#he’s written a bit differently in my au
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Going to dump my titan!Optimus au stuff here a bit. Here are some headcanons and bit of lore for anyone who wants to learn more!
Optimus tends to get protective the farther into his stages he goes into. “Oh bumblebee, you’re certainly NOT going to that drive in theater alone.” Because of this, sometimes it can be overwhelming. “Optimus! I don’t need to be carried!”
Because of his progressing increase of size, Optimus needs to adjust to his newfound size. Let’s say he recently had a growth spurt, he ends up hitting his helm on top of doorframes, beams, catwalks, etc. Poor Optimus. He can be clumsy too, underestimating his size like how a large dog thinks they can be on your lap.
Ratchet tends to find stuff damaged. Oh boy… He sees his tools damaged? “Optimus! I NEEDED that!” It’s not his fault, Ratchet!
Bulkhead likes to spar with Prime in the hangars. It is all fun and games till Bulkhead wants a challenge. He is a wrecker after all.
Lore time? When Primus transformed into Cybertron, he birthed the first transformers: The Primes. These Primes were guardians, protectors of their new world. Ancient beings that partially made it to being mini titans in the war. Unicron was fended off, but there is the whole Quintesson War thing now.
Their remains can be discovered but finding them is the challenge. They did eventually get discovered, history was written in the archives for cybertronians to learn of their history.
Optimus ends up being the largest by the end of TFP, the rebirth into his 2.0 form gave him a height boost for sure. Or if you’re going off other continuities, there are different reasons. However, this one is currently for TFP. I do like the idea of him NOT DYING (for once) and watch how large he ends up becoming by the end of the war in other continuities…
I haven’t really fleshed the au out fully but here is what I had thought about. It ain’t perfect.
#transformers#tfprime#tf prime#titan optimus prime#titan!optimus#titan au#transformers prime ratchet#tfp ratchet#tfp optimus prime#tfp bulkhead#transformers one#tf g1#tf one#transformers prime optimus#transformers prime#tfp#transformers au#giant/tiny#g/t#prime talks
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I am unsure if people remember my pink Rumpel design but I recently did a fun redesign of him adding even more things from his concept art and some personal HCs. Not replacing the old one this is just the one for my main AU :3
#poptropica#rumpelstiltskin#he’s written a bit differently in my au#So I change his outfit to reflect that
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Some days you want to work hard on your little fanfic epics, spending hours detangling the lore and timeline and plans for stories crying in the night for an update, and some days you're sick off your rocker and just hacking a lung out while haze-blinking into the horizon as you halt reading someone else's fic summary mid-first sentence to hard left turn into a very blurry but detailed daydream about the dwarves thinking Bilbo died in the Battle of the Five Armies while Bilbo--unaware of a king and his company upending their own mountain in a fit of grief as he heals among the Men or Elves--ends up in an awkward Race to Mordor with a Sauron he is barely aware of alongside his own ironic Nine, made up of himself, Gandalf, Bard, Legolas, Tauriel, and a trio of dwarves (Dís, Gimli, Gimli's mom) plus an unexpected favorite cousin (Falco Chubb-Baggins) who all broke off from the first convoy of Blue Mountain immigrants to Erebor to go along and protect Bilbo.
Place bets now on how Thorin & Company hear of their burglar's survival and latest insanity (highest bids placed on the remaining Blue Mountain travelers passing along word vs a smarmy message from Thranduil), how quickly they shake off their shrouds of mourning and royal pseudo-widowhood, and where exactly on the path between Erebor and Mount Doom they manage to catch up to and dog pile an unwitting Hobbit.
#apologies for the sick day rambles#bagginshield#story ideas#I need to master the art of authors who cover a whole adventure/story in flash scenes across a series of short fics#i'd get so many of these ideas down in at least written form if I could master that vs my impulse for 100K+ monsters#bilbo fellowship au#i'm normally not for a 'bilbo destroys the ring early' since i love lotr so much I don't want to derail it too much but~ when the ideas hit#still it feels wrong to have only 1 hobbit in a fellowship so I played off those falco chubb-baggins lore tidbits#and I headcanon falco as a young curly haired michael sheen. just cause I love him & think he looks a fair bit like martin freeman.#bonus points include early gigolas humor gimli mom lore dis-bilbo in-law bonding & bilbo carrying a dwobbit frodo the entire gd time#last 2 points leading to Thorin slamming into the action ready to scream at his Hobbit--only to get blindsided by screams from his sister#queue bilbo frozen in shock as 2 royal siblings-fight trying to quietly sneak off-only for 2 very different royal siblings to bodyslam him#and dis screaming at her sons to be more careful with the hobbit and when why comes out All Hell Breaks Loose because wtf bilbo? THORIN???#(and no bilbo did not know either when he left erebor—life just be rude like that)#and yes somewhere in that the ring and gollum and sauron and gandalf and probably saruman too. the wizard can handle the actual plot right?#and yeah eagles come in to save everyone at the last frustrating minute. because what's a tolkien quest without that in there?
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Modern au genderqueer nmj but they talk about it in a way that makes them sound transphobic. What he means is "I use any pronouns/honorifics and I don't have a preference" what she says is "Oh I don't care about that stuff. Don't know why people make such a big deal out of it. 🙄"
#mdzs#mdzs headcanons#nie mingjue#unfortunately just as in canon in this au ppl look at nmj and are like sure yeah stereotypical masc cis man#and then make a buttload of assumptions from there#huaisang help the other kids at the queer art collective think your sibling is a bigot#nmj has had several conversations to the tune of 'but how does that work??? are you a man AND a woman or neither??' and is a little bit don#and does NOT realize how this 'don't ask me about my gender i don't give a shit and neither should you' atitude is being received#btw i say honorifics here because in mandarin 'he' and 'she' are pronounced exactly the same (though written differently)#but terms of adress can be very gendered#whether someone is comfortable being called -jie is gonna matter a lot more than their pronouns in spoken language
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anyways it's fridayyyyyyyy babeeeeee, tonight's comic will have a Ben Solo Jumpscare
#i KNOW he's a jumpscare for some#although my version of Ben isss severely differently written that whatever was in the movies but trying to keep the sense of the character#because i actually think from a narrative sense a hanleia kid becoming obssesed with their wacky family legacy it makes sense#it's either that or the complete opposite (trying to be Other than family legacy)#i have several aus/versions of the sequels era but my Ben stays mostly consistently in a middle ground of this#he rejects Luke and Han to but instead weirdly and fannatically embraces the (heroic/good) things of his grandpa and his Organa side#anyways one day I WILL explore that in my art and AUs but not tonight cause tonight it's just ben being there for Han and Luke being Grumps#before watching the sequels and knowing there was a canon hanleia kid i had this vague idea of han and leia having a girl leia names shmi#and later another one named breha and i think it would be interesting to return to that but since i dont FULLY reject Ben is a bit of a#“now this headcanon i had can't fit without a total revamp of the plot” but yknow my sequels AU is a total revamp anyways#rhea's notebook
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Double Shift
Pairing: Chop Shop Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky helps you unwind after you work a double shift.
Word Count: Over 1.8k
Warnings: Established relationship, slight insecurities, bit of backstory, dirty talk, mild smut, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: @nixakimbo was kind enough to gift me with this GORGEOUS edit and I had to create a new AU. Sorry, lovelies? @tavners , this is for you. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You dropped your bag the moment you walked through the door. Your feet ached despite the comfortable shoes, and your head throbbed with each passing second. Groaning, you dragged yourself to the couch, collapsing into it like it was the only place you’d ever wanted to be. Working doubles was exhausting, but this? This was something else entirely.
It was a long day in a series of long days, but now you had a chance to relax.
Reaching for the nearby pillow, you inhaled deeply, a smile tugging at your lips. Instead of the usual fresh scent of your couch, you caught the familiar, warm fragrance of your boyfriend’s cologne. He must have spritzed it before leaving for work. It was like leaning into him and your shoulder relaxed more, even though you wished he were really there.
The sound of the door creaking open a few minutes later told you that your wish had been granted.
“Aww. Long day, baby?” Bucky cooed from the doorway, spotting you sprawled out with no intention of moving to greet him. “You know your bag’s on the ground?”
“Mm-hmm.” You rubbed your temples slowly. “You know I worked a double, right? I’m lucky I made it to the couch.”
His soft chuckle reached your ears as he set his keys down and picked up your bag. “I know and I’m sorry. You work really hard.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead once he reached the couch. “I wish you didn't have to.”
You turned your head, the throbbing in your temples easing when your eyes met his. His black tank top fit him perfectly, complementing the tattoos that stretched across his neck and arms. The skulls and flowers, symbols of death and hope, told stories of his past. Stories he didn't have to tell you about, but he did anyway and you were happy to know every detail. As captivating as the ink was, it was his blue eyes that held you. In them, you saw your future, bright and full of love.
“That’s life. And you work hard, too,” you reminded him.
“Yeah. My job is so honorable,” he mumbled, making a mess of his hair as he ran a hand through it. “I’m really making a difference in the world.”
You frowned sympathetically. Bucky was a gifted mechanic, but his family was dealt a bad hand and he did what he had to do to take care of his younger sister. “And you’ll be out of there soon.”
Once he finished paying off Becca's medical bills, he could quit. That day was getting closer and closer. And one day he’d open his own shop, too, a legitimate shop. You wanted to stand beside him when that dream came true. Becca would be so proud.
Both of you wanted the best for Bucky.
He sighed, sinking to his knees and resting his hands on your thighs. You could see the gray peppering his scruff and you couldn’t help but reach out to run your nails through it. The sound of his groan made you smile, so you did it again.
“I just wanna give you the world,” he whispered, turning his head and kissing your palm. “You know that, right?”
“You already do,” you whispered back, his eyes softening. You had a roof over your head, food in your stomach, and his love in your heart. It was all you needed. “But you know, I could-”
Bucky put a finger to your lips to stop you. “I know what you're going to say and we’re not selling your dad's car.”
You smiled sadly. Your dad’s car was a classic and could get Bucky the money he needed, but he turned the offer down each time you brought it up. He didn't want you to give up one of the only things you had left of your dad. “I won't say a word tonight.”
But you could try again tomorrow.
“Thank you.” He took your hand and kissed your palm again. “You up for a ride later?”
“I don’t think I’m moving from this spot tonight,” you half smiled. “But we can tomorrow.”
“You don’t wanna go for a ride tonight?” he asked, surprise laced in his voice. You usually jumped at the chance to ride his motorcycle with him.
“Feet and head hurt a little,” you admitted, touching his cheek as concern etched his features. “I’m fine, really. Nothing for you to make a fuss about, but I won't turn you down if you want to dote on me.”
“Baby,” he sighed, slipping your shoes off. You gasped when he began massaging the sole of your right foot, the gentle pressure making your body sink deeper into the couch. By the time he switched to your left foot, you were practically melting. “That better?”
“Yeah,” you smiled, combing your fingers through his dark hair. He always took care of you. “I swear, you have magic hands.”
“Oh, I have more than magic hands,” he winked, your heart skipping a beat. “And you know what’s good for headaches?”
“Bucky…” you smiled. There was a warning in your voice, but you couldn't help the amusement in your eyes.
“Yes, me,” he grinned. “I’m very good at helping with headaches and you know it.”
Your smile widened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, so making you come all over my face before I cook you dinner was not what you meant and will not help your headache?” he asked, his voice deep, dripping with desire.
Whatever ache you felt in your body all went straight to your pussy. A deep, throbbing ache that cried out for him to soothe it since he was the cause. “Is making melt on your tongue as my reward for working a double?”
He smirked at your breathy tone. “That’s exactly what it is.” He didn’t need to ask you to lift your hips when he reached for the waistband of your pants and pulled them off with your underwear. Your body moved on instinct for him, fluid and in sync. “I can feed you right here and carry you to bed, too.”
“I’m too big and heavy for you to carry me,” you teased. His eyes flashed, and before you could react, he leaned down unexpectedly, sinking his teeth into your thigh. Your mouth fell open from the sting, but it felt good, too. “Hey!” You shrieked.
“You’re not big. You’re not heavy. You’re perfect,” he snarled, brushing his tongue along the teeth marks. You wanted his mark all over you. “I’ll blame that remark on how tired you are right now from work.”
Framing his face to lift his head, you met his lips in a soft kiss, hoping to convey how much it meant to you that he saw you as beautiful. How touched you were that he always put your care and feelings first. As scary as he looked to others, you knew the man inside. The one with a heart full of passion.
“I’m not perfect,” you whispered against his lips, gasping when he nibbled your bottom lip. A second bite for once again downplaying yourself. “But I’m perfect for you.”
“You think so?” he asked quietly.
“I know so,” you said, biting his bottom lip for good measure.
He thought you were too good for him some days, and you were quick to shut that down. A good man wouldn’t have taken care of his sister the way he did, and he wouldn’t love you wholeheartedly if he was less of a good person than you. His current profession didn’t define him, and you refused to let him believe it did.
“I...” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Love...” You shivered when he kissed the other corner. “You.”
A flame lit within your heart. His tender touches and words burned you from the inside out. “I love you, too,” you managed to whisper before his lips covered yours again.
Fresh arousal washed over you when he smiled and kissed down your body. “Now let me show you with my mouth how much I love you,” he simpered, parting your legs to open for him. “Might die if I don’t get my mouth on you and you wouldn’t want that, would you? And we need to get rid of your headache.”
You moaned, also feeling like you’d die if he didn’t touch you. “Do I get your cock, too? It’s a pretty bad headache you need to help me get rid of,” you teased. If your pain actually persisted, he’d make you take something and insist on you resting. And maybe it was selfish to ask for more than one orgasm, but you both knew he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to rock your world.
“Before and after dinner,” he promised, his pupils dialting as he stared between your trembling thighs. “Fuck, I missed you today,” he groaned.
“Missed me or my pussy?” you asked, certain that you were going to soak the cushion beneath you and you didn’t care as long as he got you off. “Because we both missed you.”
He smirked, his hand inching up your thigh. “Of course, you missed me. Who else would make you come as hard as I do?”
Cocky was a good look on him, but you could play a little, too. “Well…” Your coy smile had him raising his eyebrow. “If you really want to know, there’s-” You threw your head back with a cry as Bucky’s head dipped down to taste you, effectively cutting off your teasing.
It wouldn’t take long for you to coat his fingers and tongue with your release. It never did with him. He’d make you taste yourself when he kissed you after so you could fully appreciate the orgasm he gave you. He wouldn’t give you any reprieve when he’d bend you over the couch and sink his cock into your sensitive pussy. Your sounds would be erotic music to his ears, just like his words were music to yours.
“Grind that pussy back against me. Show me how much you crave my cock.”
“Such a good girl for me. Such a good pussy for me to fuck and fill.”
“Don’t you dare rub your clit. You wanna come? I’ll make you come.”
“Oh, you don’t have to beg for me to come inside you. I’ll give it to you.”
You’d scream his name in ecstasy and pass out in his arms from the best kind of exhaustion. You’d wake up to him kissing your forehead and holding you upright so he could hand feed you a delicious meal. You’d smile when he told you how much he loved you and that he'd be free of the chop shop soon. And you’d tell him you loved him, too, before he fucked you all over again.
It was going to be a good night.
Appreciate you lovelies indulging me like always and hope to share more when I can. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fic#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky fic#bucky au#bucky fanfiction#james buchanan barnes#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#james bucky barnes#x reader#james bucky buchanan barnes#mechanic!bucky barnes#mechanic!bucky barnes x reader#chop shop mechanic!bucky barnes#winter soldier#sebastian stan x female reader#bucky x you
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everything ; skz ; werewolf!felix x reader
requested by @yongbbokkie: if possible, can I have Sunshine!Felix with the prompt/s: ❛ i'm waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you. ❜ and ❛ do whatever you want with me, i'm yours. ❜
((maybe it's a pining from afar situation and something puts them in close quarters and Felix just can't help himself anymore))
read on ao3
pairing: lee felix/reader content info: werewolf!au. friends2lovers. miscommunication and misunderstandings followed by resolution and smut. mentions of reader being in a past abusive relationship though the circumstances are not detailed. not omegaverse just werewolves but mentions of rut cycles and slightly different physiology.
this is, um, the wettest thing i've ever written. there is no other word for it. so much come, masturbating (reader walks in on felix), pervy masturbating using reader's stuff lol, massive breeding kink, multiple rounds, scenting, possessiveness, throat-grabbing, biting, pussy eating, squirting, dirty talk. did i mention come.
word count: 15800 words. (hope it makes up for the delay hehe)
masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.
enjoy <3
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For a few moments, Felix is yours. There is no awkwardness, no reluctance, just dancing, just friendship.
The club is packed so tightly, the lights and music as roaring as lightning and thunder. The extra stimulation overwhelms the senses, even werewolf senses. He doesn’t think and neither do you. You just dance, finding each other in the bouncing circle of your half-drunk friend group. He smiles and you take his hand, letting him pull you across the dance floor and into his arms.
You’ve missed this smile. You’ve missed these arms.
Sure, Felix is still your best friend and he is never truly far. The distance is not literal, just emotional, and that is so much worse.
Ever since his werewolf genes kicked in, ever since a pack took him in, things have just been… different.
Right now, you can pretend nothing has changed. You are far away from ivory moons waning over woodlands, of werewolf packs and supernatural powers. His senses are diluted here, overpowered by so many moving bodies and so much wild noise.
Felix smiles, that wonderful big smile that crinkles his eyes so sweetly. Lights flash over him, his blonde hair nearly glowing, his freckles like stars. He’s your best friend again. All yours for a few precious moments.
He’s bigger than he was, you think, with a bit of a flush, as you dance closer to him, his arms circling your body. Or maybe I just never noticed before.
Felix is not very tall, but he is not small either, lean and athletic and confident in every inch of his body. It feels like he is everywhere. Every time a strobe light flashes over him, he seems a little closer. You breathe in his cologne, subtler than it used to be because his sense of smell is so powerful now, but still recognizable.
You are definitely not a werewolf, but you are captivated by that smell. Something oak, woodsy, masculine but pretty. So very Felix. You want to bathe in that smell, luxuriate in him. You spent so many nights curled into his side, sharing his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, that you associate that scent with everything good, safe, and home.
His hands dance up your sides very softly, his breath puffing across your cheek as you dance and dance. One song pours into the next. You lose track of time. In forgetting the world, you forget yourself. You slide your arms around his shoulders and press close to him.
You used to hug him like this so easily, but you have hardly touched him at all the last few months. Felix could never be cruel to anyone so he has not outright rejected your usual closeness, but it is obvious that your touch now makes him uncomfortable. The last thing you ever, ever want to do is hurt Felix. So you have followed his lead. Every time he accidentally pulls a face – a displeased twitch of his nose, an upset furrow of his brow – you have backed away.
It’s just the werewolf senses, you keep telling yourself. He’s more sensitive now, that’s all.
He still hugs the others. The werewolf boys love rough-housing, in fact, tumbling all over each other constantly.
That’s different. Yes, very different than this, right here, right now, his hands sliding down your sides – slowly, like he is memorizing the shape of your waist. He squeezes your hips and it fills you with heat. His hot face touches yours, cheek to cheek. The music is pounding, a frantic sound, but you are slow dancing, keeping to the rhythm of your heartbeats where they beat against each other.
You slide a hand up the back of his neck, into his long blonde hair. You feel the shudder move through his whole body. It makes your legs feel weak, realizing the effect you have on him. It seems impossible, especially with how much he has pushed you away, but there is no way he is shivering for any other reason. He cannot possibly be cold. The club is packed and, besides, he is not human. He runs hot.
So hot. He radiates it, burning where your bodies press together. Felix has always been the sunshine that keeps you warm, but this is a different heat. You know better than to succumb to it, knowing this moment will pass, but right now it is so easy to cling to him, to breathe him in, to feel like the world is just you and him.
The real world soon returns. It’s getting late so your friends call it a night.
“We’ll drop you off, yeah?” Chan says to you. Felix lives with him and the other wolves now. They all have their own apartments but they live in the same high-rise. You live a few blocks down, close, but not quite belonging.
“I don’t mind walking,” you say.
You do not want to intrude and you do not want to make Felix uncomfortable. He doesn’t even know Chan is offering you a ride because he standing so far away.
Felix is looking at his phone, slouched against the car while everyone organizes themselves. He is wearing a leather jacket, a white shirt, blue jeans, his long hair falling into his face. You want to brush it back, feel it between your fingers. You want to lift his face and see his smile.
But he doesn’t look at you. Now that you are outside, now that the heat has dissipated and the cold breeze carries your bland, dull, human scent, now that he can remember you are not special and not like him – now, he is someone else, and you are too, and it is cold and dreary and miserable.
“What?” Chan says. He is such a good pack leader and a good friend, but it makes him utterly oblivious to little dramas like this. “You’re not walking by yourself this late at night, don’t be crazy. Come on.”
The pack leader does not take no for an answer. Even though you are not in the pack, being human, there is no refusing Bang Chan. He grabs you by the wrist and drags you to his car.
Jeongin is in the front seat. Seungmin takes a back corner before Felix can lift his head, before he even knows you will be in the car too.
Felix looks tense when realizes he is trapped with you. Whether he takes the middle seat or the other corner, you will be beside him. If standing together outside is so intolerable, then being in a car is going to be torturous.
“I can walk,” you say to him.
“What?” He shakes his head. When he smiles, it is not his usual smile, not something real. You know the difference. His proper smile brightens you but this smile makes your heart sink. “Of course not,” he says. “C’mon. It’s late. Let’s get home, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, but he is already gone, taking all sense of home with him.
You take the middle seat. Felix rolls his window down and leans towards it. His eyes are closed the entire journey, the wind blowing across his tired face.
Seungmin is also a werewolf but he does not seem bothered by your human scent. Jeongin and Chan, the other packmates, likewise seem indifferent, chatting about everything and nothing, totally unperturbed. And you must cross paths with many werewolves during the day, but no one ever seems bothered by you.
Felix is the only werewolf who seems to have a problem with your scent. You do not know what it is that affects him so deeply. You have tried changing soaps and shampoos but nothing seems to help. It must be something natural to your human body. Humans do not smell like werewolves in general. Werewolves release pheromones that humans cannot smell, and it is important in forging interpersonal dynamics. That includes romance. Werewolves mate for life. You know they find their true mates through smell as much as the other senses. They are biologically wired to pursue their perfect match based on all those senses.
You are not a werewolf. You can never be his true mate. In the few months since he fully and rapidly developed his werewolf senses, Felix has withdrawn from you even though he promised it would never separate you.
You used to talk about what would happen if his werewolf genes activated. He comes from a family of werewolves but the gene lays dormant in certain carriers. Most werewolves develop in puberty if they develop at all. Some people never develop their wolven senses or powers. A minority, like Felix, are triggered by something in adulthood and succumb all at once.
It was always a possibility, however minute, but he promised things would stay the same. He said you were his person, that best friend did not even suffice as a word to describe your love.
You’re my world, you know, he said one night, speaking with the sort of earnest sincerity that only Felix could, his deep voice rumbling in your ear as you cuddled into him.
You wanted to say it back but you were hurting at the time. You ended a bad relationship a year earlier. It took your tender heart far too long to realize how badly your ex-boyfriend was treating you. When Felix found out the details, he was furious, though he kept it down around you. You had never seen your best friend so emotional. He became even more protective in the aftermath.
He showed you, time and time again, what real love is supposed to be. It doesn’t rush or demand, it doesn’t manipulate or coerce, and it doesn’t ask you to be small. He would hold you all night if that’s what you needed. He would make you laugh and let you cry.
You slowly realized true love had been in front of you, all this time, begging to be seen.
At least, you thought so. After such a bad relationship, you were taking it slow, and Felix never rushed you. You thought, maybe, one day…
But just when you were ready, everything changed. The werewolf gene unexpectedly activated. Felix was admitted to a wolven hospital and underwent his first transformation under a full moon. When he came home, he was different. Sure, he was still Felix, with his long dyed hair and his many freckles and his sun-kissed skin, but his brown eyes were so very different when he looked at you.
If he looked at you, which he avoids these days.
“Home sweet home,” Chan says, parking the car outside your apartment building.
Felix wastes no time getting out of the vehicle, practically spilling onto the sidewalk in his haste. He holds the door for you but averts his gaze.
You thank Chan, say good night to the other boys, then you shuffle across the seat and step out of the car. Felix still does not look at you, pretending he is distracted with something across the street.
You are a little tipsy, your emotions easily riled. You want to say good night so it will finally prompt him to look at you, but you are suddenly very choked up. Thoughtlessly, you touch his arm instead.
He flinches. It feels worse than a slap.
You do not look at him again, hurrying to the building before he can see the tears in your eyes.
Miraculously, you hold them in until you reach your apartment. You are one foot in the doorway when the tears spill, all the emotions you’ve suppressed over the last few months finally flooding free. The door falls closed with a slam and the whole world collapses under you.
You drop right there, knees pulled up to your chest and face buried in your hands.
You spent so many nights like this, crying all alone until you worked up the courage to tell Felix about your bad relationship. He was immediately understanding. It was so foolish to fear he would ever judge you. He put an arm around you and held you all night.
He is the person you want to call when you are hurting. It is agonizing to be without him. He is the one person you need and the one person you cannot call right now.
You let yourself feel sorry and miserable. When the tears have subsided and you are slouched against your door, empty and tired, you make a decision to end this. You have spent too much of your life collapsed on the floor and crying on your lonesome. You refuse to do it again.
As horrible as it is, you need to distance yourself from Felix. This slow deterioration of your relationship is excruciating. If he decides to reach out, you will be there, but you simply cannot continue to compromise yourself.
You somehow manage to wash up and get in bed. You sleep through the morning and rise late, delaying the inevitable a little longer by scrolling on your phone. Felix used to be the first text of the day but there is nothing from him. You would usually message anyway but today you put your phone aside and get out of bed.
So much of Felix is in your apartment. Borrowed hoodies, games, books, and so much more. Items are littered everywhere from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen and back. It takes an hour and you are not sure you find everything because he is so inextricably woven into your living space. You do not even see it anymore because it – because he – is always there.
You fill a cardboard box. Your plan is to walk the couple blocks to the high-rise and return it with a vague explanation. You are not sure what to say. Perhaps it is best to opt for brevity. After all, this is not a break-up because you are not a couple.
No, you think, staring at the full box with watery eyes, this is worse.
You make it a few steps out your door before you drop the box. It is way, way too heavy for you to carry two feet, never mind two city blocks. Already panting with exertion, you stare at the box taking up a huge slab of the narrow corridor.
You really don’t want to ask him to come get it, nor do you want to make multiple trips. You are scared that if you give him the opportunity, he will try and reassure you that nothing is wrong and you don’t need to do this. You’ll believe him in the moment, but then it will start all over again.
Like ripping off a bandage, it has to go all at once. It’s time to heal.
You push the box, budging it down the corridor inch by slow inch. You reach the elevator and press the call button. You calculate the logistics of pushing and shoving the box for two blocks, mostly concerned the cardboard will rip if it snags on something outside.
Lost in thought, you don’t see a person in the elevator and accidentally shove the box at him. He yelps, a loud cry of surprise as he jumps aside. It makes you leap out of your skin, shooting upright to look at him.
Some of your despondency leaves at the friendly face of your neighbour.
“Changbin!” you say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there.”
“Hey now,” he says, winking, his handsome face plastered with a grin, “I’m not that short.”
“No, of course not,” you say, laughing along with him.
Changbin is a werewolf as well. There are a lot of packs on this side of town because the large national park is nearby. The wolves like to use the expansive forest when the full moon cycle swings around.
“Moving out?” he asks with an eyebrow quirk.
“Ah,” you say. “Not quite.”
You explain your predicament, that the box belongs to a friend and you need to somehow reach his apartment building two blocks away. Changbin, ever the charmer and ever the helper, immediately offers his aid.
“Oh, you don’t have to—” you start, but he has already swung the big box into his arms.
Werewolves do have supernatural strength. Changbin looks strong, with big biceps and a stocky frame, never mind the supernatural enhancement. He doesn’t even break a sweat. The box might as well be empty for all the difference it makes to him.
He is kind enough to walk two blocks to the high-rise. You chat on the way and find the conversation flows easily. You also can’t help but notice he has no problem with your scent. It really is just Felix who seems so repulsed.
You ring the buzzer for Felix’s apartment but there is no answer. You try a couple more times, embarrassed because Changbin is waiting. Fortunately, he is very non-plussed, humming to himself while you ring the buzzer.
After a few tries, you ring Chan instead. He answers promptly and you explain the bare bones of the situation, that you have a box for Felix and you would appreciate if he could pass it along. Chan agrees, of course.
Maybe it is for the best. You can leave the box with Chan and not even have to confront Felix at all.
Chan buzzes you into the building. Changbin walks you to the elevator where he puts the box down. You thank him profusely but he waves it off and states he was happy to help.
It looks like he wants to say something more, looking at you while he rubs the back of his neck. In the end, he says he will see you around and departs.
You exhale. The worst of your nerves have dissipated since Felix is not even home. You have been the one instigating your interactions the last few months so you figure if you just quietly step back, he won’t even notice.
It pains you to admit it, that you could disappear from his life and he would just… not care. You stuff those feelings down, down, down for now. You prepare a friendly smile for Chan so he doesn’t ask too many questions.
When you reach the pack floor, you give the box a good shove into the corridor. Chan lives directly across from the elevator so you don’t have far to go.
Except there are voices in the corridor. You turn towards the sound.
An awful chill freezes in your blood, your whole body going rigid at what you see.
Felix is home. He is standing in his open doorway, half-dressed in a pair of jeans and nothing more. His long hair looks more dishevelled than usual, like someone has been running their fingers through it.
Someone. He is talking to a young woman. You don’t know her too well, simply that she is the only female werewolf in Chan’s small pack. She is wearing more clothes than Felix but still very casual in shorts and a t-shirt, barefoot like this is her home. You suppose it is, much more her home than yours.
She belongs. You do not.
Her and Felix are standing close while they converse. So close. They speak to each other in hushed tones, her expression tender and sympathetic while Felix winces in seeming pain. The details of their conversation are inarticulate at a distance but their voices are nonetheless audible.
Your scent reaches Felix first. He straightens so fast it would be comical under any other circumstances.
Nothing is funny right now. You feel like a complete and utter fool, standing in his corridor with a box of his things like he cares about them at all. He has already moved on. You were in denial, a stupid little human girl still clinging desperately to old memories.
“I better go,” the woman says. She leans up and kisses Felix on the cheek, gives him a little wink and mumbles something only he can hear. She turns and walks into the apartment next door, giving you a genuinely friendly wave. She has always been polite to you and you have no reason to dislike her. You can only wave back pathetically.
Your hand slaps your side when she disappears into her apartment. You and Felix look at each other.
He looks guilty. Sweat dots his hairline, streaks his bare chest, and his face is flushed. It is very obvious what he has been doing all morning.
