#it was easy for everyone else. why not for me? it’s not fair. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

highvern · 8 days

Text

endpoint

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst, FWB to idiots to lovers

warnings: cumshot/facial, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, oral sex (m & f receiving), rough sex, breath play (choking), mentions of exhibitionism, face fucking, virgin wonwoo mentions, idiots in love, edging (emotionally), impact play, sir kink (brief), alcohol consumption

Length: ~19.5k

Note: thank you to @gyuswhore my love, my life, for suffering through this with me. this fic is set in the same universe as her gyu fic for this collab so check it out (threat). also thank u @haologram and everyone else who beta'd this for me bc im sensitive. follow @camandemstudios for more fics!!! i will come back later and tag the people who commented on the teaser but rn im getting day drunk hehehe

summary: Senior year of college is meant to be full of celebration and smooth sailing. Years of work culminating in the final semesters that will send you off into the real world where clubs, sports, and weekends packed with hungover volunteering to pad your resume no longer mattered. It’d be a piece of cake if it wasn’t for your fuck buddy turned coworker having the same plan. But only one of you can get the department’s most coveted recommendation that all but guarantees your acceptance. Tension rises and the nearly four year thing you’ve had with Wonwoo approaches its endpoint.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“What’s the difference between a proton and an electron again?”

“Shoot me in the fucking head,” Wonwoo whispers harshly.

He’s a seat over, a laptop covered in gaming stickers and a coffee cup containing a lethal amount of caffeine occupying the space atop the narrow lecture desk. It’s a feign to productivity. His screen is split between thesis notes and a countdown to a new video game release that unfortunately hits 0 in the middle of lecture.

Dr. Wagner’s intro to chemistry course isn’t difficult – freshman aside – which is why you and Wonwoo agreed to be her teaching assistants. Easy money and a way to get in her good graces come grad school application season. You’ve TA’ed the same course since sophomore year for different professors but it’s all the same; the metaphorical killing field before hopeful freshmen become cannon fodder in the real trial of will: O Chem.

“Me first,” you whisper back.

Wonwoo slumps in his chair, opening the shared drive keeping track of problem areas to touch on in lab hours, and typing “check for basic brain activity” under the class To-Do list.

Fair enough. If they can’t understand the basics this far into the semester then you two are in for a world of hurt for the next practical. You're in for a world of hurt come next study hall when half of them will complain about failing their quiz this morning despite having the answers spoon fed straight from the notes.

[09:48] You: be nice

[09:48] wonwoo: if they were smarter, id be nicer

[09:48] You: maybe they’re scared stupid

It wouldn’t be too far off. One time a freshman burst into tears while asking Wonwoo to check their practice work during lab hours. Wonwoo swears he didn’t say anything and the kid looked on the verge of a mental breakdown if the wind blew the wrong way.

[09:48] wonwoo: from what?

[09:48] You: the fact ur trying to kill them with your mind

[09:49 ]wonwoo : i wouldn’t kill them

[09:49] wonwoo: just maim or seriously injure so they dont come to class and say dumb shit

Dr. Wagner fields more questions in front of the powerpoint. More ‘dumb shit’ Wonwoo rolls his eyes at with such obvious disgust even you feel chastised. Luckily, no one can see his face from the front row besides you.

[09:49] You: you wonder why they like me more

[09:50] wonwoo: i know why they like you more

[09:50] You: oh?

Stifling an eye roll of your own you throw a glance his way as the next message comes through,

[09:50] wonwoo: nice ass

“Alright, Y/N and Wonwoo will be passing out the study guide for the next exam. We still have a few weeks so don’t worry about the back half but try and review the modules we’ve done so far and bring questions for them during study hours,” Dr. Wagner prattles off.

The gigantic stack of printouts is split in half for you and Wonwoo to disperse around the massive lecture hall. Over one hundred students sit in this lecture; the unfortunate ones who were forced to take a 9 AM course three days a week. Half look like their brain is melting out of their ears, other’s clearly haven’t paid attention at all, and a few are sound asleep. It’s Friday after all. They probably didn’t get back from their Thirsty Thursday night out until a few hours ago.

You wouldn’t even be here if Wonwoo wasn’t a built in insurance policy.

Dr. Wagner collects her things and heads towards the front exit with a cheery, “Have a good weekend!”

“There's a party at Sigma tonight,” Wonwoo shares as you both pack your own bags. The next class is already shuffling through the doors to claim their seats.

“I have work until eleven.”

“After?”

