid too?
“Y/N? What? Wait, no, I know you have work. Shit… wait. I didn’t mean to—”
Turning to face him as you reach the door, you can’t stop the tears that run down your cheeks. The same tears seem to resonate with Seungcheol and stop him from giving you his reasoning. All he finds himself wanting to do is hold you and make it better, but that fear of pushing you away is stronger than ever as you wipe at your cheeks and apologize under your breath, pulling your shoes on.
“I will talk to you later, okay? Just… I can’t do this right now.”
Seungcheol knew he should say something else, do something to stop you from leaving until more was said and understood, but all he could do was watch as his door shut and leave him in silence. His heart beating hard in his chest, the pang of rejection and confusion rips through Seungcheol as he turns away from where you had been standing and moves to the couch to sit down and rest his head in his hands.
Inside your apartment, you let your tears fall freely. You didn’t want to disappoint Seungcheol, but the first thing you saw when he said those words to you was Matthew’s disappointed face. That’s the face you would have to see if the relationship didn’t work out. That's who you’d be hurting. It wouldn’t just be your heart or even Seungcheol’s heart on the line; it would be that child’s heart.
So now you sat on your kitchen floor, your heart feeling shattered as you forced yourself to stick to what you had decided instead of running back over to Seungcheol’s apartment and telling him that you felt the same way. Sometimes people don’t get what they want just because they want it. Sometimes they have to give up what they want for the benefit of others.
Seungcheol was nervous as he stood in the doorway to your classroom. He knew he was early and that Matthew wasn’t particularly happy with him because he would be the first student at school, but he needed to talk to you. The way things had ended the night before was eating at him.
Ushering Matthew into the room, Seungcheol watches as his son runs over to you. He feels his heart tighten as small arms wrap around your waist and he wants to do the same thing. The confusion and surprise on your face are enough to make the thoughts move from Seungcheol’s mind as he smiles at you and lifts Matthew’s bag, walking towards the cubbies.
“You—you’re early. The others won’t be here for probably half an hour.”
Wincing at your words as he hangs Matthew’s bag up, Seungcheol considers lying. He thinks about telling you that he just has to get to work early—that’s the only reason he’s bringing Matthew in so early—but the look in your eye tells him that he should just tell you the truth.
"I—yeah, I know. I just… Could I talk to you for a second?”
Glancing towards Matthew, you sigh as he moves away from you both towards the building block area to play. Crossing your arms, you gesture back towards the door and the cubbies to give even more space between yourself and Seungcheol from the boy so he can’t hear.
“I’m not sure there’s a lot to talk—”
“I know… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt you, Y/N. But please? Can I just say this? I didn’t really get to finish what I wanted to say.”
You furrow your brow, glancing down at your fingers on your forearm as you nod. This conversation was already too difficult. Seungcheol felt too close, but glancing off to the side towards Matthew as he stacks up blocks, counting them quietly under his breath, makes you take in a deep breath as you listen to what he has to say.
“Okay, can’t we just try it? This seems to work great. I mean, at least it does to me. All I asked for was dinner. I like you, Y/N. Like, really, really like you.”
Tilting his head as he stops walking in the hallway, Alex narrows his eyes, listening to the conversation in your classroom. He had wanted to see you before school started, before your students arrived, but clearly someone had beat him. As he listened closer to the voice of the man, he recognized it, Seungcheol, your boyfriend. Why would he need to tell you how much he liked you?
Shaking your head, you lift your fingers to quickly wipe at your cheeks, feeling moisture under your eyes as you take a deep breath. This isn't about what you wanted or what Seungcheol wanted. That had become obvious to you last night. You couldn’t and wouldn’t risk breaking Matthew’s heart and ruining something good in his life. You couldn’t be more than his teacher. Even being his friend was putting too much pressure on him. Everything could come crashing down and it wouldn’t be you or Seungcheol who would suffer the most; it would be Matthew.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I should have had more guts to just—” Stopping to let out an unamused laugh, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes as he gives you a confused, sad look. “I’m so sorry, Seungcheol. We need to stop this. No more pretending. It’s not good for us and it’s worse for Matthew.”
Pretending. The word causes Seungcheol’s heart to feel like it’s breaking and it causes Alex to scoff. You had been pretending to date Seungcheol. Shaking his head, Alex smirks as he turns back towards his own classroom, running his fingers through his hair, leaving you to finish your breakup with your fake boyfriend. He could always talk to you later.
“I—Y/N…please. Why do you think that this is going to hurt anyone? I don’t ever want to hurt you and I certainly wouldn’t hurt my son.”
Biting at your lips, you furrow your brows and take a step back from Seungcheol as his voice cracks. You could hear other people in the halls now; this conversation had to end.
“Have a good day, Dr. Choi.”
With his mouth falling open in confusion and hurt, Seungcheol closes his eyes at your words before nodding. He could hear the sound of the other children in the halls too. He knew he couldn’t force you to talk about this or to come out of your shell, even if he could obviously see you were holding back something.
You turn from him as Seungcheol moves back into the classroom to lean over Matthew, kissing him on top of the head and whispering his goodbye before glancing at you once more. Without another word, he leaves the room and you feel like you are standing in the ocean as a wave of pain washes over you.
The day is longer than any other that you can remember. You avoid Seungcheol’s eyes as he picks up Matthew, even as the little boy grabs at your hand, asking you to come back over for dinner. When Seungcheol tells him that tonight isn’t a good night, you hold back your tears as you listen to Matthew’s small, sad voice asking why.
That was why this wasn’t going to work. You were so good at disappointing people. That was what your degree hanging on the wall should be in. A PhD in Disappointment.
Walking through your now empty room, you let the silence wash over you as you picked up books and toys, not hearing the door open. You don’t hear footsteps approaching you until Alex’s voice pulls you out of your haze and brings you back to reality.
“You didn’t have to be so pathetic and pretend to have a boyfriend, babe. Seriously? I don’t need to be jealous to want you back in my life. I’ll take you back, Y/N. You don’t have to put on a brave face.”
Alex’s words bite at your self esteem and your confidence. Keeping your back to him for a moment longer, you fight back your tears, realizing he had to have heard your conversation with Seungcheol at the beginning of the day. You want to be angry and embarrassed, but instead you are relieved. There is no longer a secret hanging over your head, no need to pretend or worry about some big reveal as the panic slowly fades from your body.
All you are left with, once the anxiety is gone, is disgust. You try to quickly picture a time when you were in love with Alex. You try to imagine wanting a full and long life with him after hearing him say such hateful and degrading things to you, but you can’t. All you can feel is hate and pity. The pity isn’t even for yourself; instead, you feel an overwhelming pity for the man who once made you laugh before he made you cry.
Turning to face Alex, you meet his eyes as he smirks at you, the smug look on his face looking more like a mask than something real. He wants to play the villain so badly and you could play the victim and let him have it, but instead you just sigh and nod.
“Thank you, Alex.”
Starting to speak, Alex looks surprised and hopeful before you lift your hand and stop him as you continue to speak.
“Thank you for reminding me why I will never allow you in my life again. I never want to see you again. Someone who would say something like that to me... well, it should be obvious if you ever loved me why I couldn’t and wouldn’t want you near me. Please get the fuck out of my classroom and my life.”
Your voice is even, a bit of emotion laced in it, but you aren’t hysterical like Alex had imagined or perhaps wanted. You are instead mostly calm and collected and your words stab him in the gut like the final nail in the coffin of any chance at a relationship that he had imagined.
Taking a step backwards, Alex tries to speak—to come up with some excuse for his actions, but you were right. As he thinks back on the person that he had been and the person that he has become, guilt bites at him, making it harder to defend himself.
You watch as he shakes his head, muttering something so low that you can’t hear it before he moves out of the room and your door shuts, leaving you once again in that empty silence.
Closing your eyes, you are back in that ocean as waves crash over you. Tears stream down your face and you recognize the pain as heartbreak. Heartbreak from the final mourning period of a relationship and the impossibility of another. Another wave knocks you back and you let out a sob, your hand on your stomach. More loss, but mixed with relief.
You feel the loss of a possibility for your own family. You had seen yourself with Seungcheol and Matthew, but that was possible. The relief was from letting go, or attempting to. It was also a loss of the weight that had been on your shoulders from the very moment that you had lied to Alex.
You just wish that it had never been a lie.
Despite many pep talks from Jeonghan, Seungcheol couldn’t make himself knock on your door. He had seen you around the apartment complex during spring break, but you were avoiding him. Worst of all, you seem to be avoiding Matthew.
He didn’t really blame you. After what you had told him, it made sense. You were scared, but so was he. He had been terrified from the moment he realized his feelings for you, but he had taken the leap and ended up falling short.
Any other time, Seungcheol would have given up. He would have stopped looking for that person and tried to push them out of his life, so why couldn’t he do that with you? Why would he lay in bed every single night and picture you in yours, just an apartment over? Why would he look at his phone and pray that you would text him? Why couldn’t he just get some guts and text you himself?
He had decided that after spring break, the first day of school, he would try his best. At school, it wasn’t like you couldn’t talk to him. You had to talk to parents, and you had to talk to your students. Matthew was excited about seeing you again; this would be the perfect time. It would have been perfect if, when Seungcheol had come through the door, there wasn’t a completely different person standing at the front of the classroom.
“Daddy…”
The whine in Matthew’s voice almost broke Seungcheol’s heart. Running his hand over Matthew’s hair, Seungcheol offers the woman a smile and tilts his head as he walks towards her as she looks down at her clipboard.
“Hi. Uh, Matthew Choi… I’m Seungcheol, his father.”
Smiling at the boy and at Seungcheol, the woman finds Matthew’s name and places a check next to it before sighing.
“So prompt, I value responsibility. Hello, I’m Mrs. Lim.”
Shaking the woman’s hand, Seungcheol tries to keep his smile, but he knows it’s strained as he glances around the room, realizing how much of the room has changed. The posters were different. The books were in a different place. This wasn’t your classroom anymore.
“It’s really nice to meet you. I’m so sorry, but where is Miss Y/N?”
Swallowing hard, Mrs. Lim nods at the question before putting her clipboard to her chest and taking a deep breath, knowing she would be handling this question many times today.
“The school was supposed to send out a letter, but perhaps not everyone got them in time. Miss Y/N accepted a job in another district. I hope that I can fill her shoes here…”
Feeling like a truck had run him over, Seungcheol just nodded as Matthew looked up at him, confused. A small hand tugs at his jacket and Seungcheol nods once again before glancing down at his son, trying to smile at him even as Matthew frowns.
“Uh, Miss Y/N is teaching other kids, buddy.”
“No! Daddy!”
Hearing his son cry was one of the most painful things that Seungcheol could experience. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time, and it hadn’t been the first by a long shot, but there was so much heartbreak in his sobs. Moving to his knees in front of Matthew, Seungcheol controls his own emotions as he wipes tears away and shushes the little boy to calm him down.
“It’s okay. Mrs. Lim seems so nice and I’m sure you two will get along.”
Pulling back from Seungcheol, Matthew sniffs hard, talking between sobs as big tears roll down his cheeks, meeting his dad’s fingers.
“Did I make Miss Y/N mad at me?”
Shaking his head quickly, Seungcheol pulls Matthew into his arms and closes his eyes, having an even harder time keeping himself in check. He was upset with you for not telling him, but he was even more upset with the fact that you felt like you had to leave.
“Absolutely not. Miss Y/N adores you.”
It takes a few more minutes before Matthew is calm enough that Seungcheol feels comfortable leaving. After apologizing to Mrs. Lim for the small outburst on behalf of his son, Seungcheol moves out into the hall and leans against the wall to catch his breath.
Running his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head and sniffs back his own tears that had threatened to fall when he hears a familiar voice. Glancing to his left, all Seungcheol sees is red. His feet moving quicker than his brain, Seungcheol pushes his forearm against Alex’s chest as the man’s back hits the wall with a dull thud. Only the sound of a gasp from another teacher is heard over Alex’s grunt before he tells the woman it’s fine.
“It’s not fine... what the fuck did you do? What did you do that made her leave?”
Scoffing through a bit of pain, Alex meets Seungcheol’s eyes and there is pain and hurt in both. The hurt in Alex’s eyes only serves to piss off Seungcheol more as he pushes harder against the man’s body, feeling his hand grasp at his wrist.
“I—get off me. I don’t have to tell the fake boyfriend anything.”
Leaning back only to push against Alex harder so that his head hits the wall, Seungcheol watches the man’s mouth fall open in pain as he hears the sound of the security guard moving towards them. Taking a step back, he holds up his hands, showing them he’s done before he grabs him.
“You don’t know anything about Y/N and you don’t know a damn thing about me and her.” Pointing towards Alex as the guard puts his hand around his forearm, Seungcheol scoffs, keeping his ground. “Stay away from Y/N and if you ever touch Matthew again, I won’t need to file a report with the school. You got it?”
Rubbing the back of his head, Alex winces and narrows his eyes at Seungcheol. It had all been grounds for him to let them drag Seungcheol out of the school until his kid was mentioned. Now Alex needed to save face. No, nothing had happened, but he had crossed the line multiple times with you and by approaching a student that wasn’t his, he had already been warned by the administration.
“Let him go. Everything is fine. Just a misunderstanding. We are fine… We understand one another, I can promise you that.”
Feeling the hand on his arm relax, Seungcheol scoffs at how quick Alex’s mood shifts. He was pathetic and he could understand why you wanted nothing to do with him. Giving the man one more look of contempt, Seungcheol shakes his head and moves for the main doors, letting them slam behind him.
Rolling your head from side to side, you rub your neck as you let out a soft sigh. You were tired after a long day and a longer commute than you were used to at your new school. The students were great but they weren’t the same. The entire day, you found yourself missing your students, as you had to check name tags to remember who you were speaking to.
It would just take some getting used to. This was the best decision. It was easier for everyone to do it this way. It didn’t matter that you looked for Matthew in the circle of children on the reading rug only to be disappointed when you couldn’t find his sweet gummy smile and his kind eyes looking back up at you. Your heart would heal.
Taking your keys out of your purse as the elevator stops on your floor, you keep your eyes down until you are almost at your door. Seeing shoes on your welcome mat facing you makes you stop in your tracks and causes your eyes to slowly lift to meet Seungcheol’s as he rests against your door with a frown on his face.
You had done such a good job of avoiding him and Matthew. Sure, there had been a few times you had found yourself turning on your toes and heading in the other direction, but you had done that to make things easier for everyone. Looking at Seungcheol now, making eye contact with him, you knew there was no running away.
“Um… Hey.”
Seungcheol had hoped for more after not talking to you for so long, but he would take what he could get. He knew he was putting you on the spot; clearly, there was no other way to get you to talk to him.
“Hey. So, I, uh, I took Matthew to school this morning and needless to say, we were both a little shocked and—fuck, I won’t even lie, we were heartbroken when you weren’t there. You quit?”
Taking a deep breath, you look at your keys in your hand as Seungcheol speaks. Learning that he and Matthew were hurt by your absence makes your stomach feel queasy, but you try to stand your ground and keep yourself somewhat stoic as you nod.
“Sorry, I got an offer about an hour away and I felt that I should take it. Ya know, it’s better—”
“For who?”
Being interrupted by Seungcheol, you meet his eyes once again and let out a breath through your nose before looking off to the side. You didn’t want to look him in the eye and try to explain—or lie about this. It was hard enough trying to convince yourself every day in the mirror.
“For everyone, Seungcheol. I can’t work there anymore. I didn’t want to ruin things for Matthew or you. I couldn’t be around Alex anymore.”
Stepping away from the door, taking a step towards you, Seungcheol reaches out to take your wrist into his hand, trying to get you to actually look at him. When you don’t instantly pull away, he lowers his head and leans to the right to make you meet his eyes as he speaks. The wet glaze over his eyes makes you feel like your heart is breaking all over again as your bottom lip quivers until you bite at it to force it to stop, once again forcing back any emotions that threaten to bubble to the surface.
“Matthew isn’t happy without you, Y/N. Why in the hell would you think that he would be? He’s depressed without you at school and without you in his life. I don’t understand why you think he’d be better off without you around.”
Sighing loudly, Seungcheol’s eyes drop to your bitten lip as you try to keep your tears back. He can see them on the rims of your eyes and he knows that you understand, even if you won’t say it.
“My son loves you. Don’t you get that? I lov—fuck… I need you in my life, Y/N. When I found out about you quitting I saw Alex and I confronted him. I told him to stay the fuck away from you, away from us.”
Shaking your head, you pull your arm from Seungcheol’s, feeling his fingers chase after yours as he whines your name under his breath. You can hear and feel the desperation behind his voice and it makes you want to make it better, but you don’t think he even understands what he’s saying to you or what he’s done.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Seungcheol. There’s no point. It was wrong of me to put myself into your life and into Matthew’s life. This is what I do. Don’t you get that? I disappoint people. Please let me—let me go. You don’t get it.”
Frustration rises in Seungcheol as you speak and as he watches your tears run down your cheeks. You were the one who didn’t get it. You thought this was just pretty words and a dream but to him, it was so much more. You were so much more.
Sliding his hand along your cheek to push away your tears, Seungcheol whispers your name as you let out a soft sob. Wanting to make you see what he feels, he cups your face in his palm and brushes his lips against yours, feeling you stiffen in his grasp for only a second before you relax. His kiss not only stuns you but it also takes your breath away. Your tears flow even more freely as Seungcheol’s fingers brush at your skin and his lips move over yours until he finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.
“Do you understand now?”
Wrapping your fingers around Seungcheol’s wrist, you sniff back tears as you lean your head back from his and shake your head.
“It won’t work, Seungcheol.”
Walking you towards the wall, Seungcheol shakes his head in return before leaning to kiss your cheek and tasting your tears on his lips.
"Yes, it will. It has to. I want it to… so fucking bad, baby. You feel like my missing piece. Y/N, you’re my somebody. Let me prove it to you.”
Seungcheol cups your face with both of his hands as you push your front door closed, letting him once again walk you backwards until your back is flush against the wall. The only difference this time is that it’s your lips that meet his first. You feel his fingers slide along the side of your head as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding into your mouth to mesh with your tongue before he groans, feeling your fingers grasp at his sides over his t-shirt.
This was everything Seungcheol had pictured for days, if not weeks, after being around you. He had wanted to kiss you that night when the two of you had shared wine on his couch. He had wanted to ask you to stay the night after dinner so that he could make love to you, and now he had you in his hands.
Sliding one hand along your neck, Seungcheol breaks the kiss long enough to meet your eyes, checking for any hesitation as his other hand moves to your hips and tugs them flush with his own. The only look in your eyes is one of desperation and desire. He wasn’t the only one who had wanted this, he had just been better at admitting it to himself than you had. Now that it was real and in front of you, your brain was in a frenzy.
“You’re so beautiful—so fucking beautiful. Wanted this… God, I’ve wanted it since I laid eyes on you. Wanna make you mine.”
Seungcheol’s hand moves back to your face, resting on your jaw so that his thumb can brush over your bottom lip, tugging it down as you whimper. There truly was nothing better than this. No art in any museum could compare to you. No artist would ever capture that look in your eyes, the bitten look of your lips, or the desire that was burning in you for Seungcheol.
“Please? Please, Cheol…”
Nodding, Seungcheol groans under his breath as you beg him to do what he wants. Glancing away from you, he gestures towards the hall in hopes that his guess of the layout of your apartment wasn’t too far off.
“Yeah, second door.”
Smiling at your pretty voice, Seungcheol leans down to capture your lips once again as his hands move from your face and hips to wrap around your thighs right under your ass. Feeling your arms wrap around his neck in surprise, he grins on your lips and lifts you with little effort, even as you gasp.
“Seungcheol, oh my god, I can walk.”
Clinging to Seungcheol, you watch as he shakes his head, walking you towards your bedroom. His strong hands are under you, holding you close to his body with each step.
“What’s the fun in that, baby? Let me have this, okay?”
Stepping into your room, Seungcheol only glances around for a second before his lips are back on yours and he takes another step towards your bed, only to sit down, allowing you to rest on his lap. Your cheeks were hot with how flustered you felt, not only about being carried to your room but about how you could already feel Seungcheol’s cock between your legs. Letting out a shaky breath on his lips, you hold onto Seungcheol’s shoulders as you give into your desire and rest your knees on either side of his legs. Rolling your hips over the bulge in his jeans and earning you a deep groan from his throat, Seungcheol leans his head back and presses his fingers into the swell of your ass through your pants.
“Shit… that—that feels so good. It’s been a long time for me, Y/N.”
Nodding, you slide your fingers from Seungcheol’s shoulder along his neck and up to his face to tilt it back towards you so you can meet his eyes as you roll your hips over him once again. You feel your own arousal beginning to soak through your panties, causing them to stick to your folds, a soft whine slipping from between your lips as your brows furrow.
“That’s okay. It’s been a while for me too, Cheol.”
It might be selfish of him, but Seungcheol thinks at that moment that if he had his way, he might be your last. He would be all you’d ever need. You’d never want to look for anyone else. All he needed to do was prove that to you.
Smiling into a soft groan, he groans as his brows furrow, feeling your fingernails press into his shoulders over his shirt. Seungcheol leans his head back and your lips against his throat has his eyes closing and his fingers tightening on your hips, pulling you down over his lap. Sliding his hands upwards, Seungcheol whispers your name as your lips move along his jaw and his head almost becomes cloudy with thoughts of putting your back on the bed and having his way with you.
“Y/N… fuck. I need to see you. Can I? Can I see you?”
Nodding, you lean back from him, letting his fingers work up your sides, pushing your shirt up as he goes. Brown eyes take in every new inch of skin exposed to him as Seungcheol furrows his brows and whispers out soft praises for you. He tells you how beautiful you are, how perfect you are, and how much he cares about you, all before pulling your shirt up and over your head and tossing it behind you into the floor.
Your cheeks burn at his attention as Seungcheol smiles at you, his fingers once again on your body. You can’t help the way that you gasp and shift in his lap as his fingers walk along your flesh, leaving goosebumps behind his path.
Shifting your shoulders forward, you feel your bra straps fall down your arms when Seungcheol’s fingers work the clasps open at the middle of your back. The garment gives way and you feel warm breath fanning across your skin before soft plush kisses move from your shoulder to the center of your chest.
Letting your bra fall into your lap, you slide your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair as his name slips from between your lips like a prayer or a hymn. You didn’t have much doubt that he would have been good at this, but it was still surprising at how much attention he was giving you and how he was taking his time—even if you wanted more and more quickly.
Tugging at his hair, you whine almost in frustration as you feel his lips brush over your nipple, only for Seungcheol to pull away and place a kiss in the same place on your other breast. You were so aroused—so wet—that you felt like you could cum untouched on his lap, but every single teasing touch kept you right on the edge.
“Cheol… please? I need more… Give me more.”
He wanted to give you more. He wanted to see more, but tasting your skin was like tasting sugar for the first time. The salt in your skin was addictive. The smell of your body wash, the perfume that you used... even the laundry detergent that you chose was like the perfect mix to keep him dazed. It’s only your voice that brings him back to the present and reminds him what he’s supposed to do.
Standing with you secure in his arms, Seungcheol quickly turns to lay you on your bed so he can hover over you. The feeling is instantly different. You had known that he was a large man and that he worked hard in the gym, but having him on top of you like this made it even more obvious how small you were compared to him.
Letting his eyes move over your face for a moment as your eyes widen, Seungcheol smirks slightly, trailing his fingers along your stomach to the clasp of your jeans. Working them open, he watches you bite your bottom lip and all he can think is how he wants to do that for you, how he’d do anything for you if you asked him to. It could be in this bed or the most simple domestic task and he would make it happen.
When Seungcheol’s palm presses to your abdomen and his fingers work their way into your jeans past your panties, you can’t help the small, surprised gasp that escapes from behind your lips. Your hips lift and Seungcheol’s middle finger barely presses between your folds, brushing over your clit, and it’s almost enough to make you want to scream his name.
You didn’t remember being this easy to please, but perhaps it wasn’t even that… no, perhaps it was Seungcheol touching you. Maybe it was his fingers sliding against your wet folds and parting them so that he can circle your entrance with that same middle finger. It was because this time you were with the man you had spent hours trying to avoid picturing spending your life with and now he was groaning your name, feeling your slick arousal coating his fingers for the first time.
“Baby, oh my god, Y/N.” Seungcheol feels his mouth water as he feels his fingers slipping through your soft, wet folds. He just shakes his head as he tries to angle his hand in your tight jeans to press his finger into you, only to whine in frustration when he can’t. “Gotta get these off. Wanna taste you… gotta open you up, baby girl.”
Smiling as you run your fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, hearing him whine, you lower your eyes to his hands as he tugs at your jeans, working them down your legs. There was this amazing juxtaposition when it came to him. You had just felt so small under him and now you were listening to him whine and talk with a pout on his lips as he tried to pull your pants off while still talking to you with such a dirty mouth.
Grinning to himself as he drops your jeans on the floor next to the bed, Seungcheol glances up at you before he wraps his arms under your thighs and scoots you up in the bed suddenly. Gasping his name, you grab at his shirt out of surprise, feeling it pull up his body as he meets your eyes again with a raised brow.
“Can’t have you falling off the bed. Do you want my shirt? You can have it, sweetheart.”
Your eyes follow Seungcheol’s hand as he reaches over his shoulder to tug at his shirt, pulling it up over his head with one swift movement. There were many ways to remove a shirt but that had to be the sexiest way you had ever seen. Trying to push your thighs together, you find you can’t as Seungcheol’s knee rests between them, drawing his eyes down to your legs as he hands you his shirt.
“Fuck… look at you.”
Hissing out a moan, you clench your fingers around Seungcheol’s shirt and lift your hips when he pushes his thumb against the center of your panties, where the cloth was sticking to your skin. This wasn’t what you meant by giving you more, but any complaints can’t make it out of your mouth as Seungcheol smirks at you, one hand resting on the bed next to your hip and the other staying between your legs.
Brushing his knuckles over your wet panties, he lets out a breath before pulling them to the side and letting out a deep groan at the sight. He knew you were wet. He had felt it on his fingers and it was easy to see even through your panties, but seeing your glistening skin was another thing entirely.
“So pretty… you’re so wet, baby girl. Is it uncomfortable?”
Nodding, you close your eyes tightly, feeling tears threatening to spill over the rims of your eyes from just anticipation.
“Yes, Cheol…”
A soft, sweet, faux cooing sound slips from his lips before Seungcheol lowers himself down between your legs to run his tongue over your soft folds. Grunting to the taste, he furrows his brows and wraps his fingers around your panties tighter, keeping them to the side as he wraps his free arm around your hip, tugging you closer to his mouth. One simple taste wasn’t nearly enough, it was only enough to make him feel feral with desire for you and for him to want to bury his face between your legs for the rest of his life.
Bringing Seungcheol’s shirt up to your mouth, you bite down on the cotton to muffle your moans. Your eyes close tightly, tears running from your eyes and towards your hairline as Seungcheol’s lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks hard and groans, sending a vibration through your body. You feel yourself clench around nothing until he runs his tongue along your folds, massaging them, pulling them into his mouth and finally pressing his tongue into your needy hole.
“Seungcheol!”
The shirt falls from your lips as you scream his name, feeling the pressure that has been building in your abdomen and threatening to overflow. Seungcheol’s lips pull up ever so slightly, even as he nudges his nose against your clit and fucks you with his tongue, feeling you clench around the muscle.
He wanted you to cum for him. He needed it more than he needed water to survive the desert. You were all that made sense right now, and getting you to bliss was the answer to everything.
Sliding his hand from around your hip, Seungcheol grunts under his breath as he leans back, face wet with your slick. Spitting on your entrance, he works two of his fingers into your velvet walls, watching you arch your back off the bed.
“There you go, baby.”
He could feel you clamping down around his fingers as you became impossible wetter, your cum seeping around his fingers with each deep thrust.
“Oh my god, Cheol...”
Smiling against your inner thigh, Seungcheol glances up at you to meet your eyes as he carefully slides his fingers out of you, feeling your walls pulse around them. He wanted more, but even if you decided that you couldn’t handle more or that you didn’t want more, seeing you like that would be enough.
Reaching out for him, you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling instantly frustrated at the feeling of his jeans against your skin. The only thing that makes it better is his soft, plush lips on yours. You try to think quickly of anything better than Choi Seungcheol’s kiss—the way he would smile against your mouth before licking into it with a groan—and nothing comes to mind. Muttering into the kiss, you drag your fingers along his sides, feeling him shiver under your hands before he leans back to look down at you with want in his eyes.
“Off, take them off. Want—I want you. Please?”
At first, when you say off, Seungcheol’s heart almost drops into his stomach. He thinks that you really have had enough of him for the night, but then your nails tug at the top of his jeans and a smile pulls at his pretty lips.
“Anything you want... fuck, Y/N. I’d give you the world.”
Sucking on your bottom lip, you feel heat rising in your cheeks and along your chest and neck at Seungcheol’s words. You had fallen deep and hard for this man and he was a romantic. You weren’t going to get out of this without a few scars or in one piece, but now you weren’t sure if you wanted to.
Watching him closely, your eyes follow Seungcheol as he slides off the bed to push his jeans down along with his boxers, leaving him naked in front of you. Bringing your fingers up to your already bitten lips, you turn on your side and press your cheek against your arm, trying to hide your reaction, but the look on Seungcheol’s face tells you that you haven’t gotten off that easily.
Moving back to you, he runs his hand up the length of your leg, stopping at your hip as he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his other hand pulling your fingers from your lips. Seungcheol watches as your lips fall open on a soft, breathy gasp of his name when he guides your hand to his cock. With your hand in his, he guides your palm over the head of his length before wrapping your fingers around his shaft and dragging your hand from tip to base.
“This okay?”
Nodding quickly, you whine, feeling Seungcheol thrust his hips gently towards your hand as he lets go of yours in place of running his fingers over your head, a groan slipping from his lips. He didn’t want to get off like this, and he wouldn’t, but with how you had been looking at him—a mixture of lust and surprise—Seungcheol wanted to make sure you knew what was going inside of you.
Your eyes stay on his face for a moment longer before they drop to your hand and Seungcheol’s cock in your hand. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t tell he was big, but feeling and seeing were different stories. It wasn’t length but girth. He was thick enough that you could already imagine the stretch and found yourself thanking him in your mind for making you cum first.
“Sh—shit baby… I gotta stop you.”
Putting his hand back over yours, Seungcheol licks his lips and moves your hand from his leaking cock as it twitches, almost begging you for more. He already felt so close. Just looking at you, fucking you with his tongue, and feeling you on his fingers had been enough to make him feel like he was going to cum, but now your hand on him? He was lucky he didn’t cum the second he put your fingers around his cock.
“Fuck me, Cheol.”
Your voice is timid and almost a whisper but Seungcheol can hear it. Furrowing his brows, he licks his lips once more before shaking his head and this time your heart sinks before he speaks and slides his hand between your legs, parting them so he can once again run his fingers through your already swollen, wet folds.
“No… I’m not going to fuck you, baby girl.” Grinning as you start to pout and whine in protest, Seungcheol leans to kiss your lips as he pushes two fingers into you, feeling you arch off the bed. “I’m gonna make love to you. There’s a difference.”
Gasping on his lips, you hold on to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as Seungcheol rocks his fingers back against your spot, feeling you clench down over them once again. When you throw your head back, cum once again coating his fingers, Seungcheol groans, leaning to press his lips to the column of your throat, feeling your swallow hard under his kiss.
“That’s it, such a good girl. You feel good?”
Out of breath, you nod weakly as Seungcheol looks down at you, sliding his fingers out of you.
“That’s all I want, baby…”
Glancing around the room, Seungcheol leans his head on his arm before taking a breath and wincing a bit before asking you what he had been mildly dreading from the moment this had begun. He knew it could make or break the moment, but it was important.
“I didn’t bring anything with me with the assumption that something like this was happening.
Fuck, I mean, I don’t even think I have condoms at my place. Do you have anything?”
Smiling as you bite your lips, you run your fingers over Seungcheol’s cheek before tracing his lips, feeling him press a kiss to your fingers.
“I’m on birth control, Cheol. It’s fine.”
Taking a deep breath against your fingers, Seungcheol nods, feeling the pressure melt away as you run your knee along his outer thigh up to his hip. He hated the idea of disappointing you after making a big promise like he had, but now the pressure was taken over by desire. It was an honor to be in your bed in the first place, but like this? His head was spinning.
Sliding his fingers along your bent leg, Seungcheol leans into your hand as you cup his cheek before he turns to kiss your palm and nods, letting you know without words what he was doing. Gasping softly at the feeling of the tip of his cock running through your folds, you close your eyes and drop your hand to his shoulder as you push your head back into the pillow. Not even imagining the stretch could actually prepare you for the real thing as Seungcheol slowly eased inside of you bit by bit.
“Oh my god.” The words fall from your lips like a prayer, tears finding your eyes again as the painful stretch is quickly replaced with pleasure. “Seungcheol… fuck. You’re…”
The words get caught in your throat and Seungcheol looks up at you in concern, seeing tears running from your eyes. Running his fingers over your face, he stops moving and presses his lips to yours, only to feel you shake your head and lift your hips, trying to get more of him inside of you.
“Ah—fuck, Y/N… I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Nodding, you capture Seungcheol’s lips, kissing him between words.
“I’m okay. Feels so good, baby. Please give me more.”
Hearing you call him baby left Seungcheol stunned and love struck. He pauses before feeling you once again lift your hips before you wrap your legs around his waist and whine his name on his lips.
“Okay…okay. It’s just... call me that again? Please?”
You hadn’t even realized what you had said until he asked for you to call him the pet name again. Opening your eyes as you press your head back into the pillow, you feel Seungcheol bottom out in you, the stretch so intense that you clench around him, earning yourself a well deserved groan from his chest.
“Baby?”
You watch as Seungcheol nods, another groan dripping from his lips like candy for you to collect. Smiling, you can’t hold back a soft moan as Seungcheol makes a shallow thrust and you feel full and complete. You find yourself wanting to always feel like this. Warm, full, and safe.
“I—lo—” You struggle with your words as Seungcheol thrusts deep and harder, sending your head towards the headboard. Reaching back over your head, you hold on to the side of it and hum out another moan before nodding. “Just like that, baby. I’m so close. You’re right, there’s a difference.”
Seungcheol smiles at your words as he leans down to press a kiss on your shoulder. He was hoping you hadn’t been upset with him for telling you he was going to make love to you. There would be plenty of time for him to fuck you later—at least he hoped so. If he got his way, this would be forever. He could already picture himself buying a ring and getting down on one knee.
Shaking his head to push that thought from his head, not wanting to scare you away, Seungcheol nips at your neck and groans, feeling himself about to burst. He had already made you cum twice, but it was important to him that you were satisfied. He would do everything he could not to cum before you.
Tugging one of your legs loose from his waist, Seungcheol meets your eyes as he slides his hand between your bodies and finds your folds. He watches as your mouth falls open as his fingertips rub in tight circles over your clit, all while his cock is buried deep inside of you until that cord that was winding in your abdomen snaps once again.
“Yes…yes—oh fuck!”
Your voice was like music and had to be what angels sound like. That was all Seungcheol could think of as you came on his cock. You were so tight before, but now, as you orgasmed for the third time with him inside of you, he had seen heaven, and he wasn’t sure how he survived you.
“Please… now you. Cheol, baby… please?”
You begging him to cum only solidified that he had to have died and gone to heaven because there was no way for him to resist you. There was no way for him to hold back. Groaning loudly against the crook of your neck, Seungcheol cums as he feels your thighs start to shake around him.
Running your fingers through his sweaty, damp hair, you close your eyes and focus on catching your breath as Seungcheol rests over your body. He was afraid he was too heavy, but the moment he tried to move away from you, a small whine of protest had him staying right where he was. Placing small kisses on the top of your breasts, Seungcheol then glances up at you, seeing the bliss on your face and he can’t help but smile.
“You are so beautiful.”
Laughing softly, you open your eyes and look down at Seungcheol before lifting your hand to hide your face. There was no way you looked remotely beautiful at the moment. You knew you were sweaty and in desperate need of a shower and yet here was the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life, telling you that you were beautiful.
Wrapping his hand gently around your wrist, Seungcheol pulls your hand from your face and kisses the back of it before bringing your palm to his chest. You feel his heart beating hard as he too works to catch his breath.
“I’m serious, Y/N. I am so—shit I don’t want to scare you away, but I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll lose you again. I’m in love with you.”
Taking a sharp breath at Seungcheol’s confession, you glance up at the ceiling to avoid having to look at his eyes. A small frown replaces his smile as he hears your heart beat quicken in panic. He hadn’t wanted you to panic, but he knew it was a risk. Carefully sliding out of you and to your side, Seungcheol lifts your hand from his chest to his lips and kisses the back of your knuckles as you bite at your lips.