The thought of such a fantasy was once tantalizing. The sight of him, like this, would make you dizzy. You remember the last time he casually took off his shirt, the swoop of desire that moved inside you, a sensation you did not even know you could still feel after your bad relationship.
Now that swoop is just nausea. There is no pleasure in it at all.
You are completely mortified.
“Hey,” Felix says. His deep voice breaks on a high-pitched twinge. He clears his throat. “Um,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it even more. He can’t seem to bring himself to meet your gaze, eyes darting all over the corridor but never you.
You curl your fingers, nails pressing hard into your palm.
“Look,” he says, clearing his throat again. “We need to talk about—”
You don’t want to hear it. You can’t hear it. You are hurt and embarrassed and devastated. Why couldn’t he just tell you he wanted to pursue a werewolf? It makes sense, biologically, and you can hardly fault him for the desire. Honesty would have hurt but not like this. Now you have to suffer the rejection of the only man you ever truly loved and suffer the fact you were not even worth a conversation.
It is too late to talk.
“It’s fine, Felix,” you say. All your messy, menial scripts crumble in your mind. Emotion takes over, bitterness and pain and irritation. “I brought you your things,” you say, pointing to the box. His eyes dart there for the first time, brow furrowing. “If I find anymore, I’ll give them to Chan. He’ll pass them along.”
“Um, what?” He looks from the box to you.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you say, blinking back tears. Your feelings come out in fragments, word after word with little coherency. “After everything I went through last year – I just – this is too much. The werewolf thing – I just – I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t have you in my life like this. Thank you for your friendship. The memories will always be important to me. But it’s for the best we don’t see each other again.”
You had not planned on so much finality, but that was before. Now you need to leave. If you stay here another second, you are going to fall apart.
“Good luck with everything,” you say.
You turn to leave but he says your name. You suck in a breath, wait a beat, and slowly turn back around.
Felix walks partway down the hallway, his whole face screwed up with pain and confusion. His mouth is moving but no words are coming out. Finally he closes his eyes and shakes his head, slamming a hand into his hair.
“Hold on,” he says. “Hold on, I – what are you talking about? You – you don’t want to be friends? How can – You can’t—” That deep voice breaks again, fracturing with emotion.
A part of you knows that you are being too harsh, letting your own emotions dominate your words. Another part of you is too heartbroken to care.
“It’s for the best,” you say weakly, your voice barely more than a breath of a sound. “Really.”
“For the best?” he asks, voice pitching up again. He has not looked at you so intensely for so long. “How can you say that to me?”
Much to your horror, he starts crying first. His tears seem to catch him by surprise too, his expression puckering as he tries to stop it. A hand flies up, covering his eyes. He shakes his head rapidly.
“Felix,” you whisper.
“For the best?” he repeats. He drops his hand and takes a shuddering breath.
You avert your gaze. You can’t stand to look at his eyes so full of tears, his face so strained with hurt.
“Did something happen?” he asks, taking a few more steps towards you. “Was it – was it me? You said – the werewolf thing – Did I do something? Please, please tell me.”
He doesn’t even realize how much he has withdrawn from you. He is bad at controlling his face, as evidenced now, so he probably has no idea how blatant his repulsion has been. Maybe he thought he was being subtle. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t care, that you were just his friend and you would be content to relegate yourself to the sidelines of his life. Maybe that is all your fault after all.
If you were a better friend, you would have coped with his new feelings. You would have been happy for him. If you were a better friend, maybe he would have told you sooner.
“You deserve a better friend than me,” you say.
He looks at you like you are completely crazy, his head tilted, his eyes narrowing.
“What?” he asks. “Where is this coming from? Please, I don’t understand. You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”
“I already told you,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I just can’t do this anymore. Our lives are heading in different directions and I – I – I just need to go. I want to go. Please.”
You have known Felix all your life. You were children together, hapless youths on a playground that immediately loved each other with the easy, thoughtless affection of childhood.
He reminds you of that child now, innocently standing in the corridor with his arms hanging limp at his sides and so much bewilderment on his freckled face.
“You want to go?” he repeats, voice low, soft.
You nod. After a second, he nods back, bottom lip still quivering. A fresh stream of tears spill over his eyes. He hiccups on a sob, turning away and covering his face.
“Fine,” he says, speaking between shaky breaths. “Go. I can’t – I can’t keep you here if you want to go.”
“Thank you,” you say softly. The elevator is still waiting when you press the call button. You step onto it and say, “Good bye, Felix.”
As the doors close, you hear another choking sob. You name is lost in the sound.
The door closes.
-
The regret is instantaneous. You stare at your phone for hours and even debate returning to his apartment, but in the end you do nothing.
You replay every moment, from seeing him with the other werewolf to his confusion and your departure. It was a long, long walk home, tears streaming down your face as your mind went back even further, remembering every moment of your friendship.
How could this have happened? You and Felix have always been open with each other. He was the first person you confided in about your bad relationship and he immediately did everything to save you from it. But when it was the other way around, when the werewolf gene activated, he turned away from your friendship. You poured your heart out to him, trusting he would catch it and keep it safe, but he did not feel the same way.
Secrets, confusion, heartbreak. It plays on a loop in your mind.
It is the middle of the night when you get a text. He has not messaged in a while, not in a substantial way. If you scroll back on your phone, you can see the disintegration of communication, the days when he would send message after message with any and every thought slowly petering down to brief replies and a vague acknowledgement at the very best.
This message is more. You can hear his voice when you read it, can picture those dark eyes.
Tell me this isn’t real. Please.
You feel sick. You are angry at him for being the one to withdraw only to suddenly turn on his heel. You are angry at yourself for reacting so drastically and immaturely. Mostly, you are just sad.
If I did something, I’m sorry, he writes. I’ll never stop being sorry. I’ll fix it. I’ll keep my distance. Just don’t say I can never see you again.
You type a reply, then delete it, then repeat.
You say nothing. Every time you try, you see him and her in that corridor, you see him flinching from your touch, you see him recoiling at your scent. It twists and tangles with memories of warm nights and tender smiles. You wipe your tears and remember when he did it for you, his thumb so gently sweeping your cheek. He used to touch you like you were precious to him. Now he flinches from your touch.
He does not text the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. ��You are not sure if it is better or worse.
After about a week, he messages again, stating, I miss you.
You are at your work desk but he immediately seizes your full attention, as he always has.
You stare at your phone. You take a breath. You have had a few days to decompress, to let the wound bleed. It is still sore to the touch.
You write, I miss you too.
You do not check your phone for a while, listening to the relentless buzz as he sends eager message after eager message. It feels like the old days for a minute, but slows to a stop when you do not reply. You read them back later, his pleading, his sweetness. It makes you spiral, on the one hand wanting to take it all back, but on the other hand picturing his flinch, his disgust, knowing it is only a matter of time before your heart breaks again.
You do not reply. He takes the hint and gives you a few more days, then he messages, I still have your stuff in my place too, you know?
I know, is all you say. I have more of your stuff too.
As predicted, you have been finding his things all over the apartment. Even things which are technically yours are still stamped with his memory. He helped you move into this place after the break-up. He took you shopping and paid for so many things to get you back on your feet. Everything from blankets to cushions to plates make you think of him. This was just a room before he made it a home. Without him, it is just a room again.
There are a couple days of silence, then some of his packmates start messaging you. You don’t think he is sending them after you, as Felix would never manipulate or coerce you like that. They reach out of their own volition, curious because they have not seen you in a while. But it is all so overwhelming, so you throw your phone under a pillow and go for a walk.
That is when you run into Changbin again. His smile is charming as ever when he strikes up a friendly conversation.
“I was wondering,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, not-so-inadvertently flexing his big bicep when he does, “I was going to ask a couple weeks ago, when I helped you with that box – ah, I was kicking myself after because I didn’t see you for a while. But – I thought we had a nice conversation. Maybe you and me could do something.”
“Do something,” you repeat. It sounds like he is asking you out which is a little perplexing, because he is a werewolf and you are a human. Surely nothing serious can come of it. You used to think it was possible, as there are plenty of movies and romance novels to prove it, but your personal experience has led you to other conclusions.
“A date,” he clarifies, grinning that handsome smile. “You and me. My treat. No pressure. I just think you’re clever and, ah, very beautiful, and I want to know you better.”
A polite rejection is on the tip of your tongue. You are not in any emotional state to try dating someone right now. But you think of Felix and that woman in the corridor, and you think of your phone buzzing, and you think of another long, lonely night stewing in it all.
Changbin must be looking for something casual anyway. A werewolf would not truly settle down with a human. Maybe this is a good opportunity to put yourself out there.
“Sure,” you say. “I’d like that.”
Changbin takes you out a few days later. You actually do enjoy yourself. He is very charming and it is easy to talk to him, plus the date itself is very fun. He takes you out for food then to an arcade, flopping at every game in a hilarious spectacle.
“I’m a werewolf,” he complains later. “I’m strong! Those games were rigged.”
You giggle, wrapping yourself up in the jacket he leant you. You are walking back to the apartment building, the warm evening giving way to a cool night as you make the trek. It is enjoyable until you reach the building, at which point you start to panic. Does he expect to be invited into your apartment? Does he expect… more? The thought leaves you dizzy and not in a good way. Changbin is so very handsome and so very likable. Going out with him showed you that you can enjoy yourself without the crutch of a lifelong friendship.
You don’t need Felix.
But you still want him.
You try to go back and find the moment it all went wrong, try to picture a different ending, but it feels impossible. A foolish fantasy from a girl still clinging to the dying dredges of hope and affection. There is a wonderful, handsome man at your side, a werewolf at that, and your mind is somewhere else.
Changbin remarks on it, politely but nonetheless curiously. He gives you a penetrating look, like he knows something is wrong and there is no use lying.
You sigh.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I just… I recently broke-up with a friend.”
“With a friend?” he asks, eyebrows jumping with surprise. “What kind of friend?”
“A close one, very close,” you say. “We’ve known each other forever, you see. He’s the most wonderful person I have ever known. He’s good to everyone, open-hearted, kind, warm. I have truly never known a better man. He just makes every room a little brighter when he’s in it. You would like him, I think. Everyone does. He’s a werewolf but the transformation only happened for the first time this year. Since then…” You sniffle. “Things have been different. Werewolves are biologically wired to be with other werewolves and form packs… I think my human status just started affecting him negatively.”
“Biology,” Changbin says like it is a foreign word. He looks at you with a cocked eyebrow. “It exists, yeah, but werewolves still have hearts, you know? It’s nice finding other werewolves so you aren’t alone, but it isn’t necessary. Love is complicated.”
That does give you pause for a moment. A logical part of you knows it is true, that plenty of werewolves make relationships work with humans, but that is almost harder to accept. If it’s just biological, then it cannot be helped. But if it’s a choice—
“So he isn’t biologically wired to hate me now that he’s a werewolf,” you say miserably. “It’s just something he chose to do.”
“Now, I didn’t say that,” Changbin says. “But, if that is what happened, he’s an idiot. If you were that obviously in love with me, ah, I wouldn’t let you go that easy.”
“I’m not in love with him…” The lie tumbles without an ounce of confidence. Changbin just gives you an amused look. Embarrassed, you drop your gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” you say. “He doesn’t feel the same way. Believe me, I know how he’s been looking at me, or how he won’t. That’s why I walked away. I was holding onto a friendship that once was and a fantasy that will never be. It’s time to be reasonable.”
“Ah, I don’t think love is very reasonable,” he says. “But you should stay true to yourself and do what’s right. And, in the mean time, if you need a friend…”
You exchange smiles. A weight lifts off your shoulder as Changbin changes the subject to friendship between you.
“I would like a friend,” you say. “Thank you, Changbin.”
“Ah, it’s been fun. But give me back my jacket,” he teases. “Since we’re friends I don’t need to impress you. I’m cold.”
“I thought werewolves run hot,” you say, laughing. You shrug off the coat and hand it to him.
“Eh, a little bit, maybe more than humans. But the blood really only gets hot during a rut cycle,” he says.
It is a casual statement. He is too preoccupied with zipping up his jacket to notice you get a little flustered.
You know a bit about ruts, namely that werewolves have a cycle which span a few days every month. It’s a fertility and reproduction thing, pushing developed werewolves to find mates and, well, mate them. It is a common part of the werewolf lifestyle so it is fair for Changbin to so casually mention it.
It is not because of Changbin that you feel flustered. You are thinking about Felix that night at the club, how burning hot he was compared to everyone else. Now that you think of it, not even Chan felt so hot when he grabbed your wrist, nor Seungmin beside you in the car. Felix, though, was radiating heat. Was he starting a rut cycle? Perhaps that explains why he was so hot and sweaty the next day during your confrontation.
You remember the other werewolf in the corridor. Your heart sinks again. Was she helping him through his rut? Then again, she left the second you arrived. Why were they even in the hallway? If she was spending his rut with him, surely they would have been inside together, not yapping in the hallway...
“You look worried,” Changbin says.
You are gnawing your bottom lip, eyes darting around as you contemplate that day. At his words, you blink to attention, doing your best to shake the anxiety.
“It’s nothing,” you say. “I’m just confused about so many things right now.”
“You know, if this guy really is so great and wonderful – and I think he is, if someone like you loves him so much – then he will probably be happy to answer your questions so you don’t feel so confused.”
“Ugh.” You slap a hand over your eyes and shake your head. “Why do you have to be so decent and mentally competent and right?”
“Jutdae,” he says, then flexes an arm and squeezes a bicep through the jacket. “And lots of protein.”
You laugh again. With a few more words of thanks and a promise to catch up again soon, you give him one final good night hug. He says he might meet up with some friends so you part ways, Changbin strolling while you head inside.
You look at your phone, considering his words as you ride the elevator to your floor. Changbin is right. Giving Felix the silent treatment is not helping you or him. Even though the conversation will probably be uncomfortable in so many ways, you should talk to him. It might not repair anything, but at least you will have closure. That wound cannot heal so long as it is still bleeding and festering.
You are drafting a text message in your head when you step off the elevator.
Then you lift your eyes and stumble to a stop.
Felix is sitting outside your apartment door. He is wearing jeans and a blue flannel, a denim jacket on top of that. A habitual joke is on the tip of your tongue, seeing him so decked out in his favourite colour. It disappears at the morose look on his face.
His long blonde hair is down around his shoulders, neglected black roots peeking at the crown of his head. He looks a little wan and very tired, his head lolled to the side.
He scents you before he sees you, eyes fluttering closed for a second, then he looks at you.
He really looks at you.
Felix always has such a softness in his gaze, but this look is searing. It moves through you, a forceful heat twining its way around your insides. It holds you in captivated thrall as he stands, one black boot thumping against the ground with the force of his push as he straightens himself out.
That piercing looks crinkles as more of your scent registers to him. His face twists with revulsion, except it is even more severe than usual. It is so disturbed that it makes you think his past expressions were not disgust at all, because this face is so terrorized by whatever he smells.
“Where were you?” he asks.
You have been staring at each other in silence for so long that his voice reverberates loudly in the corridor. It makes you jump as the smoothness of his deep voice pours into you. It’s only been a few weeks since you last heard him speak, but somehow you forgot how profoundly that voice could affect you, especially when he drops it so deliberately.
“Out,” you say. You are so flustered that your body goes into defense mode, your tone sharp when you say, “I don’t need your permission for that.”
That softens the slash of his gaze. He shakes his head.
“No,” he says softly. “Of course not. I’m sorry.”
His apology is so sincere, eyes searching yours for something beyond the surface. You feel like he is speaking to you without words, somehow conveying a lifetime of love in the way he looks at you, saying, it’s me.
You soften too, in every way, your voice and your posture, your heart and everything inside you. So soft and malleable, all that heat expanding in every direction until you can imagine yourself radiating it like he did. It feels so inappropriate to be aroused when there is so much drama between you, when a serious conversation needs to be had. But he is looking at you so intensely, colours of emotions playing across his face. A shaking breath draws your gaze to his lips.
He says your name. It feels like a touch. You feel dizzy again, this time in a very good way, despite yourself.
You hear his sharp intake of breath as you step a little closer. Your scent is affecting him. It makes him do a double-take, looking at you up and down without any subtlety. It is blatant, searching. For lack of a better word, predatory, a wolf on the prowl, scenting something it wants, maybe needs. Your skirt is long, sweeping past your knees, but you feel like he can see past it somehow.
His eyes, low on your body, flick up to your face. Your knees knock. That hungry look twists into something repulsed again, his brow furrowing. It darkens his whole face.
Of course. He is disgusted with you and your boring human scent and he always has been. You cannot give into hopeful delusions.
“What are you doing here?” you ask in your most casual tone, striding up to him like you are unaffected by his presence.
He steps to the side, staring while you fumble around in your purse for your keys.
“I wanted to talk,” he says.
You stare into your bag, rifling through mint wrappers and lipsticks and bus tickets. You can feel his eyes, practically burning a hole in the side of your head. You want to be chill, want to laugh and tell him he’s acting weird, to knock it off. You want to be indifferent, remind him there is a distance between you now and his staring is not appropriate.
Then he puts a hand on the door, near your head. He moves around you, undeniably scenting you as he goes. His other hand comes around the other side, caging you between him and the door. Your back is to him but you can still feel his gaze, shivering when he breathes you in.
You swallow, cringing at the wave of arousal that moves through you when his nose brushes the back of your neck.
Werewolf instincts, you remind yourself, trying to find the resolve to snap him out of it, except that’s not what you want. You want him to press right against you and put his mouth on your neck, to taste everything he is scenting.
Until you remember he hates the scent. So much so, he makes a guttural noise that sounds like a growl, rumbling at the base of his throat.
You expect him to flinch and move away. You imagine him shaking his head as he abandons his efforts to reconcile because you’re just not worth it.
You are not expecting him to say, “Why do you smell like another werewolf?”
“What?” you say. “I – I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” he says, taking another deep breath. “It’s all over you. Who is he?”
Oh, you have been wearing Changbin’s jacket for the last half-hour. You did not notice any smell but you are not a werewolf. To Felix, you must be utterly smothered in it. You wonder if it smells like a sex pheromone, given Changbin was taking you on a date, maybe permeating a desire your human senses did not notice.
Whatever it is, it has Felix riled in a way you have never seen before. He has been very careful to hold himself in check around you. The worst of his werewolf symptoms have been hidden from the start. It is part of why you are so hurt, that he would not trust you with it.
Now it overrides his good sense. His nose swipes the back of your neck again, his fingers curling against the door where his hands sit.
“He’s just a friend,” you say.
“A friend,” he repeats. “He doesn’t smell like a friend.”
“Well, he is,” you say. All your desire, heartbreak, and desperation swell inside you, bursting like a firework, hot and crackling. With a pounding heart, you turn around to face him, intent on confrontation when you snap, “Why would that even matter to you?”
You look into his eyes. He is so close, arms around you, that woodsy scent enveloping you. It feels like coming home, falling into his gaze, letting the heat wash over you as he stares back. There is something animalistic about his intensity, a predator with its hackles raised, sights set and hunger striking.
“Felix,” you whisper, voice heavy with a thousand questions that never manifest.
One hand leaves the door. He grabs the back of your neck, not roughly, not cruelly, but with an undoubted and irrevocable command. It makes another firework burst inside you. You gasp.
That gasp is interrupted when he dives in without any hesitation, his mouth thoroughly claiming yours in a hot, desperate kiss.
Whenever you dared to fantasize a kiss with Felix, it was always soft, a little brief, giving it time to grow. You never imagined so much heat overwhelming you all at once, that his mouth would be so ravishing. You didn’t even know a kiss could move through your whole body, that when he puts his tongue in your mouth it would feel like he is already fucking you, your body throbbing with want.
It is not just werewolf instinct because you react too. You drop your purse on the floor and put your hands on him, one on his chest and the other his neck, clinging to him like he clings to you. He takes it as invitation, his other hand leaving the door to hold your waist. His grip is powerful, but despite the supernatural strength it does not hurt. No, Felix would never hurt you. Oh, it was so stupid to think he ever would.
He makes a sound that has you whimpering in turn, the low grunt pressing at your most vulnerable places. The kiss is open-mouthed, hot and wet and messy.
He walks you back that final step, pressing you to the door. He cups the back of your head so you don’t hit it.
You grab the collar of his denim jacket and yank on it, pulling him even closer. You are completely delirious with him. Everything that has happened and everything that will happen is wholly unimportant as he slots his whole body along yours.
His leg pushes between your thighs, his hips pinning you to the door. The thought would have you terrified a year ago, but now it just feels right. Of course it feels right, because this is Felix, who has seen you at your most vulnerable and healed you, who has caught you every time you fall. He will always fix what hurts. He will always take care of you.
Your body knows it, begging for him, hips rearing towards him. It presses his thigh against the juncture between your legs, makes it so your flimsy skirt doesn’t matter at all. You are not thinking when you start to rock against him.
You forgot your body could feel so much pleasure.
“Oh, fuck—” he says, his already deep voice somehow even lower as he curses.
You squeak as he holds you against the door, deliberately rocking his thigh between yours with more pressure and speed than you could manage. It makes a torrent of mortifying sounds spill past your lips, but he gathers them all up lovingly, tastes them on his tongue as he chases down your gasping breath. Every little mewl, every breath, every squeaking hiccup is swallowed up by him.
“Come for me, please,” he whispers, roughly. It sounds like begging despite how much physical power he has over you. It would scare if it was someone else, but that supernatural strength doesn’t matter because it bends to you, waiting for your permission.
You just barely remember you are in the corridor. You hope no one chooses now to step out of their apartment. You wonder if the other werewolves on the floor can scent whatever pheromones Felix must be giving off.
It doesn’t matter. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you can’t stop it. You’re going to come on him, just like this, fully clothed but so wet that you can feel it gushing as he grinds his thigh against you.
You grab onto his belt, feeling the curve of his bulge just below your palm. It makes his breath stutter and it makes you surrender. Your body seizes and your pussy throbs as you come, a strangled cry in your throat while rocking desperately against him.
It settles slowly, the world coming back in increments. You are breathing hard, clinging to each other, bodies still pressed so tightly together. You can feel his heart beating hard and fast. It keeps rhythm with the lingering thrum below.
So much for conversation. Grinding all over Felix in a semi-public space was not in the plan at all.
“Oh my god,” you say, voice breaking as you are hit with realization. You push at him and he goes obediently.
“Fuck,” he says, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. He runs his hands through his hair, shakes out the length of it while breathing erratically.
Your heart is still pounding. You put your hand over your chest like that will calm it down.
Felix looks at you.
You recognize this look.
This look – this is the face you have been mistaking for disgust. Now that you have seen him truly reviled, snarling at Changbin’s scent on your body, you realize it is not disgust, not at all. It’s pain, a wincing, cringing desperation as he fights to keep everything inside him.
It is barely contained right now, his chest still heaving, his fly still bulging, hands shaking at his sides as he stares at you with open need.
“Oh my god,” you say again. You lean against the door for support, closing your eyes to try and make sense of the world. You see the events of the last month play out, the months before that, going back further and further until you shake your head to clear your mind. “I just—” You open your eyes, meet his anxious gaze. “Just give me some time,” you say. “I – I need to think – I’m so—”
“It’s okay,” he says, hands out to placate you, but careful not to touch you. He forces himself to smile despite his own emotional tumult. Sweat breaks out on his hairline. “Take your time, I – I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to—I just wanted to talk—I—”
“I know,” you say. “I know.”
He nods sharply, clearing his throat as he turns awkwardly to the side. He points vaguely behind him, stutters something like, “I’ll go, um, I’ll just—”
He turns on his heel and walks away, taking the corner to the stairwell so fast that you blink and he is gone.
You can hear him bounding down the stairs. You stand there, listening until he is too far to hear.
With every limb shaking, you pick up your purse and finally fish out your keys. You manage to turn the key in the lock and step inside before you crumple to your knees.
This time your thoughts are a very different whirlwind, just as confused and just as emotional, but so conquered by sensation that you find yourself just sitting there, touching your lips, thinking of him.
There is a lot to think about.
-
You realize you have been wrong about so many things. You and Felix should have spoken a long time ago. You have both been skirting each other, tentatively regarding the other, worried you might hurt them. It resulted in you both getting hurt anyway.
You are so, so scared of making that hurt worse. It makes you hesitate.
A day goes by. Felix respects your space. On the second day, when you contemplate reaching out for a conversation – a real conversation – your phone buzzes.
You are surprised to see that it is Bang Chan.
Hey, he writes. I need to talk to you right now. It’s about Felix.
Your heart-rate shoots through the roof, terror obliterating every other emotion.
Is he okay? you write. What happened??
Look, I’m just gonna say it, Chan writes. Felix is in rut. You know what that is?
Yes, you say.
At first, you are relieved he is not hurt and it is something so mundane. Then you are flustered as you recall the other night. You remember the heat between you, the way you came on his body and the way he begged for it. Even now, you are more aroused than embarrassed, shivering as you remember the way he looked at you.
Right, Chan says. Look I promise I’m not asking you to sleep with him or something. I wouldn’t do that. You have no responsibility for anything. But you also gotta know that dumb kid is in love with you, right? Like… insane in love. Like… won’t let anyone else see him or help him even though he’s a new werewolf, hasn’t had that many ruts, and it hasn’t even been a whole month since the last one.
You watch as each text appears, your adrenaline building with every word. The phone shakes in your tight grip.
Didn’t someone help him with his last rut? You ask. I saw her at his apartment.
What??? Chan answers quickly. No. I sent her over to see if he needed anything, because he kept telling me to fuck off because I was telling him to call you. I’m telling him again but he still won’t listen. You know he thinks he’s a monster right?
You are still reeling from the revelation that he and the girl were not an item at all, that they were truly just having a conversation. He was flushed and sweaty because he was in rut, not because he spent all morning with her. You were the one racing to conclusions, not even giving him a chance to explain. You remember him stepping towards you, asking to speak, but you cut him off before he could. You assumed he just wanted to reject you.
Chan says Felix is in love you. Is it possible that after a conversation with another wolf, he was gathering the courage to tell you, only for you to say you never wanted to see him again?
Now you read the last message and your heart sinks, a painfully heavy weight in your gut.
A monster? you write. What do you mean?
That doesn’t even make sense. Felix is the kindest, most loving man you know. Assuming werewolves are monstrous is such a medieval thought that it never occurred to you for a second that he would feel that way.
Yeah, Chan says. Look, he never told me the details because he said it wasn’t his story to tell, but he told me that you went through something really hard and that was why he didn’t want to stress you out with the werewolf thing. It can be pretty intense, especially at the start, and especially when you’re already an adult. He spent his whole life thinking he was one thing only for everything to change really quickly. He was really scared of coming on too strong and losing you because of it. ��
You made his worst fears come true, you realize, numb as you stare at the screen.
You know Felix, Chan writes, He’d rather just suffer alone than have someone else feel it too. I told him to trust you more, that you would want to help, but there’s no getting through to him when he’s like that. I love the guy but he can be kinda stubborn.
You both have a stubborn streak. The last month of drama attests to that.
What do you want me to do? you ask. You have more answers but you feel just as lost as before, maybe even more.
Can you just talk to him please? Chan says. He holed himself up in his apartment and he won’t let anyone in. He stopped answering my messages too. Ruts are a Molotov cocktail of hormones. They’re intense even if you’re experienced and he isn’t. I just don’t want him to get hurt and not do anything about it because he doesn’t want to bother anyone.
You remember Felix in that corridor, arms hanging limp at his sides, looking at you with so much hurt and sorrow. Despite that, he didn’t pressure you to stay. He listened. He let you go because he thought you wanted that. He stood by himself in that corridor, crying over a box of his things that he thought had a home with you.
Tears blur your vision. You have to rub your eyes before answering Chan.
I’ll go to him, you write. I don’t want him hurt either.
I know you don’t, Chan says. You have a spare key to his place?
Yes.
Good, Chan says. He’s not answering his door so you’re gonna need it. Give the guy a smack for me, hey?
His joke makes you laugh, though it is strained. You give yourself a second to compose yourself then you are on your feet. You are in a loose house dress and tights, face bare and hair undone, but you do not waste another second. You know you can be yourself around Felix no matter what. You wish he understood the feeling was reciprocated.
This time, instead of running away, you run to him. This time, you will make him understand.
-
The two city blocks pass in a blur. You have never moved so fast in all your life, bumping into slow stragglers as you barrel down the street.
By the time you step off the elevator on his floor, you are warm and out of breath. You wipe a little perspiration off your forehead as you approach.
You were so frantic in your determination to arrive, there was no time for nerves to materialize. They strike all at once, twisting anxiously as you knock. You wait a minute but he doesn’t answer, just like Chan predicted.
You take a steadying breath and put the key in the lock. Hand over your heart, you push open the door and step into the apartment.
It does not look any different from the last time you were here. Even your slippers are still by the door. You disregard them now, stepping out of your shoes and venturing forward with a nervous little patter.
If you were a werewolf, maybe you would have scented a change in the air, but it smells and feels familiar. The apartment is very still, maybe a little warmer than usual, sunlight streaming through the windows.
You finally hear a sound. You leave the small foyer and make a very clumsy entrance into the room.
You can hardly blame yourself for stumbling. Felix is sitting on the couch in nothing but a pair of jeans. It looks like the same blue jeans from the other night. Yes, in fact, you are sure they are because you can see the faintest streak on his thigh. You were embarrassed to find you were so wet that it came through your panties and skirt. You wondered if it got on him.
You certainly have an answer now.
Felix is touching himself. He is slouched back on the couch, his bare chest damp with sweat, his knees spread apart. His jeans are pulled open and it looks roughly torn, the zipper snapped off the fly. His hand is wrapped around his cock. One of your t-shirts is clutched tightly in the other hand. He is holding it against his face, covering his eyes, mouth, and nose. He is clearly chasing the scent, knuckles whitening with how tightly he grips it.
His abdomen clenches as he approaches a climax. You watch as he quickly wraps the t-shirt around his cock, fucking the material. His eyes are closed, head thrown back.
You snap to the realization that he has no idea you’re here, so overwhelmed with your scent from the shirt.
You quickly cover your eyes with both hands and yelp his name.
His reply is a startled yelp as well. You peek at him through your fingers, watching as he frantically stuffs the t-shirt between the couch cushions. He tries to stand at the same time, fighting to close his pants over an uncooperative erection that does not seem to be going down.
“Fuck, sorry, I – hold on, fuck – I can explain—” he stammers.
“Um, me too,” you say.
He can’t get his pants closed but he gets himself tucked back inside. He keeps a grip on the fly with one hand, the other running through his long hair.
Then he is standing there, flushed and out of breath. You slowly lower your fingers from your face.
There is a moment of silence, both of you startled. After a bit of staring, he cracks a nervous smile. You tentatively return it.
His brow smooths out, his dimple poking into his cheek. He chuckles first, then you laugh, then you are laughing together. It feels good, letting out all the ridiculous tension.
“Why, uhh, why are you here?” he finally asks.
“Um, Chan texted,” you say.