Shouldering your bag, you head towards the door where the next class is already trickling in to find their seats. “Don’t you have a tournament tomorrow?”

“I only have to be at the party for like an hour. I can come and walk you home.”

“Fine,” you nod. “But bring your laptop. I think Chan fucked up the last set of results and we need to fix them.”

It’s not unusual for Wonwoo to spend his Friday nights with you; or another night for that matter. He lives in a dingy frat house on the edge of campus with twenty other guys. It’s an act of mercy. A long standing tradition from the week before freshman year when you two were the only chemistry majors in your orientation group and that turned into a clumsy hook up at an upperclassman’s party. You didn’t know he’d be a virgin and he didn’t know your high school boyfriend dumped you less than twenty four hours before you left for college (but not before you lost your own virginity in the backseat of his car).

It’d been…not good.

Wonwoo was awkward and you were unsure. But he was sweet under the bravado; walked you home that night, pretended he wasn’t interested in the fact your roommate never moved in, leaving the suite empty. But he wasn’t a good enough actor to feign nonchalance when you invited him upstairs. Turns out sex was a lot better the second time around, in a bed that didn’t belong to an unknown upperclassman who could’ve burst in any minute.

Wonwoo isn’t your boyfriend. You’re too busy piecing together the ten year plan concocted since junior year of highschool to even think about such frilly ideas. There’s barely enough time as it is; you’ve got work, a full class schedule, TAing, and all the random clubs you’ve wiggled your way into to pad your resume.

And he’s busy too. Navigating a sports scholarship and one of the hardest majors left barely enough time for him to wipe his own ass, let alone date. Then came research hours and TAing and the fact volleyball, apparently, wasn’t just a one semester sport, there were scrimmages, workouts, and tournaments out of season.

It’s been over three years of your arrangement which works best because you don’t have to spend precious brain power deciphering if some random guy you went out with once is playing hard to get or just straight up not interested. You have Wonwoo. He’s simple.

So what you have now, friends. Who hook up. And work together. Who also happens to be applying for the same PhD program for next year. Not together but at the same time.

The application website stares back from your laptop with horror.

It’s still too early to submit any materials but it’s been highlighted in bold red in your calendar since two years ago. Everything is ready to go the second it opens—except Dr. Wagner’s recommendation. It’s the sole reason you (and Wonwoo) agreed to be her TAs this semester; she’s one of the program’s most notorious alum, her words as good as gold in securing a spot.

Someone hacks a cough and shatters the eerie silence of the library. The backtrack of sparse typing and the custodian shuffling around to have been the only company throughout your shift. No one would choose to rot at any of the weathered study tables late on a Friday night so early in the semester.

With the abundance of free time, you fixed Chan’s mistakes in his set of trials easily, no thanks to Wonwoo who still hasn’t shown up. It’s good though. Your stoichiometry homework is submitted three days before the deadline and the mountain of emails clogging your inbox from hopeless undergrads is in the single digits. Half the labs from last week are graded for Dr. Wagner’s approval, the other half can wait until Sunday night. A long weekend of sleep awaits once the clock hits eleven and you’re free to run home.

Wonwoo stumbless in five minutes before the clock runs out. His duffle for tomorrow is slung over his shoulder and he’s already dressed for bed, rumpled sweats and a hat he definitely wore to the party with high hopes to cut out early.

“You’re late,” you acknowledge, cramming your belongings back into your bag. He’s close enough to get a whiff of. “And you’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk,” he argues.

The lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips says otherwise but it isn’t an argument worth having. All you want to do is get home and pass out.

He shoulders you bag, presenting his hand when you insist you can carry it on your own. The dry warm of his palm against your cold is pleasant enough you don’t argue as you tug him towards the automatic doors.

“Have a goodnight, Mr. Lee,” you call towards the security desk.

The guard, old enough to be your grandfather, calls back, “You too, sweetheart.”

Out in the balmy night, you tug Wonwoo down the street in the direction of your apartment. Two blocks and then a right turn leaving you outside the dowdy building with hallways that constantly reek of weed and new paint smell.

A pack of freshmen girls heading somewhere, marked by their matching uniform of jeans and black tops of various coverage, crowd the sidewalk straight ahead. Someone is crying, one is on the phone, and a few others stand dumbly waiting for their next movie like zombies — all incredibly wasted. You barrel through them without acknowledgement. A few drunken bitter ‘bitch’s hit your back but you ignore them to focus on the man struggling to push through the crowd without accidentally shoulder checking any of them.

On the other side, you ask, “Have fun at the party?”