“Y/N, baby, please look at me? I wanna talk about this. I know you feel something for me or else we wouldn’t be in this bed.”
Pushing your thighs together, feeling even more sticky and sweaty, you feel yourself becoming even more self conscious until you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and see the concerned look on his face. You didn’t want to hurt him again. You had spent so much of your life running and once you had a good thing, it bit you in the ass. So now that you had walls that he had taken a sledgehammer to, it was terrifying.
“I—you’re right. I do feel something for you. I feel a lot of things. I’m just so fucking scared, Seungcheol. What if we mess this up? I don’t—”
Closing your eyes, your words end on a sob as your emotions get the better of you. Moving to pull you into his arms, Seungcheol shakes his head and shushes you before kissing the side of your head, letting you continue.
“I can’t hurt Matthew. I love him so much. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not proper for a teacher to have a favorite like that.”
Smiling against your head, Seungcheol takes a deep breath and places another kiss before shaking his head.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with being his teacher or a teacher in general. I think—and you can tell me to shove it up my ass if I’m out of line, but I think it has to do with just love in general. You are maternal, Y/N.”
Swallowing hard, you hold onto Seungcheol’s forearm as you think through what he has said.
There was a part of you that did want to tell him to shove it, but a larger part that knew he wasn’t wrong. You had pictured far too often a life with them that wasn’t just being Matthew’s teacher.
“I feel like I should apologize for that or something.”
Leaning back to look down at you, Seungcheol moves his hand to tilt your chin up so you will look at him. Furrowing his brow, he shakes his head and the look in his eyes is the most serious you have seen in the entire night.
“Never apologize for loving my son. He loves you too.”
The words go straight to your heart and tears stream down your face. You picture Matthew’s sweet smile as you close your eyes and you know you have to ask about him.
“I—okay. Can I—can I ask how he’s doing?”
Pulling you back to his chest, Seungcheol leans against your headboard and leans his head back against it with a soft sigh.
“He’s sad, baby. He misses you. He doesn’t like school as much, even if Mrs. Lim is a decent teacher. He asked if you didn’t like him anymore and that was why you had to teach other little kids.”
Seungcheol knew the truth of what Matthew had been dealing with would hurt you, but it was something that you needed to know. He could have sugar coated it, but when it came to his son and how he was feeling, that was something Seungcheol would never do. He isn’t surprised when he feels your body shake against his. It breaks his heart to feel your tears against his chest as you turn in his arms to be held tighter.
“I can’t go back to that—to that school, Cheol. I didn't… I’m the fucking worst.”
Shushing you, Seungcheol kisses the top of your head as tears sit on the rims of his eyes, feeling your heartbreak and his own for his son.
“I know it wasn’t just about us. That wasn’t why you left. What’s done is done. You aren’t the worst; don’t talk about yourself like that. All we need to do is talk to Matthew about it. He will understand.”
"Alright, listen, if your dad asks about the weekend, what are you gonna say?”
Jeonghan lifts a brow as he looks down at Matthew on his right. The little boy’s hand in his as he smiles up at him. It had taken a lot to get that smile on his face and he was proud to see it. Between him and Joshua, a weekend of trash tv, and all the worst foods you could feed a child, he was finally seeing the Matthew he knew.
“That Uncle Jeonghan and Uncle Shua let me watch edgeucational things only on TV.”
Clicking his tongue as he winks at his godson, Jeonghan fishes his key for Seungcheol’s apartment out of his pocket and pushes the door open. Shifting the overnight bag on his shoulder, he doesn’t glance up until he hears Matthew gasp in surprise. The sound scares him, his eyes widening as the boy takes off, running towards the living room and drawing his eyes in that direction.
“What! What’s wrong?”
It’s when he sees you sitting on the couch with Seungcheol that it makes sense. He watches as Matthew wraps his arms around your neck, the sad expression on your face and tears in your eyes as you wrap your arms around the child, pulling him into your lap.
Meeting Seungcheol’s eyes, Jeonghan lifts his brows and gets a grin back as an answer. Shaking his head, Jeonghan drops the bag from his shoulder onto the couch and lets out a low, deep sigh. It had taken long enough, but clearly things had worked out the way they were supposed to. He just wished it had happened sooner and not at the expense of Matthew’s happiness. At least he could relish in the happy look on his face now, that was making up for almost all of it.
“Well then, I was going to see if you needed me to stay for a bit today, but clearly...”
Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol stands up to hug Jeonghan, whispering that he will explain everything later. Glancing back to you and Matthew, he presses his lips together as you nod along with Matthew’s story about his weekend with Uncle Jeonghan and Joshua, letting him have a moment to walk Jeonghan to the door.
“Yeah, I wanna know all the juicy details. Jihoon owes me 100 bucks.”
Grinning as Seungcheol makes a face of disgust, Jeonghan waves at you and Matthew before walking out the door, leaving the three of you to yourself. Leaning against the wall, Seungcheol watches for a moment longer, his lip caught between his teeth as you run your fingers through Matthew’s hair lovingly while you explain the new job.
“But, I’ll still see you all the time. I promise, okay? I just have to help other kids for the rest of the year.”
Pouting a bit, Matthew wraps his hand around yours, pulling it into his lap before nodding.
“Mmkay… as long as you come over all the time.”
Smiling a bit sheepishly as he looks from you to his dad and back, Matthew kicks his legs and giggles, making you tilt your head as Seungcheol moves to the couch to sit next to you.
“Daddy, does this mean that Miss Y/N can be my mommy now?”
Blanching slightly, Seungcheol’s mouth falls open as he looks at you, watching your lips press together. Meeting his son’s eyes, he tries to speak before laughing and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Uh, that’s adult business, son. I don’t know. Maybe one day. You know if Y/N will have your daddy as a husband.”
Looking away to hide your embarrassed smile, you clear your throat as Matthew giggles once again and slides from your arms to his dad’s.
“I think that’s a yes. All the boys on the TV show Uncle Shua liked got down on their knees and just asked. Most of the girls said yes, even though they were behind a wall!”
His eyes widening, Seungcheol looks at you as you laugh and brings your fingers to your lips before speaking.
“I thought you said you guys watched educational videos?”
Looking down at his hands, realizing he had said too much, Matthew grins and shrugs.
“I didn’t say nothing.”
Eyes narrowing, Seungcheol presses his fingers into his son’s side, tickling him as he shakes his head.
“I need to have a talk with your uncles about teaching you how to lie and letting you watch garbage.”
Smiling, you watch the two people you love the most as they laugh and end up hugging when Seungcheol kisses Matthew’s cheek. You could get used to seeing this every day.
You had thought that after you had helped Seugcheol get Matthew to bed, you might sneak back to your apartment, but then he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pouted. That was how you ended up on his bed, his lips on your neck as you whined softly, doing your best to keep your voice down, feeling him smile against your skin.
“Seung–Seungcheol, please. I’m trying to be quiet. I’m not sure I can do this. What if we wake up, Matthew? How do we even explain—”
Leaning back, Seungcheol meets your eyes and purses his lips before sliding off the bed and offering you his hand. Taking a breath to calm down, you put your fingers on his and let him guide you off the bed and towards the connected ensuite.
“We don’t have to explain anything, baby. He’s a heavy sleeper, but if you are worried.”
Leaning against the counter of the double sink, you watch as Seungcheol leans into the glass shower to turn it on. The sound of water fills your ears and you smile as the man you had grown to adore beyond words looks back at you for praise as if he had just moved the earth for you.
“Smart…”
Nodding along with your words, Seungcheol moves back over to you, sliding the skirt of your sundress up your legs to your hips.
“I mean, I am a doctor. It’s a requirement.”
Smacking his chest, you listen to Seungcheol’s laugh and it makes you feel warm and safe. Lifting your arms, you let him quickly undress you, dropping your dress on the counter before he takes a knee and hooks his fingers into your panties, shimmying them down your legs.
“You don’t look half bad on your knee, Dr. Choi.”
Seungcheol lifts his brow, a smirk pulling at one side, before he leans to press a kiss to your leg, discarding your panties to the side. You run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, chill bumps spreading under his kisses.
“You like me on my knee? Wanna see me like this again?”
Your cheeks burning, you bite at your lips and hide your smile as you look away from his eyes as Seungcheol looks up at you before rising to his feet once again. Turning your head back towards him, Seungcheol brushes his lips over yours as steam starts to fill the room. He could feel the warmth on your cheeks under his fingers as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone towards your hairline.
“Hm? I asked you something, baby girl.”
Whining his name, you take a breath as Seungcheol takes a step back to tug off his shirt and quickly get rid of his pants and boxers before offering you his hand once again.
“You can’t ask me things like that. It’s too soon.”
Shaking his head, Seungcheol leads you towards the shower, opening the door for you and following you inside. His eyes move along your body as the water hits your skin and you lean your head back into the stream of water with a smile on your face. Lifting his free hand, Seungcheol runs it between your breasts and down your stomach as the smile on his lips grows.
“Too soon for what? For me to already be thinking about wanting to marry you? Shit, I was thinking about that the night we drank wine until 2 in the morning on my couch.”
Licking water from your lips, you lift your head to look at Seungcheol as he speaks to you. His words make you feel hot and almost speechless. He had wanted you for that long? He had wanted you that way for that long.
Meeting your eyes for a second, Seungcheol lets out a soft hum of appreciation at the dazed look on your face before his middle finger drags between your folds and your knees buckle. Quickly wrapping his arm around your waist, he groans as he turns your back towards the shower wall and lets you rest against it.
“I’m in it for the long haul, baby. I think you know that. Is that something you’d want? Hm? What was Matthew asking earlier? To be his mommy?”
Your lips fall open in a moan of Seungcheol’s name as you feel two of his fingers hook into you and his palm rests against your clit. Lifting your leg, you wrap one around his waist, letting him keep you upright as you try to think straight, only managing to babble incoherently. You weren’t sure how he wanted you to think clearly and come up with logical words when his fingers were so deep in you.
“Tell me… I really wanna know. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen tonight, but... I won’t lie, thinking about you like that—as my wife…” You feel Seungcheol shiver as a grin pulls at his lips against your jaw. “It turns me on.”
You knew Seungcheol was romantic and now you knew he had particular kinks. God you were in trouble. You were in trouble of being in constant pleasure if you did end up being this man's wife. Holding onto Seungcheol’s biceps, you whisper his name as his lips brush against yours before nodding and feeling him nod in return.
“You do? Yeah? Can you say it for me? I wanna hear it. Indulge me, sweetheart.”
Whining, you lean your head back against the shower wall as you feel yourself starting to fall over the edge. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes from pleasure as you whimper and your mouth falls open, cum slipping down Seungcheol’s fingers as you moan out the words he wants to hear.
“I would; I would wanna be your wife, Cheol. I love you.”
Bracing himself against the wall, palm flat against it, Seungcheol groans, feeling himself unable to hold back. It’s not everything he has to give you, but you are surprised to feel warm cum on your stomach, drawing your eyes downward.
“Oh, my god...”
Sighing, Seungcheol laughs, a bit embarrassed, before pushing off the wall and sliding his fingers out of you. Wiping his mouth clean of water, he uses his other hand to hold your leg to his hip as before, stroking his still hard cock a couple times and lining himself up with your eager pussy.
“I told you I liked the idea of it. I love you, too. Fuck…”
The last word out of Seungcheol’s mouth is drawn out as he slips himself inside of you with some effort. In this position, you were even tighter than he was used to. He had taken you to bed a few times over the weekend, but never like this and you had never sucked his cock in like you were trying to milk him dry.
Holding your hip tightly, Seungcheol meets your eyes as you let out a soft gasp, feeling his hips meet yours. At this angle, you felt like he was going to tear you apart, but you weren’t complaining. There was bad pain, and then there was this. This was that sweet, satisfying pain that led to so much pleasure that you saw stars, and you were starting to see them.
Lips meeting yours, Seungcheol groans into the kiss as he grinds his hips against yours, finding it harder to move after a few deep thrusts when you clamp down over him and cum once again. Scratching at his wet skin, you bite down into his bottom lip before leaning back from his kiss to pant out his name when Seungcheol groans so deep it sounds like a growl.
He had made love to you before; there had truly been a difference between that and now. The way his fingers were bruising your hips and the way his hips were slapping against yours—now he was fucking you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him which way you preferred, even as you watched his mouth fall open as he cums once again, this time filling you and pushing it out with each deep thrust.
“Holy shit, baby.”
Furrowing your brows, you let out a soft gasp as Seungcheol slips from you and lowers your leg safely back to the floor. Keeping your back to the wall, you take a few deep breaths, feeling his fingers running along your sides as his lips press to your throat, up your jaw, and finally to your lips before you smile.
“That was…”
Nodding to agree with you, Seungcheol laughs against your lips before taking a step back to step under the showerhead, feeling the warm water run over his body. Opening your eyes, you can’t help the way you shyly look at him before laughing and looking away, making him grin as he reaches for his shampoo with a tilt of his head.
“What? Are you shy now? Is this about being in the shower with me or, uh, wife talk?”
Wrinkling your nose, you knock your head back against the shower wall before pushing off of it and towards Seungcheol. Watching him follow you with curious eyes, you sigh and lift your arms to run your fingers through his hair, spreading around the shampoo as you speak, feeling his hands running over your hips.
“The last part. It is a little fast. but I—is it bad that I like it too? Maybe I want that? Not now!” You are quick to add on the last to your sentence, making Seungcheol laugh before he leans his head back into the water, washing out the shampoo from his hair. “Just in the future, with you?”
Taking a breath, Seungcheol runs his fingers through his hair and then holds on to your waist, switching positions under the shower head to let you stand there as he grabs body wash to start spreading it over your body slowly.
“Not at all. I want it... in the future.”
Smiling brightly, Seungcheol meets your eyes as you whine, feeling overwhelmed. Leaning to kiss your nose, he sighs and spreads the soapy water along your body as he nods.
“Did I ever tell you that if I got married again, I’d love to have my honeymoon in Barcelona?”
He was great at breaking the tension. You couldn’t help the smile that pulled up at your lips or the laugh that spilled from between them as you shook your head, turning in his arms to let him wash your back.
“No? Well, that’s my dream destination. I’ve never been, and what better place to go with my bride?”
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WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo
abstract ✶ there are six physiological stages of having a crush. you just wish that you didn't have to learn this through first-hand experience. everyone said that choso kamo was a loser in high school, a quiet kid who haunted the campus with no friends. sure, he was brilliantly smart, but he dropped out in senior year. he even managed to break your heart, the glittering prom queen, with the world at your fingertips. imagine your surprise three years later, when you find yourself stuck with him in med school. what's worse? he's actually super hot now!
PART II. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁
pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader genre tags and warnings reader is practically a blair waldorf prototype (filthy rich, a bit bratty, spoiled), bestfriend!gojo, background gojo x geto, mentions of blood and injuries, med school, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst and hurt, fluff, kissing and making out. sukuna and yuuji cameos.
word count. 17.5k! song inspiration. crush culture — conan gray
a/n. shameless med student insert i rlly projected my full heart and soul into the anatomy lab ick. art belongs to all respective artists [will add credit!] crossposted on ao3 💖
dedication. for my dear kashika, first of all happy (belated) birthday @kasukuna 💗 wanted this to coincide with ur day but i'm late, i fear!!! you hype me up so much, send the sweetest asks and you're so damn talented that i'm left begging for an ounce of your creativity and amazing mind! your fics are so witty and well thought out and i like to think that you've spawned an incredible dumbass!bf sukuna renaissance on jjk tumblr 😭 idk if you remember but i sent you an ask on creamflix so long ago like the start of december asking you to choose between characters and au's so i tried lifting this as verbatim as i could from ur answer <3 hope you had the most amazing day ever!!
mp3. ✶ crush culture makes me wanna spill my gut out, i know what you're doing! tryna get me to pursue ya <3
You refuse to speak to Gojo Satoru ever again. Not today, not tomorrow, not in this lifetime nor the next. He’s officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately.
The moment he stops cackling like a deranged hyena in the middle of your bedroom, you’re going to shove him out the door so hard that he’s going to see stars. You’ll block his number, you’ll delete every photo of his smug grin, and you’re going to hire an exorcist to cleanse his essence from your life.
Except right now, your best friend is sprawled across your bed, practically writhing as he gasps for air in between bouts of ridiculous, chipmunk-like squeals. He’s still in his uniform, having crashed at your place after school, with his white shirt untucked, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his tie dangling uselessly around his neck.
“You are such a child,” you grumble, shoving your sticker-laden journal off your lap with a huff, just so you can aim a precise kick at his ribs. Satoru wheezes dramatically, clutching his stomach like he’s just been mortally wounded in battle.
“It’s -” he’s snickering, slapping the fine-thread sheets with the fervour of one trying to summon a higher power, “It’s just too good. I – oh my god, I really can’t breathe! I think I’m going to pass out.”
Satoru’s rolling over dramatically, dark-tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his hawkish nose, leaving him to look like a cherubic bird with a bad attitude.
“If only,” you mutter darkly, arms crossed over your own blazer as you glare daggers at the white-haired boy, “It’s not that funny.”
But Satoru just doesn’t listen, of course. His grin is wide enough to split his face in half, and every breath that he takes is another affront to your polished dignity, and every stupid wheeze is a reminder that you made the colossal mistake of trusting this man with classified information.
“Keep laughing,” you say, your tone low and menacing as you snatch your phone off your nightstand, “And see what happens when I play offence.”
That gets Satoru’s attention, as he freezes mid-snort. Grin faltering just enough to make you feel a small and petty thrill of satisfaction, “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” you say, already tapping away on your phone, scrolling past the ninety-nine notifications clogging Instagram. A certain raven-haired boy’s name hovers in your mind, one who shares the same initials as Gojo Satoru.
You’re not above sending a risky message.
Hey! Gojo’s been totally obsessed with you, ever since you bashed his head in with a spiral notebook back in seventh grade, and called him a spoilt, rich kid. He draws love hearts around your name every night. Just thought you should know, XOXO.
“Wait!” Satoru bolts upright so fast that his sunglasses fall into his lap, his grin morphing into a scowl as panic flashes in his too-blue eyes, “That’s playing dirty. Totally unfair.”
“You’re the one who laughed like a lunatic,” you say sweetly, tilting the phone towards him as if you’re about to hit send.
“You can’t be serious!” Satoru points a long, accusatory finger at you, his dramatic outrage undercut by the way his lips keep twitching, “I mean -” Another snicker escapes him as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking again, “Like how? Of all people, you really have a crush on that guy.”
For a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s too late to enrol in witness protection. It was clearly your mistake, deciding to tell Satoru critically sensitive information. Revealing the name of the boy that you were crushing on.
And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies.
You’re just totally head-over-heels for Choso Kamo.
“Whatever,” you snap, shoving your phone into the pocket of your school blazer with as much dignity as you can muster under the barrage of Satoru’s relentless cackles, “You wouldn’t understand?”
“Understand?” Satoru shifts himself with all the casual arrogance of someone who, unfortunately, has never been truly humbled in his life, propping himself against one of your enormous plush pillows.
The velvet squishes beneath his weight, gold embroidery bunching, but he’s utterly unbothered. “Enlighten me, we’re talking about the same Kamo right? The guy who sits behind you in class, and doesn’t so much blink in your direction? The one who looks like he’d rather gargle glass than talk to you?”
Another pillow sails across the bed before you even realise that you’ve hurled it. It strikes him square in the face, with a satisfying thwump! Muffling his laugh as he flails, tangled in thick, down stuffing.
“He’s just shy!” You insist, your voice rising as you get up to pace. Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. “And he only acts like that when others are around, by the way. He talks to me when it’s just us.”
“Oh, sure,” Satoru sits up, wrestling the pillow aside with a theatrical groan. His snowy hair sticks up at angles, like he’s been electrocuted, “That’s probably because he’s plotting his escape route while you corner him, like a lion closing in on its prey. Poor Kamo’s the gazelle.”
“Just know that I’m blowing you up in my mind.”
Satoru huffs, “So, what is your plan now? Are you going to ask him to prom? Are we going to see a proposal for the ages?”
You pause mid-pace, fighting the hot flush that creeps up your neck. It burns brighter as you glance towards the gilded vanity mirror, for that is exactly what you had wanted. You just needed to hear someone’s validation, “Should I?”
Satoru’s grin falters for a second, replaced with a look of sheer disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? That kid hates social events. You think he’s going to go with you?”
“Why not?” You’re fiddling with the crystal perfume decanters, the bottles of skincare on your vanity, “I’ve been dropping hints, okay? Subtle ones, all that manifesting shit.”
“Subtle?” Satoru snorts, “You mean letting half the football team pile bouquets into your locker? The locker that’s right next to his? Oh, yeah. Super low-key. Very humble.”
“At least I have options,” you snap back, flicking on the lights as the sun begins to sharpen its afternoon glare. Warm golden light spills across the room, catching on the ceiling-length silk drapes, “Meanwhile, I hope you end up alone at prom. Making ugly, kissy faces at Geto Suguru, while he’s with someone else.”
Satoru groans, like you’ve truly pierced his heart, “Cruel. So cruel when provoked,” but he’s propping himself back up on one elbow, “But hey, if you really do like Kamo, you know that makes him my future brother-in-law or something. That’s cool.”
Your gasp is sharp, scandalised, “Excuse me?”
“But think about it,” Satoru continues, ignoring your sputters, “You’re practically confirmed to be Prom Queen. Do you really want to drag that guy up on stage with you?”
“I think you’re being judgemental,” you mutter, tugging the drapes close and blocking out the faint twinkle of the city skyline, “He’d have to be insane not to say yes to me.”
“Someone is going to deflate that big head of yours one day,” Satoru says, and his voice has softened just enough to make you glance back at him, “You do know he cuts class a lot, right?”
“What’s your point?”
“I’m not being a bitch, I swear,” Satoru holds up his palms defensively, “He shows up for only half the month, you might want to check on your boy.”
You flop onto the chaise lounge, throwing an arm over your face tragically, “This isn’t the inspiring pep talk that I need right now.”
Satoru leans lazily against the gilded frame of your canopy bed, “Hey, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But if you are that into him, then fine! Just ask him to prom and see what happens. And tell you what? If you ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.”
You narrow your eyes, “Wow, this must be serious if you’re out here wheeling and dealing like this. Are you feeling okay?”
Satoru presses a dramatic hand to his chest, his grin morphing into something faux-solemn, “Cross my heart. I’m making a binding vow, like, it’s unbreakable. Life or death.”
“Deal,” you quickly say, ignoring the sudden leap of your pulse, because there’s no way that you’re letting him see how the sudden time-pressure is making your stomach twist into ugly knots. You point towards the door with a flourish, “And as much as I love our time together, I need to get ready. So…out! Chop-chop.”
Satoru groans like you’ve just asked him to drag a boulder uphill with his teeth, slumping off your bed in exaggerated defeat. He sluggishly reaches for his discarded backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder, “I still don’t get why you bother with working. You and I both know that we don’t need it,” he mutters, as if the concept of responsibility personally offends him.
“It’s just babysitting,” you gently correct, shrugging on a cashmere cardigan from the back of your chair, “And anyway, you know I need a well-rounded list of extracurriculars for Pre-Med.”
“I’d rather eat my sunglasses, one lens at a time,” Satoru shoots back, adjusting said sunglasses squarely over his face, “Instead of being stuck babysitting brats all evening. We’re not meant to be saints.”
“It’s just one kid tonight. New family, new house,” you reply, grabbing your bag where it rests by the vanity, “Anyway, I expect a full report on your prom date by tomorrow, Satoru. I’m not forgetting that vow.”
Satoru pauses in the doorway, with the edges of his grin sharpened into something that makes you pity Geto Suguru in advance, “I never disappoint.”
You had finally managed to shove Satoru out of the doorway, his obnoxious laughter echoing faintly down the hall. The quiet that follows is a relief, albeit short-lived. You’re left standing in the stillness of your room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the text with the address of tonight’s gig.
Honestly, Satoru might have a point. You, the only child of one of the country’s most obscenely wealthy families, babysitting? It’s not like you’re chasing pocket money or trying to build character. But medical school applications don’t only care about your bank account, there’s so many extra boxes to tick. Factors like being selfless or dedicated to the community.
The request had been odd from the start. Some child had called you himself, and normally, it’s the frazzled parents who handle that kind of task. His voice had been small, but determined, saying that his brother was out, and he needed a sitter for the evening. Something about the earnestness of it had softened you, though, now you were starting to regret the whole thing — seeing how far out this house was from your own penthouse.
Showing up in the Bentley with tinted windows and your chauffeur had felt a little off brand for this role. So, in the name of relatability, you had popped a piece of cherry gum and a book, taking on the bus. The sticky seats and questionable patrons had almost been enough to make you reconsider, but the suburb itself offered a strange charm.
It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of place that might have once been picturesque, but it had gone soft around the edges. The homes were older, cozy but tired, with paint peeling in places and lawns that were overrun with weeds. You wrinkle your nose as you step off the bus, weaving through tufts of stubborn greenery and abandoned toys in the yard.
The house that you’re looking for stands a little crooked, but sturdy. It’s faded shutters are barely hanging on, and a basketball hoop leans precariously over the driveway. There’s a small, red toy car that’s entirely faded and scratched, sitting forgotten near the porch steps.
Just as your knuckles hover over the worn wood of the front door, it swings open with such force that you nearly stumble backwards. A blur of motion catches you off guard, and you’re suddenly face-to-face with a tiny, pink-haired whirlwind.
The boy’s grinning up at you, wide and gap-toothed, with big golden eyes. His hair is wild, a fluffy crown of rosy strands over a dark undercut, and his scraped knees are haphazardly patched up with dinosaur bandages.
“Wait here! I’m going to get my brother!” He chirps, his voice bright and slightly whistly, thanks to the missing tooth. Before you can get a word in, he’s gone, sprinting back inside with the energy of an overeager puppy, leaving you stranded on the porch.
You shuffle awkwardly, glancing down at the scratched paint on the doorframe. There was something endearing about the child, and you’re starting to feel less apprehensive. That is, until the door opens again, and time slows.
Your heart stutters, skips, and then plummets. As if someone’s dropped you into an industrial freezer. Standing there, with one hand resting lightly on the kid’s shoulder, and an expression that’s one part confusion and one part disbelief, is Choso Kamo.
It’s as if the universe has conspired against you, playing its most cruel and ridiculous joke yet. Tall and broad, with tired eyes that sweep over you in slow recognition. Dark mark twitching across his face, like a deliberate smudge of ink.
Choso’s blinking, startled to see you here, though his usual stoic expression has yet to crack. Meanwhile, your inner monologue is screaming a symphony of pure panic. You can already heal Satoru’s stupid squeals in your head.
The pink-haired boy tugs on Choso’s arm, “See, I got a babysitter! Isn’t that cool?”
Choso glances down at the kid, then back at you, his lips parting as if to speak.
“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite.
It strikes you, with almost absurd clarity, that you’ve never seen Choso outside the campus bubble. No dim library corners, no lab tables cluttered with textbooks, or heavy beat-up laptops parked in front of him. Gone are the oversized hoodies thrown over his school uniform, or the baggy jeans he dons when he forgoes the dress code entirely. Instead, he’s here, standing in the soft glow of the broken porch light, wearing a loose black tee and dark track pants.
His chestnut hair is free from the two greasy, spiky knots that he favours on his head, falling softer around his face. Your traitorous heart lurches, feeling a sharp pang of betrayal.
“You’re the babysitter?” Choso’s voice cuts through your spiral. Raspy as always, roughened like rock salt, but there’s something else threaded into the question. A flicker of irritation, and confusion. As if he’s struggling to reconcile you, with the person standing on his doorstep.
“You didn’t know when you booked?” You shoot back, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere closer to petulant. Your eyes flick to the box he’s holding, with contents that glint faintly in the light. Suspiciously metallic, as if he’s cradling surgical tools.
Choso follows your curious gaze, exhaling sharply, and shifting the box to a nearby table, just out of your line of sight.
“I didn’t book,” he grunts, “Told Yuuji to check the ads, and pick one.”
“And I picked the best one!” The delighted chirp comes from behind Choso, as Yuuji reappears, practically bouncing with a sunny grin. His golden eyes are locked on the ribbon-wrapped box in your hands, and his expression is lit up with unabashed glee.
You glance down at the box, containing an array of decadent artisan doughnuts. Saffron glaze, coconut cream, pistachio and chocolate. All from that impossibly chic Swiss patisserie downtown. You ignore the dull ache building between your eyes, smiling as you hand the box over, “These are for you, little man.”
Yuuji’s already snapping his hands for the box, as though you had just delivered a treasure chest of gold doubloons, “Can I have one? Please? Pretty-please?”
Choso glances down at him with a long-suffering look that somehow manages to carry an undertone of fondness, “Just one,” he warns, his voice dry but warm, “For now.”
Yuuji doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting towards the kitchen and clutching the box to his chest like a sacred relic. The faint sound of icing being smacked off fingers echoes from somewhere around the corner.
Choso watches him go, before turning back to you, his posture easing slightly. “That was nice of you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative, “But he’s going to crash hard after that sugar high. Good luck.”
You wave off his scepticism with a breezy smile, “I’m good with kids. I’ll manage.”
For a moment, the boy’s expression shifts. Something fleeting and unreadable flickers across his face, a hint of thoughtfulness or something heavier.
Another thought gnaws at the edges of your mind, a tiny spectre of dread wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s smug grin. Two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, you made a pact.
You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.
At the time, it had seemed like an impossible bluff. But the thing about Satoru is that he’s infuriatingly reliable when he sets his mind to something. No matter the cost.
Which is why you’re here now, sweating under your cashmere sweater. The fabric is suddenly too soft, too warm, clinging to the nape of your neck. You, with half the school population ready to pen sonnets just for a chance to take you to prom. Jocks, debate captains, the crème de la crème of eligible dates. All overlooked in favour of the quiet boy that no-one seems to notice.
The boy whose locker was assigned right next to yours, empty and cold steel. While yours was glittered with Polaroids, and pastel sticky notes, and the occasional folded love letter. The boy that everyone said had no friends, but he was easily the uncontested valedictorian. The boy that you desperately wanted to ask to prom.
Choso is shuffling papers on the table, avoiding your gaze like it’s a laser beam. His movements are slow, and deliberate, but there’s an edge of tension in the way his fingers linger on a set of silver keys, before he slips them into his pocket.
“What?” His voice breaks the quiet, low and rough like gravel underfoot. It startles you out of your spiralling thoughts.
“Nothing,” you blurt out, far too quickly. You’re grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, “Where are you headed?”
Choso hesitates, a slight hitch in his movements, picking that cardboard box again. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore your question, but then he mutters, “Work.”
You tilt your head, your curiosity outweighing your better judgement to never press Choso Kamo for more than two sentences in a conversation.
He shifts uncomfortable, and you catch a glimpse of latex gloves tucked neatly inside before he angles it out of view, “I…clean up things,” he says finally, his tone clipped as though every word is a concession, “Errands. I’m a cleaner.”
The kind of response that’s designed to kill conversation in its track. It’s vague, annoyingly so, but you let it slide, “Oh.”
You’re this close to spontaneously combusting. The pact, the reason that your hands shake when you catch yourself staring at Choso Kamo for just a second too long. It’s either now or never. Rip the band-aid before your central nervous system completely betrays you and implodes.
Objectively speaking, you’re a real catch. Second-best grades in the cohort, from an old business dynasty that rivalled the Youngs from Crazy Rich Asians, two-time prom queen with med-school practically knocking on the door. Yeah, a dream. College applications adored you. Surely, Choso would have had to be running on a clone’s brain stitched into his head to say no.
Yet, somehow, it doesn’t make your heart beat any less erratically. It doesn’t erase the hollow pit that’s clawing at your insides. And now, you’re wishing that you had asked for advice from someone with an ounce of finesse. Like Shoko, or Utahime. Not your best friend who called himself The Honoured One.
You clear your throat, the taste of artificial cherry gum still lingering, “So, are you going to prom?”
Choso snorts, the sound entirely dismissive. But he seems to realise that you’re not joking, flicking you a glance, like he’s deciding to humour you, “What’s it to you? Need me to vote for you to be prom queen?”
You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your Burberry sweater, “Didn’t I already ask you to do that, like, two months ago?”
His lips twitch, barely, like he’s holding a smile back under layers of indifference, “Yeah. You pestered me three times. And I actually did it.”
You latch onto the softer tone in his voice, “So, are you going to go, then?” You’re watching him, almost desperate for a sign, for anything other than no.
Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”
“Can’t?” The word slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, incredulous, “What do you mean can’t? Why? You need to study or something?” You’re trying so hard to sound indifferent, like you’ve got a roster of dates lined up. And well, you do. But this is the only one that you want. The panic creeping into your voice betrays you before you even realise it.
“No,” Choso replies, his tone quieter, “I really just can’t go.”
A weight drops in your stomach, heavy and cold. Is this what rejection feels like? The thought hits like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your heart’s flipping in your chest like it’s teetering on the edge of cliff, seconds away from freefalling into nothing.
You inhale sharply, steeling yourself for the words that are about to spill out.
“I want you to be my date for prom.” “I can’t go because I dropped out.”
The words slam into each other, and for a moment, everything freezes. Choso’s mouth has fallen open, the curve of his lips slack with shock. As though as someone’s hit the pause button on him, mid-thought. You blink at him, your brain becoming a skipping CD. Round and round, never quite catching the beat.
“What did you just say?” Your brows knit together in a sharp pinch, like your face can’t decide whether to wince or frown. But Choso just grimace, lips curling into a tight line as his shoulders stiffen.
“You first.”
Your fingers fidget around the cream Van Cleef that rests on your throat, tracing the cool edge of the pendant. It’s one of your mother’s newer gifts, the kind that comes with all the frills and none of the warmth. Her true transactional brand of maternal affection.
“I wanted to ask if you’d go to prom with me, as my date,” It spills out of you in a jumbling mess, like you’re tripping vowels and consonants over each other. Choso’s eyes widen, but you barrel on before he can interrupt, “I mean, I get it if you think it’s lame or boring, or you just don’t want to go. But I promise my friends are actually really nice, and you can sit with us.” The rest of your monologue trails off, crumbling to dust, “I just really wanted to ask you.”
You wish to sink into the floor, like the soft earth will swallow you whole. You can almost picture Satoru’s ridiculous proposal to Geto Suguru, no doubt involving fireworks or an airplane trailing a banner.
The air is so still, you can hear the faint crackling of Yuuji’s incessant doughnut quest from across the small house, his movements clumsy and unintentionally loud as he rips open cellophane for more than one sweet treat.
Choso’s shifting slightly, and there’s a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The pink hue is a stark contrast to his usual sickly pallor. Even his ears are a shade darker, and his jaw tightens like he’s chewing on something bitter and struggling to swallow it down. It’s hard to tell if he’s upset or just lost. Or somewhere in-between.
“You wanted to go with me?” His voice is low, hoarse, like the idea is too outlandish for him to even process. You don’t know whether to laugh or apologise.
“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage, your throat suddenly dry and tight.
“I dropped out of school two days ago,” Choso mutters, as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s glancing at you, with the ghost of an apology flickering across his expression, but the shock that you can’t seem to mask makes him wince, “Look, it’s not a big deal. And it’s nice that you asked, but…”
“Dropped out? Like, entirely out of school?” Your voice cracks, each word climbing higher like you’re stepping on a broken escalator, “Why? What happened?”
Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. And it’s not a pleasant feeling, being denied something that you want, for the first time in your life.
Choso shrugs, like he’s been answering this question a thousand times already. Though, you’re sure that this is the first time he’s said it to out loud to anyone, “Family stuff. Just had to.”
You try to piece this together, for this house does smell faintly of stale coffee, and the worn leather of the couch has clearly seen better days. You can tell, on some level, that something is off. That there’s no parental figure in sight for little Yuuji, just the harsh edges of whatever it is that Choso seems to carry on his own.
You can feel the words bubbling up again, stupid and reckless, “But you know you just can’t leave. You’ve got the top marks in the class, Choso. And you know that you were on a scholarship, right? For one of the most elite schools in the country? How are you ever going to get that again?”
The second they leave your mouth; you hear how self-righteous and insensitive you sound. You already regret it, almost reaching up to slap your hands over your face.
Choso’s expression darkens, his face tightens. Like a storm cloud rolling in, as his lips pull into a tight and angry line, “Back off,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp enough to cut, “You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”
His sneer twists, not with malice, but something deeper. Harder, like he’s being chewed up by all the things he never got to say before, “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll make a big, shiny tiara for when they name you valedictorian. Maybe, it’ll match your prom dress.”
“Hey!” Your eyes well up, stupid heat of tears prickling behind your eyes, and swelling a thick lump in your throat, “That’s not what I meant.” You cannot believe that you’re tearing up, over this. Over wanting something that you can’t have, and someone who seems to have more to lose than you ever thought possible.
