#i love to make his life harder than it needs be :)

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[blvdprn]

— VALENTINE’S DAY SPECIAL

jjk (human) men x dom!top!male reader

special day with your lovely boyfriend

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, & naoya

nsfw — non-specified, suguru’s part is shorter srry, slight homophobia & misogyny from naoya surprise surprise

wc: not counted

It was your first ever Valentine’s Day with your boyfriend. Or rather, the first Valentine’s Day when neither of you was busy. Usually, one or the other had a job to do that day —seeing as work never rests— but today, finally, you were both free.

And you were pretty excited.

See, you’ve been planning a little something for a while. After a nice and romantic day filled with sexual tension and ending with a candle-lit dinner, a surprise was waiting for you and your boyfriend at home.

Your sex life wasn’t lacking per se, it was more so some things went unexplored because of an insufficient amount of time. Usually (and sadly), you guys had quickies. There was nothing special about it, it was just a way to relieve stress and show each other that yes you still find the other very appealing. I mean, how could you not? Living with an insanely attractive man and what’s that? Dating said, attractive man? Mmmm, yes, please.

Pushing the key into the lock after paying the bill and driving home, you were nearly shaking with anticipation for what was about to come. Opening the door to your shared house, you quickly pulled the man in, knowing damn well you’d get a noise complaint in the morning. Or at the very least, a nasty stink eye from your neighbours.

—GOJO SATORU : cock bondage

“Fuck!”

“Mm— what’s wrong Satoru? I thought you could take it?”

Right now he was spread out so beautifully for you, knees touching his shoulders and ankles near your shoulders as a result of you pushing his thighs upwards. You were fucking him deep and slow at the moment, making him see stars.

Oh, and how could you forget the pretty pink ribbon tied under and between his balls, reaching the base of his cute red dick and creating a small bow.

��I-I can! This is nothINGGGHH,” cried the man under you, moaning the last part of his sentence.

You laughed. “Doesn’t seem like nothing, sweetheart.”

Satoru blushed even harder, whether from you calling him out or the endearing pet name, you couldn’t tell. Pouting a little, he scratches the hands holding his thighs down. “Just take this thing off… I want to cum already and this stupid thing won’t let me!”

“Awe,” you coo. “Other than giving your cock a nice touch, that was the whole point of it.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah, but you’re taking this dick though!”

“Man just shut up and— FUUUCK!”

Your hips switched pace, from slow to fast, but equally as deep. You should thank all those stupid times Satoru dragged you out on a run for the insane speed you currently held.

“S-shit,” you groaned. “Look at your cute little dick. Looks s-so pretty with the bow…” And although his length was perfect (just like him) and you were just teasing, it really did look pretty. The light pink of the satin ribbon contrasted nicely with the darker shade of him.

Satoru could barely respond, overwhelmed with both the feeling of needing to cum but not being able to, and feeling your cock touching his prostate with every thrust. Slight tears left his eyes, blurring his vision from fully seeing the way small amounts of pre cum ran down the satin around him.

You noticed this, and feeling pity for your pathetic boyfriend, you let one of his thighs go in order to untie the ribbon, knowing you were at your limit too. Immediately, he threw his head back, letting out a loud and whiny moan that would surely wake the neighbours if they weren’t already awake.

Muffling his moan with a kiss, you pulled out right on time, both of your hot fluids mixing together and on his stomach.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you mumbled against his lips. Only receiving a slight laugh in response.

When you were about to pull away, his legs slid down, wrapping themselves around your hips and waist with surprising strength from someone who was just shaking.

“Where do you think you’re going, babe? We’re not done here yet.” Satoru said, staring at your eyes darkly, and all you could do was gulp.

‘Oh, boy.’

—GETO SUGURU : collars

“Is this really necessary?”

“What?” you questioned. “You don’t like it?”

“Darling, it’s embarrassing.”

You huffed. “Which part? The leash or my name on it?”

“Both.” You could practically see him giving you a side eye from your question, even though his back was facing you.

“Well,” you hummed. “Just don’t think about it.”

“And how am I not supposed to do that?”

Expecting an answer, he didn’t imagine you would pull the leash back while giving a powerful thrust. Which is why he couldn’t control the loud and surprised moan that escaped from his lips.

“A-ah! A warning would’ve been n-nice.”

You shushed him. “Don’t think.”

“Mmh— this is going t-to make my throat sore…”

“Liar,” you tutted. “I’ve seen you swallow those curses. This is nothing for you, Suguru.”

He stayed silent, but not for long, because you started rapidly thrusting again with only one goal in mind.

“F-feels so good, darling!” He moaned, gripping the sheets below him, only being able to see your silhouette moving because of the small candles on each side of the bed. “Haaahh—”

Pulling the leash again, you lowered your body so your stomach was almost directly onto Suguru’s back and your face hooked onto his shoulder. In this position, his head was pulled back, and you were able to see the way the nameplate with your name on it moved with each of your thrusts.

Suguru moaned louder, somewhat liking how your name was engraved into something that was on him. He enjoyed the harsh feeling of the collar digging into his Adam’s apple. And he certainly savoured the sounds leaving your mouth that was directly behind his right ear.

Drool escaped his lips, having no choice but to let it fall out of his mouth because he wasn’t able to properly swallow it.

With one strong arm holding him up, he let the other grab your head, pulling you into a necessary and messy kiss. Gasping with every breath, his fingers tightened more and more on some of your longer strands, feeling himself about to cum.

“Darling— I’m ab-bout to—”

“It’s okay… You can cum more anyway.”

And with that, he knew the night was going to be long.

—NANAMI KENTO : wax play

Quiet pants slipped past your boyfriend’s lips. The heat of the wax on his skin was a great contrast to his cold body. It was embarrassing, how much he liked it. When you first brought it up, Kento was hesitant, never before trying something that was considered so… kinky (by his standards anyway, not yours).

“Ngh…” he moaned softly.

You smile at him, eyes bright with happiness. “It seems like you’re enjoying yourself, Kento.”

Pink dusted his cheeks, shamefully averting his eyes from your face. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

With amusement in your voice and a raised eyebrow, you ask, “Not as bad? But you’re making such cute noises.” Your teasing doesn’t stop there. “It’s bad to lie to the love of your life, you know, and on such a special day too.”

“Don’t tease. Fine, I like the warmth.”

“Of course you do, I knew you would.”

With that, you dipped the candle in your hand, hot wax falling and hitting the blonde man under you. His fit stomach clenched, abs pronounced more than normal as a result.

“By the way,” you muttered. “The wax turns into lotion.” To show him, you moved one of your fingers around some of the hardened wax, watching how it turned into liquid again, but this time it had a semi-cold watery texture. And to your enjoyment, you see the way his eyes watch and silently plea for your hands to move the wax somewhere else.

“That’s…” he begins, eyebrow twitching a bit. “Nice.”

“Very.”

Continuing to pour the hot wax down, down, down. You reach his naked thighs, seeing his pale skin slightly tremble. He wasn’t able to hold in the “hurry” that he covered by putting his hand over his mouth.

“S-shit!” Kento said, being muffled by his hand, letting out an uncharacteristic squeal the moment the blistering heat travelled to his inner thighs.

You chuckled, appreciating the almost once-in-a-lifetime view.

Closer and closer, all Kento was able to feel was a need that he never thought he’d have. A shameful and embarrassing thought rushed through his head, one that he wasn’t quite sure he could vocally tell you in fear that it was a little too much. But like always, you could read him like the back of your hand, so you knew exactly what he wanted.

“Fffffffuuuuuckk—” Was all he let out the moment the wax made contact with the base of his dick.

With an idea in your mind, you swiftly stained his cock with the red burning heat, hearing the desperate cries he let out for you to continue. Even louder moans reached your ears the moment your hand went into contact with it, sweetly massaging up and down so the now lotion wasn’t able to cool down quickly enough.

Kento unexpectedly reached down, grabbing onto your hand so the lotion could be spread everywhere. From his balls to his stomach and up his pecs, it didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, only trying to feel the fire-like warmth from smearing all over him.

With his moans in the air and his senseless voice sounding in the quiet night, you knew this was just starting. After all, you guys hadn’t even fucked yet.

—FUSHIGURO TOJI : riding crop

Never in your fucking life did you think he was actually going to let you do this? I mean sure, you’ve explored a little bit before but you thought this was going to be too excessive for him, that he was even going to be annoyed with you.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

Sure he looked a little ticked off at first, but after thinking about it for a bit he laughed and challenged you.

Which is what brought you to now.

Toji’s strong form was lying on the rose-covered bed, something he scoffed at but you were sure you saw a tiny dust of pink on his cheeks before he turned away. His back was to you, a rare sight, seeing as it made him feel like he had no control. Although you were certain it also made him feel exposed and embarrassed if his red-coloured ears were anything to go by.

You could see his muscular back flexing with any slight movement he did, his veiny arms twitching and big biceps tightening.

All in all, he looked delicious.

The crop tightened in your hand, its leather end glided down the curve of Toji’s spine. A perfect fit, touching every nook and cranny, leaving absolutely nothing unmarked.

An annoyed huff left his nose. “Would you hurry it up?”

You tsked, “Patience.”

“That’s something I don’t have right now and you know it. Unless you don’t know what you’re fucking doing?”

With a hum, you decided to give him what he wanted, knowing this was going to be the last time you did so tonight.

A harsh slap was heard when leather hit unblemished skin, turning it into a soft pink.

Toji’s shoulders stiffened, and you were sure he held in any sounds he was about to make.

“Hey,” you called out. “Don’t hold your noises in.”

“I’m not, you’re just weak.”

‘Right.’

Hit. Again.

Hit. Again.

Hit. Again.

This continued on until his back was covered in colour, yet nothing escaped his lips. Not until the leather hit his ass.

“Fu—”

Continuing your assault on his round ass, you never gave him enough time to complain. And even though it was embarrassing for him, he was glad you didn’t stop, because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say anything anyway, and it felt so good.

When you knew bruises were going to form, you stopped to turn Toji around, letting the crop trail from his giant pecs to his twitching dick. Only then did you notice that he had come already, but the look in his eyes was telling you to hit something else.

And who were you to deny? Guess he really had you wrapped around his finger.

—ZENIN NAOYA : feminisation

“What the fuck is this?” Were the only words to come out of your boyfriend when he saw the short red dress with a frilly skirt on your shared bed.

“A present.”

“It’s a fucking dress. Do I look like a damn woman to you?”

Ah yes, you decided this was going to be a slight punishment for all the times he’s said some dumb shit about women.

“You call women whores. Maybe I should treat you like one so you can know the difference, no?”

Naoya’s eyes screamed in rage, how dare you compare him to them? “It’s bad enough I’m with you —a man who can’t even give me an offspring— but now you want me to be a stupid woman?” His fists were clenched and ready to beat some sense into you (as if he could). “You fucking—”

And then suddenly his top half was leaning on the edge of the bed, wrists pinned behind his back by your hands, and his legs trying to keep himself up to not slide down and fall to the floor.

He hiccuped, not understanding how one minute he was about to launch a punch at you, then the next he had the stupid dress on with the skirt flipped up so as to not get in the way of your continuous thrusts.

“Awe,” you coo mockingly. “What happened to all the talking back? I thought you didn’t want to wear this, but look at you! Looking all pretty and taking me so well. Now aren’t you a doll?”

Naoya was so fucking embarrassed, both by your words and what he was wearing. Why did he like this?

“S-shut the fuck uP— NGHH!”

With only one of your hands pinning his wrists, the other slipped past the cloth of the dress on the chest area. Luckily, your arms were long enough, so there was no need to take your eyes off his hole swallowing your dick, just to pinch one of his nipples.

“I’m not a w-whore! Stop it!” He cried out, but really, he didn’t want you to stop.

“Really?” You pulled on his perky nipple, feeling the way he clenched around you. “But your pussy seems to like it when I play with your tits?”

He whined, slight sobs making his shoulders shake. “Not a pussy!”

You moaned, liking how his voice rose when he said that. “You’re so wet here though.” And with that, your other hand let go of his wrists, Naoya hastily having to grab the sheets under him.

Your hand slipped around his surprisingly slim waist, grabbing a handful of his nodding cock and tracing your thumb against the slit.

“See? You’re so sensitive when I touch your clit.”

Naoya’s mind went blank, everything around him went ignored except for your words and the pleasurable feeling you gave him everywhere your hands and dick touched. Before he knew it, he came, panting against the sheets stained with his drool.

But, oh, you weren’t done with him yet. You still hadn’t come after all.

notes: better late than nvr! i ws planning on writing for sukuna & choso too but ran out of time so 🤷

[starlightkyeom]

hit replay | x.mh

(where your ex moves into the empty unit in your apartment building and maybe the relationship isn't over after all)

pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader genre: exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers | fluff, romance, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 12.7k (this was less than 4k yesterday idk) warnings: mentions of food & drinks, talk of the previous relationship, massages (f. receiving), body worship, light nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), briefest hand job, protected sex, they're just very soft for each other, that's it, reader doesn't use gendered language but has female anatomy

a/n: thank you to the amazing @camandemstudios for hosting The Lonely Hearts Collab ❤️ make sure you check out all the amazing fics! this ended up much softer (and longer) than i thought it would, but i'm not mad at that. we all need soft hao for love day. i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @kaepjjangiya, @lostmembrane (join my svt taglist here)

Sometimes you think your life should come with one of those signs like they have in workplaces. You know, the ones that say how many days since the last accident? The ones that people always seem to use as memes? You think that might be appropriate in your case, too. Except, instead of days since the last accident, it would count days since you’d last seen your ex. The man who shattered your heart. The one you can’t seem to get over no matter how hard you try. 

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396

You’re not sure why your brain counts the number. Not sure why you can’t just put it out of your mind. Move on, for real this time. Of course, that’s not the same number as the days since he broke your heart. No. Unfortunately, you’ve run into him a couple of times since then, despite him moving away. A consequence of you still having a number of friends in common. And you can’t even blame them for keeping in touch with him. He didn’t really do anything wrong. Not to them and not even really to you. The two of you just…grew apart. 

Thinking back on it, even years later, you still can’t really pinpoint where it all went wrong. You remember falling for him, entirely too hard. Back when you didn’t think he took much notice of you. Always too absorbed in his latest project. You were friends, kind of. More on the periphery of each other's circles. Until you went to an art show with some mutual friends. Until you saw yourself in several of his works. None of your friends seemed all that surprised. They just let you have your little moment. 

It all happened kind of fast from there. You learned that Minghao wasn’t always one for showing his feelings in words, but he showed them in a million other ways, as long as you knew where to look. He showed them in the little things he did to make your life easier. In the way he incorporated you into his art, sometimes without it even being obvious. In the way he quietly made space for you in his life. 

Things were great, until they weren’t. And it still feels sudden all these years later. Even if it maybe, possibly, wasn’t sudden at all. 

You remember finding a new job. The kind of job you never thought you would land. The kind that Minghao instantly encouraged you to follow. Except it meant much more normal hours where Minghao kept weird hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t come to bed until the sun rose and other times he had been at work for hours when you woke up. Something about inspiration and lighting and just letting it all come together. Neither of you notice when it starts getting harder to make time for each other. At least, you didn’t notice. Only focusing on making the most of the time you do have. 

So, when Minghao tells you that he thinks you need to talk, you’re completely caught off guard. Haven’t seen all the signs that may have been there. He tells you he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime to further his career and it means he’s going to be leaving your city. Leaving the country entirely. Tells you that it’s been great and he still loves you, but he’s got to do this. Tells you that he thinks it’ll be right for both of you because you’ve been growing apart, haven’t you? You’ve both been prioritizing other things like work and friends over each other. He’s going to take this chance and he hopes you’ll understand. 

Maybe you do actually remember it falling apart after all. 

But, it’s time to cast aside your walk down memory lane. Time to leave everything behind in the old year and get ready to ring in a new one. A feat you tried last year as well and seemingly didn’t succeed at. This is the year, though. New year, new me and all that. You take one last look at your outfit before rushing out the door. Your slightly eccentric (and totally loaded) neighbors are having a party up in the penthouse of your apartment building. And even though you normally hate anyone with that kind of money, they’re actually cool and incredibly kind. They go out of their way to understand their privilege and involve themselves directly in charity. You can’t even hate that they’re barely older than you and have it all. Plus, who are you to turn down a party like this for the new year. 