“Some pledge puked on Jihoon’s stuff,” he huffs, nose scrunching.

“May he rest in peace.”

Wonwoo sways from side to side from the weight of your bag but also whatever radioactive mix was served at the party. The stairs provide an extra challenge since the elevator has been broken for weeks but thankfully it’s a short trip to the second floor.

He presents your belongings with routine ease once the front door of your apartment looms ahead. Music from the floor above shakes the walls; hopefully you can make up for the lack of sleep tomorrow morning.

There isn’t much space inside the four walls you call home – the ‘kitchen’ which is a single counter with a stove and fridge you’re barely around to use, fifteen feet away your bed in the corner, bordered by your desk at the foot cramped with a spray of errant papers and books you’ve been too busy to deal with. The monitor doubles as a TV and finally a tiny loveseat with a broken leg replaced by a stack of hard covers completes the room.

You beeline for the bathroom to wash away the filth of a long day and Wonwoo, keeping on trend, follows into the cramped space.

“Can I help you?” you ask, shirt tossed into the bin in the corner.

Wonwoo’s shirt goes the same and then his pants after a brief struggle. “You know I sleep better when I shower.”

True.

“And I doubt you're gonna let me in your bed if I’m dirty.”

Even truer.

The water is still cold when you step in but the man glued to your back fights the worst of the chill away. Goosebumps prickle along your skin but have nothing to do with the vent that points directly into the stall (whoever designed the apartments must have had a sick sense of humor) and everything to do with Wonwoo’s mouth tracing the curve of your shoulder.

Forcing the heat blooming between your legs down to a simmer, you focus on washing up and getting into bed before it rolls into a boil and you do something stupid that’ll only leave you and Wonwoo struggling for balance.

Shower sex is a dangerous sport. Shower sex with Wonwoo has left you both with bruises. Drunken shower sex with Wonwoo will get you both killed.

Soft hums tickle your neck as you clean up. There isn’t enough room for two people to stand in the spray at once so you take turns hogging the steamy water and braving the frigid cold until the last bits of soap swirl the drain.

Even when drying off you stay in each other’s orbit until the need for clothes and sleep drive you both out of the bathroom and back into the equally cramped space of your room.

It’s not until you’re laying on the mattress, darkness snug on all sides, that you feel Wonwoo roll atop you with purpose.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo hums into your stomach, fingers crawling up your bare legs.

“That,” you inhale at the nip of his teeth on the curve of your thigh, “doesn’t feel like nothing to me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer but gives you plenty of time to brush him off while bruising your skin. You don’t. Instead you sink deeper into the blankets and let him push your shirt up until you're bare once more.

The fuzziness of alcohol lingers in his veins – just enough that he smiles into the strip of skin above your panties as you sigh and arch under the delicious weight of wandering hands and mouth at your nipple.

“Wonwoo,” you sigh and he’s up and kissing you with eager clumsiness.

A familiar prod at your core through his boxers crashes bubbles through your veins. You felt it in the bathroom but now is when you finally get to indulge with subtle grinds Wonwoo meets in his own search for friction.

“Don’t you need to be up—ugh—early tomorrow?”

He kisses you slowly, tongue dragging along your bottom lip until your mouth opens under his. It burns you from the inside out. Mindlessly you shift your legs to frame his hips better but Wonwoo kisses deeper and all you can think about is giving in to whatever scheme he’s working up to have you both naked and panting.

He leans back a fraction to speak, giving in when you chase his lips before ducking to nip at your ear and mumbling a response. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I will worry about it when you snooze twenty alarms and your team hunts me down because I smothered their star player with a pillow,” you snort but heat under a squeeze of his fingers at your sides.

“Sleep when I’m done with this.”

“And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

A harsh suck at your jaw has your stomach tight. heavy and thick until need drips down your spine to coil in your gut and the emptiness between your thighs becomes unignorable. He hides pleased groans in the curve of your neck until you force a hand under the band of his underwear. Eyes opening, you watch the muscles of his back tense and flex as he rocks against you, fucking your fist greedily.

It doesn’t last long. Wonwoo gets antsy under the taunting pressure of your thumb and descends back down your body with burning lips. “Take your shirt off.”

“It’s cold,” you complain but do as he asks.

He traces your figure clad in nothing but your glasses and a soiled pair of panties; damp at the crotch from his attention and Wonwoo slips a finger under the hem to tease you that inch closure to depravity.

Wonwoo laves against the hickey on the inside of your thigh from a week ago, it’s yellowed and perfectly shaped like his mouth. It’s tender under his attention, even the gentle tracing on his nose forcing you to wince in discomfort.