Choso’s lip curls into a half-sneer, but there’s a flicker of something else there. His posture shifts, as if he’s trying to fold in on himself. He lowers his voice, still low and uncomfortable, but careful. Careful, because his little brother is just down the hall.
“I don’t need your pity, okay? Or your help.” His fingers grip the metal of the net door, “I have to go now. Just look after Yuuji.”
The heavy clang of steel on mesh echoes in your ears, sharp and final. The sound lingers like a ringing in your skull as you stand there, utterly paralysed as your mind scrambles to catch up with the wreckage of what just happened. Your five-year crush crashing down in five minutes.
Your feet move, and you find yourself in the bare dining room. Yuuji’s perched at the table, with a doughnut half-eaten in his hand, a mess of pistachio cream smeared across his chin like a brave trooper. There’s an iPad, an old, scratched model, with a silicone tiger case, propped up in front of him. The screen is flashing with something, like blueberries. Bouncing in time with some peppy tune.
“Did Choso leave for work?” Yuuji asks, utterly oblivious to the emotional landmine that his brother left in your hands. His eyes are wide, curious, the innocence of a kid who still thinks the world works in neat, little boxes.
“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile, “He works a lot, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, sugar clinging to his lips, “He always gets upset when Uncle Kuna’ calls him in. Even after school.”
Choso has never mentioned an uncle. Or a brother, for that matter. But then again, why would he? You had never even asked for his number, never bothered to learn anything beyond what was right in front of you. You realise, with a strange pang of guilt, that you’ve built your entire image of infatuation with Choso, from incomplete sketches. Filling in the blanks with whatever fits into the tiny box you’ve kept him in.
“Hey, do you have Netflix?” Yuuji’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bright and eager. “I want to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s favourite movie!”
The names are unfamiliar, but Yuuji’s excitement is infectious. You cannot help but smile at the boy, his messy hair and too-big shirt. It’s hard not to be fond of such a kid. You take the iPad from his sticky hands, logging into the app. All the while, chasing yourself around mentally with a baseball bat for the biggest fumble of the century.
If last night felt like a disaster, this morning was just the encore performance. And you were the unwilling star. Just the effort of peeling yourself out of bed felt like an Olympic event. And facing your reflection of swollen eyes and blotchy skin felt like punishment for sins that were way out of your paygrade.
Reluctantly, you’re tugging on your blazer, and clipping a barrette into your hair. There’s a sparkling, diamond tennis bracelet fastened around your wrist. All little things that you need to don like armour, to face your senior year, the student population and the empty locker that would remain untouched next to yours.
Satoru and Shoko are the first faces that you spot in the crowd, and Satoru’s practically bouncing down the hall, “Oh, yeah, I got it locked in,” he announces, cheeks flushed with an absurdly boyish grin, “I got it in the bag.”
He’s sliding his sunglasses down just enough to peer at you, wordlessly handing you his coffee cup, as is your morning ritual. The overly sweet, creamy warmth does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and your lip-gloss stains the edge of the paper.
“What about you, eh?” Satoru chirps, but you must look blatantly devasted. Because your best friend’s grin falters, the corners of his mouth pulling down.
“Wait, you’re joking right?” His voice is marred with disbelief, and his eyes scan the hall like he’s trying to spot someone’s dark head of hair, “Where is he? Jughead Jones lookin’ ass? Shoko, do you know where Choso Kamo sits? Because I’m going to give him a real piece of my mind and —”
You cut him off, abruptly shoving the coffee back into his warm hands, “It’s fine. He dropped out school, anyway.”
Shoko hums beside you, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of cinnamon-brown hair. The chipped polish on her nails catches the fluorescent light, “Prom queen and valedictorian in one year? Not a bad run for you.”
You glare at her, and Shoko’s doe-eyed expression softens. The breeze from the open window catches her sleek hair, making it sway gently, and she shifts. Voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful, “That really does suck, though. Sorry.” She sounds like she means it now, her usual flippancy up in smoke, “I didn’t even know you liked him like that. Not until Gojo told me, like, two hours ago.”
Your eyes snap to Satoru who, for once, has the good sense to shut his mouth.
Shoko’s voice is subdued, “I wonder if it had anything to do with him being called into admin.”
“Wait, when?” Satoru interrupts. He’s taking another long slurp of his sweet mocha, the froth giving him whiskers.
“Three days ago,” Shoko shrugs, “Some big guy rolled up to the office. Demanded to see the principal. No idea who he was, but he was important. And rich. Like you need to be super wealthy to call the shots in a school for the children of the top one percent.”
You must look tragic, because even Shoko pauses mid-chew. Her lollipop moving from one side of her mouth to the other. She looks at you, really looks at you. You can see the careful shift in her demeanour, as though she’s considering the most diplomatic answer that she can offer you to avoid making things worse.
“Well, you don’t have to go to prom with anyone, right?” Satoru says, the words hanging awkwardly in the air like a balloon that’s just lost its helium. His consolation is well-meaning, but a bit clueless. But now, his sunglasses are perched atop his head now, leaving his eyes exposed. Icy blue, framed by lashes so long that they practically flirt with his eyebrows. For once, there’s a flicker of real concern in them, clouds passing over clear skies.
“I know,” you gripe, your voice flat as you find yourself glaring at a group of juniors who are skipping by, with their phones out in unison, clicking away like it’s a competition. Fantastic. You can already see the gossip Instagram stories by lunch, wondering what happened to you. Rumours milling about the reason for your glum expression.
Shoko shifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder, patting your arm. “I’ll see you at lunch. My treat,” she says, turning her heel for the Chemistry building. Leaving you alone with Satoru, as Shoko quickly picks her pace up to catch her Honours class.
“So,” you start, keeping your eyes on him out of the corner of your vision, watching how his fingers twitch around the coffee cup, “How did it go with Geto Suguru?”
Satoru’s shifting, as though he’s trying not gloat, but clearly bursting to tell you, “It was nice,” which is an unusually subdued, sensitive explanation from Satoru. The one who can take five hours to tell a story that you could wrap up in ten minutes. “He was really friendly. More than I thought he would be.”
“That is nice.” You’re forcing some perk back into your voice, but it comes out rather weak, “Like, genuinely.”
Satoru crumples the empty cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Then, he shoots you a sharper look, “Did you actually talk to Choso, like, in-person? How did that go?”
You exhale, “Turns out I was babysitting his little brother,” and Satoru’s eyes widen slightly, “He was fine. And then he wasn’t. I asked him to be my date, and told me he dropped out. I said something…stupid. And now he’s going to hate me forever.”
Satoru stares at you, his gaze sharp, as though he’s dissecting you. And you swear that he can see right through your skin, right into your bones. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe your best friend has a sixth sense, some secret radar for picking up on these things.
“Wow,” he murmurs, a touch of something in his voice, “It really got you bad, huh?”
You bristle, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding your chest. You’re straightening your shoulders, but it’s all too obvious and so fucking frustrating, “Yeah, well, I don’t even know why it matters so much.” The bite in your voice is more directed at yourself, than him.
Satoru doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head, and he’s quiet. It’s a weird look on him, soft concern, “You genuinely really liked him that much?”
The truth sticks to your throat as your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. It would be nice to tell Satoru that you didn’t really care that much. That it was never fully that serious, but the lie won’t leave your lips. The lump in your throat is palpable, and all you can do is sniffle, “Yeah. I did.”
“Do you want to cry?” Satoru’s voice is gentle enough to catch you off guard.
You open your mouth to retort, something sharp and defensive. But before you know it, tears spill as your chest constricts. It’s sudden, like a storm that breaks on the horizon.
And just like that, your best friend pulls you into him. For once, the wild energy that crackles off him is gone, replaced by something quieter and more unwavering. You can feel his shoulder under your cheek, soft and warm, salt staining the expensive fabric. And if anyone does see you sob into Gojo Satoru’s arms, while the white-haired boy pats your back, no one says a word.
But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand.
In this haze of time, you discover a few things that you didn’t expect. For instance, Geto Suguru is, in fact, far more than the tall and brooding figure that you once shrugged off. He’s the stillness to Satoru’s sharper teeth, the quiet that counters the blue eye of the storm. He’s soft-spoken, with an easy patience that tempers Satoru’s edges. He’s become a bit of a constant presence, as they always bicker and makeup in a sort of perpetual cycle.
Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. Before the flurry of sparkly gowns and speeches, there’s Utahime’s birthday to celebrate. It’s supposed to be a relaxed affair, she insists that she has no desire for fuss. But you all show up anyway, surprising her with a giant, pastel cake that takes up nearly half the table.
Her laugh is loud, and carefree, mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze on this beach trip. Her black hair whips around her face, even as she blushes at the attention. She’s protesting, but it’s swallowed by laugher, by the sound of waves breaking against the shores.
The awards and titles are all well and good, prom queen and valedictorian. A shiny, little stamp on your high school resume, a golden ticket to the next chapter of your life. But when anyone brings it up, or someone presses too hard on the subject, you shift uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the edge of your pre-med acceptance letter like it just might tear under the pressure of your grip. No-one talks about how you’ve been visiting your locker less and less.
Satoru, of course, loudly denies crying at graduation, even as salty, shiny tears tack to his cheeks. They’re practically immortalised in every digital snapshot that you take. But for now, he’s too busy wrapping everyone in a bear hug, clutching the group that it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. Nanami’s already peeling him off, shaking his head with a worn sigh.
It's late in the morning after the graduation ceremony, as you all pile into cars, driving to a riverside café. It’s one of those places where people with money go to prove that they have money, to prove that even their breakfasts are above the meals of the common folk. But you all sit there, with the graduation ribbons still pinned to your lapels. There’s the debate over who cried the most during the ceremony (Gojo, easily, though Haibara is a close second) and who’s the one who peaked in high school. Everyone unanimously votes for Geto, who sulks as he tosses his hair out of his face, ever the drama queen.
“Bullshit,” he’s grumbling, “Just you wait. You’ll see what I accomplish in ten years.”
Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?”
Utahime’s voice cuts through the chatter, her white ribbon flouncing as she leans towards you, blinking at the empty space in front of you, “Where’s your food?”
You wave her off with a smile, “It’s fine. You guys can go ahead and start, I’ll just go and check.”
You hear Satoru choke around a mouthful of food, already bulldozing half his way through his plate like a bottomless pit.
There’s a pretty glass display at the front, filled with delicate chiffon cakes that glisten in the soft light. You wonder if you should have just ordered one, perhaps to share with Nanami. You know he likes desserts like this.
“Can I help you?”
Your pulse stutters as you bite your tongue, heart crashing against the rocks. You soothe your tongue over the tang of iron that blooms in your mouth from the stupidly familiar voice.
Choso Kamo.
You’d like to say that he looks good, but the truth is, he doesn’t. The hollows beneath his eyes are far more accentuated than you remember, and his hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. Even his pale skin has taken on a sicklier pallor than usual.
“Hello?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper this time, carrying an edge that takes you by surprise.
“Oh, uh, hey. Choso. Just wanted to check on my order,” you say, like it’s a poor prelude to small talk. It sounds far too chipper, almost artificial.
Choso’s expression tightens immediately, in an ill-omen. It’s as if he’s irritated that you even have the nerve to recognise him, to stand there in his space. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his attention flicking back to the screen in front of him with a quickness that almost feels deliberate.
“Hello.” He’s muttering back, more out of obligation than any real interest. Like it’s a formality.
The sharp, hollow feeling in your chest expands, deeper than you’re willing to admit. The last time you saw him, you had been standing at his door, and he had slammed it in your face.
“What are you doing here?” Your question is clumsy, hanging in the air, and far too intrusive for a stranger.
“What?” Choso doesn’t even look up. But then he does, just briefly, his gaze flicking to yours with the same disinterest. He shrugs, as though the query is too trivial for any answer.
“It’s just…it’s been a while, yeah?” You’re not quite sure how to word and I want to know how you’ve been.
“I’m fine,” Choso replies quickly, dismissing your question with a wave of his pale hand, “Just working around here and there.”
It’s offbeat, landing wrong. You don’t think it’s unfair to think that everyone expected more of him. One of the smartest, most brilliant minds in your cohort, who had been a shoo-in for medicine, alongside you.
The bustle of patrons behind you intensifies, but you stubbornly dig your heels into the polished tile, “How’s Yuuji?”
The mention of his younger brother softens him, just a little. A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Choso’s pink lips, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite know how to let it show, “He’s good. Says you were the ‘bestest’ babysitter that he ever had. Even asks about you sometimes.”
You fight the urge to smile too openly, not wanting to seem too affected by the gentleness that suddenly lingers in the space between you two, “I’m glad. And…are you still working for your uncle?”
It’s as if you’ve thrown a switch, causing all the warmth to evaporate from his features. His jaw tightens, as his brow furrows. Settling a coldness over his expression, “Who the fuck told you that?”
You blink, surprised at the sudden harshness of his words. “Yuuji mentioned it,” you murmur, quieter now, careful. The hesitation in your voice isn’t feigned, and you realise you’ve broken the golden rule of ‘never push Choso Kamo about his personal life.’
Choso doesn’t seem keen on letting you explain, as his glare cuts through you, “If you wanted to snoop into my life, just ask me your stupid questions, okay? Don’t drag my little brother into it.”
The accusation lands like a slap, stinging you more than you expected, “What? I wasn’t snooping,” you insist, defences flaring open, “He told me that himself. I didn’t even ask him anything, and I didn’t ask anything else!”
He just stares at you, eyes burnished and unreadable, but he seems mollified by your answer. Like he knows that your explanation is sincere, but the chasm is nigh impossible to bridge, “Sure. Okay.”
You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth to ask what on earth has made him so unreasonable. To dig the tips of your almond nails into his long sleeves, and demand that he treats you as adoringly as everyone else in your life does. But he interrupts you first, “Your order’s coming.”
Choso’s tone is clipped, colder. As though he’s already moved on, “And I’ve got a lot of other customers to serve. Nice seeing you again, or whatever.”
A dismissal, if there ever was one. The embarrassment rushes up your neck, hot and insistent, but you bite your tongue. You let your heels clack a little more loud than necessary, as you stomp away. You’re swivelling your head to deliver a final, withering stare but his gaze is no longer on you.
Choso’s looking at the table where everyone is sitting. Where your friends are laughing, leaning into one another as they snap their final graduation photos. Where Geto has his lips pressed to Satoru’s cheek in a rare display of affection, arms linked with Shoko and Utahime. Where even Nanami’s smiling, the sunlight leafing through his golden waves of thick hair.
There’s no anger in Choso’s eyes, or even that solitary, brooding stare. He looks almost…sad. Profoundly sorrowful, in a deep and aching way that makes your anger dissipate.
He’s looking at your friends, at their graduation certificates stacked in sleeves on the table, as though he’s lost something that he never had. It aches your chest tightly, a knot pulling at your heart.
Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again.
You find yourself blinking furiously, feeling as though you've just lost something yourself, but you fight back the salt that threatens to blur your vision before your friends see.
THREE YEARS LATER.
Your day had started off deceptively well, like a glass of water poured perfectly. Clear, refreshing, with no chance of spilling. The sun was shining, your skin looked like it was having its best day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But of course, it didn’t take long for things to spiral, as they tend to do.
It was like playing a real-life Sisyphus game, except instead of a boulder, it was a series of small, dumb annoyances that you couldn’t dodge fast enough.
First, Satoru had texted to cancel lunch. And to be fair, you weren’t that bothered. He had been talking all week about a world-renowned professor dropping in on his fourth-years Honours class, something about nuclear engineering. And you knew that Satoru lived for anything involving theoretical mass and explosions.
Then, your favourite tote bag had decided it was done with you. The strap had snapped off with a surprising, sudden violence. Your beautiful new water bottle had hit the floor with a sickening, metallic thud. Pens rolled across the tiles like little soldiers. You had been kneeling, already late for class, muttering curses under your breath when your phone had rung.
Your mother.
And you already knew that tone well enough, that voice that could cut through steel.
“You missed the charity dinner? You know how embarrassing it is for your father and I to come up with excuses, just to explain your absence —”
Yeah, like you had personally insulted her by choosing to study for your exams, instead of milling around an event hall. You tried to explain, but it was like trying to explain Satoru’s quantum physics to the wall. Totally pointless, and not worth your time and energy. And naturally, her tone escalated, because that’s what she just tended to do. Nevermind that she was calling from some ritzy hotel in Europe, crackling over the phone.
And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the course coordinator paged you in for a meeting. You were still in your first few weeks of medicine, so you had been scratching your brain for what he could have possibly wanted, snapping gum as you rushed and clacked up stone steps, breezing through campus.
Now, here you were. Standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed, almost petulantly. The room smelled like old coffee, and expired textbooks as the man coughed, leaning back against his desk, littered with academic transcripts and stacked envelopes.
“Look, there’s no denying that you’re one of our most brilliant students. All the tutors and lecturers admire your work ethic,” and the professor stopped, and you grimaced. Ah, here it comes.
“But, you’ve chosen Ieiri Shoko as your partner for the past three years, am I correct in saying this?” His dark eyes are narrowed behind wiry glasses, as you frowned.
“Yes.”
Shoko had practically excelled in Pre-Med alongside you, surviving late night study rants, extreme caffeine dependency, and textbook-induced breakdowns.
“You work together well,” the coordinator adds, looking like he was trying to make this sound like a compliment, “But you need to branch out. Develop your versatility. In a noble field, such as medicine, it’s important to be able to work with others. Not rule and conquer.”
You blink at him, “Branch out? I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t like anyone else in my class. And Shoko and I are easily the best.”
He ignores your comments, “So, I’ve thought it better to move you to a new stream. Instead of Tuesday’s clinical practice, I’ll have you attend the Thursday session, starting today. There’s a new partner for you, and I assure you, he is just as competent as Ieiri Shoko,”
You doubt it. No-one can handle the sight of infected perineum stitches like Shoko can.
It seems there’s only one card left for you to pull, “My grandfather paid for this entire wing of the building. His name is on the plaque outside.”
The coordinator doesn’t even budge, “That may be true. But you still need to grow. You will never learn if you just continue to stick with what is familiar.”
You leave the office with a sour taste in your mouth, clutching the crisp sheet of paper that’s already being emailed to your student account, no doubt.
“Collaboration,” you’re muttering under your breath, “Building character, my ass.” You’re squinting at the page, trying to decipher the name of your new stream partner, but it’s obscured by a hastily scribbled note with your classroom change.
The faint ache in your neck refuses to budge, and you roll your shoulders with a sigh. Pushing through the double doors to the anatomy facility. Immediately, the frigid air bites at your cheeks, sharp and unwelcome. These buildings always feel like high-tech mausoleums, with tables lined up like gleaming altars. Surfaces cold enough to numb your fingertips if you’re careless.
The faint, cloying scent of formaldehyde hangs in the air, sharp and chemical. It’s supposed to preserve the cadavers, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making your stomach growl at the worst times. Hunger, and embalming fluid. A combination so disgusting that you try not to dwell on it for too long.
Your lab coat is rubbing uncomfortably against your arms, and your Loewe sweater is bunched awkwardly around your elbows. It’s a long-suffering sigh that echoes the hall as you shove the heavy barred doors to the classroom.
The tutor is a stalk-like man, with perpetually knitted brows, glancing up at you as you enter, “Ah, yes. The transfer,” he’s brisk with it, “Got the note about you moving to my Thursday stream. Just sit over there, for now. Yeah, there. Your partner should be along soon. If he’s a no-show, I’ll reassign you to a different table.”
You nod wordlessly, scanning the room as you head to your non-descript, assigned corner. The faces at the other tables blur together, some curious and others indifferent. Most focused on pushing worksheets under steel clipboards.
Great. A room full of strangers with all the warmth of wet cardboard.
Sliding into your plastic seat, you pull your notebook out and flip it open, the pages crinkling and echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s a minute, maybe two of shifting uncomfortably in your chair, feeling the awkward hollowness of sitting alone at a two-person station. But the door swings open with a groaning creak.
“Perfect! Full class today, that’s what I like to see. Just head to your usual spot, and I’ll start passing the models around.”
You glance up, squinting at the figure who’s broad enough to cause a solar eclipse of the fluorescent light.
“Get out,” you blurt.
“This is my class,” Choso Kamo stares at you, equally bewildered. His bronze eyes widen briefly, flickering from your face to the lab tables, to the unaware tutor.
“Don’t care. Get out,” you scowl, speechless for a moment, “No. Don’t sit. This is my assigned stream. Don’t tell me that you’re my —”
“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.
“Of all the people in this entire school —”
“I’m starting to feel offended,” Choso cuts in, already pulling out the chair beside you, and slinging his bag down with an air of resignation.
“What are you doing here?”
Choso’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile, “I’m getting an education. Obviously.”
Your gaze flickers away from his unfairly handsome face, following the motion of his hand as he shifts. There’s a single black hair tie, looped around his wrist.
But something just does not add up for you. This isn’t just any medical program. It’s the kind of rigorous, cutthroat, soul-consuming degree that requires three years of a top GPA from Pre-Med. It’s designed to weed out the faint hearted before the first semester is even over. Graduates here don’t just get jobs. They get titles, and invitations to Westminster where the British monarch probably bestows them with Dame, or Sir, or some other archaic title.
And Choso Kamo is a high school dropout, with nary a certificate to his name.
“You got into medicine?” It’s as blunt as you can get.
“What? Like it’s hard?”
“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me,” You snarl, wordlessly taking the tray of silicone gashes from the tutor.
Choso blinks, as though he’s truly stumped by your hostile reaction, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” He seems…different now. Sharper, and less apologetic. There’s a streak of confidence that’s as unnerving as it is infuriating. Is he taller? He seems taller.
You exhale sharply, a sound between frustration and resignation. It’s not like you can go up to the course coordinator now and say, ‘Oh, sorry! I can’t be in this stream because my new partner is the boy who broke my heart in high school. I cried and threw up on my best friend’s blazer for three days.’
But you’ve definitely given the group chat enough material to fuel their devious amusement for days, even weeks. You’re practically writing the jokes for them.
With a defiant swing of your arm, you hoist your bag onto the desk. The soft leather tanking against the sterile surface, like a gauntlet being thrown. You slide it firmly into position, the strap dangling just enough to make a point. That this is your line in the sand.
“Don’t move one centimetre over your side of the desk.”
Choso just rolls his eyes.
“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”
“Wrong.”
You sigh and tap the edge of your notebook with the tip of your mechanical pencil. The rhythm is irregular, your thoughts too scrambled to produce anything like a steady beat.
“They inactive carbapenems,” you try again, your tone pitched with the kind of hope that knows it’s already on life support.
“Nope.”
Choso’s shaking his head, the movement loose and lazy, and it sends strands of his chestnut hair tumbling into his face. The harsh fluorescent lights above make his hair shine with an almost metallic lustre, and as he tugs a thick sweater over his broad frame, your gaze drifts.
The fabric of his white top is riding up, revealing a pale stretch of skin. There’s the faintest dusting of dark hair trailing downwards, and your eyes snap back to the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, for the briefest second as your resolve breaks.
“Just tell me the answer.”
Choso exhales, in a soft and patient sound, sliding the textbook your way. He’s tapping the page with his finger, his blunt nail landing on the highlighted sentence.
“Extended-Spectrum Beta-Lactamases hydrolyse a wide range of beta-lactam antibiotics, including third-generation cephalosporins. This contributes to antibiotic resistance.” His voice is smooth, but it carries that faint rasp that always makes it sound like he’s just woken up.
“I was close.”
“Close doesn’t get you any marks,” Choso replies, deadpan.
Your retort dies on your glossy lips, when a sharp shhh cuts through the air. You glance up, spotting a student two tables away, glaring at you over the rim of her stylish tortoiseshell glasses.
Your next sip of coffee is deliberate, making an obnoxious gurgle as you drain the bottom of your cup. Choso’s eyes flick to the order scribbled on the side, Caramel Crunch Latte, Extra Whip. His lips twitch, but what can you say? Satoru’s dropped a habit or two on you over the years.
This has become the routine over the past few weeks. The outright disdain you had initially felt had eroded, once you had realised that you were truly stuck with the man. It had become something closer to a begrudging truce, but ‘truce’ may be too generous a word.
The two of you found yourselves studying together. Regularly. Choso needed to interact more with people, and less with his old, dusty laptop. And you needed a study partner that could match your wits. Unfortunately, Choso seemed entirely oblivious to the reason you nursed an ancient grudge against him, choosing to accept your bad attitude in stride.
It doesn’t help that Choso is, well, hot now.
In high school, he had always been cute in that underdog way. Endearing, if not exactly the type to inspire confidence. He had been the subject of your sweet trope-like fantasy that you would nurture during long, dull classes.
You, the radiant prom queen, standing under a canopy of glittering lights, extending a perfectly manicured hand to him. The shy, awkward loser who’d clearly underestimated how gorgeous his messy hair and tendency to trip over his own words were. Ugh, now you’re not sure who had been the bigger loser.
But three years had passed, and the Choso that sat across from you now bore only a passing resemblance to that daydream. Time, it seemed had been suspiciously kind to him. Unfairly, even. His frame was lean but undeniably defined. His shyness remained, because you knew that he refused to correct the woman at the food trucks whenever she got his name wrong, but it had softened into something less clumsy, and more self-contained. Far less teenage angst.
The dark violet smudges beneath his eyes were still there, giving him that haunted and sleep—deprived look. And his hair was still the same stringy, chestnut mop that you remembered. But it was more of a deliberate statement now, instead of an oversight. It hung just over his shoulders, and you had heard many a passerby giggle and whisper about hot emos on campus. Like, get in line.
“What are you doing next weekend?”
The question comes so abruptly that your head snaps up like a spring-loaded trap.
“Huh?” You blink, the tip of your pencil teetering dangerously close to snapping against the page.
Choso stares back at you, his expression maddeningly neutral, “Like, are you busy?”
“It’s my friend’s birthday on Saturday, we’re going out at night,” you’re narrowing your eyes at him, already feeling your composure fray.
It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Gojo’s gone full-out with a surprise planned at some five-star restaurant. You managed to get your hands on a vintage vinyl turntable for him, courtesy of a Sotheby’s auction.
Choso nods, like he’s filing that away somewhere, “What about Sunday?”
“Sunday?” You repeat, dragging it out, “I’m free, I guess.” Against all reason, you find yourself answering honestly, even as some internal voice is screaming at you to lie and make up an excuse.
“Do you want to study at my place?”
There’s a pause, long enough for the air to grow heavy between you two. You wonder if he remembers the last time that you asked him to go out with you. Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth must be twitching in something close to incredulity.
Choso notices, for his ears go pink first. Then his cheeks, like someone’s spattered him with a splotchy watercolour paint. The flush sits pretty, just under the dark mark that crosses the bridge of his nose, “No, I mean, like really study. Just studying. It’s easier than being here…” He twitches, looking anywhere but you, “Yuuji would be happy to see you again, and stuff.”
And stuff. How ridiculous that two words make your heart trip over itself. Your three-year resolve to keep him firmly in the do not touch zone has basically cracked wide open. There’s a traitorous smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you manage to suppress it. Barely. Playing it off with a nonchalant hum.
“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”
Choso lives in an apartment now. Not a polished high-rise with sleek fixtures and panoramic views, but a tired and unremarkable building with flickering yellow lights that cast long and ominous shadows along the stairwell. You clutch the slip of paper that he scribbled his address on, squinting at the nearly illegible scrawl. It’s barely decipherable, a penmanship perfect for prescriptions and indecipherable notes.
In your other hand, you balance a box of cream rolls from the bakery that Nanami swears by, their golden horns stuffed with airy dairy and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The smell is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the questionable stairwell.
The ascent feels longer than it should, each step accompanied by the faint swing of those tired lights overhead. But you bite back any judgement, you’ve made that mistake before.
Someone else is already there, a tall figure that knocks on Choso’s door with wide, lazy knuckles. Once. Twice. The man huffs, pocketing his phone and pulling out a key. There’s a practiced ease to the way he clicks the lock open, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you’re witnessing a breaking-and-entering type of situation.
But there’s something familiar about the muted shock of rosy, pink hair that spikes over his head.
“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, deep, with an edge of irritation that makes you stand a little straighter. He looks over you once, and his eyes fall on the box of pastries in your hands. Disinterest giving way to a little bit of curiosity. It reminds you of Itadori Yuuji.
“Uh,” you clear your throat, “Choso invited me.”
The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you’re fascinated by the tattoos that curl around his face. Even running along his jawline, and down his neck. There are silver studs littering his ear, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that there are real precious stones scattered among them.
“Didn’t know he had a date.” The man seems gruffly amused, and you stomp your heels, the sound snapping off worn walls.
“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”
“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”
With that, he swings the door open, stepping inside before you can. You linger in the doorway, before hesitantly following him, watching as he kicks the door shut with his heel. He seems to be making himself at home like he owns the place, peering through an empty fridge and rifling through cabinets. All before collapsing on the sagging couch like it’s his throne, sprawled out as he starts scrolling through his phone again.
You just perch awkwardly on the edge of a cold chair, as the space suddenly feels oddly claustrophobic. Your fingers toy with the edge of your notebook, as you wonder whether you need to call Choso, to see if this was all a mistake. Instead, your gaze flickers over to the man sitting opposite you.
You’re sure that he comes from money. You’ve spent enough summer holidays backstage at Milan and Paris shows to recognise the season’s latest pieces. And the crimson racing jacket on his shoulders is definitely a Dior piece that costs more than what you assume is the rent of this entire apartment complex. Plus, you had spent enough time flicking through Van Cleef’s catalogue to recognise the whirring, high-jewellery piece that sat on his wrist. A watch with an eye-like mechanism, studded with Burmese rubies. Easily the price of your penthouse.
“So, you friends with Choso?” He asks suddenly, lowering his phone. His eyes are sharp russet, locking with yours.
“We know each other from high school,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. It’s best to leave it at that, it’s safer that way. You’re playing Choso’s game, the one where you don’t share a thing about your personal life.
“Hmph,” The sound is more of a grunt than a response, and it makes you bristle. Why bother asking a question if you’re not interested in the answer?
“Did I leave the door unlocked?”
You hear Choso’s faintly bewildered murmur, almost to himself, before he catches sight of you. It’s cute, how a bashful smile creeps over his face again, almost embarrassed at the sight of you. But it darkens instantly, sharply. His bronze eyes are fixed on the man that loiters on his couch.
“Get out.”
The man is unfazed, “Why? Am I interrupting your date?”
“It’s not a date. We’re studying.” Choso’s mirroring your exact, previous words. His tone is stiff, like you’ve never heard it before. A snarl, with irritation bubbling underneath the surface.
“I don’t know how else I can stress this enough, brat. But I really do not care what you do to get off.” The man drawls, pushing himself off the couch. He’s absurdly tall, easily the height of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of the tattoos trailing up his forearm, dark ink that winds around his wrist. A startling splash of red staining the sleeve of the pristine jacket. It’s dried up now, crusting the edges of the fabric. Sort of like…
Weird. And impossible.
Choso grunts, “Fine. Get up. Go,” and he’s gesturing towards a door leading into another room, his jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck are taut, the apology in his expression at you somehow mixed with a faint flicker of regret, like he wishes you weren’t here to see this.
What happens next is an absolute masterclass on being nosy. You’ve edged closer to the door, shifting on the couch so you’re practically perched on the armrest. You can hear the muffled thrum of Choso and the stranger’s voice through the door, but it’s not enough. Curiosity is clawing her sharp nails at you, and you wonder if you should text Satoru. Or maybe drop a quick message in the group chat.
You end up leaning in closer, ignoring the way that you’re teetering on the very edge.
The conversation is low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance, but the voices are gradually building until —
“What? You did not just fuckin’ throw something at me!” The man’s voice booms so loud that you almost jump out of your skin, “What is wrong with you? Can’t even have an honest conversation these days?”
Choso’s response is tight, simmering with frustration that you don’t understand, “Nothing you do is honest. And don’t break into my place then!”
“Your place?” The man’s scoff is almost a sneer, like he’s amused at the mere thought, “Brat, let’s not forget all the favours I’ve done you.” There’s a crash, something hitting the floor with a thud, and the man’s voice bellows again, “Oi! Put that down right now. Don’t you dare throw something else at me. Fuck, you’ve got good aim, I’ll give ya’ that.”
You can hear Choso shuffle, spit something sharp in response.
“You’ve done all these things for me before, eh? Why the hesitation now? Got tired of cleaning it all up?”
Choso’s response is firm through the thin walls, “I’m done with doing your dirty work all the time.”
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, punctuated with a low and disbelieving laugh.
“You said that last time. But you came crawling back when you couldn’t handle looking after the kid all on your lonesome.”
“Leave Yuuji out of this!”
There’s another muffled scuffle, a loud thud that makes your heart race as the stranger growls, “Can’t believe you bit me.”
The door swings open with a suddenness that almost knocks you off your seat. Choso’s practically putting his entire back into shoving the man out with a sharp grunt, like he’s had enough.
The stranger turns, giving you a lazy, bored wave. Like he knows that it will simply irk Choso off even more. And he’s right. Choso, not having it for a second, snaps at him, “Get out. And don’t come back.”
The man rolls his eyes, but not before pulling out a pricey Italian wallet, slapping a wad of thick bills down on the kitchen counter, “That’s for this month. I’ll send a cheque next month for the little brat’s birthday.”
Then he’s gone, muttering something about bitchy, little bastard children, born on the wrong side of the sheets, with sharp teeth.
Choso’s whirling around to you, his expression unreadable and blank. Like the surface of still water that refuses to betray even a ripple of emotion. You school your features, meeting his gaze with a look of equal, quiet disinterest.
“Friend of yours?” You ask, your voice cool. But there’s questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you can taste them in the air.
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s flicking through the thick stack of bills that the stranger left on the counter. The sound of cash shifting in his hands is oddly loud, and you whistle low, almost involuntarily. It makes Choso look up, catching your appreciative gaze. His fingers tighten around the stack, his jaw clenching, as if to keep in whatever thoughts or words are threatening to spill out.
“Don’t say anything.” His voice is a low mutter, hard.
“I didn’t.”
Choso looks at you again, his hazel eyes softening just enough that you catch the flicker of something unsure. He lets out a low sigh, “But you want to ask.”
“Will you let me ask?” You’re pushing, your voice a little softer and coaxing than you intended. You can already see the signs, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers to the door as if he’s considering an exit. Choso’s like a clam, snapping shut, as if there is a pearl that he’s not ready to share.
“What do you want to know?” He’s saying this like it’s a chore, as if it is the last thing he wants to do.
You make your way to the kitchen counter, “What will you tell me?”
If Choso is irritated by the vague, passive nature of your questions, he doesn’t show it. He simply tugs his purple sweater down, sharply. “Yuuji will be sad if his uncle didn’t send him money for his birthday. He turns ten next month.”
“So that was…Uncle Kuna,” you ask, murmuring more to yourself than to him. But Choso’s sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint confirmation in the nod that follows.
“Mhm.”
And just like that, something clicks in your brain. A conversation that you had overheard once, perhaps a year or two ago. A rare moment that both your parents had been home, still too distracted to realise that you were listening. The realisation hits you hard, like a small shot of adrenaline, “That’s not Sukuna, is it? Ryomen Sukuna?”
Choso’s amber look is like fragile glass now, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”
In a world such as yours and Satoru’s, it’s quite hard to avoid gossip, and whispers that float around in the backrooms of business meetings, or in the too-quiet halls of private clubs. For all the older business-clans, Sukuna is quite the upstart. A man who clawed his way to the top, not just content with money, but power and influence as well. Apparently, he made quite the name for himself, building an empire with wealth beyond measure.
And all at the low price of being wanted in more than thirty-five countries and territories. A businessman, a crook and a criminal. Your father said that Ryomen Sukuna’s ledgers were written in red ink, fresh blood for both personal and financial debts that were owed to him.
“Why did he say that you came crawling back to him?”
Choso’s eyes flutter shut, and you can see that he’s calculating whether it’s worth the effort to respond.
“He’s the reason I dropped out of school,” Choso mutters, the words low enough that almost don’t catch them. They land with a soft thud, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You stare at him, with the kind of look that people give when a ticking time bomb has just been dropped in their lab.
Choso scoffs, eyes darting away, “Yeah. He’s always been sending money for Yuuji. And I was stuck doing his…favours.”
Suddenly, you’re back in high school. On Choso’s doorstep, watching him try to hide a cardboard box of surgical tools. There’s a little corkboard map in your head connected with red strings, as you pin other things on there. The latex gloves in the box, Choso’s general lack of squeamish misery when it comes to the stickier parts of medicine, and the bloodstain on Ryomen Sukuna’s Dior jacket.