The party is in full swing when you get there. Soyoon always does an excellent job of setting up a party, too. She makes sure there’s an area for people to dance and for people who want things a little quieter. And she always stocks up on top shelf drinks with so many snacks you could make an entire meal out of it. It only takes her a second before she’s waving you over. You weave through the people to get to her, so focused on your friend that you don’t notice anything else. Though you should. 

“Hey! You finally made it!” she says and pulls you into a hug. 

“Worrying I wouldn’t show?” you joke back. 

“No,” she says, smiling her megawatt smile. She indicates to someone. “I wanted you to meet your new neighbor I mentioned, the artist…”

Something drops in your stomach when you register that she says artist and you slowly turn to see the person she’s indicating. Hoping against all hope that you don’t recognize them. Instead, you see the lean figure of someone you know well. Dressed all in black and still looking like one of the most fashionable in the room. The black also works well to offset his blond mullet. It’s not a color you’ve seen on him before, but you’d know him anywhere. 

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396 0

Fuck. 

“Minghao,” you say softly, immediately kicking yourself for the way it comes out. 

“Yeah, oh. I thought you hadn’t met yet,” Soyoon says with a slight frown of confusion. 

Minghao is quick to answer, casual as can be. “I hadn’t run into her yet but we knew each other once, years ago.”

“Oh, how fun! Shall I leave you two to catch up?” she asks. 

You say no just as Minghao says yes. Soyoon looks confused, but ends up leaving the two of you alone anyway. It’s the last thing you want and there’s nowhere to go. At this rate, you’re going to get a much different start to your year. 

When you wake up well into the first morning of the New Year, your brain feels a little fuzzy. Not hungover though, so you can thank past you for that. You cannot thank past you for anything else. Not when the night before comes rushing back to you and you remember. Remember kissing Minghao, not just at midnight. Remember admitting that you still think about him. Remember wondering if he was single. Don’t remember asking him why he’s back now and without a word to you. Not that he owes it to you. It’s been years, after all. You just can’t believe that the mysterious new resident two doors down from you is none other than the ex you can’t seem to forget. 

Thankfully New Year’s Day is really about recovering from the night before and getting ready to face the rest of the year. It also gives you time to figure out what you’re going to do about Minghao. You’re sure there’s something in there about second chances. About how people change as they grow. It’s not for you, though. The more time you spend thinking about the night before, the more you realize that things are better left alone. This isn’t some great sign to revisit a painful past. It’s a way of telling you that it’s okay to finally figure out a way to move forward in your life. 

You’re just going to ignore that the person you’re moving on from lives two doors down from you. Shouldn’t be a problem at all. 

As you’re considering what you want to do for food, the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting someone and your heart plunges a little. What if it’s Minghao stopping by to talk about the night before? You can’t exactly remember all of your conversation, so you’re not sure if there’s something else that you need to talk about. You’re not prepared for any of it. When you open the door, it’s not him. It’s just someone delivering from one of your favorite take-out places. 

“I didn’t order anything,” you say, confusion clear on your face. 

The delivery guy only shrugs and shows you his phone. It’s your name and address. “I just deliver the orders I get. The tip was nice, too.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” you say and accept the bag of food. 

You decide to eat it on your couch so that you can settle in and binge something truly awful on TV. As you ponder who could have sent it, you think about Soyoon and how she loves to do this kind of thing. Yes, that seems likely. You’ll have to send her your own little thank you and thank her in person the next time you see her. Sending a text wouldn’t do it because she always says that doesn’t feel as personal. Eccentric, but endlessly kind. She’s definitely the kind of person that would want to make sure her guests are taken care of after such a great party. All feels much more calm as you settle in and your mind stays firmly off Minghao. 

The whole idea of keeping your mind off Minghao works for a while. You see him around the building and he’s always perfectly polite, but never forces a conversation. Says hi in passing and smiles. That’s just kind of how he is. It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty to say, he just doesn’t chase after anyone for a chat. Doesn’t see the point in forcing something when both people aren’t interested. Honestly, it’s a bit disarming because as well as you knew him once, it’s not what you’re expecting. There are times when you even consider if you should strike up a conversation with him. At the very least, there are things left unsaid from New Year’s. Things you know that you should get out of the way. Especially when Soyoon asks for details on what’s going on and you’re not really sure how much to share. 

But, then life catches up with you, as it seems prone to do. Things pick up at work and you find that you’re back into your routine without a second thought. That’s always the thing about the new year. It starts and it’s kind of slim on holidays while you’re getting into it. It also seems unspoken that people just don’t take time off then. Not when so many take time off around the holidays. (Something you also did, taking off the two days after New Year’s so you wouldn’t have to go back for a short week. Best decision you’ve made in a long time.)

You blink and January fades into February. Your brain is somewhere else entirely when you rush into your favorite coffee shop by your office, running a little bit late because you’re heading in on the weekend. The shop is decorated for Valentine’s Day already, like it seems to be every year once the calendar hits February. Something in you fights rolling your eyes. It’s not that you hate the holiday, it’s just that you’re a little bitter for another one spent without a partner. As much as you may say it doesn’t matter, it feels like it would be nice to have someone. Even if all you did was stay in to have a nice meal or play a game or watch something on TV. Just a moment for the two of you in the midst of all the chaos. When the barista asks for your order, you shake away the thoughts and give it, pulling your phone out to tap and pay.

“Oh, it’s covered,” she says and your brow furrows. 

“What?” you ask.

“Someone already covered your order today,” she repeats.

“But how did…” you start to ask under your breath and trail off. 

“Did you need anything else?” she asks brightly. 

“No, I guess not,” you say and put away your phone.

As you head down to wait for your order, your brain whirs into action. Who is out here just somehow paying for your order? You cast your eyes around the shop and nobody looks familiar. Well, a few people do in that way that regulars stick out when you’re also a regular. Nobody seems to be paying attention to you, though, or giving you any indication that they paid for your order. It shows up on the counter before you can think any further about it. 

The rest of the week goes in a similar fashion. Your coffee order is taken care of any time you stop in and the barista only smiles when you ask her who’s doing it. The only answer she gives is that you’ll realize it if you think about it. Not entirely helpful. At work, you get a surprise lunch just as you’re on the verge of a breakdown over a project. Mingyu, one of your closest friends even outside of work, offers lunch as a break and you take it without question. After all, the two of you were friends before becoming coworkers so it’s not unexpected that he would realize you’re feeling burnt out. Another of your friends asks you to go with him to a show you’ve been wanting to see and won’t even let you pay him back for the ticket. There are other little things, too. Things that you wouldn’t normally notice, but it’s like everything is going your way. It makes you a little wary. Mostly, though, it just makes you grateful. It feels like such a good way to start the year.

It isn’t until the weekend that you finally put it all together. Saturday morning comes and you let yourself sleep in after being out a little later the night before to go to the show. There’s an unexpected knock at the door that gives you a little deja vu back to New Year’s Day. You yawn and stretch as you get out of bed and head to the door. This time, there’s no delivery person waiting for you. There’s just a basket, clearly put together very thoughtfully. You bring it inside and start to look through what’s in there. A calming tea. A bath bomb. Some chocolates. A candle. A book that you've never heard of and somehow know you’re going to love. It’s the perfect kit to have the best and most relaxing day. 

And that’s when it hits you. The coffee, the lunch, the show, all the little surprises. It’s all coming from one person. The one person who likes to let his actions speak louder than his words. The one person who clearly hasn’t just been letting you be since the party. This is Minghao all over. You’re a little surprised at how easily the realization clicks into place. Also a little surprised that it didn’t click sooner. Maybe you had forgotten more about him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t the only person taking up residence in your mind anymore. 

There’s a lot to think about and you figure that you’ll use the time taking a bath to do just that. Well, you shower first to make sure you’re clean and because you didn’t do it after getting home the night before. But then, you’re ready to relax in the bath and just let your mind wander. Hope you’ll end up coming to a decision about what you want to do. There’s so much history. So many nights spent trying to figure out how things might have gone differently. Until it clicks. Minghao was right back then. You both needed that space. Needed the separation to go off and figure yourselves out. Needed to learn who you were as an adult before you could learn to make space for another person. When he left, it cleared a path for you to take chances you never would have otherwise. Maybe it did the same for him. 

That’s how you find yourself outside his door after the bath, the tea in hand because you know that it’s a brand he loves. Or, at least, he did once upon a time. He opens the door too quickly for you to second guess if this is a good idea. Or to wonder if he’s even home. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you and at the tea in your hands.

“You got my care package,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. 

“And figured out who was behind all those wonderful things this past week,” you admit, causing his smile to slip into a more genuine one.

“About time,” he says under his breath.

“Can I come in for a cup of tea?” you ask and he regards you for a moment. That’s always been the hardest part about being around Minghao. He has a way of looking at you and peeling back all the layers. It’s like being naked in front of him. And you’re not as comfortable in front of him as you were once upon a time. It makes you shift on your feet and cast your eyes down.

He steps aside and you let out a sigh of relief at the movement. “Come on in.” 

Stepping inside his apartment almost feels like stepping back in time. Everything about the decoration feels familiar. There are a few things that you do recognize but mostly it’s just because it’s so inescapably him. Everything has a place and it looks like it could be featured in a magazine. But, it’s better than that. Better because it feels lived in, like a home even though it is straight from some aesthetic moodboard. You turn back to him when you recognize a figure that you gave him years ago. It makes your heart constrict that he kept it all this time.

“Did you want to share that tea with me?” he asks, noting the box in your hands.

“Oh,” you say, a little startled back into the present. You look down at your hands and then back to him. “Yeah. Well, if you still like it, that is.” 

“I do, yes,” he says and accepts the box from your hands. “You can go sit down and I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.” 

It’s so impossibly normal and also one of the most abnormal things in the world. The contradictions are making your head hurt, so you just do as Minghao suggests. Sit down on the couch in the living room and sigh. This is the most comfortable couch in the world. That’s another thing you remember about him. Everything fits his aesthetic and it’s never at the expense of comfort. None of that unusable furniture for him. Without even thinking about it, you pick an art magazine off the table. It’s the only thing that seems out of place and there’s a sticky note attached to it with an advanced copy for you to look over scrawled on it. That’s when the cover catches your eye, previously covered in part by the note. Minghao looks back at you, surrounded by some of his artwork. It seems like it’s a profile on him. He must be doing even better than you realized. 

“I hated posing for that,” he says softly as he appears with two cups of tea. 

You start a little in surprise at hearing his voice and drop the magazine back on the table. “I didn’t mean to…”

“There’s no need to be scared,” he says with a low chuckle as you accept the cup. “You can read it if you’d like.” 

“It seems like things are going well for you,” you comment, looking back at the magazine.

“Professionally, sure. Although I’m finding creating a little more difficult lately,” he says and you look at him. 

“Why’s that?” you ask and then shake your head.

“What?” he asks.

“We’re just…talking like no time has passed,” you say.

“I guess I thought that after that party and sending you the food the next day like we…” he starts.

“That was from you?” you ask, clearly surprised.

“Would…what?” he asks, shifting mid thought. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you sure?” you ask with a laugh.

“No, I’m sure. I just thought…well, we talked about it that night,” he says.

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we said that night,” you say and look down.

“Ah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well, I figured we’d talk about everything when there weren’t people around and we could have time to ourselves. Then, I sent the food and just never heard from you,” he says. 

“You could have said something,” you tell him.

“I’m not always very good at that, the saying something part,” he says.

“You’re great at taking care of things I need, though. Everything the past week or so has been so thoughtful,” you say. 

“I know I should have talked to you. I just didn’t know how to start the conversation,” he admits. 

“It’s been a long time,” you say. 

Just as an awkward silence is about to fall over you, Minghao turns to face you. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“Before we go down a path of talking about everything that happened back then and about how much I miss you now, do you think it’s worth it?”

You consider that for a long moment and miss the way Minghao seems to hold his breath. Miss the way he searches your face for a sign of the answer before you give it. Don’t realize how many ways your face has changed in the years since he really knew you. When you meet his eyes, you finally see that he looks unsure. All you can do at first is nod. 

“Is that a yes?” 

You take a deep breath. Ready yourself to jump in with both feet. “I think it’s at least worth having a conversation, yeah.” 

And so that’s what you do. You sit down and talk about all the things you wish you had said back when he left. All the things you could have done differently. All the ways you’ve changed since then. It feels good to say all the things that you’ve kept to yourself over the years. There’s something very open and honest about the way you talk. Somehow even more honest than back when you were in a relationship. Maybe because there’s no fear about the other person’s reaction or feelings. Or maybe it’s just because you’re much more mature now than you were back then. You’re not really sure. Not really sure it matters either. 

This is probably the most you’ve ever heard Minghao say at once. He even admits it’s because he knows that he’s going to have to do things that make him a little uncomfortable if he wants you to consider trying again. He’s also very understanding as he listens to everything. Not defensive when you point out how things could have gone differently. And you know you can’t be defensive when he points out the things you could have done, either. After all this time, you finally realize that it was very much both of you responsible for the way the relationship ended. Yes, Minghao’s the one that accepted a position that would take him far away from you. He’s the one that suggested that maybe the relationship needed to end. But, you also had your role in all of it. You also have to acknowledge that you got distant. Prioritizing other things in your life over him. No longer able to communicate as effectively as you had earlier in the relationship. Both of you had been growing at different rates and in different directions. 

Now, years later, you can realize that it’s something both of you needed. You had to separate to grow in ways you couldn’t do together. Had to be alone to learn the hard lessons, the scary things. To understand what you need and what you want and when to compromise. You’re no longer wearing the rose colored glasses of your early 20s. 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“What do you want?” you ask and he sighs a little. “I know, I can’t make you be the only one to talk.”

“I want to know if you still have any space for me in your life and…” he says, but trails off.

“In my heart?” you guess.

“Yeah,” he admits softly.

It’s another crossroads. One of those moments you’ll look back on. You know that you need to be a little brave. “I never really got over you. Not fully.”

Minghao’s face brightens at that and he meets your eye with your favorite smile. The soft one that you always felt like belonged only to you. “Me either. I’ve lived all over the world since we broke up and I still get my best inspiration from you.”

That one sentence pushes all the air out of your lungs. Has you entirely speechless. You hold out your hand and he intertwines his fingers through yours without a word. “So we try?” 

“We try,” he agrees. 

Trying is both intimidating and the most comforting thing in the world at the same time. A weird duality just like the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Going on a date with someone that you dated for years and then broke up with years ago is like starting well into the relationship. There are all sorts of things that you already know about each other. Yet, there are also things you can’t assume. Things you may have known once may not be true anymore. Or it’s possible that you remember something that wasn’t true at all, even then. 

So, you start with the most obvious date night activity: dinner. It gives you something to do without being too distracting from a conversation. Minghao surprises you a bit, too. He’s somehow more thoughtful and more open all at once. He still doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to all the time, but he’s trying harder to get his thoughts out. You’re also trying much harder to meet him where he is rather than expecting something that just isn’t who he is. Another byproduct of how much the two of you have grown in your time apart. You can appreciate how well the two of you fit together now. Can appreciate how your individual strengths complement each other. 

After dinner, Minghao starts to suggest going back to the apartment building. You have another suggestion, though. There’s this Art After Dark event that the local art museum runs on the second Saturday of every month that you’ve wanted to check out. Life has been too busy until now. And you also can admit that some part of going felt a little difficult. What if you saw something that Minghao created? Or something that reminded you of him? Or what if there was just a piece of art that you couldn’t understand? You’ve always appreciated the beauty in creation, but some things just went over your head. 

The suggestion makes Minghao’s face light up. He’s heard of the event and somehow hasn’t been since moving back. Not that he’s been back all that long. Still, it’s nice to know that you’ll be able to experience something that’s meaningful to him for the first time. 