He coos, kissing it before skating back to the hem of your panties, lips vibrating against your skin. “Sorry I didn’t come earlier.”

Why he brings it up now is a mystery. Or the fact he brings it up at all. Life happens. You’ve blown him off more than once for a late night in the library; no hard feelings.

“It’s fine,” you sigh as he tugs the last scrap of fabric off your body and pushes your knees up to display you like a meal.

Spreading you apart, he lands a wet kiss at your entrance before teasing with the heat of his tongue.

In a beg for sanity you twist a tight grip in his hair; a tangled mess from his drunk endeavors. Wonwoo pushes harder, drowns in your taste with enthusiasm as you moan and sigh.

“F-fuck.”

He won’t ask if it’s good. He knows it is. Nearly four years of hook ups attunes him to your pleasure, a well rehearsed routine that has you both ache in the best way.

You lose yourself in shaking breaths, feet planted to drive up into his mouth for more. He sucks your clit and nearly gets his head crushed by your thighs. It doesn’t take much and he knows it.

You chant ‘gonna cum’ in choked groans that almost die at the edge of your teeth but Wonwoo hears and takes it as permission to pull out the stops, hand at your thing with a harsh grip and fingers sinking home.

He’s memorized all the signs of your want; the wrecked echo of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you a clear tell. He flattens his tongue, holding steady as grind straight into mindless bliss. Spit pools and drips and slips down onto the sheets. Wonwoo hums praise, unintelligible but you vaguely know it’s something that’d make you blush you could hear it over the pounding in your ears.

Back arching, your vision flares white at the edges and when Wonwoo realizes what's happening he makes it last until your fist ball up and you’re floating.

Wonwoo backs down as you twitch through the tail end, sloppy kisses to your clit that could knock into another fit if he isn’t careful. But even as you tremble the only thing you want is the weight of his cock in your mouth, or inside you. You aren’t picky as long as you get to feel him cum too.

You finally manage to pry Wonwoo from between your legs with an ankle to his ribs. You’re not done with him despite the fatigue hanging around your shoulders like dead weight. He angles over top of you for a kiss that tastes too much like pussy for your liking but it’s hot knowing he’s covered in you so you push until his shoulders meet the sheets and you can claim his lap.

His dick strains through his underwear, preening when you rock back into the heat. His nostrils flare when you grab for it, stiff enough to sink onto easily.

“Oh god,” he groans, head digging back into the pillows to watch you like a goddess.

His fingers web across the tops of your thighs, a harsh grip keeping you flat as he grinds up into the wet heat of your pussy. You whimper and sigh for him; all the sounds he loves to hear. You squeeze your chest, taut nipples framed between the slants of your fingers to entice him until he reaches around and knocks you forward for the sole purpose of taking one in his mouth.

Your eyes roll back, jaw locked open, drowning in the stretch and the bite of his mouth and the hands squeezing your ass so hard it hurts. Wonwoo groans, throaty and desperate. “Gonna cum. Wanna cum in you. Holy shit.”

He gets you on your back. Too absorbed in his own end, he’s dead weight with his tongue between your lips and harsh thrusts that take him right to the edge. It gives that grit against your clit that means you’ll come too, soaked in cum and spit and sweat.

You wish he’d flip you on your front and fuck you with a hand between you shoulder blades and the other tangled in your hair. That’s the kind of fuck that’d leave you satisfied the entire weekend he’s busy but he’s running out of steam just doing this, picking up speed in his thrust, the clap of bodies filling the room.

Chanting his name like a broken record, ‘Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo’ breathy but loud enough your neighbors will leave another passive aggressive note on your door come morning, all you can think about is his cum. On you, in you. A sick part wants him to pull out and cum on your face – he hasn’t, not in a long time because priorities and responsibilities and you're usually lucky to have even five minutes alone before someone needs either of you. But you want it. God do you want it.

“Cum on my face,” you whimper. There’s drool on your lips and sweat in your hairline. Even if he doesn't, you'll need another shower anyway.

A strangled noise escapes from between his teeth at your neck. Then he’s driving forward so hard you burn; painfully so, mouth locked in a silent choke. Your orgasm rips through your insides, jagged at the edges where Wonwoo fucks himself into your guts.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, pulling away and replacing the grip of your pussy with a tight fist as he straddles your chest.

