#idk we will see what speaks to me when we get there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sencrose · 2 days ago

Text

— LOVE ME HOW YOU LIKE ♡

pairing: okkotsu yuuta x idol!f!reader

tags: noncon, stalking, yandere, breaking in, unreliable narrator (mostly yuuta pov), aged up charas (yuuta’s in his 20s), solo male masturbation, squirting, breeding/pregnancy talk/baby trapping, multiple orgasms, overstim, cunnilingus, fingering, yuuji makes a short guest appearance in the intro lol

wc: ~8.6k (... idk how this happened)

summary: Yuuta’s oshi is a horrible enabler.

a/n: happy belated birthday yuuta! atp you can rip underground idol!reader from my cold dead hands. based off of a post i made a while ago. thank you @infinitatis-ink for beta reading :> dividers by @/adornedwithlight

ao3 link here

It’s not Yuuta’s usual scene, but he felt bad when nobody responded to Yuuji’s invitation to spend a night out in Shinjuku. In Yuuta’s defense, he thought they would maybe go to an izakaya or two, get a meal and a few drinks before heading home. However, what Yuuta was unable to predict was Yuuji deciding to go to an idol show on the fly. Yuuji was practically begging him to go, making promises that it’ll be a lot of fun. And when words don’t work, Yuuji grabs Yuuta by the wrist and leads him to the venue despite his protests.

So that’s how Yuuta finds himself in a random basement venue crowded with sweaty guys on a Saturday night. Again, not necessarily his idea of a night out. But Yuuta’s a good sport, so he’ll do his best to enjoy the show anyways.

What starts as a murmur bursts into a boisterous cheer as soon as the stage lights flash on. It’s radiant, nearly blinding. It’s not the lights that sear a black hole into his vision. No, it’s you.

In that fluffy costume that makes you look like a slice of cake personified. The way your skirt bounces exemplifies the pep in your step as you make your way around the stage. Your eyes meet his as you wave into the crowd, and he thinks he’s having a heart attack.

“Good evening everyone! We really hope you enjoy the show we have in store for you tonight!” you speak into the mic, exuding a blissful aura like it's second nature. Yuuta swears he can feel it embrace him, the first warm ray of sunlight you feel after a barren winter.

The crowd roars in response before quieting down. The silence only serves to spur the anticipation drumming throughout his body, his heart beating loudly in his ears, catching in his throat.

The instrumental starts with a sweet chiptune lead, and all hell breaks loose. The rhythmic chants and clapping nearly blow out his ear drums, and he loses Yuuji in the chaos of fans rushing closer to the stage. It’s disorienting, trying to follow along while not losing his sights on you.

He moves along with the crowd, ebbs and flows like the ocean’s waves. No matter how much he’s pushed, he’s focused on you. Once he finds his footing, it gets a bit easier. It lets him focus on other things, like learning your name through the fan chants. It’s a cute one, one he savors on his tongue whenever he yells along with the crowd as you sing.

With every step, every graceful note that spills from your lips, he can only feel himself falling deeper. It’s like you’re a siren, and him, the unfortunate sailor who’s all too willing to walk to his demise. He yells and cheers even louder in his trance, just to see if you’ll grace him with another look.

And you do.

It’s brief but you look right at him again for the second time tonight, with a dazzling smile that puts the sun to shame.

How can he keep your attention? Maybe he should’ve stopped by and bought a lightstick or two before coming in.

Song after song after song, he roots for you with a frenzied energy he didn’t know he had in him. It’s a battle against his parched throat to force the words out and really make sure you can hear him. Every time you look his way, he feels electric. It’s like static, all his hair standing on edge like he’s rubbed a balloon and your gaze is the point of contact that zaps you both.

Before he knows it, the show’s over. It’s far too soon for his liking. Even though it was Yuuji’s idea, Yuuta’s really warmed up to the whole thing–far more enthusiastically than he thought he’d ever be, so much so he’s tallying the number of times you looked his way.

Six. Six times he’s felt that electricity run through him, six times you’ve made him catch his breath and nearly choke on it. Did you feel it too? There’s no way you didn’t. He could see it in the way your eyes sparkled, in the smile that was hand-delivered to him. It’s too many times to be a coincidence.

Yuuta only manages to snap out of his trance when all the lights turn back on and Yuuji slings his arm around him.

“Sorry I lost ya earlier,” Yuuji apologizes, out of breath, presumably from dancing and chanting with the wotas, “how was it?”

“It was,” he pauses for a moment, “fun.”

“See, I told you it’d be fun!” Yuuji beams at the confession. “You wanna get chekis?”

“Chekis?”

“Yeah, like a picture with one of the girls. I already know who I’m choosing tonight!” Yuuji pats Yuuta on the back, a friendly gesture Yuuta returns in kind. “But since you don’t know the members, you can just choose a color. Doesn’t really matter.”

It doesn’t really matter, he said, but it really does. Because if Yuuta chose differently he never would have been able to meet you.

So once he gets to the front of the line, he points at the laminated picture of you.

It shouldn’t be this overwhelming. Idols are normal people too. It’s a lot more obvious with underground idols, in the dingy live venues they book, in the way they stumble over their words on stage or occasionally forget a dance move or lyric. There’s appeal in the imperfect, a diamond in the rough.

But that’s the thing, you still shine bright, blindingly so.

As Yuuta walks up to you, his nerves only get worse. His senses are running on overdrive taking you in, in all your ruffly glory. Something sweet and floral hits his nostrils as he breathes in. He didn’t consider you’d be wearing perfume. It’s the right amount – just enough to whet the palate and bite his tongue in fear of saying something wrong.

He thinks he’s seeing things when he’s barely an arms width away from you, and everything about you seems to sparkle.

You look giddy when he gets up to you, a large smile plastered on your face with open arms as if you’re reuniting with an old friend.

Is he supposed to hug you?

While he hesitates, you’re quick to close the distance, wrapping your arms around his waist. Yuuta carefully does the same to you, doing his best to not implode on the spot. When you let go, he’s flushed in the face and has to think about something else to calm himself down.

“Ah! I haven’t seen you around,” you ask with your hands behind your back and eyes wandering like you’re examining him, “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah, you could say that,” he says. The room feels ten degrees hotter.

“What’s your name?”

“Yuuta.”

“Yuuta…” you repeat carefully, as if you’re tasting it on your lips, “Cute name for a cute guy. Is it ok if I call you Yuu-tan?” You look at him with this doe-eyed expression that makes his chest taut.

When you say it like that, with your eyes glimmering under the stage lights, how could he say no? Yuuta’s stumbling over his words, babbling like an idiot before he’s finally able to get out a meek, “sure.”

You seem to like that, your face lighting up with pure glee.

“Alright Yuu-tan, what kind of pose did you have in mind?”

He absolutely did not think this far ahead. He has to tell himself to calm down, breathe in, breathe out, before asking, “what kind of poses do you usually do?”

“Mmm… Hearts are pretty common I’d say.” You gently grab his hand and the softness of your skin triggers alarm bells in his head. He’s in danger. “But since it’s your first time, how about we do something special?”

You say it in a way that has him blushing harder – first times.

“S-special?” he repeats.

Carefully, you wrap your arms around his waist. Softer than when you first grabbed him. Like there’s a gentle affection weaved within your embrace.

Your face is pressed against his chest. It’s enough for his breathing to shorten, to be far too aware of the pressure you place on him.

With an innocent pout you look at him, softly reassuring him, “Just pretend I’m like your girlfriend or something.”

You’re close–too close. And this whole situation is just too much for him. There’s no escape from you–your smell, your warmth, the softness of your skin.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?” you ask, leaning into him more.

Did he hear you right? Every time you talk it feels like you do so with the express purpose of stealing the air from his lungs. But still, there’s no way that’s what you asked him. Right?

“Huh?”

“I said,” you purr into his ear before repeating your question, “do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?”

So, he did hear you right. Now he’s scrambling again for an answer, blood pumping so hard he can hear it steadily pulsing in his ears.

“N-No.”

“Then you can think of me as yours!” you exclaim, far too easily. It echoes like a clocktower’s bell at noon. If he listens close enough, he swears he can hear the notes of a wedding march.

The only anchor that can bring him back down to Earth is a tug on his shirt, a whisper of your touch against his chest. When his eyes meet yours, he’s starstruck. The glitter around your eyes only serves to make his heart beat faster, how it sparkles and makes you look even sweeter.

“Alright, look at the camera for me, okay?”

So he does. You get in position too, soft lips pressing against his flushed cheek. It happens too quickly for him to react, and with a countdown from three and a flash, the picture’s taken.

You’re quick to sign the polaroid, and Yuuta can barely get a look at what you’re writing before you finish.

“Hold it carefully, ok? The ink can smudge,” you instruct him, gently passing over the picture. “And don’t shake it! The whole shake it like a polaroid thing is a myth.”

He silently takes the picture in his hand, carefully taking it in. You’re able to fit a decent amount on the picture. In the top left corner, “To my beloved Yuu-tan,” and in the bottom right, “Thank you for coming!”

“I hope you’ll come back again,” you say sheepishly, a bit like a girl who just confessed to their crush on the school rooftop.

“O-Of course!” Yuuta’s practically forcing the words out of his words, doing his best not to choke.

“Pinky promise?” You lay out your pinky for him, waiting expectantly. Yuuta, on the other hand, is struggling to recollect himself.

“Mmhm.” He brings his pinky over to yours, and you wrap around each other’s fingers. Yuuta thinks it’s just that until you bring your hand back to kiss your thumb.

“Seal it with a kiss?” you ask with an innocent smile.

“Huh?”

You don’t repeat yourself, simply look at him in a way that makes his cheeks red. After a moment, Yuuta repeats the motion, nearly shaking as he brings both of your hands closer to his lips before kissing his thumb.

By the time he finds the courage to look you in the eyes, he’s sure there’s steam coming out of his ears. His gaze shifts down, but darts back up as soon as he hears you giggle.

“You promised! No take-backsies. I don’t like broken promises.” You pout before breaking back into that picture perfect smile of yours. “Thanks for coming by, Yuu-tan!”

– The post concert dress down is the same as usual. Struggling to get out of polyester costumes clinging to your skin from sweat, doing your best to fold your ruffled layered skirt into a manageable mass and failing the first couple of times. It’s a routine you’ve gotten used to.

What you’re not used to, is receiving a warning from one of your groupmates.

“Hey.” Your group leader stands over you as you attempt to continue packing your costume away. “You've gotta be a bit more careful.”

You look up at her with a raised brow, taking in her disappointed expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she relents, her tone becoming more annoyed than disappointed.

So this is what you think it’s about. But it really isn’t any of her concern. You haven’t had any problems until now, so what’s the harm in continuing? If anything, she should be grateful. If you were to crunch the numbers, you’re sure you bring in a decent amount of fans by playing up the girlfriend experience schtick. And not just any type of fans – devoted ones. Those that return to night after night to spend a minute of their time with you. Those that would empty out their wallets at a snap of your fingers.

If you were to be honest with yourself, you like the power you hold. There’s a thrill that rushes to your head when your fans are stumbling over their words, stringing along a response for the sole purpose of pleasing you. But there’s no way you’d ever admit that to her. She just wouldn’t get it.

You let out a deep sigh. “It’s fine! This type of crowd is harmless. I’m just trying to do my job, you know.”

“You’re going to attract some crazies if you keep going down this path.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shrug her off as you finally fit your costume into your luggage, swiftly zipping it close before it has the chance to recoil.

“Hey.” She grasps your shoulder to grab your attention. “Listen, I’m being serious,” she says, and there’s a genuine tinge of concern in her voice.

“Me too. I’m making us money. Good money. And if it means I have to bat my lashes and put on an act, then that’s what it is.”

She sighs, defeated. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

–

In the days after the concert, Yuuta falls into a rabbit hole. It’s just too easy – your group is pretty active on social media, trying and promoting just about anything that’ll stick. It starts simple enough with a livestream here and there. Just listening to you talk makes his heart all warm and fuzzy.

The longer he lurks and follows, the more he realizes just how many opportunities there are to take you in. You being an underground idol works in his favor. Desperation’s the name of the game, with you selling just about anything you can get your likeness on – signed polaroids, acrylic standees, can buttons, the list goes on.

Eventually, he’ll put in orders for those as well, but none of them replace the sensation of holding your hand in person, of your soft lips against his face.

At the end of the day, there’s no way you can’t see his devotion towards you. At this point he knows everything there is to know about you–through the selfies you post online, the memes you retweet, even the daily blog post where you write about your day.

There’s more than that as well. There’s an inherent intimacy he feels in the single shot chekis he orders as soon as the shop link drops on Twitter, in the comments he leaves on your livestreams, with the username you unknowingly gave him.

And in the short weeks he’s been following your account, he’s greeted with a rare chance encounter. A custom video, made by you, just for him. And though the price is probably hefty for what it is, he’s quick to seize the opportunity.

Sure, he’s burning a hole in his wallet. But how can he complain? When he can hear your sweet voice again, talking to him like he’s the only one in the room. It’s the closest thing he can get to seeing you for now. Things have just been so busy these days. He wonders how other sorcerers play the balancing act between dating and work.

But just a couple weeks later he gets an e-mail. He nearly jumps in his seat in his room when he sees the e-mail notification with the subject line “to my beloved yuu-tan~”.

His phone comes alive with you in frame, sitting in something different from your usual stage costume. Something cute, something that sends butterflies to his stomach and a blush to his cheeks. A comfy sweater that seems just a little bit too big for you, along with a matching skirt. The hem dangerously brushes against your upper thighs, and he has to make a considerable effort to draw his gaze back to your eyes.

The background is a simple white backdrop, and judging from the lighting situation, it’s probably something you filmed in your room. You’re filming this. In your room. Just for him. The thought is enough to make his heart race.

“Is this on?” Your finger taps on to the camera, face getting closer to the lens before moving back. Even when you’re clueless, you’re adorable. “Ah, it is.”

“Yuu-tan! Thanks for supporting me so much as you always have!~” Your voice is bright as always. The way your nickname for him dances on your tongue feels like a salve for even the most mortal of wounds.

“Your support is number one in my heart, you know. But Yuu-tan…”You drag out his name in a way that’s too much for him, and the way you pout up at the camera? This has to be attempted murder, he thinks. But he continues listening attentively. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I miss you, I really do.” Your voice pulls on his heartstrings and makes him ridden with guilt. It genuinely pains him to hear you like this, his chest tightening at the sound. But then your voice lightens up, your expression brightens with the next words that slip past your lips, “you’ll come to the next show, won’t you?”

Yuuta finds himself nodding at his phone, as if you’ll be able to see his response if he’s enthusiastic enough. Yet, it’s as if you knew exactly how he’d reply.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise.” You lift your pinky up to the camera before pulling it back. “Oh wait, I don’t think I can do this through the camera, haha. Guess you’ll just have to finish it in person! Bye bye!” you sign off, and the video ends there, paused on your angelic smile.