It’s almost odd, in a morbid way, that a crime boss chooses the latest Vogue streetwear, instead of a dark Godfather suit and a cigar.
Your expression must betray the pieces that you’ve put together, because Choso’s eyes widen, like he can see the cogs turning in your brain. “Look,” he stammers, voice rougher now, with a nervous edge, “I didn’t do anything wrong. Never saw what he did. Not really. Just —”
You shush him gently, a hand reaching out to land on his, a little too quickly and a little too hot. The instant your skin brushes against his, there’s a sharp feeling. Like you’ve touched something that burns beneath the surface. His face flashes a faint pink, muscles stiffening as though your touch seared him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
“Go on,” you hope that your tone is reassuring.
Choso swallows, his throat bobbing as his fingers suddenly curl around yours, “Anyway, I got tired of doing his dirty work, you know? Thought that if I dropped out, I could get a job. Work enough to support myself and Yuuji, without taking a single dollar from him.”
“But he’s your uncle?” Your question is tentative, like you’re testing the waters of a deeper pool, “Wouldn’t he support you, too?”
Choso’s sigh is deep and weary as he gently corrects you, “He’s Yuuji’s uncle. Yuuji’s my half-brother.”
Suddenly, Sukuna’s comment about ‘biting bastard children’ snaps into place with clarity. Oh.
You’re not sure what to say now, what words could possibly fill the emptiness that lingers between the two of you. What a misery it would have been. Being a teenager with such potential, forced to close off your own future for the sake of family, and those that you love.
You remember Choso’s face that day, after graduation, with his hollow expression as he watched your friends celebrate their youth. There’s a bitter lump in your throat, but for once, you keep it down. This really isn’t about you.
You frown, the thought sneaking up on you and settling in your chest like a splinter you can’t ignore. “He said you owed him favours.”
Choso exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for something unpleasant. His voice is low, bitter. “You think high school dropouts pay their own way into med school without a benefactor?”
Right.
“So?” Choso’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, and you blink at him, startled.
“So, what?”
Choso shifts, unease seeping into his posture. His calloused fingers are still curled tightly around yours, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away and slip past him.
“Are you angry?”
You’re not sure whether to laugh, or sigh, “Why would I be angry?”
He’s hesitating, dark hair falling loose around his face, “I was a jerk to you.” The words come quietly, like they’ve been gnawing at him, biting at the edges of his thoughts, “At the time, I don’t know, I guess I was just angry. Everything felt unfair, and I didn’t want anyone else to be involved.”
You frown, not fully understanding what to say, “You were still a teenager,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to convince both him and you. You hesitate, unsure whether you’re underplaying things, so the worlds come out a little jagged, not quite as comforting as you wished. “I guess…” It feels weak as your words suddenly stagger off.
Choso’s eyes flicker to yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure if there’s something else, you’re not saying, “What?”
You can practically hear Satoru’s voice in your heard, groaning and whining about screwing the long game. But you puff a breath through your cheeks, worried you’ll lose the nerve, “You know, I really liked you, right, Choso?”
Choso’s mouth drops open, as his face flickers with disbelief. The same way it had three years ago, “Like, really?”
You nod, a smile tugging at your lips without even thinking, “Yeah. And you know, everyone else thought I was being, like, silly. But I really liked you. I just never knew what to say to you.” It feels so stupid, and obvious now. But back then, it had been a great chunk of your world. You force yourself to hold his bashful gaze.
Choso’s quiet for a moment, before he admits, “I couldn’t believe it when you asked me to be your date. I thought it was just a game you were playing, or there was no-one left to ask.”
And then, after a beat, “Who did you go with?”
You snicker, a little too bitter and honest, “No-one.”
Choso’s quiet, relieved ‘damn’ makes you laugh even more, threading your fingers with his.
“I just can’t believe he’s in your classes. What are the odds?” Satoru mutters, abandoning his sunglasses for the evening, his bright eyes flashing like sunlight refracted on water. He claims that his eyes are less sensitive today, but you’re certain it’s an excuse for him to freely rifle through your kitchen without obstruction. In the living room, the rest of your friends hover like a pack of starved hyenas, waiting for the snacks that Satoru is currently monopolising.
“I’m telling you, when I first saw him, my heart dropped straight to my ass,” you say, tearing open a bag of sour cream crisps with more force than necessary. The chips tumble into the earthenware bowl in a noisy cascade.
Satoru snickers, expertly arranging small platters on a big, oaken serving board, “I pity the lack of cushioning it got.”
You flick a stray crisp at him, the chip bouncing off his shoulder with a gratifying crunch. For a moment, his grin is steady, but it quickly turns rueful. That slight furrow in his brows, the way the corner of his mouth twitches downwards. There’s something else simmering under that veneer of carelessness.
“You’re not happy, Satoru?”
His expression hardens slightly, plucking a cluster of wine-red grapes, twisting them off their stems with methodical precision.
“Well, yeah,” Satoru admits after a beat, his tone uncharacteristically sober, “I’m glad that he’s, like, nice now or whatever. But he basically broke your heart, didn’t he?”
You glance away, your fingers tighten on the corner of another snack bag, “He had his reasons.” Your flat reply avoids his curious gaze, perceptive and knowing. You hadn’t filled him on the Sukuna-lore. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s bad blood between the Gojos and Sukuna, and you’re not keen to exacerbate it.
Oh, hey, Satoru! So, Choso is like Sukuna’s adopted nephew. And I think Sukuna forced him to like clean up people’s chopped fingers and arms, or whatever. But I have a big crush on him, yep. Right after I said that I wouldn’t catch feelings again.
Satoru scoffs, wagging a long finger at you. A glistening droplet of grape juice clings to his thumb like a ruby bead, “Don’t make excuses for someone hurting your feelings. You know better than that.” His tone carries the same theatrical lilt as always, but it’s underpinned with something firmer, genuine.
Before you can fire back, a new voice meanders into the kitchen, soft and unhurried, “Who hurt your feelings?”
It’s Suguru, propped lazily against the doorway, choppy layers freshly framing his sharp features. The dim kitchen light catches on the faint sheen of his silver rings as he crosses his arms.
Satoru grabs a bag of pretzels, lobbing it towards him, “Choso Kamo. Remember that emo guy I told you about?”
Suguru catches the bag with practised ease, without looking, his mauve gaze flicking to you. You silently curse Gojo Satoru for broadcasting your love life, or lack thereof, to what feels like half the city.
“What’s he look like again?”
You narrow your eyes at the tall man, “He was literally in our grade.”
Suguru shrugs, his palms raised in mock innocence, “I never saw him, okay? He was quiet as hell, never had classes with him.”
“He wasn’t that quiet,” you protest, but your words are drowned out by Satoru’s triumphant declaration.
“Hold up! I got visual aid.”
He’s whipped out his phone, unlocking it with a brief glance of his face, before shoving the dimmed screen inches from Suguru’s puzzled face. The photo, a grainy yearbook photo of Choso in junior year, gleams under the kitchen lights. You wonder if you’re going to need to fight for your life on the frontlines again.
For a moment, Suguru’s expression remains neutral. Unimpressed even. Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, his eyes widen with dawning recognition, “This is Kamo? His girlfriend’s my neighbour.”
Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!”
Your best friend’s exclamation ricochets off the kitchen walls, loud enough to silence whatever protest was forming on your lips. Not that you had much ground to stand on. How would you even know? Choso had talked to you about his family, not his love life. You saw him a few times a week, and then the two of you would drift away, back to your own orbits. And he was a grown man with a life that had surely moved past you.
You had told him that you had liked him, and he hadn’t said a word back that hinted at any mutual connection. How had you missed that?”
Satoru is still recovering from his near demise at the hands of fruit, “What girlfriend? You’re sure, Suguru?”
Suguru raises an eyebrow, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth, “Hey. Don’t pin this on me. But he comes by, with a little pink-haired kid. His brother? And she’s like talkative,” and he gestures vaguely above his head, “Like, really tall. Blonde.”
Your eyes had drifted to the unopened case of vodka sitting on the counter.
Satoru clocks you immediately, “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to handle this like mature adults.”
“We?”
Satoru nods solemnly, looping his arm through Suguru’s leather jacket, “Yes. Your Choso loss is my Choso loss,” and he pulls Suguru closer, “Our Choso loss.”
Suguru sighs, not shaking him off as he looks at you sympathetically, “Why am I a part of this? No offense. You could skip all this misery, and I don’t know because I’m just spit balling here, ask him?”
The dark-haired man continues, “Or, and I know this is radical for two divas like you, you could just let it go and spare yourself the drama. If you’re going to be working in the same field, wouldn’t professionalism be better?”
Satoru scoffs, “Or! We do some reconnaissance. I mean, you’re the girlfriend’s neighbour, Suguru. Go snoop around.”
“Why is it always me?” Suguru’s pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Because it is always you. You’ve got the best sneaky liar face I know,” Satoru replies breezily, ignoring how Suguru mutters about the love he feels in this kitchen, “And you need to do this for the greater good. All that noble shit.”
Suguru shoots you a half-hearted glare, as if this is somehow your fault, and not Satoru pulling every string. You’re one more inconvenience away from slumping onto the counter, head in hands, a shot glass by your side.
Your mind flickers to the hair tie that Choso always wears on his wrist. It could be innocuous, sure, but the green-eyed monster claws itself up in your chest. You imagine this faceless girlfriend passing it to him, like an intimate, inside joke.
“What am I supposed to do? Corner him in the break room on placements, and interrogate him? Should I pull out the clan funds, and pay him to date me?”
“It’s what I did with Suguru,” Satoru quips, not missing a beat.
“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.
The hospital’s looming ahead. A hulking mass of glass and steel that outline the bleak sky. It’s a bitter Monday morning, the kind that bites at your cheeks and sinks into your bones, no matter how tightly you bundle up. The drive has been long and so utterly tedious, the pale sunlight doing little to brighten the cityscape as you crawl along congested streets.
Now, on the far edge of the suburbs, you’re left squinting and fuming as you circle the parking lot for the third time. The situation is grim, spots are scarce, and every turn feels like an ill-fated gamble that only ends in someone else’s bumper.
You mutter curses under your breath, the heater in your car doing little to thaw your mood.
Choso’s already there, not a massive surprise, for his apartment is far closer than your waterfront residence, smack-bang in the city’s central district. His dark hair is loosely tied back, and he’s thrown an old hoodie over his scrubs. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a coffee cup in the other.
He extends the cup towards you without preamble, “Want it?”
You blink, catching on the incongruity of the gesture. But Suguru’s intel still echoes in your mind, he has a girlfriend.
You furrow your brow, the cup hovering between you, “Where’s yours?”
Choso shrugs, “I don’t drink coffee. Makes me jittery.”
This answer irritates you for no logical reason. Who doesn’t drink coffee? It feels like some fundamental character flaw, and you snatch the cup from his hand. Doing your very best not to unfairly glare at him, for the sole crime of having a life outside of you.
It’s hard to focus when he’s nailed your exact order. You lower the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your fingers, doing little to melt the icy knot that sits in your chest.
Choso seems almost unnervingly chipper this morning, a far cry from his usual brooding demeanour. There’s no scowl etched on his handsome face, no trace of his typical stoicism. Instead, he wears the faintest trace of a smile, a subtle and almost tentative thing that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he glances over a nearly printed itinerary.
The sight throws you further off-kilter. It’s rare to see him like this, easy and unguarded, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening to escape before you smother it.
“We’re starting in the ER for two hours,” he reads aloud, voice steady, “then, the paediatric unit.” He pauses to flip the page, his expression shifting to mild exasperation, “And then, paperwork in the break room.”
“Figures,” you grumble, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, “Free labour from the students, yeah?”
Choso glances at you, from the corner of his eye, an unimpressed but faintly amused look on his face, “Thought that you would start the day with a more upbeat attitude.”
You grunt in response, which only earns a shake of his head as he folds the itinerary back into his clipboard.
A beat of silence stretches between you, only punctured by the sound of light metal snapping as you clip a badge to your pocket, but he’s speaking again.
“You good?”
His bronze eyes flick to yours, clearly searching, and your pulse stutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”
Choso takes a deep breath, his chest rising and gearing up for something monumental. The way his fingers fidget against the clipboard betrays him, they tap out a staccato rhythm. There’s a flush creeping on the back of his neck, subtle but unmistakeable.
“Want to get dinner tonight?” He blurts, the words tumbling out so fast that they barely sound like a sentence.
You blink at him, confused, “Bless you.” Your automatic response, because he spoke so quickly that it sounded as though he had sneezed.
Choso’s scowl is immediate, “No.” He says it firmly, drawing out each word in exasperation, “I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. After this.”
Oh. Oh.
The realisation hits you like a jolt, and for a second, all you can do is gape at him. He’s looking at you now, an almost defiant sort of expectation in his gaze, as though he’s worried that you’re going to laugh at him. But before you piece together a coherent response, there’s a sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles on the doorframe.
The ward manager is here, her expression brisk and no-nonsense, gesturing for the two of you to begin your shift placement.
Your head snaps back at him, mouth moving before your brain diplomatically catches up, “I don’t think that’s fair to your girlfriend, do you?”
Choso’s brows knit together, his expression shifting to something startled and indignant. Irritated, even, as you push past him.
He’s trying to speak to you. It’s painfully obvious, as he’s got that mildly dazed look. All that awkward, earnest attention is squarely focused on you.
You’re having none of it.
He steps to your side as you shuffle through patient charts, his broad frame taking up more than his fair share of narrow space, shadowing your elbow as you scribble furious notes. His mouth opens, probably to say something that you don’t want to hear, but you’re faster.
“Hey, Choso, what’s her blood pressure?” You interrupt, not bothering to look up from the faintly lined paper.
There’s a second of hesitation before he answers, “120 over 50. Just write that down. Got it? Okay, yeah, can you stop moving for a second and —”
You squint at the chart, cutting him off again, “Hmm, don’t you think that the diastolic is a little low?”
His shoulders slump, “Yes, but the doctors already know that. She has hypothyroidism, you told me that when you interrupted me like half an hour ago. Can’t you just —” Choso stops mid-sentence again, muttering a resigned oh my god, when you pivot away and head to the next room without so much a glance back.
It sets the tone for the rest of the shift. You make a sport of avoiding him, weaving through the emergency department like a fish slipping upstream, leaving Choso stranded in your wake. He follows, persistent in his mild-mannered way, but you’re relentless.
“Can you hand me that chart?” He’s trying again, as you’re elbow deep in filing.
“Oh, this one?” You sweetly ask, holding it just out of his reach, before conveniently remembering that you need to double-check something on it. He just huffs at you.
By hour three, it’s clear that Choso’s patience is wearing thin, and fighting a war against his professionalism. He corners you near the supply cart while you rummage for gloves.
“There you are.”
“Oh, are we low on size medium?” You cut in, loud enough to catch the attention of a passing manager, “Should we restock?”
Choso inhales through his nose, “We’re not low on gloves. We’re fine on gloves. Can you stop talking about gloves for one second?”
You flash him a smile that’s all teeth, “Gloves are important, Choso. Hygiene is crucial.”
This time, you see him run an exasperated hand over his face, before realising that now he’s just contaminated his own pair of gloves. Snarling at you as he rips the blue latex off and reaching for the size large box.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, once and then twice. Then thrice, as if whoever’s contacting you as something urgent to say. You ignore it, you’ll check it after placements.
The hours tick by, and your strategy remains the same. Stay busy, stay distant, and stay unreachable. Don’t make it seem like you’re irrationally bothered by Choso having a life of his own and having a girlfriend. Or that you actually had hope that this time round, his feelings for you were requited.
By the time you both stumble into the break room, Choso looks as if he’s experienced the full emotional spectrum, like he’s been knocked through the five stages of grief and landed somewhere in the resigned space of acceptance. He looks as if he’s clearly preparing to lecture you, to tirade you on professional conduct and —
Without warning, his phone buzzes.
You don’t even look up from cracking open your water bottle, the sound of plastic barely crinkles louder than the dull thud of your own heartbeat. Choso glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of alarm crossing his face, before he draws his attention back to the screen of his phone.
You hear the faintest scoff from his direction, and he’s shaking his head as you watch in mild interest.
“What?”
Choso doesn’t answer immediately, still scrolling through his phone.
“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”
Your mouth goes dry. You blink rapidly, wide-eyed as if he’s just spoken in an ancient, dead language.
“What?” You manage weakly, “Who? What? —”
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you fear the cause of this slow and curling chest is a meddling duo of two men, one with dark hair and the other with snowy-white.
Choso doesn’t even glance up at you, his voice tinged with something incredulous now, “Why is Gojo Satoru texting me? He says that you’re not replying to his or Geto Suguru’s messages. And apparently, this is super urgent, and he feels like he must do his divine duty by interfering before you do something stupid.
Choso pauses, finally looking at you as if he’s truly baffled, “And you all thought that I was dating Tsukumo.”
You’re crafting a list in your head. Twenty creative ways to kill Gojo Satoru and not land in prison afterwards.
Maybe you should ask Choso for Ryomen Sukuna’s contact.
“That’s crazy,” you say, the words tasting thin and hollow in a bitter, embarrassed lie.
Choso shakes his head at you, some dark strands of hair falling across his eyes, “She looks after Yuuji sometimes. I take him over to her place because Yuki’s adopted a kid, Todo. The two of them are friends.”
“Uh.”
Choso turns back to his phone screen, scrolling through whatever nonsense Satoru is feeding him, “Have you being icing me out all day, because you thought I had a girlfriend?”
“Will you hate me if I say yes?” You’re looking anywhere but him, focusing on the chipped, lilac paint on the break-room door. Or the slightly off-centre light bulb flickering above. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re adding Geto Suguru to your kill list.
Choso’s voice is softer when he answers, almost too quiet, “Hey. You know I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” But there’s a strange mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice, a bemused chuckle that lingers in the air, “Wow. Just wow.”
You grimace, fingers toying with the edge of the water bottle as you wrangle your thoughts into words, “Are you mad? I mean, look. I told you I liked you. And then you held my hands, so I thought you liked me back. And you got me coffee. But Suguru said you had a girlfriend, and you can’t blame me for being — Oh my god, I’m going to stop talking, you’re looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.”
Choso’s expression shifts, just staring at you. You don’t more than a split-second to process his strangely intense look. There’s no time to recover before he leans down, his hands surprisingly warm and gentle as they cradle the side of your face.
Your breath hitches, but before you can form another thought, his lips are on yours. They’re warm, deliberate and surprisingly firm. The scent of crisp green apples falls over you, as his hair envelops your face.
He pulls back just enough to study you, “Was that okay?” he asks, his fingers still lingering at the curve of your jaw, like he can’t believe he just kissed you. You can feel the sharp blush sting your face, as your heart practically goes into cardiac arrest, nodding quickly.
“Uh, I’m not really an expert in this field,” Choso murmurs, “But I can’t believe that I waited this long to do that.”
“You can do that again,” you say. Wondering if you should buy Satoru and Suguru a bouquet of flowers instead.
Choso, predictably, blushes deep enough that it nearly looks like he might combust. His eyes flicker away, avoiding your gaze in that way he does when he’s trying to sort through his emotions. But it’s hard to miss the warm flush that’s firmly planted on his neck.
“Can I do it over that dinner?” Choso murmurs, his voice dipping lower, before he quickly rephrases, “I obviously do want to kiss you now, again, that is, but if they catch us in the break room —”
You suddenly beam up at him, patting him on the cheek, “You can kiss me as much as you like over dinner.”
Choso looks as though he’s been struck with a metaphorical thunderbolt, as if he didn’t expect you to agree so straightforwardly. And then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick and soft kiss to your forehead. For the briefest second, it feels as if you’re a teenager again, caught in the whirlwind of something simple and so sweet.
“Okay. So, is that a yes?” He asks, a little breathless, as if he’s not sure what kind of confirmation he’s just gotten but needing it to hear it anyway.
“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”
Choso mutters under his breath, “You know Geto Suguru texted me with a five-paragraph apology, something about sneaking around my apartment. Stalking me this morning,” and here, he looks at you, utterly exasperated but fond, “Something about checking to see if I had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t even know the guy. We never talked in school.”
You loop your arm with his, pulling him in slightly, “See, I always did say my friends were super nice. They’re going to be super nice, and normal. Trust me.”
ONE WEEK LATER.
“And to my brother-in-law, my brother-in-arms, my brother in the Constantinople Crusades of 1204,” Satoru hiccups, his words slurring together in a rambled mess, as he sways over the edge of Suguru’s arms, and for a split second, you’re worried the white-haired man is going to tip over entirely, “My new brother, Choso. We always knew it was going to happen, eh?”
Choso’s cheeks turn a faint shade of crimson in the sudden spotlight as everyone cheers, and he shifts awkwardly. Suguru’s shooting him an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth twitching as he props Satoru up, “He’s a lightweight. And we watched a historical movie last night.”
“I can tell,” Choso grumbles, his face flushed now as Satoru’s monologue drifts like an aimless plastic bag in the wind, his words growing nonsensical as you reach over to pinch at his cheeks. He yelps but continues to babble on about how he and Choso are going to be best friends now, and they’re going to go shopping together, and ice-skating, and fruit-picking. All nonsense burbles being strung together by the tequila shots that Satoru swore he could handle an hour ago.
You glance over at Choso, faintly embarrassed, but he just laughs, a sound that’s unexpectedly light and unguarded. His fingers slide into yours once more, and the motion is gentle and natural, as though this, you, are exactly where he’s meant to be. And he drapes the wide expanse of his aviator jacket over your shoulders.
Meanwhile, Suguru is wrestling with Satoru, pushing him back down from his impromptu toast to your boyfriend, before the bartender can usher you all towards the exit. The burly man is already giving Satoru’s drunken proclamations a nasty look.
Shoko, of course, is grinning at you, a tankard of beer glimmering in front of her. Her eyes gleam with the sharpness of someone who’s won a decent amount of money in a bet. And Utahime is standing back with a faintly judgemental expression that only veils her gossipy curiosity, and a glum look as she passes wads of cash into Shoko’s waiting hands.
“They really do like me,” Choso murmurs, his voice low and almost carrying the undertone of vulnerability, alongside some quiet self-awareness.
You laugh, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning in to press a quick peck to the dark mark that streaks over his face, “They all have no choice. You’re my boyfriend now.”
The words slip out effortlessly, and for a moment, they hang between you like something solid and unspoken, as though saying it aloud has made it feel real in a way it never quite did before. Choso’s eyes flick to yours, and something shifts in his expression — just a slight softening around the edges.
Then, without warning, you lean in, closing the distance between you, and kiss him. It’s slow, deliberate, with none of the frantic energy of your first kiss but instead the quiet certainty of something just beginning to bloom. You feel the faintest sigh from Nanami in the background, the sound of Geto groaning as Gojo whoops with drunken delight.
The noise from the bar fades into nothing as you focus entirely on the warmth of Choso’s shy lips against yours, the gentle pressure as he presses more into you, the soft thud of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his chest. For that moment, it’s just you and him, and everything else is an afterthought.
“Okay! I’ve had enough of the lot of you snogging and yelling in my bar! And take stupid Jack Frost out with ya’!”
#choso kamo#choso kamo x reader#choso x reader#choso fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fluff#jjk x you#choso x y/n#jjk choso#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk angst#daphworks
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Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!
⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader
╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯
Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past.
Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy.
Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered.
You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do.
The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight).
You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your…
What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did.
It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for.
You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”
The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking.
You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”
He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”
Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”
“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space.
Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??
After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”
He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut.
It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship.
“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”
You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate.
Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”
“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”
“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain.
“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”
He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”
You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.”
After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”
Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”
“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.”
“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips.
“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”
“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly.
“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”
He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”
“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”
It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”
“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet.
Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”
Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.”
“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth.
Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”
“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”
“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine.
You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…”
Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”
“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed.
The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there.
Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment.
Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.
Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”
There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”
“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”
“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.
Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”
You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”
There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”
“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response.
“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory.
“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line.
You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”
Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”
You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”
“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”
You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”
“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”
You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.”
“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”
“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”
“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”
#🌸 . plum writes#💌 . anon#homicipher#文字化化#homicipher x reader#homicipher x you#mr silvair#mr silvair x reader#mr silvair x you#homicipher imagines#homicipher drabbles#imagines#drabble#one shot#fluff#x reader#reader insert
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Part one here:: link
"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link
TW vomiting, drug use
Eddie is good.
Eddie is kind.
Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better.
He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood.
It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.
Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman.
The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters.
It makes him brave.
Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.
That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children.
Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting.
This was about their relationship with Harrington.
A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache.
Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted.
That makes him easy to take advantage of.
Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip.
It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.
Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him!
She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry.
Yeah.
Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there.
Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.
Well.
Eddie was here to break it.
Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit.
Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks.
He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees.
Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.
“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. “What are you--hey!”
Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house.
“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”
Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue.
Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.
Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.
“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--”
“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.
He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day.
“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall.
It doesn’t take long to find the kid.
Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame.
He turns, revealing the front of the thing has ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font.
(Baking puns. Disgusting.)
“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen.
This is exactly what he was afraid of finding.
Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?”
“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen.
For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles.
He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes.
“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.
He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”
Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here.
“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”
“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”
Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”
Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”
Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”
He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple.
“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”
Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”
He cuts himself off with a hiss, eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt.
“You can play the good guy and take them all home.”
Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie.
(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!)
“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.”
For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.
“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”
Eddie glowers.
“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,”
Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.
“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.”
He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.”
“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest.
“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!”
“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.”
“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb.
(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.)
“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”
“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment.
As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona.
“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.”
“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes.
Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.
“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?”
“Guys.”
“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!”
“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.
“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter.
Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction.
“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over.
(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.)
“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.”
“Steve--”
“Nope. Making it worse. Out.”
He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him.
Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury.
Harrington’s pale.
The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style.
His hair…
Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink.
He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.
In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine.
Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit…
The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.
“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that.
“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.”
“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach.
“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.”
“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!”
(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.)
“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely.
He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things.
It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here.
Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.
(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.
Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.
…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.)
“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,”
He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.
“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?”
“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.
Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)
“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice, already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it.
Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.
Harrington, clearly, needs help.
“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once.
“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.
He probably has.
(Fucking King Steve.
No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.)
“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?”
“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”
“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even.
“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…”
He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating.
“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely.
He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does.
Steve Harrington is not most people.
If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house.
Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…
Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest.
The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.
He clears his throat pointedly.
“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!”
Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked.
“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth.
“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen.
He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine.
Typical.
“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?”
“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.”
It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere.
Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer.
Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches.
Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right…
“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly.
"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way.
“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"
Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.
"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”
He waits for the nods he knows are coming.
“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door.
They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them.
And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.
(At least Dustin managed that.)
He could leave now.
Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.
Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give.
Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.
“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?”
“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud.
“What?”
Thank God for Harrington’s headache.
“You look terrible, man.” Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.”
He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party.
The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.”
He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie.
“You got your laugh in, so you can go.”
There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened.
(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.)
“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.
“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.”
Harrington grimaces.
“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”
His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter.
And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole.
Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers.
(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.)
It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety.
Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.
Even if he really, really wants to.
“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.”
“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.”
A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face.
“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me, I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch.
Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead.
“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment.
“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?”
“....are you offering me drugs?”
“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket.
“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?”
Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it.
“How is that going to help?”
“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.”
Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount.
Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him.
“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning.
“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him.
Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja.
Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’
“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.”
“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.
Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.
“I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”
He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him.
“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”
“Put you back together again.”
Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.
Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people.
“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.
Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”
“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game.
“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.
“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains.
“Tea?”
“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”
Steve scowls. “Sadist.”
“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”
Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.
Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart.
“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.”
Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.”
“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”
“Honestly? Yeah.”
Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that.
“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit.
Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.
“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”
“Think it’s coming back up?”
“No clue.”
They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.”
An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on.
Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out.
(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.)
Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom.
“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.
“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room.
“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.”
The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it.
Fucking rich people.
“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.”
“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed.
It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers.
“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute.
“Yeah?”
“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.”
Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie.
“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”
“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.”
If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having fun destroying one's own ego.
He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.
No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had.
“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed.
Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom.
Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist.
It freezes him in place.
In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own.
“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment.
Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.
“Anytime, big boy.”
Anytime.
xxx
The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it.
In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.
He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday.
Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days.
Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington.
Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life.
Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices.
In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer.
“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.
“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”
“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking.
(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.
…well.
An attempt at an excuse, anyway.)
“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe.
Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy.
“Would you just let us in?”
“No.”
“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.”
“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.”
“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily.
“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”
Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”
And just like that their little ambush makes sense.
(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness just isn’t cutting it anymore.)
“And why would I do that?”
He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control.
Checking up on the guy was overkill.
“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground.
“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”
“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.”
Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head.
The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on.
Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it.
Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces.
Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning.
“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.
She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly.
(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.)
“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”
Oh no he does not.
“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh.
“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread.
Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday.
A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one.
The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.
Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.
“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.”
He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe.
He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead.
“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!”
Which gets Eddie’s back right up.
He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents.
“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.”
Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you.
“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.
Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most.
“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one.
“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.”
Mayfield grins at him.
It reminds him vaguely of a shark.
A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark.
“Good. Go get dressed.”
“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer.
“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.
Eddie slams the door in her face.
(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)
#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#0o0 fanfics#stranger things#robin buckley#the party#stobin#Steve is the parties older brother#headache#migraine#hurt/comfort#Eddie is as protective of the party as steve is lol#tw drug use/mention#specifically psychedelics'#tw vomiting#happy halloween they are about to get so fucking gay for each other lmao#I have to leave but#this is finished#its just LONG#Ill post the final part later
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craving you. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE
pairing: husband!jaehyun x afab!reader
words: 5.1k+
summary: are pregnancy cravings supposed to make you crazy for your husband’s dick?
genre: smut
warnings: jaehyun and reader are children of politicians, mentions of conservative views, pregnancy, public sex, bigdick!jaehyun, fingering, pussy eating, creampies
this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview
Once you’re on the road, he intertwines his hand with yours over the console. He raises the back of your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. “Missed you today,” he murmurs, squeezing your palm. “Dad’s been wanting to see you too. Said you should come by the office and hang out. He’d love your input on the new traffic law they’re trying to pass.”
You hum noncommittally, staring out the window with a longing expression. He swallows at your choice to remain non-verbal, worry filling the bottom of his gut.
“Pasta night tonight, hm? I already called ahead and they set aside our favorite table,” he continues, trying to draw a reaction out of you. You chew on your lower lip, but your eyes focus on the passing streetlights. The question leaves his lips before he can stop it. “Have I done something wrong, my love?”
Your head darts over to him for the first time, gaze filled with confusion. “Of course you haven’t.”
“You’ve just been so distant from me,” he sighs. “I’m wondering if you’re upset over something I did.”
“No, no, of course not,” you shake your head, squirming in your seat. “It’s just that- T-The baby- I’m just having a lot of emotions right now.”
“You can talk to me about them, you know? I’d love to understand how you’re feeling.”
A few moments pass in silence, and he peeks over to see you battling internally before you say, “It’s not really appropriate, Jae.”
His brow furrows. “Appropriate? I’m your husband, my love. You can tell me anything.”
The rest of the ride is speechless and when Jaehyun pulls up to the valet of the restaurant, he tells the worker to give you both a moment.
“I don’t want to go in there until you feel comfortable enough sitting across from me and looking me in the eye,” he says sternly, not allowing you to run away from confrontation this time. “If you’re mad at me, tell me now and we can put a pin in it to discuss later.”
“I-I’m not mad!” You exclaim, flustered by the various people standing outside and waiting for you. “Please, Jae. Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”
“I can’t enjoy it if I know my wife is upset.”
“I’m not upset,” you hiss, groaning and running your hands down your face. “It’s not appropriate for me to say! Especially here!”
“What is it? Morning sickness? Swelling? Using the bathroom too often?”
“I want to have sex with you! Does that make you happy? I think about jumping your bones every five seconds and it’s driving me insane. I can’t even look you in the eye because all I’ll think about is riding you until I’m out of breath,” you confess, folding your arms across your chest and pouting like a child. “Now you know your wife is a degenerate who can’t think straight.”
You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Jaehyun doesn’t utter a single word, opening up the car door and signaling for the valet to take the keys. One of the workers helps you step out as Jaehyun walks over, outstretching his arm to you without sparing you a single glance.
You walk into the restaurant with your hand wrapped around his forearm tightly. When the hostess greets you, Jaehyun says, “We’ll take the private room in the back if it’s available. I’ll pay extra if needed.”
The hostess blinks in surprise. “Oh, I apologize, Mr. Jeong. I thought you called in and requested the table by the window.”
He flashes her his signature smile. “I did, but my wife is feeling under the weather and we’d prefer if we had more privacy. I’m sure the restaurant can make a few accommodations.”
“Of course, Mr. Jeong.”
She leads you to the back, opening a sliding door that reveals a dimly lit room for two. Jaehyun nods and takes the menu from her hands. “I’ll call for service when we’re ready,” he instructs. “I ask that those doors remain closed until I say otherwise.”
“No problem, Mr. Jeong. I’ll inform the rest of the staff.”
When she exits, Jaehyun finds his way to his seat. He watches your confused expression, knowing he usually pulls out your seat for you like a proper gentleman. Just as you’re about to take your own spot at the table, he stops you with a gruff “What do you think you’re doing?”
You glance between him and the chair, and on any other occasion, he would coo at how cute you are.
“Um, sitting?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Your seat’s over here, my love,” he murmurs, patting his thigh. “Have you forgotten how to use your eyes?”
You blink twice. “Uh-”
“Come on. I can’t wait all day.”
want to read the rest? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!
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Pick-a-Card: Your November 2024
₊ ⊹ ALLEGEDLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY₊ ⊹
pile 1 -> pile 2->pile 3
pick a honey product and scroll down to read your reading
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Pile 1 - ₊˚⊹♡
Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself.
🍯 Welcome Pile 1! It seems like your November 2024 will be fulled of self reflection. You could think of what you want to be in the future, what are your goals and inspirations, and what are your dreams, what are you trying to achieve. You will start to plan the future too. You could perhaps try to find some time to think about the near future, and who you want to be. Some of you could have a talk with their mother or a mother figure in your life. You could want to hear their opinions or ask for advices. You could also realize you have a dream to become a parent, or you could listen to what your soul desire the most for this month. You could also be more connected to your inner child as well.
🍯 For some of you, you could want to get a private tarot reading this month, or have some esoteric help for the near future, so it could also be related to astrology, psychic, etc. You could also do it for yourself, rely on some tools to know more about what the future will hold for you. You could want to study one of those things, because you could be very much into knowing what your destiny has for you. You could need some guidance, and so this could be a perfect tool for you. I feel like you could also study a lot this month, perhaps it's studying a hobby, or just studying for college or a job, but you are very focused on learning something. You could also think of moving or traveling somewhere soon, so perhaps planning a trip.
🍯 I feel like for some of you there is a sort of anxiety, mostly perhaps coming from money and impossibility to move from where you are. You could want to see the world, travel somewhere, or also move in a bigger place or city. You could have to make a choice related to that. You could feel like you don't have enough money to travel or, not enough money to move, and you could need to make a decision about it. You will want things to change. You could have a work opportunity to make more money soon. But it seems like in November, it's all about reflection of your desires for the near future.
🍯 I also see a love one returning for you this month. I specifically see a person from your post, so if it's not something you want or something you see happening, then this message is not for you! Someone you think was done with you is not, and they could return to you this month. This person and you could have been in no contact, and it's strongly a love connection. It seems like it's this person who is coming back to speak to you. Perhaps they have been wanting to talk to you for a long time but timing was never right. This has potential to transform into a relationship, a long term and serious one, by the end of the month. It could make you really happy . For some of you, you could have travel opportunities because of this person.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
If you desire a more personal and in-depth reading, you can book a private tarot reading with me.
Pile 2 - ₊˚⊹♡
Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself
🍯 Welcome Pile 2! For this month, I see a strong theme with romantic relationship. You could begin a love story with someone this month. This can be a person from the past but also someone new if you do not desire someone from your past coming back. This person could be a foreigner, someone who lives in foreign sea, and this could be a long distance relationship, so that what may resonates the most with you. I wanna say this person will make you happy, but before the happy ending, there must be the storm first. But before, I would like to say there could be someone texting you, a lot of talk, or someone can also send a letter. You will learn something about them.
🍯 I see that you could meet someone or find someone from your past again and start something romantic with them. If it's a new person, one of you or perhaps both will have to deal with their traumas related to cheating, or being disappointed by romantic partners before. This could be hard in this month as perhaps this person is triggering those traumas. You'll need to talk about it with them if it's your cause. If your person is from the past, this could also apply, but this could also mean this person could have cheated, or you could have felt betrayed or abandoned by this person in the past. You will need to talk and work on this to see where it is going, and if you can trust this person again. In any cases, whatever this is, there will be talks. Moreover, this person and you will def end up together, so this may just be a time to heal.