The taste of cock floods your tongue, heady and intoxicating. You get one, two drags against the stiff head and then he’s cumming, dripping his spend over your lips, then your cheek, then your glasses because he’s a sick freak. Even in the dim light from the window he twitches at the sight. You open your mouth and replace his hold, moaning as more comes to the surface. You swallow down as far as he’ll go which isn’t much in this position but it’s the thought that counts.

Wonwoo grinds to halt with an occasional kick of his hips that leaves you choking – rigid limbs locking in place until he melts with sticky satisfaction.

He’s up and off, your glasses in hand for a thorough cleaning, not even bothering to flick on any of the lights but you hear the sink running in the bathroom before he comes padding back.

“God,” you whimper in disgust. “That’s so gross.”

“You’re the one who asked for it,” Wonwoo snorts, soft passes of a damp cloth on your skin focused on getting you clean enough to sleep.

“Because it’s hot but you aim for shit.”

Wonwoo tosses the rag somewhere, flopping down and pulling you close as possible with a kiss on your forehead. “Next time I’ll aim for your hair.”

“Bitch.”

The sound of music from upstairs pulses through your head as you drift off, Wonwoo asleep on your chest, fingers laced together on the sheets beside your indecipherably intertwined bodies.

Your week is divided into a simple pattern. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you wake bright and early to attend Dr. Wagner’s chem lecture and then stay on campus attending every other class you could find to fill the gap between your evening shift at the library. Tuesdays and Thursdays are void of responsibility until your afternoon lab with the freshman near tears while learning basic titration for four hours, followed by office hours where said freshman finally come to actually cry about their grades. Those are the nights you, Chan, Wonwoo and a handful of other lab techs work on research that carries the same threat of waterworks.

It’s there Dr. Wagner pulls you and Wonwoo aside.

“I know you both are applying to Dr. Collins lab for your PhD studies,” she starts.

Her office reflects the same disarray as her personality; warm and lived in. Papers and exams are organized in chaos, thick stacks lining her desk waiting for you and Wonwoo to enter them into the online grade book. Books, some leather, some paperback, some the glossy cover of a textbook with cracked spines and yellowing pages are crammed into the bookshelves lining the walls until they threaten to collapse from the weight. It smells like coffee, plants, and the candle she always has burning. It’s a cozy hovel overlooking the rear courtyard of the science building that resembles the sterility of a hospital.

Wonwoo occupies the other barrel chair with worn upholstery. You’ve barely seen him in the past three weeks, too busy with volunteering and working and classes while his own responsibilities keep him so exhausted it’s truly a miracle he’s even here. Dark stains ring his eyes beneath his glasses and he looks paler than usual. You’ll ask about it tonight when he comes over to work on your most recent stoichiometry project (which will be forgotten in favor of passing out during a movie while you play with his hair if history is anything to go by).

“I don’t think I’ve ever met two students who belong more in his lab,” she continues.

You try not to preen, but academic validation is a hell of a drug to caffeine addicted undergrads. Wonwoo perks up too. Three and a half years of barely being people for this moment and it’s finally in reach.

“However,” Dr. Wagner clasps her hands atop the dark wooden desk. “I’m writing only one recommendation this semester. It might seem unfair but I want to commit to the student that deserves it the most since my schedule doesn’t allow me much free time.”

It’s like being underwater. You hear her words but nothing registers, blinking rapidly in case this is a hallucination from falling asleep in the lab again.

“I know it might not be the news you hoped for but I know senior year is a lot, especially for students as involved as you all, and I thought this could alleviate some of the stress. You two are the only students I’m considering. So please, keep up the incredible work and we can talk again at the end of the semester when I have a more holistic evaluation of your progress.”

She stands to leave, snagging her purse and blowing out the candle with finality before abandoning the shit storm in your lap for whatever else she has to do on a Thursday night. Probably retell the events of the last five minutes to other professors in the department, laughing at the way you’ve turned purple from holding your breath.

“Have a good night you two! See you tomorrow!”

The office, once warm, feels hollow. You feel hollow.

“What the fuck?” Wonwoo hasn’t moved either, glued to his seat as he stares at Dr. Wagner’s now vacant chair with his mouth wide in shock.

“Did that just happen?” you scoff in disbelief. “Is she serious?”

Wonwoo collapses over his knees with his hands scrubbing at his face like he also might be hallucinating. “I needed that recommendation.”

“Well, so do I,” you argue.

“I know. This is bullshit.”

“Did Changkyun say anything like this happened last year when she wrote one for him?”

“No, all three people who asked her got one.”

“Oh, so it’s just us she hates. Great!” you throw your hands up, sinking deeper in the chair. Maybe it’ll swallow you whole and the entire ordeal will cease to exist.