Yuuta nearly breaks his phone replaying the video over and over again. It’s surprising the image of you hasn’t been burned onto his screen. But there’s one part in particular that’s his favorite.

It’s when you pout and disarmingly look up at the camera. Bat your eyelashes in just the right way to make him pitch a tent in his pants. That combined with the way you say his name, it’s no surprise the next thing he does is frantically search for the bottle of lube in one of his drawers.

What happens next, there’s no way you can fault him for it. All he can think about is how cute you are as he dispenses lube on to his right hand and unzips his pants with his left. Once his cock’s free, he groans as he palms himself, daydreaming about how you’d hold him. His other hand finds his phone, repeatedly going back to the same timestamp where you’re practically moaning for him.

He finds a rhythm, fast. Not just for jerking off, but looping your voice in a way that makes him light-headed. It just adds another layer to the image of you playing in his head. If he times it just right, he can pretend that slick wet sound of him fucking his hand is your sweet pussy instead. His pace gets faster, thinking about the other kinds of sounds he could wring from you.

You would moan so sweetly for him. He’d do everything in his power to make sure of it. He’s far from a selfish lover. He’d be sure to prep you beforehand, his hands tracing the curve of your body before delving into your underwear. Start a bit slow, teasing you into asking for more as he plays with your clit. He wonders what kind of expression you’d wear.

Maybe you’d be a bit shy. Maybe you’d be needy, desperate to ask him for more. Whatever’s the case it doesn’t matter, as long as he gets to hear your sweet voice.

Once he’s tested the waters he’d go faster, and he thinks about the heave of your chest, the short breaths you’d give him as you’re getting closer. Would you call him by his real name, or the nickname you’ve given him? He doesn’t really mind either way, but part of him hopes for the former. Regardless, the mental image of you cumming on his fingers along with your voice played on loop is enough to send him over the edge with a choked moan, hot ropes of his seed spilling from his slit. Yuuta’s body nearly gives out as he relaxes back into his chair, exhausted and out of breath.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise!” Your voice plays again through his phone as he finally comes down from his high.

So he steels himself. Tells himself that it doesn’t matter what the occasion is, he’ll make sure to go to the next live show, the one after, and the one after that. It’s a promise, after all.

—

The next time Yuuta goes to see you, he’s a bit more prepared. At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself.

In reality, he’s still just as nervous as the first time. While the video was nice, it just doesn’t hold a light to seeing you in person. Getting a waft of that sweet, floral perfume of yours as he approaches you, relishing at how the smell of the live venue just seems to disappear in your presence. Then there’s the ball that forms in his throat that he can’t swallow as he gets closer.

You light up as soon as you see him, star-bright.

“Yuu-tan!” you shuffle up to him with your arms outstretched for a hug, “I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” he says, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. He brings you in closer, but feels a bit self conscious when he realizes just how tight you’re holding on to him. Tight enough that he can feel the curve of your tits pressed against him. Then he finds himself panicking and letting go.

“Did you have a good time at the show?” you ask, seemingly unphased by his internal plight.

”I did, I did,” he replies, nodding a bit too enthusiastically.

“I’m so happy you remembered our promise.”

”O-Of course.”

“What kind of pose did you want today?” Your expression softens as you put your hands behind your back and bend slightly, look up at him doe-eyed and curious.

After all he put into coming to the show, he’s stunned into silence. He had one in mind, but the idea simply melted as soon as he saw you. He can’t help it, it’s just what you do to him. He’s sure he’s making a fool out of himself again, and can feel it in the way his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

”Could you choose again?” he asks meekly.

“Hmm…” you muse, pouting dramatically and placing your chin in between your thumb and index finger. Yuuta waits with bated breath.

“Could you make a circle with your arms?” you say with a snap of your fingers.

”H-Huh? Sure.” He awkwardly follows your instructions, his fingertips meeting one another, miming the act of holding a large box against his chest.

You bend down and disappear from his vision, only to reappear between his arms.

“Boo!” you exclaim, palms faced outward with your fingers spread apart.

Yuuta’s startled. It isn’t that the act itself is scary, but the way you press against his chest and grin at him awakens a gnawing desire in his head. The lengths he would go to see you smile like this for him–just for him. By the time he’s shaking out the thoughts out his mind, he realizes you’ve been waiting for a response.

“Ah, you really scared me,” Yuuta jokes, feigning a scared expression to soothe his nerves.

“Hm? You think I’m scary, Yuu-tan?” you quip back, but then you’re pouting your lips, and the way the glitter glimmers under the stage lights makes it look like you’re going to cry.

It’s like you’ve pierced his heart, he swears he can feel it. Maybe with Cupid’s arrow. It seems like a side effect of this is becoming a blubbering mess every time he tries to speak.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t worry,” you giggle with a bright smile that soothes his heart, “I’m just messing with you.”

Gently, you adjust his position until his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

But when you press up against him, Yuuta thinks you’re approaching dangerous territory. Even with all the layers in your skirt, he swears he can make out the shape of your ass. It doesn’t help that you keep adjusting your position, brushing against his clothed cock multiple times over. All he can do is bite his tongue and hope that nothing comes to light.

“Yuu-tan, is this ok?” You look back at him with that innocent glimmer in your eyes.

”Y-Yeah, it’s perfect,” he replies, nearly biting his lip as he does so.

You give the cameraman the okay to take the picture, and with a countdown that feels longer than last time, the picture’s taken.

“You’ll come to the next show, right, Yuu-tan?”

“Of course.”

“Pinky promise?” You outstretch your pinky again, and this time, Yuuta’s swift on the uptake, wrapping his pinky around yours with more enthusiasm than last time. It’s such a simple gesture, but Yuuta is fond of promises and all they represent. Love intertwined in a simple hook of pinkies. The gentleness of your thumbs pressing against each other, the giggle that leaves your lips as you make a heart with your hands.

“Pinky promise,” he repeats with a gentle smile.

—

In the days that follow, Yuuta’s come to a realization.

Don’t get him wrong, seeing you perform is great and all, but his favorite moments with you are the intimate ones. The one on ones, the short and sweet conversations where he can tune out the rest of the world. And when he does the math, they’re too few and far between.

Simply put, he can’t wait for the next show. So, he forges his own opportunities. It’s just too easy to do when you post selfies of where you’re handing out flyers for the night. Part of him thinks your agency should be a little more conscious of internet safety, but then again he wouldn’t have been able to find out where you were if that were the case.

Thanks to your social media posts, it doesn’t take that long to find you. It’s busy in Shinjuku but it’s pretty easy to follow the endless trail of girls hanging out flyers. Even though you’re lined up with all the other idols, hostesses, and maids dressed to the nines to promote themselves, he could easily pick you out of the crowd. They just don’t hold a candle to you.

“Please come to our show!” you exclaim with a smile, waving the flyer and hoping the random man in front of you will take it. And for once, he does. So you look up. “Oh! Yuu-tan! What’re you doing here?”

Yuuta feels all warm and fuzzy at the mention of the pet name.

“Ah, I was just running some errands,” he says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask back in a hushed whisper before breaking into a smile, “what a coincidence!”

Before you can comment any further, a man sneaks into your field of vision and interrupts the conversation, shyly waving his hand at you and asking for a flyer. Your eyes light up for a second before you turn to give him your attention.

“Please come to our show!” you casually hand over the flyer to the stranger with a smile.

Yuuta doesn’t like that.

For a split second, he thinks you should quit being an idol. But then the thought boomerangs back, sits and marinates as he considers it further.

Yeah. That might be a good idea.

“It was nice chatting with you Yuu-tan, but I really gotta get back to work.” You pout at him. It hits him differently this time. He almost mistakes it for guilt, but it’s not quite that. It’s not as surface level, gets deep under his skin like poison and spreads unease throughout his body.

“I’ll see you at the next show, Yuu-tan!” you send him off with a wave and a smile, one he thinks is too soon.

Yuuta waits for you to brand your pinky for him, but it never comes.

Disappointment. It’s disappointment.

He’s been a fool. You’re distracted by all these so-called fans that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Worse of all, your agency is putting you up to it. He really thinks it’s time for you to quit.

So Yuuta waits.

For an idol, you lack a crucial sense of self-awareness. You don’t even notice when Yuuta follows behind you once you finish your shift. Even as the bustle of the city crowd quiets down as you make your way to your agency building on a random side street, you don’t notice he’s trailing behind. Imagine how much danger you’d be in if some crazy fan were to follow you. You’re lucky to have Yuuta there for you, he just needs to make you see it too.

He almost loses you when you leave the agency building in much more normal and muted. He nearly has to stop himself from drooling at the sight of it. He can see it so clearly, the image of you wearing it on a date with him. Maybe it’d be at a cafe, somewhere he can see you laugh and smile with him as he feeds you an intricate, overpriced slice of cake. But before he gets too lost in his imagination, Yuuta shakes it off and resolves himself to continue following you.

The longer he follows you, the more Yuuta starts to feel invisible. You don’t notice him when he’s right behind you at the turnstill. When he follows you through all the twists and turns of the station, hell, even when he’s three spots behind you in line for the train. The lack of self-preservation is stunning, he thinks. More than that, how could you not notice your number one fan, your boyfriend, putting in all this effort to make sure nobody hurt you? But it doesn’t matter–soon enough you won’t have to worry about that.

You step off the train after a few stops, and Yuuta’s always behind you, not that you’re aware. The rush of people leaving the train is enough to help him blend in, but once you leave the station he adds some slack to the distance.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and he’s there, watching from a distance as you unlock your apartment and go inside.

Yuuta waits a minute before approaching the unit you just walked into. The lock to your apartment isn’t anything he can’t break through, and with a pointed blast of cursed energy, the lock breaks with a quiet snap. He makes a note to himself to tell you to get a better place.

Then again, it’d be best if you just lived with him anyways. He’d take care of anything, everything, as long as it’s for you.

The door creaks just a little as he opens it slowly, careful not to disturb you.

The apartment is cramped, narrow halls made even smaller by the coats you have hanging on wall hooks, but just down the corridor he can see your living room. Calmly, he takes off his shoes and places them down neatly next to yours before quietly walking over. You aren’t there.

He backtracks to where the hallway splits, approaching the bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, tantalizing like a bow on top of a present. It’s as if you were expecting him.

When he pushes the door open with a slight tap, Yuuta’s greeted by a half naked figure. You were probably in the middle of undressing. He takes a moment to mentally thank whatever higher up there gave him the blessing of perfect timing.

“Get out of my apartment!” you yell, throwing whatever you can at him, but it doesn’t seem to do any damage. He walks casually towards you, even as you tremble. He doesn’t understand why you’re shaking, but he knows he can fix it. You have nothing to worry about, everything will be better now that he’s here.

His expression softens as soon as you look him in the eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Yuuta coos.

“Y-Yuu-tan?” you ask, voice out of breath from thrashing around, “what are you doing here?” your voice drops in a way that he hasn’t heard before. It’s intimate, he thinks.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he says, a tenderness wrapped in his words.

“Worried?” you ask in the softest tone he’s ever heard. It endears him.

“Yeah. You didn’t pinky promise me today.”

“Huh?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You usually pinky promise me before you say bye. But you were so distracted today.”

There’s a brief pause, but it feels like it lasts a lifetime. Yuuta studies your expression, one he doesn’t recognize. When your eyes meet his, he takes it as a sign to explain himself further.

“And it’s not just that. During your lives, I see you looking at other guys and it really hurts me,” his voice softens, his chest tightening at the confession. He notices the tears falling down your face, and scrambles to make it better. “But you don’t need to do any of this anymore. You have me,” he says with a hand against his heart.

It doesn’t seem to help as your barely contained cries become louder.

“Yuu-tan, you’re scaring me,” you confess.

He tilts his head.

“I don’t think I’ve said anything scary?”

Another pause. He waits for an answer but isn’t given one he wants as you run for the door. It’s a losing game to run from him, his body quick to shield you from the door, his hand tightly wrapping around your wrist.

“Why are you running?” he asks, genuine hurt in his voice.

“Because you’re scaring me, Yuu-tan,” you reply, voice trembling.

“I’m not trying to be scary, I just want to be a good boyfriend for you,” he whispers softly against your ear, and to prove his point, his hand grazes your thigh, traveling further until his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear. “Make you feel good like you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly.

“N-No, I don’t want this, please,” you beg.

Your words are rearranged by the time they hit his ears. For all intents and purposes, all he hears is “I want this, please” and that’s all he needs to kiss you. It’s soft for a moment, but then it’s as if something snapped inside him.

There’s no patience behind it; he’s waited so long after all. He kisses like his time with you is sand trickling down an hourglass and he’s on his last grains. All groans and grasping at your cheeks to keep you with him, hot and heavy.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you plead shakily.

There’s something at the end of your words he doesn’t catch, but he’s all too willing to give you what you want, especially when you’re asking so nicely.

Your breathing quickens as his hand presses down on your legs so you can’t escape. Yuuta’s hand gingerly traces up your thigh until he gets to your underwear. The soft breath you let out when he brushes over your clit sends blood rushing straight down to his cock.

His tongue brushes against the cotton fabric of your underwear, a cute moan leaving your lips, just for him. It’s what he’s been craving to hear, the subject of all his sweetest dreams and basest fantasies, and it’s better than he could have ever imagined. Now that he has it, he needs more.

There’s no warning, no tact to his movements, he can’t hold himself back any longer. There's only pure, unadulterated desperation with every stroke of his tongue against your underwear until he finally pulls the fabric to the side.

When your hand grasps his hair, he’s taken by surprise but he doesn’t dislike it. He indulges you and even lets out a throaty moan when you tighten your grip. He didn’t take you for the rowdy type, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

It enables him further to dive into you and lap around your clit to hear those short gasps that sound like music to his ears. His arms wrap around your thighs to bring you in further, his nose pressing into you as he starts to build a steady tempo.

It seems to be too much for you with the way your body keeps shifting, but Yuuta is nothing if not determined. Maybe you’re testing the depths of his dedication, but there’s no universe where he’d ever fail you. No matter how much you move, he’s stuck to you like a leech, sucking at your clit with fervor. There’s intention with every motion, in the way he huffs and inhales deeply through his nostrils, in the messy way he sucks and slurps at your slick.

Even though he’s working so hard to please you, something’s not quite right. You’re so… quiet. It makes Yuuta think you’re holding yourself back. There’s no need for that, especially between lovers. Soulmates, even.

“Let me hear how good you feel,” he pants between breaths, “it’s okay.”

His movements become more pointed, determination lighting a fire in his stomach just to hear how sweet you get when you cum. The anticipation is killing him, but he thinks there’s been a breakthrough when your thighs tighten around his head, your breaths getting shorter by the second.