🍯 I do see a strong masculine energy here, so this can be a man or just someone with this kind of energy. This person will def be romantically involved with you. This person def loves you or will love you, I do see them having real feelings. But I think this person have had rough experiences in love. They could have been really hurt in the past, and this can lead them to have a hard time to trust people now, or they could have turned into a player before meeting you. Meeting you could have trigger them to heal, this wasn't easy, perhaps for both of you. This is just a challenging time to go through. This person does have good intentions, they want to be better for you, they want you to see them in a good light because they absolutely want to build a future with you.
🍯 This person will prove you by the end of the month they are good and trustworthy for you. You will also have feelings for them I see, so it's not one sided, and you'll realize they truly love you. I do see them offering you a gift or just doing something romantic that means a lot for you, and you'll def see how serious they are about you. You could introduce someone that you are close with to this person, as a way to present your romantic partner to people you care about. If this person is from your past and hurt you before, you'll most likely forgive them because of something really romantic they will do.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
If you desire a more personal and in-depth reading, you can book a private tarot reading with me.
Pile 3 - ₊˚⊹♡
Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself
🍯 Welcome Pile 3! For the month, I see some kind of failure. Im sorry if you are disappointed. But don't be, let's see what the message is. I do see you could feel like you have failed, or you failed someone. You could have a strong feminine energy. Either you feel like you failed, or you feel like a woman failed you. If you were in a relationship, a woman in your life could have betrayed you with your partner, or you could have felt like this feminine energy wanted something you had in your life, and so perhaps your partner. This is perhaps one of your friend, and you trusted this person. It seems more like this person was your friend but secretly jealous of you. You could have been accused wrongly that you were making false assumptions, and you could have been portrayed in a bad light. But it seems like the tables are finally turning.
🍯 You could see the light in this month. You could have a proof that you weren't crazy or making false assumptions about this person, and your intuition was right. This proof could make you happy because it could be your good karma, and life could get revenge for you. You will def learn something about this person, and you'll feel happy. You'll perhaps learn a lesson too about it, I hear "ruin is a gift". Sometimes, things in our life are being destroyed for a reason, and we do not see the good part of it until later in life, when finally the hidden truth is revealed.
🍯 Also, a man could have been involved in this story. If you were dating someone and this person tried to make you seem as a bad person in front of your partner, this partner and you could have part away, or if it was a crush, or just a situationship, then things didn't go well because of that feminine energy. Things will change though this month, truth will come out. You'll be happy for others around you to see you in a good light, and to finally see you weren't a bad person. You coud get a text from this feminine energy to apologize to you, or to want to start over again, and this will be your choice to accept or not.
🍯 For this masculine energy, I also do see them apologizing to you, this is def a romantic connection. They can apologize for not seeing the truth earlier, and to have doubted you. They could also reveal their feelings, or tell you what they really felt for the other woman. This person will def feel sorry, and bad on how they treated you. They will come forward to tell you the true feelings. You'll also be happy about this, it seems like you still loved them as well. If not, you'll still be thankful for their apology and tell them you are better off without each other. In any cases, you have a happy ending off this situation this month!
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
If you desire a more personal and in-depth reading, you can book a private tarot reading with me.
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#tarot#tarot cards#tarot deck#tarot pac#tarot reading#tarotblr#tarotcommunity#tarot readings#tarot community#pick a pile#pick a picture#pick a card#pick a photo#pac#pac reading#pac tarot
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‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗
a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦
summary. reaping day. something ellie is rather indifferent towards, wanting only to return back to the warm embrace of nature. meanwhile you're the complete opposite, today being one that'll determine your fate, as well as your placement in your family. this chapter follows the alternate experiences that the two of you go through.
content warnings. depictions of dead animals, domestic abuse, implications of slavery (avoxes). if you see anything else that i missed, pls let me know!
total wc. 10,815
notes!! she's here!!! chapter one of this beauty!!! i've proofread this at least fifty times and i'm still not happy with it, but! here's the reminder that this fic is formatted and meant for ao3, not tumblr (hence why it's so goddamn long). anyway, i advise you read it there rather than here for that reason. it's updated sooner and i actually make sure that it's intelligible. the link is right here ↓
𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚
11:46.
DISTRICT SEVEN.
“Again?” Ellie’s groggy cavil is muffled against the crook of Cat’s neck. Her freckled face is buried into the warmth of the woman’s bare skin, chasing the comfort her proximity provides.
Cat huffs an airy laugh, her fingers absentmindedly running along an auburn scalp. “We’ve gone over this.”
“Yeah, but,” Ellie props up on her elbows to frown at her, “You went last year.”
“It’s a good thing if they’re asking me to attend again, Ellie.” Cat reminds her as she’s done at least fifty times by now. Despite her dwindling patience, Cat’s eyes are filled with naught but fondness as they clash with a pair of viridescent irises. Ellie continues to frown at her, adamant in her show of defiance. Cat continues to fiddle with her choppy hair as she speaks. “The Capitol is extremely picky with their stylists. It’s an honor to work for them, not to mention being chosen by them.”
Ellie has to swallow back the words that crawl up her throat and threaten to spill. Words of which vocalize her personal repugnance for the Capitol. She and Cat have gotten into plenty of fights regarding this topic and she refuses to cause another — especially considering the news she’s been trying to avoid facing all morning.
“I won’t see you for, like, a month.” Ellie grumbles before flopping back down onto Cat’s chest. She turns her head so her ear is pressed against her ribs, the gentle thudding of Cat’s heartbeat almost soothing enough to distract her from the world that envelops them.
Their bare bodies are pressed flush together as Ellie continues to listen to the repetition of her palpitating organ. She can feel Cat’s fingers toying with her hair, the soft caresses providing a sense of calamity. Her chest rises and falls, Ellie’s head shifting alongside each breath she takes. The intimacy it takes for to be near someone in this way — especially for Ellie — is oftentimes overlooked and seen only as crude or lustrous. However, in this case, they’re simply enjoying one another’s presence. Nothing vulgar about it.
Oh how Ellie wishes she could stay like this forever. In this little oasis of solace she’s founded for herself. Waking with Cat in her bed whilst morning sunlight filters through the window and casts golden hues over hardwood flooring. It’s nigh impossible to imagine that in only a few hours they’ll be separated for an indefinite epoch as Cat is escorted off to the Capitol while Ellie remains here.
She shuts her eyes, arms tightening around Cat’s waist as she wishes to cherish what little time she has left with her. Cat doesn’t dare cease playing with her hair, delicate fingers toying with the strands.
Comfortability, domesticity, safety. That’s what Ellie feels when she’s near Cat — like nothing in the whole world could reach her. Like they’ve left the horrors of their District and are now floating through the cosmos all alone. Just the two of them. Though she knows better than to voice that to Cat, having found out the hard way that she doesn’t feel the same.
What they have is impermanent, said Cat when Ellie questioned her on fidelity, it has to be, she’d said. Even now, Ellie is unsure what that was supposed to mean. But she didn’t pry any further, for fear of damaging the fragility of what relationship, or lack thereof, they’d formed. Ever since, Ellie has learned to keep her feelings locked away in a hidden corner of her mind, making sure they never come forth to have the dust blown away.
“Ellie!”
They both jolt to attention as the bedroom door flies open, doorknob slamming against the thick wooden wall behind it. Ellie sits up and narrows her eyes at the perpetrator, only to roll them once she comes to realize who it is.
“What do you want, Riley?” Ellie grumbles, flopping back against Cat as Riley enters the room.
“I want to know why you’re still in bed.” Riley responds, stepping over the clothes on the floor with an upturned lip. Half of them are Cat’s from the night prior. Riley seems to instantly realize this, likely because she’s known Ellie well enough to know that she doesn’t wear Capitol-made dresses. Riley puts her hands on her hips, frowning at her best friend who remains cuddled up against her– Cat. “The Reaping is today and you’re still in bed.”
“It’s in two hours.” Ellie is quick to point out.
“I don’t care if it’s in twenty hours, you’re getting out of bed.” She says, picking up Ellie’s discarded clothes from the floor and tossing them at her. They land where her legs are tangled with Cat’s underneath the thin plaid blanket that’s draped lazily atop them. Riley begins to walk out of the room with a pointed expression before calling over her shoulder, “Oh. And these are Marlene’s orders, by the way.” Then she shuts the door.
Ellie sighs heavily, not yet ready to get up. If anything, she cozies even closer against Cat’s bare chest as she once again listens to the comforting thumps of her heart.
“God, she’s so demanding.” Cat scoffs. “I don’t understand how you put up with her.”
“I barely can.” She responds, causing Cat’s eyes to widen at the unexpected concurrence. “But she’s taken care of me since I was a baby, I owe it to her.”
Cat’s initial shock instantly dissipates. “I don’t mean Marlene, Ellie. I’m talking about Riley.”
Ellie sighs once more, her lips thinning. She knows that Cat and Riley don’t exactly get along. Well. Okay, that’s a major understatement. They literally despise each other. In every aspect that Cat admires the Capitol, Riley loathes it. They butt heads all the time, only ever speaking when it’s absolutely necessary and, even then, it oftentimes ends up in fighting. Ellie tries her hardest to keep them as far apart as possible, hating when they speak ill of the other.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” She mutters, having to force herself to sit up. The plaid blanket falls from her shoulders, pooling around her waist. The cool air chills her and goosebumps instantly begin to adorn her fair skin. She quickly reaches to the foot of the bed to grab the clothes Riley had tossed her way. Cat remains in bed as Ellie stands to get dressed, pulling on a frayed hoodie and worn jeans. “I just don’t want to have to choose between you two, that’s all.”
As she laces her shoes, it’s hard not to take notice of Cat’s lack of response. Ellie lifts her head to see the frown that’s plastered onto her features, the sight of it causing her to sigh. She walks over to the bed, shoes lightly padding across the old wooden floor. She leans one hand on the mattress beside Cat’s head, her other coming up to lift her jaw. She presses a kiss to her lips.
“You know where I keep the key.” Ellie whispers, pulling back only slightly as her hand remains on Cat’s chin. “You can get back to sleep and leave whenever you want, yeah? You need rest.”
Cat nods, “Okay.”
With one final kiss goodbye, Ellie leaves. On her way out the door, she grabs her backpack from under her desk, swinging it over her shoulder before shutting the door gently behind her. Not yet ready to part ways with Cat, she stands in the hall for a few long minutes, using this time to straighten out her thoughts.
After the Reaping, Cat will be gone for an indefinite duration as the stylists are taken to the Training Center alongside the two tributes. Not to mention, if the opportunity is provided, she knows Cat wouldn’t hesitate to stay to live in the Capitol forever. And everyone knows how much they love her there. It’s truly a matter of time before she’s promoted to a full-time Capitolite. The mere thought sends a chill down her spine.
Ellie heaves a sigh, mentally cursing anything and everything that relates to their fucked up government before she turns to walk down the hall. Her shoes thud against the floor as she attempts to calm herself, the repetition of her stride mocking that of Cat’s heartbeat. Nigh tauntingly.
Turning a corner, she spots Riley standing in the kitchen. Her back is facing her as she peers out the window at the passerbyers that straggle down the street. District seven isn’t usually this busy, most citizens at work by now. But it’s Reaping Day and therefore one of the few days of the year that everyone gets off work. Parents cater to their kids, teens get into mischief with their friends, pets are walked through the neighborhood. Though, regardless of how one’s morning is spent, everyone will be amassed in town square by two o’clock. If not, they’re to be imprisoned.
Ellie slows her movements, footsteps now inaudible before she jumps out at Riley, causing the other girl to shriek. She nearly drops the glass in her hands as she whips around to scowl at Ellie. “You scared me!” She reprimands her, frowning.
“Yeah,” Ellie laughs, “That was the whole point?”
Riley rolls her eyes at this. “Whatever.”
She leans forward to set the glass back on the counter, a light clink sounding throughout the space as she does so. Ellie had expected it to be a glass of water or some other form of drink. Instead, it’s a vase holding an array of flowers that Ellie has built the habit of collecting on their daily outings. At first, it annoyed Riley the way Ellie would stop whatever she was doing to pick a flower and stuff it between the pages of her journal. It would interrupt the flow of their expedition. Though, with time, she’s grown used to it and even finds herself taking notice of pretty flowers in Ellie’s absence.
“Are you finally ready to go?” Riley asks, turning back around to face her friend with her eyebrows raised. Ellie gestures down to herself — dressed and obviously ready. Riley chuckles, rolling her eyes fondly before brushing past her.
The two of them exit the small wooden home and begin their journey toward the treeline. Four buildings down, they pass Riley’s house. After graduation, they’d chosen this neighborhood due to its proximity to the woods and the fact that two houses were simultaneously for sale closeby. And here they are, three years later, still fleeing to the foliage every morning.
The low hum of conversation isn’t foreign to District seven, but it’s rather uncommon way out here. To get this type of commotion, you’d usually have to be closer to town where the markets are. That’s where most people spend their time, trading supplies. The circumstances aren’t nearly as dire as in District twelve, but they’re certainly not as wealthy as the Capitol. Starving to death here is rare, but not at all impossible.
“So,” Riley speaks up after a few minutes of comfortable silence before turning to Ellie with a regaled expression, “You’re sleeping with Cat again?”
“I never stopped sleeping with her.” Ellie says pointedly.
What she doesn’t say is, It’s just grown more common as you’ve grown more distant from me.
She sighs. “I’m not gonna give you shit for it because you already know how I feel about her. But I want to know, is she going to be a stylist again in this year's Games?”
“Ugh,” Ellie groans, “You know I’m not allowed to go around telling people. She’s technically not even supposed to tell me. We could be arrested for disclosing information about the Games prior to their airing. We could be made into Avox for it. And, I don’t know about you, but I quite like my tongue.”
“Yeah, so does Cat.” Riley adds with a disgusted expression.
Ellie laughs, slapping her in the arm. “Gross!”
“What’s gross is walking in on your best friend naked on top of some Capitolite.” She grumbles.
“We weren’t even doing anything!”
“Yeah, luckily!” She replies with a laugh before another repulsive thought dawns on her. “Oh, and you didn’t even lock the door!”
To that, Ellie has no excuse. “Well– Okay yeah, fine. That’s definitely on me.”
Riley grins at her victoriously as they continue down the sidewalk. The air is practically buzzing with activity. With naught else to occupy their time, the people of the lumber District naturally swarm toward the woods. It’s in their blood. Even more so for Ellie and Riley, who spend their mornings in the woods even when they should technically be applying for jobs.
Yeah, the two of them have received that lecture from Marlene more times than anyone could count — that they’re adults and should therefore be forming some sort of a career path before they’re rendered undesirably old to any future employers. But, unbeknownst to Marlene, the two of them do have a job. Perhaps not a formal one, but it’s enough to keep the bills paid and water running. And, to a pair of girls in their early twenties, that’s more than they could ask for.
See, Riley and Ellie have built a routine. One where they awake at dawn, meet up at Ellie’s house for breakfast, then walk to the woods and spend the following few hours there. They cut trees, chop wood, hunt animals, etc. Then, at noon, they head toward what’s known as the Hob — basically a black market for those desperate enough to trade their hard earned quarry for a bit of cash. It’s located inside an abandoned paper mill, packed full with hundreds of buyers meandering about the derelict space. Every District has their own version of a Hob, well, perhaps not the richer Districts, but twelve is sure to have a huge one that would make seven’s dull in comparison. That thought alone is enough to ease Ellie’s conscience whenever she feels guilty for the illegality behind her line of work. If any of the Peacekeepers in her District found out about the Hob, all participants are sure to be hanged or, at bare minimum, given a whipping — both of which would be public as to make an example of the persecutors. To imagine Ellie hanging from a noose or tied to a pole whilst everyone else watched, while Marlene watched? It makes her stomach churn. So, habitually, she simply ignores the lack of validity to her actions. Plus, there's no malice to her intentions. She’s just a young woman who wants to put food on the table. Is that so much to ask for? She thinks not.
Anyway. Riley and Ellie basically run that place. Everyone knows them there, recognizing the two women the instant they enter the mill. They always have the good shit — perfectly chopped wood alongside undamaged game — and are willing to be paid less than others because they tend to have a higher quantity and manage to amass a large sum in spite of their lowered payment. However, seeing as everyone is off work today, it’s rather awkward to see the people of the Hob out on the streets. Because they all know better than to acknowledge the illegal trading they participate in religiously.
Ellie walks silently beside Riley, the unspoken tension in the air doubling in size whenever they recognize someone. The Peacekeepers are large in aggregate today as well, managing to make this impossibly more nerve wracking. The town square is packed full with Capitolites who are setting up for the Reaping, hence everyone now on this side of the District as they look for something to busy themselves with. And, as said before, the woods are evidently everyone’s collective first choice.
“You nervous?” Riley asks as they enter the woods, the familiar scent of pine and dirt wafting toward them. The air is chilly, yet not unbearably so. It’s a nice medium that Ellie finds herself enjoying. She turns, raising a brow in inquiry. Riley digresses, “For the Reaping.”
She shrugs, “Not really. The Hunger Games are morbid, yeah, but they’re a fact of life. If I get Reaped, what good will it do to have worried about it that morning? I feel that fate is predetermined. Whatever happens, you can’t change it so you might as well live regularly until it’s foisted upon you.”
“Um, wow?” Riley gives her a peculiar look. “Since when did you get all philosophical?”
Ellie huffs a laugh, “I’m just saying.”
“I agree that the Games are morbid.” Riley shakes her head with a sigh, dry leaves crunching under their feet as they trek further into the woods. “But why should we have to live in fear while those in the Capitol live in ignorant bliss? It’s immoral and dehumanizing.”
Ellie agrees with her, of course, though she finds herself glancing over their shoulder fretfully before turning to frown at her friend. “Be quiet, Riley. Peacekeepers are fucking everywhere today.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She huffs. “But I mean it.”
“Yes, I know you mean it.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “And I mean it when I say I don’t want to see you punished for your brutal honesty. Truly, it’ll be the death of you.”
Riley laughs before they fall into another comfortable silence.
Despite the wordlessness being one of easement, it’s foreign to them both. As of late, Riley has been progressively growing more and more distant, causing an awkward rift between the pair. They still go about their usual routines each day and share moments of fond laughter, but it’s different. Only a few months ago, there’d not be a single second of silence as the two would oftentimes end up talking over the other in a coveted rush to share random information. Even after a day’s work had finished, they’d frequently wind up at one of their houses for the night — watching television, feasting on game, or just sharing the space. It got to the point where it was more rare to be without the other than with them.
But now, Ellie feels as though they spend more time in silence than in conversation. Take present for example. Had this happened in July, one of them would undoubtedly be rambling on about something. Though, as it turns out, that’s not currently the case.
Ellie has yet to bring it up to Riley, fearing she’ll say something she’s not ready to hear. She hasn’t even a guess in her mind what could have brought this upon them, but whatever it is, it’s drastic. Hence why she’s recently been hanging around Cat more often, using the woman to both distract herself from her childlike friendship issues as well as make herself feel better. Because Cat always knows how to comfort Ellie, even when she’s not entirely aware of what the problem is.
They continue to walk through the woods, their footsteps nigh inaudible as they’ve grown skilled at adapting to nature. After a few minutes of trekking through the foliage, Riley stops and turns around expectantly. Ellie instantly removes her backpack and crouches to the ground as she sifts through it. She pulls out an axe — which barely even fits inside the bag — and passes it to Riley, who takes it gratefully. Ellie then hands the bag to Riley, who positions it on her back with a few shoulder shrugs.
Where they stopped wasn’t randomized, though. Not entirely. Because, a few yards away is a fallen tree, hollowed out in the center to create a tunnel-like log. They walk over to it, Riley tossing the axe back and forth between her hands. Ellie crouches down and reaches into the log, feeling around the dampened bark until her fingers brush against the coveted items. She pulls out a bow and quiver, adding them to her newly emptied shoulders.
See, they can’t exactly be caught carrying weapons through the District or the Peacekeepers will know they’re hunting illegally. So, as an alternative, they hide the weapons deep in the woods where nobody else would think to look. Fairly smart on their part, Ellie thinks.
“So,” Ellie muses as they begin walking through the woods once more, “This morning, you said you woke me under Marlene’s orders. What exactly did she say?”
“I talked to her last night.” She explains, swinging the axe back and forth. Had Ellie not done this with her a million times before, she’d likely be fearing for her life. But that axe is quite literally an extension of Riley’s arm, moving as though it’s a part of her. It's, admittedly, rather impressive. “She told me to make sure you’re awake at least an hour prior to the Reaping.”
“Ugh, she doesn’t trust me to do anything.”
“Can you blame her?” She laughs. “You were nearly late to the Reaping last year. Had you arrived less than five minutes after you had, the Peacekeepers would have placed you under arrest.”
“I think my timing was impeccable.” Ellie argues, pointing her chin up in an act of superiority.
As she does, something in the trees catches her eye and she suddenly stops in her tracks, Riley quick to do the same. She nocks an arrow, the head instantly pointed in the direction of the movement. After a few seconds of tense silence, a squirrel chitters before ignorantly traipsing across the branch. She releases the arrow and it lands right in its eye, so as not to damage the meat. It hits the ground with a thud. Ellie grins widely as she walks to retrieve the corpse as well as the arrow.
“Talk about timing.” Riley whistles, following close behind.
“What did I say?” She responds, positioning the squirrel to hang from her belt. “Impeccable.”
“Yeah, maybe in terms of your aim, but not in your vigilance.” Riley points out.
“Whatever.” Ellie waves her hand to dismiss the accusation. “Shut up and go chop your wood.”
Riley laughs but obliges, turning to leave the scene. Ellie can’t even listen to her footsteps depart, as she’s rather adept at masking their boistry. But she can tell when she’s gone, though, because the atmosphere alters — shifting from one shared between lifelong friends to one of solitude in the middle of nowhere. And yet, despite the latter being far less preferred by many, Ellie relishes in it. The lack of eyes on her is comforting rather than eerie.
She treks through the trees until she finds a slightly elevated patch of land, allowing her to look down on the forest below her — though, only by a couple feet. But any altitude is better than nothing. She crouches behind a bush and nocks a second arrow, waiting for something to pass by.
Ellie manages to shoot a few more squirrels and a couple of rabbits throughout the following hour they spend in the woods. She then lets out a three-note whistle as she stands to her feet. She’s brushing off her jeans when the same whistles tune is repeated back to her a few hundred yards to the East. Riley.
They’d come up with this tactic a few years back, where once one of them had finished up for the day, they let out a whistle to let the other know of their completion. Then, if the sound reaches the other, they’ll return it.
They split up like this because Ellie requires quiet in order to hunt whereas Riley tends to make quite a bit of ruckus during her wood-chopping. Ellie’s still gathering her things when a twig snaps a few feet away. She doesn't need to look up to know who it is.
“What’d you catch?” Riley asks as she approaches her from behind.
“Nothing good.” She admits. “Just squirrels and rabbits.”
“That’s not bad, though.”
“Yeah, animals are so scarce today due to all the people’s proximity to the treeline. I could sometimes catch the sound of their talking. Even from way out here.” Ellie says as she finishes packing up and turns to face Riley, who’s holding an armful of chopped wood. “Here, turn around.”
Without question, Riley does. Ellie unzips the bag and holds out a hand for a piece of wood. Riley passes it back to her and she loads the wood one-by-one into the pack. She then adds the axe and zips it — well, partially. A few inches of the handle remains sticking out, though it’s doubtful anyone will question the contents of the bag. Not when so much is going on today.
They head back to the mouth of the woods, making sure to return the bow and quiver into the hollowed log on their way by. In minutes, they’re emerging from the trees and walking back through the streets, which appear to have grown even busier in their absence. They’d walked in silence the entire way.
“Welp.” Riley says once they’ve reached Ellie’s porch and she’s returned the bag — which has tripled in weight with the addition of the axe and wood. “See you at the Reaping?”
She sighs dramatically, “I guess so. Not like I want to go anyway.”
“Marlene would fucking kill you.” Riley laughs and Ellie joins in, imagining the enraged expression on Marlene’s face had she not shown up. She couldn't get away with it regardless, though. Riley was right when she said the Peacekeepers would either imprison or hang her. It’s happened to someone before — an old man ripped from his home and put in an icy cold cell for the rest of his short life. He’d apparently used the excuse of saying he was in a wheelchair, but that wasn't enough for the District’s law enforcement as they claimed he could easily be wheeled to the square. So, yeah, maybe the jokes of Ellie not showing up shouldn’t be pondered on but so much.
Once Riley has left, Ellie grabs her key from the top of a nearby windowsill. She notices that it’d moved a few inches to the left. Cat. She unlocks the door and enters her home, almost screaming to see the silhouette of a woman standing in her kitchen. Though she quickly regains normalcy when she recognizes the person’s frame.
“Fuck, Marlene.” She curses, putting a hand to her chest as she — as subtly as possible — slips the bag from her shoulders and places it on the floor next to the door. “You scared me.”
Marlene is wearing a dress, a nice one. The neck is in a deep V shape that shows off her collarbones and shoulders. The sleeves come to her elbows, the skirt to her mid-calves. It’s a soft maroon color, complimenting her dark skin and brown eyes beautifully. Ellie would accolade her for it had she not known it was for the Reaping and thereby the Capitol. However, being aware of that fact rather mars the beauty of her accentuated appearance.
Marlene turns to face her with a frown, “What were you two doing?”
“Seriously?” Ellie groans, walking over to grab a glass cup from the cabinet over Marlene’s head, having to shift around her to do so. “I was hanging out with my best friend before we witness two people being shipped off to die. Do I truly have to walk you step-by-step through everything I do?”
“Yes.” She begins filling the cup with faucet water, Marlene looming like a shadow over her shoulder. When Ellie doesn’t respond, she frowns. “Whatever. I don’t even care what you guys were doing, I just seek the consolation of knowing it was safe.”
“I’m an adult, Marlene. When will you–”
“Was it safe, Ellie?” She repeats, tone growing more agitated.
“Yes.” She replies, the lie coming easy to her now. After all this time of being untruthful, it’s nearly second nature to withhold the truth from her mother-figure whenever she’s pestered on this recurring topic. She has a great poker face, too.
She raises her brows as she takes a sip from her glass, peering at her from over the rim.
“Was it legal?” She questions and Ellie nearly spits out her water. Marlene scoffs at her reaction. “Okay, so I got my answer.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“You didn’t need to!” She crosses her arms and gives Ellie that disapproving mom expression that could make anybody feel remorse. Ellie places her glass on the counter and holds her gaze, trying her hardest not to falter under it. “I assume you saw how many Peacekeepers are here, Ellie.”
“I’d be an idiot to not notice them.” She grumbles defiantly, sounding far more childlike than she’d care to admit. Marlene always manages to bring this side out of her — a scorned child who has no choice but to agree with everything she says. Despite how hard she tries to be mature and release herself from Marlene’s iron fist, it’s so far been proven impossible.
“So what were you thinking? I don’t care for the details of what you guys go out doing everyday so long as it’s legal.” She says. “You know that. It’s one of my only rules for you.”
The acknowledgement of their daily repetition is enough for Ellie to stiffen, not having realised Marlene even noticed their outings. However, now that she’s thinking of it, it makes sense. They've been doing this same routine for three years now. You’d have to be a fool to not notice. And Marlene is no fool.
“I know, I just–”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, cutting Ellie off with a sigh. “Just go wash up. I don’t want you smelling like a dead animal for the Reaping.”
The closeness in her comparison of the miasma to a corpse is nigh to laughable. Except it’s not. Because Marlene is unnerving. She cares for Ellie more than anything, yes, but she’s absolutely terrifying in her vehement need to protect her.
But Ellie is an adult now. She doesn’t need protection.
Despite this, she follows her orders and trudges off to the bathroom, making sure to scoop up her backpack on her way down the hall.
She discards the bag of wood and lays the dead squirrel and rabbit corpses out on her bedroom floor. Normally, she’d place them in the kitchen to ready them for gutting but that’s, clearly, not a viable option. If Marlene were to see the quarry from their expedition, she’d absolutely lose her head. First, she’d force Ellie and Riley to get a job, and likely a boring one. She’d forbid them from using the forest for income. And, in those two short acts of discipline, Ellie’s life would be over. The woods are her home; her place of solace. Without it, who is she?
She then heads into the bathroom and takes a bath, scrubbing all the dirt and grime from her skin before redressing into something a bit more fancy — though it’s definitely not Capitol material as everyone else typically aims for. She’s simply wearing a nicer pair of jeans and a flannel. The collar and buttons make it fancy. Kinda.
When she returns to the kitchen, she’s still drying her hair with the towel. Marlene looks her up and down and frowns, though she says nothing.
See, if one is Reaped today, they’re taken to the Capitol. As such, they’re traditionally expected to wear their nicest clothes to the Reaping, just in case their name is drawn. But Ellie cares naught to make any lasting impressions on the Capitol, so she doesn’t give a shit what she wears. The sole reason she’s wearing even a button up is to please Marlene enough so she’s not forced into something else.
Because, when she was fourteen, she tried to wear a t-shirt to the Reaping and was instantly reprimanded. As punishment, she had to wear something Marlene picked out. Needless to say, never again will she do that. Even now Riley laughs at her for the outfit, though Marlene insists it was the most distinguished Ellie had ever looked. She begs to differ.
“Okay, you ready?” Marlene asks.
Ellie shrugs, “Yeah.”
They head down to the square, the entirety of District seven doing the same. The waves of people grow larger and larger the closer they get to the square until it’s practically a tsunami of them. Once they reach their destination, they pause and turn to each other. Marlene looks down at Ellie, a glint of something unreadable behind her gaze, almost as though she wishes to say something to her prior to parting ways. But instead of voicing whatever it is that’s weighing on her, she just pats her shoulder and walks away.
The crowd is sorted by generation. Everyone between the ages of twelve and fifty are required to be within the crowd as their names are among those able to be Reaped. The younger kids are positioned closest to the stage whilst the older crowd is near the back. Ellie stands with her age group, picking at the peeling skin around her nails as she awaits the ceremony’s exordium.
The stage before them has been added purely for the Reaping, as it’s not usually present. Atop it resides a podium, a table with a bowl of tiny slips of papers, and three chairs at the back of the stage — one for the District’s mayor, one for the escort, and one for the mentor of this year’s tributes. Camera crews are perched like buzzards atop the neighboring buildings, readying themselves to document the coming show. Each District is going through the exact same procedure. Tonight, each footage will be broadcasted across all televisions in the country.
About twenty more minutes pass, the square growing supplementarily crowded with each passing second. When the clock strikes twelve, three people are in their corresponding chairs. Ellie hadn’t even noticed their arrival.
The mayor, whose name she doesn’t know despite having heard it repeated throughout her entire life, sits in the far right chair, his jaw set as he overlooks the citizens. The District escort resides in the center chair, a Capitol woman with bright blue hair and a smile that’s so pearly white that it’s almost inhuman — Ellie doesn’t know her name either. The only person whose name she’s sure of is the man sitting in the left chair. That’s Joel Miller. The victor of the 56th Games. Word is, he’s not a pleasant man. Though, Ellie supposes no sane victor would be. Returning from a murderous arena after all other twenty-three tributes have fallen must be the emptiest feeling known to man. She has a deep respect for Joel, despite never having properly met him.
The mayor steps up to the podium and begins reading off his script. The story of how their country came to be. Ellie tunes it out, instead glancing around the crowd for Cat. It takes her an embarrassingly long time before she remembers that she’s absent from the ceremony due to her being the District seven stylist this year. Ellie turns back to the stage just as the escort steps up to the podium.
“Happy Hunger Games!” Says she. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”
The slogan has grown old and worn out by now, everyone having heard it an indefinite quantity of times. Ellie wouldn’t be surprised if she mumbles it in her sleep.
Once more, she finds herself tuning out the rest of the woman’s speech. Despite her lack of listening not resulting in anything beneficial, it makes her feel better. Like she’s showing the Capitol that they don’t control her. Not like the Capitol gives a fuck if one measley twenty-one year old is tuning out the speeches. But whatever. It makes her feel ameliorated and that’s all that matters.
“Here we go.” The escort says before diving her hand into the bowl of names. The glass sphere is packed full with slips of paper, each one reading a citizen’s name. The entire square is holding their breath as they await the name. The entire country is — as every District is being Reaped at the same time. The woman pulls a slip of paper from the bowl and reads it aloud with a grin. “Riley Abel.”
Ellie’s heart drops to her stomach, body frozen in place as the name is spoken. The world feels far away as she watches Riley walk up the stage and stand beside the escort. Riley’s chin is held high, her eyes dullened; they lack the vibrancy that Ellie adores so much. She’s the epitome of strength, standing on that stage as she’s set to be broadcasted across the entire country.
Ellie knows that expression though. Riley isn’t sad or mourning. She’s pissed.
Fuck. She should have done something. But it all happened so fast. And now the escort’s hand is diving right back into the bowl for a second tribute.
“Aaaand,” She sing-songs before lifting her head joyously, “Ellie Williams.”
11:46.
DISTRICT 4.
“Again.” Your mother’s tone is sharp as a dagger as she thumps the end of her cane against tiled flooring, demanding more, more, more from you. Her voice is tinny, filed through an intercom overhead. To your left is a one-way mirror that scales the entire 20ft wall, through which she pedantically watches your every movement. Though you’re unable to see her, she sees you. And that fact in itself is enough to make you vigilent.
Sweat coats your skin as you reposition yourself, squaring your shoulders and planting your feet in preparation. Your expression is hardened, purposefully so under your mother’s gaze. Her scrupulousness is nigh to tangible, made palpable by the heavy weight on your shoulders, the stiffness in your muscles, the tell-tale feel of her eyes scanning you.
Then, in a flash of flickering blue, holographic opponents begin to charge at you. These humanoid figures are translucent in visibility, but their hits land just as genuinely in spite of their pellucidity. You’ve been fighting them all morning — another cause of the fatigue in your bones.
A few sessions prior, you’d been permitted the use of weapons. Your mother had instructed you to train with each one interchangeably. She wished to see which you were best and worst at — which ended up being throwing daggers and a trident, respectively. The daggers allow you close-combat, which you’re rather skilled at, as a product of these training sessions, whereas the trident’s weight is off balanced and leaves you fumbling with it for a few seconds prior to use. She soon grew bored with the weapons, though, and instructed you to fight bare handedly. Just to be sure you can.
There are currently three holograms presented to you — one with a burly build, one with a dainty build, and one that resides between the two.
The muscular opponent is the first to strike, swinging a right hook toward your jaw. You dodge it, ducking easily under its arm. Whilst straightening back up, the smaller figure grabs you by the hair. Your head is yanked backward. You whip around, snatching the figure by the wrist and throwing its body over your head onto the floor. It lands with a hard thud before you bring the heel of your boot down onto its throat. With a light puff of air, the hologram disintegrates.
One down, two left.
Without a moment’s pause, you spin around to face the other two diaphanous forms. The intermediate combatant surges forward, arm reeled back in preparation for a punch. You swerve out of its way, the figure staggering forward as it misses you by a mere three inches. You kick it in the back of the legs, sending the hologram on its knees. You’re positioned behind it, pulling it into a headlock.
The sounds it makes is eerily human as it coughs and sputters, blue fingers grasping with desperation at your forearm. You’re used to this though, the cruel personification behind these lifeless things. You snap its neck with a deafening crack. It disappears.
Two down, one left.
When you turn around, the burly one is already behind you. It’s at least three times your size, but you’re undeterred. You stand upright and ready your fists.
With a grunt, it charges toward you. You sidestep, but it anticipates this and turns in unison. You back away, putting yourself out of reach, your arms coming up to block your face. It swings and you duck subsequently. While crouched, you grab its left calf and pull, lifting the leg uncomfortably high. The oversized figure hops awkwardly on its right limb. You then hook your foot behind the ankle of the remaining leg it’s balancing on, sending it plummeting toward the ground.
You’re quick to position yourself atop it, straddling the hologram’s chest. It thrashes beneath you, squirming around like a trapped insect. It’s only a matter of time before it throws you aside due to uneven weight advantages. But you had surprised it and therefore withhold the ascendancy. So, while you still have the upper hand, you lift your leg and drive your knees into its neck. With a gag, the hologram vanishes.
Done.
Your chest aches with exertion, lungs fighting for air as you pant. As such, you remain with your knees on the black matted floor in an attempt to catch your breath. You’ve been killing these things on repeat for the past three hours, your mother having woken you at seven in the morning to train.
Frayed hair clings to dampened skin as sweat traces lines down your face. It drips from your chin onto the floor beneath you. Your pants and tank top are soaked, causing you to feel gross and sticky. You yearn for a shower.
You oftentimes have to remind yourself that your mother means well, that she’s pushing you so hard because she cares. But, at times like these — where your body is on the verge of collapse — you find yourself questioning her morality.