“Oh, for the love of—” He cuts off his own tirade, shaking his head and exhaling heavily.
You twist your hands together, fingers budging in a nervous fidget.
“Um, he told me… he told me…” You forget your precise words because Felix meets your eyes, holding your gaze in his. You lose yourself in the depth of his dark eyes. You think your heart is beating loud enough to hear.
You look away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare. Your eyes stray to the couch, to your t-shirt poking out between the cushions. You are startled by a jolt between your legs, like a lightning bolt of arousal, the previous scene suddenly resonating with clarity.
“I—” You almost choke on your words, so much nervousness, so much fear, so much need in your voice. You meet his searching eyes, stepping forward as if compelled by them. “I thought my scent disgusted you.”
He blinks back at you, your words taking a moment to settle. Then he furrows his brow and tilts his head. A bit of hair falls forward and he tucks it back.
“Uhhhh, what?” he asks. “Dis—disgusted me? You thought—” He looks back at the couch too. He is very flushed, his rut no doubt keeping him suspended on a perpetual edge, and his ears darken with a richer tinge of red. “Um. No.” He laughs at the ridiculousness, looking at you with wide, blinking eyes. “I, uh, I definitely don’t – I think you – I mean—”
“Um, yes,” you say, clasping your hands together again. You rock a little on the balls of your feet. “Yes. I can see that, um, I think you’re not disgusted.”
“No,” it comes out on a breath. His eyes drop from your face down your body. You look so simple, but he looks at you like no one has ever been more beautiful. “No, I’m not disgusted. Why did you think that?”
“You, um, you make faces sometimes,” you say. It sounds so petty and silly to say out loud, but it’s time to get it all out there. “And you’ve been so distant, Felix. I thought that maybe, now that you’re a werewolf, you didn’t want anything more to do with me.”
His face scrunches up with bewilderment.
“Nothing – nothing to do with you?” he asks, voice breaking where it pitches up. It would usually make you laugh, but now is not the time as you stare back, all your insecurities and vulnerabilities on display. He does not laugh at them either, taking a small step towards you with a tender look on his face. “I could never feel that way,” he says. “You’re my whole world. I – I’ve told you that. You’re my – you’re my person.”
“Chan said you felt like a monster,” you say softly. “I wish you would have told me how you felt. I could have told you that you aren’t a monster, not at all. You’re my person too, you know.”
He exhales, shoulders deflating. He rubs the bridge of his nose, thinking of something to say. Eventually he shakes his head and drops his hand.
“I didn’t want to be a burden,” he says. “You’ve been through so much. I couldn’t – I couldn’t ask you to take care of me too.”
“Felix,” you say, throat cloying with emotion. You take a step closer as well. “Felix, you’re not a burden. I wanted so badly to take care of you. I – I love you.”
The word love resonates like thunder. It pierces the air, leaves a ringing aftermath.
“You – you love me,” Felix says, like the words are incomprehensible. “As a – as a friend – or?” He tries to look disinterested but completely fails, staring at you with all that intensity again.
You combat the instinct to make yourself small, to hide your vulnerabilities, to retreat into denial and just smile prettily. You hold his gaze. When you smile, it is honest and affectionate.
“I love you, Felix,” you say. “As more than a friend. As everything.”
“Oh,” he says. His hand goes back into his hair, untucking it from behind his ear just to tuck it back again. His eyes dart everywhere like he is replaying the scene and scanning it for answers. He blinks at you. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” you say, with a small laugh.
“But you – you never wanted to see me again,” he says, then lifts his brows, expression all at once understanding. “Because you thought I didn’t want you. Oh my god. I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m not the brightest either,” you tease.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, closing the distance yet again with another step. He forgets the state of his clothes and lets go of his pants, too wrapped up in his words to notice the startled drop of your eyes. Not much is exposed, just the shape of his hips and a stubborn bulge, but it still leaves you sweating.
“Look,” he says. “I – I can’t just say I love you.” Before your heart can sink, he continues frantically, “Because it’s not enough. I do, I do love you. The werewolf gene activated for you. The doctors asked if I had been in any dangerous situations that might have triggered it and I said no. They – they said it sometimes activates in peril, when you feel the need to protect yourself. That’s what happened to me. Except it wasn’t because I wanted to protect myself. I wanted to protect you.”
“Me?” you say in a small voice, like you can hardly believe it.
“Yes,” he says, smiling, both hands moving as he talks. “I felt so helpless, watching the way you were hurting. I wanted to protect you. I never wanted to see you suffering again. I tried to be calm around you but pushing it down just made the feeling more desperate. My wolf, it’s like my heart. It’s just an animal, you know? And it only understands loyalty and love. And the first time I changed, I didn’t think like a person, no, but I thought of you all the same. They could barely keep me contained in that hospital. I just wanted to run to you. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe. Staying away from you… it’s been killing me.”
“Me too,” you say, so filled to brim with emotion you think you might burst. “Oh, Felix, me too.”
A laugh spills out of him, more of a release than humour. You take another step towards each other, this time close enough to clasp hands between you.
“I wish you would have told me,” you say. “But it’s my fault too. I know I’m still recovering in some ways. I’m quick to think little of myself. But I shouldn’t put you in the role of the mean voices in my head. I’m sorry too. So, so sorry.”
“How could you think I’d ever be disgusted with you?” he asks in a low voice.
When he cups your cheek, a shiver moves down your spine. You straighten, leaning into his touch, looking at him with wanting eyes. He swallows hard, staring back.
“It was silly,” you say. “I even thought you were seeing someone else. That werewolf lady in your pack. I thought maybe you wanted a werewolf mate and I wouldn’t be enough.”
“That’s crazy,” he says. “You’re my everything.”
“And you’re mine,” you say.
You touch his arm, just the lightest caress of your fingertips. His skin is so hot it makes you gasp. Your cool fingers must be a balm because his eyes close and a little sigh parts his lips.
“Uh,” he breathes, eyes still closed. “Sorry for what you, uh, saw, coming in— I promise I don’t usually – ruts are just—”
You step a little closer. You can feel his breath on your cheek when he breathes in and out.
His hands drop to his sides as you lean in and kiss his neck. It is just a chaste touch but it makes his eyes fly open. He looks at you and you swear his eyes have never been so dark.
“You want me,” he says. When you nod, he releases another deep breath, a massive exhale of relief. “Ruts are… intense,” he says.
“Mm,” is your gentle reply. Your eyes run down his bare skin, fingers itching to touch. You meet his gaze. “But it’s you, right?”
Some romances depict ruts as an out of control haze. Though Felix is certainly more intense, it is your best friend’s familiar eyes locked on yours. You realize it actually makes him the vulnerable one, all his desires so blatant, his needs on the surface, unable to hide them for a second. You understand why he held back, especially while you were in recovery. There is so much of him.
But that is what you love. You can never have enough.
“Yes,” he says.
His deep voice is so rough that it makes you whimper. His hand jumps at the sound, settles on the back of your neck like it did yesterday. Anticipation tingles from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, every inch of your body aware of him, desperate for him.
“Yes,” he says again, staring at your mouth. “Yes, it’s me.”
Your breath catches when he squeezes your nape. In the back of your mind, you recall all those little courtship rituals of werewolves, the instincts that manifest between them and their mate. A gentle squeeze of the nape is a request for your submission, for you to put your trust in his strength and his affection.
You do, utterly. You rest your hands on his waist, your cool palms against his hot skin, making his eyes flash with hunger.
“What are you waiting for?” you ask, his mouth so close, kissing a tantalizing promise.
He smiles that real smile, eyes crinkling sweetly, sunshine radiating with all that heat.
“I told you, ruts can be intense,” he says. “I’m waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you.”
“You have it,” you say. Your eyes drop to his chest and you run your hand from his collarbone all the way down to his abdomen, watching the muscles tense under the caress of your fingers.
You smile at him, swiping at his hot skin with your fingertips as you step back. He lets you go, hands dropping to his sides. He moves when you do, like his whole body is tethered to yours, magnetized to your core. Each step you take, he follows with a fixated prowl.
“Do whatever you want with me,” you say, peeling down a strap of your dress. “I’m yours.”
His steps gain speed, his smile brightening. In a matter of seconds, he is chasing you into his bedroom, laughing behind your trail of giggles as you scamper ahead of him.
He catches you around the waist inside the bedroom, pulling your backside into his front. The straps of your dress are both lowered and you hold it to your chest with your hand, heart pounding from excitement and the little chase.
You make a sweet sound when his nose swipes your neck. You tip your head, offering more skin. It is a good thing his grip is so strong, because you tremble when he exhales, breath caressing your skin. He gathers your dress in his hands, plucking the fabric out of your grip. He pushes it down your body and it puddles on the floor.
“Felix,” you say on a sigh when he kisses the back of your neck while working his fingers under your bra. You help remove it, dropping it onto the floor. You rock back against him when he touches you. He uses both hands to cup your breasts and squeeze.
“Can’t believe you thought I was disgusted,” he says. “Like I didn’t spend my whole last rut in here thinking about you.”
“Y-you did?” you ask, with a little whimper, because his open jeans are not doing much to shield him and you can feel how hard he is against you.
“Yes,” he says, a hand coming up to circle your throat, gripping it possessively as he puts his teeth in your neck. It makes you jump in his arms, body shaking.
He holds you tight against him, the denim of his pants rough through the thin fabric of your tights.
“I’m sorry for all that,” you rasp. “I must have made it so hard for you.”
“Mm,” he says, grinning against your neck. “You made it very hard.”
“Pfft.” You slap a hand over your mouth when laughing. “That was a terrible joke.”
“Mm. True though.”
You squeak when he nudges you forward, so close to the bed that you stumble right onto it. He climbs up behind you, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back.
“At first, I was just sad,” he says.
He leans back to grab something off his bedside table. You admire the length of his body as he does, the low-slung jeans, the sheen of sweat across his chest, and his subtle, slender musculature.
You meet his gaze when he comes back. He is kneeling over you, a cocky grin on his face. He gathers his hair and ties it with the band he just grabbed.
“Then I really thought about it,” he says. “Mm, yeah, thought about hunting you down.” He straddles your thigh, his hands planting on either side of your head. “I’d find you and I’d remind where you belong.” He leans down, kissing along your jaw. “With me. Under me. Moaning my name. Forgetting about everything else.”
“Did you—” You start but gasp, his mouth on your throat, biting, sucking, licking. You arch your back, leaning into his mouth as he works his way down your body. “Did you… like with my shirt… when I saw you before…”
“What? Did I get off to your scent?” he asks. “Yes.” His hand follows his mouth, fingers curling into the band of your tights. “I told myself I shouldn’t. The last few ruts I managed. It wasn’t fun, mostly too hot, but I got by. But – you weren’t coming back, were you? You left so many pretty things here that made me think of you…”
He abruptly kneels upright. He uses both hands to grab the waistband of your tights.
“Found one of your cardigans,” he says. “Soft, like you. Put it on my pillow and fucked my hand like I wanted to fuck you.”
He rips your tights open with little effort, tearing right down to the thigh.
“Put it on my face,” he says. “Tasted it. Like I wanted to taste you.”
You moan for him, threading your fingers through his hair as he gets between your legs and opens his mouth on your pussy. He licks right through the material of your panties, like he doesn’t care at all, tormenting you with the obstruction until it is soaked through. You say his name over and over, your thighs already shaking just from warming up.
“Mmm.” He pushes himself up again, his mouth wet, tongue sweeping over his lips. He grabs your panties by the waistband and tugs them down.
By now, his jeans have slid down his hips. He is so hard, beading at the tip, as wet for you as you are for him. You watch as he uses your panties to quickly jerk his cock, gathering the wetness at the tip, then tossing them over his shoulder.
He falls back on top of you, face between your legs, licking you with nothing in his way.
“Wanted to find you,” he says between teasing kitten licks, looking up at you, smirking with the flick of his tongue. “Wanted to make you come so hard – mm, fuck you so good…” He slips two fingers inside you. Even though it has been some time, they move with no hindrance, your pussy so wet that he sinks right in.
“Yeah,” he says, momentarily going cross-eyed with his face so close to your pussy, watching his fingers move in and out of you. He grins when you clench around him. “Show you we were meant to be,” he says. “Just like this.” He licks you again, fingers moving so quickly that it sounds as obscenely wet as it feels. “Wolf or not. Knew you were mine. Was gonna make sure you know too.”
“Ohh,” you say, tugging at the blankets beneath you. “Who are you and what have you done with my sunshine Felix?”
He laughs, a low chuckle, the vibrations moving in your pussy.
“Mm, I’m right here, sweetheart,” he says. “Right… here…”
Then his mouth is occupied, little licks replaced with broad strokes of his tongue, then a repeating pattern that has you swelling and gushing on his tongue. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, head thrown back as you squirt all over his thrusting fingers.
“That’s it,” he says, kissing your wet thighs.
While you are recovering, he grabs you and moves you. He arranges you neatly in the middle of the bed, making sure you are comfortable. Then he lets down his hair and removes his jeans.
“Felix,” you say, though it is generous to describe your voice as anything but a needy whimper.
He runs his hands up and down your trembling thighs, coaxing you open with murmurs of sweet nothings. You let him in, stringing your arms around his neck as he fits his hips between your legs and leans over you. You feel the head of his cock against your pussy, still throbbing with aftershocks. You are clenching around nothing, needing him, so ready you could scream.
You don’t scream, but sigh, like you are relieved when he gets inside you, like this is what you have been missing all along.
He takes his time despite the fever of his rut. Maybe because of it. His senses are so heightened, the pleasure felt so strongly. He groans, eyes closed, putting his face in your neck and breathing deeply as he slowly rocks into you.
“What were you thinking,” he murmurs, lips moving on your throat, “Trying to run away from me?”
“I’m – I’m sorry,” you say, interrupted with a hiccupping little uh-uh when he rolls his hips and you feel him deeper, harder, faster.
“You thought I wanted someone else?” he asks. “Impossible.”
Your eyes are closed, head thrown back. He grabs your chin and pulls your face to him, says, “Look at me. Right now.”
You do, blinking your eyes open. His thumb rubs your bottom lip and you open your mouth. You don’t even need to think, instantly accepting the intrusion of the digit, sucking on it while holding his gaze.
It would have terrified you a year ago, with anyone else, losing yourself to instinct like that, opening yourself up so willingly. With Felix, it feels right, it feels good.
“It’s you and me,” he says. “You understand that?”
You nod, humming affirmatively around his thumb. It rubs over your tongue, opens your mouth a little more. You want to close your eyes with every rolling thrust into you, but he tugs your face back to him when you try.
“You’re my mate,” he says. “Just you. It’s always – always been you.” He groans on the second always, picking up some speed, making you whine against his fingers.
He is so hot, clearly in the grips of his rut fever, but you cling to him, accepting everything he has to offer.
“Gonna be mine,” he says. “That’s right, yeah?” You nod frantically. “Yeah. Gonna put a ring on your finger. You’re gonna be so good to me, aren’t you? Gonna let me take care of you. Gonna be my mate. Gonna have my children. You and me. Home. Oh, yes, sweetheart, that’s it—”
You clench so tightly at the mention of children. It catches you off guard, your body’s visceral and immediate response, faster than your brain compute can why. You have told Felix you want children one day, in the future, back when you were just friends and it was an abstract thought. Thinking of a home with him, having his children, making a whole life together, being bound so completely …
“Fuck,” you say, his thumb sliding out of your mouth. He cups your face to keep it locked on him, your lips brushing each other.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
You do, though you are so close that you barely see him. It feels like he is everywhere, everything, around you and inside you. You melt when he kisses you, stealing your breath as he claims you so completely. You kiss back, messy and haphazard, all heat and wetness, but it feels good.
“C-can’t get pregnant,” you say with a pout, a bit delirious from getting fucked, letting the words roll thoughtlessly off your tongue. “B-birth control.”
“I know,” he says. He moves a little, gets up so he can hold your hips and pull you onto his cock with every thrust. “I’m stronger,” he says, just as deliriously, watching where his cock moves inside you. “Yeah. Gonna fill you up so much, it’ll happen anyway. It can’t stop me.”
He holds your hips, keeps you in place. He thrusts into you deeply and says, “You’re mine,” and thrusts again, “You’re mine,” and thrusts again, “You’re mine,” and comes inside you.
It is not quite like all the werewolf pornography, with exaggerated knots on preposterously sized cocks, but werewolf physiology is still a little different than human. That difference is exacerbated on a rut. You feel it as he comes, the way he swells and gets harder, just enough that you feel your fullest as he releases. Pushing at you walls, stretching you around him, making you his without question.
He doesn’t really soften after, the rut sustaining him, but the swelling goes down. Even then, not entirely, as you feel a sharper burn when he pulls out of you. The flicker of pain is oddly tantalizing, a biting sensation on top of so many others. It ripples through you, makes you moan.
Your whole body is twitching, eyes closed as you come back to yourself.
You look up at Felix. His eyes are between your legs, his hand running up your thigh. You feel his thumb spread your pussy open, feel his release spilling out of you. That is the other different element; with a werewolf, there is a lot more of everything.
Though you know your birth control will function regardless, when you feel all that inside you… for a moment, you believe he might be strong enough to overpower it.
It makes you giddy, pleasure moving through your body. He smiles at you, all sunshine and sweetness. Then he takes control of your hips and puts himself back inside you. The refractory period on a rut is virtually nonexistent on the peak day, which is usually the second day, which is today.
“You okay?” he asks, rocking into you slowly even though he fits so easily now, your body made to take him.
You nod, sliding your hands over his shoulders. You scratch across his back then up in his hair, making him grunt and close his eyes. He leans down and kisses you, continuing to fuck you until you are making all those sweet sounds again.
“Good?” he asks, kissing your jaw, your neck.
“Good,” you say.
“Not too much?” he checks.
“Mm, no,” you say. You give him a teasing smile. “Not enough actually.”
“Oh, really?” He laughs, eyes big with playful incredulity. “Should I growl and bite more?” He makes a playful snarl like the werewolves in all the erotica.
It makes you laugh. You can’t remember the last time you laughed while having sex, but it feels so good, just as good as all the hot, desperate stuff.
“Hmm, maybe not,” he says, laughing too. “Maybe all the making-a-bitch stuff is a bit much, hm?”
It seems you will learn more about yourself than him over this rut, because that also makes you clench involuntarily. He blinks with surprise, mouth in a soft ‘o’ as he looks down at you. He laughs just a little at the look on your face, a low chuckle as his grin widens.
You cover your mouth, blinking innocently up at him.
“Oh shit,” he says. “I see.”
You pout when he pulls out of you, but there is little time to feel bereft because he flips you over onto your front. Your face lands in the pillows, then he yanks you down the bed.
Oh, it feels filthy suddenly, because the new angle opens you up and you can feel come dripping out of you. It catches his eye too, because he puts his fingers there and stuffs it back inside you.
With little effort, he gets you back under him, pushes down your shoulders and lifts up your hips. You feel him at your entrance again, pushing the tip past the rim.
“Is that it?” he asks, dropping his voice so low yet sounding so sweet. “You want me to make you my bitch, baby?”
He slams home, holding your hips up while pounding into you with relentless measure. You grab a pillow to hold, yelping and whining into it as he fucks you with wild abandon.
For a few seconds, you succumb to that single-minded animalistic pursuit, and you really do believe he can put a baby in you. You start babbling the desire – begging for it, asking him to fill you up.
“Please, please, please,” you say, gasping.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, draping himself over your back, not stopping his hips for a second. “I got you. I’ll give you a baby. So good for me. Made to take it from me, yeah, baby?”
You know you are going to come again, his angle and precision too much to withstand. Sure enough, you are coming all over his cock in a matter of seconds, squeezing him into another orgasm too.
He kneels behind you, throws his head back while coming. Then he grinds inside you like he is trying to get it as deep as possible.
“Oh, Felix,” you say, whimpering when he pulls out, still hard, the burn less this time because you are so filthy wet that he slides so easily. You can feel his release gush out of you, his fingers chasing it, pushing back into you.
He rubs at you until you are rocking your hips and coming on his fingers. It is so much stimulation that your eyes water and your nose starts to sniffle.
He rolls you over and cups your face. You open your mouth instinctively, tilting your head to expose your neck. He looks at you like he can’t really believe you are exist and that you are here.
“Wow,” he says. The hand on your face slides so he can put his thumb back in your mouth, letting you suck on it like it is giving you life. He clenches his jaw, makes a rough sound, presses down on your needy tongue. “Next time,” he says, while starting to put his cock back into you, “Your mouth. And my mouth. You’re gonna sit on my face for hours. I’m gonna take care of you. Oh—”
He is halfway inside you when you reach up, putting your hands on his chest. He stops immediately, pulling out, taking back his hands, looking at you with a concerned tilt to his head.
“Will you lay on your back?” you ask, voice hoarse.
He blinks, like for a second he doesn’t understand words, but then he obeys. His hair is in absolute disarray, a veritable lion’s mane. He rakes it back, smooths it down as best he can. He never takes his eyes off you, watching as you sit up, as you climb on top of him, as you put him back inside you and set a slower pace.
“My turn,” you say, smiling. “I want to take care of you too.”
He smiles, putting his hands on your hips but not guiding them. He lets you take the lead, moving on top of him, finding all the ways to make him moan and close his eyes and twitch inside you.��
You make him come twice that way. After the second time, he finally starts to soften enough that you can take a break.
You lay down beside him, squeaking with surprise when you press down on your belly and a little more come gushes out of you. You look at each other, his face the picture of total innocence despite his hand in it. You swat his chest, rolling onto your side and putting your head on his chest.
He laughs, putting his arm around you, stroking your back.
“You know I do mean it,” he says, looking down at you. “I want everything with you.”
“Me too,” you say. You kiss his chest, then his neck, under his jaw, making him sigh contently. “I love you, Felix. Everything about you, wolf and all.”
“I love you too,” he says, pressing you close, kissing your forehead.
There is a long moment of content silence. He strokes your back, up and down, lulling you to a dozy state. It is too early to sleep and, besides, the sheets need changing before that – even though you suspect they will just be dirtied again.
You are contemplating these sweet mundane nothings when he says, “You’re in the pack, you know. As my mate. That makes you one of us.”
“Does it?” you ask.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m telling you this, because you’re a packmate and Chan is leader, but you’re my mate, so you have to take my side and tell him to fuck off when he tries to say I told you so.”
You laugh, shaking your head and playfully rolling your eyes.
“Sounds good,” you say. “Hmm, I might go have a shower before… the next… round…”
You do not have to look down to know that he is hard already, his blinking gaze revealing all. You giggle together and kiss again.
“All right, fair enough,” you say, eyes closed, exposing your neck obediently when he cups your nape. You press against him, moaning softly when he scents your neck then sucks a bruising kiss there. “It can wait,” you say, smiling. “We’ve been waiting for this long enough.”
“Mm,” he says, already slipping back into his feverish need. He grabs you and pulls you back on top of him.
There is not much talking for a while, but there is some laughter and plenty of smiles, and for the first time in a long time, you are looking forward to everything that follows after.
#lee felix x reader#felix x reader#lee felix smut#felix smut#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids x you#skz x you#yongbbokkie#valentinesdaystories
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⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ NIGHTS LIKE THIS !
ఌ sum: Ever since Gojo saw you, he’s been nothing but love struck. And as time passes, you find yourself feeling the same.
wc: 3.2K
Warnings: Fem!reader, Gojo is basically obsessed with you, Uni AU, Modern AU, Eventual smut, Porn w plot, Making out, Oral (F receiving), P in V sex, Light choking, Praising, Pet names: Pretty girl, beautiful, sweet girl.
a/n: originally this was written for my friend with a different character, but I decided to change it to gojo so I can post it here for you lovelies :)!!!!
Lovestruck Gojo! who forgot how to breathe when he first saw you enter the lecture the first day. His eyes raked over your form, taking in every detail from when you first entered through the door to when you sat down. He bit the inside of his cheek when he saw you sit a few rows in front of him. He ignored the stinging pain that followed after biting the wall of his mouth, too entranced by you to even care.
Lovestruck Gojo! who grew more frustrated as the weeks passed. He cursed his inability to go up to you and just talk. The way your lips seemed to shine every time he looked at them, how the outsides of your eyes creased when you smiled just made him so nervous.
Lovestruck Gojo! who swears his prayers finally have been answered when you two were paired up for a project. He sat up a little bit straighter when the professor announced your name next to his. He swore the sun shined a little bit brighter that day.
Lovestruck Gojo! who’s heart raced when he noticed you make your way towards him at the end of the lecture. He pretended not to notice you, which was hard because he knows he’s noticed just about everything you had to offer. His heart raced when he heard your voice speak to him, in his head was a million thoughts scrambling through his mind.
Lovestruck Gojo! who’s voice cracked when he spoke his first words to you. “I’m sorry?” He questioned when he realized he didn’t respond to you. “Want to exchange contacts? It’ll be easier to keep in touch this way,” he heard you ask. It felt like his breath got caught in his throat, the softness, the perfection of your voice paralyzed him. He knew he had to answer this time, he had to make a good first impression.
Lovestruck Gojo! who hurriedly agreed to give you his number. After that brief conversation, he watched you walk away. He swore his heart would jump out of his chest any moment now, however he wouldn’t even be mad, not when the reason his heart was beating was because of you.
Lovestruck Gojo! who swears he’s on cloud nine. Ever since the both of you have been partnered up for that project, the both of you have slowly gotten closer and closer. Everyday he would wake up with one thought in his mind, you. When he got ready for your guys’ daily meet up to slowly progress on the project, he made sure to look his very best. He always double checked to see if his hair was laid correctly, that his teeth looked white as ever, and that his clothes smelled perfect.
Lovestruck Gojo! who silently congratulated himself every time he made you laugh. Sometimes you would catch him staring, but you found yourself not being bothered by it one bit. You couldn’t deny that you undoubtedly caught feelings for the man in front of you during the time you guys spent together. You found yourself blushing everytime he remembered your coffee order, even more so when he paid for it everytime.
Lovestruck Gojo! who felt like his world was destroyed when the project came to an end. He should’ve felt any form of happiness, but he couldn’t. Not when he had no excuse to see you anymore. When he rolled over in his bed, he felt like sinking into it just to never come out again.
Lovestruck Gojo! who groaned when he heard his phone buzz signaling he got a notification. He silently debated on ignoring it, almost positive it was a random notification from a random app. Although he twisted and turned, soon facing his phone on the nightstand beside him with a small hope that maybe, maybe, you texted him.
Lovestruck Gojo! whose heart went from 0 to 100 the moment he saw it was you who texted him. He immediately opened the notification and read your text, he smiled so hard that it hurt. “Party tn, wanna come? We can let loose a little as a little celebration for finishing that stupid project :).”
Lovestruck Gojo! who never got ready so fast in his life before. He made sure to reply to your text before doing so, he’d rather die than have you think he purposefully ignored you.
Lovestruck Gojo! who had no idea just how fast your heart was beating. Your friends pressured you into texting him, knowing just how much you liked him. You didn’t know whether to curse them out or hug them, but the thought diminished as soon as you saw he replied to you, agreeing to come.
Lovestruck Gojo! who felt the same as he first did the very first second he saw you when he saw you tonight, in front of him. He clenched his fists when he took note just how many other men were in the same building as you, almost hard enough to draw blood. All negative feelings vanished when he locked eyes with you, and instead new ones blossomed. He took note how you styled your hair, and wore a little more makeup than usual. His eyebrows furrowed when he thought that you wanted to look good for somebody else.
Lovestruck Gojo! who slowly lost himself in your eyes. The both of you agreed to dance with each other, mirroring each other's smiles. He lost track of time, not that he cared though. The only thing he cared about was the feeling of your arms around his neck, your eyes looking right at him and fuck the glossiness of your lips. Everything about you was perfect, and he wanted to kill every man who looked at you tonight.
Lovestruck Gojo! whose body felt like it was on fire right now. He doesn’t know who leaned first, but he couldn’t give a fuck about that. Not when the feeling over your soft, plushy lips against his sent his mind, body, and soul to heaven and back. He could only focus on the small, shaky breaths that escaped your lips when he sucked particularly hard, and fuck he loved it more than he should. What’s new though, he always loved you way more than the normal amount.
Lovestruck Gojo! who almost whined when you finally broke the kiss, but what you said after instantly made up for it. “Wanna get out of here?” He didn’t know how a person could be so fucking adorable, but you break his expectations everyday.
His silently nodded, little pants escape his lips as you take his hand and lead him out of the party.
As soon as the two of you barely make it to your dorm, you’re pushed up against the door. You let out a gasp when your head meets the firmness of your dorm door, but quickly the pain turns into pleasure when he takes the opportunity of your opened mouth to slide his tongue into your mouth.
You feel his hands touch every part of your body, trying to memorize every part of you. You hear him chuckle against your lips when you let out soft whines when he touches a particularly sensitive spot, and fuck did that make you wet.
“Such a fucking pretty girl,” he mumbles into your mouth. You let out a whine at the praise, your hands resting against his firm chest. His hands rest on your hips, squeezing them whenever he finds himself feeling too much of everything.
He often found himself denying that you were real, but you were here, under his touch, kissing him. Him, of all people. If he told his past self that he’d up like this with you, his past self would laugh, or faint, either or.
You find yourself slowly backing up until you hit your bed with him looming over you. The both of you take a second to just look at each other, a million things spoken with just one look. Both of your eyes gazing at each other full of lust and love before leaning back into each other with more passion than before.
“G-Gojo..fuck,” you moan out as you arch your back. The man on top of you started to slowly roll his hips against yours, the feeling making pleasure flow through the entirety of your body, no area left untouched. “I- ah..I know baby I know”, he coos, feeling the same if not more.
You feel his big hands tug at your shirt, a silent demand to take it off, and you do with no hesitation. Gojo is awestruck, absolutely entranced with how beautiful you look. Every part of you is absolutely perfect, fuck he feels like the luckiest man alive right now.
He detaches his lips from yours, a small string of spit hangs between the both of you. His hands move from the side of your face to your chest, then slowly down to your hips before resting on the side of your stomach. He leaves soft kisses against different areas of your stomach as his hands roam your torso, silently worshiping your body.
“Fuck you’re so beautiful,” he praises, his thumbs stroking the sides of your torso. You let out soft airy breaths in response to his delicate touches, each kiss igniting a small flame in the same area he kissed you.
When he finally makes your way down to your waist, he looks up at you, silently asking for permission. You give him a slight nod and lift your hips to help him remove your pants. Once Gojo throws your bottoms on the floor somewhere you start to get flustered. Almost your whole body is exposed while he’s still fully dressed. Guess you’re going to have to change that.
You softly call out his name, to which he answers with a small hum. His face is near your clothed pussy, so when he hummed you felt every little bit of it. You subconsciously opened your legs to the feeling of pleasure that sparked through your body as, and let out a squeak when he places a small kiss to your clothed pussy.
“Gojo..” you whine. “Y-you’re still dressed,” you pant out. You feel him chuckle from in between your legs and you let out another small moan in response. “Aww, is my poor baby embarrassed?” He mocks, a small smirk gracing his features.