The drive over is quiet, mostly only filled with the sounds of the playlist Minghao picked. It’s not uncomfortable, though, far from it. You’re thinking of how easy it is being in his presence again, especially given how long you spent thinking you needed to avoid him. In the passenger seat, Minghao scrolls what looks like the website for the museum. Probably seeing what installations are there currently on display. Or what special events they have for the evening. Either way, you’re happy to let him prepare before getting there. It’ll only help you on top of it because he’ll be able to walk you through everything. (If you think about how pretty his profile looks in the low light, then that’s your business.)

Once you get there, you insist on covering the admission because Minghao paid for dinner without giving you the chance to even offer. It’s nowhere near even, but it’s the least you can do for now. They also check your IDs on the way in because there’s an open bar, apparently. You each grab a drink off of the tray going around and then head into the first room. Live music drifts softly through from somewhere you can’t see. It adds something nice. Something that makes the whole setting somehow more intimate when combined with it being less busy than during normal hours. Minghao doesn’t wait for you to ask him to lead the way, he just knows. You follow close to him, not quite brushing your arm against him. 

This has always been one of your favorite things about Minghao. Watching him at a museum or an art gallery is just special. He walks through and talks about the different artists, the influences, and the history. He can tell you about different periods of an artist’s life and why they might have created the way that they did. There is so much living in his brain that it puts the plaques with each piece of art to shame. Occasionally, you notice someone standing in the area stop and listen to the way he speaks about a piece. It’s endearing to watch him when he’s passionate. Somehow softer and less guarded. Some people might find it sexy, and you do as well. It’s just that you find him cute first. There’s nothing about him that sounds like he’s bragging or talking down about his knowledge. Minghao has always believed that art should be accessible to everyone. That it’s a gift for all people to enjoy. When he speaks about it, that comes across. It’s something familiar, something you’re glad is the same. 

Minghao always wants to know the pieces you’re most drawn to. He wants to let you walk into some of the rooms first so he can watch you experience the art for the first time. Wants to know if you’re drawn to the pieces that he expects. You are, mostly. Usually, you wouldn’t want this much attention on you, especially in a place that isn’t your normal comfort zone. But, Minghao makes you feel at ease. At least, until he starts talking about which pieces of art remind him of you and why. It makes you turn away a little to hide the way your cheeks flush. It just feels so intimate. Feels like he’s baring his soul. Feels like too much for someone who’s been a stranger to you for years. Although, can you really say he’s a stranger? Yes, things change. People grow. You and him have certainly both grown. Maybe you’ve grown into the people you both imagined you’d be back when you figured you had the rest of forever together. 

It’s not until the last room of the museum that you realize Minghao picked the path deliberately. He motions for you to go ahead of him and you assume it’s just so he can see your reactions to the art, like he has in other rooms. And it is, in a way. Just not for the same reason as any other room. Your attention immediately falls on a piece you recognize immediately. Not because you’ve seen it before. It’s because it’s you. Or, you should say that you know it’s meant to be you. It’s that same style of abstract art that you know belongs to Minghao. The same style that feels as familiar as if it was a polaroid of you. That’s not why it takes your breath away. It’s the fact that he must have painted it after you broke up because you haven’t ever seen it before. And here it is, hanging as part of a long term installment in the museum less than 20 minutes from your apartment 

“You knew this was here,” you say. 

“I had to double check,” he says softly as he follows you. Your feet bring you right to the piece without any other thought. 

Minghao uses art as an expression. Says it’s easier for him to convey the hard things that way, like so many artists seem to. Says he’s not good with words, could never be the kind of creative that writes poems or novels with long scenes expressing intense emotions. It’s so clear looking at his art that he doesn’t need to. So clear that his work is the reason people say a picture is worth a thousand words. You think you could have ten thousand words and still need more with this piece. And most of his pieces, honestly. You yearn to reach out and run your fingers along the canvas, to trace the lines that he uses. Instead, you take in each color and each stroke. It causes conversations from when you were both younger to come flooding back. You remember lying in bed and listening to him talk about his process. About when he brought something to the foreground versus leaving it in the back. About the choice to use a vibrant palette or something more muted and neutral. About how he could play with the different colors to express each emotion. In saying all of that, you remember hearing what he couldn’t say. It’s funny, in hindsight, to think about how Minghao always said he struggled with emotions. He just says what he needs to in a different way.

His feelings are crystal clear to you in this piece. The representation of you is front and center. The first thing your eye lands on when you look at it. Everything else is in the background. Like he’s saying that you’re the center of the universe in this piece. The colors tell you just as much. They’re rich with his affection. With tenderness and forgiveness. With yearning. Like a hand reaching out to pull you in. You even think he might have put a version of himself in the background, muted to throw you into sharper relief. It’s beautiful and passionate and incredibly raw. You may need to know him to see the last bit. It’s only then that you see the date on the piece. Just over a year ago, probably after you had seen him the last time before he popped up at the party in your building. 

Finally, you turn to him and find his eyes on you. Studying you, looking for answers before you give them again. And you see the nerves there. He’s grown so much, but he knows you have too. Doesn’t presume to know everything about you anymore. Your mouth curves into the most genuine smile. “It’s amazing, Hao. I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You like it?” he asks, a little less sure of himself than you’re used to. 

“I love it,” you assure him and turn back to it. “It might be one of the most expressive pieces of yours I’ve ever seen.” 

“I know I shouldn’t have been drawing inspiration from you, but I couldn’t stop myself after I saw you that time a year ago,” he says, confirming what you thought. “I was halfway through the painting before I realized it.” 

“No matter what, I will always be honored to inspire you.” 

“That’s a relief.” 

“You know, you’re much better at expressing your feelings than you think,” you tell him, looking over to see his reaction. His face is soft. 

“Only if you remember how to read it,” he says. 

“It’s all coming back to me,” you say and delight in the way he smiles. 

Minghao is a study in contrasts. He’s every bit of what you think about when thinking of an artist. Introverted, intelligent in a way not everyone can appreciate, thoughtful, sometimes a little intimidating to approach. If you don’t know him, he could seem cold or detached. When you do know him, though, he’s anything but cold. Certainly not intimidating. Although he can be guarded, he’s an open book to the people closest to him. He’s incredibly soft and caring. Willing to let all his defenses fall away for the right person. 

He takes hold of your hand, even though he’s not always one to seek out physical touch in that way. Not in public. “I want to give this another try. We’ve both grown a lot over the past years. You don’t have to make a decision now. All I want to know now is if you’ll be my Valentine.”

The way he says it doesn’t really sound like a question. It’s also infinitely more direct than you’re used to. You can’t help the teasing look. “That’s so corny.” 

The smile you get in response is worth it. Minghao only shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s worth it.”

“Yes, Hao, I would love to be your Valentine,” you say, fighting a bit of the urge to say that you’ll just be his again. 

Even though you know that rushing back into something is the last thing you need to do, you’re still excited. Feel lighter than you have in ages. It’s kind of like autopilot for the rest of the time you spend at the museum. And if it’s the best date you’ve been on in years, well that’s your business. It’s also your business if you get back to your apartment that night and think about all the things that happened that day.

Sunday dawns and the first thought in your mind is Minghao. Not exactly surprising after spending a whole day with him instead of continuing to avoid him. Yet, it’s not quite what you’re expecting, either. After years of protecting your heart, it shouldn’t be this easy to open up to him again. That thought does make you pause, just for a second. Then, you think about all the things you managed to cover just in one day together. There’s still plenty to talk about, but you can’t deny the obvious. You’re both so willing to be open and vulnerable. Willing to accept your faults to make sure things are different if you give it another shot. There’s definitely something to be said that he’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up. (And the last thing you thought about before falling asleep.)

It’s time to do things differently. Time to not overthink everything. You’re older and wiser now. Feel like you can trust your gut and the vibes now with more life experience. Instead of giving yourself time to second guess, you send a text to Minghao to ask if he wants to come over. It’s one of those catch up days. You need to grocery shop and run some errands, do some laundry, and do a little cleaning. Minghao loves quality time, something still true now. It’s nothing exciting, though, and you give him plenty of space to say no without it being an issue. All he asks is what time he should come over and if he should eat breakfast first. 

Which is exactly how he ends up at your apartment barely 20 minutes later.

Plenty changes and just as much stays the same. Minghao can cook, he never starves. It’s just not his favorite thing to do if left to his own devices. You offer to make him breakfast if he’s going to keep you company during a bunch of errands. While you cook, he keeps himself busy making tea for himself and coffee for you. Doesn’t have to ask how you like it since he covered your coffees for the past week at the shop by your work. Since Minghao likes acts of service just as much as quality time, he empties your dishwasher while you’re finishing up breakfast and tidies up around the kitchen behind you. There’s so much comfort in falling into patterns like that, even though it feels entirely different than before. 

Breakfast passes quickly and Minghao helps motivate you out the door. Points out the sooner you get things out of the way, the sooner you can come back and relax. You’re not shy in telling him that he makes an excellent point. The praise falls easily from your lips and you delight in the way it causes him to smile shyly. Some things really never change and you’ll never tire of pulling that out of him. 

Several hours later, you’re done with all your errands (in record time, no less, even though you took care of getting things for him as well). Back at your apartment, Minghao unloads your groceries for you along with the light lunch he insisted that you pick up. It should be scary to see him making himself at home in your life again. It’s not, though. It just fills you with an endless amount of warmth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters at him setting your food out on the table and calling for you to come join him before it’s back to checking things off your little list for the day. He just seems so comfortable helping you and sharing in your space. Content to let you set the pace and clearly pleased you texted to invite him over. 

After lunch, Minghao shoos you off to get your laundry started while he tidies up in the kitchen and living area. He’s not a clean freak by any stretch. Although he does like for everything to be in its place. You know he’s only doing it now to help you because he doesn’t mind. The warmth is going to be too much at this rate. You let yourself have hearts in your eyes over him for a second before disappearing into your bedroom to gather your laundry. 

Once you have your clothes in the washing machine, Minghao says he needs to get something from his apartment and returns with his sketch pad. He’s got a few ideas that he wants to plan out and hopes it’s fine to do with in your living room. You agree as long as he doesn’t mind you rotting away with your TV obsession of the moment. It’s in those quiet moments that you get the most answers. The comfort of being in a space with him, not saying much and yet knowing you could. Sometimes you feel like you have to fill a silence to avoid any awkward pauses. There’s this sense of anxiety about what the other person is thinking, even if you know it’s probably not about you. It’s not the case with him. Which tells you all you really need to know, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you’ve tried over the years to find someone else, to date and have it something more, it’s never been like this with anyone but him. 

You’re scared of what comes next. Scared of being hurt. Yet, this feels like one of those chances you just have to take.

The next week goes something like the weekend. You spend a lot of your free time with Minghao. Sharing all the things that have happened over the years. It’s easy to talk about shared friends or new ones. Not quite as easy to talk about all the work updates, though it feels just as important. The two of you stay up late having hard conversations in the quiet hours of the night. Talking about everything that’s different. Neither of you even shy away from past relationships. It doesn’t even feel that difficult. You both had lives since you broke up and those lives shaped you into these people now. Twice, he even shows up for lunch to get you out of the building for a break. The looks from your coworkers are both knowing and happy. Everything feels like it’s going toward the obvious conclusion. 

Somewhere in between all the time spent with Minghao, you also carve out time for dinner with your best friend. Need to carve out the time, you think, to get her opinion. She’s been with you since just before the relationship ended. Even though you know that you can make decisions for yourself, it feels important to get an outside perspective. The last thing you want is to rush back into something and end up in the same place as the first time. If nothing else, you know she’ll ask you the difficult questions to make you think. Make you answer if you’ve really thought out what a second chance for the two of you looks like. If you’re doing this because you want this now, in 2025, for if you’re just holding onto a past that felt comfortable. It can be easy to just stay in a bubble without considering what that looks like when the bubble breaks. When you have to go exist together in public or with friends, not just in your own little world.

She does all those things and is adamant: this isn’t like before. Tells you that you don’t need her to tell you what you already know. Instead of justifying everything that happened years ago, you acknowledge. You don’t make excuses because there aren’t any to make. Sometimes things don’t work. You and Minghao are different people now than you were years ago. Somehow, against all odds, you’ve grown into different people that have even better compatibility than you did when you were younger. As cliche as it is, he seems like your right person at the wrong time and the universe is telling you to hit the replay button now. It’s all the confirmation you need. You’re going to dive in and feel confident he’ll be there to catch you. 

By the time Valentine’s Day comes around, you’re both completely at peace and nervous for the date itself. It’s been the theme of the last week. Another set of contrasts that somehow work. You trust Minghao, more than you expect. But, you haven’t had a date for Valentine’s since just after you and him broke up. And it was a disaster. So, you’re trying not to set your hopes to an unrealistic level. 

But, he quickly proves that you don’t have anything to worry about. Before work, he shows up with flowers, coffee, and a pastry from a shop nearby. It’s really difficult not to just call out from work and spend the day with him. Admitting that makes him laugh and press a gentle kiss to your temple. It’s so sweet that you want to melt. Sadly, you have to go to work and he’s got two different meetings that he can’t miss, one with a museum curator and another with a prospective client. So, he’ll see you after work as planned. 

Work seems to drag and more than once, you consider leaving early. Probably would too if Minghao hadn’t been adamant that you couldn’t come by his place until after work. It makes you pout a little, which, in turn, makes Mingyu laugh at you when he stops by your desk. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to avoid bringing up Minghao anymore since they’ve been in touch the whole time. You’re so happy looking forward to the date that you can’t even get mad at your friend. Besides, it can’t have been an easy spot to be in all this time. 

Minghao takes your breath away when you actually show up after work. 

After quickly changing out of work clothes, you’re on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. The second you step inside, you see why he had you wait. He’s decorated the entire space in a way he knows you’ll love. All your favorite colors and little things that are cheesy, but also adorable. There are also several paintings, both old and newer, that you know you inspired displayed around the living area. It feels like the perfect space to celebrate with him. All you can do is wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to pull you tight against him. There’s so much emotion. 

“The food is already on the way,” he says when you pull away from him. “Thank you for paying, even though you didn’t need to.” 

“You’ve been paying for everything. It’s my turn,” you say and smile, looking around his apartment. “And thank you for this. I know it’s not usually your style.”

“You like it. That’s all that matters,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” you ask.

Minghao’s gaze on you is soft. “To me? Always.”

“I do like it, but I think I would like anything because I just like you. A lot more than I realized,” you say and watch him. Every part of you wants to look away. You already feel naked with his gaze on you when you’re not confessing to your feelings. 

Minghao reaches for your hand to pull you into him again. Lets the silence settle around you for a moment. He speaks without releasing you. “That’s good because I’m very much in love with you. So I’m glad you like me so much.”

That makes you pull away, eyes wide. “You’re in love with me? You’re sure?” 

“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying your face the same way he studies his favorite artwork.

The answer is on the tip of your tongue before you even realize it. “No.” 

“You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to love me back at all if it’s not right for you. But, I’m sure. It’s always been you for me and it’s always going to be you for me. I’m not going to waste a second chance by not telling you how I feel.” 

It’s overwhelming in so many ways. The Minghao you loved years ago couldn’t express himself this easily. It was you that had to be good at using your words and interpreting him through actions. At the time, you thought it was fine. Now, seeing him be strong for both of you, you realize that sometimes it’s nice to hear exactly what he’s thinking. It’s nice to just know without having to read his actions. It’s also his way of showing you that things are different. That he’s going to be the partner you need and he’s going to make sure both of you are the best versions of yourself. Somehow that simple statement, along with everything he’s done the past week, are the final piece. You know this is going to be a partnership and you know you’re in it. Whatever happens, happens. 

Dinner passes quickly and the food is great, like you know it will be. It’s also nice not to have to cook or clean anything up. Even nicer to have the space to enjoy each other’s company without going out to dinner like every other couple for the holiday. And Minghao clearly enjoyed setting his table just right for the two of you. After dinner, you suggest watching something. Minghao lets you pick and the two of you settle onto his couch. Without overthinking it, you adjust to put your legs over his lap. He lets you get comfortable before putting his own hands back down and absently tracing patterns into the fabric of your pants. For a fleeting moment, you imagine him using your body as a canvas. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you focus back on the TV.

After a while, you start to feel a little uncomfortable. Not with your legs in Minghao’s laps. That’s providing a lot of comfort. You’re stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders without realizing it. It’s been a long week at work with too much time hunched over a computer. 