“You’re getting slow.” Comes her voice through the speaker system, as though on cue with your thoughts. A tap of her cane against the floor is heard prior to that singular word you dread so vehemently.
“Again.”
It's truly no shock that you’re growing amble considering how long you’ve been at it. But to protest your mother’s orders would be a death wish. You’re still catching your breath as you push yourself to your feet, fully expecting another hoard of holograms to appear.
Though, in their stead, a spear materializes before you. It’s equally as holographic as the figures you’re fighting, blue and crackling, but it kills them just as viable as you would.
As you lean over to pick it up, something kicks you hard in the base of your back. The force of impact sends you to the floor. Your elbows take the brunt of your fall, causing you to feel rather grateful for the mat. Still in a heap, you whip to face the perpetrator. A hologram; a singular female figure with a lean build.
You should’ve known better than to let your guard down.
You glance at the spear concurrently, the weapon lying at a perfect distance between you two. Without vacillation, you hurriedly crawl toward it. The figure notices and kicks you hard in the face, its shoe slamming into the bridge of your nose. You land hard on your back as a wave of pain shoots through you, warm liquid tracing down your face.
By the time you regain your sense, the hologram is thrusting the stolen weapon toward you. You roll out of its way, though the blade manages to slice your bicep. With a reverberated thud, the spearhead burrows into the mat where your head had just been.
You push to your feet, tugging the spear out of the cushioned floor. Now armed, you turn to the hologram. It doesn’t have a face but if it did, you’re sure it’d be glaring at you. The two of you circle one another like vultures, the hologram waiting for you to attack whilst you wait for the perfect angle. Then, once you’re positioned to your liking, you strike. You throw the spear at the diaphanous form.
The blade whizzes through the air too fast for it to dodge, too fast for anyone to dodge. Your aim is undeniably precise as the point wedges right between your opponents eyes. With that, it disintegrates alongside the spear.
Even once the combatant has elapsed, you remain in that position — chest heaving, brows furrows, fists balled. A metallic taste fills your mouth as your nose continues to bleed down your face, getting past your lips. Your bicep mocks it, crimson tracing down your arm.
You await your mother’s reprimand via the intercom. Instead, you hear the door click open and her cane tap against the floor with every other step. She remains in the doorway, not wishing to enter the abhorrent room. She stands expectantly until you walk up to her.
“Your fatigue impairs your ability to fight.” She tuts, wrinkled lip upturned in distaste. You don’t respond, lowering your head as you wordlessly accept her criticism. “Had you been in the arena and those figures sentient, you’d likely have been long gone. Debility is no excuse for inadequacy. L/ns don’t lose.”
You nod, knowing better than to defend yourself.
She goes through each of your performances, telling you how every one was worse than the last. A few times, she mentions your brother, comparing the two of you in a way that makes your chest cave. Ruben wouldn’t have gotten his arm cut, Ruben wouldn’t have had his hair pulled, Ruben wouldn’t have hesitated when she added a child hologram into the mix.
Once she’s had her fill of castigation, she waves a hand to dismiss you.
Your first course of action is to shower. Since your mother woke you so early, you were unable to change or eat prior to training. You enter the bathroom, peeling your sweaty clothes from your skin before stepping into the cool water. Your presence tints the liquid pink with blood as your arm and face stain its cleanliness.
You stand in the shower for a long time, relishing in the feel of the water as you allow your mind to roam. Though, despite how hard you try not to think of it, your thoughts continuously lapse back to your mother’s ceaseless mentions of your brother, her favored child.
See, Ruben won the 67th Hunger Games when he was only thirteen years old, becoming a legend in the Capitol and the light of your parents’ lives. He is the Capitol’s favorite victor, deemed the most attractive man in the country. Anyone would die to get a moment of his time, of his attention. People who the Capitol favor, idolize, and center their entire lives around are known as a ‘Capitol Diamond’. And Ruben is the shiniest of them all.
Your father won his Games two years prior to Ruben when you were only six, so you never knew him all that well. The memories you do have of him are rather bitter, invoking flashes of flailing fists and deafening shouts. Though, acting as a warm blanket to the chill of your father’s acerbity, Ruben appears in your memories like a deity. He’d cover your ears when your parents’ shouting bounced off the marble walls; he’d argue with your father whenever he’d hit you for breaking something trivial; he’d always take your side, even if you did technically break that vase. As a child, Ruben was an angel sent from above. But, now that you’re older, you know better than to deem him as such.
Anyway. Ruben and your father’s triumphs earned them both irrevocable places in the Capitol as diamonds as well as homes in District four’s Victor’s Village — leaving you and your mother to live alone in the house of which you were raised. In fact, your entire lineage is among the victors, aunts and uncles and cousins all diamonds of the Capitol and residents of the village. Well, most of them. Some of your relatives moved to higher Districts after their Games, seeking as much proximity to the Capitol as possible.
A L/n has never lost the Games, not in the entire seventy-three years they’ve been running. The mere thought of someone in your family failing to prevail is something unprecedented.
You step out of the shower and wrap yourself into a towel, grabbing a suture kit from the cabinet under the sink. You pop it open and sit on the closed toilet seat before threading the needle. You’ve stitched yourself up plenty of times, the damned holograms annoyingly good at what they’re made to do — challenge you.
By the time you’ve finished and your bicep is newly adorned in neat stitching, it’s one o’clock. You only have a short bit of time before the Reaping. As you put the kit back into the cabinet, a second thought dawns on you.
Fuck! You think, eyes widening almost comically. Mister Alden will be here in ten minutes.
You tighten your towel around your body before padding down the hall to your bedroom. It’s overlarge, making you feel small. The walls are white with golden mouldings, the floors are made of marble tiles. To some, your family’s mansion would be a dream come true. Though, to you, it feels more like a prison than a home. It has ever since your brother left.
Your mother had an Avox lay your Reaping outfit out on your bed. It’s blue — as most clothing made for District Four is. It’s made of a deep navy satin, jewels embedded into the fabric. It’s absolutely gorgeous and you hate it.
Though, your personal thoughts on clothing matter naught. You once tried arguing with your mother on how extravagant your clothes were, saying it was ridiculous when people in lower Districts struggle for food. That comment earned you a week with minimal food. She said that if you pitied the peasants so greatly, she’d gladly treat you like one, claiming empathy to be far more valuable than sympathy. You’d never made another comment on your clothes again after that.
Though, you both knew her anger was rooted far deeper than your mere clothing preference. It was rooted in the underlying criticism you’d made in regards to the governing of your country — the unfair hierarchy of Districts. You never made a political comment after that, either. Not aloud anyway.
You pull the dress on, something symbolic always laced within the act of holding your tongue.
Each curve and stitch is made specifically for your body, fitting perfectly. Trading fish in this gown will make for an odd sight, but you haven’t a choice. Mister Alden should be here any minute and the Reaping begins in less than an hour; multitasking is your only option.
The halls are just as pristine as your bedroom, walls decorated with fine art and the tile floor kept sparkling. Thanks to the unpaid Avoxes — which are former criminals whose punishments are to be made into servants for the Capitol. You live in the Districts, but your family is so cherished by Capitolites that you’re permitted to have an abundance of your own servants. Despite the fact that your mansion is tended to by over twenty Avoxes, you’ve never spoken to a single one. Not due to your own ignorance, but because their tongues are removed and they’re unable to speak.
One of them holds the door open for you on your journey out to the docks. You thank him shortly, though he doesn’t respond.
Your house is beachfront, back porch providing a wooden path down to your own private piling dock. It’s unnecessarily fancy for your mother to inherit — who just happened to marry into a wealthy family — and you, who hasn’t even become a victor yet. And, if you’re never Reaped, you’ll have never deserved an ounce of what’s been given to you.
The path to the dock is a downward slope. Your house is built on a rocky cliff, hence the path’s existence. You hike your dress up as you rush down the wooden trail, though as soon as you do, you hear your mother’s past lectures ring through your head. “Never above the ankles!” She’d once said, slapping your hand with a stick to force you to drop the dress. Instinctively, you lower it.
You walk down to the dock, happy to see that it’s empty, Mister Alden not having yet arrived. Though, once you’ve reached the end of it, you hear the low hum of his boat’s motor putting through the salty water. He coasts up to the wooden structure. You reach out to catch him as the motor comes to a halt.
His boat is small, just big enough for one man to fit in. It’s made of metal with only one seat at the helm, situated beside the tilling outboard.
Your family has bought from mister Alden all your life. When you were a kid and it was Ruben’s job to retrieve the fish, you would traipse behind him. You’d hobble behind him, small legs having to run in order to keep up with your elder brother's long gait. Then, once at the dock, you were rendered useless. You’d peer over mister Alden’s boat, nosily searching his belongings. You watched as Ruben would speak to mister Alden shortly, pay him graciously, hoist the net of seafood over his shoulder, then head back inside. Due to this, mister Alden watched you grow more than your own father had. And even though his presence is short and biweekly, you know the old man rather well.
Well enough to know that he has three grandkids and the oldest of them is a twelve year old girl whose first ever Reaping is today.
“Oh, what a lovely outfit.” He smiles, crows feet creasing. He remains seated as you moor the boat to the cleats. The metal is so hot from endless days spent in the sun that it burns your hands at the touch. You don’t dare wince, knowing how fast mister Alden would rush to your aid. You’re sure he has enough on his plate what with his granddaughter. “I can carry the fish inside, if you’d like. Wouldn’t want you staining such a stunning dress.”
“It’s okay.” You’re quick to assure him, offering your hand to help him out of the boat once it’s tied off. He takes it, the man nigh senile in his old age. His hand shakes slightly as he steps onto the dock. “I can get the fish, mister Alden, I don’t mind.”
He smiles kindly, “You remind me so much of your brother.”
You don’t respond. You know he’s only saying that out of kindness, he has to be. Your mother ceaselessly reminds you of how different the two of you are. You try to ignore the comment as you lean over the boat to pull the huge net of fish from the creased hull. They’re blue in color, almost mimicking that of your dress, though their scales shine silver in the sunlight.
“Did you ever hear the story of Ruben’s first Reaping?” Mister Alden asks as you drop the net onto the dock, pausing to converse with him for a while despite knowing it’s a bad idea with your lack of time. “He only attended two Reapings, that poor boy. But his first one, I’ll never forget. It was the first time I met your mother, too, the nasty woman. He was out here retrieving fish, as our exchanges always seem to fall on Reaping Day. He was only twelve, but so determined to carry the fish all on his own. I offered my help at least a hundred times, to which he refused each one. He was strong, though, for his size. He managed to carry them all the way to the porch before the net caught on a twig and the fish fell all the way back down the pathway. Every single one.”
Your eyes widen. You recall this, though the memory is rather blurry to you as you were only seven at the time. That, and also because most of your memories with Ruben are tainted, not to be trusted in your bias.
“What’d my mother do?” You ask, unable to help your childlike curiosity from rearing its head.
“Well,” He chuckles, though it lacks any sense of humor. “She wasn't happy, that’s for sure. Ruben instantly began to cry when he saw the effects of his mistake. I tried to assure him that it was okay and I could always deliver more fish, but he said that’s not why he was sad. He wasn’t mourning the loss of the fish. Instead, he was terrified of what your mother would do to him.” Mister Alden shakes his head, grey brows turned in an expression of dispirit. “No child that small should fear his own parent so vehemently.”
You frown. In every aspect where your mother lacks morality, mister Alden has a myriad of it. The old man is practically overflowing with sympathy at all times. He’d always treated you and Ruben as his own, offering comfort whenever you seek it and kind words whenever you forget they even exist.
Just as he’s about to continue his story, your mother’s voice is heard. It’s shrill as she shouts your name. Chills trace down your spine at the sound. Mister Alden gives you a pitying expression before you pass him a small pouch of coins for payment, lift the net over your shoulder, and begin the trek back up to your porch. The sound of his motor starting up carries through the air as you approach your mother.
She’s wearing a baby blue dress, just as fancy as yours — if not more. Her usual wooden cane has been swapped out for a fancier golden one. Her hair is done up in a neat braid, gold heeled shoes adorning her wrinkled feet.
She shoots you a scowl before entering the house, dropping the door on you despite knowing you’re carrying a huge weight of seafood. It slams into your side, the corner of it landing on your stitched bicep. You wince, struggling for only a moment before an Avox rushes to your aid and holds it wide for you. You don’t dare thank her in front of your mother.
You enter the kitchen, placing the bag of fish onto the marble counter.
“We have less than twenty minutes before the Reaping!” She spits, rage evident in her tone as she watches you set it down. “Your feet are dirty and bare, your hair is matted, and you reek of fish!”
“I didn’t—” You begin, though you’re quick to stop yourself, remembering her order of not speaking unless asked to do so.
A sharp pain shoots through your cheek as she slaps you across the face for having spoken out of turn. You lower your head, mouth now sealed shut. She turns to give orders to the Avoxes — instructing two of them to put your hair up, one to put your shoes on, and three to gut and clean the fish prior to your return from the Reaping.
They’re quick to do so, rushing around to oblige.
You’re directed to a stool, two servants doing your hair into some intricate design whilst another crouches in front of you to slip on your shoes. They’re a pair of silver heels that match the jewels on your dress. In record time, the other two complete the updo, holding out a hand mirror for you to examine the design. Two thin braids wrap around the crown of your head, a neat bun resting at the nape of your neck. It’s beautiful considering how little time they had.
“I love it.” You whisper, quiet enough only they can hear it.
Your mother approaches you, thankfully not having heard your words of thanks. She circles around you, looking at the hairdo before she tuts, “It’ll do.”
The journey to the town square is only a few minutes. Though, as you walk beside your mother in deafening silence, it feels like an eternity. Everyone knows who the two of you are, the entirety of the Capitol fond of your family lineage. Their eyes are wide as they watch you and your mother pass through the streets. See, due to your partnership with mister Alden and your large quantity of Avoxes, neither of you ever leave the house unless it’s mandatory, which only adds to the peoples’ astonishment. Not to mention your unnecessarily extravagant clothing. Most people are only wearing plain gowns or linen shirts whereas you two look like you’re about to meet a monarch. It’s humiliating.
Your mother loves the attention, basking in it. You, on the other hand, feel as though it’s rather embarrassing.
You reach the square and part ways with her, wordlessly joining your respective age groups.
Your shoulders are set and your chin is raised as you know everyone is staring. Their gazes feel like spiders crawling all over your body. You fucking hate it, the prestige. Especially since you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You were just born into the family. To you, nothing makes you any different from the people living in the hovels of your District. Even in other Districts. The only thing that separates you from a starving child in Twelve is chance.
Mayor Marriott steps up to the podium and she tells the story of your country’s origin. You already know it by heart, having been taught by your father to memorize it at a young age. Her hair is platinum blonde, younger than most District mayors, though she’s just as strict. Her father was the mayor before her, causing her to take over the career. You oftentimes wonder if she hates lineage inheritance just as much as you do. You doubt it.
Following her speech comes the District escort. You know her by name, you know everyone in the Capitol by name. That’s Alice Reymond. Her hair is bigger than her head, her eyes adorned by lashes longer than her fingers. Capitolites are fucking weird, looking more like disfigured abstract pieces than human beings.
“Happy Hunger Games!” Exclaims Alice Reymond. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”
She goes on to tell a speech on how much of an honor it is to serve as this District’s escort. Though every escort says that, you’re sure she means it more so than any others. Escorts are paid based on how many victors their District is able to produce. And, what with your family’s abundance of them, you’re sure she’s swimming in more cash than even District One’s escort is. However, more importantly, the bragging rights must be immeasurable.
Behind the podium of which she stands, mayor Marriott watches with a piercing gaze. Her blue eyes are intimidatingly sharp as she overlooks the crown. Though, the man sitting in the mentor’s chair has a gaze even sharper than she.
Ruben. Your brother.
He’s tasked with training and keeping the tributes alive each year. He’s rather good at it. And, even when he fails, nobody blames him. How could they when he’s so perfect? You tune out Alice Reymond’s speech, taking in the sight of your brother after having not seen him in years. The closest you’ve gotten to talking to him is watching interviews on the television.
His features are almost a perfect copy of yours — the same nose shape, same hair and eye color, same lips. But he’s got a certain look to him that erases any sort of similarities you two happen to share. A certain Capitolistic look. His eyes are highlighted with golden eyeliner, all the wrinkles in his face surgically removed. The brother you’d cherished all those years ago no longer exists. In his place sits the shell of a man. A Capitolite and thereby not your brother.
“Here we go!” Alice Reymond grins, yanking your thoughts back to the Reaping. She then begins digging her inhumanly long fingers through the bowl of names. She pulls out a slip of paper and smiles widely before calling it out. “Remy Wilson!”
The crowd murmurs lowly, looking around for the owner of the name. A pause. Nobody steps forward. Then, two Peacekeepers suddenly storm into the crowd and rip a little boy from his parents. The boy, Remy, is frozen in place, unmoving. The Peacekeepers pull him up to the stage. He’s crying, as he stands on the elevated space, trembling under the gazes of the District. Of the country.
He can’t be older than twelve. His cheeks are rounded, his big brown eyes even rounder. His skin is pale with a rosy nose, his wavy hair is an ashy brown that forms a messy crown of innocence around his head. Ruben is watching the boy closely, likely examining whether or not he’ll survive the arena. The answer is obvious, though. This child won’t be making it out.
“And for our second tribute,” Continues Alice Reymond. She pulls another paper from the bowl, her eyes widening slightly as she reads it. A great, pearly smile splits across her face before her spider-like eyes land on you. Your heart sinks.
You already know what she’s going to say when she calls out your name.
[post] notes!! While dual POV will be in this story, this is the only time I'll be showing two perspectives of the same event. This chapter followed Ellie and the reader both experiencing the reaping. It was needed for the plot but grew repetitive at the end, I promise this is the only time that'll happen 🤞 Also, this was a shit ton of exposition & I apologize for that, but the backstory of both characters are very needed. You def needed to see Ellie's relationship w everyone around her as well as have explanatory bg with the reader's family and everything. Also x2, I hope the amount of dialogue in Ellie's pov made up for the lack thereof in the reader's pov. I hate reading huge paragraphs of straight monologue so I try to refrain from writing it, but sometimes it's unavoidable (bc reader literally has nobody to talk to) Anyway, hope you enjoyed!!
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A Chance Meeting
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *
Pairing(s): Tamlin x reader
Warnings: fluff
Summary: You were pining over him, plain and simple. After a chance meeting, it turns out you might have a lot more in common with the rather lonely High Lord; in fact, you might be just what he needed.
SR’s Note: I was not prepared to write fluffy Tamlin... lol. However I don't see enough of him on Tumblr, and I tried my very very best. <3 ily all
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *
Charming, handsome, powerful.
That's what they all said about him, and you couldn't help but agree.
After all, they were right.
Thoughts of the handsome High Lord swirled prettily through your mind as you continued on your way, stooping every time you'd come across a bright orchid or an orange lily to pluck it. Your basket was filling up -- but, the more the merrier for the bouquet you were crafting to sit atop your kitchen table.
The warm evening sun provided comfort as you strode along the familiar woods, not too far from your home within them. You had quite some time before you needed to head back, and you thanked yourself for slipping on your swimming garments before heading out today. The long skirt you'd chosen was providing more warmth in the spring afternoon than you'd intended.
You knew of a small stream ahead, a clearing through the wood that was your favorite sitting spot on the warmer days when you resorted to the chill of the water for the cooling you so desperately craved. As you made your way to the spot, a smile smile spread across your face at the sight. It was no wonder you'd always resorted back here -- you could see the Spring Manor perfectly through the clearing in the trees.
You gently set down your flower basket, and began removing your clothes one by one, slipping off your walking boots and laying them neatly next to the folded pile. With a small sigh and a longing glance toward the Manor, you waded in.
It only took a few minutes to get used to, the temperature of the water soothing the heat inside you. You waded around, your hair flowing freely around you in waves. As a cloud passed over the sun, you shivered at the lack of heat warming the water around you. Opting to submerge fully, you went under -- only for a moment before breaking the surface once more.
"You come here often."
You startle at the voice, rubbing at your eyes furiously before opening them wide, searching around for the source. When you finally realize who is relaxing on the grass before you, propped up on two elbows right next to your basket of florals, you can only blink in response.
"Oh, um, yes, I do come here often." You fumble for words, running your fingers through your stream-water wet locks at an attempt to look more presentable. The High Lord's gaze shifts from the Manor to stare directly at you, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"I know." Is all he says. You stare back, fumbling with your fingers under the water. How long had he been there? Watching you? How many times had he seen you come here, spying on his home without permission, like some kind of creep?
"I want to apoligize, sir, for, um," you make your way to the edge of the stream, the water skating over your body in small streams. His gaze tracks the movement, then he meets your eyes again. "I... I just like to come swim here, and it just happens that the Manor is, right... over there, and-"
"Don't apologize," he cuts in, and you purse your lips closed. You stand frozen before him, but he holds your gaze, his vibrant emerald eyes so piercing against the forrest around him. "...and, it's Tamlin. Please," he adds. You nod once, glancing down at your clothes. A slight blush creeps onto your cheeks when you realize you are in fact still standing before the High Lord in nothing but a bathing suit, and you move to redress as quickly as possible.
"No need to stop on my account," he continues as you hastily yank on your top. "In fact, I quite enjoy taking a dip every now and then myself." You pause mid-zip on your boot, glancing toward him, only to find him peering into the clearing.
"That's odd," you say. "I've never seen you out here before."
He chuckles beside you as you finish the last zipper and stand, the motion mirrored by him before he strides closer. Your breath catches when he bends slightly, picking up your basket by the handle and lifting it carefully from the ground. When he is stood at full height again, you peer up into his eyes.
"That's because this isn't usually the spot I choose; for I know of a place far more magical than this."
* ✧・゚: *
The walk back to your cottage home was enjoyable, making small talk with your new friend and enjoying his company along the way was a nice contrast to your usual lonely nights in the woods. He also insisted on carrying your basket, though it wasn't heavy, it still elicited a sort of feeling in your stomach -- something similar to the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings.
"You go to that same spot so often," he says. "But you've never seen the swans?" You shake your head.
"No, never." You answer. His brow furrows and he shakes his head slightly.
"How peculiar, I've seen them quite a few times near that part of the stream," he says. You shrug your shoulders, a small sinking feeling forming in the pit of your stomach as your cottage comes into view.
"Well, maybe when you see them next time, I'll be around?" You offer. Hopefully he will take the bait, you really, really hoped he would. You needed to see him again.
He chuckles, taking the last few steps across the flat stones behind you up to your front door. You turn to face him, a light smile gracing his lips as he gazes up at you.
"Most definitely, next time," he says, and you grin. He hands you your basket of flowers, and the small brush of his fingers against yours sends electricity through your veins. You swear you could've gasped at the feeling, or even more when he slid the basket over your hand and down to the crook of your elbow, taking your hand in his and bringing the back of it to his lips.
"I'll see you again..." his eyes search yours for a moment, and you realize in your excitement you'd never actually introduced yourself.
"Y/N," you offer. He nods slowly, pressing one more kiss to your skin before carefully releasing your fingers from his.
"Y/N... beautiful."
* ✧・゚: *
It was only three days later that a knock came at your door in the early afternoon as you were perched in the reading nook, book in hand, sunlight illuminating the pages before you. None of that stopped you from leaping from your seat, dashing toward the door and yanking it open to lay your eyes once more on a very charming, very handsome High Lord on your doorstep.
One that was holding a bouquet for you of the loveliest peonies youd ever seen.
"Oh, my!" You gasped. He smiled, extending his offerring to you as you opened the door wider for him to enter. "Please, come in!"
He ducked slightly to enter into your home, and you took the beautiful bouquet from him. He followed you along to the kitchen, peering around at the various plants you had sitting on every surface along with your books and candles alike.
"Don't mind the mess," you said, ducking beneath your sink in search of a vase for the flora. When you'd selected a pretty one, you registered his frown at your still very healthy, very vibrant bouquet on your kitchen table from a few days prior.
"I apologize," he starts. "I... suppose it was a ridiculous idea to think you'd be as clumsy with plant life as I am. I'd thought maybe you needed a new one by now," he explains, a light pink flushing his cheeks. Your sympatetic gaze extends to his face, and you place the bouquet on your kitchen counter where a perfect beam of sunlight shines through the window. You pad over to him, and his gaze lifts from the floor when you reach up onto your tippy toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. His eyebrows lift high in amusement, the color on his face only deepening in crimson. You pretend not to notice, only satisfied at your sudden rush of courage for the act.
"They look better bathed in sunlight than simply sitting on my table anyway," you explain, motioning to the twinkling glass vase holding the peonies across the kitchen. Your eyes meet his again, and he continues to just stare at you, speechless. "Thank you, Tamlin, really. They're beautiful." You smile. He only blinks, smiling softly at you once more.
"So, did you just stop by to bring me flowers? Or are you up for a swim?"
* ✧・゚: *
You'd continued on for weeks like that, Tamlin showing up on your doorstep in the afternoons to take you on walks, or sometimes to swim, or simply sometimes to help you with tasks around your cottage. You had to admit, having a hand in drawing the heavy water pail from the old stone well was very helpful, not to mention... the sight of him while doing it, his exposed biceps straining in the afternoon sun-
"It looks as though a storm is approaching rather quickly."
You're pulled from your recent memory, shaking your head in embarassment as you train your eyes on the darkening sky above. You raise your eyebrows, as indeed, dark stormclouds were approaching rather quickly.
"Yes," you say, stepping over a row of cabbages toward the handsome male. "We should be heading back inside." Tamlin twists his hands nervously.
"It is getting late, I should probably head back to the Manor to make it before-"
Just then, a raindrop lands on his loose white tunic, the wet drop catching the eye of you both. You shake your head at him, giving him a look and making your way through the garden toward the back door of your small home.
"Don't be ridiculous, Tam," you say over your shoulder. "You can at least stay for dinner."
He catches up to you in two easy strides, his warm, long fingers wrapping around your wrist. You turn, your eyes meeting his at the simple touch. Rain begins to fall more steadily now, the tops of your heads beginning to glisten with the mist.
"Did we even gather enough..." he glances down at the basket of various vegetables in your hand -- the one he is still holding. You grin coyly up at him.
"We've gathered more than enough. Now let's get inside before we melt, hm?"
* ✧・゚: *
He watches quietly from your table as you prepare the soup, listening to you hum to yourself in contentment. You can barely steal a glance at him, nearly catching his eye each time, but his sudden voice interrupts your humming.
"Y/N, I'm really glad I met you."
You stir the stove pot quietly for a moment, not wanting to ruin a moment you weren't sure what direction was leading quite yet.
"I... am really glad I met you too, Tamlin." You look to him, offerring a small smile. He only looks down at your table, and you feel concerned as you lift the spoon to your lips to taste the concoction.
"I don't have many friends, so... what we... have, I mean, what we are, or... I don't know what I am saying. I apologize." He sighs, his shoulders rising and falling. "You're just, quite special to me-"
"Oh, shoot!" You drop the spoon back into the pot, settling your hands on your hips and shaking your head. He rises immediately, striding over to you and placing his hands on your shoulders in concern.
"Is everything okay?" He asks, and if you were paying more attention, his proximity and sultry tone would've shaken you to your core.
"No, no, no," you huff. "I forgot the parsnips, those damn parsnips-"
"Where are they?" He asks, already making his way for the back door.
"I left them out in the garden near the row of cabbages -- wait, Tamlin, don't go running out there, its' quite literally-" Just then, a huge bolt of lightning rips through the sky, illuminating the kitchen and making you jump with the loud crack that follows it.
"...Storming." You look toward the back door; its swinging shut, void of the blonde male who should still be very much dry and very much still inside.
You sigh, rubbing your hands over your face before leaning on the counter to peer out the kitchen window. Of course, there he is -- soaking wet, running out into the garden. You shake your head, making for the back door and quickly tugging on your rainboots with a huff.
* ✧・゚: *
"Tamlin!" You shout over the howling wind. Rain pelts at your arms, the exposed skin against the chill of the air creating goosebumps all over. Your too-big rainboots are making it near impossible to run to keep up with his long legs, and you see he is already reaching to pick up the last of the ingredients you said you needed. When you finally reach him, he is standing up, an armful of parsnips held close to his chest.
"What are you doing out here?" He shouts over the wind.
"Me? Why would you run out here?" You call back, the rain whipping your soaked hair across your face. You peer up into his deep green eyes that stare down at you in concern.
"You... said you needed these!" He yells, and another sharp crack of thunder sounds in the distance. You both flinch, and when you look to him again, he... smiles.
He truly, fully smiles. You smile back, and his shoulders shake lightly, his teeth revealing against his perfect lips, a small laugh escaping. You can't help but chuckle, his beauty so enrapturing and his rare, true smile such a sight to be withheld that you wish to bask in the sight for as long as you can.
* ✧・゚: *
"You have to trust me -- it tasted much better with the parsnips."
Tamlin chuckles, taking another bowl from you to clean in your sink as you help to clear the table.
"Oh, I believe you; I'm just not sure I've met a female who'd go after a male in a wild storm like that," he replies, and you blush. You bring over the last of the cups and spoons, placing them in the basin, and your fingers lightly brush his. His gaze slides to yours for only a second.
"I've never met a male who'd go into a storm like that for me in the first place." You peer up at him. His eyes widen only slightly, and he takes a deep breath before continuing his scrubbing, working particularly hard on making sure your dishes are clean. You smile to yourself, hoping you were playing this the right way, still not fully believing you'd somehow gotten the High Lord in your home, gotten him to like you so much, gotten him to be your friend. It all just didn't feel real.
As he dries off the last few appliances, he straightens his shirt and clears his throat. You lean against your table, and he looks out the window at the continuous falling rain.
"It is late," he mutters. You raise an eyebrow.
"It is." You state.
"I should..." He takes a step forward.
"Stay," you finish, stepping in his path. He stops before you, sighing deeply.
"Y/N-"
"It's still raining," you explain. "You can't travel all the way to the Manor this late in the evening, especially with weather like this," you say. He shakes his head slowly at you, gazing out the window once more. You place your hands on his arms, pulling him rather close. His eyes meet yours again.
"Could I... use your couch?" He asks. One of his hands finds yours on his arms, and you struggle to keep your breathing even as you make the difficult decision not to move too fast and scare him off.
"Nonsense, you can use my room. I can use the couch."
* ✧・゚: *
At the first signs of morning light, you slowly blink your eyes open, snuggling deeper into the warmth of your bed. You move only an inch before registering the large, strong arm wrapped around you, holding you against a rather comfortable chest.
You're not sure how this happened... well. Maybe you remember. But, you would simply chose to be happy about it.
As you turn to face Tamlin, you smile a bit, watching the rise and fall of his bare shoulders as he sleeps contently in front of you. In your bed.
Your bliss is short-lived as he shortly awakes, his emerald green eyes meeting yours as he takes in his surroundings. Your heart rate picks up, not knowing if he will bolt, be angry for ending up in here, perhaps never return?
His arm around your waist wraps tighter, pulling you even closer, and your heart warms as you are close enough now to practically share breath. His eyes drift closed for a moment more
"Good morning," you whisper.
"Good morning to you," his gravelly voice sends a fuzzy feeling through you that you try to ignore... for now.
"Did you... sleep alright?" You ask hesitantly. His eyes open slightly again, and he leans close, pressing a small kiss to your forehead.
"That is the best I've slept in months, Y/N." He closes his eyes again, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You blush furiously, at a loss for words. You only hoped this would continue, you could progress from here -- you knew getting your hopes up was silly, he was the High Lord, after all.
"Do you have plans today?" You ask after a few beats of silence. He grins, nodding his head. You frown, wishing you could spend more time with him.
"Oh,"
"I planned to show you one of the most magical places I know."
* ✧・゚: *
You walked anxiously through the forest, following behind your friend willingly as he showed you his special spot. He'd only gone back to the Manor for new clothes and bathing shorts, and left you to change into proper swimwear before the journey.
"Maybe the swans will be here today," he says, looking to you with a wink. You look up at him, adjusting your small woven bag on your shoulder.
"The swans frequent your special swimming place too?" You ask. He shrugs, slowing his pace as you approach a thick brush of vines in your path.
"Not necissarily frequent," he says, sweeping the vines to the side and gesturing for you to move forward through them. "But, I've seen them here before."
As your eyes adjust to the sunlight again, your mouth drops open. "Here" is quite literally the most magical place you'd seen -- he was right. A clearing among the high growing trees allowed a halo of sunlight to stream in, perfectly illuminating the golden pool of starlit-water below. You gazed in, eyes roaming over every swirl and fractal of gold within.
"Oh... Tamlin this is..." you shake your head in bewilderment.
"...I'd hoped you'd like it." He smiles sheepishly, shucking off his boots and trousers near the pool's edge. You lay down your bag, slipping off your flats and skirt as your eyes are still glued to the golden bath before you. You almost miss the gorgeous man beside you pulling his tunic off, every upper-body muscle flexing as he tugs on it before tossing it aside. He looks to you, his eyes unashamedly roaming along the length of your esposed legs before focusing on your eyes.
"Ready to get in?" He asks. You simply nod, unlacing your top and shoving it in your bag. He steps in, wading in waist-deep before extending a hand to you. You feel every butterfly flap furiously inside your stomach as you take it, and he gently pulls you in, the delicious golden liquid twirling around you and engulfing you in full.
"This is... just... magical, Tamlin," you admit. He grins, reaching to take your other hand in his. You gaze up at him. "How did you happen upon this place?"
He shrugs, the movement sending the water rippling around him as he moves the two of you deeper in, the water encircling your upper-arms. "Everyone has their special spots, I suppose."
You look around, taking in the scenery, and when you focus on him again, you blush seeing he's only been gazing at you. You swim back for a bit, floating on your back, allowing your hair to swirl around you. You feel so relaxed, but wouldn't close your eyes for a moment here in fear you'd miss something so beautiful.
"Y/N... I need to be honest with you." His gaze hardens, and you place your feet on the pond floor once more, returning your stare to his.
"Oh, of course," you nod. Your heart rate picks up, and he draws close to you again.
"When I returned today... to the Manor," he starts. A knot begins forming in your stomach. Here it is. Here it comes.
"I... in my absence, everything was able to run as normal, and though being a High Lord is not what I would have chosen to do with my life," his hands find your hips, and he pulls you flush against him. Your breath catches, and you stare intently up at him.
"I need you to know that I've felt more fulfillment in these past few months than I ever have in my lifetime." He says. Your eyes widen, realizing what you're hearing.
"Tamlin... I don't know what to say, I've only dreamt of something like this, I just wonder about the court? Your subjects at the Manor-"
"They don't need me at the Manor," he says. "I could just be with you, in the cottage, all the time, Y/N. Just," he holds you even closer, his hands sliding over the curve of your spine. Your fingers instinctively slide up the length of his arms, eventually wrapping loosely around his neck. "...just me and you, all the time." His tone is almost pleading, his eyes searching yours in desperation.
You don't hold back any longer, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips to his. He breathes in deep, his hands pressing you impossibly close as he moves his lips slowly against yours. You slowly wrap your legs around his waist, and one of his hands moves over the fabric of your stretched bikini bottom to the underneath of your bum. He continues to kiss you, parting his lips and allowing you in to expore as his hands roam over your skin, feeling each inch and sending fireworks through you as he does.
When you pull back after a few minutes to breathe, he rests his forhead against yours, his beautiful, perfect smile coming out once more.
"You're beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his gaze fixating over your shoulder.
You turn to see what's caught his eye, gasping at the sight of two swans nesting quietly near the edge of the golden pool.
* ✧・゚: *
#tamlin high lord#tamlin#tamlin x reader#tamlin acotar#tamlin smut#acotar x reader#read more#acotar#acowar#a court of frost and starlight#a court of mist and fury#a court of silver flames#a court of thorns and roses#a court of wings and ruin#pro tamlin#acotar fandom#acotar series
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Hello! Good evening!
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mithrun and I had a small scenario pop up in my head, and it would be lovely to see your vision on how this would play out, please and thank you 💕:
AFAB!Elf!reader is a member of the canaries, very soft spoken and rather kind. The nicest, most likely. Against her better judgement she’s down bad for the captain and everyone else is like “pls no I’d rather you not”. (She can fix him/jk)
Mithrun realizes she has feelings for him and in a very subtle way treats her a little more gentle than the others. Lets her spoil him a tiny bit more. Listens to her a bit more.
Reader can only hope one day maybe…just maybe…the captain can show a little interest in her too 🥺 and is oblivious that he lets her get away with a little more than others
Just very soft feelings all over
I won't spoil it for those who haven't read the manga, but there are instances where we see Mithrun treat Kabru rather favorably and opening up in great detail about his past. In a side story, we also see that younger Mithrun cared for the other canaries quite a bit. I imagine that even without his desires, Mithrun would appreciate care shown to him in his own Mithrun-y way.