“N-no..” You mumble with a small pout, but the both of you know otherwise. Gojo quickly rids of his shirt and leans down to give you a quick peck before moving down to your pussy.
You feel your panties are wet, and he sees that they’re wet, and you should feel embarrassed but you don’t.
Gojo tears off your panties and before you can complain, he licks a long stripe from your pussy to your clit. You buck up in response to which his hands fly to your hips to hold them down. After that he makes quick work of making a mess out of you.
You release moan after moan when he repeatedly laps your clit, showing no sign of stopping. The lewd noises of your wet squelches and his sucking fill the room, along with your whimpers and his groans.
As he eats you out the small praises he drunkenly says are lost on your ears. The only thing you can focus on, can even comprehend, was the feeling of his tongue against your wet pussy and oh, the finger he slipped in your poor little pussy.
“Such a good fucking girl, taking me so well,” he praises when he sees you take his finger with no struggle. When your legs twitch he knows you're close and speeds up the thrusting of his one finger and the speed of his tongue against your clit.
“Ah, ah fuck! G-Gojo,” you scream out, so close, just one more second and…
You let out a sob when you feel his finger quickly slip out of your sobbing pussy, and the feeling of his tongue no longer working on your clit. You could almost cry at the lost orgasm.
“Y-you’re so mean,” you sniffle out. “Can’t have you cummin yet baby,” he says shakily. His breaths come out in pants, his thoughts all over the place but the only constant is you.
He leaves a trail of kisses along the inside of your thigh, sucking on them every few kisses. He mumbles soft praises in between, “You're so beautiful, my pretty girl, doing so well.”
When he decides your thighs are littered with enough marks, he moves up your body coming face to face with you. His two fingers prod at your mouth, silently telling you to open your mouth. You obey, your tongue swirling around his thick fingers, tears threatening to spill your eyes.
While you’re working on his two fingers he took the liberty of slowly rolling his hips against yours. He kisses your cheek when he removes his fingers from your mouth, and slowly trails them along your body till he reaches your pussy.
The both of your lips connect when he slowly drags his fingers lightly down your body till they stop at your entrance. He coaxes you to breathe, staring into your eyes as he teases your clit.
He starts to pump his fingers into you, your juices coating his fingers. As you start to loosen up even more he slides another finger into you. The feeling of his thick hands inside of you make you feel impossibly stretched. It feels so good, everything feels so good fuck.
As you near your orgasm you pull him close to you, whimpering and panting wanting, needing to finish as his fingers ruthlessly attack the spongy spot inside your pussy.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” you whine fucked out on his fingers. “Please Gojo let me cum,” you lean in to kiss him but he pulls back, teasing you. He pretends to think, already knowing the answer. “You’ve been such a good girl,” he growls out. Matching his thrusts with his words. “Guess I should let you,” he finishes and kisses you.
His fingers speed up making your legs twitch as you reach your climax. Your moans are beautiful against his ears, he can never get enough of you. You’re so perfect.
You call out his name when you cum, your juices spraying out and coating his fingers. He slows down his tempo to help you ride through your orgasm, swallowing your cute little pants and whines.
“How’s my sweet girl doing?” He coos, cupping your cheek and using his thumb to caress the side of your face. You lean into his touch, still blissfully fucked out on his fingers. You let out a hum to signal you’re still with him.
Red coats your cheeks when you hear him say that you taste so fucking good. You use both of your hands to grasp on his forearm that’s attached to the hand on your cheek. “Mm Gojo,” you softly whisper out his name, not completely sure what the real goal was. You just wanted to say his name.
“I know baby, I know,” he quickly places a peck on your forehead before leaning back and quickly undoing his belt and jeans, leaving him in his boxers. Still in your fucked out state you don’t notice just how big he is.
He makes quick work of his boxers, throwing them in a random corner of the room before leaning down over you. “Is this okay? Are you okay with this?” He asks, and you could almost laugh if you weren’t out of breath. Of course you were okay with this, more than okay. “Yesyesyes, just let me feel you. I want you. Please,” you breathe out, looking straight into his eyes.
And something in him just snaps.
Hearing you beg for him, how utterly desperate you sound, it’s too much, you’re too much. His feelings for you are too much. He drags you to the end of the bed and places your legs over his shoulders. He shoves your full length inside of your pussy and you cry out. He’s so big…
You barely have time to adjust before he pulls back out and slams back into you. You grip onto his back, nails scratching down the entirety of his backside. “‘Ts too much- Ah!” moan after moan fills the room, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each other is basically drowned out by both your cries and his grunts.
The ruthless pace he sets makes your tits bounce against his chest, and he doesn’t fail to notice. His mouth greedily sucks on one while his hand fondles the other. “Oh my god! You feel so good ah..,” the sound of your cute little moans do downright dirty things to him. It makes him want to fucking ruin you.
When he decides your right boob is marked up enough he moves to your other, spitting on it before continuing his same merciless treatment on it.
You feel like your soul left your body when one of his hands lifted your hips a bit so he could thrust deeper into you. His cock is filling every single bit of you, and your pussy is greedily sucking him in.
“Ngh..Gojo feels so good. Your cock is filling me ah! so well,” you chant out his name like a prayer.
Once he declares both of your pretty tits taken care of he wraps a hand around your throat and makes eye contact with you. “Beautiful girl..taking me so well. Perfect, you’re fucking perfect,” he praises against your lips.
Both of you are near, you can feel his cock twitching inside of you and Gojo can feel how your pretty pussy is gripping him even more tight. It’s basically calling out his name, pulsing around his dick like a needy little thing.
“Gojo!” You scream out when you cum for the second time that night. Just a few more thrusts and he releases inside of you as well, spilling his warm cum inside of you.
His pace slows as he rides out his orgasm while also helping you ride out yours. “So perfect..did so well, pretty girl, did so fucking good,” he whispers. He continues to let out sweet praises as both of you continue to catch your breath.
You weren’t sure when you closed your eyes, but when you reopened them you were now in the bath against a firm, hard chest. You close your eyes again, relishing the feeling of being relaxed against him.
Gojo on the other hand is still in awe, he can’t, will not believe that you’re here with him. Leaning against him like this has been routine for years, like you guys have been together.
He rests his cheek against your head and you softly hum. His hands gently rub incoherent shapes against your hips as the two of you seek comfort against the both of each other.
Lovestruck!Gojo who kisses the crown of your head as his arms snake around your waist. His hold tightens, and you let it.
Lovestruck! Gojo who promises himself to keep holding you like this now, and in the future. Who promises to never let you go, and you’d never dream of letting him.
#gojo#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo smut#jujutsu gojo#gojo x you#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo fluff#gojo x y/n#jjk satoru#jujutsu satoru#satorugojo#satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru smut#satoru gojo#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen
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OUTTA MY MIND
18+ / mdi
summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.
content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.
wc: 7.7k
a/n: my first jungkook solo writing!! i hope u guys enjoy<33 ive been into bts since 2017 idk why i never wrote about them before lol anyways hope this is a good introduction to all my future jungkook works<3
masterlist | kofi/patreon
support me through a one time tip<3
Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.
You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.
Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.
It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.
It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.
Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.
Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.
Jeon Jungkook.
Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.
You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?
Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.
And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.
You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.
Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.
Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.
It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.
Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.
Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?
Admittedly, you had found him attractive all previous times you'd come across the name Jeon Jungkook whilst working in this industry, but that attraction did not go further than seeing it as an objective fact. You had never had any interest in artists outside of for work-related reasons, so you only knew him by name. Yet now, seeing him in person, it was a while other story.
It wasn't until the director gave Jungkook the green light to take a break that you first made eye contact with the boy. It appeared as if he had also noticed you immediately upon your entrance, as his eyes had gone straight from the camera onto yours. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part.
To your absolute surprise, his eyes stayed on you, lighting up when he realized you were staring back at him. Even more surprisingly, that's when he began walking towards you, a bright smile on his face as he approached you.
"Hey! You must be Y/N! It's really nice to meet you," he bowed at you when he reached you, bunny teeth still sticking out in a smile.
"Oh, I- Thank you! It's nice to meet you too, Jungkook," you managed to get out, bowing awkwardly. You were surprised at him even knowing your name. Was he on a first name basis with his staff? That was crazy to imagine considering how many people he must work with on a daily basis.
"Today's your first day, right?"
"Yeah, hah, is it that obvious?", for some reason you were at a loss of words, not having expected to even speak to Jungkook at all today.
His eyes widened as his head shook in negation, almost as if he believed to have genuinely insulted you by assuming it was your first day.
"Not at all! I know it might look kind of hectic, but I swear you get used to it pretty quick," he assured, giving a quick once-over to his surroundings.
Your eyes left him in favor of eyeing the room, noticing how everyone continued to work on separate tasks as Jungkook spoke to you. Too many tasks were being performed all at once, yet there was some sort of synergy to it all. It seemed far too fast paced for you, but Jungkook seemed to get the rhythm of it all by now.
"Has anyone given you a tour yet?" he asked, making your eyes go back to him.
"Oh, no. But it's fine. I only got lost a few times on the way here. I'll get used to it," you reassured. You had been given an overall overview of the premises, but you were yet to explore the entirety of the place. It was likely unnecessary, considering the size of the building.
Jungkook's eyes widened once again. Jesus, his eyes were gigantic. He seemed shocked at no one having taken the time to show you around.
"What? No tour?? I can't have that. I'll have to take you in one after this."
"What- No! It's fine, Jungkook. I'm sure you have more pressing things to get to. I mean, I have your schedule, I know you have a packed day. I'll just-"
"None of that. I have more control over my schedule than it might seem," he chuckled, "so you don't have to worry about that. It'll be a nice way for us to get to know each other."
The following five minutes or so were taken up by your consistent, yet polite, refusal to his offer, not wanting the talent himself to feel like he had to work his schedule around you. These refusals were met by even more insistence. He was overly charismatic and likable (on top of extremely cute), so it was a lost battle from the start. There was no way you could deny him in the end.
His break ended soon after, forcing his conversation with you to be interrupted. With an exaggerated groan and a lighthearted eye roll, the boy went back to posing, sending you a friendly wink when he was finally back in action in front of the camera.
As a true professional, he got back in the zone very quickly, taking on the form of a model as he followed the director's directions to a T. You continued watching him from afar, easily getting entranced by how good he was at his job. Being too distracted by him (as he kept sneaking glances towards you), you almost forgot to make the rounds around the room and introduce yourself to his other staff.
After about twenty minutes or so of conversing with his other staff (who all had nothing but positive things to say about the boy), things began to quiet down. The director announced that he had everything he needed and things began to get packed up as people left one by one. As everyone left, Jungkook made sure to express his gratitude to each team involved, even personally bidding goodbye to some staff he seemed a bit more familiar with. By the end of it, only a few people were left as Jungkook finally approached you.
Once again, the boyish smile was on his face, almost as if he specifically excited to talk to you. But that was just wishful thinking.
"So, about that tour?"
"You really don't have to-"
"Are we really gonna go over this again?", he groaned humorously, "Please let me show you around. It's the least I can do if I'm gonna make you attend all my schedules," he insisted once more.
"Fine, okay. You wore me down, Jungkook."
With a kiddish yet sarcastic fist bump to the sky in victory, Jungkook gestured for you to follow him and began leading the way out of the room, ready to show you the building.
~
"So, how are you liking Hybe?", he asked after a while of walking around the endless building.
Jungkook was a great guide. He was extremely talkative, so no question was left unanswered. Even before you were able to inquire about certain part of the building, he was already giving you a response, even being able to start a brand new subject of conversation every time.
"Well, it's kinda my first day. But it's nice. Just, uh, maybe a little intimidating," you admitted, walking side by side with the boy.
"Intimidating? Is it cause of me?", he tilted his head to the side with curiosity.
"Maybe," you winced, hoping he didn't take it to heart. You knew it must've been annoying for people to put him in a pedestal, but it was kind of hard not to, especially upon barely meeting him.
"It's okay. I'm not as intimidating as my fame may make me seem. Most people think I'm pretty nice, actually-"
"No, it's not like that! I know you're nice, I, uh, I looked you up before accepting the job. It's just," you paused to gesture at your surroundings, "I've never worked at such a huge company, managing one of the biggest artists in the country. I ... I don't wanna mess it up," you admitted.
He slowed down his walking at this, turning to face you better as both your movements lessened in speed.
"You won't trust me. I, uh, I actually chose you specifically. You know, to be my manager."
That took you by surprise.
Jungkook knew who you were? He picked you? It's not like you had anything to your name, just a few managing gigs here and there, along with endless internships from your school years. Why would he have picked you from what you assumed must've been a pool of tenured professionals at this?
"What do you mean you picked me? Did you-"
He shrugged, the speed of his steps still slow as he focused more on conversing with you, tour of the company fully put aside.
"They asked me for my input, since, you know, we're gonna be spending a lot of time together. I saw you on the list. You were my age and your cover letter made you sound so sincere and excited," he explained, "You were also pretty cute ...", he muttered in a cough before continuing, "I just wanted someone I could be friends with. And I think I made the right choice."
You chuckled, "Yeah? How can you be so sure?"
"I can tell that you like me," he grinned, "We're gonna be besties in no time."
His hand bumped yours as he said this, lightheartedly making contact with you. It was hard to gauge whether he was just overly charismatic or if he had been genuinely hitting on you all this time. All you knew was that if he kept it up, you'd probably end up actually falling for him.
Humoring him, you absentmindedly bumped your hand into his own too, rolling your eyes jokingly as he grinned even bigger at you.
Yeah, you were going to get close in no tome.
It had been two months. Two months since you started your job. Two months since you met Jungkook. Two months since you'd been right – you did fall for Jungkook.
It wasn't as dramatic as it sounded. You were pretty sure this was just an innocent crush. One that most people in Jungkook's vicinity probably had to battle on a day to day basis.
Innocent civilians could not be blamed for the natural effect Jeon Jungkook just had on people. He was handsome, funny, charming, and he was also a flirt. Unfortunately for you, it seemed like he reserved that last trait for you and you only.
Through the weeks, Jungkook was not shy to show his special interest in you. He'd seek you out constantly, always making you stick to his side – which was your job, but still! There was always a sense of something more behind his actions. As he had said, you two became friends quickly, but just as quickly, you had become one of the closest people to him within his staff.
He'd make conversation with you, constantly migrating to your side the moment he got a short break from whichever schedule you were currently at. He'd go as far as interrupting your work just for some of your attention. In short, he was driving you insane.
Walking far too close to you in the hallways, he'd question "Where to next?", with a smile, walking side by side with you while putting his entire attention on you.
And now, you were currently overseas with Jungkook, accompanying him for some solo recordings while the rest of his members worked on their own stuff. It was a small team of people, which was quite unusual for a member of the biggest group in the world. Since it was an unofficial schedule that only Jungkook would be attending to, only the closest members of his team were really necessary. This meant you and a few others.
The situation had started off pretty much okay. One of the requirements for your position had been to become a translator for Jungkook in any situation he ever needed. That had been unnecessary so far, as you had been in Jungkook's home country these past few weeks of work. Now that you were in America, however, Jungkook sought you out even more, claiming you must attend to every outing with him in order to help him in case he needed a better understanding.
You didn't know Jungkook too well yet, but, you were aware that after so many years in the industry, he knew enough English to get by. This was simply yet another excuse of his to keep you close. When you lightheartedly confronted him about this, his response was to stare down at you with his gigantic doe eyes and pretend as if he had no idea what you were talking about.
"English? What's that?" his head had tilted to the side, cutely feigning confusion and giggling when you broke out into an annoyed smile.
On top of joining him any time he went out for leisure (under the false vice of translating), he had also insisted you accompany him to the occasional dance practice he'd attend while in America. Your presence in this instance was completely unnecessary, but you still did not question it. Nor did you question why you were the only person he insisted on bringing along. His other managers? Nowhere to be found. As time passed by in Los Angeles, less and less people would accompany you and Jungkook on his outings – whether they be for leisure or work. It had now fallen down to Jungkook, his bodyguard, and you.
"C'mon, don't you want to see me dance? I'll buy you a meal afterwards, pinky promise," he'd hold his pinky up to you with a boyish smile, knowing you wouldn't deny him.
Anytime Jungkook would discreetly hit on you or fluster you with his attention, you'd simply laugh it off or play into it just the right amount. It wasn't like you didn't enjoy it. His decided infatuation with you gave you butterflies that had you kicking your blanket late at night when you'd think back to how much he must've liked you.
You were entirely aware that he knew you liked him back also. You never said it, nor did you ever return his flirting, but you knew that he knew. Any rebuttals or instances in which you told him to chill (jokingly, of course) were just covers you'd put up. The nerves about actually acknowledging his feelings always stopped you in your tracks, leaving you the lone option of just giggling along to him or rolling your eyes (depending how cheesy he was being).
Jungkook loved your back and forth, you could tell. He enjoyed when you'd jokingly tell him off for his sickly flirtatious demeanor or when you'd simply banter with him. It was likely just a motivator for him to keep going, naturally knocking down your walls one by one as time passed.
The camel's back had broken one week after your arrival in LA, when Jungkook finally decided to take things further, now inviting you over to his hotel room after what were assumed to be work hours. The excuse? He wanted to go over next week's schedule. Both you and him were fully aware he simply wanted to hang out, but the lines were beginning to blur.
"Hey," he welcomed you with a smile when you came knocking on his door, leaning against the frame before gesturing at you to come in.
"Hi, Kook," you walked in, unsure of what to do after making it past his door.
"You can take a seat while I get us some drinks," he gestured to the hotel room couch and walked over to the mini fridge in the living room.
"Drinks? Thought we were debriefing next week's schedule?", you asked with a teasing tone, reclining back into the couch.
"Oh, yeah, the schedule, for sure," he responded in a completely unserious manner.
Approaching you again with drinks in hand, he sat on the same couch as you, leaving a small distance between the two of you to create a more casual environment.
Handing you your drink, he chuckled before even being able to speak.
"Have I been obvious enough or should I try harder?", he asked, sipping his beer.
"Jungkook ..."
"C'mon, it's been a few months. You already know I like you, right? You have to know by now. Are you really not gonna reciprocate at all?", he pouted, "I know you like me back."
"What makes you so confident?"
"You haven't once told me to fuck off," he grinned, leaning back against the couch in complete relaxation.
"I can't do that, I work for you," you rebutted.
"Hah! Please, I know that wouldn't stop you. You might've been a little shy when we first met, but I know by now you would've told me to get fucked if you weren't interested."
He had a point. There had been a few instances in which you did, quite literally, tell him to get fucked. It was always in jest, of course, but you knew that if you ever turned down his flirting, he'd tone it down without question.
Of course you never wanted his flirting to stop. You had found a new source of energy within yourself any time Jungkook would shamelessly shower you with attention. Despite being discrete about it, never being direct with his flirting, he still gave you the same undivided attention any boy with a crush would. It made you feel giddy and wanted. Yet it also made you worry for what may come of acknowledging his interest further than you already had.
You laughed along with him and entertained his banter for a while, following along with his flirting as the two of you drank with one another, eventually arriving to a tipsy state. He drank like a sailor while you only nursed a few drinks, yet somehow reaching a similar level of drunk.
"Are you ever gonna answer my question? I already know the answer, I just want to hear it from you," his original question in regard to your feelings did not circle back until now, catching you off guard yet again.
"Jungkook ..."
He scoot closer to you, "Come on, it's just us. You know what they say – acceptance is the first step."
"If you already know I like you, why do you keep asking?", you groaned, taking yet another swing of your third drink of the night.
"Aha! You do like me," he pointed at you as if he had made the grand discovery.
"Jungkook!"
Raising his hands, he relented, "Sorry, sorry. I'm just excited to hear it. Can you blame me? I've been trying to get you to flirt back for months."
"I don't have the same liberties as you, I'm your subordinate, it'd be inappro-"
"Inappropriate? Not any more inappropriate than me hitting on you every day since we met."
"Inappropriate, exactly," you scoot further away, "which is why you should stop."
He scoot closer again, this time even more so.
"I like you, you like me. Why should either of us stop?"
"I work for you. Yeah, you can flirt with me, but-"
"But what? Come on, don't reject me before I've even asked you out. At least let me have that much," he insisted, knowing he was wearing your false rejection down.
You sighed, twisting your body so you'd now be facing him fully on the couch, "Okay, fine. Go ahead."
He twisted too, now fully facing you. He took a deep breath and put down his drink, "Let me take you on a date? Please?", he pleaded with a shy smile.
"Can I say no?"
"I mean, you can, but I'll just keep insisting," he giggled, making you groan exaggeratedly.
With a fake sigh of defeat, you accepted, "Fine. You can take me out. But if you're as annoying as you were today, then I don't think it's going to work out."
"Yah! I'll be the perfect gentleman. Just you wait."
After a few more drinks, Jungkook insisted on walking you back to your room, – despite the fact that it was just next door – sheepishly asking if he could kiss your cheek goodnight, to which you responded with a kiss on his cheek of your own and a hug goodbye. Through your peephole you could see a very adorable Jungkook scrunch up his nose and smile to himself in contentment at the night's outcome.
Going to sleep with this insane sense of giddiness had been almost impossible. Your mind kept going back to the pretty boy who had insisted yet and yet again for the chance to simply go out with you. The back and forth this past few months had wore you down immensely, and last night had just thoroughly hammered you in.
You weren't entirely sure of the logistics of the date just yet. How were you to go out with Jungkook when he was so insanely popular? People were already aware of his current stay in Los Angeles, as he had been spotted a few times. They were also aware of your presence, though people already knew of your role and had grown accustomed to seeing you with Jungkook without questioning it.
Going to any usual dating spot with him alone would still prove catastrophic, however. Even if people knew you were nothing more than a manager, a one-on-one outing at a place usually meant for couples would be an instant giveaway, so it was entirely out of the question.
Surely the hopeless romantic that was Jungkook already had something planned, so you likely didn't have to worry your head over it. For now, you could simply wait for Jungkook's next unpredictable act of affection towards you with a racing heart.
~
The following day, you found yourself waking up earlier than usual, having been awoken by incessant knocking on your door that you had not expected. It was 9AM, so not too early, but today was meant to be a day off for everyone on Jungkook's team, including him. It was obvious to you who could be the culprit behind the knocking, but it didn't make it any less strange, especially considering Jungkook never had a tendency of waking up early unless it was for work.
Marching to your door in annoyance, you swung it open without any need to check who was on the other side, knowing you'd encounter the same doe-eyed boy you had kissed goodnight just a few hours ago.
"Jungkook, what the hell are you doing here so early?", were the first words out of your mouth.
He was already fully dressed, donning his usual black attire and carrying two drinks from what you knew was a local coffee shop – with one of them being your drink of choice, because of course Jungkook would have it memorized.
He grinned at you, placing your drink on your hand and smiling even harder when you sipped it.
"Just wanted to make sure you hadn't changed your mind about the date," he wasn't actually here for that reason, obviously, but it was still cute of him to use it as an excuse.
"And if I have?"
"Don't say that, I'll cry."
You laughed, leaning against your door as you sipped your drink once more, "So, have you decided what we're doing?"
He shook his head, "Nope, can't tell you. That's top secret. All you can know is that you should be ready tonight at 7 sharp and to wear something nice but comfortable," he blushed a little before continuing, "maybe that pretty sundress you wore the other day?", his eyes left you to shyly look at his shoes for a moment.
Fuck, he was far too cute.
You pretended to ponder for a bit before agreeing, "Okay. I think I can manage that."
Letting out a tiny little "yes!", he looked to you again, noticing your pajamas, "I'll let you sleep in since I kinda kept you up all night, but I'll be back, okay? You can keep your expectations as high as you want, I'll meet them all," he said confidently.
"Oh? Okay, let's see if you can swoon me then," you accepted the challenge before receiving a shy yet short hug goodbye and heading back into your room, aware you'd be unable to go back to sleep with all the anticipation you felt for your date.
Things had already changed drastically between you and Jungkook and it had only been a few hours since his official confession about his crush (along with your reciprocation). He was touchier and more open with his affections, even becoming a little sheepish now in contrast to how bold he used to be. Now that the cards were all on the table, it was harder to even look at each other without blushing. It felt like a giddy high school crush, and you were already enjoying it far too much.
~
"Fuck, you look gorgeous," Jungkook breathed out the second you opened your door, "Sorry, was that too much?," he chuckled sheepishly afterwards.
Ignoring the blush threatening your cheeks, you shook your head and smiled, "Thank you, Kook. You look ... you look really handsome," you went on a whim and placed your hands on his jacket, enjoying his own shy smile at your compliment.
You made small talk as you walked down to take Jungkook's private car, sitting side by side in the back as the driver took off.
"So, where are you taking me?", you asked again.
He tsk'd, "No patience in that head of yours, huh? Relax. It's private and comfortable. You'll have fun, I promise. Just let me surprise you."
"Fine," you sighed in feigned annoyance, leaning back into your seat. Jungkook followed and leaned back also, face turned to stare at you.
"Would it be too forward to say I already want to take you home?", he asked.
"Stop," you groaned, "Don't say that, you already wore me down into going on a date, give me time to breathe."
"Are you saying I could wear you down into letting me take you home?", he smiled.
"Anyways," you rolled your eyes, making him chuckle.
The rest of the ride was filled by your usual banter, making the date entirely too casual thus far. It felt like a regular outing with a friend, plus the added butterflies you felt any time his eyes would scrunch up whenever you made him laugh. How handsome he looked also did not help matters. He had changed out of the casual clothes he had on this morning, opting for a casual yet elegant look that consisted of his usual chunky boots and a black blazer. It was very much a usual look for him but he somehow looked extra good tonight.
Fastforward to the date itself and you found yourself in what was supposed to be a private restaurant A-listers in LA would frequent. It allowed for the utmost privacy and served the most famous of people. The atmosphere of the place was casual enough for you to be able to sit yourselves, but it was still packed with security and high-end waiters making the rounds. Being there as a mere manager felt almost illegal.
Jungkook held your hand as he guided you to a secluded booth in the back, opting to sit next to you rather than across you, something you found really cute of him.
"Do you like it?", he asked after a few moments of sitting.
You nodded, "Do I even wanna know how much this place costs?", you asked as you took in your surroundings.
"Yeah, no," he laughed, "Don't think about that. It's all on me. You being here is more than enough," he reassured, reaching over to take your menu before you could get to it, "I'll cover the prices, okay? I want you to order anything you want."
Cute, handsome, funny, into you, and also such a gentleman? You were not to survive even the first date.
"Order for me?", you suggested, knowing he was a foodie at heart and would likely order the perfect meal for you.
And he did. Unsurprisingly to everyone, he picked the perfect meal and side dishes and drinks and even desserts. The meal was amazing and completely relaxed. The conversation was never-ending, allowing for no awkward lulls or forced small talk. Jungkook had been right all those months ago, you did become very good friends. It made you wonder if he had liked you from all the way back then.
"What are you looking for in a relationship?", asked Jungkook after a few drinks, already cozied up with you in the booth.
"That's very forward for only two bottles of soju," you joked.
"C'mon, you can tell me. I won't tell," he whispered childishly, leaning closer to you with genuine interest in his eyes.
You straightened up before responding, "I guess I want something serious. No hookups or anything like that, just ... just someone nice to spend my time with."
"Hey, that's kind of what I am already, huh? I'm nice and we spend most of our time together."
You chuckled, taking a swing of your drink before returning the question, "What about you? What are you looking for in a relationship?"
"You," he deadpanned, giving you a dopey smile.
You couldn't help giggle at that, scrunching up your face at how much of a flirt he was.
He grabbed onto your chin and made you look at him, completely halting your laugher, "I'm serious," he started, "I've been wanting to ask you out since forever, but I knew I'd be putting you in an awkward position with your job. But I don't care about that anymore. I know you like me, and I like you – so fucking bad. Give it a chance? Please?", he pleaded as he stared down at you, eyes fleeting to your lips for one quick moment.
Your breath caught in your throat, making you freeze and gulp before being able to respond to the confession you'd been expecting, yet were not prepared for.
"Jungkook ... Take me home?"
"F-fuck," he groaned, "do you know how long I waited to have you?", his mouth trailed down your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake, "thought about this every day ... How pretty you'd look pressed up against me ... So fucking pretty," he panted.
Jungkook had dragged you off the booth the moment you suggested for a change of scenery, directing the driver to get the two of you to the hotel as soon as possible. Once at the hotel, Jungkook rushed you to your floor, having already had to hold back during the entirety of the drive back. Even in the elevator, your usually lighthearted Jungkook was missing and replaced by an agitated version of him.
The first thing he did upon unlocking the door to his room as push you against it, closing it back up in the process and liberally letting his lips trail down your neck.
"Kook ..."
"Have I ever told you how much I love the way you say my name? God, just everything about you," he trailed his way back up, hands still on your waist and fingers digging into your skin.
His lips leaned down into yours, almost kissing you but not yet, "I know it's kinda late to ask, but can I kiss you?", he whispered.
Your nod was nothing short of desperate, lips almost chasing his won before he finally connected them to yours.
His kiss was as soft as his hold on your waist, and the sigh he let out against your lips was only a ghost of the passion he felt for you. His lips guided your own, with his tongue licking your mouth open and invading it in a sensual entanglement between your tongues.
It was hard to think clearly with the pretty moans he let out against your lips, almost as if you were gifting him the utmost pleasure with the mere touch of your lips. Hands became braver and breaths became heavier, leading to a mess of ruffling clothes and gasps filling up the silence of the room. You melded into each other, refusing to let your lips separate nor prevent your hands from exploring one another. His hands made it under the skirt of your dress, liberal in the way he felt up your add and pressed you up against him. In the meantime your hands threw off his blazer and began unbuttoning his shirt, feeling up his strong chest in the process.
"Let me take you to my room? Fuck, I- I can't think. Just wanna have you so fucking bad," he mumbled into your lips, groaning when you refused to stop kissing him as he spoke.
You nodded, not trusting your voice and allowing him to guide you to his room by the hand.
Once in his room, he laid you down softly, letting you sit up as he took off his remaining clothes, eyes encouraging you to do the same. His eyes widened when he realized what you'd been wearing under the dress he'd requested, clearly caught off guard by the pretty set you had chosen for him.
It wasn't all that, simply a matching lacy bra and panties that you'd packed before coming to LA. Clearly Jungkook didn't care about the quality of the set, or at least that's the impression his eyes gave you as they stayed glued to your chest, halting his movements as he took his shoes off.
"Oh ...", he breathed before making his way to you on the bed, "For me?", he asked as his hand went down to lightly run his fingers across the strap.
"Mhm," you nodded, getting up from the bed and putting your hand on his shoulders, eyeing up his toned chest and tracing his tattoos, "Do you like it?", you looked up and made eyes at him.
"Fuck, don't do that. You can't look like that and then look at me like that and think I won't fucking burst," he groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist once again, "Can I touch you, pretty? Hmm?"