“Do you want a massage?” Minghao asks, interrupting the show. You look over at him with raised eyebrows. “You keep rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders.”

“Of course you noticed,” you say with a chuckle. 

“Maybe a massage would help,” he offers again. 

You bite your lip in consideration. You haven’t so much as kissed Minghao since you started to spend time together again (since you’re ignoring any drunk kiss that happened at Soyoon’s party for New Year’s Eve). It’s only been a kiss to the cheek here or a temple kiss there. This is definitely more than that. You want to go slow, but you also miss the way he feels. You remember the massages after long nights of studying. 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say. 

The warmth in his eyes when you agree is familiar. Older and wiser, sure, but still familiar. He gets up off the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom so it’s more comfortable.”

You place your hand into his and follow him. It’s the first time you’ve seen his bedroom and it’s so simple. A few pieces of his art sit in the corner. For the most part, you can tell he only uses the space to sleep.

“I’m going to get some lotion. You can get settled,” he says and places a soft kiss on your temple. 

Once he disappears, you make a decision. You remove your shirt and bra so that your back is bare when you lay down on his bed. You settle on the bed with your head up by the pillow so that you can collect part of his sheet around your chest. It’s a little awkward, being half-naked and wondering how to position yourself. It only takes Minghao a few moments before he’s coming back through the bedroom door. His breath catches when he sees you. 

“I hope this is okay,” you say, carefully turning to look at him. “My shoulders and neck are so tense that I wanted you to be able to reach them easily.”

He gathers himself quickly and crosses over to his bed. Sits down next to your hip and runs a hand gently across your back. Like he’s testing if you’re actually there. “As long as you’re comfortable, then I’m happy.” 

“I am, yeah,” you say softly. 

“Okay, then let me take care of you,” he says, just as soft.

Without another word, he moves to straddle your body, using his knees on either side of you to hold the majority of his weight. Gently, he brushes your hair off your neck and over to the side. It’s enough to make you sigh and close your eyes. You hear him open the lotion to put some into his hands. Always so thoughtful, he warms it before putting his hands on your back. He starts just below your shoulders and works his way up, feeling for knots and increasing the pressure as needed. Barely a minute passes and you already feel like you could melt into his mattress. It’s definitely not just the release of tension that has you so comfortable that you could drift into sleep. No, it’s the person with his hands on you. It’s the care he shows with each movement. 

Before long, you really are drifting in between the land of being fully awake and asleep. It’s not that you could fall asleep on him. You still feel each movement. You’re just incredibly relaxed. Each of your muscles melt under the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Even when he digs into a knot, it still feels relaxing. Professionals should be thankful that he took up art instead because he could put them all to shame. Though, admittedly, you’re biased. And you haven’t ever found the thought of a stranger massaging you to be that relaxing. There’s always the initial awkwardness before settling in. None of that happens with the person you know you trust more than yourself. 

He bends down to your ear and his breath alerts you before he says anything. “Going to fall asleep on me, sweetheart?”

His tone is light, almost teasing. It’s also confident, but not in the cocky way. He’s proud of the way he can relax you so easily. Your brain is a little foggy and maybe that’s also a good thing. You turn towards his voice and wind your arm up so that you can place a hand on the back of his head. His eyes aren’t just filled with warmth when they meet yours anymore. There’s desire there now, too, the same desire building within you. You pull him towards you and kiss him. Slow, almost lazy, at first. It quickly deepens into something more. 

It’s an awkward position, though. Minghao moves off of your back and you take the chance to also reposition, turning over and sitting up. There’s no awkwardness anymore and you don’t bother pulling the sheet with you when you face him. He takes a second to drink you in. Swallows hard as his eyes travel over your chest. In the next moment, he pulls you toward him so that he can kiss you again. You position your legs on either side of his hips to allow you to press tight against him. His kiss is urgent, tongue tangling with your own as the two of you meld into one. You wind one of your hands into his hair, only playing with the ends of it at first, wrapping pieces around your fingers. 

Minghao pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Both of your chests rise and fall quickly to catch your breath. “Are you sure?”

“That I want this?” you clarify.

“That you want this with me,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“Are you really sure?” he asks again. He’s checking for consent and also giving you an out.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you confirm. 

You think that he’s leaning back in so that he can kiss you again. Until he uses a hand to tilt your head to one side and kisses along your jaw. He carries his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Like he’s mapping every inch of your body. Committing it to memory or maybe making up for the lost years. When you were younger, you found it difficult to accept this kind of attention. Always worrying there was some kind of imbalance. Now, all you can do is moan out your appreciation for the way Minghao worships every inch of your skin. You’re not in a rush and he’s clearly not either. You run your hands through his hair, allowing your nails to scrape lightly against his scalp and shudder at the way he moans into your skin. Do it again just to feel the way his lips vibrate. 

His hands find their way to your hips and he grips hard. Anchoring you in place and also checking to make sure it’s all real. That it’s all happening. That none of this is another one of his dreams. Every time you run your nails along his scalp, it’s a reminder that it is happening. That the two of you really have found your way back to something. In that moment, he knows that he’ll risk his heart to not spend the rest of his life wondering what could have happened. Be vulnerable now and hope it’ll work out. 

Spurred on by the soft sounds falling from your lips, Minghao moves from your collarbones down to the hollow between your breasts. You arch into his mouth and dig into his scalp, just for a second. It’s the only thing he needs to feel. Quickly, he moves his mouth over to your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Swirling around it and nipping it lightly. He moves one of his hands from your hip to take the other nipple between his fingers. Can’t have either feeling left out. It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, like you’re some kind of horny teenager. His fingers are so nimble, so intentional in the way they tease you that you can’t help it. He swaps his mouth to your other nipple, replacing his fingers. You’re not sure what you want more.

This time, you pull back. Still kind of breathing shallowly even though you hadn’t been kissing him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and a little concerned. You’re quick to reassure him, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Can I? I don’t want to be the only half naked one anymore?”

“Of course,” he says with a smile. 

You pull the shirt up and over his head, thankful that he’s not overdressed to make it more complicated. For a second, the sight of him renders you speechless. Gently, you run your finger along his chest and down the muscles of his stomach that weren’t there when you dated him last time. The way he shudders under your touch only spurs you on. There’s a scar along his side that you don’t remember. It’s smooth to the touch, just slightly raised.

“Beautiful,” you whisper confidently. 

He can’t stand it anymore. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you into him. Kisses you again, slowly but with so much intensity that it makes your heart skip several beats. You still fit in with him like you were made for each other. He uses the kiss to shift both of your bodies and disentangle your legs. Dips you backwards until your head hits the pillow without his lips leaving yours. Once you’re lying back, though, he breaks the kiss again. Resumes kissing down your body. Makes sure to kiss away any insecurities in the process. Whispers praise into your skin that feel like a salve. This is Minghao, your Minghao. You’re safe with him. Loved. Cherished. Supported. It’s overwhelming to feel all of that come rushing back after years spent apart looking for it in someone else. Of course it’s always been him. 

Normally you’re somewhat ticklish, and you do have to fight a little nervous laugh as he kisses down your stomach, especially when his face is so close that you can feel his eyelashes against your skin. But, there really isn’t anything funny about this. Not when Minghao looks up at you while kissing your body. Seems to be mapping your reactions just as much as your skin. He pauses with his hands on your pants, silently asking for permission. Checking in to make sure that you’re still okay with this. You nod and he kisses your stomach again before unbuttoning your pants. Pulls your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. He takes a moment to appreciate you, laid out before him. Any remaining nerves disappear. You’ve never seen someone look at you with that much love in your life. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Until Minghao resumes kissing down your body and it’s a different kind of overwhelming. His breath ghosts across your core as he places slow, open mouthed kisses along your thighs. 

Nothing has really happened, but by the time he settles between your legs, you’re already worked up. Wound so tightly that you think he could have you coming with just a touch. You consider if that would be too fast for half a second before catching sight of Minghao. He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and you don’t care what happens. Don’t care how fast anything happens because it’s him. Can hardly believe that this beautiful person wants to put your needs before his own. His eyes narrow like a siren, full of focus and desire, and it takes your breath away.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” he says. “I’ve been waiting years to taste you again.”

“You wha - fuck,” you hiss out. 

He effectively short circuits your brain with one move. He doesn’t bother teasing you, just goes straight to licking into your wet cunt. Uses two fingers to spread your lips open so that he has better access. There’s no concern for building up to something. He wants to taste you and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When his nose hits your clit, it makes you groan out and snap your thighs around his face. His groan in response vibrates through your pussy. Makes him use his thumb to rub circles on your clit without slowing his speed licking into you. It’s entirely too overwhelming in the best way. In just moments, Minghao has you writhing underneath him, gripping onto anything within your reach. His hair. The sheets. The pillow. Anything. The tension builds entirely too fast and you’re not really ready for it to be over. Not ready to have it end. 

You’re not sure if he has the same thought or not, but Minghao pulls back to look at you. The moan at the sight of your wetness all over his lips and chin is immediate. Somehow it makes him even sexier and you can’t take your eyes off him. Can’t look away as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. With careful movements, he pulls himself up your body and lies next to you on his side to face you. Winds an arm under your neck. Places two of his fingers against your mouth and you suck them in without a thought. Swirl your tongue around his slender fingers with your eyes locked on his. Smile at the way it seems to be affecting him. With what looks like regret on his face, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves his hand down between your legs. Runs his middle finger up your still wet folds before inserting it. 

“Minghao, fuck, you can’t just…” you start, only to have your words cut off. 

You’re kissing again and it’s the most heated yet. The taste of you lingers on his lips. Seems to mark him as yours. You realize that maybe he’s not teasing you because he meant what he said. He’s been waiting too long for this to go slow with you. There’s plenty of time to slow down later. This is what both of you need now. He slides another finger into your pussy and pumps even faster. Doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss, catching every sound you make and adding his own sounds. The tension builds, even faster than before. In no time at all, you’re coming all over his fingers. Gasping for breath as you break the kiss and he gently pumps into you to guide you through the orgasm. 

When you can catch your breath, you look over at Minghao. Appreciate the way he just watches you. He gently brushes a piece of hair out of your face and then leans in for a soft kiss. You’re not letting him get away with that, though. Not now. Not when he just had you coming harder than you can remember in a long time. You knock the kiss up in intensity and he lets you lead. Lets you set the pace and meets every kiss with the exact right amount of pressure. Your hands are everywhere on him while you kiss, exploring all the lines and the muscles that feel a little foreign. The only obvious sign of the passage of time.

He pulls back just long enough so that he can pull his pants and briefs off. Doesn’t even look where he tosses them in the room. All he can think of is connecting his lips with yours again. About making up for all the years in between, even if you both know that you needed that time apart to find your way back. You wind your hand down between your bodies and grip his dick in your hand. Slowly run your thumb over the tip and find there’s already precum there. It fills you with so much satisfaction to know that he’s as turned on as you are. It’s a little diary, but you spit quickly in your hand. You run your hand up and down his cock a few times, twisting your fist around him. Checking to see what kind of pressure and speed he likes. 

“I just want…fuck, sweetheart,” he groans out as you run your thumb across his tip again.

“What do you want, Hao?” you ask, making your eyes as big and innocent as possible.

“I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me,” he says and your breath catches. “I don’t want to cum from a handjob like some teenager.”

“Fuck,” you say with a nod. “Yes, please, yes.”

He rolls away from you for a second to reach for his nightstand and returns with a condom and some lube. Rips the condom open with his teeth and then rolls it onto his cock. You’re about to ask him how he wants you when he pulls back and spreads your legs open. He looks at you as he lines himself up at your entrance. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he pours some of the lube onto the condom. Makes sure this is going to feel good for you.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you say softly. “I need to feel you, Hao.” 

Minghao lines himself up and presses his tip against your entrance. You’re a little sensitive from his tongue and his fingers. Still wet from that and from the intensity of the kisses afterwards. You wrap your legs around his waist as he angles into you. He leans forward, arms on either side of you so that you’re caged in. He’s sliding in so slowly, so carefully. It’s the first time he’s even come close to teasing you. Or maybe it’s just so that he can draw it out. Either way, you want him buried inside you. Can’t stop from wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s hard to have him looking at you with so much intensity. So much eye contact. You catch the chuckle at your impatience with your lips. 

It works, though. He bottoms out with one final thrust and you would scream it if not for his lips on yours. You let him set the pace even though it’s just slower than you want. The sensitivity just makes everything feel more intense. Each time either of you breaks the kiss to catch a breath, your eyes are on each other. Uttering praise and promises into the space between the two of you. More Minghao than you, which is incredible. A steady stream of both coherent and incoherent thoughts. Somehow it all makes sense to both of you. All seems like it’s exactly right. And true to his word, when the tension builds in your body again, Minghao breaks the kiss entirely. Watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Appreciates every sound you make. Later he’ll tell you that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment. For now, all he can do is watch and pick up his own pace. He wants to follow right behind you.

There’s less build up this time when you fall over the edge, toes curling and back arching. It’s even more intense too, something you didn’t think was possible. Hazily, you feel Minghao’s thrusts falter in their speed as he comes hard just after you. You try to take over the rhythm, but your body feels spent. After his final thrust, he offsets his weight so he’s not lying fully on top of you without pulling out either. Your breathing syncs up with his as you come back to the bedroom and the reality of what just happened. 

You can’t help yourself. His hair is a little wet with sweat and you reach out to brush it away. Think about how this may be your favorite hairstyle he’s ever had. He catches your hand before you even realize his eyes are on you and he kisses your palm. It makes you smile at the care in his eyes. When he releases your hand he props himself up to slowly ease out of you. You figure that you should get up as well before he presses your shoulder gently down.

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

And he does, doesn’t he? He’s shown you with his actions and even followed it up with his words. He does have you and you think he’ll probably always be there. You hear the water running from the attached bathroom and then watch him return with a wet washcloth. The bright light behind him highlights his silhouette like an angel. That’s not where it stops, though. Instead of letting you clean yourself up, he sits on the bed and runs the cloth carefully over your body. It makes your heart hurt to have him taking care of you like this, so tender and full of such pure affection. Once he finishes, he tosses the washcloth over to the nightstand. You pull him into you so that you can cuddle close. 

Even though you could probably stay like that for the rest of the night, you know that you either need to change the sheets or figure something out. You run a hand over his arm thoughtfully. That’s when it hits you and you turn your face to his. “Do you wanna go sleep in my bed with me and we can deal with your bed tomorrow?”

His laugh is light, easy. “Inviting me to bed on the second date, what will the neighbors say?” 

You swat at his arm without any real force. “That you’re incredibly lucky, I expect.”

“They’re right about that,” he says, any teasing gone in the completely honest statement. It’s a little too much for you, at least for a minute. Minghao, in his infinite wisdom, lets you have the moment. He moves from the bed and helps you up with him. Even helps you track down your clothing that’s gotten more scattered than you realize. 

It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with him even though it feels entirely different. Familiar and new. Fitting for the enigma that is the man before you. Which is when it hits you, just as he’s reaching the door to the hallway. Minghao stops to turn around and see why you’re not right behind him. 

“Are you coming? I don’t really want to have to break into your place,” he says with another light laugh.

“Been working on your cat burglar skills during the past few years, have you?” you joke back and he just shakes his head. Closes the space between you and collects you into his arms.

“I think that’s your wishful thinking about wanting a cat,” he says and you laugh.

“Could be,” you concede.

“Shall we?” he asks when he releases you.

“Just a second,” you say and he regards you with clear curiosity. “Earlier you told me that you loved me and…”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. You mistake it for him thinking you don’t feel the same.

“No, I need to say something,” you say and he swallows anything else. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” he says with a smile that has you rolling your eyes. Of course he knows. You’re entirely smitten and once again, the last one to know. “And how lucky am I to have someone who loves me like you do as a Valentine? To be loved by someone that I love as much as I love you?” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hao.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a lifetime more of these.”

“I can’t wait.”

[yara0546]

୨୧ When they confess their love, but you think it’s a joke.    .    .    반응     ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing: enhypen x fem!reader

୨୧ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy

୨୧ Word Count: 1,000–1,200 words

୨୧ Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

୨୧ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

✦ Heeseung   ୨୧   ;   희승   !