When you finally cum, it’s nothing short of heavenly. Sweeter than any note he’s heard you sing on stage, better than what he’s heard in his dreams. It’s not just that, but the full body reaction as well. The trembling, the taut muscles, the rise and fall of your chest– it’s all so erotic.

So your love language is words of affirmation. He makes note of that.

The only complaint Yuuta has is that the moment was far too short lived for his tastes. He has to hear more. See more. Have more. His fingers press gently against your wet hole, one small push from penetrating.

“W-Wait, it’s sensitive–”

Yuuta cuts you off by slipping it in with ease, quickly followed by another. Hungrily looks at the point where he’s connected to you. He starts slowly, fingers carefully pressing and curling until he finds a spot that gives him the reaction he’s looking for.

“Too-too much, stop-”

He doesn’t. Why would he ever deprive you of pleasure? He presses in further, bullies the spot that makes you scream louder. It’s not long until he sends you tumbling into another climax. It’s far more drawn out than the first. He can feel it in the way your walls convulse around his fingers.

Even though it might be too much, Yuuta still fingers you through it. He can’t help it. You just look so cute like this, reduced to a sputtering mess. And knowing that he’s the only one who has the privilege of seeing this side of you? He’s on cloud nine.

He knows he’s being a bit mean right now. But there’s so much lost time to make up for. He might also be letting his jealousy of seeing you with another man get the better of him right now, but it’s ok. At the end of the day, he’s making you feel good.

Yuuta watches with wonder and amusement as you cum again. He almost feels bad for pushing you this far, seeing the way you squeeze your eyes shut and thrash around through your orgasm. While he’s not a fan of your pain, he loves being your source of comfort, the one to clean up your tears. It’s a necessary evil, he tells himself.

Yuuta plants a trail of kisses down your neck to help shoulder the burden, and it seems to help as you come down from your high.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he sighs, adoration laced in his voice as he kisses your forehead.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you pant, “you’ve already made me feel so good. D-Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Of course not,” he responds with a soft gasp as if he’s incredulous at the idea, “I have so much more I want to give you.”

“More?” you ask shakily.

“Mhm,” he purrs with a soft smile, unphased by the tremor in your voice. His fingers slide in and out of you with ease, drawing another soft lewd sound out of you.

“No, no, no, I can’t, I can’t-” you plead, before you’re cut off by a kiss. Yuuta notices you have this habit of denying yourself anything good for you, but you don’t need to do that. What are boyfriends for? He doesn’t stop, even when you scratch and leave blossoming trails of rose on his skin. It only makes him intensify his movements, picking a fast rhythmic pace to hit that spot that makes you moan so sweetly.

When you cum with a wail, Yuuta’s there to swallow every cry you give him, tongue swirling against yours to help you through it. There’s a tenderness to it, as if he’s telling you it’ll all be okay. In between labored breaths he huffs in your ear with a neediness in his tone, “let it all out for me.”

He didn’t mean it literally, but he’s not displeased with the results either. That being said, it does catch him by surprise when you clench and gush all over him and the sheets. The warmth of you soaking his pants makes him feel dizzy with lust. Next thing he knows he’s nose deep into your folds, lapping up at everything you have to give. Not a drop goes to waste, not when he lifts your legs and traces the trail of juices from the fat of your ass to your inner thigh.

It’s just too much for him. When he comes up for air, he’s hastily picking at his pants.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” he asks as he unbuckles his belt and slides down his pants.

You shake your head furiously in embarrassment. It’s cute. Part of him wishes he could record a video of it and save it for later. But there’s more pressing matters at hand.

Yuuta’s hard cock presses against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be freed. His hand barely breaks through the elastic when it springs free, slapping his stomach from the recoil. Seeing your hole slick with arousal for him is almost enough to make him cum right there. He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself.

Yuuta strokes his cock before pressing it between your folds, collecting all your arousal along the way. Even this is enough to make him shiver, feel it deep in his core. He bites his lip and lines himself up with your entrance. The sight of your hole quivering as he taps his tip against it makes him lightheaded.

So he starts slow, presses against your cunt steadily until he gets past that first ring of muscle that makes you gasp. From there, it’s just a matter of patience and self control, pushing further and further until he finally bottoms out with a groan. It goes in so easily, it’s like you were made for this–for him. Yuuta feels like he’s floating.

While Yuuta’s never been one to think about his size, he still sees you squeezing your eyes shut. His hand caresses your cheek before he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his lips and gives your fingers a chaste kiss, from one lover trying to comfort another.

“Hey, it’s in. It wasn’t that bad, right?” he asks softly, like he’s letting you in on a secret.

You give him a shy nod, and he smiles at that.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises, gently wiping the tears from your eyes. Even in the afterglow of your tears, you look beautiful. Then again, he’d find beauty in anything you give him. It doesn’t matter what kind of expression you wear, as long as it’s just for him.

“I’ll start slow, ok?” Yuuta brandishes his pinky.

There’s a moment of pause, a shake to your hand as you wrap your pinky around his. He’s already one step ahead of you and swiftly seals it with a kiss and a giggle.

Yuuta keeps his promise, as he languidly rolls his hips into yours. It takes every ounce of self control to keep a slower pace, but he has to savor his first time with you. You feel perfect around him–your warmth enveloping him like a blanket, almost suffocating with its embrace. It’s too much for him, he can’t keep biting his lip and holding back his moans. Then again, he’d be a hypocrite holding himself back, wouldn’t he?

So he lets whatever sounds caught in his throat escape through his lips, lets you hear just how much you’re messing him up. All broken groans and whimpers of your name. And maybe it’s a bit too much for you, seeing you grab the pillow to cover your face. But Yuuta isn’t embarrassed, and you shouldn’t be either, so he’s quick to toss the pillow off the side of the bed.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you ask.

It sounds like there’s something else you were going to say, but the noise thins out into a hushed whine. But Yuuta can read between the lines. His hands spread your legs apart further for leverage, his lips pressing against yours until he builds it up to a slew of open mouthed kisses. Tongue against tongue, choked gasps and moans escaping into each other’s mouths. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, breathes in so intensely like you’re the air he needs in his lungs.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. He can’t help himself from rutting his hips into yours a little harder, losing himself in the soft plush of your walls squeezing him tighter with every passing moment. Even the wet sounds of his cock fucking into you is melodic to him, along with your staccatoed gasps, it’s an earworm he wouldn’t mind keeping.

He can’t let himself all the fun though, his fingers making their way to your throbbing clit. It seems to catch you by surprise, earning a yelp from you that soon melts into a moan.

“Yuuta-”

The world stops moving. It’s as if he’s frozen in place as soon as he hears his name from your lips. No nickname, no extra letter. Just Yuuta. It’s enough to make his head spin, his nerves go haywire as he snaps his hips into yours faster, desperate to hear it again.

“Say it again,” he groans breathlessly, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming right then and there.

“Yuuta, Yuuta-” you whine in that tone he’s dreamt of, stroked himself to on lonely nights and he’s so close. All self control goes out the window as he practically fucks you into the mattress. He feels delirious feverish with an ailment that can only be cured through you. He can’t let you go; not now, not ever.

An idea hits him like a strike of lightning, reverberates throughout his entire being. His pace slows for a second. There’s a look of confusion on your face.

“If we have a baby, you’ll have to quit, right?” he asks, his finger gently tracing a heart around your stomach.

Your pupils dilate. Yuuta recalls that it’s a sign of love. Affection. His heart skips a beat.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you mumble, a tremor in your voice, “what are you saying?”

“You’ll have to stay if we have a baby,” he whispers into your ear before his hips snap into yours, “right?”

You make some unintelligible noise in response, but he knows it’s just because you’re overwhelmed with joy at the idea. Knowing you’re happy makes him happy too.

There’s no time to waste, an urgency to Yuuta’s movements as he pushes against your legs until you’re folded into a mating press. His hips pick up a steady rhythm, the loud slap of skin echoing throughout the room.

Yuuta fucks you like he means to make good his proposal–his body pressed flush against yours, his hands wrapping around the back of your head to bring you into his embrace. He throws caution to the wind, lets lust take over.

Everything about you is overwhelming. How you scratch at his back, how you bite down on his neck hard enough to draw blood, how your legs tremble with each stroke. It’s like you want it just as bad as he does.

And who is he to deny you? His hand slips between your sweat covered bodies, trails down to your throbbing clit to show it some love. He wants you to feel as good as he does, or better. Preferably the latter.

He knows he’s doing a good job when he hears that tell-tale sign of your breaths quickening, along with your heart beating faster against his chest.

But something’s off.

You won’t stop throwing your body around, as if you’re trying to loosen his grip around you.

If this is your way of testing his love, then he’s passing with flying colors. It only lights a fire in him, determination ablaze in his fingertips as he draws tighter circles around your clit, the roll of his hips morphing to something slower, but deeper. It’s only a matter of seconds before your body gives in to his love and affection, cries sputtering from your mouth as your muscles tense up around him.

Yuuta can’t control himself any longer with your pussy convulsing around him, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing heavier. His voice breaks, a shaky whine catches in his throat before he goes over the edge.

“Love you, love you so much,” he cries before cumming, burying himself deep inside and making sure to give you everything he has. Every twitch of his cock leads to the undeniable warmth of his seed painting your insides white.

He takes a moment to collect himself and catch his breath, but he doesn’t take himself out of you. It’s like the intensity catches up with him all at once as he collapses onto you. Even in his state of exhaustion, he finds the energy to gingerly kiss your forehead.

“We’ll be so happy together, I promise.”

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #okkotsu yuuta smut #sen writes #s.jjk #sen fics #idoltalk #cw.stalking #cw.noncon #yandere jjk

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hongjoongspoetry · 2 days ago

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Thank you so much Esther!! 😭🩷🤧 *Hands you some tissues* I'm so happy you liked bad boy!jongho (especially knowing that he's your bias), he has easily become one of my favorite characters to write now and I'll definitely do more of him in the future!

God the idea of knowing your soulmate and who they are and knowing that in the eyes of the public, and perhaps yours as well, that they’re a bad person, someone others don’t like or have a negative viewpoint of must be hard. Especially if you still cannot help the feelings you have for them when you’re around them even when they behave badly or something. Sounds like such a hard situation to be in and our precious MC is going through just that😭😭

Definitely! Imagine you are fated to someone who is more or less a "bad" person, like what does one do in that situation? Ngl, I wished to dive deeper into that but considering it would go past our word limit for the event I wouldn't do it justice 😭 But I'm still happy you caught onto the indication of what our MC was dealing with!

Although can I say I’m living for bad boy!Jongho, it just does something for me like yes boy be a menace to society🤩 also I totally did not giggle at his introduction where he’s sitting behind his desk as MC questions him on accepting the invitation in her name🙈

This scene was actually inspired from his screen time in Crazy Form (where he's sitting in an office (?) with a gun and shit), all dressed up and looking expensive. I just had to include it, and also his charm! Despite being a menace, he still has girls swooning for him *cough* secretary Eunji *cough*.

JgsuvhccvugcdsuhadbcjadhvfaeibhfbkjaeC he’s so in love with her and she hasn’t noticed it yet😭😩 like he keeps dropping hints throughout the one shot with very subtle ways he’s acting and unfortunately our dear MC only thinks he’s acting that way because of the contract🥲

THE FUNNIEST THING IS WHEN YOU REALIZE HE KNOWS THEY ARE SOULMATE THIS ENTIRE TIME AND ISN'T EVEN ACTING- Like the man wants you, contract or no contract 😭🤭 Ugh, I love writing men who are simps and idk about you, but I feel like Jongho is the type of guy who would treat his partner to everything. I'm talking about spoiling them to the maaaaax.

I enjoyed so much the way you wrote her Mina, it was so nice to see a bit more of a firecracker of a character, like she doesn’t fully take most of his bullshit while also having moments where we see her worry or the conflicting feelings of you know being with your soulmate but also being in a contract where you’re fake dating each other. I can’t really blame her for accepting the contact because I’d probably done the same if I saw the payment whilst also hoping that perhaps this would bring us even closer as soulmates for it to click naturally.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I think, at least for me, the biggest challenge is to write interesting MCs that aren't these typical I-take-no-crap characters. Becuase, in my opinion, those are the easiest to write. So, there's a moment where I always stop and wonder if my MCs are different or if they are just the same character in different universes lmao. It's' also something I want to get better at as I'm writing. To make my MCs different Shy, reserved, scared, introverts or extroverts, talkative, rude, mean, etc. I feel like in my series Puzzle Pieces, I'm way better at making the MCs diverse (obviously no one knows as only Mingi's story is out, but you will see when the time comes😭) And as for this MC, she was 100% right in signing that contract because it was a looooot of money they offered. It's even better when you realize that the two agents (who came with the contract) knew she was Jongho's soulmate and went to her on purpose with that sum of money 😭

I think some of my favorite moments are when you allow us to read how it all affects the, like the idea that thinking/speaking bad about your soulmate causes the bond to burn/hurt you is actually so cool! Don’t think I’ve ever seen that before in a soulmate au and I liked it so much because the idea that Jongho who seems to enjoy “tormenting” her also gets hurt and it quiet possibly being moments where he feels the need to leave to get some time alone, perhaps to even reflect if he went to far or not, just makes me feel things😩

OH!!! I love this! I'm a complete addict when it comes to soulmate aus. They are my favorite fanfic genre to read so best believe ive consumed a good amount of them 😭 And it is as you're saying, not many writers incorporate the soul in soulmate, at least not up to my standard. Yes, the characters are destined to be together, but what else is there to the soulmate connection? What makes them connected and in what way? That's why I decided, for Jongho and this MC, to have that type of bond, where they can kind of feel each other's emotions. Ugh, Esther I love the way your mind works because you literally catch onto everything I'm trying to convey with my writing! Yes, Jongho definitely went out for a smoke (in the middle of the charity event) to calm down after his childish behaviour and yes, him going from teasing to distant in seconds is also his way of trying to collect his thoughts and not feel too much of MC emotions. (It makes me wanna smash my head in knowing that they feel each other's emotions when they are being lovey-dovey, like in the ending scene)

I just adore all the small details you added in which Jongho comforts her, like the hand gently caressing hers, his hand on her hip as he guides her through the overwhelming crowd, even when he tries to stop Ms.Kang and her quiet rude questions🥺 [...] My reaction to Jongho giving her his jacket once she found him outside smoking. Like hello? I love it so much. Just the idea of Jongho covering you with his jacket so you won’t freeze your ass off! When’s it my turn?🧐

Jongho tries to be a bad boy so hard but at the end of the day, he's just a huge softie beneath that hard exterior especially when it comes to the MC. I will never let the "give-them-your-jacket-trope" die! It's the epitome of gentleman behaviour and I need it added in every piece of literature I write lmao 😭 It also further strengthens the image of Jongho not being a "bad" person.