Nodding again, you led his hands to your breasts, letting out a breath when his hands began feeling you up, going from your breasts to your hips to your ass while his mouth made its way back to yours. He freely moaned into your mouth at the feeling of your body under his hands, walking you back onto the bed and lying you down once more.
His hands were hesitant in reaching the clasp of your bra, to which you responded by humming a soft 'please' into his lips. The removal of your bra caused him to pull away for you as his eyes got a fill of you, groaning yet again at the sight. His hands went to your breasts again, feeling them up as his lips trailed down to your tits. Jungkook's groans of pleasure at the feeling of your bare skin against his lips were never-ending. You fed into it, arching against his lips and running your hands through his hair. It wasn't like he needed any encouragement; his eyes told you of every bit of lust he felt.
"I want you so fucking bad," he murmured against your tits, "I can't even think ... Just want you so bad. Haven't been able to stop thinking about you for months," his lips suckled at your nipple once more before reaching your ear, breathing heavily against it, "Tell me I can fuck you, please. Just need- need you so fucking bad."
Pulling him to your lips by the his hair, you moaned your desire for him into his mouth, pleading at him to get on with it.
"Fuck me. How do you want me? I'll- Fuck, just-"
"I know, pretty. I'll take care of it, okay? Just ... Want you just like this. Wanna see you while I fuck you, okay? Let me-", his hands reached to your panties, seemingly meaning to finger you before you stopped him.
"No, Jungkook, just fuck me. Please? I'm wet enough, I swear. Just need you. Now," you pleaded at him.
He shook his head, tutting at you, "Baby, at least let me eat you out? Gotta stretch you out a little. Swear I wanna fuck you so fucking bad, but shit ... Need to taste you," he rambled before getting on his knees, pulling your legs apart and towards the edge of the bed.
"Fuck ... Always wanted to kiss up these thighs," he breathed as he ran his nose up and down the sensitive skin, leaving a few airy kisses along the length of them, "So soft and pretty."
Slowly yet sensually, he made his way to your cunt, pressing his nose against your panty-covered pussy and taking a deep breath, shamelessly capturing your essence. Ignoring your scandalous whine, he pushed your panties aside and stuck his tongue inside, groaning at the taste of you.
"Baby ... Fuck, how am I ever gonna function without this pretty pussy ever again?", he murmured into you, tongue digging deep inside you as he took turns sucking and licking at you. His nose made an appearance eventually, rubbing deliciously against your clit while your hands pulled at his hair, pushing your hips up against his face.
"Yes, fuck, keep grinding on my face, baby. Use me," he pleaded, almost crying into your cunt.
Jungkook was already an expert in your pleasure, damning everything else in favor of optimizing your pleasure in every way. He let you pull at his hair and grind on his face, somehow never running out of breath as he ate you out with a desperation that had your nails digging far too harshly into his hair – something that had him moaning against you.
Once finished, he licked up every drop of your essence, humming in pleasure at the taste and even coming up to let you suck on his tongue, sharing your own honey with you.
"Kook ... Fuck me. God, I need- need you so bad. Please," you pleaded into his mouth despite not pulling away from his kiss.
"Fuck, okay, yeah. I- I'll fuck you," he finally pulled away and pulled down his boxers, reaching over to his pants on the floor to get a condom from his wallet.
"Oh? You were ready for this?" you grinned at him mockingly.
"Baby," he whined, letting his head fall to your chest in bashfulness, "Don't do this right now. Just let me make you feel good. You can make fun of me all you want after."
"Okay, Kookie. Now, hurry up!", you reached down to his ass, squeezing it jokingly as he let out a scandalized noise and lightly nibbled at your tit in retaliation.
Finally, he put on the condom as you slipped off your panties all the way and throwing them off. He was soft yet shy in his movements as he teased your slit with his cock, playing with the wetness and groaning at the warmth wrapping around the head of his cock. He checked in on you constantly throughout, kissing at your cheek every so often as he bottomed out.
"Feels so good, pretty. Fuck ... gorgeous girl. Knew you were made for me," he groaned, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you closer as he began to thrust.
His words of encouragement didn't end there, letting out every emotion he felt towards you all while you whined his name and raked your nails down his back.
"Always wanted you ... You have no idea how much I like you,"
"Sweetest girl, and all for me ... Oh, fuck- feel so good wrapped around me,"
"You take it so good ... Feel so fucking good and look so fucking pretty. How could I ever resist you?"
"Need you so bad, fuck. Need you every day,"
His praise was never ending, rendering you a mess both physically and emotionally as your feelings for him burst in the form of cries of his name and mumbled reciprocations of his feelings.
"I need you to cum with me, gorgeous. Okay? Let me just- Yeah, right there, huh? That's the spot?", he murmured almost to himself as he lifted you by the legs and began hammering his hips against that one spot deep inside you that had your eyes rolling back. One of his hands eventually joined the mix, thumbing at your clit slowly yet harshly enough to make you gasp at the intensity of the sensation.
"Gonna cum, Kook. Cum with me? P-please?," you cried out for him.
"I'm right there, baby. Just cum with me. Like you so fucking much," he couldn't help but let out yet another expression of his feelings as his orgasm took over him, taking you right along with him.
"Like you t-too. S-so much!", you cried before practically blacking out.
Hips continued to grind against each other as your highs hit you, creating a symphony of skin slapping desperately and high-pitched whines coming from the two of you.
Jungkook almost fell limp against you when his high finally wore down, breathing heavily into your chest before rolling to your side, holding your trembling form against him.
"Was that a good first date?", he asked after catching his breath.
You laughed at the complete change of subject, "Maybe. I'm still expecting you to outdo it for the second one," you turned your body to his own, nuzzling against his chest.
You could feel the vibration of his chest as he chuckled a response, "Oh? I earned a second one?"
"Shut up before I change my mind."
"Yes, ma'am."
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content: afab reader, smut, semi-public sex, reunion sex, dry humping, penetrative sex, etc.
wc: 597 (teaser); 1877 (full drabble)
sneak peak:
"Kook! Stop being so touchy!," you whined when you finally found yourself alone with him.
He ignored you at first, opting to wrap his arms around you and nuzzle his head into your hair with a satisfied hum.
"But why, baby?", he huffed.
He thought he was so cute when he played dumb.
"No one in the staff can know we're dating. It's like you want me to lose my job," you groaned, reciprocating his gesture against your better judgment.
"Baby, I'm your boss, and I have no plans of firing you, so what's the problem?", he ran his nose up and down your neck, breathing you in softly.
"Still. Sleeping with my boss just gives off a bad image."
"Everyone already knows I have a crush on you anyway, what's the harm?", he whined.
"Kookie ...", you groaned.
"Hmm, love when you call me that, baby," he giggled against you, waddling from one side to the other as he walked you over to the wall, pressing you up against it in a surprisingly innocent manner.
After yet another 'subtle' public display of affection he had decided to engage in whilst recording for a new brand deal, you had dragged Jungkook over to an empty dressing room during a break, deciding to put a stop to his behavior before it went too far.
You had only been dating for a few months by now, becoming exclusive almost immediately after that first date. However, despite the exclusivity and the age of your relationship, you had demanded that Jungkook keep it under wraps when it came to work. The only people aware of your relationship could be counted on one hand (maybe two), including his members, family, a few close friends and your own loved ones. Other than that, not even the company was privy to your new relationship.
Unfortunately for you, it seemed like your boyfriend was on a mission to let everyone know about your relationship, always sending you suggestive looks or sticking to you in a manner usually reserved for couples.
Most people in Jungkook's team already knew of his touchy demeanor (and of his very obvious flirtatious tendencies when it came to you), but you knew that you'd be in trouble if you ever reciprocated. Having such a cute boy blatantly show interest in you proved hard, as you had to control yourself in front of everyone else any time he decided to cause trouble for you.
"C'mon, baby. We're alone now. There's no one to see what I wanna do to you," he smirked into your neck, beginning to trail kisses along its length.
His grabby hands stayed on your hips, occasionally sliding up your waist and under your shirt to feel the warmth of your back. Not-so-innocent touches were beginning to arise, making you conflicted since you were technically still in your company's premises at the moment.
Pressing your hands into his chest, you made a lame and effortless attempt at pushing him away, your heart not truly in it as you allowed him to keep his hands on you, "Kook, we're still at work!"
"We're practically done! I did my part, it's just the guys who need to get their shoots done. I could literally disappear right now and no one would notice. It's okay, baby," he reassured, wrapping your hands around his waist and pulling you even closer, lips beginning to ghost your own.
"Kook ..."
"Shhh, just let me kiss you. Been holding back on kissing you all day," and those were his last words before occupying his lips with your own.
...
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Mister Targaryen's Curious Bookshop
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader
Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, slow burn, Aemond being obsessed with the reader, a little bit of self-loathing and low self-esteem (Aemond), flower shop/bookshop AU
Summary: Aemond thought he would be alone with his bookshop for the rest of his life. Until the flower shop next door came back to life.
A/N: This fic had been sitting in my WIPs for ages. @hotd-bigbang gave me the motivational push to finally write it. And @targaryenrealnessdarling visualised my words so wonderfully, helping me imagine and feel this fic more.
Masterlist Taglist
Aemond had been working at "The Curious Book Shop" since college. It had become his refuge from the chaos of his family life and a break from his studies. He would hide in the deepest corners, surrounded by rows upon rows of books, studying for exams or reading for pleasure.
It was during one of his early morning runs that he stumbled upon his fate. Just around the corner from his apartment complex, he noticed a small bookshop. Something about it pulled him in as if it were calling out to him. The smell of old books gently wafted into his nostrils, and he felt as though he had entered heaven.
Aemond wandered the shop slowly, lazily browsing the shelves. His fingers grazed the spines of both old and new books. He spotted classics like *Frankenstein* and beautifully bound editions of Jane Austen novels, but there was also an entire section dedicated to fresh voices, new writers waiting to be discovered.
Time slipped away from him until the bookshop keeper, a kind elderly man with snow-white hair, a stout build, and round glasses that made his eyes look larger—like a slightly overfed hamster—tapped him gently on the shoulder. With a warm smile, the man told him it was closing time.
Aemond felt a pang of disappointment. He had only explored half of the shop and longed to uncover every hidden corner.
From that day on, he became a regular. His visits were so frequent that the old man eventually offered him a job. Aemond accepted without hesitation; it was a dream come true to work in a place filled with books.
Though Aemond had completed his business degree at Queen’s College in King’s Landing, he didn’t pursue the corporate path his mother and grandfather had carefully laid out for him. Instead, he chose to put his skills to use at the bookshop. His mentor appreciated his knack for numbers and calculations, and Aemond soon took over managing the shop’s finances and budgets.
For a long time, Aemond was simply an employee. His mentor guided him through all the shop’s nooks and crannies, revealing the secrets hidden deep within the endless rows of books. But when the old man passed away, Aemond was shocked to discover that, in his will, he had left the bookshop to him.
"Old Valyrian magic," his mentor had said one day as they placed new arrivals on the shelves near the cashier, "is rooted deep in every corner of this bookshop—in every rug fibre, dust grain, and wooden splinter. It is like the skeleton of this wonderful shop."
Aemond could feel it too—the raw power lingering behind closed doors, in the creaks of the wooden floor, and the way the air seemed to hum with ancient energy. Or, at least, he thought he did. The truth was, sometimes the shop seemed to have a mind of its own. Doors would appear where there had been none before, opening to reveal strange, hidden rooms. Other times, doors would remain locked no matter how hard he tried, as if the bookshop decided he wasn’t ready to enter.
One day, after stocking the historical crime books, Aemond’s curiosity was piqued when a door swung open just as he turned away from the shelves. This door, unlike the others, seemed to beckon him. It led him not to another room but to an entirely different dimension—a space outside the normal laws of reality.
There were no books written about the bookshop itself, at least none he could find, and so he started documenting his explorations in a leather-bound notebook. In it, he scribbled down every detail, theory, and oddity he encountered. He spent hours after closing wandering the ever-shifting landscape of the shop, venturing through realms that seemed to exist only within its walls. The bookshop was playful—mischievous, even. It would open random doors, then lock them again, guiding him through magical adventures far beyond the world outside.
One room in particular had become his favourite: The Hidden Library. It was a vast, seemingly endless space filled with row after row of books, stretching far into the sky. There were books of every kind—small, hand-sized paperbacks, large encyclopedic tomes, volumes bound in leather with golden lettering, some in languages long dead. History, botany, astrology, science, philosophy—the scope of knowledge was overwhelming.
The towering shelves formed a maze, a labyrinth of wisdom and mystery. At the heart of this labyrinth sat a large oak desk, polished to such perfection that it gleamed like glass. Above it hung an ornate chandelier, casting a warm, amber glow over the desk, perfect for reading or studying in the comforting silence of the library.
But the labyrinth had its whims. The shelves shifted at will, reshuffling the paths and the books. It was both awe-inspiring and, at times, deeply frustrating. There were days when the maze seemed to toy with him, taking him in circles or preventing him from finding the desk. Yet, Aemond knew it was the bookshop's way of showing off—revealing itself bit by bit, granting him access to its secrets.
Aemond often imagined that the Library of Alexandria must have been like this—filled with treasures of knowledge, books and scrolls that held the wisdom of the world, guarded by time and mystery. Here, in his bookshop, he was one of the lucky few to uncover these treasures.
But The Hidden Library wasn’t the only room that fascinated him. There were other hidden chambers—each with its own magic, its own allure. He spent so much time exploring these secret places that he realized the bookshop had become more than just his workplace. It was his refuge, his second home, and perhaps, more than anything, a living entity he had come to understand like a dear, old friend.
Next to the magical bookshop stood an old, battered flower shop. The windows were dusty, and the paint on the rusty frames—once a bright blue—was flaking off. The sunblinds were torn and faded, their colour washed out from years of rain and weather damage.
Aemond’s mentor had once mentioned that the old owner couldn’t keep the shop open because her hands were no longer as nimble as they used to be. “The arrangements she made were as magical as this bookshop,” he would always say. “A shame she had to close it. She had no one to take over.”
The old bookshop owner had seemed melancholic whenever he spoke of the previous florist, smiling wistfully as if he had secretly admired her, perhaps even loved her in silence. Little did he know that he would share the same fate, leaving behind his beloved shop.
But one day, the flower shop next door sprang back to life. The scent of spring flowers began to fill the street, drifting into Aemond’s bookshop. The windows were freshly cleaned, and a new, bright yellow sunblind had been installed, replacing the worn one.
A week after the shop reopened, he saw her. She had messy, short hair in a half-up, half-down style, and a soft smile on her rosy, full lips. Her eyes sparkled as she quietly mumbled to herself, carefully arranging cut flowers in a vase outside the shop.
Aemond didn’t want to admit it, but he enjoyed watching her. Lost in her own little world, she crafted magnificent art with flowers, leaves, and other natural materials. He marvelled at her creations every time he passed by, often stopping to buy a bouquet—sometimes just to strike up a conversation, sometimes just to be near her.
It was nearly closing time when she appeared in front of him, a bright smile spreading across her lips. Her hair was messy again, with leaves and colourful petals woven into it—likely by accident, as some softly drifted to the ground whenever she turned her head.
"Hi, I'm your shop neighbour. Sorry for not introducing myself sooner; I had to unpack everything," she said, holding out her hand with a bright grin. "Lovely," Aemond thought as he shook her hand.
“I’ve been to your shop a few times. I should’ve introduced myself, too,” he mumbled sheepishly, a soft blush dusting his pale cheeks. His ears felt like they were on fire.
Her hand was so small compared to his, soft but marked with fresh scars—probably from working with thorny roses or other prickly flowers. She was always creating art, in any form or shape, and it showed.
Her voice was full of joy, and unlike so many others, she looked at him without a trace of disgust or discomfort. She didn’t flinch at his scar or the eyepatch. She didn’t even avoid his gaze, which most people did. She looked him straight in the eyes, seeing him as a whole person. A warm feeling washed over him at that realization—it had been so long since he’d felt this way.
“Oh! Yes, I remember you now. You always buy two bouquets at a time!” she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly with her hands. Her energy was infectious, Aemond noted, and despite the late hour, he felt more awake just watching her. “You must really like your life partner!”
His blush deepened, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “Something like that,” he mumbled, feeling the heat rise in his face.
Clearing his throat, he squared his shoulders, trying to regain his composure as he towered over her. But she only smiled more, undeterred by his flustered state.
“No problem,” he whispered gruffly, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He averted his eye, staring down at the cashier counter. Why was he so flustered?
“Can I look around? I know you’re closing soon, but this is the only time I can visit because of my shop hours,” she asked.
He nodded solemnly, and her grin widened as she skipped off into the depths of the bookshop. Aemond couldn’t help but stare after her, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest. His usual calm demeanour was slipping, and his hands were growing sweatier with every passing second.
He watched her roam through the aisles, her fingers gently brushing the spines of books. A soft smile played on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with the joy that seemed to radiate from her. Her skin looked smooth, her hands had been as soft as silk.
Her hair was up in a messy bun, with loose strands framing her face perfectly. He tried not to stare too much, but he couldn’t help himself. She was beautiful—radiant, even. The flower girl from next door.
It was no longer unusual for her to visit him after her shop’s closing hours. Since their first meeting, it had become routine, and Aemond didn’t mind keeping the shop open a little longer for her. He enjoyed the peace, but even more, he enjoyed her presence. She brought a sense of chaos and life into his dusty, meticulously ordered existence—something he had always carefully avoided, but now realized he needed.
This time, she told him in advance where she intended to wander, mindful not to repeat the incident from her first visit. That day, she had innocently ventured into one of the magical rooms, and Aemond hadn't heard from her for hours. Panic had set in when she failed to respond to his calls. By the time he found her, it was nearly midnight, and both of them had early mornings ahead. She explained that a door had appeared before her, opening on its own, and she hadn’t been able to resist stepping through.
Luckily, it was The Hidden Library she had found, a room Aemond knew like the back of his hand. The labyrinth of bookshelves had shifted, subtly aiding him in locating her more quickly than it usually would allow. Other rooms might not have been so kind, and Aemond had been relieved when he spotted her amidst the endless rows of books.
When he found her, she hadn’t been panicked or distressed. In fact, she had a stack of books balanced in her arms, her face lit with pure delight. "This is magnificent!" she had said, her voice filled with awe as she wandered between the ever-changing shelves.
His heart had pounded in his chest when he saw her, but not out of fear anymore. Something else stirred in him—his heart skipped, or maybe it leapt with joy, something akin to a yearning he hadn’t felt in a long time. Aemond was no stranger to intense emotions, but this was different. It wasn’t the fiery anger or the cold, bitter loneliness he was used to; this was warm, fluttering, almost sweet in its intensity.
Crushes were for middle schoolers, weren’t they? He tried to tell himself that, but there was no denying it anymore. Watching her flit through his magical bookshop with that infectious enthusiasm, her joy at discovering something new—it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.
He stood there, watching her as she made her way through the aisles, completely at ease in the strange, shifting shop. She never seemed bothered by the oddities or the magic; if anything, it only seemed to fuel her curiosity and joy. And as much as he tried to keep his distance, Aemond couldn’t help but be drawn to her.
Maybe crushes weren't just for middle schoolers after all.
Aemond had never imagined he'd find himself standing in a magical greenhouse with the quirky flower shop owner next door, watching her flit between plants and books with the kind of excitement that only she seemed to possess. The realisation that he had a crush on her had grown stronger with every bouquet she brought him, each one slowly wilting or drying out under his care despite his best efforts.
When she playfully teased him about his inability to keep her gifts alive—remarking that she’d thought a magical shop would do the job for him—Aemond could only smile sheepishly. He had no explanation, other than perhaps his unfamiliarity with the deeper, older magics of the place. Maybe, he mused, if he had studied Valyrian magic more closely, he’d have been able to keep her flowers flourishing.
Then one day, they found it—The Glass House. It appeared out of nowhere. He had restocked some sections of the shop while she was aimlessly wandering around again. His eyes sometimes drifted over to her. Watching her read passages out of books quietly. Making a note of which book she held longer so he could give it to her when he bought another bouquet from her.
They both turned into the same aisle when the door appeared right in front of them. Just right at the end of the rows of bookshelves where usually a wall was.
She stared at him with big eyes. “Is this normal?” She looked up at him with a bewildered expression. He nodded nonchalantly, he was used to it. “The bookshop likes to play.” She giggled gently at his deadpan words.
“Tell me more.” Her bright smile made his lips quirk up slightly. “Well, I don’t know how the magic works. The old owner couldn’t tell me either. But I found out the doors mirror the moods, likes and needs of the person standing in front of it.”
“Like the Room of Requirement?” Aemond snorted at her question. “More or less. The door stays and only disappears when it isn’t needed anymore. To make room for another door. A few doors had disappeared when my mentor died. It felt like the shop had mourned him.”
He let his eyes wander over her face. To check if she understood what he was saying. She nodded lowly. She seemed to be deep in thought. Mulling over his words carefully. “There are multiple doors in the bookshop. Not one like in Harry Potter. Maybe even hidden ones. But most of the time they are prominent.”
She nodded softly. Looking at the door that had appeared in front of them. Vines seemed to wind around the wooden front like they were alive. Forming a large tree taking up nearly the whole door. To her, it seemed like the tree in the Nordic myth, Yggdrasil. "So if I would go through one of those doors, it is like I would go through a portal. Like the wardrobe in Narnia?” Aemond snorted as he put another book onto a shelf, holding “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe ” in his hands. Coincidence? In this shop, less likely.
“I see the shop more like the Tardis.” He mumbled. He was reaching up to restock the “Lord of the Rings” bundle packs back on the fantasy shelf. A classic he seems to run out of every week.
“Because the store seems small at first glance but it gets bigger with every new door opening?” She stood beside him, holding the stacks of Agatha Christi novels for him. “Yeah, like that.” He smiled at her, a rare occurrence that had happened more often since they spent time together. She hummed thoughtfully. “I like my Narnia reference more.” Aemond chuckled. “I am hurt.” He pouted playfully at her, making her giggle.
Suddenly the door opened next to her. She shrieked, which made him look up at her. His body was alarmed. Ready to fight whoever dared to scare her. He blushed slightly when he realised what he was thinking. And that he would fight a door for her.
Her fright was not long living. She was too curious to be scared for long. “I can make it up to you. Go on! Go inside and I follow you, Doctor.” He laughed gently. Putting away the last of crime mystery books before turning to the green door. “Well… Geronimo!” He mumbled playfully into her ear. Making her blush.
He turned the golden knop. With a gnarling sound, it slowly opened. A breeze of warm wind blew into their faces gently.
Aemond held the door open for her to go inside. She shyly thanked him. Her eyes grew big at the sight of what lay behind the inconspicuous door. Aemond had to keep up with her as she rushed inside the door.
She stopped in the middle of the room. Her breathing hitched in her throat as she took in the room overgrown with lush green plants. Her smile reached up to her ears. Her small body vibrates from excitement. “Look! A greenhouse library!” He smiled as he watched her flitter around the room.
Strangely, it wasn’t as humid as a typical greenhouse. It was pleasantly warm or cool, depending on what they needed at the time. On either side of the house stood hip-high plant tables made of stone, filled with plants both known and unknown, their blooms and colourful leaves on display for visitors.
In one corner stood two cosy-looking emerald armchairs with a table between them. They looked so inviting as if they had been waiting for him and his companion. Friend? he wondered about what he should call his shop neighbour. His little flower girl? His heart pounded against his ribcage. What was he thinking? His little flower girl? She was barely his friend—acquaintances, maybe? Slowly he started to confuse himself, distracting him from marvelling and listening to her.
But his heart knew what his mind refused to admit: he wanted her. He wanted to explore his magical bookshop with her.
They moved on. Going into the garden section. She already held three books in her hand. Opening them at random pages to read them at the same time. It was an endearing sight he didn’t like to avert his eyes.
She talked animatedly about the various plants, suggesting that he put her half-dead flowers from the front of the shop in the Glass House so he wouldn’t be so sad when they died. She stopped short when she realized she was alone in another corner of the greenhouse, having abandoned the orchids to return to the centre of the room—back to the two emerald armchairs. Back to him.
The sight of her wide-eyed excitement as they entered The Glass House was enough to make Aemond's heart leap. Plants of all kinds surrounded them, lush greenery spilling over the stone plant tables. Despite the greenhouse setting, the air was a perfect balance of warmth and coolness, catering to their comfort. In the centre of the room were two emerald armchairs, an inviting sanctuary in the midst of the botanical splendour.
He watched her eagerly explore the space, picking up books on gardening and flipping through their pages with a joyful energy that he found utterly endearing. She chattered on about the plants, suggesting with a grin that maybe he could bring her dying bouquets here, where the magic could keep them alive.
Aemond was about to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His mind wandered to the sensation of her small, scarred hand in his earlier—a hand that had felt soft, delicate, and utterly natural in his. He couldn't stop the warmth that spread through him, a feeling he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with. What was she to him, really? His heart wanted to call her something more than just a shop neighbour or even a friend. Something like "his flower girl" seemed to fit, but it made his chest tighten with a strange kind of longing.
As he stood there, lost in thought, he barely noticed her wandering off to the other side of The Glass House. He only snapped back to attention when he realized she had returned, her presence suddenly close again. She held out her hand, a playful glint in her eyes. "I saw another door opening," she said softly, her voice filled with excitement. "Your bookshop is telling me something. Want to come with me?"
He looked down at her outstretched hand, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name. Hesitation flashed briefly before he took her hand, its warmth seeping into his. “Let’s explore the rooms together, then,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with resolve.
She led him through the new door, and they entered a room unlike any other he had ever seen. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, filled with swirling stars, planets, and constellations that shimmered and moved like they were alive. The smell of ancient books filled the air, wrapping around them like a comforting, familiar blanket. It was peaceful, serene—a perfect contrast to the excitement they’d felt in The Glass House.
They both stood in silence for a moment, awestruck by the beauty of the room. Later, they would come to call it "The Sorcerer’s Room," convinced it had once belonged to a powerful wizard—a figure out of legend, someone like Merlin.
But for now, Aemond was content. Content to explore the wonders of his magical bookshop, not alone this time, but with her by his side. And more than the magic of the shop, it was her wide-eyed wonder and infectious joy that captivated him the most. As they wandered deeper into the room, he felt her hand tighten around his, and for the first time in a long while, he realized how much he enjoyed sharing this world with someone who made it feel even more magical.
Since the discovery of The Glass House and The Sorcerer’s Room, she had spent most of her time in both rooms—studying the plants or curling up in the emerald armchair to read. She looked like a cat when she did it.
In The Sorcerer’s Room, she would lie on the floor and point out different constellations. He would lie next to her, hanging on to every word that left her lips.
“Black tea, steeped for nearly ten minutes with a dash of milk.” He set the large yellow cup with white daisies in front of her on the small coffee table. She smiled softly up at him.
“Thank you,” she said. She had lost track of time as she read in the emerald chair in The Glass House, a blanket she had crocheted herself thrown over her lap. At his sweet gesture, her heart thudded harder against her rib cage.
His heart leapt again at her soft smile.
“Am I here often enough now that you’ve already memorized my tea-drinking habits?” she chuckled softly.
He grinned involuntarily. “It’s an odd way to drink tea,” he teased, “but I like odd things,” he wanted to add.
She giggled softly, making his heart flutter again, before taking a sip. She closed her eyes and let out a content hum.
“Perfect,” she whispered, her bright eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the light in The Glass House, like stars sparkling in the night sky.
His body warmed at her smile. A rare smile crept across his own, thinner lips. He leaned slightly closer, inhaling the floral scent of her perfume—so fresh and light. He wanted to fall asleep with his face nestled in her neck, to wake up to her warmth every morning.
The realization hit him hard. His body grew tense, every muscle and fibre rigid as he looked down at her. His knees nearly buckled as he stared.
Her perfect little smile haunted his dreams and every waking moment. Her eyes hypnotized him whenever they caught his gaze. She was an enchantress, though she didn’t know it.
He cleared his throat and sat down in the other emerald green armchair next to her, trying to focus on his book. But every five seconds, he lost his place, and after a few paragraphs, he had no idea what he had been reading.
The reason was clear: she, his shop neighbour. The sweet florist next door. A woman so kind and warm that he wanted to envelop her in his arms, keep her close, and never let her go.
He was growing possessive. He caught himself growling at male customers from time to time, surprising even himself. He had never acted like this before. Not with his ex, Alys, or with Floris, the girl he dated for one semester at university.
This was different—a deep, primal urge. To be close to her. To take care of her. To provide for her. To be hers, just as he wanted her to be his.
The more he thought about her, the more horrified he became at how deeply in love he had fallen. His heart raced, his hands grew sweaty, and they trembled lightly, clammy with nervous energy.
The most fatal mistake he made at that moment was looking over at her. His lone, piercing pale violet eye drank in her worried features.
Strands of hair had fallen into her face, and he watched as her nose wrinkled slightly, one strand tickling it. Her bright eyes examined him carefully, her worry growing the longer he sat like a statue in the emerald armchair beside her.
“Everything alright, Aemond?” she asked, her voice soft. The sound of his name on her lips was enough to make him swoon. So sweet, so innocent.
“Yes,” he rasped, clearing his throat. “All is well. Never been better.” He rambled, trying to regain his composure.
She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unconvinced. He felt trapped, like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a predator. What was she doing to him?
He couldn’t keep feeling like this—trapped in his own body. It was a sensation he had tried to avoid since childhood, an unhealthy way to cope with anxiety. He knew that well enough.
Aemond abruptly stood from the armchair and rushed out of the room into the main selling area of the bookshop, trying to hide between the shelves. But he could hear her soft footsteps following him. She had thrown the blanket aside and followed him as fast as her shorter legs could carry her.
He tried to outrun her, taking sharp turns every few steps but suddenly stopped at a dead end. Cursing himself for not paying attention to his own shop’s layout, he glared at the wall. A part of him wished for a new door to appear so he could disappear, but nothing happened. The wall remained still, unmoving.
She chased after him the best she could. Her legs were much shorter than his, and while he could take one step, she needed four to keep up. She tried anyway, her eyes fixed on him as he turned corners.
But one of his turns was too fast. He managed to shake her off, leaving her out of breath and disoriented. Her mind raced, trying to figure out where he had gone. Her gut told her to go left, but her head insisted on right.
Finally, she found him, standing rigid at the dead end. His back stiffened as she approached. "Why are you running from me?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with confusion. He didn’t turn, as if trying to ignore her.
She stepped closer. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No!" he immediately shot back. She jumped, startled by the suddenness of his response, a gasp escaping her lips.
Hearing the sound, he turned toward her. He had scared her—a thing he vowed he would never do. "I’m sorry," he murmured, reaching out, and she let him touch her arm. Her baby blue jumper felt soft under his hand. "I’m so sorry," he repeated, his voice quieter this time.
"It’s alright," she said, stepping closer. "I’m just a jumpy person."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining even in the dim light, like stars in the night sky.