You were sitting across from Heeseung at a café, laughing at a funny memory when he suddenly stopped mid laugh.

"I like you, Y/N. A lot." His voice was softer than usual, his gaze locked onto yours.

You chuckled. "Pfft, sure, Heeseung. And I’m secretly a billionaire."

His smile faltered for a split second before he leaned in, resting his arms on the table. "I’m serious."

You blinked at him, still half-expecting him to laugh it off. But when he didn’t, your breath hitched. His usual playful demeanor was gone his eyes held nothing but sincerity.

"I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/N. Don’t laugh it away."

At that moment, you realized this wasn’t a joke.

✦ Jay   ୨୧   ;   제이   !

Jay had been dropping hints for weeks, but when he finally gathered the courage to confess, you just… laughed.

"Oh, Jay, that’s a good one! You almost got me."

His jaw clenched, and he exhaled sharply. "Y/N. I’m. Not. Joking."

You still grinned. "Come on, Jay, you’re always teasing me. Why would this be any different?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but keeping his cool. "Because this is the first time I’m telling you something that actually matters." His voice was lower now, more serious.

Seeing the shift in his tone, your stomach dropped. He wasn’t playing around.

✦ Jake   ୨୧   ;   제이크   !

Jake’s confession was clumsy but heartfelt.

"I… um… I like you, Y/N. Like, a lot. More than just friends."

You burst out laughing. "Jake, stop, you’re too funny!"

His face turned beet red, and he started fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. "Wait… what? You think I’m joking?"

You nodded, still giggling. "Well, duh! You flirt with everyone!"

Jake’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer. "Yeah, but not like this. Not with you."

Your laughter faded as his sincerity sunk in. Oh.

✦ Sunghoon   ୨୧   ;   성훈   !

Sunghoon confessed in the middle of a casual conversation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I like you, Y/N. It’s kind of annoying how much I do."

You snorted. "Nice try, Sunghoon. You’re hilarious."

He narrowed his eyes. "What part of that was funny?"

You smirked. "You? Liking me? No way."

Sunghoon crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "Wow. You really think I’d joke about something like this?"

You hesitated. Sunghoon wasn’t laughing. In fact, he looked offended.

"I don’t say things I don’t mean, Y/N. Maybe you should think about that."

✦ Sunoo   ୨୧   ;   선우   !

Sunoo’s confession was all sparkles and confidence.

"Y/N, I have a confession to make. I like you, and I think we’d be the cutest couple ever."

You gasped theatrically. "Oh no, Sunoo’s finally lost his mind!"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then placed a hand over his chest.

"EXCUSE ME?!"

You giggled. "Come on, you love attention. This is just for fun, right?"

His mouth fell open. "How DARE you underestimate my sincerity! Do you know how many times I practiced this in front of the mirror?!"

His over the top reaction made you laugh even harder until you saw the actual hurt in his eyes.

"Y/N… I really meant it."

Oops.

✦ Jungwon   ୨୧   ;   정원   !

Jungwon confessed after days of overthinking.

"I like you, Y/N. Like… more than a friend."

You burst into laughter. "Jungwon, that was so deadpan. You need to work on your delivery."

His face remained neutral. "It wasn’t a joke."

You faltered. "Wait… you’re serious?"

Jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

Your heart pounded. You had just laughed in his face. Oh no.

"It’s fine." He forced a small smile. "I’ll just… pretend you didn’t say that."

Now you felt horrible.

✦ Ni-ki   ୨୧   ;   니키   !

Ni-ki’s confession was blunt and direct.

"I like you. A lot."

You immediately rolled your eyes. "Haha, good one, Ni-ki."

He frowned. "What’s funny?"

"You! You’re always teasing me, why would I believe this?"

His expression darkened slightly. "Because it’s true?"

You still looked skeptical, and he huffed. "You know what? Fine. Don’t believe me. But I’ll prove it to you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How?"

Ni-ki smirked. "Just wait and see."

And from that day on, he made it his mission to show you exactly how much he meant it.

[muqingslover]

Sylus is a proud man. He's got both the strength and the influence to back up his confidence. He knows better than anyone how powerful he is, that's why he never hesitates about anything in his life. When he wants something then he simply has to find a way to obtain it, it's always been as simple as that.

Except, it wasn't like that with you.

You were something that couldn't be placed into a category since the day he met you many, many moons ago.

You were the person who changed everything he was so sure he didn't need to understand and taught an old dragon how to fly by making his heart soar higher than he could ever reach.

But the rule about flying is that the higher you go, the harder the fall is bound to be. And oh did he fall hard.

Still, he could grit his teeth and bear the pain if it meant he would, some day, find you again. In the meantime, he would search for new things to share with you and make himself stronger, better for you.

Sylus is a strong man, but his heart shatters as easily as thin glass. He glues together the pieces each time, well enough that he can go another day without anyone seeing through the cracks, but never quite whole.

There's a room he never allows anyone to catch as much as a glimpse of what lays inside where he keeps the most important piece of his heart.

For the years spent apart, Sylus collected gifts and placed them inside that room he so carefully prepared for you. The piles and piles of wrapped boxes increasing as time continued to pass and he tried to fill the void in his chest by making a home for you.

Sylus never once doubted you'd return to him. However, sometimes, in nights where your birthday weighted heavily in his mind, he'd curl up on the large bed in the room while hugging yet another gift he chose for you. Would you like this one enough to come back to him this time, he wonder.

The tears that escape his crimson eyes are something he'd never acknowledge, being the proud man that he is, but they carried the silent pleas and hopes of a mere lonely dragon, 'Please, my love, come back to me'.

[ Should I do a part 2 for when he meets MC again? 🤔 ]

[straylightdream]

red wine supernova

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kwon soonyoung x afb.reader

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: coming soon

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, childhood friend to lovers, romance, fluff, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol, slice of life

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3k and counting

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cussing, drinking, body insecurities

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, cumplay, creampie, multiple positions, almost getting caught, nipple play, oral (both rec), p in v intercourse, soonyoung is obsessed with the mc boobs, dirty talk, teasing each other during sex, mentioning road head

nicknames: bambi, good girl, baby (hers) tiger boy, baby (his)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: if you would like to be tagged fill out this form.

🎧: red wine supernova - chappell roan | like that - keshi | supercut - lorde | me and your together song - the 1975

-PREVIEW-

Soonyoung has been there for you through every step of life. You went to college together, and after graduating you both moved to the city. He was there for the good times and he was there for the bad moments. He was the person you called when you were happy or excited. He was also the one you called when you found out your ex was cheating on you.

No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t help but have a little crush on your goofy best friend. Even when you dated other people there was a little part of you hanging on to the idea of being with him.

It’s the night of your parent’s anniversary party. You and Soonyoung drove home together. You planned on spending the weekend in town. When your mother was telling you about her anniversary party you didn’t expect for them to squeeze over twenty people into the house.

Sitting on the back patio away from the crowd you’re sipping on your glass of red wine.

The back door slides open and Soonyoung appears holding a bottle of wine. He gives you his signature goofy smile.

“Did you steal that?” You tease.

“Absolutely not. I just took it from the cupboard.”

“Does my mom or dad know?”

“It’s hard to say.” Pulling the cork out of the bottle he pours the maroon colored liquid into the glass he brought with him. He sits down at the table next to you.

“No offense to your parents, but this party is exhausting.”

Raising your eyebrows you take a drink of your wine. “What makes you say that? Could it be the constant questions about your career? Or possibly the questions about your dating life?” You know all too well about these types of questions.

“The questions are about my job and a lot of them are about you.”

“What about me?”

He pauses and stares at you for a long moment. “You see people are wanting to know if we're, as our mothers says, finally together.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“I told them I’m still trying to convince you to fall in love with me.” You know he’s teasing you, but deep down inside you wish he wasn’t.

“You have to try a little harder to make me fall in love. Kwon Soonyoung I need to be wooed before I just fall in love.” Tilting your glass back you chug the remaining amount. Without even saying anything Soonyoung fills your glass with the wine he’d stolen.

“You know for once they have left us alone.” He says as he sets the bottle back down on the table.

“I don’t think anyone has ever wanted us together more than our mothers.” Your mother never misses an opportunity to tell you what a perfect match for you Soonyoung is.

“You know if they walked in on us in bed they might cry tears of joy.” He laughs.

“That’s gross.” You instantly frown, rolling your eyes.

“Which part?”

“What?”

“Which part, the idea of being with me or being walked in on by our mothers?”

You take a sip of your wine keeping your eyes locked in him. “The idea of being in bed with you doesn’t sound bad.”

[spideysbruh]

busy woman

requested- need a Timothee social media au with sabrina carpenter fc

a/n- since the deluxe is out !!!!!!!!!

~

@y/n just tweeted- please.

@shortyn replied- so real

@realchalamet replied- please

@billiexyn replied to @realchalamet- WHAT DO YALL KNOW?!?!?!??

liked by tchalamet, tayrussell and 872,288 others

y/n i know i have good judgement...

view all 22,277 comments

tchalamet probably my favorite music video of yours

confidentyn WE'RE GETTING A MYSIC VIDEO TOOOO OH MY GODDD

dejavuyn LETS GOOO NEW MUSIC FINALLYYYY

lauriesvest IS THAT NOT TIMMY ?!?!?!!!!!

laylayyn the way she's flipping him off lmfaooooo

liked by y/n, tayrussell and 2,288,883 others

tchalamet toooooonighttttttt

view all 73,665

xmasyn these two never make any fucking sense istg

y/n tonighttttttt the minutes seem like hours

liked by tchalamet

tchalamet the hours go so slowlyyyy

itaintmeyn couples that don't make sense together, stay together!!!!!!!

liked by tchalamet

liked by tchalamet, billieeilish and 1,098,276 others

y/n tonight 😳😳

view all 32,117 comments

tchalamet 🥵🥵

historyyn AHHHH YALL ARE A COUPLE IN IT !?!?!!

ynsbeatbox CANT WAITTTTT

beautifulyn he's a CRIMINAL in it ?!?!!!

liked by tchalamet, florencepugh and 977,488 others

y/n can't wait to see you all and be incredibly horny every night 🫶

view all 87,288 comments

tchalamet ... i don't know if I want you on this tour anymore, babe...

liked by y/n

y/n it's too late buddy

changinyn LMFAOOO NO WAY SHE SAID THATTT

rachelynstan she's so funny bro 😭😭

noticeyn ILL SEE YOU IN CHICAGOOOOOOOO

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- writing about me?? 😳😳 busy busy...

@timmyandynupdates just tweeted- Timothée and Y/n seen in New York recently!

@starsyn replied- MY PARENTSSSSSS

@prettyyn replied- i hope he's there for the opening night of tour🥺

@ynsjuicebox replied to @prettyyn- me too he's always so entertaining at her shows😭

liked by sza, rachelzegler and 2,109,299 others

tchalamet this pretty girl's tour kicks off tonight. she works harder than anyone else i know. I'm endlessly proud of her.

comments on this post have been limited

y/n i love you.

y/n I JUST DID MY MAKEUP FUCK

liked by tchalamet

tchalamet sowwy :(

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler, billieeilish and 1,263,488 others

y/n one week down, nine more to go 😳😳

view all 76,177 comments

coincidenceyn PLS ARREST TIMMY FOR ONE SHIWWWW

lovethechals this out of context is so funny 😭😭💀

bobdylyn FUCK I WANNA GOOOOO BUT ITS SOLD OUT 💔💔💔

tchalamet wowwwww that first picture is so pretty, that person is definitely a good photographer.

liked by y/n

tchalamet best show ive ever been to

liked by y/n

y/n just posted a story!

caption- my honey beeee 🍯

liked by tchalamet, sabrinacarpenter and 1,432,488 others

y/n two days off, I make the best of them

view all 54,387 comments

compyn is that a collage of timmy ? 😭😭

y/n he goes to my work, I go to his 🤷🏼‍♀️

tchalamet how are you the prettiest fucking girl in the whole entire universe ?

liked by y/n

rachelzegler my pretty best friend !!!

tchalamet my busy pretty girl

outlawyn his comments oh god im so lonely 💔💔💔

liked by y/n, doechii, ellefanning and 3,009,199 others

tchalamet i hit the jackpot with you

view all 81,019 comments

y/n oh stopppp 🤭

liked by tchalamet

snoozeyn GIRL THE PICTURE SHE POSTED ON HER STORYYYY FUUUUUUUCKKKKK MEEEEEEEEE

acompletetimmy may a love like theirs find me 😭🫶🫶🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

liked by tchalamet, dylanminnette and 2,188,938 others

y/n performing or whatevaaaa

view all 81,198 comments

spideyyn HOW IS SHE SO GORGEOUS

timmyxyn i bet timmy took those last two pics🥺🥺

timmysgreeneyes how tf did timmy bag suchhhh a baddie bro

tchalamet stg i could spend every single second of every single day of my life with you and never get bored

liked by y/n

y/n 🥺🥺 i love you

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- 😍😍🤩🤩🤩😍😍🤩🤩😘😘😘😘😘😘😋😋😋😋😋😋

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler and 2,388,277 others

y/n why are we lowkey giving flynn and rapunzel

view all 71,477 comments

tchalamet you were my new dream 😔✊🏼

y/n boy stop imma cry

bobsyn the prettiest couple ever

dontthinktwiceyn can I be yalls nepo baby pleaseeeee

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- 🫦🫦🫦😋😋😋😋

*

[yungistiny]

camgirl ═ chapter five

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter five: I’m yours

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 2.6k

chapter four

chapter six coming soon

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“Look at her…” Mingi had the camera in one hand and y/n hair pulled back with his other hand as he had her buried into her mattress on her stomach while he slammed, hard, pounding into her from behind. “I think it’s too much for her.” He turned the camera towards himself, smirking at their viewers.

“Is she crying?” Mingi turned the camera back onto y/n, her whimpers and moans muffled in the sheets. He let her hair go, bringing his hand down harsh onto her ass, the spank eliciting a moaning scream from her. “Such a fucking slut for me aren’t you…”

Y/N was a fucking mess. The viewers wanted degradation and rough. And Mingi was certainly giving them what they wanted. The power in his thrusts made it difficult for y/n to lift her head. “Mi….Mingi…” she gave up trying to conceal his real name.

“What’s that?” Mingi taunted her, reaching his free hand down onto the mattress above her head, leaning down so he could whisper in her ear so that only she could hear. “Is it too much?” His voice was much more gentle when asking and y/n shook her head. “I…. I need to see you.”

Y/N whimpered when he pulled out of her, Mingi sitting the camera back on the stand, angled perfectly on them. He landed one last, less harsh, smack on her ass before flipping her over. Because fuck, whatever she wanted he’d give her.

Mingi gripped her legs, pulling y/n towards him as he let her wrap herself around him, crawling like a predator up her body, mouth leaving open mouth hot kisses on her breast as he sank his length back into her.

Y/N breath hitched, it would every time his more than average size would fill her, always stretching, always stuffing her full.

Mingi moaned, deep and rumbling in his chest. She was always tight no matter if he prepped her. No matter how much his dick stretched her, and he was addicted.

He used one hand to grab her wrists, pinning her hands above her head. The stream was well over 6,000 viewers. Everyone watching Mingi make a complete mess out of their favorite streamer.

And fuck, Mingi got off on that shit. He loved that all they could do was watch him have her. Probably getting themselves off to the way he worked her. The way he filled her. The lewd and beautiful noises he could elicit from her.

Only him.

“Pussy so fucking good.” Mingi wrapped his other hand around her throat, lightly squeezing as he thrusted deep and slow for once, feeling every sensation of her walls clenching him. “All these people watching and it’s all mine.”

Maybe he was getting a little possessive but he couldn’t help himself. Y/N legs were shaking around him, whimpering cries leaving her because she couldn’t form a coherent thought to save her own life.

“Say it.” Mingi’s grip on her throat tightened only a little, just enough to make her moan and her walls to squeeze him so tightly he had to muffle his whimper by kissing her.

Y/N gasped against his lips, opening her eyes to meet his own. “Yours…” their pants mixed together, lips touching as Mingi started to thrust faster, harder, hitting her cervix. “It’s yours…. fuck…..”