“She’s probably just trying to get in our heads so we don’t slack off this semester.”

“Have we ever slacked off any semester? I’ve been on the President’s Honor List since freshman year. You’ve been on the President’s Honor List since freshman year. We’re those people.”

Since starting college, since that one night during orientation where you and Wonwoo became a ‘we’. Not in the relationship sense, but in the way two lines merge. Same path, same goals, same classes, same PhD program prospects. There was plenty you two did separately but more you did together. Neither competing, but working together.

But now that’s over.

Because only one of you can get into Dr. Collins lab, only one of you can get the recommendation, and only one of you can have what you both worked tirelessly for over the past three years.

“Listen—” you stand up and scrub at your own face. “It’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“We? Only one of us can get her recommendation. What’s there to figure out?”

Your face goes hot. He’s right. “Well, I need that recommendation.”

“So do I,” Wonwoo argues, eyes cold.

“Fine.”

That recommendation is mine.

“Fine!”

We’ll see about that.

Wonwoo stays in her office, flinching as you slam the door and flee.

The issue with fighting with Wonwoo is that as mad as both of you are, there are a million responsibilities you share that require close proximity.

Presently, it’s grading the last batch of exams. Seventy eight packets. And because Dr. Wagner doesn’t believe in convenience, it all has to be graded by the hand of two TAs running on nothing but caffeine and spite.

Which means it’s past midnight and the couch has a permanent impression of Wonwoo’s ass while you both silently fume and scratch through wrong answers with a heavy hand in red ink.

The weather reflects the atmosphere; pouring rain and thunder loud enough to shake the windows. The power has flickered in and out since the rain started but you're both too stubborn to call it quits – if there is nothing to keep you occupied then you might rip his throat out.

Wonwoo doesn’t even ask if you want more coffee before he snags your empty mug and moves to the kitchenette. You don’t look up when he sets it back down, and only grab it and take the first sip of perfectly steaming hot sweetness when he flops back on the couch without another word.

Then the power goes out again, and doesn’t come back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Using the flashlight on your phone, you search the drawers of your desk for candles. There nowhere to be found amongst the stacks of unopened sticky notes and tangled cords.

Wonwoo shuffles behind you, papers landing on the coffee table completely abandoned. “We’ve been at this for hours. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“I have them in here somewhere,” you bite, another handful of chargers and a stapled you’ve never used and other things you didn’t even realize you own fill the drawer. You move to the second. “There’s only a few tests left.”

“We can do them tomorrow. It can wait.”

“No,” you spit like a curse.

Whatever Wonwoo was planning to say dies on his lips. “Fine.”

His shirt lands over your head, you rip it off only to find him half naked in the dark, huddling under one of the throw blankets you keep on the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“On the couch?”

“Yep.”

“You’re too tall.”

“Well,” he draws like a pouty kid. “I don’t feel like sharing the bed with you.”

In a way it’s safer to argue about something trivial like this versus the entire reason you’ve iced each other out since that day in her office. Because at least like this, you won’t lose him. It’s stupid and petty but at least you’re speaking to each other; breaking through that wall of silence that’s been steadily growing more and more unnavigable as the inevitable draws nearer.

“Fine, then I’ll sleep on the couch and you take the bed.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. N. O.”

Fine.

It’s difficult to navigate in the dark. Your knees end up a victim to the edge of the coffee table and you trip over the edge of the rug, but you find the couch. Reaching down, you find his chest, then his shoulder. And once you’re sufficiently oriented you sit on him.

“Ow,” Wonwoo grunts as you flop down, elbow in his gut and his chin hitting your forehead. “What are you doing?”

You wedge in closer, slipping between his body and the cushions, bracing to kick him off by force if needed. “Sleeping.”

“Here?” he asks. Too aware of your plan, he turns as well, grabbing the back of the couch overhead to stay put.

“You’re too tall to sleep here.”

“And we’re both too big to sleep here together. Take the bed.”

“No,” you huff.

“No?”

“No. N.O. I believe you’re familiar with the word,” you spit.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“If you keep talking then neither of us will sleep.”

“Neither of us are gonna sleep anyway. You move too much to be comfortable like this.”

He’s right of course. Your hips already ache but if you move then he’ll find some way to pull you off. “I’m fine.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

You do the mature thing and bite him.

The muscles corded around his pec twitch under your mouth as he flinches. “What the hell was that for?”

You do it again.

“Stop.”

“Or what?” you ask, muffled in his skin as you move to leave another bite.