"You’re so beautiful," he whispered under his breath, but she heard it, smiling bashfully.
"Thank you," she replied, her cheeks heating up.
They moved closer—toe to toe, chest to chest. Aemond looked down at her while she looked up.
"You have beautiful eyes," she mumbled.
"No, I don’t," he responded, his tone harsher than he intended.
She frowned at his self-deprecation. "They’re both unique in their own way, and I think they’re beautiful." Her protest was met with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Don’t tell me what to think," she said, glaring at him playfully.
He chuckled. "If you say so."
She huffed in disbelief, frustrated by how low his self-esteem was. Words weren’t enough, so she let her actions speak for her. She leaned up and kissed him gently.
His breath caught in his throat as their lips met, and a tingling sensation swept over his body. Slowly, he pulled her closer by the waist, careful not to make her stumble. Her arms wrapped around his slim frame, her fingers digging into the wool of his jumper.
The kiss lingered, electric sensations running through both of them. Eyes closed, they held each other tightly. But eventually, they had to come up for air.
Their chests heaved, eyes wide and pupils blown, but big grins spread across their swollen lips. They didn’t need words—silence spoke volumes, carrying more meaning than a thousand words ever could.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond x you#prince aemond targaryen#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fic#modern aemond#modern aemond targaryen x reader#modern aemond targaryen#modern aemond x reader#hotd big bang
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˖⁺。˚⋆˙written in the stars | DR3˖⁺。˚⋆˙
pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem y/n reader (she/her)
genre: social media au
warnings: age gap!!
summary: in which you both meet after break ups and mend each other, or in which the world focuses on the wrong things about your relationship
a/n: kind of an old request i never got round to but i fear i need to break up all the charles reqs with some daniel 🙏 hope u enjoy LOL
request!!!: can i req daniel ricciardo age gap fanfic pls plssss
my masterlist
fc: ruby lynn
twitter ->
instagram ->
yourusername
liked by yourbff, friend2, and others
yourusername girl's night 🍕
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yourbff girl what happened last night 😂
yourusername u know im the last person you should be expecting to remember that
yourbff oh okay valid
friend1 so much fun
yourusername ilysm
friend2 single life suits you babe
yourusername 😀 dont remind me
friend3 miss u wish i could've made it
yourusername soon u lil busy body!!!
yoursister interesting coping mechanism
yourusername learned from the best
yoursister 🤨 who me or mom
yourusername ...both
messages ->
/
instagram ->
yourusername posted a story
liked by yourbff, yoursister, and others
yourbff so is he hot
yourusername YES. SO HOT
yourbff YESSSSS I TOLD U SO
yoursister and this is?
yourusername just a friend 😇
danielricciardo posted a story
liked by landonorris, f1gossip, and others
user1 helloooo???
user2 didnt u & heidi break up??
user3 is this heidi or a different girl
user4 i knew u & heidi didnt break up!!!
user5 so cute
landonorris and who is this?
danielricciardo 🤫
twitter ->
messages ->
instagram ->
yourusername posted a story
liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, and others
yourbff HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
yoursister happy birthday my angel :)
friend1 haps baps gorgeous
friend2 hbd
friend3 cant wait to see u later!!!
danielricciardo happy birthday❤️
messages ->
txts between daniel & lando !!
instagram ->
yourusername
liked by danielricciardo, yourbff, and others
yourusername it's my party i'll cry if i want to
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user14 omg??? @.user15 look at this
user15 wtf how did u find this
user14 i jus noticed lando AND charles both followed her recently
user16 yo we got a detective over here
user17 SHE'S 22 YRS OLD???
user18 wowwww so young happy birthday i guess
user19 daniel is dating a 22 yr old...?
user20 kind of weird no
yourbff the most gorgeous girl
yourusername i love u
friend1 WOWWW im in love with you
liked by yourusername
danielricciardo hope you had the best time ❤️
yourusername oh i did, tysm for coming!!
user21 what if they're just friends
user22 😂 yea righttttt
twitter ->
instagram ->
f1gossip
liked by user20, user3, yourbff, and others
f1gossip daniel ricciardo spotted with rumoured new partner 22 year old y/n y/l/n. the two have sparked controversy recently due to their large age gap.
tagged: danielricciardo, yourusername
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user31 oh so they are dating.....
user32 who even cares abt their age gap as long as they're happy!!!
user33 frrrr they're both adults soo?
user34 right and they obviously just met recently
user35 im jus glad to see daniel moving on from heidi
user36 i kind of love them together
user37 we should just leave them alone
user38 agree it's literally none of our business
user39 sooo cute he's whipped for her i fear
user40 i love them ... LOL
danielricciardo
liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, and others
danielricciardo life's been a bit of a whirlwind 🌪️
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user41 omg sooo cute
user42 the candid pics of y/n omg he's obsessed
yourbff you cuties
liked by danielricciardo, yourusername
user43 awww he deserves to be happy tbh
user44 still not convinced on the age gap looool
user45 get over it...
landonorris ur new better half
danielricciardo shut up loser
yourusername yup🙂↕️ lando right for once
landonorris feels like ur bullying me but i'll take it
user46 maybe daniel is her sugar daddy
user47 wtf is wrong with you LOL
yourusername 😂😂😂😂😂😂
landonorris HAHAHAHA
danielricciardo hahahaha no way
maxverstappen1 sugar daddy daniel 🤨😨
yourusername 🩷🩷!!!!! my loveeee
danielricciardo 😍 you fixed my heart
yourusername and you mine🥹
user48 SOOO cute i love that they went thru break ups together
user49 they were meant to be
user59 written in the stars ✨
THE END 🩷
#f1 smau#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 x reader#smau#daniel ricciardo#dr3#dr3 smau#dr3 x yn#dr3 blurb#dr3 fluff#dr3 x reader#dr3 imagine#dr3 fanfic#f1 blurb#f1 x you#f1 2024#maddie's smau
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Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au
"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"
Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.
He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.
It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.
Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.
It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.
Because it really only meant one thing.
Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.
Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.
Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.
This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?
It would be a firestorm.
One that Vlad is not keen on starting.
It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.
It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.
His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.
"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.
Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.
He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.
The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.
He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.
"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.
Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.
But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.
Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.
"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."
Bastard.
For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.
But, well.
They all have their dark secrets.
And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.
"I see."
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc au#danyal al ghul au#dpxdc ficlet#dpxdc fanfic#i was hit with this idea two hours ago and was hit with the intrinsic need to write it down#parental vlad masters#protective vlad masters#vlad is currently going 'OH? OH YOU ABANDON AND REPLACE **MY** SON??? MURDER. DEATH. BEES UPON YOUR FAMILY'#but he's also still like. evil. much less of a creep! but evil. so he comes off a bit possessive. which was intentional.#vlad's reaction is kinda valid if it was accurate and bruce DID willingly and knowingly abandon danny. except he didn't. he has no idea#danny is even alive. vlad doesn't know that tho. we all love a good reasonable misunderstanding :]#hc that vlad needs a cane as a human because the ecto-acne that killed him fucked his nerves up a bit as a result and now he's got a bad le#and is also immunocompromised. which had a slight hand in his 20 year isolation thing.#stillborn? no still born au#stillborn danny au#stillborn danny#vlad masters#this may or may not be canon to the au im still thinking about it#vlad acknowledges that danny is formiddable but he's also not wrong that a media shitstorm like that would hurt him considerably.#diamonds are the toughest known material to man and yet it still shatters like glass when put under pressure. vlad's right he's fragile#ummm anyways yeah Vlad finds out first and promptly decides to go 'oh okay so fuck you personally actually. keep your replacement child'#he has No Plans on telling Danny what he learned mostly for the obvious selfish reasons and also bc yeah. this is gonna hurt danny#ITS NOT FUN IF IT ISNT A LITTLE TOXIIIIC#i absolutely know that vlad only swears in deserts which is why its important that i have him call bruce wayne a bastard directly.
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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]
kickoff ch.5 these feelings are hard to find
ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot
ᰔ chapter. 5/x (probably 12)
ᰔ words. 10.4k
a/n. aaaa this chapter took me a while because i was having some pretty bad writer's block. i seriously can't believe it crossed over 10k words, i very poorly planned how much i wanted to get done by this chapter, but i didn't feel like splitting it into two so oh wellll. hope you enjoy! pls excuse any typos we all live on a floating rock.
nav. masterlist
☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1
♬.*゚playlist
“I really don’t understand why I’m here…” you’re grumbling as you, Mina and Todo make your way up the pavement of the driveway leading to the house party. You glance to your right where Mina and Todo are holding hands, arms swinging as they keep pace together.
It was finally Friday after a particularly long and stressful week, so you were extremely excited to just spend the rest of the night relaxing at home. You had already poured yourself a glass of wine when you returned from your evening class and were sitting on the couch with a blanket on, scrolling through Netflix, when Mina approached you while she was talking to Todo on the phone. She mentioned something about an SAE party tonight that she wanted you to come along for and Todo said he’d extend his other invite to you. When you politely declined, Mina slumped down on the couch and told Todo she had no interest in going unless you also came. And then Todo was bribing you with a hundred bucks. Easiest hundred bucks you’ve ever made.
“Don’t be a downer. You’re here because I think you’ve been working hard and you need to relax a bit,” Mina chirps, now clinging onto Todo’s arm, “and there’s no better way to relax than getting drunk.”
“I could be getting drunk at home,” you mumble to yourself, the night you were imagining for yourself all day being very different from where you find yourself now.
The guy that was bouncing for tonight’s party was scanning people’s phones and engaging in some small talk before allowing people inside. He was pretty handsome and you wondered if there was some sort of requirement written in the rules to the SAE fraternity that they must be good-looking to join.
“Hello, my brother,” Todo says as he approaches, smacking him so hard on the back in greeting that the man stumbles over slightly and sends an irritated glare Todo’s way before he regains his balance.
“Hey, big guy, are these your invites?” He gestures towards you and Mina, his eyes landing on yours and lingering for a moment. You blink at him.
“Yes, this here’s my lovely lady, and this here’s my lovely lady’s friend,” Todo says with a faux suave that only makes you narrow your eyes at him. The man at the entrance sighs and nods before stepping out of the way and motioning the three of you towards the entrance.
The minute you enter, you immediately realize that this party felt very different from the one you were at last week. It was slightly less crowded, but there were still plenty of people bustling around the large expanse of the ground floor with loud rap music that practically shook the walls. It was dark, much more edgy, with the only source of light being the sporadic flashing of lights over by the DJ’s booth. You felt disoriented from the atmosphere, and the smell of weed and alcohol only further dazed you.
“This is insane,” you barely hear Mina say beside you over the music as she looks around the expansive interior of the house. In between the brief flickering lights that lit up people’s faces, you register that Todo is grinning at her as though he was entirely satisfied by her reaction.
You only make it a few steps inside, trailing behind Mina and Todo, before feeling the need to excuse yourself to get away from the intense environment for a second. “Hey, I think I’m going to use the restroom real quick. Todo, do you have any idea where it is?” You feel like you’re shouting just to be heard.
He looks over his shoulder at you. “There are some downstairs but they probably have lines. You could try upstairs.”
You give him an appreciative nod and head over to the base of the staircase at the right, glancing up before making your ascent. There didn’t seem to be anyone else upstairs, which surprised you, but you figured you were just in luck and began to walk up step by step until reaching the top. The music downstairs begins to sound muffled as you turn around the railing post and make your way to the left into the narrow hallway likely leading towards the bedrooms. There's a white door somewhere in the middle of the hallway that could only be either a closet or a bathroom. You wrap your hand around the cold metal door handle and twist, satisfied that it wasn’t locked.
The mumbling noises of people inside doesn’t register in your mind until you’ve already cracked the door open half-way, and your entire body recoils in the immediate rush of embarrassment washing over you as you take in the sight of two people, a man and a woman, getting handsy with one another in the bathroom.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” is all you manage to squeak out, blinking dumbly at the scene.
You’re quick to avert your gaze and about to close the door, incredibly mortified by what’s just happened, when the familiar silhouette in front of you causes you to freeze. You slowly lift your line of sight from the bathroom floor until Gojo Satoru is looking you straight in the eye from where he has a girl on the bathroom counter clinging to his shirt.
“I…” you stutter, face feeling immediately hot as you let go of the door handle and look away from his shocked face. “Sorry,” you say again, this time barely above a whisper, before turning on your heel and making your way down the hallway in such a hurry that you don’t even realize you’re going the wrong way. You hear a feminine voice echo something in the bathroom like what the fuck are you doing?, and then there’s footsteps following after you that sound faster than your own. Ignoring the call of your name, you practically storm into one of the bedrooms, entirely relieved that it was empty, and can only take a couple of steps inside before a hand grabs at your wrist. A chill runs down your spine from the contact.
“Wait, y/n,” Gojo says behind you from where he’s followed you inside, sounding like he’s out of breath. His hand is still holding onto you, keeping you still and you can feel the roughness of his calluses against your skin. When you turn around to face him, he’s close to you and you see his chest is heaving, his hair is disheveled, his shirt is wrinkled at the front and there’s a crease in his brow.
Your eyes don’t stay on his for long before you’re looking away from him again. “I’m…I’m really sorry, that was really awkward,” you say with a forced laugh and an attempt to wiggle yourself free of his grip but he’s unrelenting. The image of his fingers sliding up that girl’s top was still burned in your vision and no amount of excessive blinking at the carpet beneath your feet seemed to make it disappear.
“No, I’m sorry, I was supposed to lock…” his trails off and you notice there’s a rough quality to his voice, “that was just-, we were just-”
You finally brave yourself to look up at him and he somehow seems closer than before, his face just inches away from yours and his eyes briefly flickering to your lips before he meets your gaze with a tense expression on his face. You haven’t seen him look so flustered before, and you’ve certainly never heard him struggle this much to find his words either.
His other hand rubs the back of his neck as he closes his eyes in what looks like frustration, then takes a deep breath to seemingly calm himself down before speaking again. “She’s…We’re just friends,” is all he manages to say.
There’s a silence between the two of you as you blink at him and he stares at you, his thumb pressing into the skin of where his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. You try really hard to bite back the words you’re about to say, but no amount of willpower could’ve helped you. Your chin tips up, looking at him more decisively, and his gaze is flickering to your mouth again. “Just friends…can’t say I’ve ever tried to get my friends naked in the bathroom at a party before.” You didn’t understand why your tone came off so hostile, but it felt good to criticize his choice of words for some reason.
His lips press together, gaze narrowing slightly and eyebrows furrowing further at your words. He leans in closer to the point where your senses were entirely occupied by him and it was impossible to think of anything else. “Well, you weren’t supposed to see that.” His eyes are contrite but his tone is vexed.
You relax your body language and use your other hand to forcefully slide his hand off of your wrist, encountering some resistance from him before he acquiesces. Your skin tingles from the absence of his touch and you take a step backwards away from him. His posture straightens slightly, eyes continuing to dart across the features of your face and wide in anticipation as though he was patiently waiting for you to say something that would put him at ease.
“It’s fine,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice as level as possible, “I accidentally walked in on something I shouldn’t have. You don’t owe me any sort of explanation for it.” Gojo seems to tense up even further at your words, his expression briefly contorting into one of confusion before it reverts to concern again.
You walk around him towards the bedroom door and see him in your periphery watching every step you take until you eventually exit the room. This time, you don’t hear his footsteps pursuing you from behind. It’s only when you make it past the bathroom, not even daring to take a look inside of it, and about halfway down the hallway that you unsteadily let out the breath you were holding in. Your hand takes its place over your chest in a flimsy attempt to calm your heart down as you quickly make your way down the stairs. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach and you knew you just had to get as far away from here as possible.
You’re barely able to spot Mina from where she stood with Todo in a corner near the backyard screen door, and briefly notice that Nanami, Geto, as well as a few of their other teammates were clustered there too. You politely acknowledge their pleasant greetings to you as you approach Mina, pulling her to the side.
“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” She asks, stumbling a little bit and you let go of her sleeve.
“I’m going to go home, not feeling well, I think I just got my period,” you easily come up with a lie, “Nobara says she’ll pick me up.” In truth, you were planning on just calling an Uber for home, but you knew that Mina wouldn’t let you go home by yourself. You didn’t want your confusing and heightened emotions ruining her night.
“Wait, are you sure? I’ll come with you,” she’s quick to say, taking a step towards you but you shake your head.
“No, it’s fine, stay here with Todo,” you demand, “and call me if you need me to pick you up. I’ll let you know when I’m home.” You give her a little hug and she’s standing there confused before hesitantly nodding, and then you make your way to the door. The loud music, flashing lights, and blurred faces around you were so intensely stimulating that when the cold air from outside finally hit your skin, you felt like you were human again.
The Uber comes by in less than ten minutes as you wait for it on the sidewalk. The driver drops you off at the entrance of your apartment complex and the biting chill of the air has you wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the elevator to take you upstairs. Glancing down at your phone to check the time, you see a message from Mina asking if you were home yet. You also see that it’s nearly one in the morning.
Finally making your way inside your apartment, you lock the door behind you and text Mina that you’re home, then slide down with your back against the front door until you’re sitting on the floor. The heat inside was so comforting that you just spent a moment to warm yourself up and just breathe.
Memories of your conversation with Gojo from just half an hour ago instantly come to the forefront of your mind and you’re shutting your eyes to try and repel the thoughts away. Still so embarrassed that you walked in on him making out with someone, your brain decides to mortify you even further by asking what if you had walked in a few moments later instead? What would you have seen then?
You squish your cheeks between your hands defeatedly before letting out a sigh and drawing your legs in towards you, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn’t understand why you were so affected by what you saw. You’ve only met Gojo twice, and you knew even before you met him that he was that kind of person. He had a reputation of being involved with a lot of women, so his rather eager desire to explain himself to you just puzzled you even further.
Standing up, you head over to your bed and flop down on it. Your wrist still burns with the memory of the heat of his hand, and all you can see behind the lids of your eyes when you close them is the sight of him so close to you, stealing glances at your lips.
Somewhere along the night as you drifted in and out of sleep, Mina called to let you know that she was on her way home. When you hear her open the bedroom door and set her purse down on the nightstand near her bed, your body finally convinces you that it’s okay to rest, and that’s exactly what you do.
---
The weekend is over in the blink of an eye, simply not enough time to mope around in bed, and you’re walking out of your last class of the day on Monday. You check your phone pretty much every other minute to see if Gojo has sent you any messages regarding their new practice schedule for the week, which you’re sure he’s received by now, but there’s nothing. The last messages sent between the two of you were before the party on Friday, and an uneasy feeling has been settling in. You spent most of last week appreciating how helpful he was being so far, but you didn’t even consider the possibility that he could rescind his help at any time too.
You head over to the Department of Communication & Journalism building, making your way up the stairs until you reach the graduate division floor and walk down the hallway to Room 212. As you make your entry, a toasty and rich scent overtakes your senses.
“Ah, y/n, hello! So good to see you, thanks for coming by. I missed seeing you last week,” you hear Utahime say as she sets down a cup of coffee for you on the conference table in the middle of the room.
“Sorry, I was just…very mentally occupied last week,” you admit to her, setting your tote bag down on one of the chairs before taking the seat where the cup of coffee was placed, the fragrance instantly waking you up as you take a sip. “Thank you. How have you been?”
“I’ve been well, thank you, just working through my thesis,” she says with a sigh and takes the seat next to you. “Just a few more months…just a few more months, and I’m free!”
You smile at her and watch as she pulls out her laptop, the start-up noise chiming before she starts clicking away at the million tabs that were open. “Did you receive the email I sent you for the newsletter shots?” You ask.
Utahime was a 4th-year graduate student in journalism and was also the head of the school’s newsletter. She has so graciously allowed for Film Club photography shout-outs in every monthly issue for the past couple of years.
She nods. “I did,” she says, resting her elbow on the table and tapping her index finger to her chin, “how come I didn’t see any of your photos in there, though?”
You sigh, sulking your shoulders slightly as you peer down into the brown liquid of your cup and watch the steam evaporate. “I didn’t really take great pictures this month.”
“Aw, well are you working on anything right now?” She returns to clicking away at tabs.
“Yeah, I’ll be taking film photos out on the field of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni next week. It’s for an assignment,” you tell her and watch as her face lights up.
“That’s wonderful! That’s a pretty big gig, they usually only let professionals out on the field. How were you able to secure that?” Utahime asks you as she tips her head to the side.
“Ah…let’s just say I have some sort of deal with one of their players?” You say. Your heart drops a little when you remember the lack of communication from Gojo as of recently, wondering if he was able to get that referee permission for you.
“Which one?” Utahime asks with a teasing smile, leaning over to nudge you with her elbow.
“Gojo Satoru,” you say and then she’s pulling away from you and rolling her eyes, an annoyed look making its way onto her face. You let out a small laugh at her behavior. “Okay, well now I’m curious.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh as she peers beyond the window of the room. “I was his TA when he was just a wee-little freshman. He was always showing up late to class and trying to flirt his way out of completing assignments,” she grumbles, “is he still a little brat?”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking way harder about her question than she had probably intended. “I don’t know…I don’t really know him all that well.” You look down at your hands. Despite the fact that you’ve only known Gojo for a short while, for some reason you felt like you did know him well. You knew the kinds of things that made him smile, you knew the look in his eyes when he was deep in thought about something. You knew what the heat from his body felt like, what the fragrance of his clothes smelled like.
Utahime is silent for a moment as she studies you. “Hmm,” she’s humming next to you, “well, tell you what, send me your photos when you’re done with them. If they’re good, I’ll use your photos for the sports recap in the newsletter instead of the professional ones we get sent from the school. I can compensate you for them as well.”
Your eyes widen as you look at her, jaw dropping a bit as you blink in disbelief. “Utahime…you would do that for me?”
She gives you a smile and a wink. “Of course, talent helps talent. And it’s my newsletter, I can do whatever I want with it. Besides, you want to get into the school’s film graduate program, right? I’m sure it would look great on your application that you’ve had some of your portfolio published to the school’s official reports. The photos have to be good, though.” She points a finger at you and gives you a strict look.
You feel tears prickle in your eyes from her words, so overwhelmingly grateful for her support, and can barely whisper out a thank you before she’s rushing over to the other table to grab a tissue box and set it in front of you.
“Gosh, why do all my undergrads cry in my presence?” she complains as she pulls out a tissue and hands it to you.
You dab it to your eye. “Because you have such wholesome mom energy.”
You say goodbye to Utahime after discussing a few more things and then leave the room. You check your phone and your heart skips a beat when you see Gojo’s name in your notifications.
|| 1:43PM Gojo Satoru: Hey, just wanted to let you know I was able to get that referee permission for you for next week
You let out a tiny gasp when you read his words then clutch your phone to your chest in relief. Utahime’s offer of the prospect of getting published in the school’s newsletter gave you a large sense of purpose, and you felt like it was time to take this assignment of yours extremely seriously to secure the opportunity. And Gojo was the one with the power to help you do that.
|| 1:52PM You: thank you so much, i really don’t know how to repay you
You sigh as you make your way to the stairs, grateful that you were getting some communication from him. The big game on the 28th was next Thursday, and you really needed to practice taking photos with your film camera. You open Instagram again to ask him for his practice schedule, but you see that he had sent you another message.
|| 1:54PM Gojo Satoru: No need to repay me, consider us even. Also sorry for the late notice, but we’re having a formal practice match in about an hour with one of the teams we played against earlier in the season. Do you want to come by?
After reading his message, you quickly shuffle your tote bag open and peer inside to see that you did indeed bring your film camera with you to campus today. Excited, you type out a response.
|| 1:55PM You: yes! i’ll hesd over right now
|| 1:55PM You: *head over
|| 1:55PM You: lol
You see little bubbles indicating typing in the left side corner.
|| 1:55PM Gojo Satoru: Meet me by the art sculpture, I’ll walk you over
You blink at the message for a few seconds, starting to type out a message before deleting it, and doing that a couple more times over. When someone tries to shuffle around you from behind, you notice you were standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs so you step away and lean against the wall. You press your lips together in consideration as you realize that today would be the first time you’re going to see Gojo again after that awkward interaction that you had with him at the party last Friday, and you were really not sure how you were going to feel having to be alone with him again.
|| 1:57PM You: that’s okay, i don’t want to trouble you
His response is instant.
|| 1:57PM Gojo Satoru: Just meet me there
Once you’ve made your way across campus, you spot Gojo sitting on the concrete barrier surrounding the art sculpture by the fields practically right in front of the please do not sit on the concrete barrier sign. His head is turned away from the direction you were approaching from, arms crossed at his chest and one of his legs impatiently bouncing up and down. You notice he’s wearing the school’s colors, a teal blue shirt and gray shorts that had some highlights of a sunset yellow, as well as gray athletic soccer shin socks and cleats. He looks so ridiculously sports boyfriend that you have to shake your head to try and physically fight the effect of how attracted you were to him.
He must’ve heard you approaching as you crossed the street towards him since he turned his head in your direction. He’s wearing a black sports headband across his forehead that’s pushing the hair up out of his face and you’re startled by the intensity of his blue eyes on you. When he stands up, his arms fall to his side, making you sad that you could no longer shamelessly stare at the way his biceps flexed when he had his arms crossed.
“Hey,” he says simply, staying perfectly still where he stood.
There was only one way to dissolve an awkward situation, and that was to pretend like it never happened in the first place. You tip your head to the side, giving him a curious look before skipping right on up to him. “Hello, there,” you cheerfully say. He looks at you with a borderline annoyed expression.
“You’re in a good mood today,” he comments, his voice sounding deeper than usual. Almost tired.
“Yes, very good mood,” you chirp as you walk past him, “I just got a very good offer.”
The sound of the bottom of his cleats on the sidewalk follow after you as you head in the direction of the softball batting cages. It's not long before he emerges at your side in your periphery. “What kind of offer?” You can tell from his tone that he was trying to restrain his curiosity.
“Oh, you’ll see,” you say as you look up at him and smile. He gives you an irritated expression due to your lack of transparency but you continue to skip forward until you’ve made it to stairs that lead up to the grassy hills.
Gojo’s about a step’s distance behind you as you lightly frolic across the land, your heavy tote bag bumping against your hip with every jump. You feel something fly out of it which halts you in your gleeful stride and look behind to where your bluetooth laptop mouse has fallen onto the grass right in front of Gojo. He’s sighing before crouching down to pick it up, then takes a step towards you and extends it out to you. When you glance up at him, he’s not looking at you and his face is hard to read.
You grab the mouse from him, fingertips brushing against the skin of his palm, and he ever-so-slightly shivers at the touch. His gaze finally meets yours.
With a sigh, you toss your computer mouse back into your bag. “I’m trying really hard to not feel awkward around you right now, but you’re making it pretty difficult.” You were so used to feeling like he has the upper edge of conversation when you’re with him, but now you felt like you were the one with the power.
He raises an eyebrow at you and when you look at his hands, you notice he was apprehensively cracking his knuckles with his thumbs. “Maybe you wouldn’t feel awkward if you actually stayed to talk last Friday.”
You cross your arms across your chest, disliking his tone. “Stayed to talk? About what? How not close you are with your ‘friends’?”
He tips his head up to the sky and closes his eyes, his brow furrowing like he was entirely frustrated by you, before he looks back down at you again. “If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine, but what’s with you always running away whenever I try to talk to you?”
“I wasn’t feeling well that night,” you mumble to him as you turn away and continue to walk towards the practice field. It was the truth, you weren’t feeling well that night, and it was because seeing him kissing another girl made your stomach drop to the core of the Earth. But that wasn’t something you were going to admit to him. It wasn’t even something you were ready to admit to yourself. “Also, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that I don’t care to believe you.”
“But why don’t you care?” he’s asking you, his voice sounding desperate now as he makes his way to your side again. He’s looking at you but you’re looking straight ahead.
You roll your eyes, continuing to march forwards. “Not everyone cares about your love life, Satoru. Contrary to what you might think.”
He jogs ahead a few steps, now walking backwards in front of you and you narrow your eyes at him. His tongue is poking at the inside of his cheek and then there’s a boyish grin on his face. “Say that again.”
“Say what again?” you ask.
“My name,” he says.
You almost roll your eyes out of your head when you see his amused expression. “I seriously can’t believe this right now,” you’re muttering under your breath and walk past him down the large hill leading to the practice field, his gaze on you burning through your skin until you’re rubbing at your cheek with the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to physically wipe the blush away.
The practice field was much more crowded and busy than it was during the first practice you went to last week. Looking across to the other side, you see a group of men huddled near one of the benches, all of them wearing maroon-colored shirts with black shorts that have gold stripes running down the side of them. None of them were wearing jerseys, but you assumed they were wearing their school colors as some sort of distinguishing clothing that would help them during the practice match.
“Satoru! Where the hell have you been?” You flinch upon hearing Coach Yaga’s stern voice nearby and you look over to where he had his arms crossed and glaring at Gojo through his thick sunglasses.
Gojo walks past you towards the benches and gives Coach Yaga a salute. “Sorry, sir, personal business.” He then makes his way over to the rest of his teammates that were huddled on this side of the field. There were a few tables located on the sidelines that had refillable water stations, bottles of Gatorade, towels and all sorts of other athletic gear. You walk up to one of the tables and fix the settings on your film camera before taking a snapshot of the items laid out on it.
The atmosphere is light since this wasn’t an official match and so you spend some time fidgeting with your camera before they get started. You can only imagine how tense it must be during a proper tournament game at the actual stadium off-campus, the thought of thousands of people spectating from stands sending a shiver down your spine. Athletes were of a whole different breed, despite how wholesome and down-to-earth most of the UTokyo soccer players you’ve met so far were.
Eventually, Coach Yaga and the other coach from the opposing school blow their whistles, both acting as referees for the match, and the players scatter themselves across the field. You notice Gojo is at the center of the circle in the middle, his foot on top of the ball as he scans his eyes across the field to each of the players with a focused look in his eyes. He draws his foot back, and just when you think he’s about to kick it forwards to where he was looking, the back of his heel makes contact with the ball instead and it’s sent swiftly behind him towards Geto. Instantly, all the players begin to move across the field, some of the offensive opposing side charging towards Geto as he shuffles the ball between his feet before kicking it way ahead of him to another one of their teammates. You bring your camera up to your face and take a snapshot when one of the opposing team’s defenders makes an attempt to steal the ball.
The play continues further, both teams playing a push-and-pull with the ball. Gojo makes an attempt at a goal before the opposing team’s goalie lunges for the ball that was flying in the air straight towards the net, catching it in his arms and then crashing down onto the ground. Somewhere along the intense match, the coaches call half-time and you’re shocked by how fast the first half went by.