SFW
Mithrun might be adverse to you at first, because when he really looks inward you remind him of his younger self.
However, Mithrun would soon come to see that you don't have the same...pitfalls in your personality that brought him where he is today. He might even come to somewhat admire your ability to stay genuinely kind in a world like theirs.
The other canaries start to notice that you have a much easier time getting their leader to take an ounce of care in his own well-being than any of them ever have. Some of them think it's entertaining while others (Pattadol) think the favoritism is unnacceptable.
Cithis might tease him about it if you aren't around, "We don't want to worry poor [y/n] by getting all dehydrated now, do we captain?"
Even the mention of your name is enough to motivate Mithrun, though you remain completely unaware. In your mind, the captain regards you as nothing more than a subordinate.
You don't notice the way his good eye trains on you as you talk about life before the canaries. You don't realize how fast he falls asleep when you're near. The magnitude of the fact that one night he voluntarily tells you a story about when he and his brother were children slips by you completely.
Pattadol is the only one to ever bring it up to you directly, and you truly have no idea what she's talking about. None of the others help her either, preferring to sit back and watch how her face reddens with frustration.
Mithrun isn't oblivious to the situation, however. He knows that there's something about you that...calms him, at the very least. He's sharp enough to know that you feel the same way about him, perhaps even stronger.
He likes having you around. It's not something he wants when you're gone, but it's something he enjoys while you're there. Because he knows you have some type of feelings for him, he indulges you at every turn. He even lets you wash his back and massage the scarred tissue built at the tips of his ears- though you're terribly relieved he can't see the heat rising on your cheeks as you do so.
One day, long long after the dungeoneering is done, perhaps you might even be able to help Mithrun find his desires, find himself again.
*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide adult content!
[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]
#dungeon meshi#mithrun#mithrun of the house of kerensil#dunmeshi#delicious in dungeon#x reader#dungeon meshi x reader#mithrun x reader#drabbles#asks#dungeon meshi drabbles#delicious in dungeon x reader#minors dni#anon#fl*ff#afab reader#dungeon meshi headcanons
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🖤Guitar Face || Hozier x Reader🖤
FULL FIC ON TUMBLR AFTER CUT || READ ON AO3
Rating: 18+ - Smut
Tags: Pre-Debut Hozier, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, vaginal sex, teasing, protected sex.
Summary: Andrew teaches you how to play guitar while you both try to ignore the very obvious and overwhelming sexual tension between you.
Word count: 5.4k
A/N: I’m back after a month of not posting (sorry lol) with a long fic to make up for lost time (yay) and to take our minds off of everything, really. When will I post my next fic, you ask? I don’t fucking know man, I’m just vibing. I do have a few ideas that I want to start, including a multichapter fic that will get written someday. Love you all, enjoy this pre-debut hozier fic💙
💙FULL FIC UNDER THE CUT💙
You needed a hobby, urgently. It was your second semester of your first year of university at Trinity College Dublin, and you had yet to find something to occupy your time that wasn’t studying, working, or just doing nothing with the group of friends that, despite your nervous and introverted nature, you had managed to form in your first semester. You were desperate for something new to do, a new skill or pastime to occupy you when all your friends were busy or simply when you felt like doing something other than hanging out with them.
The idea of learning guitar came to you after talking to one of your friends about your newfound need for a hobby, she mentioned that you had a great sense of rhythm and that you already really liked music, so why not pick up an instrument. She didn’t tell you to pick up guitar specifically, but it seemed like a good choice for learning in your spare time, and it’s not like you had the money to buy a keyboard or drums, much less a more classical instrument like a violin, a cello or a harp, and you already knew that you didn’t have the lungs for wind instruments.
You asked around your friend group if anyone had any suggestions for cheap guitars to buy, you got one that was moderately good and within your budget. You started to learn by yourself, the only thing was that you sucked, you barely understood the tutorials you found on youtube and didn’t even know if you were really doing it right, your fingers were sloppy and uncoordinated and you only angered yourself more and more with each note you got wrong. So, after two weeks and a half of frustration, you decided that maybe a guitar teacher wasn’t a bad idea, and that if that didn’t work you’d sell your guitar and pick up photography or something that didn’t require you to use your fingers as much.
It was Friday evening, and some members of Trinity Orchestra were having a small rehearsal/get together, and you knew your friend would be there since she was a pianist in the orchestra, so maybe she could help you learn guitar or at the very least find a teacher. You arrived at the get together when it was almost finished, you didn’t want to interrupt them, even if it wasn’t really a rehearsal, you felt out of place just by being there. Miranda, your friend, spotted you from her bench and beckoned you over to her, she’d been expecting you since you told her earlier that day that you’d go see her at the rehearsal, she was leaning on the closed piano, a half eaten bag of crisps sat on the cover of its keys. “I thought you’d come sooner, you missed the little concert.” She smiled.
“Nah, I’d rather not interrupt.” You smiled back, “anyway, what I wanted to talk about before you ran off today because of your horrible time manage skills-“
“-They’re not that bad, come on.” She pouted playfully, faking indignation.
“Bullshit.” You argued back, trying to hold in a laugh. “Now, do you know how to play guitar?”
“No, just piano, and the organ, kind of. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to learn how to play on my own but I can’t get the hang of it, I need a teacher or something.” You explained, trying to be quiet enough so that no one else would hear.
“Teacher for what?” A masculine voice asked from behind you, making you jump slightly in surprise. You turned around, a lanky guy with dorky glasses and a blonde fringe stood there, looking at you as he tried to guess who you were. “Have we met before?” He finally asked.
“I don’t think so,” you answered, a nervous smile on your face
“I’m Alex,” he smiled back to you, but his smile was more welcoming than anything else. You told him your name, and that you were a friend of Miranda, which prompted her to speak up.
“They’re trying to learn guitar,” she joined in. “Maybe you could help them?”
“Can’t, I’m drowning in coursework already, sorry,” Alex said earnestly, seeming genuinely sorry that he wasn’t able to help you learn how to play.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure I’ll find someone to teach me.” You assured him, relaxing a bit more now that you had spoken the slightest bit more to him.
“Andy could help you, though.” A smirk grew on his face, “he’s always looking for an excuse to not do his work.”
“Andrew’s a vocalist though isn’t he?” Miranda chimed in again.
“He does more things apart from singing, you know.” Answered Alex.
“I didn’t know he played guitar though, I’ve never seen him play it.” She argued.
“He does! He’s self taught though, so his has this weird way of playing where he-“
“Sorry, but, who’s Andrew?” You interrupted, needing some clarification as to who they were talking about.
“Right, you don’t know who he is,” Alex chuckled, “he’s that one over there.” He said, pointing over to a group of about five guys all chatting while standing around a table.
“Which one?” You asked, still not knowing who to look at.
“The tall one.” Alex and Miranda said in unison. Your eyes focused on him, a pale, lanky guy with dark, shaggy curls on his head and a 3 day stubble on his face and neck, he was at least half a head taller than the second tallest man in the conversation circle. He was smiling, his cheeks a rosy tone from how much he’d been laughing, his front teeth were slightly crooked from what you could see from a distance, and you noticed a pair of glasses in his left hand as your eyes trailed down his body, you assumed that they were his glasses with how he was holding them so close to his body. He was so cute, you thought to yourself, a bit of a nerd maybe but it’s not like you weren’t into it as well.
“Andy!” Alex’s call broke your train of thought, and maybe that was for the best, who knows where you were going to end up with those. Andrew turned to look at Alex, noticing Miranda sat on her seat, and then you, you could’ve sworn you saw him look you up and down as a small smirk formed on his face. Alex moved his arm to call him over, and he approached without hesitation, quickly walking over to the little group you were in.
Alex introduced you to each other and quickly explained your situation to Andrew, who agreed to teach you. You agreed on payment, how many times a week you’d meet, the whole thing, really, and then you exchanged numbers.
“If you want we can meet up tomorrow and we can start with the basics,” he suggested, putting on his glasses as he put your number in his phone. Fucking hell, he looked adorable with them on, you felt your cheeks heat up as you looked at him.
“Yeah, that’d be good,” you agreed without thinking, “I’ll send you my address and we can meet at my place if you want.”
“Sure,” he looked at you with a small smile. You decided on a time to meet and then went home for the night after saying goodbye to your friend.
You felt a nervous knot in your stomach as you laid down in your bed, the worry of making a fool of yourself in front of a cute guy was catching up on you. You shook those thoughts off, putting on some faint music before finally going to sleep.
You woke up the next day, looking at the clock on your bedside table only to find that it wasn’t actually morning, but past noon, almost 1pm in fact. You got ready for the day and had what could best be described as a big brunch before deciding to clean your apartment before Andrew arrived later in the day, something that you only remembered when you saw a message from him confirming that he had your address right. Why did you agree to this again? You cursed yourself as you cleaned up the small space you lived in, it was an attic converted into a studio apartment that was way too cheap for how big it was, but it’s not like you were going to complain.
Time passed as you finished cleaning your apartment, having just enough time to shower before Andrew arrived. You had just finished dressing up when your phone rang, you picked up to find Andrew on the other side of the line, asking you to open since the doorbell wasn’t working, so, taking your keys in your hand, you ran downstairs to open the front door for him. He was carrying a guitar case and what you assumed was a small amp, he wore a very simple outfit, a shirt and jeans with a brown leather jacket and some old tattered converse, but no glasses. “I like the jacket.” You said while guiding him towards the elevator.
“Thanks,” he smiled shyly, “I brought my electric guitar, I hope you don’t mind, my acoustic one has a broken string and I still need to replace it.”
“It’s fine, mine is electric too.” You smiled back.
You went into your apartment, he commented on the fact that it was a studio, and on the absence of a sofa. “The TV’s over there so I usually just put all my pillows on my bed and use it as a couch.” You explained, pointing out the TV on the wall next to the bed. Andrew laughed to himself, he mumbled something under his breath that you thought sounded like “that’s so fucking cute”. He sat on your bed, taking out his guitar and tuning it without even plugging it in to the amp.
You took out yours, tuning it as well with an app on your phone. You and Andrew talked for a bit, making jokes and breaking the tension before he explained the basics of guitar playing to you. You listened attentively and asked questions about the things you didn’t understand, he was a great teacher so far, and you could honestly listen to him speak for hours, his voice was lovely, no wonder Miranda said he was mainly a vocalist.
The time came to finally plug in the guitars, yours was already plugged to your amp, you just needed to turn it on, which you quickly did while Andrew set up his, he plugged the amp to the wall, grabbing the cable to plug it into his guitar, he wasn’t paying much attention to it though, his mind was somewhere else. While his head was, in fact, pointing down towards the guitar, his eyes were mostly looking up at you through his brows, using his curls as a shield so you wouldn’t notice him staring. His hand faltered, the jack circled the plug it was supposed to go in, making some magnetic noises come from the amplifier, you smiled at his dorkiness, finding it adorable. “Trouble putting it in?” You asked, not fully realising the other possible meaning of the question until it was already out of your mouth, he looked up at you with a quizzical look before you both burst into laughter at the question.
“I’m good, thanks,” he said between laughs, getting the jack into the plug once he finally stopped looking up at you. “‘trouble putting it in,’?” He echoed your words with a lovingly mocking tone, trying not to laugh again.
“I wasn’t thinking!” You tried to defend yourself while suppressing more laughter.
“Clearly,” he giggled.
The real, practical, lesson finally began, you spent the next hour and a half learning to play a couple chords and how to transition between them. It was hell, your hands were oddly shaky and very uncoordinated, so you asked for a break before you threw your guitar out the window. “Tea?” You asked, already thinking about making some for yourself so you could have an excuse to wander your apartment for a bit.
“Sure, I’ll have whatever you have.” Andrew nodded, standing up and stretching a bit and walking over to your bookshelf.
You went over to the kitchenette to put the kettle on, your thoughts wandering to how Andrew looked, he was so pretty, and you were definitely embarrassing yourself with your horrible guitar skills, but he had to have expected that, right? You did tell him that you knew basically nothing about playing guitar after all.
He walked closer to you, leaning on the kitchen island. “You’re not as bad as you told me you’d be yesterday, you know.” He said with a kind look in his eyes.
“I’m not?” You asked as you turned to face him.
“Yeah, I mean, your fingers are a bit uncoordinated and all but that’s just getting the hang of it.” He explained. “You picked up the chords and their positions on the neck of the guitar pretty quickly, though, that’s a good sign.”
“Oh, well that’s good at least,” you chuckled, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get the hang of it, though, I have horrible hand-eye coordination.”
“It can’t be that bad, come on,” he scoffed playfully, walking over to you and almost-sitting on the counter closest to you
“It is.”
“I think your hands are just fine, you just need to practise, and maybe learning guitar will help when you do other things with your hands, it did for me.” He winked, you felt your face heat up.
“What other things?” You tilted your head to the side as you smirked.
“Just… things, you’ll see what I mean.” He chuckled, he pressed his thumb into his palm. His eyes looked you up and down slowly, but you pretended not to notice.
“Oh I’m sure.” You laughed.
The water boiled and you made the tea, you lost the track of time as your conversation went on, it was ever so slightly flirty, just some comments here and there that made you both blush coupled with a few lingering touches. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t want to do more than just learn guitar with him, but you didn’t want to be too forward, so you waited.
/#/#/#/
You met with Andrew for guitar lessons every other day for the next four weeks, slowly improving on your skill while also getting to know each other more and more, to the point that you’d hang out with him even if you weren’t practising, you’d gone to the pub with him and a few more friends a couple times and would just randomly message each other every so often throughout the day just to check on one another. It was nice, and, even if your crush on him had only gotten stronger as the days passed, you were glad to have a new friend. He was so sweet and just the right amount of dorky nerd that you couldn’t help but love him, you only hoped he felt the same way about you.
It was a Saturday evening, Andrew had been over at your apartment since lunch, you’d started the lesson right after he arrived at 1 and it was now 6:30pm, he’d been teaching you a song, or more so trying to. It wasn’t even a hard one, your hands just were not collaborating today and both you and Andrew were growing increasingly frustrated.
You were standing next to your bed while Andrew sat down on it, the guitar was strapped around you, you were considering making it against the ground in frustration. “You look angry, darling.” He pointed out, his expression unreadable.
“I’m not,” you lied, “just frustrated, I don’t know why I can’t get it right.”
“Maybe your hands are just tired, rest a bit and try again later.” He suggested.
“No.”
“The guitar won’t leave if you stop playing for a second, you know?”
“I just want to get this part right, just to hear how it sounds and then I’ll rest.”
Andrew scoffed, the smallest smirk forming on his face, he rolled his eyes before standing up and walking over to you, his frame towering over yours. “Let’s hear it then.” He ordered.
You swallowed air nervously, slightly intimidated by the combination of his height and the more strict and dominant tone his voice had taken. Your fingers moved on the guitar, clumsily playing the song and restarting it every time you messed up a note. After a few failed attempts, he moved behind you, grabbing the guitar even though it was still on you.
He pushed himself flush against your back, his hands playing the instrument as if you weren’t there. You felt the vibrations of the guitar against your abdomen and his body against your back, and, thanks to your height difference, you could perfectly feel his crotch pressing against your lower back. You felt your face heat up and a few whimpers escaping your mouth as he played, and he was definitely getting a bit into it as well, thrusting his hips into you as the song went on, the worst part was that you weren’t even sure if he was doing it because of the song or to rile you up, but that was the effect it was having anyway.
He stopped playing before he got to the chorus of the song, taking the guitar off you before he finally stepped away. “Heard it. Now, rest.” He instructed, throwing himself back on your makeshift couch.
“What the hell was that?” You asked dumbfounded, a nervous chuckle escaped you.
“Sorry, I just… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, it was weird.” He mumbled, his eyes focusing on your pillows instead of on you.
“I didn’t think it was weird,” you stretched the truth lightly, you had thought it slightly weird when he did that, but you also couldn’t ignore the burning between your thighs and you needed to know if he was feeling the same way you were right now. “You could’ve just taken the guitar off me, though.”
“It wouldn’t have worked, you would’ve gotten mad at me.” He bit his lip to fight back a smirk. “I wasn’t really thinking, anyway, and you said you wanted to hear how it sounded so… yeah.”
Your eyes wandered to his crotch for a second, he looked like he was at least slightly hard. Quickly focusing back on his face, you giggled and threw yourself on the makeshift couch next to him, you laid on your side, looking at Andrew with a small, loving smile on your face.
“What’s the smile for?” He asked, turning to his side so he could face you as well.
“Nothing,” you continued to smile. “It’s just funny that you’re kind of beating yourself up about it when I actually kinda liked it.”
“Oh?” His eyes widened for a second as he scooted closer to you. “And what about it did you like?”
“I like how the guitar felt against me. The vibrations of it, you know? I play so slow that I don’t usually feel them like… that.” You bit your thumb lightly, trying to appear a bit more innocent so he wouldn’t guess what you were really thinking about.
“Yeah, they’re nice,” he looked at your lips as well, then scooted even closer. “Anything else you liked?”
“Well… I liked how you felt… against me.” You admitted, only to see Andrew’s smile widening. His hand moved to your cheek, silently encouraging you to keep going. “I liked how you were thrusting against me, it felt nice.”
“Just nice?” He teased, caressing your cheek.
“It was kinda hot, too.”
“I thought so too, maybe we could do something about it?” He suggested, his hand moving to your hip.
You nodded weakly, your lips parting ever so slightly. Andrew lunged in to kiss you, his mouth crashing against yours as you kissed him back passionately. Slowly he moved to be on top of you as you kissed, his right leg moved between yours, pressing against your core. Your hips moved against his legs, desperate for any kind of release. His tongue darted into your mouth, exploring as it pleased while your hands tangled in his shaggy curls.
You deepened the kiss, it became sloppier and more desperate as the seconds passed by, Andrew pulled back, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths to each other’s. His breathing mirrored yours, ragged and irregular even as you tried to calm down slightly. His glasses were slipping off his nose, so, as one does, you moved your hand from his hair and adjusted them, making him chuckle softly. “I feel like a fucking teenager.” He laughed, leaning in to plant small kisses on your jaw and neck.
“You’re twenty-two, not that far from it.” You teased while quiet moans escaped your lips.
“Shut up.” He laughed, his kisses on your skin turning more demanding. His hands snaked under your shirt, slowly pulling it off you until he could finally throw it on to the floor. He grabbed your breasts, moving his face between them before starting to kiss and lightly bite them, you arched your back into him, more moans escaping you.
“Fuck! Andy… please,” you moaned loudly, he hummed against your chest.
“What is it, baby?” He asked with a wicked smile, looking up at you through the rim of his glasses. You whimpered and rubbed yourself against his leg as a response, making him chuckle once more. “So needy… I’ve been wanting you for a while, let me at least play a little before I ravage you.”
“Play faster, I want you now.” You whined again, pulling him in to kiss him. He happily obliged, kissing you back while his hands made quick work of your jeans.
Your jeans and underwear quickly joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on your floor, leaving you completely bare. Your hands moved from Andrew’s hair as he pulled away from your mouth, instead trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone once more, your touch moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling at the cloth to try and pull it off him already. He quickly caught onto that and pulled his own shirt and undershirt off himself, uncovering his torso. He was still as lanky and thin as he was with clothes on, but he was a bit fuller than you had imagined, the slightest bit of pudge gathering on his abdomen. Your gaze turned him slightly shy, his cheeks reddening as he looked away for a second.
“I know this probably isn’t what you imagined,” he said sheepishly, a nervous tone in his voice, “I’m s-“
“You’re so pretty,” you interrupted him, still staring at his body.
“You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do.” You smiled, your hands grazed his skin. “You’re very hot, too.”
“Flatterer.” He smiled back, leaning in to kiss you again. You felt goosebumps forming on his skin the more you caressed him.
“I would never, I’m only saying what I think.” You kissed him back.
He hummed happily into the kiss, his hand travelling lower and lower on your body until it reached your core. He gently caressed it with two fingers, smiling darkly when he felt just how wet you were. Slowly, he played with your clit, making you whimper and buckle your hips against his hand, silently begging for more. He obliged, moving to push two fingers inside you and making you gasp at the intrusion, he slowly pumped them in and out, his thumb moving to play with your clit.
“Is this something that playing guitar helps with?” You teased while trying to suppress your moans.
Andrew chuckled, his fingers quickening. “Yes, actually.” He kissed along your jaw. “It helps a lot, makes it easier to fuck you.”
You moaned more, holding onto him like a lifeline as he played with you. His lips moved to your neck again, leaving passionate kisses and hickeys as he memorised every inch of your skin. His movements quickened even more, his thumb playing with your clit in a way that made your legs shake slightly, his other hand grabbed your hip, his nails digging into your skin. You felt the all-familiar burning-white desire in your lower abdomen, your whines got more and more high pitched until they were nothing more than needy whimpers.
Andrew chuckled, pulling away from your neck to look at your face as you came undone before him. “That’s it, let go for me,” he whispered softly, his free hand now moving up to brush your hair away from your face. “That’s it, good girl. Let me feel you, baby, please.”
You felt something snap within you at his words, pure pleasure running through you as you came on his fingers, covering them with your essence. He smiled at your blissed out expression, taking it in as he fingered you through your orgasm. Once it subsided he pulled out his fingers and licked them clean as you looked at him, a moan escaping him as he finally tasted you.
“Fuck, you’re delicious, I’m going to fucking devour you next time.” He growled.
“Why not now?” You teased breathlessly, still recovering from your orgasm.
“Because I might explode if I don’t put my dick inside you right now.” He teased back, reaching into his wallet for a condom. “Can I fuck you now, baby? Or do you need to recover a bit more first?”
“Now, please.” You begged without thinking.
Andrew smiled at your eagerness, taking off his pants and underwear to reveal his cock, it was as long as you thought, or hoped, it’d be, somewhere above average that was still enjoyable, but his thickness surprised you, he was wider than you’d imagined. You felt your mouth watering. “You’re staring.” He said firmly, rolling on the condom, “does it scare you?” He asked, his tone a mixture of dominance and genuine concern.
“No.” You smiled, opening your legs more. “I was just a bit surprised.”
“A good surprise, I hope.” He smiled back, grabbing your legs and pulling you closer to him. You chuckled at his words.
“A very good surprise, yeah.”
You reached out to touch him once again, his hands catching yours and pushing them to be above your head. He held them in place with his left hand while his right travelled to your thigh, lifting it ever so slightly as he positioned himself between your legs. His cock brushed lightly against your core, making you both whimper lightly at the feeling, then, slowly, he pushed in. Your gasp matched his moaning, soft and quiet enough that it was almost whispered, he was pushing in slowly, making sure it wasn’t painful for you. He bottomed out after a few more seconds, his movements stopping as he let you get used to his size. He leaned in to kiss you, a slow, loving kiss that had you melting into his touch even more.
You moved your hips after a few kisses, signalling Andrew to move. He happily obliged, slowly thrusting in and out of you. Your moans filled the room, making a symphony with his. “You feel so fucking good, baby, oh my god.” He practically whimpered into your ear, interlocking his fingers with yours. His other hand held tightly onto your thigh, his grip almost bruising as he lost himself in you. You shook your hand free from his, moving it to his hair along with your other hand to pull him in for a kiss, muffling your moans.
“Faster, please.” You begged between kisses, Andrew growled in response, letting go of all his restraint. His pace quickened to a brutal one, pistoning in and out of you without a care in the world. Your hands moved down to his back, your nails leaving scratches as you neared your peak just from the feeling of his cock inside you.
He straightened up, getting a better view of you, completely blissed out and moaning like crazy, sweat making some of your hair stick to your face. His hand caressed your cheek lovingly, his thumb pressing on your mouth to pry it open. “Open up, baby.” He ordered, and you obeyed without hesitation. His thumb moved inside your mouth, pressing on your tongue. “Suck.” He added.
And you did, sucking gently on his thumb as a lopsided smile grew in his face. He whispered soft praises as he fucked you, his thumb thrusting slightly in and out at a gentle pace to contrast the one of his hips.
He moved your leg with his other hand so your ankle would be resting on his shoulder, changing the angle in just the right position so his pubic bone would hit your clit every time he bottomed out. Your moans got louder, or as much as they could since your sucking of his thumb muffled most of the noise. Andrew moaned too, quieter, softer moans that could only be audible between your own, but you loved every single one you could hear. You felt his cock twitch inside you.
You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your own hand moving to your clit to give you the extra friction you needed. Andrew pulled his thumb out of your mouth and moved it to your clit before you could reach it on your own, flicking it rapidly as he moved your leg off his shoulder so he could lean in to kiss you again. You moaned into his mouth and he moaned into yours, both of you nearing your respective climaxes, his cock twitched more inside you, his thrusting becoming erratic and uncoordinated. You felt the pure, unadulterated ecstasy threatening to explode within you once more, your hands moving once more to Andrew’s hair as he kissed you.
“Come for me, baby, come on, let me hear you again pet.” He moaned, pulling back slightly so he could see your face as you came undone below him. “So fuckin’ pretty, come on, love.”
You came under him not long after, pure pleasure flowing through you as your body shook with your orgasm. But Andrew didn’t stop, chasing his own release as his thrusts became even more irregular than before, and, just as you were starting to feel the overstimulation taking over, he came, releasing his spent into the condom and stopping his movements almost completely, savouring the feeling of your walls around him. He moaned loudly, his head going back slightly as his eyes closed and his jaw slacked, you grinned slightly, recognising his current expression as the same one he did when playing a more upbeat guitar solo.
After a few more seconds, you both calmed down, and Andrew leaned in to kiss you once more, slowly and lovingly this time. You kissed back, your bodies still entangled with each other as you savoured the afterglow of your lovemaking. Carefully, and despite how much neither of you wanted that, he pulled out of you, detaching himself from you so he could take off the condom and throw it out. “I’ll be back in a second, stay put.” He murmured before giving you a quick kiss and walking towards your bathroom.
He came back not long after with a damp washcloth in hand, cleaning you up slightly before helping you sit up on your bed. “I should go to the bathroom,” you pointed out.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “go on, I’ll wait here for you.”
You smiled lovingly, getting up and into the bathroom, coming out of it a few minutes later after refreshing yourself. You found Andrew laying on your bed, having put his boxers back on while you’d been washing up. He smiled at the sight of you, opening his arms for you to cuddle into, and that you did, crawling into your bed and hugging him tight. He played with your hair as you cuddled, talking about random things before you decided to be a bit cheeky. “Did you know you have the exact same face when playing guitar that you do when you cum?”
“Shut up,” he laughed, “…do I really?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it at least a nice face or do I look like an idiot?” His face reddened ever so slightly.
“I think it’s a very pretty face, just like your normal one.” You assured him honestly.
“Thank god.” He laughed again, holding you tighter to him. “Can I stay the night?” He added, a hint of uncertainty and pleading in his tone.
“You better stay.” You smiled, nuzzling your face into his chest.
Andrew smiled back, burying his face in your hair and taking in your scent.
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Childhood Best Friend (16/07/2024)
turns out my bakugo obsession wasn’t over so i’m writing him to feed my delusions because I saw this one line on tumblr and I had to write a whole story about it; i wrote this at 2 AM so it’s not the most creative hehe but bear with me
1.5k words — unedited
The thought of having a childhood best friend that you can keep in contact with really drives me insane, not in a bad way though, because it’s the kind of friendship that I crave. I have no idea how much time both parties dedicate to each other to maintain a relationship for this long, and I might be jealous of some of my friends because they have this and mine isn’t as ideal as I hope it was.
“Katsu?” My five-year-old self say, “Would you marry me when we grow up?”
The crimson eyed boy looked at me, holding out that ring pop he’s been eating for a while now and basically finished, “If you’ll have me that is.”
According to his mom, I went around kindergarten holding his hand and calling him “my husband katsu” for a while, and he was always around to protect me when kids doubted what I said. He’d beat them up or threaten them with his explosions saying, “You’re all just jealous that you’re not her, but too bad she’s my wife now so piss off.”
I was always around him and he was always around me, we were literally stuck to the bone.
“Katsu, someone told me I was ugly is that true?” I cried in his arms for the first time when I was six, and he rubbed my head and let me cry it out.
“Whoever told you that must have no taste, you’re breathtaking.” He says.
“What does ‘breaktaking’ mean?” I say.
“Breathtaking. It means you’re so pretty you take someone’s breath away.” He smiles, “I’m also beating them up for putting this nonsense in your head. No one messes with my wife.”
“Don’t beat them up though, please?” I look at him, and his rubs my head and nod.
This all disappeared when I had to leave to move away because my parents found a better job. I held onto his hand and begged my parents to let me stay with him and his family, he also begged, claiming he doesn’t want to be apart from “his wife”.
“Don’t forget me, Katsu.” I start sobbing, “I really don’t want to leave.”
“Can’t you stay?” He asks, red staining his eyes because of the crying he has been doing.
“I can’t, they’re not letting me.” I hold his hand harder, “Promise we’ll meet again?”
“Let’s become heroes together. I’ll become number one and you’ll be alongside me.” He squeezes my hand back. “Let’s meet at UA.”
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise.”
We pinky promised before my parents shoved me into the car and drove away.
“Hit harder, you’re not doing it right!” My coach screams at me. “Okay, take a break you’re not thinking.”
I sit on the ground, stripping off my boxing gear then throwing them to the ground, “Fuck.” How am I going to be good enough to catch up to him? He’s gifted, hardworking and talented. It’s not possible to be on the same level as him without training harder, and I’m not even hitting right…
“I’m done, let me do it again!” I say to my coach, who’s wiping the pads I’ve been hitting. She smiles and signals me to start. I throw I few punches at her, then a few kicks, and some more punches. “That’s the spirit, young lady!” She says as I throw more kicks at her.
“Good work today,” She pats my shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”
I smile at her before packing my bags and leaving, stretching a bit before I take a taxi home to revise for tomorrow morning’s tests. I take out the small notebook I keep in my bag and start memorizing some main points from the book, “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” I whisper.
I manage to get a taxi, I get in and sit down and continue studying. After a while, I look out of the window, slowly rolling down the glass after getting the driver’s permission. Feeling the night air against my face, I start to feel home sick. It’s been ten years since I left Japan, and I’ve been doing everything he would just so I can get in UA. And I miss him so much.
“Congratulations! You’re accepted into UA high school, we’re looking forward to seeing you on our first day!“
I scream at this news before telling my parents and they were overjoyed also. They willingly bought me plane tickets back to Japan and even called Katsuki’s family to have them take care of me for the mean time, in which they agreed to. And all I could think about that night was how happy he would be when he sees me again.
He was not happy, at least I don’t think he is. He has this scowl over his face and he’s gotten so tall and buff since ten years ago.
“You’re that loser girl I hung out with? I literally have no fuckin’ memory of you since you’re so fuckin’ insignificant to me.”
Wow. He’s definitely changed so much.
“Katsu, I kept my promise, I got into UA and now I’m back.” I say.
“So? What do you want me to say? Congrats? Yeah no shit, everyone craves validation when it comes to me.” He says, “Congrats loser, for making the bare minimum to get in like it’s fuckin’ challenging.”
Okay he’s just rude now, where was that sweet old Katsuki I missed. So I just rolled my eyes at him and went to their guest room to settle down. In which Mitsuki welcomed me with a whole party that Katsuki was not happy about.
New school year, new me. I wear my UA uniform, ready for a new school year with more fun and joy every year. Until some weird guy stopped me and Katsuki on our way to school.
“Hey girlie, you look so fine you should be called mine. Wanna go out with me?” He winks, and I cringed at him. Katsuki full on glared at him, looking pissed.
“She doesn’t wanna fuckin’ go out with you, why would she downgrade herself for a fucker like you?” Katsuki grabbed my hand and started leaving.
He told him off for me. He cares.
“Why are you even helping that whore?” That weirdo asked Katsuki, and he glared daggers into him.
“No one can say that to her when I’m around, say that again and you’ll lose your dick.” Katsuki threatens him again and wraps his arms around my waist.
He turns to me, his face so close to mine before he says, “Let’s go.”
Since when was his face so masculine and defined. He definitely had a big glow up because how could one be so breathtaking?
“Katsu.” I say, “What was that for? Thought you hated me.”
“Still do, but only I can degrade you.” He answers.
“Possessive much?” I joke, but I could feel his grip on my waist tighten. So I just shut up and walk with him.
When we got home that day, Mitsuki made us fried chicken and some extra spicy mapo tofu (katsu’s favourite).
“Remember when the two of you got married when you were five? Katsuki gave you his ring pop after you asked him if he’d marry you and he said something like ‘if you’ll have me’? Oh goodness I remember it like it was yesterday.” She chuckled with her husband as Katsuki and I stared at each other awkwardly.
“Shut up you old hag.” Katsuki says, his ears red, “I’m going back to my room.”
Before he leaves the table, he drags me with him and we enter his room before he locks the door.
“So,” He starts, “What now?”
I look at him, “You dragged me in, you tell me.”
“It’s nothing I just needed a break from them.” He shrugged, “It’s not like I’m fuckin’ embarrassed of us or anything.”
There was a moment of loud silence.
“Katsu,” I break the awkwardness, “Can we like start again?”
“Like what, pretend that you never left me?” He says, his tone sounded like he’s hurt.
“I didn’t want to, and you know it.” I look him in the eye, and he keeps the eye contact.
“Missed you so fuckin’ much and now you’re here,” He puts his head on my shoulder, basically whispering into my ear, “I hate how you’re my weak spot and how I can’t properly get over you even though we were basically children.”
“Katsuki, listen.” I hold his face and he’s so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.
“Yeah?” He looks at me, features softening.
“Be my boyfriend, Katsuki.” I murmured softly, “For real this time. I swear the only person I’ve loved is you.”
He laughed out loud, “Thought we were married all along, wifey.”
I hug him tight and he speaks, “Don’t leave me again okay?”
“Promise.” I chuckled, “Also you need to get me another ring, I might have left the ring pop with my family.”
“You silly bitch. You’re lucky I love you.” He gently smacks me.
“And I love you too.” I smile.
…“And now, I pronounce the two of you husband and wife.”
Maybe this childhood best friend thing that I had wasn’t that bad either, seeing how we have two children together right now makes me smile at our memories together as a child. My breathtaking childhood best friend and the pro hero Dynamight that I could call my husband until the end of time.
#mha bakugou#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki#bakugo#bakugou x reader#bnha#my hero academia#drabble#nah#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#i love him so much#bakugo katuski#bakugou katsuki#bnha bakugou#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo mha#bakugou x you
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Jikook - Are you sure?!
My take is that they pretty much are!!
I've been mulling over this for a few days now.
Do I write this? How do I approach the subject and how do I even put this onto paper (figuratively)?
I touched on this a little in previous posts, including in my last one about choices. Clear cut choices the two of them made regarding enlistment, the show and how they wanted to spend the little spare time they had before their restrictive 18 months military service.
But this post here is specifically about the show.
Even before the show came out I was thinking about the subject and discussing this with friends. Why do the show? Is there something they are wanting to tell us and if so what is it they are trying to tell us?
The first question was an obvious to me even before the show came out, before we heard their discussion in the car on the way to CT.
It was a way to spend time together in the guise of work (once again, a choice they made so that they can spend much needed quality time together within the constricts of their schedules and upcoming enlistment - and that car discussion sure did show us just how much this was a need for the two of them).
Being such a short time before enlistment, both with separate super busy solo schedules, this here was their way of getting to travel together, including out of the country (for which they needed it to be for work to allow said travel at this point prior to enlistment), spend quality time together, creating those new memories to carry with them into the military, all while under the protection of "work".
It's not that they hadn't spent time together. We talked about this already. This was about it not being enough. Not enough quality time. Not enough memory making time before this life changing event they are going to go through.
We have to remember that when this was initially thought about, the idea of the show, them enlisting together was not a done deal. Can you just imagine that? Them knowing that time is running out and they have to enlist but might have to part ways for 18 months? If so many of us were so stressed out about the idea, what do you think it felt like for them?
There was so much going on behind the scenes, which we were unaware of, it's actually quite comical knowing what we know today and looking back at the discourse surrounding those two - the stories of heartbreaking breakups or just plain indifference to each other - all because people just cannot come to terms with the fact that not all their lives are out on display for us (kind of blows to pieces the whole Jikook are for fanservice narrative, if you ask me), that these two can and do spend time together when only they can, behind closed doors, just enjoying each other's company doing whatever. That there are powers at play (many reasons why they were toned down in public and content in 2023), that there are things they might need to be doing in order to reach an end goal that suits them, playing a long game. And the one sentence I have on repeat since I started here on Tumblr:
Not seeing them most definitely does not mean they aren't there.