Nah I would never get on a motorcycle ever like you are so right for calling them a death trap, I do not trust them at all!! And that’s coming from someone who’s grown up with both her parents driving said death traps😭 not Jongho laughing at her for being scared and holding on tight to him😭😭 also please I love their bantering so much, the way you wrote Jongho teasing her so often is so good I enjoyed it so much💓

That's criminal. I love motorcycles and I'm even planning on getting a license + bike when I have the money for it (plus I have to wait until I'm 24 but that's another thing lmao). Okay, but your parents are so cool, first your dad plays electric (I believe they were electric) guitars and now I find out both of your parents RIDE MOTORCYCLES??!!?!? So cool😭🌟I feel like its such a Jongho thing to-do, he definitely made the motorcycle go a lil too fast for her to cling onto him AHAHAHH I can just see his menacing smile, like look at these:

menace one menace two menace three

God this whole part after they got of the motorcycle is so beautifully written, the description and the way you wrote the dialogue just did it for me. Truly wonderful and such a delight to read.

THANK YOU AGAIN, omg you are spoiling me 🥹🥹 It's so nice to hear this though, because I really put a lot of effort into that whole last scene. I wanted the readers to really feel their emotions and vulnerability through the screen, especially Jongho's. For a guy who’d always been seen as tough and unapproachable, changing wasn’t going to be easy. But with the MC — his soulmate — there, I feel like he understood that she wouldn't judge him and he just decided to bet on it, be vulnerable and get his feelings hurt or be vulnerable and go home with the love of his life, you know?

You should have heard the noise I made when I read that part and everything that followed🫣 BUT YES HES CONFESSING FIRST🥰❤️ also my poor girlie getting to hear that while she thinks she’s been good at hiding it all Jongho has known since forever that they’re soulmates😩😭

HAHAHAHAHAHAH, I wish we got a live reaction to it (istg that mountain cat meme never makes me not laugh) AND YES HES CONFESSING FIRST, as I said previously, it's Jongho giving their relationship his all or nothing.

Those two lines and everything that followed after that was the like cherry on top as an ending for this story. Ughhhh the way they melt into each other, the kisses, just everything😚🤌💓 in fact I think I re-read the last part from them arriving at the beach like five times because I enjoyed it so much before I reblogged this amazing piece of work.

YOU READ IT FIVE TIMES?!??! 🫨😧🥹 THATS THE BEST THING IVE HEARD ALL DAY THANK YOU!! 🩷😭 I really don't know how to convey my gratitude beside saying thank you! Your words, this whole reblog, has really brightened my day (the meme reactions have aslo been highly appreciated, 10/10 laughs)

The tension, both realizing they want more than what they currently got because of the contract, both deciding to break the contract and start dating fully instead, the way you’ve written it all is so full of life and feels so pure in a way. Like I can’t help but feel that both in a way felt like this contract was the only way to be close with their soulmate while also both hating the contract wanting it to be real and then finally it reaches to the point where they confess💕😩

YES! BUT NEITHER WANTS TO GO AGAINST THE RULES (ESPECIALLY NOT THE MC) AND ARE JUST HOPING FOR SOMETHING TO CHANGE SO THEY CAN DATE-DATE!

Mina, truly thank you for writing and sharing this beautiful piece of work you’ve created. I could go on and on about all the little details you’ve added which gives so much life and depth but I’ve been rambling for a while now.

Oh, Esther, I should be thanking you for taking the time out of your day to read and reblog this fic with all of your thoughts! It really means a lot and it's been so fun to read your thought-process, especially when we share the same opinions and "theories" about the characters 🩷😭

Words can’t really describe how much I’ve enjoyed reading this story and I just think your passion and creativity is such a blessing to be allowed to read!

Yeah, no, you are going to make me cry. I'm going to write this down and keep it in my wallet to remember whenever im feeling sad or not finding the motivation to write 🥹🤧 Thank you once again Esther, you are a diamond and the sweetest atiny I know, and I'm so happy I can be your friend

Pretend You Love Me | Choi Jongho

🥂 Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other’s names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you’re stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho’s tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

🥂 Pairing(s): Badboy!Jongho x Student!Reader

🥂 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fake dating AU, fluff, humour

🥂 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), the MC goes by the lastname Jeong, Jongho is a rich kid, the MC not so, Jongho smokes and rides a motorcycle, light alcohol consumption, a lot of teasing, pet names (pretty girl, soulmate, sweetheart & Jjong), probably incorrect portrayal of CEOs and charity events (bare with me, i'm just a girl), some kissing

🥂 Wordcount: 9.0K

🥂 Author's Note: Click the image for a higher resolution (Tumblr, I hate you). This is my first time ever writing for Jongho and also the fastest I’ve finished a fic — just 4 days, to be exact! It was a lot of fun playing around with the soulmate idea and turning Jongho into a bad-boy-ish character. I hope you all enjoy the second fic of the Cherry Blossom March Event and feel brave enough to share your thoughts with me! I'm really curious to hear what you think and have to say :3

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

To go out with people widely. It could mean all sorts of things. A person whose presence spreads widely. Someone who possesses the ability to form broad connections and reach far with their impact, whether it be through influence, relationships or personal qualities. To go out with people widely was the meaning behind the chosen hanja of the name Choi Jongho. The same name that was imprinted on your wrist since birth in black and reminded you daily of your other half. Everyone was born with a name on their wrist that assigned them to a soulmate the moment they entered the world. All you had to go by was the names on your wrists and hope it would be someone sane. Everyone didn’t have to worry about that though as some faced a fate worse than death — their soulmate mark written in white. It symbolized the death of their significant other. One would think the word would change into red, like anger and blood, but no. You liked to think the white represented innocence, cleanliness and new beginnings, almost like an angel.

Your soulmate mark was the same since you were welcomed to the world. Wailing loudly and alerting everyone of your arrival. It hadn’t changed over the course of your twenty-five years long life, for better or for worse. Ever since you could remember, you loved listening to the stories of how people met their soulmates. At family gatherings, you would sit on the knee of your relatives and ask them kindly to retell the moment they met their husbands or wives, but your favorite story was always your parents'.

It was a few days before New Years and both of your parents just recently turned eighteen. The biggest snowfall of the year graced Seoul, like a late Christmas miracle, and the streets were swarmed with people enjoying the freezing weather, young and old alike. Your parents hadn’t known each other by then. They lived in the same neighbourhood, but weren’t aware of just how close they were to their soulmates. Your mother, young and happy, gazed up at the snowflakes being pulled by gravity when something cold and hard struck her, followed by horrified gasps. She crouched down, cradling her head, gently pressing against the side where the snowball had hit. A few seconds later, a young man approached her, apologizing and bowing so deeply that he nearly toppled over. It was your father who had launched the snowball at his friend, misaiming and hitting your mother instead.

Little you hoped to experience a romantic encounter with your soulmate as your parents did. You would stay up way past your bedtime and fantasize of meeting your soulmate, coming up with various scenarios that changed every night, but nothing could prepare you for the surge of emotions when your eyes locked. It was your first day of high school and all of the first year students were gathered in the gymnasium, patiently waiting for the principal to call out their names and their respective classes. You sat in the fifth row on the seventh seat, hands clutching the hem of your blue plaid skirt. It was nerve wracking — starting high school, meeting new people and creating friends. Then there was the possibility of finding the one. The principal cleared his throat, probably getting dried from pronouncing all the names right after each other. You pitied him, but that sentiment flew out the window as he moved onto your class. Out of all the three hundred first years and out of your thirty classmates, one of them was named—

“Choi Jongho!” You burst into his office, letting the door bounce off the wall.

The secretary, frantically chasing after you with desperate pleas not to disturb the designated successor of Choi Clothes, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of fear and nervousness as she failed at her job. Successor, my ass. That man didn’t know anything beyond smoking a pack of Marlboros a day, dodging his responsibilities, and defying his parents. The man in question was currently sitting behind his desk, one ankle propped on his knee, fully decked out in Valentino — a black suit that was probably bespoke, tailored to his fitting. His hair, a natural shade of dark cocoa, was parted down the middle and showcased his forehead while his hands were decorated with various pieces of jewelry, starting with big fat rings on his fingers, a golden watch and a matching bracelet. Jongho didn’t look the least phased by your appearance nor by the loud entrance. In fact, he looked as monotone as ever, but you saw the brief twitch of his fingers. While he was at the company, he wasn’t allowed to take a smoke until lunch or after work and it sure was getting to him.

“Miss Jeong,” came the annoying voice of his secretary as she began reciting the script drilled into her mind from her first day on the clock. “Mr. Choi’s schedule is fully booked this afternoon and he does not have the time to discuss–”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as you zeroed in on Jongho and raised a brow, silently challenging him to do something. On cue, the stone cold expression morphed into sunlight seeping through an array of thunderous clouds as he broke out in a charming smile and averted his attention to the woman behind you still going on about rules and policies. Gentle as a breeze and with a faux sweetness to his words, he cut her off.

“It’s alright, Eunij. I called her over to plan our date for the evening. We won’t be long, I promise.”

To really secure the win, Jongho flashed her his significant gummy smile that looked sweeter than sugar itself. Jongho knew he was good looking, you knew he was good looking, everyone knew he was good looking, but what they didn’t know was that he used it to his advantage for years. He would flash them a smile warm enough to melt through ice and cheesing eyes that portrayed the sweetest chocolate in the world, but his mouth wasn’t just good for a handsome distraction. More often than not, Jongho would sweet talk his way out of situations. It worked nine out of ten times. The one time it didn’t work was on you.

As expected, Eunji blushed beneath his attentive gaze and your insides turned on fire. The swirls of his name on your skin burned hotter than a blowtorch and no ice bath would save you from the stinging pain. She threw you one last look before closing the door with a gentle click that could barely be heard in the silent room. Being left alone in the solitude of his office and away from the prying eyes of his father’s employees, Jongho allowed the sugary facade to slip like cotton candy dissolving at a brief contact with water. The round eyes of a teddy didn’t find you, but rather a pair belonging to a hungry bear who’s just had his territory disturbed.

Jongho clasped his fingers together and leaned on the mahogany desk, putting his whole weight on it. “I take it you didn’t come here to give me chocolates for White Day?”

Hadn’t you known Jongho for a decade or so, you’d be confused at the teasing remark coming from a man looking anything but in the mood for playing around. You ignored the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and got straight to the point, hoping it would calm the beautiful creatures pushing you to the brink of puking.

“Why did you agree to attend the charity event on my behalf?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?”

“Fake-girlfriend,” you corrected him and crossed your arms. “I can’t just change my life to accommodate yours, Jongho, this wasn’t the deal. The contract explicitly said we would be under a fake guise until your name was cleared of rumours and scandals.”

“And how do you think that would happen if we don’t play the part of a happy couple? I can’t go on my own, that tells them I’m more available than ever before, especially when we recently went public with the relationship.”

You yielded under his intense gaze and changed the direction of your attention on the shelf to your left displaying various brands of alcohol ranging from pricey Japanese whiskey to Italian wine. The inside of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you contemplated your answer. He had a point, but you didn’t want to boost his already hugemongous ego. Darting your tongue out to lick at your dry lips, you turned back and found his eyes still staring into the depths of your soul as if searching for the red string that tied you together.

“Just… Just ask me next time before you make a decision on your own, okay? That’s all I want.”

The need to defy everyone and everything danced through his veins, yet the rewarding feeling of succeeding to annoy the other party wasn’t as satisfying when you were on the receiving end this time. He flexed his jaw and the hand that slipped beneath the table to rest on his thigh clenched into a tight fist.

“Fine…”

“Thank you.”

That marked the end of your conversation and you took it as your cue to leave. Jongho’s voice calling out your name brought you to a stop. You didn’t let go of your hold on the doorknob, just turned slightly to show him you were listening.

“We’ll pick you up at six PM on Friday and I’ll have Eunji send you the clothes before then.” As if having the ability to read your mind, he quickly added what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, the dress is long sleeved.”

That was probably the sole good thing with the contract, besides the paycheck that sold you in the first place. You weren’t picky with the arrangement and went along with everything stated in the agreement — going on a few dates for publicity, holding hands, kissing, posting each other on social media, attending events and galas. Wearing clothes created by Choi Clothes came with the duty of fake-dating the heir of said agency, however you did make it clear you’d only sign the papers if all the clothes were long sleeved, reaching well over your wrist as not to disclose the soulmate mark. The easy money you once thought you’d earn by fake-dating the successor of Choi Clothes turned into a full-time job with no room for slacking off. Just a few more months, you thought and walked out of Choi Enterprises.

It was still hard to wrap your head around everything. You recalled the day they came knocking on your door. A woman and man dressed in expensive clothes that seemed to cost more than the will your parents set aside for you. They introduced themselves as the managers of Mr. and Mrs. Choi, the owners of Choi Clothes. The ice tea you poured in the prettiest set of china you owned were left untouched as the managers — the names you have long since forgotten — explained their unexpected visit. The Chois selected you as the perfect candidate for their little stunt to ensure their son wouldn’t put the entire family line at shame and burn the whole establishment to the ground before he could even acquire the title as CEO.

Your task was, more or less, to be the candy glued to Jongho’s side and together play the part of a couple head over heels for each other. The pair was patient as you bombarded them with questions, meanwhile they only had three — Do you have a soulmate, have you met your soulmate and how is your criminal record? The quiet voice in the back of your mind pointed out how they probably already had the answers, but didn’t want to seem totally uninterested in you.

At first, you didn’t want to do it. Not only were you going to play pretend for a good few months, but you weren’t even allowed to know who you were going to fake-date as they didn’t want you to decline the offer and run your mouth to a newspaper publisher. The fountain pen with gold swirling engravings on its sides looked scary as it lay abandoned beside the pristine contract. That quickly changed when you saw the never ending zeroes slothed after the word ‘total salary’. Your morning shift at the closest seven-eleven that was about to start in thirty minutes flashed before your eyes and you never signed something as fast as you did that contract.

Perhaps you would’ve said no if you knew the heir was going to be none else than your soulmate. The universe worked in miraculous ways and somehow always made sure to lead you back to him. A magnetic pull that steered you in every direction until you would stand before him again.

The weekend came around and so did the event taking place that Saturday afternoon. It would be marked as your second public outing as a couple feeding into the eager eyes and cameras of South Korea. Mr. Oh, Jongho’s designated driver, pulled up in a squeaky clean limousine that looked more out of place than a kitten raised by a group of squirrel monkeys in the Amazon rainforest. Mr. Oh was a kind older man inching closer and closer to his retirement, always wearing a smile and never speaking without referring to others by their titles. In the few and brief encounters you had with the man, he would always greet you with a ‘Hello, Ms. Jeong’ while opening the rear door for you despite being told to just call you by your name. The backseat was already occupied by Jongho sitting in yet another expensive suit.