“What is?” Mingi lifted himself back up, hand on her throat moving up to turn her face towards the camera, other hand gripping one of her legs as he started to pound into her, hitting that spot that was gonna send her over the edge repeatedly. “Tell them.”

Y/N knew she must look like a fucked out mess but she didn’t care. Her gaze, half lidded as she could feel her orgasm about to break inside her. “My pussy…. It’s yours.”

She came with a crying moan, loud, hands instinctively reaching for Mingi, anything to hold onto. Mingi grabbed both her hands in one of his bigger ones, letting her squeeze as hard as she wanted as he chased his own high.

Mingi literally felt his eyes roll into the back of his head, almost forgetting y/n told him that viewers were wanting a pull out, they wanted to see him make a complete mess of her but he wanted to come inside her so bad. “Fuck.”

He pulled out just in time to come all over her stomach, catching himself with his free hand that y/n wasn’t holding to hold himself up as he came down.

Viewers were certainly satisfied, Mingi getting up to grab the camera, bidding them all a goodnight with that crooked grin of his.

Y/N still lay in post orgasm bliss on the bed, gasping, swatting at Mingi when he was back, tongue on her sensitive and overstimulated clit. “Mingi!”

He grinned, pulling away. Mingi could take her all day long if she let him. He pulled her up, hands cupping both sides of her face as he kissed her.

“Let’s clean you up.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

San was staring at his best friend like he was some sort of extra terrestrial alien from another planet. It was 5:30 in the morning. The sun wasn’t even up yet and there Mingi was, wide awake. Cooking.

San himself wouldn’t even be up this early on a Sunday if he hadn’t had to pee and the noises coming from the kitchen alerted him. He knew Mingi had gotten home just after 11:00 the night before from Y/N place. Another streaming session.

This was the third day in a row Mingi was up before sunrise. San leaned against the kitchen island, watching him boil some eggs, an already cooked bowl of rice hot and waiting. “Who are you?”

Mingi turned to look at him, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, he reached his hand to push them back up. “What?”

“This is y/n, isn’t it?” San was grinning. He had never seen Mingi down this bad before. “You really like her.”

Mingi rolled his eyes. So he was waking up early? He had been since he did that morning at y/n. Just thinking about her made him want her. He had just seen her, came home, he had showered with her at her place, and passed out.

It had only been like seven hours but he needed her.

“Fine.” Mingi turned the stove off when all of his food was done. “I like her.” He admitted, out loud, San grinning so much his dimples were on permanent display for the moment.

“Well, it’s about time.” San was genuinely happy for him. Mingi had never settled down, not really one for anything serious. He was pretty sure the closest thing his tall best friend had to being in love was with the high he got from a good blunt.

“Shut up.” Mingi grabbed his food. It’s not like he said he was in love with her. San was the one now rolling his eyes, following his best friend into the living room, both sitting on the couch.

Mingi sat his bowl of food on the coffee table, grabbing the remote to turn the tv on, waiting for it to connect to the wifi before going to Netflix.

“Why do you act like being in love is such a bad thing?” San was a romantic at heart. He loved the idea of love. To have that one person who could fully complete you.

Mingi turned on his favorite season of Shameless. “Because, you fall in love, then you get married. Have kids. Work at a job you probably hate to support a family you probably barely ever get to see.” He shrugged, taking the first bite of his food. “What’s the point?”

San stared at him like he was an idiot. “You do know just because you’re in love that you don’t have to do any of those things.”

Mingi wished his best friend would just drop it. He didn’t want to turn into his dad or brother. Working at the same job for years, stuck in the same routine. It had gotten to where his older brother barely even saw Mingi’s sister in law and when he did, all they did was argue.

“Fine.” San huffed, letting it go, for now. “Be stubborn.” He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, yawning. “I’m going back to bed.” It was an off day for him and he planned on sleeping in.

Mingi tried not to let San’s words affect him.

He really did.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi dropped the white envelope in his hand down onto the desk, his dad looking at him over the rim of his glasses, fingers paused from their typing on his keyboard. “What is that?”

“All the money I owe you.” Mingi shoved the sleeves of the black hoodie he had on up to his elbows. He had more than enough to pay his dad back. Y/N no longer paid him for being a cameraman, he was part of the stream now. Half of what was made from the streams was deposited directly to his account.

“Where did you get it?” His dad arched a brow at him, looking so much like an older version of himself it kind of terrified Mingi “Drugs. I sell drugs now.”

His dad snorted at his sarcastic joke, grabbing the envelope of money and dropping it into the black safe beside his desk. “Will this job last?”

Mingi clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying something smartass. He changed the subject. “Mom said your anniversary party is Wednesday. She’s already pestering me about my hair and dressing nice.”

“Just bleach it.” His dad shrugged, standing up, an inch taller than Mingi himself. “She won’t care.” He ruffled his son’s faded pink hair. They might butt heads often but Mingi was a lot more like his dad then he was aware of.

“Dad…” Mingi hesitated, the words he wanted to say were stuck on his tongue. “I’m sorry.” The apology was probably long overdue but Mingi was stubborn. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain in the ass.”

The silence between them was understanding. Acceptance. His dad hugged him and suddenly Mingi felt small. He can’t remember the last time he’d hugged him. “You’re just growing up in your own way son.”

They pulled apart, both smiling the same smile. Mingi really was the spitting image of his dad. “Do you think you could….” Once again Mingi hesitated. “make mom a little extra happy for me?”

“What did you do?”

“I haven’t done anything!”

His dad laughed, shaking his head in amusement at his youngest son. “What for?”

“I’m bringing someone to the anniversary party with me…. I’ve sort of been seeing someone.” Mingi might be avoiding the fact that he was kind of sort of falling in love with y/n but she was still more than just a friend. More then a coworker. And certainly more than just some girl he was fucking.

“Oh.” His dad understood now. Mingi’s mother was a loving person. Down to earth and would do anything for those she loved but, she always hated, maybe hate was a strong word, any person her sons brought around. It took her three years to warm up to Mingi’s sister in law.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“At least get her to play nice.” Mingi was practically begging. He loved his mom more than anything but he wouldn’t let her just be rude to y/n. He wasn’t like his brother with the way he used to let their mother be a complete mother in law from hell for the longest time. He would have to step in and Mingi didn’t think his mother would like who he’d choose.

Fuck.

Mingi really hated San for putting that love shit in his head.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was late. Thunder was loud in the dark, cloudy night sky. Rain poured and Y/N sighed from where she was crouched down, staring at her cat who was hiding under the couch. “Gladiolus, you’re inside, the thunder can’t get you.”

The giant black cat had always been scared of thunderstorms. “Fine.” Y/N gave up, her cat always hid until the noises outside stopped.

Her doorbell rang followed by another loud boom of thunder and then everything went dark. All the electricity went out, plunging her entire house into darkness.

The doorbell rang again causing y/n to jump. It was almost midnight in the middle of a thunderstorm, who the hell was at her door?

She hissed when her knee hit the coffee table, gritting her teeth as she made her way towards the front door in the dark. The door opened just as the doorbell rang again. “Mingi?” Y/N could just catch sight of him as lightning flashed brightly across the sky. The entire block in her neighborhood seemed to be without electricity.

“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t called or texted and they didn’t have a stream to do. His breathless answer made y/n thighs clench and her nipples to harden both from the cold wind that blew in and the deep neediness of Mingi’s voice. “I need you.”

He came all the way to her house in a thunderstorm because he needed her?

Y/N grabbed his hand, pulling him into the house and out of the rain, his hoodie soaked. She couldn’t see his face but that didn’t stop her from standing on her tippy toes to kiss him.

She had no idea what the hell they were but she didn’t care to question it.

Mingi pulled away long enough to pull his rain soaked hoodie off, letting it plop on the floor with a wet thud. His hands gripped at her curves through the oversized shirt she had on, blindly stumbling together through the dark.

Y/N yelped and Mingi screamed when he tripped, both of them tumbling to the carpeted floor somewhere in the living room. Mingi grunted before giggling, y/n now straddling his waist and he really wished he could see more than a dark silhouette of her.

Y/N leaned down, lips just barely brushing Mingi’s own. “You stain my carpet Song Mingi and you’ll pay to clean it.”

Mingi grinned in the darkness, gripping her hips and sitting up to pull her shirt over her head. His lips latched around a nipple he found with his tongue, gaining him one of those moans of y/n that he loved so much.

Their clothes were gone as quickly as they fell, scattered around the room in the dark. “Mingi….” Y/N couldn’t control anymore, couldn’t hold herself up anymore. She had been riding Mingi for what felt like forever in the lustful daze they were both under.

Mingi sat back up from where he had been laying on the floor, letting y/n control for both of them, edging them both torturously. “I got you, baby.”

A loud clap of thunder sounded as Mingi took control, flipping them over so y/n was now laying back on the floor, never breaking contact from his dick buried in her cunt.

Mingi hooked his arms under her legs in the crooks of her knees, hips rutting, his dick in her cervix, hitting that spot, the one he always made a mission to find. Y/N moans were breathless, pants shaky as she placed both her hands on each side of his face as Mingi leaned his forehead against her own.

His thrust grew sloppy, y/n was already coming, legs shaking, words broken sobs against Mingi’s lips. “Say it….. say you’re mine.”

Fuck. Mingi came with shaky moans and a tightness in his chest. His voice sounded far off to his own ears, his orgasm hitting him harder than ever.

“I’m yours.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @winxmia @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @wooyoungsbrat @seonghwasslytherin @vsereniasstuff @chicksmoothie

[multiheadcanons]

A LITTLE EXTRA FOR THE DOLLS. HEAVY AND MEDIC GET MARRIED. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

heavy proposed in a very unconventional way. medic did not take it very well.

they were reading separate books, together in the hall leading to the infirmary, in silence. he slid a golden band on the side table that was between them. he didn’t speak, or make a grand statement of it, just made sure to angle it so the glint caught the doctor’s eye.

and the doctor did notice. he was not cool about it. “that’s not funny.” is all he could say. as heavy insisted, the doctor’s face notably scrunched up in a strange combination of emotions. he looked like he just got shot. but he was also bright red.

it was time to share some secrets.

medic opened up— very hesitantly— without removing his face from the book, about his prior marriage. a woman he called the love of his life. his childhood best friend, the woman who knew him better than he dares to ever know himself. genevieve. and the doctor isn’t paying any attention as heavy’s face pales.

and heavy isn’t thinking as the only thing that exits his mouth, as the doctor is genuinely baring his soul to him, talking about this brilliant woman who fundamentally shifted his view in love and marriage and life itself; the only thing heavy can think to say is “isn’t that… demo’s genevieve?”

the silence that fell in that room. the doctor stopped mid sentence and did not close his mouth. he turned, so controlled in the slow movement, to the heavy weapons guy. and stared at him, slack jawed. harder than he’s ever stared at the man before. an active craze brewed in the doctor’s eyes. heavy kept calm, hoping that if there was any time the doctor would follow suit it would be right now. and for a solid twenty seconds, he had confidence. nobody spoke, but they maintained eye contact and heavy felt he had a handle on the situation. he was so confident he was going to disarm this bomb.

he was confident until he saw the book snap shut. and they held eye contact. and then the doctor carelessly tossed the book up. that is where heavy made the mistake of breaking eye contact, and in a swift motion, medic grabbed the ring and stormed away.

heavy had officially lost control of the situation. before he moved to chase, he went for the medigun.

and the doctor was like a robot. it did not take him long to locate where the louder teammates were. he was honed in, ring grasped tightly in his hand. and him slamming the door to the common area caught their attention immediately.

he took stock of who was in the room.

scout. soldier. pyro. engineer. demo.

there’s the son of a bitch.

and frankly, demo could tell from the look in the doctor’s eyes exactly what was about to transpire and for exactly what reason. there was nothing he could do but brace for it, and maybe do him the favor of meeting him halfway. he didn’t have time for the second before the doctor had crossed the room.

maybe he could’ve told medic earlier and moved past this.

it didn’t matter, demo hit the floor before anyone had time to react. luckily, they were close enough to grab the doctor before he could really start to do damage. he didn’t fight them either, and everyone looked at demo for answers as he stumbled to his feet and shook his head.

“it’s alright; i’m alright… i had that coming. long time coming. alright, doc…” he cracked his neck, and stared at the doctor, notably sobered from the hit. “firstly: hell of an arm you got there. we need to have a chat.”

“you need to be rotting out in the desert. we do need to have a chat.” the doctor replied, calm for a man who literally walked in swinging.

“are you gonna hit me again?”

“yes.”

“…fair enough.”

and they left the room as heavy entered, medigun slung across his back.

“…am i too late?”

the team didn’t see much of demo, or the doctor for about a week, initially. and when they did, they were engaged in silent conversation, their faces set in grief. in anger. in regret and contempt and pity and ache and despair. the team watched as their faces shifted through the days to broken resignation. sometimes the team would walk by and see them both with their heads on the mess hall table, slumped against each other, the bags under their eyes evident as they caught precious seconds of sleep that they weren’t getting otherwise. they would see the men crumble out of their peripheries. their tear streaks would hit the light as they passed by and they would simply continue to walk. but cries echoed through the halls of the base for weeks. the doctor wouldn’t look at anyone, his hands remained balled into fists and his face twisted in snarls. demo wouldn’t speak to anyone, even if he was addressed first, just shook his head and continued on. it showed in battle as they caught their breath in alleyways, and as their enemies passed they would catch glimpses of them on their knees, head in their hands, and the wracked hoarse sobs were drowned by gunfire. it took months for them to begin to show signs of returning to normal. with each other. with the team.

it took a month still from normality returning on shaky legs for medic and heavy to resume their reading together. the first time was tense. talking was off the table. just the repeated tap of the doctor’s foot against the floor, getting louder and louder until it was just him slamming his foot against the ground.

“i can’t do this.”

at that point medic threw his book against the wall and stormed into the infirmary. heavy did not follow.

neither he nor that wedding band were seen again for a few days.

heavy had resigned himself to the fact that he would never see that ring again. and he had mostly resigned himself to the knowledge that if he didn’t permanently ruin his professional relationship with the doctor, they definitely weren’t together in the way that heavy wanted them to be.

he thought that until a glint caught his eye.

he gave a brief glance.

a single silver band sat on the table. large enough for his ring finger.

he closed his book. “that’s not funny. that’s not funny.”

“it’s not funny at all.” the doctor closed his book as well. “i made my decision.”

he set the book down and began to pull off his glove.

“misha. i loved genevieve. i loved her with everything i could give her. it haunted me. she haunted me, her willingness to put her life on pause to be with me and save myself from my own… shame of attraction. i couldn’t thank her enough for that. there was no display of devotion i could make, past giving her a child, to show my gratitude, and i couldn’t do that. to her, to myself, to a child.” he paused in the removal from his glove, before continuing, revealing a single golden band around his ring finger.

“then i find out she didn’t. her life never stopped. only mine did.” herbert stared at the ring around his finger, sparing a slight glance towards misha. “…i’m ready to move on. i held onto her for so long. and i’m ready to let her go.”

misha stayed quiet. he gingerly reached for the ring. he wasn’t sure it was real. but the cold metal confirmed he could believe what he was seeing. he held it in his hand. so small in comparison to his palm. so small in comparison to the scars they give each other. he stared past the ring to the scar slashed across of the life line of his palm.

he gave himself that. for his doctor.

they were already bound by blood for life.

a ring wasn’t needed, he had told himself. he’d been telling himself that for weeks now, in the certainty he had been rejected.

“i don’t want a wedding. i don’t want a honeymoon. just put it on, and we can continue to read. or give it back, and we can continue to read. either way, it’s… it’s okay. it’s alright. i’m alright. we’re alright.” misha couldn’t stop the breath of laughter. the smile that crept on his face. a ring. a ring. and he couldn’t stop a couple of tears from falling. he wiped them away quickly. it felt a little silly to cry because he got what he wanted. it took months, but he got exactly what he wanted.

“it’s… not what i expected from you. when have you ever done what i expect from you?” misha finally found words to say that made sense in his mind; sliding the ring onto his finger.

a perfect fit.

“…i want a honeymoon.”