And boy did they prove that one to us during AYS. Time after time. They get together. They see each other. They spend time with each other. They share things with each other. And huge surprise (NOT): they do it off camera!!! Without us knowing. Without reporting back to us. WOW!!!
As usual, off track meet Kanmom...
Back to the show.
So, talk about doing this came before they knew for sure that they would be enlisting together. It came months before. Way before July 2023. Toying with the idea, turning it into a plan of sorts and then it took planning and booking and getting permits for filming, including using drones for filming.
This might partially explain why the first trip happened in July and not earlier, although they both did have busy schedules pretty much from April 2023 onward and the trip happened when JM finished recording Muse).
And what about the destinations? Why these three?
Connecticut - I think this one was more of a chance decision, as in it was suggested to them seeing that timewise this was the only time they had available for that first much much needed trip. JK was already scheduled to be in the USA, they had Hybe America to rely on as far as finding locations, places to stay, activities to do and places to eat. And I do think that doing this, the unknown location in a country where they don't speak the language fluently was actually something of a thrill to them as well (going to a location where the chances of them being recognized as JM and JK of BTS were kind of low). But mainly, I do believe this was more of a "we need this trip and we need it now, so we will go wherever, just make it happen" kind of situation. This was "the much needed trip".
Jeju - Jeju is a safe place for them. A place they both love and have visited multiple times separately and together (the last time prior to this trip was only weeks before). Even without Tae, this would have been a lighthearted, activity filled fun trip. Tae being there highlighted them, their intimacy, their connection with each other. And it probably did tame down some of their naughtiness, although we did get to see plenty of that as well. This was "the fun trip".
Sapporo - Japan as a whole is a destination they love. I mean, and JK said that himself, Tokyo is where they took their first alone trip together, they loved Tokyo, and the memories from that trip are dear to their heart to this day. They got to do Tokyo together again. Not together all the time, probably not as much as they wanted to either, but still managed to spend some time together in Tokyo before moving on to Sapporo where they filmed the show. A trip to Japan, Tokyo, and Sapporo as well is a sentimental one. Places they have been, places where good memories were made (as part of BTS and as a couple), places where they will make more good memories that they will carry with them to the military. This is "the emotional/ sentimental trip", or "the nostalgic trip".
And you can see the difference in their behavior between the three trips. Each and every one of those trips meant so much to them but each in a different way. And when you look back at the three as a whole they needed all three.
The perfect trifecta.
The idea was spending time together, making it a work thing allowed for the travel abroad, but it also carved it into a work schedule. Which means, unlike regular time off that can be moved and cancelled, doing this set their plans in stone, in a way, ensuring that these trips actually happened.
This was also a huge opportunity for JM and JK to create content for Army for when they were away. A choice to showcase themselves, their "chemistry", a word used a lot to describe the show. This, on the one hand, was great for JM, who obviously does not want to be visible during his service (and JK is kind of the same, especially when he has JM by his side), and on the other hand created content for Hybe to release while they were away. And having it on Disney, creating merch and a photobook (and maybe there is more stuff to come) is more income for the company while they are away, so win win (that explains Hybe agreeing to this in the first place).
All those are obvious, clear reasons as to why this show came into fruition.
But I do think there is more.
And before I move on to that, I want to remind us all, once again and with feeling, that all 3 destinations were supposed to be Jikook and Jikook only. Jeju was not meant to be a maknae destination. Tae was not invited, and I mean no malice in that. It's just me stating the truth. They let him know that multiple times during the trip. And him being there, in a sense, just highlighted how different they are with each other than either of them or both of them with Tae.
So, they wanted to do a show, just the two of them, visiting different destinations, enjoying different activities, good food and just being (the whole them just being was more evident in CT and Sapporo because of it only being the two of them, although we certainly did get some Jikook BEING moments from Jeju as well).
I get wanting to spend the time together, carve out new memories to carry with them into enlistment, but why show it to us, why the way it was done? Hours and hours of Jikook content, some of just the two basically doing nothing, or nothing much? It's not about sightseeing (not really), it's not about the activities, not really, it's not even about the food (gasp).
This is not about the travel, it's about them!!!
It's about them doing their thing, and us just enjoying sitting for hours on end, watching them do their thing and SEEING them.
Not the places they go, not the things they do, not even the food they eat. It's seeing them do those things, eat those things, be together - them just BE.
And it's about them wanting to give that to us. They want us to see THEM. See what they are together, what they are to each other.
JK and JM know that there are parts of the fandom that have a visceral reaction to them, as Jikook (together and apart - a lot of said hate stems from what and who they are together) . We know that JK monitors SM. Maybe not down to the ugliest, but they know. And still they want to show themselves, because this is who they are and they want to be able to be themselves as freely as possible (depending on just how far they want to be going).
They can't come out and tell us, not yet, maybe not ever. It is what it is, sadly.
But they do want to cement this within the fandom:
JM and JK together can be over the top in every sense. PERIOD.
And when I say over the top I mean as sus as shit...
JM and JK love each other dearly. PERIOD.
JM and JK are inseparable. PERIOD.
JM and JK are close as can be. PERIOD.
JM and JK enjoy spending time with each other. PERIOD.
JM and JK CHOOSE to spend time with each other when they can (the whole Jeju change of plans makes it even clearer) - PERIOD.
JM and JK NEED to spend time with each other. PERIOD.
JM and JK are playful together, as much as they are serious together - PERIOD.
JM and JK care for each other and take care of each other (well they try to as much as the other allows it). PERIOD.
JM and JK enjoy to do the exciting and the mundane together. PERIOD.
*I do believe that JK climbing is just as exciting as rock climbing. And they enjoyed both...
JM and JK know each other intimately - PERIOD.
JM and JK find safety, peace and comfort in each other - PERIOD.
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JM and JK do not act like a typical "we are not in a relationship" hyung and donsaeng act - PERIOD.
JM and JK do things bros just do not do with or to each other - PERIOD.
JM and JK share their work with each other - PERIOD.
JM and JK are the embodiment of You are me I am you - PERIOD.
Jikook can most definitley be seen as a unit. PERIOD.
*Something that has been shied away from for too damn long.
Add to all of that those the things you just can't put into words. But they are there. They are undeniable. That chemistry, that love, that need, that je ne sais quoi, that engulfs everything else and makes it all feel like so much MORE!!!
More palpable, more intense, just MORE.
Remember my whole rubber band theory starting way back in 2021, how I think Hybe and Jikook were stretching the boundaries seeing just how far it can be stretched without breaking?
Ear suck stretch, pas de deux stretch, Christmas couples cheer stretch, hickey stretch (these are all moments that were either shown by the company in official content - like memories - or part of officially filmed content - like filmed performances)... and then came 2022 followed by 2023, with the company taking 20 steps back, but that's for another day (if ever).
This here, my friends, is the ultimate rubber band stretch. Hours and hours of content to show us that every single one of those Jikook instances that came before were not a one of. Not forced. Not singular and far apart. That what we have seen of them is NOTHING compared to what they are, because this is them all the damn time. Cameras on cameras off (dare I say that when cameras are off it's way worse?). Together with the others, or by themselves. No more "it might be out of context". We get the context, most of it, and still we get THEM. And that rubber band, it still hasn't snapped, cause there are still those that do not see it, lol. But, I think it's safe to say that many do and those that don't, well, many of them cannot deny anymore just how close they are. Even though "brothers" or "besties" still comes up a lot.
It's funny how things that were obvious to many of us needed to be reinforced by JM and JK in this show. It always baffled me the way a big chunk of this fandom steered away from Jikook, like touching on the subject was a taboo. Like Jikookers were insane, delusional (we are used to be called that). Not only steering away from a romantic involvement, but also that, god forbid, they are the closest within the group of 7. That didn't sit right with many. Ruined their Vmin soulmates dreams, or TKK best mates or whatever (do we raise the subject once again why the clearly closest duo in the group were kind of put aside, not acknowledged as such not only by the fandom but by the company as well?). OR, and I feel like this one is the winner, admitting as to how close those two were, with their clear super suspicious behaviour, would have them have to admit that there was something more going on between them. Homophobia or over wokeness, either way these people were ignoring what the two were signaling to us for years now. And now, well now, we are in chapter 2, or perhaps just before chapter 3. All of them after service. We know from RM how he's bursting at the seams to tell us things he feels he can't say just yet (and couldn't prior to enlistment), I do believe this is going to be something we will be seeing from all of them. They are mature men now, they have fulfilled their duty to their country, they are BTS, talented successful, rich artists. They have signed new contracts after long negotiations. They will have more freedom. And they will be showing us more. Things they couldn't before. And this show, imo, is one of those steps forward.
Let the world see JM and JK as they are. There will be those that SEE them. There will be those that acknowledge their closeness. There will always be those that continue to deny or hate them because they SEE them. But at the end of the day, this here is a step forward for them to be able to live their lives openly, be who they are to each other and with each other, not have to hide or tone back too much (there will always be toning back because you can't be too open on camera and because at this point they are kind of used to it). They don't have to 'come out' officially loudly (if they do not choose to). As long as they can continue to BE the way they want to and live their lives freely the way they want to. It's always been their choice, but this here allows them more freedom within that glass closet if they choose not to break through it. They will be who they are, live their lives freely as they will, leaving others to think as they want, neither denying nor confirming anything.
Let's be clear here though. This too is a choice. A brave one as such. Because no matter what they decide to do, if it is to leave things as they are, or if they decide post military service to 'come out' as a couple (and there could be reasons for them to make that choice), this show here is as loud as @&#%.
And proud as $@&%
*And for clarification sake, just incase, none of the above is me voicing my opinion about if or should they 'come out' or not after being discharged from the military.
I can't believe AYS is coming to an end. Last episode tomorrow. I know we still have the behinds and we still have the photobook coming, but I sure am feeling the "the show has come to an end" blues. This here, what we got with this show I don't know if we will ever get another chance at. Them letting us in as much as they did. I do hope they know just how much we appreciate them allowing us to see THEM and how very much they are loved!!!
#Jikook#Kookmin#Minkook#Jungkook#Jimin#JK#JM#Are you sure? Jikook#Are you sure? CT#Are you sure? Jeju#Are you sure? Sapporo
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𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 [𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]
Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.
The originals of my works can be read here
Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail
Pairings: Aventurine x dealer!fem!reader
Warnings: gambling, sexual tension.
Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq I'm just starting my blog on Boosty, but I'll be glad if you support me with a subscription and read the full NSFW version of this work there. Soon there will be other works that will not be published on Tumblr.
▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. VIVIZ — MANIAC
You have long heard from other casino employees about a certain visitor, which comes here quite often, but you have never been lucky enough to meet him until today. The girls sighed languidly, referring to him as a handsome man, preparing to serve him the best drink, for which he would pay generously, and the men working in security only irritably noted that if he visited the institution today, they would only have more work. Then you didn't pay any attention to their words until one of the bar staff squealed with delight, energetically pointing at the blond man who entered the hall.
A dazzling smile, a light gait, but a sly look hidden behind gold glasses, gliding across the tables and the employees standing behind them before playfully sparkling violet-blue eyes rest on you. Your back straightens reflexively, and your fingers wrap around the back of your hand, and you nod in greeting when several men, led by a blond man, approach your poker table. You have been working in the field of gambling for several years, so you can easily notice expensive watches, chains and rings on his hands and a long earring in the ear of an elegant man in a hat, dressed in a black jacket with a fur collar, a turquoise shirt with a small but provocative neckline on the chest and white trousers with patent leather shoes. In total, all the clothes and trinkets of this person can be compared to the cost of your life. Winning will not matter to him, as losing will not greatly affect the quality of his life, which means he simply enjoys a sense of excitement and superiority, since, according to rumors, he plays very well.
«Well…»
— Oh? I haven't seen you before, — the blond man lowers his glasses on the bridge of his nose, smiling slyly at you as soon as you raise your head.
— I'm sorry, sir, today I'm serving you, because the dealer who is more familiar to you is ill, but I assure you, this will not affect the quality of the time spent in our institution in any way, — you kindly answer with a calm expression on your face, which causes the blonde to chuckle softly.
— How official! Relax, honey, — the man leans lower, slightly tilting his head to one side, carefully watching how the expression on your face changes to a more tense one. — It's a pity that… Oh, what was her name? — the blonde pulls away, thinking for a second, trying to remember the name of your colleague, but in the end only sighs briefly, spreading his hands. — It doesn't matter. You've been brought up to date, that we're going to need a separate room, haven't you?
— Yes, sir. Please follow me.
An unpleasant person. It was clear from afar that it was better to stay as far away from him as possible. These vibes of nauseating self-confidence and narcissism definitely don't bode well, but you still humbly do your duty, pulling on a smile and letting the guests into the VIP-room. Usually this room is rented by companies of influential people whose names are so well known to everyone that such guests don't even bother to introduce themselves, because you always know who they are, but these men… You're seeing them for the first time.
Anyway, a job is a job.
— Have a seat, dear guests. Would you like to see the bar menu?
Men in suits silently take their seats, and only an energetic blonde immediately responds to the sound of your voice, standing in front of the last empty chair.
— We'll order the same as usual,— the stranger says sweetly, spreading into a frighteningly sweet smile that sends chills down my spine.
— I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know…
— Oh, how could I forget! — the blond man clasps his hands in a gesture of apology. — Whiskey on the rocks.
His theatricality is a little annoying, but that's none of your business.
— As you wish, sir.
The female silhouette peeking out from behind the slightly open door and instantly disappearing after the blonde's words only made your task easier, allowing you not to even leave the room. It seems that this man is really very popular among girls, which, in principle, isn't surprising. A pretty face, a thick purse and a sugary voice, like a demeanor, are the pillars that support the classic image of a heartthrob in the eyes of any woman. It would be fascinating if you hadn't met such people before. This place is teeming with both men and women, sometimes even reasonably believing that the whole world belongs to them. Perhaps you would have bought into his charisma too, if you were as frivolous as a bar employee rushing into a room no more than five minutes after the order was placed.
— Thank you, dear. As always, you help out, otherwise my friends seem to be out of sorts today, — the blond man chuckles melodiously, looking at the other five guests. You can almost see in their stern looks the desire to strangle this talkative flatterer, and you can't help but chuckle to yourself.
— Anything for our beloved visitor! Have a nice game, — your friend blushes, smiling shyly before leaving the room, barely restraining a satisfied squeak.
You modestly clear your throat, drawing the attention of everyone at the table to yourself.
— Well, gentlemen, shall we begin?
You leave the button* in front of the blond man sitting first on your left hand. Early* is the most unfavorable position to start the game, but he should have known about it when he sat down here, or is it just an accident?
After the preflop*, while you were deftly shuffling the deck in your hands, someone had already started emptying their glass of whiskey, someone took out a pair of fragrant chocolate cigars. The blonde just watched carefully how skillfully you dealt the cards, not missing a single movement of your fingers. For a second, you even doubted that he didn't trust the new dealer, but every time you dared to look at him, his lips stretched into an even more sugary smile, and his eyes always found yours. Is he trying to get you into the same emotions as the silly waitresses? You wonder how soon he'll lose interest in your indifferent face?
The game went on quite calmly until three people remained at the table, including a smiling blond man.
— Ace of hearts, two of spades, jack of hearts, ten of clubs, two of hearts. The bets are made, you can open, — you say in a monotone voice, glancing at the cards on the table that turn over one by one.
«Street? Not bad…» — you stop looking at the blond's cards before you hear a thud on the table. After looking at the other hands it became clear that there is nothing on the table stronger than two pairs.
— Oh, don't get mad! We've just started, — the blond man raises his hands in an innocent gesture, chuckling softly, it seems, making the man opposite even angrier.
It seems that now you understand a little what the casino guards were so unhappy about, but the more games passed, the more sad the blonde's position became. The empty glasses were hastily replaced with newly filled ones with a new portion of whiskey, and the concentration of smoke in the small room became more and more suffocating, it seems, only exposing the undisguised glee of the men at the table, allowing themselves to mock the blonde, who was catastrophically unlucky today. A flush* against a royal flush, a pair against a square* and, in the end, his hand could only boast of the highest card*. What a disappointment.
— Here, order yourself one more whiskey, — one of the departing men casually tossed a couple of chips in front of the blond man sprawled on a chair, grinning hoarsely before staggering slightly out of the room after the other four, whose loud voices disappeared into the noise of the casino outside the door.
— Sure, — the man who remained at the table smiled gently at the departing acquaintance before taking a sip from his glass.
You wanted to say something, maybe even encourage him, but it's not your way to mind your own business, so you just silently gathered the cards from the table, about to ask the guest to leave the room, when suddenly he spoke first.
— That's not what you expected, is it? — you turn to the blond man, who is resting his head on his own palm. The same strange smile is still playing on his lips, even despite how much money he left at this institution today. He's really weird.
— I don't know what you mean. I don't know how you play, so I couldn't even try to predict the outcome of the game.
— Come on. You know how I play. That girl from the bar told you about me, didn't she?
Annoy.
— Even so, I'm not used to trust rumors, — you reply indifferently, carefully putting the cards back in the box.
— In that case, now you can conclude that I'm a lousy player? Oh, that would be unfortunate, because everyone has unlucky days.
— I don't think it's about luck, — you wanted to say that someone should just drink less and make less risky bets, but you restrained yourself, maintaining professionalism.
— Ho-oh? Then what is it? — the blond man perked up even more, waiting curiously for your answer.
— It is not appropriate for me to give advice to visitors, because my earnings, among other things, depend on them.
— That's how it is! So I was wrong when I decided that you weren't like the other girls looking at my wallet?
— It turns out that it is. But I'm looking at the wallets of every potentially profitable player for me, — you shrug your shoulders. — And now, if you'll excuse me, you should leave the room, since the game is over.
— How pragmatic, you remind me of someone I know, — the blond man, as if he hadn't heard your last words, gets up from his chair, coming closer. — So you don't believe in luck, huh?
The man leans slightly forward, looking into your eyes from under the half-lowered glasses on the bridge of his nose. The expensive sweet fragrance of the perfume instantly cuts into your nostrils, and you take a small step back.
— It's absurdly to rely only on luck in poker. That's all I wanted to say.
— Hm-m … — the blond man pretends to think. — You're right. Then what about roulette?
— Even roulette has its own patterns, but if we don't go into details, of course, this game revolves exclusively around chance.
— Great! Then can we play? — the man turns towards the roulette table, which has apparently not been used for a long time, in the corner of the room.
— I'm afraid my shift is already over… — you frown, even before you finish, he interrupts you.
— Oh, I was so catastrophically unlucky today that I just want to win back at least another game, otherwise I won't be able to sleep peacefully tonight… Are you really that heartless?
— You can use the services of a croupier and play roulette in the hall.
— It would be sad, because I already liked you, — the blonde smiles, looking into your eyes again.
— If you're trying to flirt with me like that, then I'm in a hurry to upset you — it won't work, — you reply irritably, about to leave, when suddenly a weak grip on your wrist stops you.
— I'm sad to hear that, but what if I make a bet?
You turn around, batting your eyelashes in puzzlement when you meet the sharp gaze of a man's violet-blue eyes.
— You can't play roulette without betting, what's the point of all this?
— Let's say… if my bet plays out, you owe me a kiss, what do you say?
You almost boil with anger, looking at this personification of self-confidence standing in front of you.
— I'm not going to play your games, let go of my hand.
The attempt to pull back your hand was unsuccessful, on the contrary, only forcing the blond to pull you closer.
— It seems that luck isn't on my side today, so if I lose, I'll just leave.
The desire to just slap him in the face is almost impossible to ignore, but you wouldn't be working here if you weren't a gambling person too. Your lips stretch into an arrogant smile as you approach the blond man's face, slightly squinting your eyes.
— In that case, on what number* will you put it on?
The blond man's eyebrows rise, after which a ringing laugh is heard in the room.
— I knew you could entertain me! — the man lets go of your hand, but does not take a step away from you before saying softly. — I'm betting on zero.
«He's crazy!»
You almost laughed at how crazy his bet turned out to be, but it sounds like he's already agreed to leave you alone, so you just smiled, silently retreating to the corner of the dimly lit room. The table has indeed not been used for a long time, having already become covered with a layer of dust, but you take a small ball, gently rolling it in your hand before turning towards the blond man who remains standing at the poker table. He doesn't seem to care at all that he's going to lose now, and the smile doesn't leave his face for a second. It will be all the sweeter to see how the expression on his face will change when he loses.
— Your bet is accepted, — you say loudly before spinning the roulette wheel by throwing a ball at it.
The man doesn't even look at the spinning roulette wheel, instead watching your eyes follow the ball as it slides across the sectors.
12, 35, 3, 26, and finally….
— It can't be… — you whisper, eyes wide open and just looking at how the ball stopped at zero.
— Ho-oh? What's is it? Judging by your reaction, did I win? — the blond man grins, slowly removing his hat from his head and leaving the hat on the edge of the poker table.
This can't be happening. Betting on numbers is always a huge risk, because the chance that the ball will stop at the chosen one is incredibly small. Was he… really just lucky?
You purse your lips, summoning all the self-control you have to turn to the man with an indifferent expression on your face.
— That's right, congratulations on winning, sir.
— M-m… it's not just a win, you remember the conditions, right? — the blond man says playfully, slowly walking towards you, until finally he towers over you, elegantly ripping the glasses off his face.
«This jerk has probably been rehearsing this for years…»
— I didn't have to accept such bets at all, — you mutter irritably.
— I understand your disappointment, but still, you accepted it. Be kind enough to hand me my prize, — you look into the extraordinarily beautiful eyes of a man, trying your best to deny how really attractive he looks without glasses and a hat.
— Ahem… okay. But can I at least get your name? I wouldn't want to kiss a complete stranger.
— Huh? So you don't know who I am? How cute, — the blond man squints, breaking into a smile. — You can call me Aventurine. And you… — the man hooks the badge on your chest with the tip of his finger. — Y/N.
Where have all your old composure gone? They probably got lost somewhere in the midst of this madness, which for some reason you signed up for, following your own excitement. Self-confidence is just as much your enemy as Aventurine, only in this case he is elated with victory, and you are trying to collect your thoughts in order to fulfill the conditions of the game he started.
— Excuse me… — you mumble awkwardly before pressing your lips to the man's cheek, leaving as quick a kiss as possible to hastily turn away, hiding the blush that has appeared on your face.
— Hey! And what was that? — Aventurine says in disappointment, touching the place of your kiss with the tips of his black-gloved fingers.
— You asked for a kiss, but didn't specify which one, — you try to sound confident, but still mentally berate yourself for not being able to look into his eyes right now.
— Oh… — the blond man sighs heavily, pulling away and approaching the roulette table. — I'm not satisfied with such a victory. Let's do it again.
— Huh?! — you cry out indignantly, looking at the back of the impudent man rolling the ball around the zero sector. — I shouldn't be here at all, and neither should you!
— I'm betting on zero again.
You freeze, raising an eyebrow when you turn to Aventurine.
— You're going to lose.
— Maybe, — the man shrugs, turning to face you and leaning on the edge of the table. — But if the bet plays out again, you'll give me a real long kiss.
— I'm not going to waste my time on this madness. The chances of hitting zero a second time are so small that it's easier for you to just leave this room right now, since it's simply impossible to play this bet.
— Let it be so. You don't lose anything if you're so sure of my defeat, do you? Besides, didn't you say that you don't give advice to the players?
It annoys you how logical his words sound. But what's even more annoying is that you really doubt it. It's just not possible. You have to show this arrogant idiot his place.
— Okay, — and here you go back to the roulette table again. — But if you lose, you will never return to this casino again.
Aventurine's purple eyes widen before flashing a gambling spark.
— And you know how to make the game more interesting, — the man grins, picking up the ball from the table, carefully leaving it in your hand. — I agree.
This will be the craziest bet anyone has ever made in the entire existence of this casino. And it only fuels your interest too. You spin the wheel in anticipation by throwing the ball. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as if your own life is at stake. It's been a long time since you've experienced such adrenaline, no matter how absurd what's happening, because it's worth it to win…
— Ha-ha! It seems that today is really my day, — Aventurine grins as the ball slowly rolls and stops at sector zero. Again. — The money I lost in poker was worth spending all my luck on such a tempting prize.
Impossible. He just did the impossible. What were the chances? The mind is so devastated by shock that you can't even approximate the probability, just silently looking at the green sector in amazement.
— You're not… cheating, are you? — you're almost whispering, without opening your eyes from the little ball.
— What cruel accusations! How, tell me, could I cheat at roulette? — the man clicks his tongue in frustration, slowly wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling your body towards his. — If these are just assumptions without any evidence, I think it's time to start awarding the second prize.
The lips open, releasing a soft sigh into the air. You feel the warmth emanating from his body, the smell that his nauseatingly expensive clothes exude, and you feel his measured breathing on the skin of your face when Aventurine bends down, almost touching his lips to yours and freezes.
— I'll make it easier for you this time, — the blond whispers, letting his warm breath caress the delicate skin of your lips.
— What do you mean?.. — the only thing you managed to say right before Aventurine's lips covered yours.
Long fingers dive into your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back, and he deepens the kiss, insistently making his way with his tongue through your lips, which are not too resisting. A soft moan dissolves in Aventurine's mouth, and your fingers desperately cling to the fabric of the shirt on the man's chest, but still you respond to the kiss, allowing your tongue to stick out a little further, slowly waltzing in tandem with his. The shock was instantly replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and a flutter in his chest. It seemed that this kiss lasted forever, so harmonious, gentle, but passionate, as if you have known each other for so long that Aventurine doesn't need much effort to make you melt in his hands, which you allow to touch your body.
Lips gasp for air as soon as Aventurine pulls away, looking at your flushed, relaxed face, which isn't touched by the former cold indifference with which you looked at him all evening.
It's a strange feeling. From the very beginning, when you saw this man, the only thought that you would never in your life become infatuated with just his presence somewhere nearby was ingrained in your head, now fighting for supremacy with the unwillingness that he would let you go. You shouldn't give in to this.
You gently press on Aventurine's chest, shuddering as soon as you feel his warm skin under your fingertips, noticing that you touched this very seductive neckline.
— Is that all? I have to go… — you say softly, trying to get out of Aventurine's hands, but he's not even going to let go of your waist or your cheek, to which his palm is still pressed.
— Really? Well, then I won't hold you back, — the blond man grins, still continuing to prevent your imaginary escape.
— Then let me go. I gave away your winnings and I don't owe you anything else.
— Yes, you did, — the man whispers, gently stroking your cheek with a thumb in a leather glove.
You look at each other without saying a word and freeze like statues. The muffled sounds of slot machines, clinking glasses and laughter come from the hall outside the door, breaking the silence that hangs between the two of you, but you can't hear anything else except your own rapid heartbeat throbbing in your ears. A strange warmth spreads in your chest, gradually sinking down, and a heavy weakness settles in your legs, which doesn't allow you to move from your place.
«What are you doing, Y/N?», — you ask yourself one last time before you swear unintelligibly under your breath, grabbing Aventurine's shirt in order to involve the man in the kiss again. Greedy, careless, but you needed it. The blonde's palm shamelessly moves to your buttocks, covered with black trousers, gently squeezing the elastic flesh, and your fingers slowly slip under the neckline in the shape of an inverted heart, caressing the heated skin of Aventurine's chest.
— W-wait… — you suddenly break off the kiss, breathing heavily and looking at the purple irises covered with long eyelashes.
— What's is it? I won't complain that the dealer is harassing me if you're worried about it, — Aventurine grins, forcing the expression on your face to change to the old irritation.
— This is wrong. I don't have to…
— I don't care about the rules, — the man tilts his head to one side, smiling playfully. — I'm betting on black.
— What? — you ask discouraged, watching the man's fingers hastily undoing the buttons of your white shirt.
— If I win, now you'll be my prize, — Aventurine winks at you before opening the cotton fabric on your chest, noticing you are wearing a black lace bra. — Tsk-tsk, how unlucky you are today. I won again.
✧ ✧ ✧
The button is a special chip marked "D", transmitted clockwise and identifying the dealer (in this case, the dealer is an employee of the casino, so the button only determines who will bet first).
The early position is the player's place at the poker table, located immediately behind the dealer.
Preflop is the initial stage of the poker game, which includes the distribution of cards and the first bets, including blinds.
A straight is a combination of a sequence of five cards.
A hand is a combination of two cards in the player's hands.
A flash combination of five cards of the same suit.
Royal flush is the strongest combination of cards from 10 to ace of the same suit.
A pair is a combination of two cards of the same value (for example, two aces).
A square is a combination of five cards of the same value (for example, four aces).
The highest card is the card of the highest value of all lying on the table.
In roulette, it is possible to bet on one color, on even and odd numbers, and so on, including you can bet on a specific number, which is quite risky due to the reduced chances that such a bet will play, but the winnings from it are multiplied by 35.
#headcanons#hsr#hsr x reader#honkai:star rail#honkai:star rail x reader#hsr drabbles#aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#aventurine smut#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#hsr x you
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𝐈𝐭❜𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐭!
Summary ➳ When you and the rest decide to sneak up on an Orc camp, you receive an injury. You believe you can handle it yourself but Legolas thinks otherwise.
(A/n) ➳ I AM SO SORRY! Tumblr ended up deleting the request but I remember it but not all of it so forgive me if this isn’t what you wanted. If it isn’t then don’t hesitate to shoot a message or request again!! I also learned that apparently the Fellowship traveled at night and slept during the day. I seriously did not know that until today.
Word Count ➳ 1.5k
Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, description of violence, blood, death, stitching, blood loss, angst-to-fluff…
“There must be some other way.” Legolas uttered to Boromir. “You cannot believe that sending (Y/n) out to assassinate the Orcs is the best solution.”
“She won’t be alone, Aragorn will be there with them.” Boromir replied. “The two of them will attack from above while we attack from below.” He drew his sword, walking closer to the Orc that was alone. He was swift with it, moving behind the Orc and slitting its throat. “See? Wasn’t that hard.”
You took a deep breath as you aimed your bow, you kept your focus on the leader. You could see from the corner of your eye Aragon sneaking up on the other two. You knew he was waiting on your signal and he would wait however long, but you were all on a strict time.
Another deep breath and- “Hey!” You shouted out of instinct, Legolas’s arrow went through the Orc’s head, killing him but you brought attention to yourself.
You jumped down from the tree and quickly nocked, drew, aimed, and released at one Orc that was reaching for its weapon. You swerved past another arrow, more flying past your head until you took cover over a giant rock.
Before you could nock another arrow, an Orc came from behind, grabbing your arms to throw you against the ground. You rolled when he attempted to stab you, dodging more swings until you managed to kick his sword away.
He charged at you, taking your knife that was strapped to your leg, and used it against you. You used your bow to block a couple of slashes until he fell to the ground. Instead of standing, he got onto his knees and managed to stab you in your thigh.
You let out a scream but in return, you shot an arrow through his head. Your breathing staggered as your hand wrapped around the knife and slowly pulled it out and then covered it with terrible bandaging.
“(Y/n)!” Legolas popped up a few seconds later. “I heard you scream.”
“I believed I twisted my ankle.” You covered your wound with your as best as you could, smiling through the pain.
“Let me help you.” Legolas took your hand, helping you walk to the rest of the group. Luckily, your cloak covered your bleeding wound and your dark pants were enough to hide the blood seeping out. “We just have a couple more hours before daylight.”
Like Legolas said, Aragorn finally decided that it was time to rest. “We will set out when it becomes dark.” He told you all before he started to set up his makeshift bed.
Legolas looked over your ankle, looking closely and pressing against it, looking back at you for a reaction. “It doesn’t seem to be twisted, but it may be strained. You have been jumping a lot, and might have happened when your footing was incorrect.”
You could practically feel the sweat running down your forehead. “Does it seem bad?”
Legolas smiled, his usual smile that was beaming with kindness. “No, the pain should fade later. Are you in pain or hurt anywhere else?”
“No, no, thank you.” After Legolas joined Aragorn, chatting. It wasn’t long before it was just murmurs among the Fellowship. Sam and Frodo were cooking together, Gimli was most likely perched up against a tree sleeping, but you didn’t know about the rest.
You were farther into the forest, a needle and thread in your hand. You placed a thick piece of fabric in between your teeth and bit down, you used your other hand to keep the gash close together so you could stitch it.
You let out a strained cry as you attempted to stitch your wound yourself but it was difficult due to your vision blurring. You didn’t know how long you were out here, so focused on closing your wound that you didn’t hear branches breaking or leaves crunching.
“You’re hurt.” Legolas’s voice broke you out of your concentration. You could see the panic in his eyes, he kneeled by your side, taking the needle from you and moving your hand from your thigh. “And you’re doing it incorrectly. You’re hurting yourself more.”
He used his other hand to pull a container of water, and flushed out your wound. “How did you get this? And when?”
“Just a couple hours ago.”
“And you’ve been bleeding this entire time?” Legolas’s voice was filled to the brim with regret, like he was ashamed of himself. He carefully threaded the thread into your skin, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose.
You took out the cloth from your mouth. “Look Legolas, I’m still alive and well.” You tried to ease him. “I’ll be alright, I’m okay.”
“I should’ve known, you have been moving slower, as well as your reaction time.” He acknowledged. Once he finished stitching your wound, he poured water again to wash out the rest of the dried blood.
He helped you to your feet, throwing your arm over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. He moved at a slow pace back to camp, everyone was now asleep, save it for Aragorn who just watched you both silently.
He helped you lay down. “I’ll be fine.” You repeated yourself, it felt like the hundredth time.
Legolas shook his head. “Please, do not hide anything. You shouldn’t be silent about these kinds of things.”
As if waking up very early in the morning couldn’t be any better, Orcs have seemed to find you all. You had a feeling that they were stalking you all, waiting for the moment to attack. You used your bow instead of your sword, making sure none of the Orcs came close to the Hobbits.
An Orc charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings but not the kick to the leg, making you kneel and it felt like the stitches broke.
You screamed as you used your arrow to stab it into the Orc’s shoulder. Legolas’s arrow came from behind and slew the bastard and Merry came to your side to help you stand.
“Run into the forest!” Boromir shouted, blocking the sword coming down at him. “Go! Quickly!”
Merry helped you speed through the forest. You suddenly felt sick, like you wanted to pass out. But it wasn’t long before the Orcs gave up the chase and Merry sat you against a tree.
“They’re bleeding!” Merry alerted the rest of the Fellowship.
Legolas dropped in front of you, pushing your hands away from the wound. “I need a needle and thread.” He said, more like demanded. “Or a cloth to stop the bleeding.”
Aragorn ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Legolas, he snatched it and was quick to tie it around your wound. “I’ll need some herbs, in case the wound becomes infected.” Sam shuffled through his bag. “Luckily you should be able to walk but not run.”
You swore under your breath. “It seems the Orcs are watching us at all times.” You looked up at Aragorn. “What do we do?” You asked him.
“There may be another camp nearby.” Aragorn replied. “Boromir, Legolas, we need to search.”
“Someone should stay and protect the Hobbits.”
“Gimli is here and (Y/n) still has the strength to use their bow.”
“But what if they need to retreat? What will happen then?” Legolas still pressed, wanting to remain by your side. “We cannot put the Hobbits at risk, especially the ringbearer.”
“Gimli will be here, just go with them.” You told him.
“I will not.”
Aragorn was too annoyed to even put up an argument anymore. “Let us go then.”
When they were out of sight, you pushed his shoulder slightly. “What was that?” You asked him, confused out of your mind.
“Someone must be here to protect the Hobbits-”
“I know that, it would’ve been fine. They are taking care of the camp, the Orcs won’t be nearby to bother us.” You once again tried to explain to him. “What is going on with you? Are you still feeling guilty?”
“No-”
“Doesn’t seem like that.” Your breathing hitched as you attempted to stand.
Legolas grabbed your warm to stop you. “You cannot be moving at the moment. Give yourself time to relax.”
“It’s just a small cut!”
“A cut that could’ve killed you.”
You huffed. “What is going on with you Legolas?”
“Becoming reckless is one thing but hiding a serious injury that could have killed you is another. It makes me worry, it makes me question if you have more injuries you’ve hidden.”
“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the wound. I didn’t think that it would mean so much for you.” You admitted.
“I worry, I worry every single day, every fight, during the night and during the daybreak. Will the morrow be the day where someone or something takes you from me?” His hand grazed over your wound. “I just want to know I’ve done everything and anything.”
“I’m sorry.” You apologized again.
“Just promise me, I do not care how small it is or how big, please do not hesitate to ask for help.”
You nodded. “I promise.”
© Intoxicated-Chan 2023, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.
#divider by cafekitsune#x reader#fluff#legolas x you#legolas x reader#legolas greenleaf#legolas#legolas lotr#Aragorn#boromir#merry#Sam#Frodo#x gender neutral reader#lotr x y/n#lotr x you#lotr x reader#the hobbit x y/n#the hobbit x you#the hobbit x reader
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