The suit jacket was black with white tiger-like stripes erupting from his shoulders and reaching all the way down to his midsection. It had six silver buttons, two for practical use while the rest were there for embellishment. Jongho — never one keen on showing too much — chose to keep the jacket buttoned and you wondered how he could endure it, considering he wore a white turtleneck beneath. The pattern wasn’t what caught the eye of the beholder, rather it was the millions of bedazzles covering the whole piece, making it reflect beneath any form of light, identical to the ones on your dress. His hair was styled in a middle part and unveiled his forehead, a sight you had seen a dozen times before, but were still left breathless. It was already established that Jongho was a handsome man, however the suits created by his parents certainly brought out the best of him — accentuating his confidence, breathtaking features and magnetic presence in a way that left everyone in awe.

Jongho brought you back to reality as he did a rundown of the charity event, what questions to expect and what answers to give, the names of some important people you would definitely speak — or at least greet — with tonight and who would exit the limousine first. You definitely missed the way his eyes ran over your figure, seemingly appreciating you in a beautiful dress from the latest spring collection of his parents. The Chois apparently had a knack for chic attires because your dress wasn’t anything over the top either, but would definitely unscrew some jaws. It was strapless and started from your bosom with a straight neckline allowing your collarbones to be captured by the crazy shuttering cameras. The dress was tight around your torso, giving a perfect picture of your figure beneath, but grew loose from your hips and down. The material didn’t stop until it grazed the ground you walked on, despite wearing a pair of black stiletto heels that were made for your feet and clicked with each step you took, announcing your arrival to everyone in a close vicinity.

Speaking of your lower body — your left leg was exposed as a long slit protruded from your upper thigh. Both of your arms were covered in black detachable sleeves reaching up to your mid bicep and cuffing around the cushion of your hand. You almost threw a fit when you took out the dress from its gigantic box and noticed the lack of sleeves on it. You were one phone call away from canceling the whole agreement hadn’t you seen the remaining parts of the attire. To top it off, the Chois gifted you a set of golden jewelry and a black clutch handbag spacious enough to fit your phone, lipstick and wallet. The matching set of earrings, rings and necklace were nothing too outstanding, but enough to take on the elegance of a model.

“We’ll be there for an hour or two and then Mr. Oh will take you home.”

You ignored the part where it was stated Mr. Oh was taking you home and focused on his subtle slip-in of defying his parents’ rules yet again. Your brows furrowed together and Jongho suppressed the need to even out the skin between them. “No, Mr. and Mrs. Choi explicitly said we had to be there until the very end of the event.”

Jongho leaned into his seat and spread his legs further apart until one of his knees touched your thigh. A chuckle void of amusement filled the passenger compartment and he sighed as if you said the joke of the century.

“I think you should relax a little, sweetheart. My parents should be grateful I’m attending in the first place.”

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from giving your input where it clearly wasn’t wished for. Jongho looked out of the window while you admired his side profile. Jongho was the epitome of a whiplash — you never knew when he’d shake you off like a poisonous insect or help you fly as if you were an injured ladybug. His nonchalance left a bitter tang on your tongue, the similar taste after downing a beer you knew you’d puke back up in a few hours, and the imaginary Jongho was crushed in the world you created in your brain.

The karma of thinking such thoughts was instantaneous as the skin beneath your soulmate mark flared to life. You wondered if Jongho experienced repercussions whenever he was treating you badly. The rest of the drive was done in silence safe for the newest global hits playing through the speakers. Four songs later and the limousine temporarily came to a stop before the entrance of a big building looking like something straight out of a movie. A red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the street where everyone’s ride was instructed to stop and let the guests out. Mr. Oh exited first and walked around the oblong vehicle as Jongho simultaneously fixed his suit although it was free of any imperfections.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

The door opened and Jongho stepped out, an array of flashes went off accompanied by the calls of his name — the photographers begging for a crumb of his attention. Jongho straightened his jacket, offered everyone a smile and quick wave before holding out his hand to face the dark heavens. That was your cue. No one really knew who you were outside of being Jongho’s girlfriend and even after you became public, they could find little to no information about you online. Thus, you didn’t expect the clicking of cameras and flashes to multiply in your presence. You grabbed Jongho’s hand per your agreement and stepped out with your exposed leg first then, when you fully exited the limousine — an upgrade from Jongho’s death trap of a motorcycle — you smoothly looped your arm through his and firecrackers erupted on your skin at the contact. You stood tall and got a couple of inches on him thanks to the heels, but he didn’t seem bothered by it and neither was the company otherwise you doubt they would’ve sent it in the first place.

Standing in the centre of attention wasn’t as nauseating as you originally thought it would be and whether you want to admit it or not, it was partially because of Jongho being there to anchor you. It wasn’t his forthe to whisper sweet words of encouragement, but he portrayed his support in other ways such as leading you through the overwhelming photographers, sneaking his arm around your waist and respectfully resting his palm above the curve of your hip. It helped that you rehearsed the events of the night from start to finish with Jongho and wouldn’t be in for a surprise. Taking advice from your favorite childhood movie, you put on the brightest smile of your career and moved along. The audience didn’t need to know you were finding comfort in the famous line from Madagascar.

The inside of the venue was prettier than any other interior you had ever laid eyes on. To be frank, it wasn’t anything exceptional, but the simplicity made it appear so. The main colors of the theme were creme white and beige, and were integrated into everything. The seats were plush chairs made out of velvet material in an ashy shade of beige while the tables were round with white marble tops. There was a path leading straight down the area and separating the room into two occupied with seats on both sides. On the other end of the pathway was a slightly elevated scene where the hosts of the event and guests would give their speeches, and use the smartboard to their liking. The ceiling was the most alluring sight though. Oblong light bulbs hung from the ceiling as sheer garment circled the light in waves. It gave a sense of elegance as well as coziness.

A waiter dressed in a simple black suit offered you champagne on a platter and while you didn’t wish to become drunk, you still needed some alcohol to get through the night, especially when you were going to meet some of Choi Clothes’ most trusted business partners. You both took a glass each and mingled around with Jongho’s arm still glued to you as if it belonged right above the swell of your hip. Not many words, if any at all, were exchanged as you mainly drank in the design of the place while simultaneously ignoring the stares and whispers of the remaining guests, all eyes glued to your forms fitting perfectly with one another like two lost pieces of a puzzle. They were all curious about the pretty lady beneath Jongho’s arm and how the reckless Choi managed to find a girl that would look past his bad habits and disrespectful personality. If only they knew.

Jongho’s situation wasn’t entirely a secret. Everyone knew he was somewhat of a problematic guy with another style of living that wasn’t fit to his parents’ standard. They didn’t feel all too proud waking up to multiple articles of Dispatch flaunting pictures taken of Jongho leaving clubs early in the morning surrounded by boys and girls of all kinds, certainly not the kind to be invited to exclusive fashion events and charities. Jongho hadn’t changed much over the years, if you recalled correctly. He would rarely be present during lectures. He was physically there, but his mind had transcended off to dreamland long before the lesson started. The one interest he had was soccer and even that ended shortly into his second year as he got with the wrong crowd. If someone needed him, he could be found smoking on the roof or behind the back of the school with a handful of students who also had successful parents.

It was sheer luck Jongho was an only child and that his parents were in need of a successor, otherwise he would’ve been kicked to the curb a long time ago. Apparently, the Chois grew sick of his careless behaviour and gave him an ultimatum — clean up his mess or not be signed as an heir to the company. Jongho defied them like always, until his credit card ran empty and he realized his parents wouldn’t relent. He came crawling back with his tail between his legs and agreed to their proposition. You never understood him or why he acted the way he did. He had everything, practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and it amazed you that the universe decided to tie your souls to each other. Jongho certainly wasn’t the soulmate you expected and your meeting wasn’t anywhere near the romantic encounter your parents experienced.

“Let’s take a seat before the aunties swammer us,” he whispered in your ear and led you to a table with a gentle nudge to the small of your back.

The touch sent plausible tingles of electricity up your spine and the intensity never wavered even when he withdrew his hand to pull out your chair for you — a great play to showcase his inner gentleman. He took his righteous place on your right side, but immediately regretted it. His ploy of escaping the aunties proved to be futile as Mrs. Kang, a good business partner of Jongho’s paternal grandparents, butted into your table and plopped down on the vacant seat beside you despite her name not being on the list and began shooting invasive questions. The older lady wanted to know everything about you — your age, name, workplace, how you knew Jongho, who your soulmate was, if you and Jongho were soulmates. She pulled on the imaginary rubber band attached to Jongho’s wrist until it snapped and rebounded against his skin.

“Mrs. Kang, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The chatter around the table quieted down at Jongho’s sharp reply and you acted quickly to ease the tension. You placed your hand over his and gave it a firm squeeze. The motion averted his attention from Mrs. Kang to your stern gaze. A silent conversation ensued between you.

“Stop.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“I don’t care. It won’t look good for you or your parents.”

Jongho eventually gave in and leaned back in his chair. The sudden cold shoulder on his part was him telling you he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Not like you cared. Yes, your part of the deal was to be his fake-girlfriend, but you couldn’t just let him do as he wished to the people around him as it would reflect a bad light on you too.

“Welcome everyone to the Fashion For Aid charity event aimed at assisting children in group homes! I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone for attending on this fine evening…”

The host was a man in his late sixties with a head full of hair and face clean of any. You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying as you weren’t well versed into the fashion world, but you did your best to at least look immersed in his speech. The man to your right wasn’t looking any more interested than you did and actually managed to sit through the first five minutes of the opening ceremony, until he got bored. After that, he played a game of what-could-Jongho-do-to-annoy-his-soulmate-in-the-fastest-way-possible? He did everything to get on your nerves — drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, staring at you then looking away when you met his gaze, loudly cracking his neck and fingers, and frequently checked his phone. The moment the host finished his lengthy speech and encouraged everyone to visit the table full of sweets and drinks placed on both sides of the room, Jongho jumped from his seat, hand already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“If you’ll excuse me, a man’s gotta use the bathroom.”

“Jongho!” You hissed after him, but he either didn’t hear you or blatantly ignored you. As you moved to follow him, an inkling feeling telling you the bathroom was the last place he was headed for, a wrinkly hand landed on your thigh and successfully stopped you from going after him.

“Oh, honey, it is not worth stressing over him. Youngsters like that boy don’t change and he won’t do it even with a beautiful lady by his side.”

A bucket of water spilled over you and froze all forty-three muscles in your face. You somehow managed to force the corners of your mouth up and fake a smile, but the sincerity was not evident in your eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t want him to change. Really.” You added in the end as Mrs. Kang raised a brow in non-belief. “I like Jongho as he is and I don’t think he needs to change to fit in other people's crowded boxes.”

“If you say so, dear, but… if you’re interested, I have a nephew your age who would suit you much better than Mr. Choi.” She turned in her seat and scanned the crowd for said nephew. A fire lit beneath your chair as she began waving him over.

“Oh, Mrs. Kang, that's not necessary.” The reassuring words fell on deaf ears — literally — and although you weren’t too keen on lying, you already had one rich kid to look after. “I think I heard Jongho calling for me, I’ll be right back!”

Jongho was in fact not calling you over. Jongho was gone, disappeared into thin air and abandoned you in a room full of strangers. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t asked Mr. Oh to drive him someplace, leaving you to figure out your own ride home.

“Fucking hell, Jongho,” you muttered and weaved through the crowd of successful people and nepotism babies.

The venue was so packed with people you couldn’t even try searching for the bathrooms and opted to go back out again. The outside wasn’t void of people either, as some foreign faces stood socializing with each other, drinks in one hand and fat cigars squeezed between the pointer- and middle finger of their other hand. Not searching for more aunties or uncles to flag you down, you walked away from the people to a place that seemed vacant. Who would’ve known the universe was pulling on your red string and leading you in the direction of your soulmate. Turning the corner of the building, you stumbled over the view of Jongho crouched down behind a couple of taller bushes. Much like the other gentlemen, he too had a slim cigarette placed between his lips, dragging the poisonous smoke right into his lungs. You understood why out of all the places, he chose to smoke on the other side of the building. It was less prone to attract the paparazzi searching for something juicy to spread on social media.

Jongho didn’t kill the glowing stick as you appeared in his peripheral vision nor did he show a sign of acknowledging your sudden appearance. You didn’t go out of your way to chastise him for smoking in a public setting either, instead you took a stance beside him while he inhaled the last of the cancer-stick and looked straight ahead. It was already stuffy just standing there in silence, you didn’t need to stare at him with questions swimming in your eyes.

The warm sun of March was replaced by the round and bright moon, allowing a certain frost to the early spring breeze. You crossed your arms over your chest and caressed the exposed skin of your bicep with your thumb in a poor attempt at subduing the coldness. The dress was beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t made for such weather and you were questioning their professionalism as they didn’t give you a coat or any other outerwear. On the other hand, Jongho had been admiring you for the last couple of seconds since you took the place beside him and the sharp goosebumps littered on your body didn’t go unnoticed by him. He balanced the cigarette between his lips and slipped the suit jacket off himself. The rustle of clothes caught your attention and before you could realize what was happening, a newfound warmth wrapped around you followed by a mild fragrance of charcoal, pine needles and espresso.

“You don’t have to–”

“I’m not letting my date freeze her ass off.”

You tried ignoring the harsh squeeze of your heart and a pang of heat blossoming from the center of your chest, sprouting out to the rest of your body. This was just Jongho being kind, nothing more, nothing less. Yet your heart and soulmate mark thought otherwise. The stinging smell of his cigarette was a perfect distraction and your nose scrunched at the awful burn. Jongho needed all of three seconds to take one last drag of the stick, blow it away from your face and throw it to the ground, his expensive boot coming down to turn it to speckles of ash.

“I’m going back inside,” you announced after another minute of silence. “It won’t look good if both of us are missing.”

“Who cares what they think? They’ll always have something to say about me in the end so it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to prove them right, you know?”

You didn’t get another answer after that and decided to take your leave. A warm hand circles around your wrist, their thumb grazing the covered soulmate mark and stopping you in your steps. You turned around, Jongho’s hand still on you but his eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“...Wanna get out of here?” He eventually asked.

Another beat passed and you pressed your lips together. “We really shouldn’t, Jongho, besides it’s against the contract.”

A genuine laugh escaped him and he moved toward the opposite side of the event, rounding the corner you didn't appear from. “Screw the contract.”

You quickly followed his head, intrigued and worried at where he was headed. Perhaps you got worked up for nothing as a bunch of expensive cars as well as limousines were parked in neat rows, the moonlight reflecting off their polished hoods and trunks.

“Where are you going?” You hissed and bunched one end of your dress to not accidentally step on it and twist your ankle.

“Why don’t you find out?”