Some of the players retreat to the benches to quench their thirst and wipe the perspiration off their faces with their towels, while others remain on the green expanse to pace around while catching their breath. Your attention is drawn to Gojo who stood at the center with his hands on his hips and breathing visibly heavily. He leisurely shuffles the ball between his feet with an innate rhythm before passing it off towards Geto who stood a few feet away from him. Gojo pulled his headband off of his face, his hair falling over his forehead onto the sheen layer of sweat above his eyes. With each breath, his chest rises and falls, lips parted in a display of exertion, and then he grabs at the hem of his shirt to lift it to his face, exposing his toned torso, as he wipes away the sweat at his temples. Your eyes widen at the sight, almost entranced as a wave of arousal suddenly consumes you, before he releases his grip on the fabric and it falls back down. He pushes his hair back up out of his face with one of his hands, the other securing the headband back onto his forehead with a snap, and the muscles of his arms tense fluidly with every motion.
You quickly look away from him, afraid he'll catch you staring, and blink at the grass as you notice the fast beating of your heart. Coach Yaga's whistle blows, causing you to look back up again. Players were making their way back onto the field and Gojo found his position at the center again. His eyes darted across the field, making their way onto the faces of each player, and then they eventually landed on you. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly into a small smile before he's looking back down at the ball by his feet. And then they start the kickoff.
UTokyo ends up winning 3-1, and by the end of the match the sun is starting to set, painting the sky beautiful hues of purple and orange. You lean over to pick your things up off the grass as the players make their final retreat to the benches, and you gently place your film camera back into its case when Gojo’s voice next to you makes you jump.
“Hey. Please don’t run off,” he says. When you turned to look at him, he was still breathing a bit fast and he had a flushed, almost serene, look across his face. “Give me your phone.” He extends his open palm out to you.
“My phone?” You ask him, reaching for where it was located in your back pocket and pulling it out. He nods without any further explanation. You place it in his palm and he’s tapping away at it before handing it back to you. When you look down, you notice he gave a random number a call.
“That’s my number. Save it,” he says. You blink at him. His expression is soft for a moment and then he’s turning around and away from you, heading over to where his teammates were crowded around one of the tables and giving each other pats on the back.
You tip your head to the side to watch him as a couple of his teammates sling their arm around his neck and smack his chest, masculine laughter and jokes filling the air. You can’t help but smile before you pick up your things and start making your way up the hill away from the field, back towards the heart of campus.
---
The following days of the week where you don’t see Gojo play soccer seems like a waste, because why weren’t you spending every single day of your life watching him play soccer? You sigh to yourself at the question as you use clothing pins to hang up the film photos you took up onto a wall in your school’s photo lab. You finished developing the photos from Monday’s practice match, only to realize that you accidentally took them on one of your black-and-white rolls instead of full-color. You step back to take a look at all the images you had clipped onto the string pinned to the walls, snapping a shot of the collage with your phone, before pulling them all back down and stuffing them into a Manila folder.
The only time the photo lab wasn’t bustling with other film & photography majors was usually after sunset, but by the time you finished having dinner with one of your friends on campus, you had made it there around 7PM. By the time you leave and make it to your parked car, it’s pitch black outside. As you step inside your car and turn the key to ignite the engine, the windshield wipers automatically swiping as the control lights inside come to life, the clock on your dashboard reads 10:37PM.
The GPS for some reason prompts you to take an alternative route back to your apartment that avoids the freeway in an attempt to save you from twenty minutes of traffic, and you consider what to do for a moment before the exhaustion in your bones convinces you to take the allegedly faster way home.
As you begin to head in the unfamiliar direction, the excitement you had to make it home as soon as possible slowly starts to dwindle more and more as the streets morph from well-lit and bustling with people to dark and surrounded by trees instead. What used to be a three-lane street turned into one, and you count the seconds between every passing car you see coming by in the opposite direction. You’re worried when your counting makes it past sixty seconds.
You turn your music up in your car to distract yourself from the fear of driving down the secluded and dark road. There was a slight fog settling up ahead in front of you to where you could only see clearly about thirty feet ahead. You spot something on the road, blinking rapidly to focus your vision, and then your eyes widen when you realize what it was. Rocks.
You’re instantly swerving your car to the side, attempting to deftly avoid the scattered rocks but unfortunately you drive over a few of them, causing your tire to pop and you let out a scream when you lose handle on your car. One of the rocks flies up and hits your windshield, cracking the glass, and suddenly you’re driving up over the curb to the right before you finally regain control of your car and swerve back onto the road, slamming on the brakes.
Your heart is beating fast in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your body, and you grip onto the steering wheel while you try to regain your breath. Your windshield had a large crack in it, large enough to where the cold air from outside was whistling its way inside your car, and you were slanted in your seat due to the punctured tire at the front. As you took deep breaths, you noticed how alone you were on a dimly lit street where you hadn’t seen a single car in more than five minutes, fear and anxiety surging through your body. Your hands reach for your phone, shakily turning it on and exhaling in relief when you see that you have reception, then call the emergency telephone line.
“Hello, how can we help you?” a feminine voice on the other end of the line says.
“Hi, um,” you say, voice sounding shaky, “I just got a flat tire on Musashi road, about five miles from the Main Street intersection. I don’t have a spare on me, and my windshield is cracked too…could you send roadside assistance?”
“Yes, absolutely,” the woman says kindly and begins to take down some information from you. “Thank you, ma’am. Unfortunately, there has been a big accident on the freeway, so many of the tow-trucks and officers have been dispatched to that area. It may take about an hour for help to arrive. Are you able to call someone to come stay with you as you wait?”
“Oh…” You press your lips together in thought. “Yes, I should be able to.” After working out a bit more logistics with the woman on the other line, you hang up and then you’re scrolling through your contacts. You first call Mina’s line, which goes straight to voicemail, and then you remember that she was out of town for tonight and half of tomorrow visiting her family. You call Nobara, who also doesn’t pick up, and then a couple of your other friends who go straight to voicemail as well. You start to panic slightly before calling your friend Maki who lives two hours away.
“Hello?” You hear her voice say when she picks up.
“Maki! Oh my gosh, thank you for picking up,” you say to her through the phone, your hand on your chest as you sigh. You explain your situation to her and she’s instantly providing you with soothing words.
“Is there no one that can come stay with you? I feel awful that I’m so far away,” she says.
“It’s okay, they said that help will be here in maybe fifty minutes now…I just really wanted to talk to someone,” you say, peering out into the darkness of the night. You’re still shocked you haven’t seen a single car drive by in the past ten minutes. You pull your phone from your face to check the time and see a notification on your phone that says 5% battery remaining. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Maki asks worriedly.
“My phone is running out of battery…” you say with a defeated tone. Your anxiety starts to rise in your chest again. “I don’t know if I can stay on the line.” You scroll through your contacts again, finger halting the screen when your eyes land on another name. “I…I think I have someone else I can try calling.”
“Good, try that. I don’t want you to be stuck out there with a dead phone and a flat tire. Let me know if this person doesn’t pick up, okay?” She’s saying to you and you send her your location before hanging up.
You’re breathing heavily from fear when a particularly harsh gust of wind pushes more cold air through the crack of your windshield. Pulling your phone from your face, you click on the name in your contacts and bring your phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, almost a third time before you hear a click and then a voice.
“Y/n?” Gojo’s voice calls out, sounding surprised.
Hearing his voice immediately causes a wave of relief to wash over you and you lay back in your seat, having to muffle the abrupt sob that threatens to erupt from the tightness in your throat. “Hi,” you whisper.
“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks.
“Mm…no,” you admit to him, sniffling slightly and swiping at the stray tear that rolls down your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m just a bit scared right now.” Your voice cracks towards the end of your sentence and you silently berate yourself for not mustering enough emotional strength at the moment.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his voice starting to sound uneasy.
“I was driving down this road, it was dark, I couldn’t really see much…but I ended up driving over these rocks and my tire punctured. I called for roadside assistance and they said it would take about an hour for help to arrive,” you ramble, “I tried calling Mina, and some of my other friends to come and wait with me, but-” You run out of breath to finish your sentence and you’re sniffling again.
“Send me your location, I’m heading over right now,” he says and you hear what sounds like keys jingling in the background along with some other shuffling noises, “can you stay on the line?”
You pull your phone from your ear and see that you’re at 3% now before sending him your location. “No…my phone is running out of battery.”
He’s silent for a second on the other end. “It says I’ll be there in twelve minutes. Just…hang tight, okay? Make sure your doors are locked.”
You nod before remembering that he can’t see you, so you say I will. He’s hesitant to hang up on you but when your phone flashes from 3% to 2%, you tell him you don’t have much of a choice and then he’s giving you another word of caution before reluctantly hanging up. You’re all alone to your thoughts in your car again, shaking from the anxiety and blinking tears away.
The twelve-minute wait felt so long, and eventually Gojo texts you that he’s one minute away when your phone is at 1% battery. You see headlights approaching behind your car in your rearview mirror, the first sight of another human being you’ve seen in probably the past thirty minutes stepping out of the driver’s seat and you immediately recognize his silhouette. He walks up to the passenger side door and tips his head down so he’s visible through the window. At the sight of him, you finally release the breath you were holding in before opening your car door and stepping outside. You both look at each other across the top of your car and you notice him letting out a deep breath of his own as his shoulders relax at the sight of you.
He makes his way wordlessly around the front of your car to you and he’s studying your face intently. You look away from him when you realize he could probably tell that your eyes were puffy and that you had been crying. From your periphery, you see the back of his hand reach out when he’s right in front of you, hesitating slightly before it briefly brushes against your cheek, dabbing at a tear that you must’ve missed. His hand is warm against your skin and the sudden desire to hug him consumes every single fiber of your being, but when you look up at him, the soft expression on his face renders you still.
“Thank you for coming,” you’re whispering to him.
He lets out a short comical exhale through his nose. “I wasn’t going to not come. What kind of person do you think I am?”
You shiver as another gust of wind passes through, crossing your arms across yourself. Gojo slips the jacket he was wearing off, revealing a beige sweater underneath, and then he’s circling around you to place it over your back. It’s cozy and it smells like him.
You’re about to voice your concern for him but his voice behind you cuts you off. “I run warm, don’t worry.”
He walks around to the front of your car, bending over to the side to assess the flat tire at the front, his hands shoved into his pockets. You pull his jacket around you tighter. “Damn, the tread on your tires is horrendous. No wonder. You should really check on them more often.” He straightens himself up and peers at the crack across your windshield. “And that’s definitely not gonna be cheap to fix.”
You sigh in annoyance, his casual tone causing your eye to twitch slightly, but when you noticed your heart was calm and your breathing was normal again, you looked at him with the realization that him just being here managed to soothe you.
He looks back over at you with a considerate expression. “Do you want to sit in my car? It’s chilly out here.”
You press your lips together before shaking your head. “I feel like I need the fresh air.”
Gojo’s walking over to the patch of grass on the pavement at the side of the road and sits down on the curb. He pats the spot next to him with an awaiting look on his face and you make your way to him, sitting to his left. He looks down at the distance you’ve put between the two of you, almost three feet, and he’s sighing before scootching closer to you. “Don’t be greedy with your body heat. I said I run warm, not that I’m a furnace.”
His shoulder brushes against yours and his knee bumps against your thigh as he gets comfortable. You bring your legs closer to you and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin on top of your knee. Gojo was leaning back onto his outstretched arms behind him, legs extended in front as he tipped his head back up to look at the sky. You look over at him. His gaze slowly shifts from one point in the sky to the other, and you wonder what he’s mapping with his eyes.
“Thank you for getting the referee permission for me,” you say, realizing you never thanked him in person. “I’m excited to take photos out on the field next week.”
“Sure thing, my freaky little photographer. I’m sure you are,” he chimes.
You stick your bottom lip out in an annoyed pout. “So, we’re even now.”
He looks over at you and smiles. His blue eyes were a bit darker underneath the starry sky with less light to reflect off of them, and the quality made them look gentle. “No, you’ve gotta make sure Mina stays interested in Todo.”
You can tell he’s just joking, but you respond as if he’s serious anyways. “That was never part of the agreement,” you say, “besides, I don’t really think that’s necessary. She seems to be pretty taken with him already.”
He laughs. “And you’re not worried about that?”
“What’s there to worry about?” You ask.
“I don’t know, the fact they hit it off so fast?” He shrugs and you feel the friction of the movement against your shoulder.
“Hmm, no. Mina’s a smart girl, she’s good at sniffing out those red flags,” you say assuredly before lifting a suspicious eyebrow at him, “should I be worried? He's your friend. Enlighten me.”
Gojo shakes his head musingly at your concern. “Todo’s a good guy,” he says in a soft voice.
“He’s not on the soccer team, right? I didn’t see him the past couple of times I was on the field,” you say with realization.
“Nah, he’s just a mad lad I met in my freshman year econ class. We’ve been friends ever since,” he says, swaying his knee from side to side. “He’s the one that got me to join the frat.”
You two are silent for a moment, listening to the noise of the wind through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. The previous anxiety you had from the night completely dissipated into peacefulness instead, and the man beside you was responsible for that shift.
“Can you tell me what that offer was that you were so excited about earlier this week?” he asks.
You look up to the sky briefly, trying to remember what he was talking about. “Oh. I might be able to publish the photos I take of the game next week to the sports recap in the school newsletter,” you say.
He turns his head to look at you, eyes widened. “Woah, seriously? That’s so cool. Can you make sure I look hot?”
You roll your eyes and go back to resting your chin on your knees. “Sure.”
A comfortable silence settles before he’s speaking again. “What inspired you to be a film photographer?” He’s turning his body so he’s facing you a bit more directly.
“Well, the end goal is film movie making…but my professor says that it’s important to understand the art of film photography before that,” you say, twiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “He says that ‘if a filmmaker cannot master the single frame shot, then how can they possibly put together a film composed of a million of them’?”
Gojo is humming beside you and nodding in agreement. He turns away from you to face forward again and he starts tapping his foot on the pavement of the road. “Huh. That’s kind of similar to something coach says during drills.”
You glance over at him, a little surprised. He continues to stare forward with a somewhat innocent expression on his face, and then you can practically see the moment another question pops up into his head.
“Why don’t you make your Instagram public? Your photos would probably get a lot more views or likes that way,” he says in an excited tone, like he’s cracked some code.
You let out a small laugh and bury your face into your knees, your voice sounding muffled when you speak. “I did have it public for a while. Until a troll spammed a bunch of hate comments on my posts and I quickly switched it to private after that.” Saying it out loud, you felt a bit silly. You’re apprehensive as you say the next few words. “I guess I’m scared that I’m not good enough to be acknowledged or successful, and that somehow other people will see that truth before I can.”
“Oh come on, y/n,” he’s saying beside you, gently nudging your arm with his elbow. The contact causes your breath to catch in your throat. “You just have to go for it. You can’t accomplish anything if you don’t face your fears.” When you watch those words leave his mouth, you notice he now has a thoughtful expression as he stares ahead to the other side of the road.
Another beat of silence goes by. “Why did you start playing soccer?” you ask.
He’s quiet for a long time as he blinks, to the point where you’re unsure if he even heard your question, but then he finally answers. “My dad used to play in college. He introduced me to the sport when I was younger and I fell in love with it.” Your perk up slightly and tip your head to the side in curiosity. He’s looking down at his lap now.
“That’s really wonderful, Satoru. Was he also center forward in college?” When you ask him this, you don’t miss the way his eyebrows pinch together for a split second before his expression relaxes again.
“Yeah, he was,” he responds, “he got injured in his last year, though. Never got to play after that.” There’s an inflection at the end of his sentence that makes you think he’s about to say more but he doesn’t.
Your face softens when you see him stare down at the curb with a slightly troubled expression. In a moment of tenacity, you place your hand on his thigh and his eyes widen when he sees the movement before he’s looking over at you.
“I’m sure he’s really proud of you,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to brush a few strands of his hair away from his eyes. Both of you are shocked at the intimate gesture and you’re quick to withdraw your hand.
Your faces are close, his side still pressed against yours, and neither of you break eye contact. You take a moment to study the handsome features of his face and your heart aches a little. The cold air has you licking your lips and Gojo’s eyes dart to them, gaze lingering, and you blink slowly when he leans forward slightly. Blue eyes find yours again and he stills himself, searching your face for something, and when he doesn’t see it he continues to lean forward and you lean towards him too. And then his lips press against yours, so chaste and so light that it’s possible you could have imagined it, but just when you feel his warm hand cup your face and he’s about to deepen the kiss, a loud honking noise startles the two of you and you both jump, pulling away from one another. You see Gojo’s face illuminated with bright golden lighting as he winces and holds up one of his hands in front of his face to shield himself from being blinded by it.
You turn your head to the left towards the source of the light and see a tow truck approaching. “Hey! Is this the flat and windshield crack?” you hear the driver shout out from where his head was stuck out the window.
You’re speechless, cheeks feeling flushed from the realization that Gojo had just kissed you, and you turn to look at him. He silently stands up with a weary exhale and a calm expression on his face and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it is.” He makes his way over to the tow truck and you hear him make conversation with the driver as well as the man in the passenger seat. You’re still sitting stunned on the curb, bringing your fingers up to gently touch your lips that were still searing from earlier. Gojo’s suddenly standing in front of you and you’re staring at his legs before you tip your head back up to look at him.
“Do you have any valuables in your car?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of your car.
“Ah…my phone and my tote bag,” you say. He crouches down in front of you, earnest eyes level with yours, and his hand reaches into the pocket of his jacket where you had stashed your keys. He removes only your car key from the ring, handing the set of other keys back to you, and then he’s unlocking your car to get your stuff out of it.
You remain on the curb, watching as Gojo handles the entire interaction with the tow truck helpers. When they’ve successfully anchored your car to the tow truck and one of the men comes around to shake Gojo’s hand, you see him reach into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing the man some cash. You stand up in a bit of a panic and head over.
The tow truck is already pulling away with your car from the curb when you make it in front of Gojo. He hands you a business card with the towing company information on it and then looks down at you with a mild demeanor, letting out a long exhale. “Ready to go home? You’ve had a long night.”
Exhaustion suddenly consumes your entire being and you hesitantly nod.
The interior of Gojo’s car is nice. It’s clean, smells like him and pine, with nice leather seats that have warmers. You’re still wearing his jacket, clenching it tightly around you, as he inputs your apartment address into his GPS and starts to drive you home.
Neither of you say a word to one another during the ride. You watch his hand tighten its grip at the top of the steering wheel occasionally as he drives. He turns his car into the entrance of your apartment complex and parks in the loading zone. You watch as he makes his way out of the car to the passenger side door, opening it for you. You step outside and thank him.
“It’s okay, I’ll head inside from here,” you say, already feeling like you’ve caused him enough trouble. You abruptly remember that Mina isn’t home and the realization that you’ll be all alone tonight creates a hollow feeling in your chest.
He raises an eyebrow at you. “Come on,” he says, walking past you to make his way to the elevator and pressing the up button. It dings before immediately opening and he walks inside like he’s the one that lives here. He places a hand out to hold the door sensors when he sees that you don’t follow him inside. You jump out of the mild trance you were in and quickly rush in before he withdraws his hand and the elevator door shuts.
“Which floor?” He asks, finger hovering over the control pad. You tell him three.
Once you reach the third floor, you step out into the hallway and he follows suit. Your apartment was just seven units down towards the right and the two of you eventually made it to the door. You turn around to look up at him. His expression becomes slightly distressed and when you don’t say anything to him, he shoves his hands further into his pockets and sways back and forth slightly.
“Alright, mission accomplished, I got you home,” he says with a forced jovial tone, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. You notice he does that when he seems nervous about something.
Your mind recalls the kiss from earlier, the feeling of Gojo’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed up against you in the cold, the tender way his hand held your face still so he could have more of you, only for it to be cut short. Your heart is beating fast in your chest and your cheeks flush with warmth. He’s looking down at you intently and you’re looking up at him pensively.
You didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Not yet.
Your hands reach into your tote bag to pull out the keys to your apartment. “Yes, home.” He watches you jingle the metal in your hands. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he says and he takes a step back. Turning around, you push your key into the keyhole with shaking hands, turning it, and open the door to your apartment, letting yourself inside. You look at him from the entryway with the door still ajar.
“Good night, take it easy,” he says to you.
“Thanks, you too.” And then he’s out of your sight as you shut the door.
You lean back against the front door, letting out a sigh and biting down on your lip, the thumping of your heart pertinent throughout your entire body. There was a lingering truth to all of the emotions that you’ve been having recently. It followed you in the early hours of the morning, it followed you as you tried to fall asleep at night, it was present in the silence, lurking in the dark, and it was there with you tonight for every second that he was by your side.
You had feelings for Gojo Satoru.
a/n. thanks sooo much for reading and i hope you enjoyed aaa idk this week felt off for my writing for some reason but i heavily edited it so i hope it came out okay in the end.
➸ take me to chapter six!
tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru
#anime#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#gojo smut#jjk gojo#geto suguru#nanami kento#choso kamo#toji fushiguro#yuji itadori#aoi toudou#yaga masamichi#alternate universe#college#college au#soccer#sports au#fraternity#sorority#tw drinking#partying#romance#smut#fluff#angst#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jjk smut#series#kiss
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– love’s thesis.
pairing: alhaitham x gn!reader
premise: the most logical thing to do when you find out your pretend lover is actually your soulmate? conduct a research and fall in love in the process.
– warnings: inaccurate/unrealistic depictions of college, modern au.
– author's note: i write one long fic for alhaitham and suddenly that old project i have for him back in april is suddenly back. | ~5.9k words.
to say that alhaitham was royally fucked would be an understatement. he was behind three lectures, had a major paper he’s yet to touch, and now, with the sudden appearance of his soulmate mark, he wasn’t sure what to tackle first.
alhaitham let out a long exasperated sigh, hand coming to drag down his already tired face as he irritatedly tapped on his table. the white screen of his laptop blinded him as the clock ticked, a constant reminder that he was losing time if he didn’t type out at least a sentence to his professor–or to you. a low grumble left his lips when he closed his device and left his room to get another cup of coffee. mind swimming with how he was going to approach you, or if he was even going to say the implications of having your name written on his forearm.
when he reached the living space of his apartment, there you were, in the same position and predicament as him. you looked up from your books and gave him a weary and crooked smile. eyes sunken and hair a mess but all alhaitham could see was how the lamp light on the coffee table illuminated your features. the pounding of his heart was back and all he could offer you was nod before going to the kitchen. this was stupid, he reminded himself. how could the person he’s been fake dating for sheer convenience be his actual soulmate. you, who dreams of fairytales and happily ever after, his soulmate? alhaitham scoffed in disbelief as he waited for the coffee machine to finish his drink.
his mind was torn; alhaitham’s rationality screaming at him to just be honest and tell you now but the more curious side of him wanted to test out this soulmate thing. from the corner of his eye, he sees you stretch your arms over your head and let out a tired sigh. books and papers and devices scattered on his floor as you push your hair out of your face. up until a few hours ago, you were nothing more than a footnote in his life, but now as his eyes took another glimpse over the inking of your name, alhaitham begins to wonder if offering to be your fake boyfriend was also part of fate’s plans.
just then, when the coffee machine finished his drink, an idea popped into his mind. something that would quench his curiosity over the idea of soulmates and finish this thesis he’s yet to even start on. and it would only take 4 steps.
--
STEP 1: THE PROPOSAL
this was abnormal behavior for alhaitham. he has never felt so nervous and antsy in his life until now. alhaitham never felt his palms sweat when the panelists grilled him during his presentations or when he nearly fucked up a speech because he had 2 hours of sleep prior. he concluded that it must be the left over adrenaline from stealing kaveh’s concealer to hide your name on his forearm.
he wasn’t ashamed to have you as his soulmate, it was quite opposite now that he thinks about it. you were a proud scholar like him. the only difference was you were in vahamuna and him in harvatat. but that didn’t deter you from engaging in academic banter and debates with him. alhaitham just felt a bit unsure how to approach the topic of soulmates with you, especially when he was the first one to lay down the boundary that everything is purely for convenience and that no feelings should be involved.
“i’m very confused,” your voice cuts through his inner dilemma as you skim over his proposal paper. “is it really okay for me to assist you in this research? wouldn’t faruzan or maybe someone in harvatat be of more help?”
“my topic delves into relationships. seeing as though you are my lover,” alhaitham pauses and he didn’t fail to pick up on the blood rushing to your cheeks when he called you his lover. “you’re my best option.”
there was an amused glint in your eyes when you shook your head. you slowly packed your things and handed his proposal back to him. “this is giving me major deja vu.” the grin on your lips and playful tone also took him to memory lane when he first proposed to this fake date situation.
“i’m assuming this is a yes?” he raised a curious brow at you. the two of you falling into each other’s pace as you left the library.
“it’s a yes.”
STEP 1: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 2: RESEARCH AND ON FIELD EXPERIMENTS.
once his paper was given the green light, he offered to start when you reached his apartment. having nothing to do, until your groupmates replied to you at least, you entered his space and sat yourself on the floor. opening your laptop while alhaitham went to the kitchen to get you something to drink and munch on, you can’t help but feel so at home. alhaitham notices this every time so he makes a mental note of your behavior for later use.
hours passed and after many coffee drinks, wingstop takeouts, 10 minute power naps, an unintended pillow fight, and blasting random songs to keep you both awake and sanity intact, you and alhaitham decided on a few experiments to conduct on his research.
STEP 2: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 2.1: EMOTIONAL SYNCHRONY UNDER EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCES.
“alhaitham, where did you get that…?”
the gray haired man looked up from his tablet and nodded towards your direction. his eyes glancing over to the heart monitors that were now present in his living room. “the local hospital.”
“you really are full of surprises,” you let out an amused chuckle. dropping your stuff beside the coffee table and sitting next to him, he hands you the many wires of the heart monitor. “how did you even get these to your apartment.”
he got up from his seat and crouched to the level of his tv, not answering your question. sorting through the many movie discs he had rented out for the both of you to watch and test the level of emotional synchrony. “what would you like to watch first?”
alhaitham had never whipped his head back faster in his life when he caught you raising your shirt. showing off your midriff as you attach the wires to your chest. he felt his temperature rise as you answered a simple anything to his question. this was ridiculous, his mind echoed, he’s seen you in a bathing suit when you and his friends went to the beach. alhaitham didn’t understand why he felt so flustered. shoving a random cd into the cd player and taking the remote, he sat back down on the couch. he just prayed that you don’t question the sudden flush on his cheeks.
one horror movie, three romcoms, one tragedy, and one thriller later, you both decided to take a break.
“any progress so far?” you ask with a tilt of your head.
he hummed in response. “remarkable to say the least.”
alhaitham hands over the tablet to you while he detaches himself from the heart monitor. he made his way to the kitchen and took out two cups from his cupboard. “the study we found last time stated that close companions tend to copy the other’s emotional response under emotional stress.”
“and?” you take the cup he offered gingerly and took a sip. it was coffee, made just how you like it. “how did we do?”
he took a sip of his own and took the tablet back.
“almost perfectly in sync. fascinating isn’t it?”
he tried his best to not show any signs of whatever he was feeling. as remarkable this was, it was a bit scary. and alhaitham didn’t know what to make out of it. he knows that not all soulmates end up together, in fact, a study that was conducted five years ago proved that only a small margin of soulmates live long enough to meet their other half. and an even smaller margin of soulmates actually worked out. it was only the first experiment, the first trial, but alhaitham could feel the arms of inevitability and uncertainty wrap around his ribs and start breaking each bone one by one.
just by this one experiment alone, when he offered you a tissue to wipe your tears or when you leaned on him for support because of your laughter, alhaitham felt the inevitable pull towards you.
STEP 2.1: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 2.2: COMMUNICATION AND INTIMACY EXPERIMENT.
it was a busy day at lambad’s cafe. the establishment was housing many students who were all running on little to no sleep and coffee pumping in their veins. project month was proving to be hell on earth for the students. final research defenses and projects were usually held in this time and sometimes the following week would be their finals. it’s a brutal battle against time and insanity, those who don’t have proper time management are almost guaranteed to repeat the year if they receive a single mark that’s below the passing grade.
“geez, busy as always.” you said, scrolling through your phone.
“i’d be more surprised if no one was busy,” he replied. “kaveh is practically living in his lecture hall.”
you let out a laugh as you put down your phone on the table, face down, as you take a bite off of your snack. “okay, my turn to ask a question.”
“shoot.”
this was today’s experiment. communication and intimacy by using the famous “36 questions to fall in love” as your starting point. in every relationship, not just soulmates, communication needs to be present or else it’ll fall apart sooner or later. conversation let’s people see parts of another they tend to hide. alhaitham wanted to scratch this experiment from the process, but after the last one, he wanted to try if there were any unpredicted outcomes.
many studies have already been conducted on this, alhaitham shouldn’t have a problem finding a supporting article for his thesis. but after just a few questions, he began to think of this experiment as an excuse to get to know you more. he’s not sure if it’s the soulmate thing playing at his mind to get to know you but he suddenly had the urge to absorb every information about you like a sponge. a painful want to know you inside and out; a need to be able to completely explain you to someone else.
“question 27: if you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.”
alhaitham mulled over the question before giving his answer.
“my indifference and wanting to keep most things private does not equate to me not caring about them.” he let his tongue roll over his lips, suddenly feeling parched with the way you were staring at him. “i have high walls, but that doesn’t mean they’re there to ward everyone off. i’m very particular with who i let in, so if they truly want to be my friend, i’d advise them to try until i welcome them in.”
a smile tugged at your lips and alhaitham felt he could finally breathe. “your turn.”
“question 33: if you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? why haven’t you told them yet?”
you let out a hum and leaned back in your seat. “never telling the people i care about that i love them.”
“why haven’t you told them yet?” he asks, crossing both his arms over the table and slightly leaning forward.
“i don’t know…” you say honestly. a foggy look in your eyes as you stare at the ceiling. “maybe i’m scared it won't sound genuine enough.”
alhaitham wanted to argue that everyone you care about knew that you love them dearly. he was one of those people after all. whatever label you have now was certainly fake, but the vulnerability and care you had for each other wasn’t, and he would die on that hill.
“well you shouldn’t,” his voice cut through the quiet atmosphere. he hoped that it didn’t sound too harsh. “if they cared about you, they would know whether you're being genuine or not.”
if someone told alhaitham’s younger self that the walls he’d built up would crumble in just 36 questions, he wouldn’t have believed it. he still finds it hard to believe when you both exit the cafe and go your separate ways. but all he can do is accept it. through those questions, he learned more about you–your dreams, values, cherished memories, and vulnerabilities you shared with him first.
ahaitham concluded that this experiment was worth keeping. he felt more connected to you than ever.
STEP 2.2: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 2.3: RESEARCH SYMPOSIUM.
admittedly, this wasn’t in the original list of experiments you and alhaitham had planned but decided to go along with it. the akademiya regularly held a research symposium and had one or two students present preliminary research to batches of students. this year, he was asked to do it and he dragged you to be his partner because who else would he ask. certainly not kaveh.