“…we may have a honeymoon if you would like.”

misha laughed. he couldn’t help it. he looked at his hand, at its new adornment. rotated his hand. saw the glint from every angle. looked at herbert. looked back at his hand. his face felt hot, and a hand naturally reached to feel the heat. he couldn’t stop the smile from getting wider. he laughed again.

he patted the seat of the chair next to him, and held out his other hand.

“come sit next to me. properly.”

herbert’s eyes narrowed, if only slightly and for the moment. but he took a breath. he forced himself to relax. he made this decision. he needs to stick to the commitment he made.

it took many days of working, and thinking, and crying, and not sleeping to decide to say yes.

he didn’t know if he had it in him to do it again. he didn’t know if a commitment he had made, by all means at this point except traditionally, by all means felt traditionally was the right thing to do; was the best thing to do for either one of them at this point. herbert was getting older. he had held onto the ghost of a woman, held onto what he thought was love so tightly for so long, and it was shattered in less than five words. everything he thought he knew about his life was shattered in less than five words.

and herbert was no stranger to hurt. he was no stranger to misha hurting him. he was no stranger to hurting misha. physically and emotionally. they’ve fought. they argued. they’ve said things to each other they can never take back. that still hang in the air some tense days. but they’ve always made it through. come back stronger, held onto each other tighter in battle. learned each other better, maneuvered with and around each other smoother. every force against them has made them a stronger unit, closer friends, better partners.

misha completed him in undefinable ways. understood him enough to accept him fully, wholly. never asked for more than herbert said he could give. respected it. respected him. it’s obviously not a far throw to say misha loved him.

he owed the man a commitment to the grave.

he took misha’s hand and stood, closing the distance and taking his rightful place at misha’s side.

they sat, shoulder to shoulder.

hand in hand.

misha squeezed. herbert squeezed back.

they looked at each other.

spared each other uncertain smiles.

then they opened their books and continued to read.

[lieslab]

Soon you'll get better

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend tries to help you with your headaches, but when a doctor diagnoses you with something far worse than you ever expected, your world shatters.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2.6K

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, nausea, a seizure, doctors, surgery, and hospitals.

_ _ _

How do you tell the love of your life that you’re sick? What do you say when it all falls apart? When someone rips out the happy ending and throws the pages, leaving them scattered, and thrown across the floor? Minho is your entire life. He’s supposed to be and yet, you’re not sure how to break the news. 

It started with headaches. The dull ache annoyed you endlessly, but they were manageable. Life took a stumble when they morphed into mind-bending migraines. The sharp pain behind your eyes, the nausea, and the sensitivity to every bright light and loud sound. 

Dull aches turned into piercing needles. It felt like being jabbed over and over again, the needles pressed against the back of your eyes. No matter what you tried, they grew impossible to manage. The painkillers stopped working. 

It grew normal to come home from work, bury yourself in the darkness of your bedroom, and sleep for hours. When you could catch sleep, it became the only thing to relieve the pain in your head. Exhaustion clung to you, but you thought it would be temporary. 

Perhaps it was too much caffeine or maybe you were pulling away from it with your caffeine withdrawals. If not that, you were certainly struggling with not drinking enough water. Maybe that was the reason why your brain screamed against you and tormented you in the worst way possible. 

Minho called your name when he came home from the doctor. He searched the house and froze in the doorway of your shared bedroom. Curled into a ball on your side, you didn’t respond. Even talking caused the pain in your head to drill harder against your skull. 

The nausea and dizziness wiped you out entirely. Soft footsteps padded over to you. He clicked on the lamp behind you, trying not to make your head feel worse. He called your name in a whisper, wondering if you were awake or not. 

The bags under your eyes grew from brown to purple. You blinked rapidly as his eyes met yours. He frowned at your paleness. All he wanted to do was make you feel better, but he didn’t know how. 

The warm baths didn’t help. He tried to massage the side of your head, but it led to you pushing him away. He picked up one of those compression bands that vowed to help, but the packaging lied. The immediate relief never came. 

“How is it today?” He whispered. 

“Worse. It’s so much worse.” 

He reached over, pushed a piece of hair from your face, and gently cupped your cheek. “I know you don’t want to, but you should consider going to the doctor. You can’t keep dealing with this. I know how exhausting it is, I feel like you’re withering away from me.” 

“I have an appointment tomorrow. Until then, I’ll be here suffering.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t meet your eyes. 

He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the middle of your forehead. No matter what happened, he just wanted you to be back to normal. This destroyed your normal personality. You didn’t have the energy to talk back to him anymore. Your usual go-getter attitude disappeared entirely. You were becoming the ghost of who you once were.

He just wanted to see you smile again. 

_ _ _ 

When you came back from the doctor the next day, you left your bag and keys on the small table, beside the door. You didn’t have the energy to put everything where it needed to go. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes and drag yourself to the living room. 

Test after test after test. 

A bruise bloomed where a nurse drew blood with gentle hands. You described the experiences you’d been having. Everything from the headaches, the migraines, to the lack of energy. You assumed you fell victim to chronic migraines, but your reality was so much worse. 

When the doctor diagnosed you with a brain tumor, you didn’t understand. How could you? Nobody in your genetic mapping had anything like this. Sure, you’ve heard of cancer before, but you? No way. 

You did what you could to avoid it. You drank your water, ate a balanced diet, and you were active. Still young, you lived with the silent assumption that something like this wouldn’t happen to you. If you had cancer, it wouldn’t grip onto you until you were older. Maybe your sixties or seventies, but this young? 

Silence engulfed you on the couch. The scent of hospital disinfectant made you feel sick. You were no longer there, but you still felt sick to your stomach. Your doctor pulled out the scan they took of your head. 

The small white anomaly stuck out in the usual contours of your brain folds. Alone on the hospital bed, you tried to swallow the heavy reality alone. Staring at the image, you felt disconnected from your body. How could this be your brain? Wasn’t your body supposed to protect you? 

You laid with your head pressed against the floral arm of the couch. This couch that you begged Minho to get, despite him not being a fan of the pattern. Because two years ago, you thought the two of you would be a forever thing. Now you were navigating the heart shattering realization that your version of forever might not be as long as you wanted it to be. 

“Babe?” Minho’s voice called out from the hallway. He headed towards you with outstretched arms. How long had he been here? “Are you crying? What’d you find out?” 

You wouldn’t do that to him. Minho with his slightly messy hair and the personality you joked that he adopted from his cats. Minho that screwed around and made you smile, no matter how hard of a day he had. The Minho that surprised you with seaweed soup in bed on your birthday. 

“They’re not sure,” you finally uttered after a few conflicting moments. “They think it might be chronic migraines, but they still want to run some tests.” 

“Really?” He frowned. “I thought they were going to do a ton of tests and-” 

“They did some, but I wasn’t feeling too great. I’ll go back when I feel better. The last thing they want to do is have to admit me, you know?” 

“Their job is to help you get better.” 

“And they will, when I’m better, I promise.” 

You should never make a promise that you can’t keep. 

_ _ _ 

Two weeks later, Minho screamed your name with tears in his eyes. You appeared at the JYP building to have lunch. The two of you just entered the canteen area to find food. 

Circular tables scattered around the area. Other idols took breaks here and there. Laughter filled the air. You tried to keep it together, but you didn't feel great. Your head ached and your stomach was queasy. You tried to act like you were normal, but things continued to spiral out of control. 

The doctor left you voicemails, but you ignored them. Ignoring them was easier. You tried to find the courage to tell Minho the truth, but every time you stared at those bright brown eyes, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t find the courage to destroy his life, so you kept quiet. 

“What are you thinking? They have really good fresh sushi. On a day like today, nothing sounds better.” 

“Sushi?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Sounds great.” You dropped your head and blinked rapidly. Over the past few days, you had episodes where your vision acted up. Black spots took over and you could usually blink it away. Today’s episode felt different. 

When they finally stopped, you hurried after him. A black tray sat in his hands. Unaware that anything was wrong, he headed in the direction of the cold sushi. You grabbed your own tray and rushed to catch up. 

He grabbed a small white plate, the tongs, and began to pile up the sushi. “This morning, I spent so long dancing with the guys. I think I could eat an entire horse if they offered it.” 

You hummed, set your tray down on the metal railing, and rubbed your eyes again. You blinked harder. The spots resisted your futile attempts and you sighed. He glanced over your shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“Just tired.” 

“When are you going back to the doctor?” 

“Probably sometime this week.” 

He pulled away from the sushi and moved his tray further down the line. A variety of sides sat everywhere. He began to load up his tray with another small plate. You grabbed your own porcelain plate to grab sushi and that’s when your vision cut out and your body went tense. 

He whipped around at the sound of a plate shattering. Worried for you, he dropped beside your limp form on the floor. He didn’t expect your limbs to curl inward. Your legs pushed your torso up and your back contorted. Your wrists curled inward and that’s when the seizing began. 

He called your name in a panic, trying to get you to respond, but you couldn’t. Your muscles tensed, your body bucked, and you shifted in such a way, you nearly hit the sharp shards of porcelain. 

“Help! Someone help!” 

A few idols and trainees rushed over. He grabbed your arms desperately, but your body didn’t stop moving. Someone pulled him away and a younger trainee stepped in. He pushed your body away from the glass and held you on your side, so you didn’t choke on your tongue. 

No sign of fear in his eyes, he glanced up at the nearest person. “Call for an ambulance, send them to the JYP building, and tell them someone is seizing.” 

Things turned to chaos. Someone pulled out a phone. You didn’t stop bucking beneath the man’s hands. Minho’s eyes watered. The familiar hue of your eyes disappeared. In its place, the milky white of your eyes stared back at him.

He never cried in public, but when it came to your pain, he was a fountain that couldn’t stop leaking.  _ _ _ 

“There’s fluid building up around the brain.” 

“The tumor is pressing against-” 

“There’s no time to waste. It’s either surgery or they die! Clear an operating room! Give me a surgical team and tell them to scrub in now!” 

Time turned to jelly in the waiting room. Minho waited with his arms crossed over his chest. His leg bounced and he chewed on his lower lip. News of the incident reached the rest of his idol group. 

Beside him, Han and Chan sat nearly just as worried. They showed up after figuring out where the ambulance took you. When Minho came rushing into the emergency room beside the gurney, your doctor from two weeks ago had been passing through the emergency room. 

He couldn’t believe it. You never told him about your brain tumor. He never knew and this entire time, you’d been acting like everything was fine on the outside. Upset with himself, he grew frustrated at not knowing the mental torment you were internally dealing with. He wished he would have picked up on it sooner. 

And now he sat in the crowded waiting room with two of his brothers. He couldn’t speak to them, even if he wanted to. If he spoke, he was sure he’d fall apart and burst into sobs that’d never stop. 

Chan texted updates to the rest of the guys. Han held Minho’s hand, but it wasn’t enough this time. Rapping was easy when he held Han’s hand. Holding his hand and realizing the love of his life sat on the verge of death, it became much harder to accept. 

When the doctor showed up in scrubs hours later, Minho was the first one on his feet. The doctor sucked in a deep breath and he assumed the worst. His stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t breathe. 

“The tumor is entirely out. We won’t know if it’s cancerous until we do a biopsy on it. Recovery is going to be hard no matter what, but they’re recovering and out of surgery.” 

“If it’s cancer?” Minho whispered, trying to keep himself held together. 

“Then we’ll do whatever we can to prevent it from coming back. The fluid build-up caused migraines and the seizure. Taking it weighed other risks, but those are risks I was willing to take.” 

“Can I see them?” 

“Of course.” 

Minho gave a final look to Han and Chan. Han squeezed his hand a final time and Chan nodded. He wiped his eyes and followed the doctor to your room. Seeing you in your state, it broke his heart. 

Your hair had to be shaved for the surgery. A line of stitches sat along your scalp. The doctor led him closer and gestured to a chair beside your bed. “If you need anything at all, press the call button and a nurse will be here immediately.” 

“Thank you.” 

The doctor reached out, gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and disappeared from the room. Hooked to a variety of medical equipment, you turned into a stranger. Beneath IVs of medicine and the tangled cords of a heart rate monitor, he felt like a stranger in your room. 

Flashes of your seizure shot through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands in his face. He just wished you would have told him about everything. Maybe, he would have felt less guilty about the state you were in. 

“Minho?” You croaked five minutes later. 

He sniffled and jerked upright. “Hey,” he forced himself to smile. “I see you’re still kicking.” 

“I’m invincible.” 

“You think so?” 

“I’m trying to be.” 

Even in the middle of everything, you were still trying to be upbeat. Swaddled in the warmth of sedation, your head didn’t hurt anymore. Your eyes met his and then you shut them. “They’ve got me on the good shit.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Rude.” 

“But you’re my idiot.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the center of your forehead. “Don’t scare me like that ever again. I thought you were dying.” His own eyes shut and he kept his forehead pressed against yours. 

“Not dying, just keeping you on your toes. Reminding you of what you’ve got. Don’t take me for granted ever again.” 

“You’re such a pain in my ass when you’re sedated.” 

“I always am.” 

He pulled away with a sigh. “You should get some rest.” 

“Did the doctor fix everything?” 

“For now. They’re going to biopsy your tumor to see if it was cancerous or not.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“Because I feel good.”

“You’re still drugged up.” 

“I feel like myself again. I know me and I know my body. I think if it was cancer, I’d still feel like shit.” 

He stared at you, trying not to cry again. He blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You should get some sleep again. You’re foolish when you’re on drugs.” 

“Your worst nightmare.” 

“Good night.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, dork.”  _ _ _ 

And you were right. You knew your body pretty well. A week later, your tumor was diagnosed as a benign tumor. Not cancerous, you were issued a few follow up scans and blood tests. You’d probably have scans every year, just to keep an eye on things, but that was manageable.  

You’d do whatever it took to keep your forever with Minho for a long, long time.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[npookie0]

can u do kc x mc who's unbearably afraid of death/dying :3

KC x mc scared of dying!

Headcanons!

The headers were made by my friend Ellie, she deleted her social media so I can't credit her but she was known as Elysiaheaven before!

He finds it amusing, a person who's scared of dying who's also in love with a serial killer? Heck, you're really weird in your fears.

He will taunt you, sometimes poke fun at you, but he will always make sure that it's not too much for you.

"Oh sweetheart, you don't need to fear death with me, it won't come to you. Unless I am the one serving it to you." He would whisper into your ear every time you would speak of your fears. He would cradle you in his arms and whisper his promises to keep you alive.

If you're afraid of him when he comes back home after a kill, he won't approach you until he's clean from all the blood. Maybe he's a cold blooded killer but he'll make sure that you're comfortable around him.

When he first noticed how unbearably afraid you were of his death threats, he was quick to realise how deep your fear ran, how anxious it made you feel. His death threats were gone, or they simply softened to something that you could easily recognise as not actually threatening.

"Maybe if you'd taken someone's life you wouldn't be so scared of death?" He asked, while the two of you were chatting. He shared these ideas with you many times, but they never went any further than suggestions or persuasions.

"Aww love, don't worry nothing can harm you with me." She hugs you tightly, keeps you close, makes sure you feel safe with her, safe and alive.

Angel is anxious about you fearing her sometimes, after all she's the one serving death, death that you fear so deeply. You reassured her that you aren't afraid of her and don't associate death with her.

Whenever Ronin is trying to tease you or threaten you for fun, Angel will reassure you that he's just joking and will explain your problem to him - may get angry if he acts like an asshole about it.

Angel will do everything in her power to make you feel comfortable, especially when you're surrounded by death in the serial killer server, if she notices that chatting with them stresses you out or that feel endangered in any way she will move you to her dms so you will focus only on her.

If you're paranoid about someone or something being a possible cause for your death, Angel will erase it, you're hers nothing and no one will fuck around with her partner or friends if they care about their own lives.

If you were in a near death experience before and it caused your strong fear, she will listen to your story, show care and deep understanding. Cuddle up with you and kiss your knuckles.

He's a protector, it's in his nature to make sure you're save and sound. He will never let anything harm you, his safety is one of his priorities.

He finds your deep fear as something natural, primal, it sits well with his morals.

He won't push you to ravish in death, nor will he treat you like you're a little child, keeping you hidden from the world because of your fear. V will slowly try to help you get adjusted to the idea of death if your fear is making your life harder than it should be.