Wonwoo also does the mature thing and pins your wrists in one hand, maneuvering until you're sandwiched between the couch with his chest flat to your back.

“I can’t breathe like this,” you muffle into the cushions.

“Oh, how tragic.” You feel his words tickle the back of your neck rather than hear them.

Wonwoo releases your wrists pinned to your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt, his shirt from some stupid frat fundraiser you’d been coerced into attending, flat to your belly with soothing circles. His calf hooks over your own to tangle your bodies together. He kisses the back of your neck, a simple brush of his lips that lingers.

It’s easier to feel everything in the dark. Your annoyance and frustration forged over the past weeks melts away and all that’s left is the need to have Wonwoo close. Just like this. Where there are no deadlines, or responsibilities. Where you both can drown in each others’ presence and everything else is washed away in the heavy drops pounding the windows outside.

Here, everything is uncomplicated.

The next rumble of thunder is loud enough to send you both in the air. Unfortunately, Wonwoo drags you backwards off the couch and to the floor. You land relatively unscathed but he knocks his elbow into the coffee table.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo groans and curses, cradling his elbow.

“Aw, tell the doctor where it hurts,” you coo, prodding his side.

He snatches your hand and pins it to his chest but not before lacing his fingers through your own. The gentle rise of and fall of breathing and the thud of his heart reverberates down your arm and straight into your own chest where something frozen softens. “Has anyone told you you’re annoying when you’re tired?”

“Yes. You. Lots of times.”

“Good. Wanna make sure you’re aware.”

Lighting turns everything white, a quick flash highlighting the room. There and gone and leaving you more disoriented than before. Rolling over, you hook a thigh over his lap which he welcomes, tugging you closer and absorbing the proximity like second nature. You’re a glutton for warmth – Wonwoo’s warmth specifically – even in his sweater and his sweat shorts and his shirt, you still want more of him.

“We can’t sleep like this.”

You don’t want to move – laying like this, in the dark, nose dug into his chest as you twisting your fingers in his, squeezing and glowing pathetically when he squeezes back – all you want is to drown in him a little longer. Until you're forced to come up for breath.

But the sore spot between you two is still raw like a fresh bruise.

“Then sleep in the bed,” his lips drags over your knuckles as he speaks.

“No. You sleep in the bed, you’re too tall to sleep on the couch.”

“Fine.” Wonwoo jumps up from his place on the floor, grabbing your hands once again before dragging you around the coffee table towards the opposite side of the room. It’s ridiculously childish, especially in the dark where he bounces off the desk and the rug roughens the back of your legs.

He shimmies you around a corner and a cloud of laughter puffs between your lips. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping in the bed, and you’re sleeping in the bed with me.”

“What if I don’t want to sleep next to you?”

“Then I’ll cry. Like that time we watched Steel Magnolias.”

“Have mercy,” you whimper.

“Then get your ass in bed.”

Deflating like a balloon, you stand. Wonwoo keeps his hands on you the entire time, guiding you down to the mattress and covering your body with his own just in case of an escape. He bunkers down in the safety of your neck, dragging your hands to his hair, mimicking the motions he craves until you take up the action and gently comb through the tangles.

A part of you wants to cry. Preemptively mourn the end of this – whatever this is. Late nights with Wonwoo, whispering in the dark about clueless underclassmen and annoying professors. Taking turns scrolling through adoptable cats at the local rescue. Cooing over them, rolling your eyes when Wonwoo finds Pixel still listed as available for adoption, a sign to him that he’s meant to have her except he lives in a frat house. Or the nights neither of you can sleep and take a trip to the local diner and tuck yourselves away in a corner booth to watch drunk people cling to consciousness over waffles and hash browns.

There will be no more of that. Not by the time winter break comes. One of you is getting the gold ticket and the other will be up in the air with the hundreds of other people competing for the same handful of slots. And if one of you doesn't get in?

“Was that so hard?” he whispers into your collar.

When you don’t answer, he looks up at. In the cast of lighting coming through the window he’s the same Wonwoo. The one you’ve been best friends with for years now. The one who is practically glued to your side whenever possible.

The one who you’ll have to say goodbye to.

He meets your kiss lazily. Like he still thinks you have all the time in the world.

It makes the urge to cry that much worse.

The rain is gone by morning.

The room glows from the orange light of the first minutes of sunrise. Sometime in the night you rolled to your side and Wonwoo pressed tight to your back. He’s awake, drawing shapes on your hip beneath the fabric of your shirt.

“Morning.”

You hum and roll over to burrow in his chest, the crown of your head digging into his neck and away from the sun. “Morning.”