“do your best! i’ll be backstage if you need anything.” he simply nods at your support and walks to the stage. before beginning, he takes one last glance at you. he didn’t know what urged him to do it, but after seeing you flash him a thumbs up and an encouraging grin, he let a small smile loose before looking towards the batch of students that won’t give a single shit about what he’s saying.
roughly 45 minutes later, alhaitham stepped down the podium and bowed. applause echoed throughout the hall as he made his way backstage to find you. the next batch would be listening to you after all. he stopped in his tracks when he saw you happily chatting with a student he didn't recognize.
“you’re presentation is next, do your best!” he excitedly said. alhaitham narrowed his eyes when the unfamiliar boy rubbed the back of his nape, a flushed tint reaching his cheeks. “maybe after the day’s over we can go get some coffee?”
how strange it was. ever since your name appeared on his forearm he’d started feeling so many new emotions that he normally wouldn’t imagine feeling. it was an ugly feeling, he concluded. alhaitham didn’t like how relieved he felt when you declined the boy’s invitation and when you caught sight of him, he felt his heart beat rapidly in his ears when you skipped over to him. he already knew why he felt a sudden surge of pride take over him when you drag him further back stage to review your presentation, completely ignoring the other boy.
it was for research, so why did his arm wrap loosely around your waist like second nature?
STEP 2.3: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 2.4: CREATIVE AND ARTISTIC COLLABORATION.
you were the one who coined this idea after a quick chat with kaveh. for once, the blonde man had an insightful opinion and offered to schedule you and alhaitham to a quick session of painting on your next day offs. now here were the three of you, inside a painting studio with other students in the art department of the akademiya, seated in front of a white canvas and a tray of colors.
from the corner of his eyes, alhaitham took notice of how you and kaveh animatedly chatted. the same ugly feeling he felt that day backstage came back in full throttle. clicking his tongue, he shifted his focus back on the instructor’s voice and followed his instructions. every once in a while, he would take a peek at you and feel something bloom inside his chest when caught a glimpse of that determined look on your face. by the time he looked back at his canvas, he felt the wind inside his lungs be stolen away when he realized he used your colors to paint.
different shades and strokes of your favorite colors invaded his senses. his own mind playing tricks on him because he could’ve sworn you were peering over his shoulders, hands wrapped around his waist and your chin comfortably set on one of his shoulders. alhaitham felt the ghosts of your warmth and couldn’t help but crave it.
he snapped out of his daydreams when the instructor’s assistant approached him. she was the same age as you and with just one look, alhaitham concluded that she was interested in him. it took all of his will power to not roll his eyes when she complimented his work and not subtly ask for his number. thankfully, she was called back to the instructor’s side. he felt a shiver run down his spine when the girl looked over her shoulders and winked at him. he was most definitely not coming back here ever again.
when the class finished, alhaitham had successfully painted 3 canvases, all with your favorite colors and things that reminded him of you. a successful experiment if he does say so himself.
meeting up with kaveh near the exit they both engaged in small chatter. the blonde architect complaining about how he’s burning through his concealer faster than he expected because of the lack of sleep. alhaitham made sure to just hum and nod here and there to not give himself away that he was the reason why kaveh’s makeup was running out.
“i swear! this school wants its students six feet under before they graduate.”
he tunes out the complaints of his senior and mindlessly scrolls through his phone. tapping his foot impatiently when the assistant from earlier started making her way over to him. scoffing in annoyance he was about to drag kaveh out the door and wait for you outside but an arm tangled with his and started tugging him.
“good job today!” you grin at alhaitham with both your arms interlaced with the other.
taking a peek over his shoulder, alhaitham caught sight of the assistant girl scoffing and rolling her eyes. he shifted his focus back on you, eyes meeting anyone and anything but his. an amused smirk was present on his face when he felt your hand tighten its hold around his bicep.
“jealous?” he teases.
you roll your eyes and grip his arm tighter. “maybe.”
STEP 2.4: COMPLETE.
--
STEP 2.5: COOKING.
the constant ticking of the clock and the tic tac of keyboards was all alhaitham could hear. it was almost midnight and the two of you had decided to pull another all nighter together. at this point, the two of you had been working on his thesis for almost a month now, and alhaitham is still yet to come to a conclusion.
he definitely feels something for you. but there was an uncertain part of him that wonders if his feelings are truly genuine or if the idea of being soulmates was hindering his unbiased thinking. you look up from your laptop when you hear him stop typing and softly ask him if he’s alright. alhaitham wanted to answer no, he was not in the slightest bit alright. but he needn’t open his mouth to reply because you already stood up and invited him to the kitchen.
“let’s cook something to eat. we’ve been ordering too much takeout lately.” there was a sheepish grin on your lips as you opened his fridge and took out some ingredients. “what do you say?”
alhaitham didn’t really have a choice when you’re already started preparing. and even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to say no. when it came to you, he always found it hard to decline your invitations and advances. so now here he was, helping you cook buttered noodles at 11:57 p.m. with your playlist softly playing in the background.
he’s read a study about how cooking tends to deepen relationships between people. alhaitham wonders if this will also happen with what you and him have now. he didn’t really have think too much of it because once he hears you hiss from accidentally touching the pot with boiling water, he’s already by your side. a gentle hand guiding yours under the faucet running with cold water as he lectures you about being careful. you only laugh and say he’s worrying too much. patting him on the arm, a silent message to release your hand, alhaitham lets you continue your duty of cooking the pasta as he grates the cheese and prepares plates.
something about this fragile moment has alhaitham’s mind swimming with possibilities for the future. all he could think about is how nice it would to come home to you after a long day of work (he already does this, he just won’t admit it). crashing into your arms without care as he prattles about his day, his head on your chest while your hand gently strokes over his hair. listening intently to whatever he had to say because you loved listening to his voice.
“haitham can you help me drain the water?” before you could even turn around to face him, he's already behind you. his larger hands held your smaller ones and helped you guide the pot to the sink. alhaitham doesn’t miss the burning of your ears and he’s overcome with the urge to tease.
“why so quiet?” he asks with a playful lilt to his voice. “are you that tired?”
he hears you scoff and grumble. that fuzzy feeling swimming inside his chest again as you duck under his arms and sit yourself on his dining table. he raises a brow at you but you only raise the hand that touched the boiling pot.
“my hand is hurting again?”
“are you serious?”
“deadly serious.”
alhaitham knew you were horsing around but he only chuckled with a shake of his head. in the end, by the time it reached 12:12, the two of you were eating happily. no small talk or conversation was present but neither of you minded. all you cared about was being in his presence and alhaitham would give it to you even if you hadn’t asked for it. he looks up from his plate when he hears you chuckle and sees you tiredly swirling the food on your fork.
“we’re not getting any sleep tonight aren’t we?” there was something dreamy about the way you looked right now. evidently tired, hair a mess and flying in any and every direction, and your eyes were droopy. you looked so at home -at peace- and alhaitham wonders if it’s because you two were spending time together.
“you ask that as if it’s the first time we’ve done this.” you laugh at his reply and look at him. a certain emotion in them that he can only recognize as fondness.
alhaitham concludes from this unscripted experiment that he wouldn’t mind cooking with you every night.
STEP 2.5: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 2.6: VULNERABILITY AND TRUST.
today marked the last week and final experiment of alhaitham’s thesis. the both of you decided to leave the “scariest” experiment for last so you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable. after all, being blindfolded and led to some unknown place wasn’t something normal couples would do on a daily basis. yet here you were, trusting him completely with your safety as he holds your hand leading you somewhere.
“you doing okay there, haitham?”
this was dangerous. alhaitham shouldn’t be walking backwards. but he couldn’t snuff out his desire of seeing you under the setting sun. he could bump into something and fall, compromising this experiment, but just this once, alhaitham let himself cheat. disobey his own rules. he’s already broken multiple ones so what’s one more?
“i should be asking you that,” he pauses when he hears you chuckle. “i’m not the one blindfolded here.”
“aww don’t worry haitham. i trust you won’t kill me.”
“you don’t know that.”
“do you even know how to hide a body?” alhaitham was about to reply when you cut him off. “nevermind you probably do.”
alhaitham didn’t bother to stifle a laugh at your sudden confession. and you laugh with him. when his back bumps into a metal pole, he takes it as a sign to finally turn around and walk the correct way. it hasn’t been a minute yet he’s already missing the sight of your smiling face.
“tell me a secret, haitham.”
“why?”
“this is a vulnerability and trust experiment. tell me something you haven’t told anyone.”
he takes a minute to reply. after much contemplation, alhaitham thinks it’s time to tell you.
“i’m scared of my soulmate.”
“why are you scared?” your voice turned quiet. it sounded more like an inaudible murmur.
“you already know i’m not one for relationships,” he hears you hum. “but recently their name appeared on my forearm. it was unexpected, in fact, i didn’t even think it was possible.”
“why would you think that?” you sound almost hurt. alhaitham didn’t like it.
“soulmates are too unreliable. you’ve certainly seen the multiple studies on them right? most soulmates don’t even get the chance to meet their other half.”
“and yet here we are,” he chuckled and intertwined your fingers. “doing a study on soulmates and testing the potential emotional synergy they might have.”
“i have a strict framework for my life. i built it with facts and logic. soulmates simply don’t fit into that framework. the idea of someone having such a profound impact on my life, someone i didn’t choose– it feels like i’m losing a battle against fate.”
“you can’t fight fate, haitham.”
“and who said i was fighting it?”
alhaitham sighs, running a hand through his hair. “i’m scared that they’ll grow tired of this logical thinking of mine. what if they no longer want to understand me? what if we mix like oil and water?”
“you’ll never know unless you try,” you squeeze his hand in reassurance. “sometimes, you need a little unpredictability in your life. so what if they don’t understand you immediately, most soulmates don’t even get together when they first meet. relationships take time and effort.”
alhaitham turns to look at you again, studying your expression. there’s softness in his eyes, he can just tell. “what about you? what are you afraid of?”
you stop walking entirely but not once did your hand slip away from his. “i’ve been afraid of soulmates too. what if my soulmate isn’t a good person? what would happen to my dreams of getting married and that happily ever after?”
alhaitham feels his heart beating inside his ears when you tug off the blindfold. when you meet his eyes with such a lovesick expression, he feels weak in the knees and throat drying up faster than the sands in the desert.
“but what if your soulmate is better than you imagined?” there was a smirk on his lips when he takes a step forward. “what if he’s standing right in front of you as we speak, telling you that he’s willing to give the happily ever after you’ve always wanted? all you needed to do was wait a bit longer.”
you let out a laugh and tug him closer. chest to chest, hand still holding each other. “do you think so?”
“i know so.”
“will he finally tell me what he’s planning with these experiments?” you lean forward and alhaitham feels his heart lurch forward.
he presses your foreheads together. closing his eyes to stop himself from laughing at the sight of you on your toes to reach him. “i can’t say. it’s hard to put into words.”
you pout and hit him on the chest. “and why not?”
“i’ve never felt such deep affection for someone until you.”
STEP 2.6: COMPLETED.
--
STEP 3: WRITING.
it took a shit ton of self control to stay away from you after his confession. he locked himself in his apartment, leaving you and kaveh to sleepover at tighnari’s since he wouldn’t the door for anyone (this is a lie, he always opens the door for you when you bring him food).
now he’s around 75% done with his paper, and it’s taking longer than expected. his idea of locking his phone in the closet on do not disturb was going well.
the days continued to drag on and alhaitham scowled at himself for feeling so much yearning for a person he’s going to see tonight or in the following week. he missed the sound of your laughter and comforting presence as you both chased deadlines. but he was determined to finish this thesis tonight or tomorrow afternoon if he accidentally fell asleep.
as he expected, there was a knock on his front door. he frowned at how quickly he stood up. with a sigh, he went to the door and leaned on one of the walls with both his hands crossed over his chest.
“haitham, i know you’re in there!” you shout, voice muffled by the door. “you can’t keep hiding there forever! that’s kaveh’s job.”
alhaitham let out a snort as his hand hovered over the doorknob. “i’m working.”
“then work with me. i bought us takeout,” you said, tone teasing. “and i’m not leaving until you open the door.”
with a sigh he relented. knowing deep down that you were deadly serious and he didn’t want to be the cause for a potential cold. when he unlocked the door there you were, your tote bag hanging on your shoulder while your arms held plastic bags of food. the mere sight of you has his mood brightening but he tried his best to keep it neutral.
“it’s late.” he said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when you wrap a single arm on his waist.
“and yet here i am,” you didn’t even wait for him to tell you to come in. you’re already dropping your things on his couch and sitting down on the floor. “you’re place is a mess.”
he rolls his eyes and sat next to you. “thank you, i’m trying to copy kaveh’s workspace.”
a laugh rippled through the space as you handed him his portion. “don’t be mean to him! he’s trying his best.”
you let alhaitham take a few bites before you leaned your head on his shoulder. eyes soft when you smile at him. “i missed you.”
“i missed you too,” he admits, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. “but i need to finish the paper.”
“oh fuck you!”
you scowl at him and let out an annoyed huff as you take a bite of your own food. you don’t get to savor it when a firm hand takes hold of your chin and pulls your face to alhaitham’s. your lips meet briefly before he’s nestling back on his seat. a cheeky grin on his face when you feel your cheeks burning.
“forgive me?”
STEP 3: (KINDA) COMPLETED.
--
STEP 4: CONCLUSION.
alhaitham let out a sigh of relief as he left the presentation room, loosening his too-tight tie. the sun was high, indicating that it was around afternoon now. the defense took longer than expected due to the panelists’ questions, and the knowing looks of headmaster nahida and rukkhadevata. he shivered when he recalled how he barely escaped miss nahida’s clutches.
he speedwalked down the corridors of the akademiya, keeping a firm grip of the extra copy of his thesis. those countless hours spent trying to perfect it was finally over and it proved to be worth all the effort. he had no doubts in his mind that he got a good mark. but now, he had one final thing he needed to do.
a warm breeze greeted him when he stepped outside. he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warm afternoon sun ease his nerves already knowing where to go next. he needed to find you.
and find you he did. the moment he opened lambad’s cafe doors, his eyes by habit, searched for you in your usual seat by the window. half of your face hidden by your laptop screen and a coffee cup in your hand. the sight brought a smile to his lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move and let the scene in front of him be printed into his mind.
taking a deep breath, he walked over to you. “mind if i join you?”
you looked up, not surprised but still happy to see him. “how did it go?”
“well,” he said, sitting down across from you. “a lot more intense than i thought, but i did alright.”
“alright seems like an understatement,” you say in amusement, closing your laptop as your eyes flicked over to the papers he held.
alhaitham was struck with the feeling of deja vu. this scene in front of him mirrored the time where he first proposed the idea of partnering up for his thesis. now, here you both were, sitting across from each other with his finished thesis.
you raised a knowing brow at him. “what’s this?”
“the final version of my thesis,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “i wanted you to have look.”
“i’m honored.” you say with a big smile.
he nodded and took a deep breath. “there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you.”
you hum to signal him to continue as you flip through the papers and skim over his hard work.
“during my presentation, i talked a lot about the impact of relationships. how it affects someone’s behavior, both consciously and subconsciously. i talked about you.”
you suddenly look up, eyes wide. “what did you say?”
“that emotional synergy doesn’t only apply to soulmates. it’s for everyone. even before your name appeared on my forearm, you and i already shared a connection that felt deeper than most soulmates had. from pretend to the profound truth; you’re my soulmate.”
you blinked at him, trying to process everything he’s said. “you really talked me?”
alhaitham nods, a small smile on his lips when he leans over and flips you to where his experiments come into play. “i did. i talked about our relationship, even when it started as pretend and for convenience, had impacted my life significantly. how i always seem more relaxed and focused when you’re by my side. i couldn’t imagine my life without having you in it the more time we spent together.”
he paused, taking another deep breath. “when i first saw your name on my forearm, i couldn’t believe it. it complicated things severely. but the truth is, you’ve always been my soulmate, even before the mark appeared.”
you take his hand in your and intertwine your fingers. and alhaitham couldn’t help but feel his heart quicken when he sees his name written on your wrist. “you scared me for a while, you know?”
he leaned forward, cupping your face in his free hand. “you don’t have to feel scared anymore. it’s real, even without the marks, it’s always been real. i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
you let out a shaky breath and smile. “i love you.”
“i love you too,” he murmured, thumbs brushing against your tears to wipe away the stray tears that fell. “more than words can express. i have never known anything else but loving you.”
STEP 4: COMPLETED.
--
BONUS:
© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.
#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact headcanons#genshin imagines#genshin impact x you#genshin impact alhaitham#alhaitham headcanons#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham imagines#( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ
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smau ; right place, wrong person.
pairing ; idol!beomgyu x gn!reader
summary ; in which a failed proposal at a txt send-off leads y/n to beomgyu, who can't help but meddle a little bit.
genre ; idol!au, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff & crack, beomgyu being a menace.
featuring ; txt(ofc), sunghoon & jay and jake from enha, dino from svt, probably more enhypen and svt cameos.
warnings ; profanity, suicide jokes, attempt at humour, secondhand embarrassment (only first chapter lol), limited to no knowledge of an editor job, this plot started as a silly little joke in a conversation with my friend - fangs lu 4 da help!1
author's note ; this is my first fic pls dont eat me. also ignore time stamps pls the app is hard to manage T_T
start ; 24 june 2024 status ; in progress
profiles
⤷ enha kidnappers ‼️ ⤷ TUBATU TEAM
zero ; hybe hates ME
one ; this is awkward (written 1.06k)
two ; i sent a spy
three ; pack your bags x
four ; dig a hole and rot in it
five ; he'd start barking and snarling
six ; hot enough to steal my girlfriend
seven ; JAKE and others
eight ; beomgyu's a loser
nine ; choi beomgyu in your dms
ten ; you div
eleven ; bro's begging
twelve ; just got scammed by enhypen
thirteen ; this y/n person
fourteen ; WHY IS THERE A TIGER IN Y/N'S HOUSE
fifteen ; y/n in da washig machine
sixteen ; i've lost the battle
seventeen ; seungcheol giving bias
eighteen ; ok alpha calm down
nineteen ; ok one direction
twenty ; we're lost
twenty-one ; the feelings were not funny haha
twenty-two ; a break well spent
twenty-three ; OH MY GOD HE SHAT
twenty-four ; get good at y/n trivia
twenty-five ; HEE SUNG LADIES AND GENTLEMEN
twenty-six ; who did you roll into
twenty-seven ; wasnt your gf technically
twenty eight ; we thinking HARD
twenty-nine ; why did i agree to this
thirty ; jake stand up
thirty-one ; elevator🦅⁉️
thirty-two ; little does he know its 2/5
thirty-three ; idols are truly a different breed
thirty-four ; can you take a fucking hint
thirty-five ; sorry superstar
current taglist ; @serenityism00 @choppedballoondetective @starchasing-cryptid @lun4kazumii @xoxobela @calx-bdo @junhuicosmo @noraimp @isa942572 @huethusiasm @miyawwn @kumabeom @darlingz99 @redsockssuck @woncheecks @flowzel @sugawara-levi @20-cms @paradiseoflosers @222brainrot @blossommi @stwq2439 @taysfairies @nshmurarki @thisrandombitch @missychief1404 @petralovesbonedo @channieismylove @bee-the-loser @nineooooo @luvvhaerin
#🎲 - right place wrong person#right place wrong person masterlist#choi beomgyu x reader#beomgyu smau#txt smau#txt x reader#kpopfanfiction#txt fanfiction#txt x you#beomgyu x y/n#txt x y/n#enhypen x y/n#beomgyu fanfiction#beomgyu#yeonjun#soobin#hueningkai#taehyun#choi beomgyu#beomgyu fluff#smau#kpop smau#kpop x you#kpop x y/n#txt imagines#smau masterlist#masterlist#svt x reader#enhypen#sunghoon
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Congratulations - KSM - OneShot
pairing: seungmin x female reader
genre: smutty fluff, university au,
romantic trope: Best Friend's Brother (inspiration from this reel)
word count: 2200 (at this point, this is the shortest of my stories)
rating: M for smut-adjacent (acts have already been committed and our mc thinks about them quite a bit)
warnings: language (i don't think i've ever written a fic without using 'fuck'), drinking (everyone is of age) but not wasted, penetrative safe sex has occurred, fingering has occurred, kissing, some misunderstand/not communicating, i think seungmin is pretty damn dreamy in this.
a/n: my first fic in the skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics! couple things - the parentheticals are the mc remembering what has happened, parenthetical italics are the actual flashbacks. i really really enjoyed writing this one, so i hope it's remotely as enjoyable to read. thank you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So…”
“So…”
He looks a lot different like this. The Seungmin you know usually looks very put together, no hair out of place like even the wind obeys him. He doesn’t iron his clothes or anything, but he does fold each piece really carefully (you and Soomin once watched him spend nearly four minutes on folding a polo shirt, after which you both made fun of him for a good half hour). His skin, like Soomin’s, is flawless 99% of the time, and you think you’ve seen him flush only in anger over the years. And it was never like he is now, skin almost mottled with varying hues of red and pink. His hair is all over the place, the black strands defying gravity.
There’s definitely the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his neck.
He’s a bit of a jock, sure. You’ve watched him play baseball, but you don’t remember him breathing quite as heavily as he is right now. He is normally calm and composed, with a quick rejoinder toward Soomin and you about your most recent catastrophe at school (Science is the bane of your existence, for Soomin it’s history) or adventure in sneaking into a college party. Now you’re all at university, so any sneaking is unnecessary (and really not fun at all).
His dark eyes are bright with something untamed, though the longer you stare at him, the more that wildness, that almost unhingedness seems to fade.
A shame, really.
You both jump at the sound of someone in the living room, stumbling over something. The cursing that follows lets you know that it’s Changbin.
“Seungmin,” he calls through the closed bedroom door. “You’ll have to clean up since it was your party.” Then the footsteps fade out down the hall.
Soomin, you, and Seungmin are all in your third year. You and Soomin room together on campus while Seungmin lives off campus with Felix and Changbin. Soomin is regularly your partner when parties are the evening’s plans, but she was sick tonight.
“Go. Support my stupid brother because, and I’ll kill you if you tell him, getting an article published in The Scientific Journal for Undergraduate Research is a big deal. And I’m proud of him.”
So you do. You eat, drink, be very merry; even congratulate Seungmin with actual sincerity even though you’re sure he knows he’s that smart and probably believes it’s his due.
You may have had a few drinks, but you aren’t drunk by any means. College has definitely upped your tolerance level, so when Seungmin admits to you that he doesn’t think it’s that good of an article and that now his professors want him to be their TA and go to graduate school here and he’s not even sure he likes research that much, you put your hand on his arm, give it a squeeze and tell him that it’ll be okay. He can do anything he wants and you’ll always be impressed with him.
(“You mean that?” he asks and you shrug, recognizing that the alcohol may have lowered your normal inhibitions.
“Of course. It’s annoying actually, how good you are at everything."
He covers your hand that’s still on his arm. “You think I’m good at everything?”
You roll your eyes, a little flustered at his singular attention and the warmth of his skin on yours. “I mean, I can hypothesize,” He smirks at your pedestrian use of scientific terminology. “I certainly don’t know all your skills.”
You both stare at each other, the unintended subtext taking effect.
“You could. If you wanted to.”)
And that’s how you end up where you are currently.
In bed with your best friend’s brother.
“I should….” You finally look away from his still pink face, eyes dropping to that mark on his neck, courtesy of your greedy mouth. “I should go.” You turn, letting the comforter fall since your back is to him now, and grab the first discarded article of clothing you can find on the floor. As you slip it on, you recognize it’s definitely not your shirt. “Oh.”
“You can wear it.” His voice reminds you of woodworking, when you sand and sand a piece of wood until it’s smooth. His words and tone usually are so sharp, but in the quiet of his bedroom, it sounds soft.
You yank it off and grab the black top that is actually yours, trying not to care that you are definitely naked and he can see you (where was that worry an hour ago when he was undressing you in between heated kisses?). You slide off the bed and hunt your underwear, putting those on before answering.
“Pretty sure your sister would recognize if I came home in your clothes.” Your voice is not soft and smooth at all. It’s ragged like broken glass. You can’t claim any innocence in this; you had been in your right mind, and you had wanted it.
You had wanted Seungmin.
(Stumbling into his bedroom, his mouth and hands feel like they’re everywhere. You shove off his shirt, admiring the reveal of skin with both your eyes and hands.)
Zipping up your nice pair of jeans, you glance back over at him. He’s still sitting in his bed, sheets covering his lower half. He’s not beefy or anything, but the baseball he still plays for intramurals keeps him toned.
(He giggles when you trace a finger up his side, grabbing your hand to stop its ascent.
“Ticklish?” you ask the obvious.
“No.” A lie. He drags your hand down to the button and zipper of his jeans. “Just want your hand somewhere else.”
You can’t really argue.)
“I…” he seems at a loss for words. Another first as far as you’re concerned. “You aren’t going to tell her?”
“God no.” You move to his desk and grab your thin cardigan, jerking it on. You can feel his gaze on you. It shouldn’t still affect you, the post-sex regrets should overwhelm any desire.
“But you two tell each other everything.”
“This would…” you trail off, watching him raise up out of bed, pulling on his boxers. You should completely not be eyeing him like this, but despite the prime opportunity you just had, you feel like it wasn’t enough.
“This would what?”
He’s standing a few feet away from you and your brain is telling you to leave, to grab your purse that’s somewhere by the front door, and go back to campus because that’s what you do with a one-night stand. But you can’t move.
He touches your arm as he passes to the other side of his bed, grabbing the t-shirt you discarded. You hone in on his fingers and how lightly they brush your skin.
(“You have to tell me, you know,” he says through shortened breaths. “I can’t read your mind.”
“I thought you were good at everything?” you tease before gasping when his fingers curve just right. He does it again and your gasp is louder.
His smirk is so knowing, you would say something if you could think. “Guess you don’t have to say anything.” His kiss is far more gentle than the onslaught he's wreaking on your libido.)
“This would…I think her brain would explode, honestly. And I would prefer to keep her intact. I can’t break in a new best friend.”
He regards you thoughtfully. This is familiar. This assessing of his. You assumed he always found you wanting, but after what just happened, you aren’t so sure.
“Let me drive you back.”
He’s so hard to read. Except when he’s…
You are never going to banish those visual memories. Deep down, you admit you wouldn’t want to.
“It’s not far.”
He sighs as he puts on his pants and says your name. “I’m not letting you walk back. It’s after two am.”
“Fuck, it is?”
He sits back on the bed, slipping on his socks. “Yeah.”
“I can call a–”
“I’m driving you back.”
You bristle. “Look, just because we fucked doesn’t mean I start listening to you.”
“But you did,” he says easily, walking back to where you stand, now just a foot away. “Didn’t you?”
Sensations; sounds, tastes, scents flood you with just his words. Him asking you to put the condom on, to touch him, to kiss him, to stroke him. Instructing you to roll your hips just like that, to tug his hair, to let him make you feel good.
“Well, who’s actually themselves when fucking?”
He doesn’t say anything for a second or two. “I am.” He heads toward the door. “Come on.”
You don’t want to spend money on an Uber, or walk back in the frigid cold, but you also don’t want to give in to him.
(“Relax, pretty,” he murmurs.
“I am.”
He smiles warmly, eyes dark before he presses a soft kiss to your nose. “Stubborn, but I like that about you.”)
But you do.
Seungmin drives a beat-up Hyundai hybrid that you know almost as well as Soomin’s equally as beat-up truck, or your dented sedan. You slide in after letting out a sigh of relief that no one was up and about to observe your walk of shame. He turns the heat on high, before grabbing something from the back and handing it to you. It’s a hoodie.
“I'm wearing a jacket.”
“To cover your legs. Those jeans aren’t warm.”
“How would you–” Oh right, he’d slid his hands up them to unbutton and unzip. You close your eyes tight when you think about how he’d pulled them down, letting his mouth drag along your bare legs.
Seungmin liked using his teeth. You won’t forget that. Ever.
You set the hoodie on your lap so he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together.
“Seatbelt.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” You go to grab it, but he leans over to do it for you, head down to click it in place. He smells like your perfume. It works for him. “I can do it myself.” You wrinkle your nose at the petulance in your voice.
He lifts his eyes to you, not moving back into the driver's seat. He’s so close, that mouth of his inches away. You could kiss him and you want to, but you don’t.
He settles back into his seat and puts the car into reverse. He doesn’t turn on the radio, seeming to be perfectly fine with the silence.
Is he okay with the awkwardness? Probably. He would be, always perfectly comfortable when everyone else is freaking out and wondering what the fuck they were thinking and how do they salvage normalcy after something as monumental as fucking.
But you aren’t going to say anything because sex isn’t that big a deal. Even if it’s with Seungmin, your ‘ride or die’ best friend’s twin brother who you’ve always thought was cute, certainly handsome, stupid smart, and maybe a little wicked.
His smirk is a case-study in attractive villain-smirking.
It’s no more than ten minutes to get on campus and to your dormitory. But the silence feels like the length of a director’s cut of a movie; interminable.
He pulls up to the curb and puts the car into park, before resting his arm on the back of the passenger seat. He doesn’t say anything.
“Thanks for the ride–the ride home.” You stumble over your words because every single thing feels like it has innuendo attached. You try to compose your face before looking over at him, offering the hoodie.
He takes it and tosses it in the back before meeting your gaze.
“You’re welcome.”
You swallow, his current tone too close to his bedroom voice.
“And congrats again. Really.”
“Thank you. Really.”
The repetition feels like mockery, and you glare at him instinctively.
“Yeah, well, don’t forget us when you’re taking the science world by storm…however one even does that–”
His mouth is on yours and you’re pretty sure you squeak at the surprise, before melting into his warmth, the slick heat of his tongue, and how his hand cradles your cheek.
“I wouldn’t forget you,” he murmurs against your lips. Another kiss, this one sweeter before he draws back. “Give me some warning if you tell Soomin, okay?”
“Why would I tell her?”
You see the movement of his throat as he swallows. “You might. Because I’m gonna ask you out in the next 24 hours and it’ll be easier to explain why you say yes if she knows.”
It takes several moments for your brain to process all that information and he’s kissing you again which halts any understanding your brain hoped to find. You don’t realize that your arms are around his neck, fingers in his hair, until he pulls back.
“So…you’re gonna say yes?”
You open your eyes to see that he still looks like Seungmin: a ruffled, flushed Seungmin, his eyes more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen.
“I…”
He starts to let go of you, but your hold on him tightens.
“Maybe make it 48 hours so she can try and wrap her mind around the fact that her bff is into her brother.”
His answering smile is so bright that you kiss him again, and it takes another five minutes before you get out of the car.
~~~
Soomin doesn’t combust like you expect. In fact, she raises her eyebrow and scarily looks as smug as her brother when she says:
“About damn time.”
-----------------------------
(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.
#skz smut#seungmin smut#stray kids smut#seungmin x reader#straykidsland#seungmin x y/n#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids x y/n#seungmin x you#stray kids fluff#seungmin fluff#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#stray kids fanfic#seungmin fanfic#seungmin drabbles#kpop smut#kpop imagines#stray kids scenarios#fic: congratulations#my writing
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