How you managed to find yourself in this situation was beyond you. Not once was it stated in the contract that you would need to use Jongho’s death trap as a form of transportation, yet there you were sitting on the back of his motorcycle as he zoomed through the street. It was a miracle he successfully managed to sneak it into the parking lot without having any of the guards or chaperons turning him down. Then again, it was Choi Jongho they were dealing with. What Jongho wanted, Jongho got. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his midsection and your eyes squeezed shut, almost believing the danger of the situation would disappear if you couldn’t see the blur of scenery whiz past you.

Jongho smirked at the feel of you squeezing him to death and he purposefully revved the bike to go faster just to hear your squeaks of fear slip beneath your helmet. He wasn’t even going half the speed he was used to, but he felt just a twinge of remorse for you. The motorcycle slowed down and eventually stopped before a red light.

“You can open your eyes now,” he spoke into the built-in bluetooth in his helmet and placed his hand on your intertwined ones, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. The whipping wind was quickly drying your hands and he was cursing himself for the pair of gloves he forgot on the edge of his bed.

You did as told, albeit opening one eye at a time just to make sure he wasn’t sugarcoating the situation. He wasn’t and for once you were happy about being wrong.

“How much more?” You asked, your throat dry and beginning for a sip of water.

“We’re almost there.” The traffic light switched to yellow. “Hold on tight now.”

It took an eternity — twenty minutes — until Jongho put the motorcycle in neutral and turned off the throttle as well as the ignition switch, and allowed the weight of the vehicle to lean on the kickstand. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the gelled strands in the process and placed the helmet on the surface of the fuel tank. You slightly released your grip on him, but were still reluctant to move as you were afraid of somehow falling off the motorcycle or tipping the whole thing over and thus let your fingers hover over his sides. Jongho’s feet were planted on the ground for extra security and comfort, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see you sit stiff as a board. He turned away and brought his shoulders up to his ears as he quietly chuckled to himself. The helmet was still on your head and your cheeks mushed by the pillowy cushion inside, making you look like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

“I thought you hated her?” He asked through his giggles.

“Huh?”

“The motorcycle. I thought you hated the motorcycle, besides can you let go off me now? Unless you like touching me–”

You didn’t need to hear more to fling your hands in the air. The abrupt motion almost caused you to fall back, hadn't you grabbed Jongho’s shoulders again. It was sheer luck that he was sturdy enough not to lean back from your harsh grip. He laughed again, a chuckle that brought his gummy smile into the moonlight. It was a sound you came to like and wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your life. The admission caused your ears to burn with embarrassment, and you were grateful that the soulmate connection was limited to the scribbled name on your wrist, not giving your other half the ability to feel your emotions or hear your thoughts.

“Okay, go like this. Place this foot,” he patted the side of your left thigh, “on the ground and swing your other leg over the bike, then carefully step off. Hold onto me until you’re completely off so you don’t fall.”

His instructions were easy to follow and you managed to get off without hurting yourself, him, or damaging his prized possession. The sound of water softly washing up against the sand reached your ears and it was only when you dismounted the motorcycle that you took in your surroundings. The view was nothing short of exceptional. You stood on the sidewalk with stairs leading straight down to the riverside area, giving you a perfect view of the river. It was slightly blurry and you couldn't quite figure out why. As your hand subconsciously reached up to rub your eyes, you accidentally brushed against the visor. Unsure how to remove the helmet without discomfort, you decided to simply slide the visor up instead.

The Mapo Bridge was even prettier at night, with its blue and purple lights twinkling beneath the dark sky. At least a hundred cars drove across the bridge in the few minutes since you arrived and the sound of their tires and whirring motors added a sense of tranquility to the setting. The prettiest of it all were the cherry blossoms slipping off the branches of the Prunus serrulata trees. The ground was covered in pink and white petals, and some even landed in your hair. It was magical.

It dawned on you just where Jongho had brought you — Yeouido Hangang Park. While you were busy taking in every little detail of the scenery, Jongho retrieved his keys from the ignition and stopped beside you. He buried them in the pockets of his pants to prevent you from noticing he was fidgeting with the keys, thus keeping his dignity intact. He couldn’t have you going around thinking you were the reason behind the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and whether that was true or not would stay with Jongho, and Jongho only.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out.

Jongho hummed in agreement, yet his eyes didn’t budge from your form. It didn’t matter that you wore stiletto heels with a designer dress, a suit jacket multiple sizes too big for you and a sports helmet on your head — you looked as beautiful as the first day he met you, all those years ago in high school. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, the pads of his fingers gently grazing the skin beneath your chin as he unclasped the straps of your helmet. The little click snapped your attention to his eyes full of focus that shifted from your chin up to your lips, and lastly your eyes. As if stuck in a trance unable to look away, you drowned in the warmest hue of brown molded out of the richest cacao beans in the world. Jongho slowly took hold of your helmet and began pushing it upwards, but with a gentleness you hadn’t witnessed before. He was so careful and the imagination of having your head ripped off your body didn’t come to life.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he successfully removed the gear.

“No worries… I’m sure my mom would have my head if I let a lady walk around in designer clothes with a cheap helmet on.”

Although his intentions weren’t to tickle your belly, the sound of your laughter spread a fervor through his body and shone light on the darkest parts in him. It was contagious and he found his own lips curling up, eyes cheesing and that angelic voice of his handing out gleeful melodies to the few people taking a late-night stroll in the park.

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take and you did without a second thought. “I meant your heels, but lucky for you I have two hands.”

You began withdrawing your hand, but Jongho had already laced your fingers together and refused to let go.

“You're unbelievable,” you muttered, pretending the heat of embarrassment wasn't attacking your cheeks.

“I could live with that.”

Jongho pulled you along toward the flight of stairs and patiently walked with you. It didn’t matter that it took five minutes to reach the bottom because he was with you every step of the way and if you said anything otherwise, Jongho would’ve argued the night was still young and that the five minutes were worth it as he got to spend them with you. He was lucky his parents chose a candidate who wasn’t insecure of themselves to the point they apologized for every minor inconvenience, because Jongho wasn’t sure how the sweet words would fit his unruly persona. The first three steps on the sand made you change your mind and you quickly removed the heels, flexing your stiff feet and releasing a breath of relief. The expensive pair of footwear were handed to Jongho who hooked his pointer- and middle finger in the heel counter while his other set of fingers were still braided with yours.

“It’s nice here,” you admitted and looked out on the river. The other side was covered with a bunch of buildings, much like the ones behind you, and looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Where the lights of the apartments, universities and hospitals took on the looks of the stars above.

“Mmmmm, it’s quiet and empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Jongho pondered for a moment. “Sometimes… I can think easier when there aren’t a bunch of people breathing down my neck, plus the ride here helps me clear my head.”

“It’s overwhelming, right? I mean being in the spotlight constantly and having your every move watched from an early age, no?”

He shrugged. “It was at first, but… I stopped caring after a while and people stopped expecting things from me.”

You hummed in understanding and let the gentle waves wash over the conversation. The curiosity you once carried with you concerning Jongho’s defying personality simmered down to nothing and you realized it wasn’t a topic you should venture in on just yet. Instead, you changed it to something less serious.

“You know, I didn’t think we’d see each other after high school, but look at us now. Holding hands beneath the stars… Are you perhaps starting to like me, Jjong?”

One end of Jongho's lips curled into a shit-eating grin and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you couldn't tell if it was from the nickname or from bringing up old high school memories. Jongho’s walking slowed down until both feet were planted on the sand, not bugging despite you being half a step ahead of him. You looked over your shoulder to see what was the reason for stopping.

“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by the fact that you think I’m just now starting to like you.”

He shortened the distance between you, leaving barely any room for air to squeeze past your bodies. His thumb traced a never-ending circle across the back of your hand and your heels had long since dropped onto the sand, giving him the freedom to cradle the side of your face. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart seemed to sprout a pair of angel wings, soaring in your chest at the contact of his skin on yours.

"To answer your question, soulmate, I’ve liked you since the day I saw you in that gymnasium." Jongho's eyes traveled over your face, giving each feature and detail equal attention, as if he wanted to memorize your beauty as though it were a cheat sheet for an exam. "You were dressed in that cute school uniform, your hair braided and kept out of your face, and you looked absolutely sick to your stomach. That’s when I knew our souls were made for each other. I didn’t even need to know your name or look at your wrist. I just knew."

The world went silent around you. The sloshing of water, the chorus of cute laughter and the moving vehicles were muffled sounds that didn’t reach your ears. A furious heat crawled up your back and neck, nipping at your cheeks until you were on the brink of burning up like a firework, but the rest of your body — your fingers, toes, nose and ears — were freezing cold. A massive star nearing the end of its life cycle suddenly exploded and your hearing came back. The air that had caught in your throat was let out as Jongho’s words settled in your mind.

“Jongho,” you lamely whispered in return.

The secret you had carried for years turned out not to be much of a secret after all, and the hundreds, thousands, of people you thought you were fooling day in and day out weren’t deserving of that title. Because the biggest fool out of them all was you.

“You knew all along?”

Jongho shrugged and tore his eyes from your dumbfounded expression down to your wrist. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.” His thumb slid up beneath your detachable sleeves, exposing the name you kept hidden for years. “I mean, it isn’t everyday I hear about a pretty girl with my name tattooed on her wrist and hers on mine.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that he called you a pretty girl, his thumb caressing your soulmate mark or him knowing you were destined together since high school. Your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip and his eyes were quick to follow the brief movement. He swallowed thickly and forced them up again.

“I take it you knew too?”

You nodded in return. “When they called out your name in the assembly and I caught the side of your face.”

“I’m happy you didn’t approach me then,” he suddenly admitted and chuckled as your brows pinched together. “Fate brought us together in the end.”

“But we aren’t together-together.”

“Last time I checked, you pretty much signed a contract to date me.”

“Fake-date you.”

The tongue poking the inside of his cheek looked ten times more attractive beneath the moonlight, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his hair and kiss that darned smirk off his face. Perhaps the soulmate bond went further than a name scribbled on the outer layer of your skin, because your wish wasn’t too far from Jongho’s. He, too, wanted to get a taste of your lips. To have some remnants of your lipstick smudge against his and guess the flavor of it — maybe strawberry or cherry, though he always took you for a coconut girl.

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, fake-date then… Better?”

Not in the least.

“Much better.”

“It’s not for me,” he quickly added.

“Why?”

Jongho inhaled a sharp intake of air and waited, playing the scene out in his mind and weighing out his options before puking his thoughts and feelings out in an almost vacant park. “Because… I want to do stuff with you. To hold your hand, take you out on dates, kiss you, hug you and just be with you like a real couple. I want to know that the look you have when you’re with me is real, that it isn’t just a job for you. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”

“I have always wanted you,” you confessed shakily. “Before I even knew you, Jongho. There was nothing more I wanted than to find my soulmate and that hasn’t changed. Even when I did find you and lost you at the same time, that desire still lived within me. It still does… And when I found out you were the rich kid who needed a fake-girlfriend, it felt like the world was laughing in my face, but I realized it was giving me a second chance. Us a second chance.”

Now it was Jongho’s turn to look dumbfounded. You took his silence as a sign to continue.

“And all you had to do, Jjong, was ask. Even now. Just ask for what you want.”

The man stared at you as if heaven were beneath your fingertips, as if a single touch of your finger would bring him eternal peace and serenity. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and no one else could compete with your beauty — even if they were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Jongho was never a listener — always defying and doing as he pleased. Yet this one time, the one time, he would be darned if he didn’t.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The stars aligned as his lips gently pressed against yours. Jongho was right, you tasted like coconut and it had him craving for more, yet the fear of pushing you away was greater than his need. The fingers of your free hand tangled into the side of his shirt to steady your swirling mind, but did little for your erratically beating heart. Jongho wasn’t rough nor eager to ravage your mouth with his tongue, rather on the contrary. It was a soft and lingering kiss that tested the waters. You parted to inhale air before diving in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent and daring than the first, but equally sweet. Jongho’s tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you tilted your head sideways while allowing him access. Even now with his tongue exploring your mouth, the kiss didn’t change from intimate to hungry. A fire was set in your lungs that ached for oxygen and you were left with no choice but to break apart. Jongho rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing and heavy gasps for air fanning your faces.

“You drive me crazy,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not… doing anything.” You had to fight the smile threatening to dance across your lips. This was a whole new side to Jongho, a side you had never seen before but wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Precisely and you still make me lose my mind.”

The stubborn smile eventually broke through and Jongho huffed out a chuckle at the gleeful expression. I’m-not-doing-anything his ass. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek once and twice, but froze in motion as you asked him a question.

“Did you really mean everything you said earlier? About the contract, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat. “If I could, I would terminate the contract, but keep this. Keep us.”

A beat passed and then another. Your thoughts were flying wild, narrowly avoiding each other and the explosion that would ensue.

“Let’s do it then,” you eventually said. That was the second bravest thing you had done in your life. The first would be signing the contract while running on four hours of sleep. “Let’s do it for real.”

Jongho gauged your expression, searching for any sign of uncertainty or regret. When he couldn’t find even a hint of either, he pressed his lips against yours. Affection, joy, and excitement poured into the kiss, and Jongho hoped you would feel at least half of it. Unbeknownst to the new couple, two people stood by Jongho’s motorcycle. The man wore a fancy black suit, while the woman’s dress elegantly hugged her curves as she stood effortlessly in her heels. A set of black sunglasses obscured their eyes, despite the fact that the sun had long since exchanged places with the moon. The pair seemed out of place in Yeouido Hangang Park surrounded by people dressed in casual clothing. Passersby noticed it too, shooting them strange looks, but neither of them cared. Their attention was fixed on the couple brought together by destiny.

“I knew she was the one for him,” the man proudly admitted and puffed out his chest.

The woman beside him scoffed. “Please, I was the one who found her Linkedin and recognized her name from Mr. Choi’s wrist.”

The pair gave them one last look before turning around and clambering back into the limousine, which drove them straight to the charity event. They had left the party in a hurry the moment they noticed the absence of the successor of Choi Clothes and his fake girlfriend — or should they say, his real girlfriend?

#feedback: pretend you love me #[☀️] my esther #ateez x reader #choi Jongho x reader #ateez #choi jongho #fanfiction #drabble #oneshot

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blessedbucky · 2 days ago

Text

we tried the world, good god, it wasn’t for us! (part 6)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 6k (okay no THIS one is the shortest i've written to date yet it's gotta be)

summary: suguru doesn't know how to bridge the gap between you and him. haibara helps.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, everyone in this is so traumatized and mentally ill get these teenagers some therapy and hugs!, how is this chapter suguru's pov but satoru is still yearner of the year?, suguru being absolutely depressed as fuck, reader is also definitely depressed as fuck and autistic, idk what else this is just a yap session

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: if satoru gets a chapter, it's only fair that suguru gets one. this is kinda more of an interlude (though @theskyisbrighthere says 6k is too long). i just didn't wanna go from the breakup in last chapter to everyone suddenly talking again y'know?