He will let you keep one of his dogs, one of the bigger ones, so it can protect or at least make you feel safer when he's not around.

"Please fear not, my dear, nothing dangerous will happen to you." He'd whisper while he holds your hand, squeezing it gently, a gesture meant to calm your nerves.

V will offer to teach you self defence, it''s a skill not only usable, but also grounding for you. If you can defend yourself your chances to avoid death in case you're attacked are much bigger.

Misaki has a similar fear, their anxiety while performing their assassinations is close to your fear of death. They can understand you well and you can give them the same understanding and care they'd give you.

She tries to take away your attention from death by making silly jokes, spending time with you in calls and just being a big goof. It's helping, a lot actually.

If you're scared of Misaki dying and not coming back alive from the job, they will always call you right after they finished the job; "hey there pretty silly person, I'm heading home now. Oh, how am I? My hands are shaking as hell but other than that I'm better, now that I can hear your cute voice."

If they're in your area, you will wait at the door for them, you don't care if they're soaked in blood, you just want to see your partner coming back alive and well, especially if the target is dangerous,

Misaki isn't the best with words, they don't know how to give you reassurance, but they will try their best to just show you that being afraid is okay and they will always be there to ease your anxiety.

They will get you out of the server if they see how uncomfortable talking about death might be to you, be it spending time in real life or online, they'd do anything to ease your mind.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 14 - 3 words

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language and fluff

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

waking up knowing your boyfriend and your best friends had been nominated for a grammy was a feeling like no other.

once rafe had texted you the news he came straight over to yours to celebrate together.

"i can't believe it" he screamed as soon as he walked through your door, picking you up in an excited hug.

"me neither baby, i'm so proud of you." you replied in his arms.

he pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes and his face lit up with pure joy. you smiled, running your fingers through his hair, feeling the excitement radiating off him. "you deserve this so much rafe."

he kissed you softly, his lips lingering a little longer than usual, before pulling away with a wide grin. "i couldn't have done it without you, you know that, right?"

you chuckled. "i don’t think that’s true. you’ve been amazing from the start, and you’ve earned every bit of this. but i’m glad i get to share it with you."

he kissed you again, harder this time, full of emotion. "i love you y/n"

"what?"

"i love you so much. so," he kissed you, "so" another kiss, "so much."

you pulled away to look straight into his eyes, making sure your next words would go straight through to him.

"i love you even more rafe."

he smiled, his eyes softening as he held you close. "you don’t know how much that means to me," he whispered, his voice full of raw emotion.

you rested your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. "i think i do," you murmured. "i think we both know how much this means."

rafe pulled back gently, wiping a stray tear from your cheek, and laughed softly. "i swear, this is the happiest moment of my life."

you grinned. "well, it’s only the beginning, right?"

he nodded, his eyes sparkling, "yeah, just the beginning princess. i'm gonna need a date to the grammys after all."

"well," you said, wrapping your arms back around his neck, "i'm not going anywhere.”

he kissed you one more time - this time with the promise of a future full of more moments like this.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: you guys in my last chapter making me giggle with your trust issues, have a feeling this is only going to fuel them further😝

reminder that reblogging is the best way to support writers <3

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety

[shawtylex09]

I was just thinking about…Bunny!Izuku (🌸❤️‍🔥)

BECAUSE IM LITERALLY SEEING IT EVERYWHERE. ON PINTEREST ITS b u n n y ! I z u k u. ON TUMBLR ITS b u n n y ! I z u k u .

(❤️‍🔥18+ content below. Minors DNI❤️‍🔥)

Bunny!Izuku I like to imagine, loves to misplace your things. He’ll place your keys under the couch, your hair ties in the kitchen cabinet, and when you go looking for them, it’s a game to see who gets to them first.

Bunny!Izuku has his own room in your apartment, but basically doesn’t even use it, always sleeping in your room, with you. He shares most things with you, whether it be clothes, food, your bed- you name it.

Bunny!Izuku is spoiled rotten. He knows it too. You spend so much money on this little fucker, buying him whatever he wants when you two leave the house. (He is grateful though, and seeing his fluffy cotton tail wag just- makes you a different kind of animal.)

Bunny!Izuku is a brat. We all know this. We all love this. But what I headcannon him, is that he’s so much of a brat, that when you finally put him in his place, he’s a trembling, sobbing mess. (I.e; “Y/n! Oh- god- please- it’s so good. Harder- please Y/n- I’m such a brat- I know, please!”)

Bunny!Izuku who loves to cuddle, like, a lot. He’ll just find you in the house, and sit on your lap, or sit next to you, or hug around your waist- just something for that physical contact.

Bunny!Izu who hates it when you scold him. He’ll pout at you and stomp his feet on the floor. He’s a little brat and he knows it.

Bunny!Izu who gets pretty worn out after spending all his energy all day, and who will lay down to cuddle with you, whining for your attention and touch.

Bunny!Izu definitely pops a boner as soon as your hand is in his hair, scratching at the base of his ears and combing through his wild curls

Bunny!Izu who grips onto your shirt and looks up at you with needy eyes, pleading for you to touch him, to give him what his body’s begging for. (“Y/n..I..I need you..please..? I’ve been good today..”)

Bunny!Izu who whimpers loudly as you begin to gently pump your hand up and down his cock, slowly soothing the growing ache that had been building to a crescendo. His loud whines and feminine whimpers fill the room while you murmur soft praise to the bunny boy.

Bunny!Izu who can’t tear his eyes away from where you’re pleasuring him, his stupid tail trying to wag under him as he watches your hand ride up and down his cock, only drawing out more pornographic moans from the bunny.

Bunny!Izu who’s throwing his head back into the pillow, tears flowing down his face as he begs for more even though he’s just cum. (“Please- don’t stop please! It feels so good, god it feels amazing please Y/n!”)

Bunny!Izu who’s spent after a few more rounds of your gentle touches and overstimulation, his body trembling, his ears folded down, and his face covered in tears.

Bunny!Izu who thanks you shakily when you return from the bathroom with a wet wash cloth, gently wiping the remnants of his release from his abdomen and cheek, smiling softly and giving him a few soft kisses on his forehead.

Bunny!Izu who, as soon as you’re back in bed, is wrapped around you, cuddling into your neck while you gently scratch his ears, whispering sweet nothings to him. (“My sweet boy..you’re so cute Izuku..my pretty baby..my good bunny..”)

Bunny!Izuku who falls asleep every night knowing he’s loved and cherished, always taken care of, who knows you have his back no matter what.

Bunny!Izuku who is so thankful to have life better than most hybrids, and is so thankful for you, and who loves you unconditionally, the exact way you love him. Bratty flaws and all.

Ive been wanting to write bunny!izu for literally so long it’s not even funny. I saw like, 4 people write B!Izu head cannons/one shots, and if you did that, you’re awesome.

[sprunki-pain-tolerance]

A little bit of angst this fine fine Valentine’s Season, with my favorite gay couple because I love making Clukr feel emotions! Fun fact: I based this off of the singular relationship I was in back when I realized I was Aromantic (the break up was because she was a lesbian and I was no longer a woman, not the Aromantic thing). Don't worry, they're still together, they need each other so much.

11 years.

That's how long they'd been together.

Garnold loved Clukr. There was no other way to put it. He loved them. He loved their passion for everything whether a like or a dislike, he loved their little fidgets when busy, he loved how easily they fit in his arms, he loved the things they made and could easily pick out every little sign of their creative process. He loved them. He wanted to spend the rest of his life by their side. Everytime he dwelled on his feelings it always just felt like he was that confused kid in college again, struggling with his sexuality and an adorably dorky roommate. Hell, the day they'd confessed, though unorthodox and a bit painful, felt like a weight had been removed. Although immediately, there were navigational issues to hammer out. Namely with Clukr's orientation.

They were aromantic. He wasn't.

It was confusing for him at first. He didn't really understand how they couldn't experience romantic attraction but still wanted to date him. At first he rationalized it as them being clingy, but after about five attempts at explaining (the curse of neither of them being good with emotions at that age) he was pretty sure he got it. It was love, just not the same kind. It wasn't really a hard thing to work with usually; discussions about boundaries, wording, what they wanted to be, but every February seemed to be a nightmare for them. They’d confided in him about their sheer hatred of Valentine’s Day and how they didn't want him doing anything special for them on it. He always agreed to just treat it like a normal day. He was always so loud and proud about his spouse that some people thought it weird that he did this, but their comfort mattered over anyone's feelings. If they just wanted this to be a day, then it was just that. Another day.

Albeit, another day he had to pry them off their work computer and make them go to bed at a halfway decent time. But that was usual.

What wasn't usual was them face down and crying in front of a blank monitor. Usually when he found them like that they were trying to use Blender. And they actually took their glasses off first, meaning that this wasn't a spontaneous meltdown or an anxiety attack. They were obviously dwelling on whatever it was first for longer than a few minutes.

“Hey hon.”

Garnold rested a hand on their back. They barely responded, actually crying harder at the touch, drawing further into themself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

They sniffled harder, not even looking up as they quietly stuttered out a response. It was barely audible, but he could still hear it plain as day.

”Why?” Before he could question them, they elaborated, “Why have you stayed with me this long?”

“Cause I care about you.” He didn’t use the word love. He thought it, but he didn't say it. Clukr didn’t like hearing him say it.

They must’ve picked up on his implications though, because their response to this was, “You deserve someone who can actually love you back…”

It was so disheartening to hear. They were the one to confess. They were the one to propose. Garnold watched them gain all of the confidence needed to bear their emotions to him front and center ever since they’d first met. He’d watched an endearingly pathetic guy become brave and stoic in real time. Seeing them like this felt just like their first meeting all over again. Tense, like one wrong move would completely break them and ruin everything.

“Oh honey... Who got that idea in your head?”

Clukr finally lifted their head up, only to shrug and slump over again. “You just deserve better than me… I dunno...”

“You know I don't care about that kinda thing. I want to stay with you, that's all that I care about.”

He picked Clukr up with ease. They practically went limp in his arms as he carefully maneuvered them over one of his shoulders. The glasses came next, which he carefully placed in his jacket pocket (they were already on life support as is). Then the cane… was not in the room. 

“C'mon. You've been awake too long.”

[thelostgirl21]

OMG! It's never ever even remotely crossed my mind that "A Little Sacrifice" could have been written by Essi!!!

I was a bit confused re: why you said that you'd just realised it was Jaskier that had written the song, because I was like "Well, who else?"

She's a bard, too, so it could have been her!

Then again, I didn't know there was a short story called "A Little Sacrifice" and *actual mermaids* in The Witcher's lore while watching Season 3.

Hence why I initially believed this was a song that Jaskier had written to process his feelings for Radovid, and was almost disappointed finding out that it wasn't about him, but about an upcoming animated movie.

But then, I saw the ending of "Sirens of the Deep" and went "Wait. It doesn't match! So it is about Radovid!"

At the very least, to an extent.

Hence all the headcanons about Jaskier having written a first version of the song after the time he'd spent with Geralt in Bremervoord, and then continued working on it / modifying it to suit his own love story with his own Prince, later on.

About Geralt, makes a lot of sense, actually!

I mean, to Jaskier, Geralt is the one that appears to be sort of "otherworldly". A fantastic creature filled with ancient powers and... hair. Those stupid, stupid hair.

*Spoilers for Sirens of the Deep*

And now, I've just realised how funny it is that they came from the coast, reached the mountains to avoid Yennefer, FOUND Yennefer, and then, when Borch died, Jaskier basically went "Yeah, this idea was shit! Let's return to the coast! Go back to Essi, and look at the two local sirens frolick/fight for a little while, yes? "

One thing I also loved is that Sirens of the Deep sort of confirmed that one of Yennefer's appeals, as a partner for Geralt, is their shared cynism and pain over basically watching the world around them go through all these cycles - witnessing people with human lives having such short memories and repeating the same mistakes over and over again (feels especially relevant now) - while they are basically powerless to change, or truly influence them.

And it can thus be deduced that allowing himself to fully and openly acknowledge how attached he's gotten to Jaskier, and how much he appreciates having him as a life partner or "travel companion", would only bring more pain and loss down the line.

Because unless he's killed by a monster first, Jaskier will continue to age. H4 times at least 4 times 10... And he'll be 5 times 10, 6 times 10... Hopefully 7, 8, and if very very lucky 9 times 10!

But, even before then, he might slowly find it harder and more exhausting to accompany Geralt on his travels and monster hunts, dodge attacks, etc.

One mistake, or one moment of him being unable to come to his aid, is all it would take for Geralt to lose him.

In the story I'm currently trying to finish writing, there's a moment between Radovid and Geralt where he openly acknowledges that he feels relieved knowing that Jaskier now has someone to grow old with... someone that will be able to provide him with more comfortable means of transportation, good food, protection, and softer sleeping arrangements whenever Jaskier wishes to hit the road, amongst other things, tok!

(OK, and now I'm laughing thinking about Geralt traveling the path by carriage with an 80 year-old-bard, flanked by a small private royal army carrying delicious food rations and luxury camping equipment, because the husband of the King of Redania still needs to be where the action is to compose a proper ballad!)

But yeah, I guess that's why, despite how I fully acknowledge the absolutely heartbreaking and unfair impact Geralt's outburst and rejection had on Jaskier, I also can empathize with Geralt's own fears and inability to properly deal with loss at that moment.

His mother abandoned him, Renfri chose revenge over him, the woman he loves - and that he felt could understand his struggles more than anyone else - just abandoned him, too, and Jaskier will inevitably die and leave him behind whether he wants it or not. It's all too much to handle.

It's easier to leave Jaskier now, than eventually be abandoned by him, too. That way, he can pretend Jaskier never would have.

And, just as I believe that Jaskier's happy that Geralt has Yennefer now - someone that shares his almost immortality and can help him carry those burdens - I genuinely like to think that Geralt would be happy that Jaskier would have Radovid to share his shorter life with, while being able to appreciate and fully value the passage of time.

"Life's too short, do what or who pleases you, while you can," is a sentiment that Radovid can better grasp, understand, and share than Geralt.

So, even when Jaskier was attempting to connect with Geralt and comfort him after having watched Borch fall to his death, he was sadly putting emphasis on the difference between them.

Jaskier's life is too short. Geralt's life has already been too long. Watching Borch fall to his death only brought into sharp focus that people keep dying and leaving him.

Whereas it gave Jaskier a sense of urgency to not miss any moment of his too short existence.

And now, by saying that, Jaskier is sadly reminding Geralt that even if Jaskier hasn't fallen to his death alongside Borch, he'll still be dying and leaving him soon.

Yennefer and Radovid sort of allow Geralt and Jaskier to better handle those differences, because they aren't each other's only love nor source of support and companionship.

They can more fully appreciate the time they share, despite knowing that they might be forced to go on their separate ways, accompanied by a single one of their partners / travel companions (Yennefer for Geralt, and Radovid for Jaskier), for a little while.

Re: Radovid and Season 3, you've just reminded me of something else, too! Radovid knows ALL of Jaskier's songs, right?

So, he would quickly spot any change that would have been made to it, right?

Imagine Radovid catching Ciri singing "A Little Sacrifice" at some point, suddenly hearing lyrics he isn't familiar with, listening to it to the very end, and then excitedly going, in full 'fanboy mode': "Oh my Gods, Jaskier! You've added more verses to your song, and they are brilliant! But wait. I thought Agloval's transformation went well, and he immediately took to being a merman like - well, a fish in the water? What do you mean 'If he sinks to darkest night? I don't underst - "

*Cue him noticing how Jaskier has increasingly started blushing.*

"Oh! Oh... A-hem, yeah... I mean, my swimming was pretty shit..."

*Cue Jaskier blushing even harder.* "Shut up. Your swimming was fine, the currents trying to pull you under sucked!"

Poor Ciri is trying to figure out what's suddenly going on, and Geralt is just going "Don't worry, even I can never tell if they're frolicking or fighting."

@thelostgirl21 your post made me realise that... Jaskier did write A Little Sacrifice. Now my head is spiraling into subtext from every side. I can't keep up lol

For if your goal be paradise

A life with your true love

Ponder all your wants in life

And make a little sacrifice

[franeridart]

The Housecat Philosophy - Ep 45

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