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, AO3

[DROPOUT]

It’s been four months and five days (18 weeks, 127 days, 3048 hours, 182880 minutes, 10972800 seconds) since that night.

Geto Suguru turns eighteen (216 months, 939 weeks, 6574 days, 157776 hours, 9466560 minutes, 567993600 seconds) today.

For the first time in nearly twelve years (144 months, 626 weeks, 4383 days, 105192 hours, 6311520 minutes, 378691200 seconds), he doesn’t hear your voice wish him a happy birthday.

Because you two haven’t exchanged words in exactly three weeks (21 days, 504 hours, 30240 minutes, 1814400 seconds).

Not that he’s counting.

Suguru pulls back the curtain to stare outside the window of his three-bedroom apartment. Nanako and Mimiko are sprawled out on their bellies, hunched over their sketchbooks, plucking from their boxes of crayons every now and then, staring intently at the trunk of the tree they’re under before coloring whatever it is that they see there. At the picnic table, Nanami and you are seated with sketchbooks of your own.

You don’t draw.

She doesn’t do that anymore, Satoru had whispered when he was sticking around after dropping the twins off from their weekly art session. He’d had his own sketchbook, flipping through it while he stared morosely at his terrible drawings. I draw and hope she will, too, but she doesn’t. She’ll work on something official, so the girls don’t get self-conscious, but she stops when they’re not looking anymore.

The park is right across the street. You always sit at that spot. After the first weekly art session, Nanako had informed him that you told her the shade offered by the tree is best for drawing because sunlight against white paper strains the eyes. He knows you actually just sit there so that Suguru doesn’t get anxious by the girls getting out of his sight.

You look gaunt.

Good to know you’re putting some weight back on along with the girls, Shoko had remarked when she brought the twins back from their appointment at the doctor. Just after he and the twins moved in, not even a month after they were saved, Shoko insisted on handling their medical care instead of Suguru. Having someone with medical knowledge, preparing to go to medical school, speak with the pediatrician got them healthier more effectively and much faster. Wish someone else around me would do the same. And he knew that she meant you.

You haven’t slept.

You rest your cheek against your palm and Suguru knows you’re going to fall asleep right there at the table. It happens almost every time that you’ve got another person with you for the day. He thinks that everyone around you has started to try to come with you for that specific purpose—because it’s one of the few times that you can sleep. You have perpetual bags under your eyes. He’s seen you knock back two cans of those awful American energy drinks in less than an hour.

On his worst days, he hates looking at you.

Just before it’s time for the girls to come home on those particular days, he’ll send you a clipped text saying that the door is open because he can’t stomach even looking at you. He’ll be overwhelmed with disgust over just how pathetic you’re looking, as if you’re doing it on purpose to make him feel guiltier. This is what you wanted, isn’t it, he’ll aggressively think as he watches you through the window. You forced him to live. You got everything your cruel little heart desired. Aren’t you supposed to be happy now? What right do you have to wither away like this?

Those days are few and far between now. It’s hard to think hard about much when he’s so busy. Between enrolling and preparing the twins for kindergarten, getting them to therapy appointments, and studying and attending night classes because he officially dropped out yet wants a degree still, he doesn’t have time to be mad anymore. That’s for the best. He’s learning that Nanako and Mimiko are extremely sensitive to his moods.

Suguru has been thinking about you a lot more lately, trying to untangle the complicated knots in that string that binds you two together in his heart. Even at his angriest, when the thread was surely fraying, it never totally snapped. He doesn’t think that he will ever stop loving you and, sometimes, that made him angrier. Cruelly, he thought to himself that you were the last curse he ever swallowed. It makes him guilty now, but he tried to convince himself that you were the same rot festering in his stomach. He knows better now.

The real curse is Suguru himself.

He became a vengeful spirit tethered to you. So many times, you tried to run, and he kept pulling you back in. He buried himself inside you—literally, at one point. Desperately, he clung to you, the purest thing left in the world, and it just infected you. He became the rot on your tongue. Like a smoker, you became addicted to the poison. Suguru finally realized he was killing you and tried to exorcise your curse.

Suguru has never had agency over his life—he understands that now. You always understood that, too, and always supported him however you could. This was supposed to be his final choice, and you took that away from him. Knowingly. Happily. All you had to do was tell the truth. Why couldn’t you just be angry at him for the right reasons? Justice demanded blood for blood. Why couldn’t you accept that?

There had been no remorse on your face, either. You’re wasting away right now because you miss him. Not because you regret how much you upset him. And, fuck, if he doesn’t miss you just as goddamn much. Sometimes, he aches so much that it keeps him up at night.

But Suguru doesn’t know how to bridge the gap.

And he shouldn’t.

He can’t.

You’re not good for each other anymore. Suguru’s hatred and resentment poisoned the well. He’s reminded of it every single time that he goes to class, seeing the cursed spirits skittering along the halls or clinging to the other adult students. Being surrounded by all those pathetic non-sorcerers…it never fails to remind him of that bitterness he holds towards you. Maybe you don’t feel that for him right now, but you will. It’s only a matter of time. He deserves it, too.

Soon, he convinces himself whenever he watches you now. Soon, your grief will turn to rage and that heat will cauterize your wounds. It won’t hurt as much to be separated from him. Your mind will clear. You’ll see that things are better without him in your life.

For so long, you wilted in the shadow that Suguru cast over you. Once upon a time, it was a shadow meant to protect you. It was because he loves you. But a shadow is a shadow, and you suffered for it. You’re in the sunlight now. It’s a shock to your system, but you’ll grow to love it.

Right before Suguru closes the curtains, he watches you slip on a pair of sunglasses.

***

It’s almost midnight when there’s a knock on the door. Suguru already knows it’s Satoru because he’s been aware of that massive amount of cursed energy steadily growing closer as he walks toward the apartment. That’s also how Suguru knows that Satoru is upset. If he knocks on the door like a normal person, there’s something really bothering him. Otherwise, he’d simply just pop up in the middle of the kitchen and start helping himself to snacks. Satoru uses walking as time to think and try to process what he’s feeling.

Satoru immediately goes for the couch, curling up at one end silently. Suguru is worried. Satoru didn’t even greet him or raid the cabinets for sweets. There’s also the late hour. Satoru hardly ever sleeps himself, of course, but he respects that other people need it. Actually, he tends to use spending the night with you or Suguru as time to catch up on missed sleep. So, why isn’t Satoru with you right now?

“Want to talk about it?” Suguru hesitantly asks.

“Doubt you want to,” Satoru mutters. “It’s about her.”

Suguru slowly sits down at the other end of the couch. Satoru has been surprisingly considerate of the rift between Suguru and you. He tries to bring you up as little as possible around Suguru and vice versa. Suguru thinks that Satoru is being patient in hopes that things will eventually heal if he stops rubbing salt in the wound. Or he doesn’t know how to put the broken pieces of you two back together so he’s just doing damage control.

“It’s okay. I know it must’ve been bad if you’re here.” Satoru has been patient with Suguru. It’s only fair that Suguru start giving back. “What happened?”

Satoru crosses his legs, tugging at the cuffs of his pants. “You’re gonna feel guilty.”

“I always feel that way, Satoru,” Suguru bluntly admits and shrugs when Satoru cringes. He’s accepted that this is now going to always be a part of him. No matter what emotion there at the forefront of his mind currently is, there will always be a layer of shame and guilt simmering underneath. It’s fouler than the taste of a curse, but he’s…adjusting. “Go ahead. I want to be your shoulder to lean on.”

Satoru’s face twists in bitterness. He doesn’t speak, at first, and stares at Suguru blankly instead. “You guys are too nice to me,” he says cryptically before quickly moving on. “We got into a fight.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m worried about her, man. Seriously worried.” He sighs in aggravation. “It’s different than it was after Haibara. It was like she was a zombie.” He bites his lip. “Now, she stretches herself thin. Pushes and pushes and I know she’s at her breaking point. She won’t let anyone touch her and she’s wearing sunglasses more than me. I…I thought she was doing better, but I don’t think she’s eating at all anymore. She doesn’t let me spend the night because she wakes up from nightmares puking her guts out. Oh, but that’s if she even sleeps at all. If she’s not forcing herself to go in public with the girls, she’s on missions or working on her technique.” All his worries spill out in a rush. “It’s what she was doing tonight. I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried talking to her about it, like she’d do with anyone else, but she snapped. It’s all she does if I worry about her. So…I blew up…and then she blew up…” There are actual tears in his eyes. Suguru can’t help but reach out and take his hand, sympathetic. “She’s never yelled at me before.”

Yeah, Suguru understands how awful that felt for Satoru. The sting of it went deeper with Suguru because of that shared history, having the knowledge that you have never yelled at another person. Raised your voice when arguing with your parents, maybe, but never shouting.

That day, in the showers, the crack in your voice had splintered him. He’s still never told Satoru about it. Another shameful act that hurt you. It was purposeful, too. He knew it’d hurt you and he’d wanted that until you started to back yourself into a corner, covering yourself, sobbing and trying to hide away like a wounded animal. That look on your face haunts him. Just as much as that night in September.

“I don’t know what to do, Suguru,” Satoru confesses hoarsely. “I can’t…I don’t know how to beat this…”

“Because this isn’t a fight, Satoru,” Suguru gently corrects him. “Emotions are too complex for you to box them up as a villain to be defeated. Listen to your own right now. It’s hard to make sense of the mess of them, right?” Satoru nods miserably. “Now, try to imagine how much bigger it is for her.” Satoru hunches over, putting his elbows on his knees, and covering his face with his hands. “You ran from her after your argument. It’s what she’s doing right now. It’s what she’s always done.”

“Can’t you just help her?” Satoru asks, voice muffled by his palms.

“I…” This is the first time that Satoru has confronted him about Suguru breaking his silence. “I always chased after her. I thought it was being a good friend, but I just made her dependent on me. She has to learn to live without me.”

Satoru raises his head, staring at Suguru with those eyes. They’ve never been so unnerving as they are now. “So, you want her to be reliant on me instead?” He shakes his head. “That’s bullshit, Suguru. No, you’re not choosing now, when she needs you the most, to cut your imaginary umbilical cord or whatever. Why won’t you just talk to her?”

“I’ve tried. Last week was the first birthday I’ve ever had without her since I was six. But I can’t pretend that everything is the same as it was. The words keep getting stuck in my throat. That was supposed to be my choice. My final choice. And I remember how she stood there, not an ounce of regret on her face, as she took it away from me.”

Satoru laughs bitterly. “You’re really something else, Suguru. Just a selfish piece of shit.” Suguru’s temper flares and he returns Satoru’s glare. “You can’t beg to be punished and then decide it’s not the right way. And you wanna talk about choices getting made for other people? You did it first. You just wouldn’t leave it be. You had to confess, knowing it was putting your life in her hands.”

“Call me a piece of shit all you want, but at least I’m not blind. What are those Six Eyes worth if you can’t see the truth? She had to say the words. That’s it. It was my own life. I hung the axe over my own head. You two keep acting like I was putting the axe in her hands.”

“I didn’t put a bullet through Amanai’s skull, but I still feel pretty fucking responsible for her death,” Satoru snarls before snapping his mouth shut so fast that his teeth clack together. He sits there, silently, fists on his knees clenched so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

“I do, too,” Suguru agrees softly.

“Right. Like I said, you’re being selfish, then. Objectively, it wasn’t our fault. We got beat. He took his prize. We didn’t even know her but for three days. But we still feel guilty about it. You understand that. You feel that. But you suddenly forget all about that when you want Sketch to throw you under the bus?”

“It wasn’t about feelings. It was about justice. Amanai got hers. You blew a hole in Zen’in Toji.”

Then, all the emotion on Satoru’s face vanishes. It reminds Suguru too much of when he found Satoru, surrounded by all those clapping monkeys who celebrated the death of a teenage girl. “Justice,” he repeats flatly. “Who decides what true justice is? Is it the higher-ups? Because if we’re going by those standards, I should tell them about what she did.”

Suguru presses a thumb to the center of his forehead, frustrated. “You’re being purposely obtuse. You know it’s different. She’s not a threat to non-sorcerers.”

Satoru scoffs. “Don’t play dumb. Higher-ups don’t give a shit about the non-sorcerers. They never have. You know that. It’s always been about tradition and control with them. Sensei told us, right? Special Grade isn’t something to be proud of, no matter how much money higher-ups throw at us. It’s something to fear. We could demolish cities without breaking a sweat. And Sketch is one of us now.”

Gentle heart aside, there’s another obvious flaw in Satoru’s logic. “Her technique only works on those with cursed energy. And she doesn’t have enough cursed energy herself to control that many people.”

“Either you’re being the obtuse one now or you’re being super naïve.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you control the king, you don’t need to worry about the grunts. I don’t think I need to remind you that the two strongest people in the world are in love with her,” Satoru says slowly, as if Suguru isn’t painfully aware. “She’s a threat. I know you don’t wanna think about her that way, but she is. The only reason she isn’t an active one is because she’s scared of herself, bogged down by what other people tell her she is, and stupidly kind. If I was the good little weapon that I was raised to be…no. If I was smart, I’d kill her.”

“Stop,” Suguru demands harshly.

He hates that Satoru is right. Suguru doesn’t want to face the reality. You’ve always been his lighthouse, shining bright in the darkness plaguing his life. He doesn’t want to admit that his selfishness and carelessness is the reason your light dimmed. He doesn’t want you to be so hurt that you poison your own well, but you were. You are. You’re still hurting.

“I will. I’ll stop now because it’s you that’s asking, Suguru. If it’s you and her, I’ll listen,” Satoru whispers. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but that night…I’ve never felt as weak as I did then. Not even when there was a blade in my neck. And it wasn’t because of only her. You had been in pain for so long and I didn’t do anything about it. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed it.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Suguru pleads. He scoots over on the couch, putting his hand on Satoru’s knee. “I wouldn’t have talked about it.” Satoru flinches and Suguru mentally curses himself. That came out wrong. “Not because I don’t trust you. I just…how could I put another burden on your shoulders? You’re the strongest and you’re already carrying the world on your shoulders.”

“But I’m not,” Satoru protests. “I’m not the strongest. Not without you and Sketch. Don’t you get that?” He subtly rocks back and forth. His nervous habit, though Suguru rarely sees it. “You know jujutsu is all about balance. Something big is coming. Big enough that four Special Grade sorcerers were born around the same time. And they’ve said that ever since I was born, curses have been exploding in numbers. So…so, I want to think that you and Sketch were supposed to be born. I think we were meant to meet. Because we keep each other balanced.”

Suguru looks away, corners of his eyes stinging with tears. “You don’t need me.”

“I was never going to have a purpose without you two. I was only ever going to be a tool. And more would come after me. This system has to change. I see that now. I’m going to foster strong allies and we’re going to burn it all down before we build it back up. It might take a long time, but I swear that I’m going to make things better for you both.”

Kind, Suguru thinks as he tilts to the side, letting his forehead fall against Satoru’s shoulder. So, so kind. Through blurred vision, he watches his tears fall on Satoru’s shirt, the fabric darkening as it soaks them in. Can’t you see that I don’t deserve this much kindness? Satoru’s hesitant hand touches the top of Suguru’s head., petting him as he starts quietly sobbing. You’re breaking my heart.

Stop, Suguru’s heart weeps. He can’t open his mouth to speak. The words are lodged inside his throat. Just stop. Please. You, of all people, should be mad at me. Why can’t you curse me? It hurts. This all hurts. Anger would be so much easier to deal with than this gentleness. Oh. So, this is what they mean by killing with kindness, he thinks blearily. I guess this truly is the most fitting punishment for me.

***

A week before the start of what would’ve been his fourth year, Suguru is staring at his scowling reflection in the window of a konbini. He’s not sure what pisses him off more—that this torrential downpour seemed to come out of nowhere or the that the konbini is out of stock for umbrellas. They were probably all bought out because everyone else knew this was coming. You would’ve known this was coming. Suguru’s never had to look at the weather because he just shared an umbrella with you.

You, who always carried an umbrella ever since that day in kindergarten. Suguru hadn’t talked to you yet, but he remembers because it was the first time his mother made her distaste of you known. She’d muttered under how breath about how unruly a child you were after your feet got soaked in your too-tight school shoes and you had a breakdown. Everyone in class started to make fun of you after that.

You’ve never gone anywhere without an umbrella after that day. It’s why you carry a little backpack instead of a purse. Why you have an extra pair of socks along with the umbrella. Why you dance gracefully to avoid puddles that could potentially soak through your shoes.

It's been almost six months and after all the rainy days, Suguru still reaches for a backpack that isn’t there anymore. Good thing I watched the weather this morning, he waits to hear but those words never come. Not anymore.

You haven’t been to the apartment in two weeks.

Suguru is so fucking irritated.

Everything has gone wrong today. As soon as he woke up to Satoru’s text saying that there’d be no art today, he knew it’d be a terrible fucking day. It took everything in him to not send you a nasty, passive aggressive text after calming down two little heartbroken girls. Stupidly, Suguru thought that Shoko would be on his side when he demanded what you were so busy with the last two weeks when she showed up to babysit while he was at night classes.

She wasn’t.

(“Why do you care?”

“Because she doesn’t have to deal with the fallout. I do.”

“That’s on you, then. You know we’re about to start the year. You’re their guardian. You should’ve been preparing them to see her less.”

“She can’t just walk into their lives and then leave without a word.”

“She can, actually. She’s been doing it to everyone. The only time anyone’s heard her speak in the last two weeks is Nanami on a mission. You’re not special, Geto. This is her being dependent. That’s what you wanted, right? I don’t know what else you want from her.”)

Suguru had been so pissed off that he forgot his cigarettes. He’d been late to class because he needed to smoke before he forced himself to sit in a small room full of non-sorcerers. His teeth were gritted the entire time the teacher reprimanded him for his tardiness and his thoughts murderous. The auxiliary manager at the back of the class meant to watch over him was the only thing keeping him from tormenting someone with a curse.

Fuck, he hates rainy days.

“Geto?”

Suguru blinks away from his darkening thoughts. “Nanami?” His brows knit in confusion. “What are you doing here?” Nanami, deadpan, holds up the onigiri and drink between them as an obvious answer, but that’s not what Suguru was asking. “No. Why are you here? In this area?”

“I was meeting with enrollment at your night school. I told them I’m going to stick it out for my third year and apologized for wasting their time.” Nanami glances over Suguru’s shoulder, at the cashier. “I’m going to checkout now. Is it alright if I walk with you to your apartment? I won’t be long, but there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Suguru is still reeling over the fact that Nanami, straitlaced Nanami, was thinking about dropping out. “Uh…sure…”

“Would you like some tea?” Suguru asks as they’re toeing off their shoes in the genkan.

Shoko was there to meet them at the door, took one look at Nanami, and left without a word. It was suspicious. Had Suguru thinking that this was some kind of setup. Then, he decided that it didn’t matter if it was. Suguru will hear Nanami out. He respects his former junior too much to turn him away. Also, despite all his awkwardness, he’s been kind to the girls and tries to teach them sensible lessons.

“No. Like I said, I won’t take up too much of your time. Thank you, though.”

Nanami waits at the table while Suguru makes himself a cup of tea to warm up. He offers Nanami some of his clothes because their big bodies couldn’t totally fit under the umbrella they shared, but Nanami turns that down, too. Those will just get wet on his way back to campus. So, Suguru goes to change. He pokes his head in Nanako’s room, not surprised at all to see Mimiko curled up with her.

Once Suguru is seated across from him, sipping at his tea, Nanami stiffly explains his purpose. “I’m here to invite you to the cherry blossom viewing party. It’s three days from now, in our usual place. It goes without saying that Nanako and Mimiko are invited. The new student is going to be with us, too.”

Suguru tilts his head to the side, curious. “I appreciate you coming in person, but…why couldn’t Satoru just text me?”

“Senpai will be there. I’m here to ask you to stop being childish and talk to her.”

It’s so unlike Nanami to be defensive of anyone that it pulls a laugh of disbelief out of Suguru. “Childish?” Suguru repeats incredulously. Then, he remembers Shoko. “Did Shoko put you up to this? Satoru?”

“No. They don’t know I’m inviting you.”

Suguru tries to tamper down his annoyance. It’s not Nanami’s fault. He only knows the surface level of what happened that night, given the same half-truths as Yaga. You were hurt, Suguru felt so guilty that he tried to take the blame, but the higher-ups cleared him after their official investigation, and Suguru dropped out because he couldn’t handle the mental stress anymore. In the fallout of that night, Suguru and you stopped talking.

Out of all the upperclassmen, Nanami respects you the most. It’s why you’re the only one he calls senpai. Nanami is only trying to help you. Suguru can respect that. So, he doesn’t snap. He tries to be patient and carefully explain, “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t have all the details—”

“I do. Gojo told me what happened. Everything.” Suguru sets the cup down with more force than necessary. Nanami wears that same indifference. “Gojo didn’t tell me because he wanted me to stand in on her behalf. It was to help me understand why she’s been so…overbearing, to put it bluntly.”

“Overbearing?”

“I’m never alone. She requested to be my partner. I haven’t killed a cursed spirit in months because she’s forced them to destroy themselves by the time we make it to the scene. Gojo gave me his MP3 player to pretend to listen to music on the train or bus because, otherwise, she won’t use hers whether it’s a bad day for her or not. She asks if I’ve eaten or if I want to talk and dodges the questions when I ask the same.” Nanami takes a deep breath. It’s…a lot like how you were with him and Satoru after their failed escort mission. “I…just want her to stop. I want her to take care of herself. And…I snapped at her. I told her to leave me alone and…I think that’s why she hasn’t been talking much. So…I’m here to ask for your help. I think you’re the only person that can help her now.”

Suguru rubs his aching temple. “I’m the reason she’s in the shape she is.”

Nanami stares at Suguru in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Minutes pass and his gaze gets icier and icier. “Have you forgotten about Haibara?”

Suguru flinches with his whole body. The blood drains from his face, along with any lingering anger. “No. Of course not,” he says, quietly yet sincerely.

“And have you forgotten that she was there, too?”

“No.” It’s a half-truth.

When Nanami mentioned Haibara, Suguru immediately reprimanded himself for being so hostile so quickly when it’s only been over six months since Haibara’s death. But…fuck, Suguru is a selfish bastard. Somehow, his mind separated you from that day, assuming that his crime against you had somehow buried the trauma of Haibara’s death. But that’s not how trauma works.

The worst thing is that Suguru has always known that. Putting aside that the brutality of swallowing curses and witnessing the worst of the world that weighed him down until he snapped, there’s also his childhood. Did he magically forget the last beating when his father came with a new one? No. Suguru remembers them all.

Trauma piles up—more weight added to the crushing weight trying to bury you in the ground.

“I can’t know for sure, but I think she’s getting worse the closer we get to the start of the year. I’m going to be the only one in my class. She blames herself for that. She blames herself for it all. I’ve tried telling her that it’s not her fault, that she almost killed herself with the strain of her technique so there was nothing else she could’ve done, but she doesn’t believe that. She’s kind enough to not call me a hypocrite, at least. Because she says the same thing to me, and I don’t believe her. Neither of us can forgive ourselves.”

Suguru’s expression softens. “Haibara wouldn’t blame either of you.”

“Haibara is dead,” Nanami snaps back harshly. “And you’re angry that she saved your life.”

Suguru, cowed, fumbles for a response to that. He weakly tries with, “It’s more than that—”

“It’s not. You wanted to die for what you did.” Nanami’s mouth thins. “I have to be honest—I lost all respect for you when Gojo told me the truth. It’s for the best that you quit sorcery. This kind of work isn’t suited for cowards.”

“Takes one to know one.” Suguru can’t resist making the dig.

“I know. More times than I can count, I wish that it was me in his place, but it wasn’t, and we were all left behind to pick up the pieces. I have to live, knowing what it was like to get my friend’s blood in my eyes. Why can’t you do the same? That’s why I say you’re being childish. You think the world revolves around you, that no one else can understand how you feel when you’ve been surrounded by people who do know. One of those people, someone I know you cherish, was right there the whole time and you pushed her away.” Nanami takes a deep breath, steadying himself after his emotional outburst. “I want to do something kind for her as thanks before I leave sorcery behind at the end of the year, so please come to the party.”

Numbly, Suguru asks, “Have you told her?”

“No. Don’t tell her, please. I’m trying to figure out how to do it in my own way. I’m…stalling, but…I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Suguru laughs bitterly. “Nanami, I almost killed her and she’s not disappointed in me. You’ll be fine.”

“Logically, I know that’s true.” Nanami pauses. “I don’t want to admit it, but it’s my guilt that’s making me hesitate. I’m leaving her alone with the burden of Haibara’s final words.”

Suguru straightens. “Final words?”

Nanami, kindly, doesn’t ask the obvious she didn’t tell you? Suguru doesn’t need reminders that his relationship with you has been fractured for a very long time. Instead, Nanami nods. “Yes.” His voice cracks with emotion. “He looked right at us as he cursed us.”

Emotions get lodged in Suguru’s throat. He doesn’t want to know this, not really, but he feels as if there’s an obligation for him to know, so he asks, “What did he say?”

***

You take it from here.

It truly is a curse. The words have been on Suguru’s mind for the last three days. And you…you’ve been doomed to an obligation to Haibara. Suguru knew that Haibara wouldn’t be the type of person to say that maliciously. Even in the end, he wanted to be an encouragement. It was his way to tell you and Nanami not to dwell on his death, not to let it drag you down and keep you from fighting the good fight. It had the opposite effect with Nanami.

All your behavior in those two weeks between his death and Suguru hurting you makes sense now. Just like the bits and pieces he’s picked up from Shoko and Satoru over the months do, too. You’re desperately trying to do as Haibara asked, even if it burns you up in the process.

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having nightmares about that night. He’ll never stop scrubbing under his nails a little harder, never stop feeling the phantom pain of your blood on his hands. But…you’re still here. You’re alive. Shoko made it in time. The same can’t be said for Haibara. A dead boy’s blood is on your hands, and he can’t imagine how maddening that must be for you, a person that never forgot the embarrassment of melting down in front of your elementary school classmates.

During second year, Suguru had gone with you to Kyoto’s campus. You’d needed to do some research, and Kyoto is practically the capital of jujutsu. The computers in their library were much nicer than those at the Tokyo branch because Kyoto’s always had a higher number of students. You and Suguru had done more playing on them than research—marveling over how much faster and efficient they were.

My brain is a Tokyo computer, you’d remarked when you’d gone back to your own campus. You wanted to know what it’s like, right, Suguru? This might be the best way I’ve ever explained it. Everyone else’s brain is a Kyoto computer. Mine is like this one here. You’d touched the monitor with that look on your face—the one where you’re frustrated being born the way you are. I’m just on a completely different operating system. Slow. Things hard to process. Buggy. Fickle…

The thing about your metaphor…Suguru has learned to operate it alongside you. He can never truly know what it’s like to be that system, but he’s learned the language, he thinks. He knows what conditions you work best in, that there are days where you’re more likely to stutter, that too much information can crash you completely. That’s happened. You’re broken. He abandoned you, leaving you behind with people who haven’t had enough time to navigate your crashing systems.

Suguru is out on the balcony, smoking, while the girls get their backpacks ready.

You take it from here.

That night, when Suguru snapped, it’d been Haibara’s face on his mind more than anyone else. He’d felt so righteous when he was summoning his curses. He was going to avenge Haibara. Non-sorcerers would never know about Haibara’s sacrifice and that just hadn’t felt fair. Blood for blood, that’s what he believed justice demanded. How many lives had Haibara saved while the non-sorcerers sat back, blissfully unaware?

Suguru hadn’t stopped to think that everyone was going to forget Haibara’s name—non-sorcerer and sorcerer.

Non-sorcerers breed curses, that’s true, but they aren’t the only problem. How can the problem of non-sorcerers be dealt with if jujutsu society is so inept, corrupt, and mismanaged? Sorcerers, specifically higher-ups and traditionalists, are as equally responsible for the things that sickened Suguru to his breaking point. Sorcerers hide in the shadows because they’re forced to do that. Children are sent to die by other sorcerers. Had Nanako and Mimiko been born into a sorcerer clan, there’s no way for him to know that they wouldn’t be treated the same or worse. It’s all broken. The whole system needs to go.

Sorry, Haibara, Suguru apologizes while staring up at the shifting clouds. It took me a while to get there, but I get it now. He snuffs out his cigarette. I get it.

If he’d gone through with slaughtering the village that night, he would’ve stained Haibara’s memory. Haibara knew he’d be another nameless casualty in this war. He didn’t care. The darkness of the world swallowed him whole, but he refused to stop shining until the very end. Saving people was the only thing he ever cared about. He died a hero. It should stay that way.

But there should never be another Haibara.

Suguru doesn’t know how he’ll fit into Satoru’s plan, but he’s going to help. Somehow. Because he wants to protect the future, too. If Satoru wants to make them strong enough to not break, then Suguru wants to remind them of their humanity. No one else should reduce themselves down to machine or weapon. They need to know that if they’re going to die then they’ll do it while being remembered.

It’s going to be a marathon game, there’s going to be more pain, but Haibara passed on the baton, so it’s time for Suguru to get running.

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