The warmth of his hands trace the curve of your back, pulling you closer; hiding his own discontent with such an early break in the tentative truce that only seems to exist in the late hours of night and earliest minutes of dawn. Days of sleep deprivation with nothing but sterile lighting in the lab leaves you both needy and vulnerable. So he hugs you tighter and sighs when you do the same.

He’s hard against your thigh. Clearly a result of biology more than need because he’s snoring against your hairline. Flashes of dreams rush forward – him beneath you, on top of you, behind you. It’s been weeks since you two last fucked. When you called him an idiot and he called you stubborn and next thing you were on the table with your legs spread for Wonwoo’s hand in a clumsy bump and grind while arguing about which one of you fucked up the biosensor callibration through gritted teeth and needy whimpers.

You’re wet. With his thigh pressed between your own the fact becomes more evident as the urge to curl into it nags.

Taking advantage of the exposed curve of skin beneath your mouth, you kiss and suck with lax intent until Wonwoo tips his chin up and gives a silent green light.

A heavy hand drags down his front, nails scratching bluntly through the fabric until it can slip beneath the waistband of his sweats and the curve of his cock sits pretty in your palm. Commando for convenience and comfort. More the latter because there’s no shot in hell he’s been getting laid lately.

His breath is sticky in his throat, vibrating beneath your teeth from thin pants as you work him through a loose fist. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Yes.”

Slouching down, your head rests on his stomach, sweatpants bunched around his thighs. The first lick sends his hips up in search of more and you eagerly supply the soft suction of your mouth; lips catching around the flared head. A hand on the back of your skull keeps your hair from interfering as he plumps against your tongue.

Eagerness fails to penetrate this moment slowed down by the greater need to drag this out. To savor every second because who knows when you’ll both stop being petty enough to just enjoy one another’s presence again.

“Might cum—fuck— don’t stop,” he grunts.

With the sun filling the room even more you’re running out of time, the warmth growing to leave sweat at the small of your back. He pushes harder into the curve of your throat and you let him, gagging wet with a lewd mix of spit and pre-cum that has you both moaning at the choked sound. Jaw slack, Wonwoo fucks your mouth with slow ruts; stomach tightening and the hand in your hair fisting tight enough you moan.

“Shit, babe—c-cumming,” he whines with a pathetic groan you’d make fun of him for later but all you can think about is the thick taste of cum and if there’s enough time for some attention between your own legs before life becomes unignorable. Not enough time for a real fuck but Wonwoo has a few tricks up his sleeve that promise satisfaction.

You bounce back down next to him and Wonwoo pounces, rolling on top of you, thing between your spread legs. He doesn’t shy away from your tongue against his teeth, dips a thumb beneath your chin and slips his tongue right along with it, sucks your lips until the swell, backing off only to bunch your shirt up. Lazy drags of his mouth on yours – not the ‘I need you’ kisses after a late night but the ‘I miss you’ ones after weeks of passive aggressive silence.

He licks down your front, goosebumps blooming from the draft as he sucks a nipple until you arch and twist a hand in his hair. You give a lax stretch and sigh while his hand slips beneath the edge of your panties.

Taking the morning for what it is, you fall into the motions until the blare of the alarm clock signals the beginning of the end.

You push away and swipe blindly at the night stand to make it stop but Wonwoo has other plans.

He pins your hips down, tongue flat to the crotch of your underwear with a pant. “Ignore it.”

“What?” You look at him and find tired eyes watching back from over the edge of your wrinkled shirt. His hair is a mess, stuck to the side of his head from sleep and your eager hands and all you want to do is comb the tangles out while he pulls your strings like a puppet master.

But you can’t.

“We’ve got class,” you gasp through a hot kiss on your clit.

A groggy groan of, “skip,” vibrates on your skin.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you grasp for disagreement only to find a moan as he pulls your hips closer and works a finger where you need it most.

“We can’t.”

“We can,” Wonwoo grunts, focusing on peppering greedy kisses to the sensitive insides of your thighs. “We’ve been early every time this semester.”

The hand not curling in your guts runs down the back of your calf, bending until it hooks over his shoulder.

“Fuck, Wonu,” you whine over the crude sounds of his mouth. You want to. God, do you want to. But you open your eyes again and they land on the stack of exams on your desk. Ungraded. Because Wonwoo said you could do them this morning. And now he wants you to skip class despite how important it is.

You close your legs only for Wonwoo to take it as a challenge, pinning your hips in place and celebrating his perceived victory with a throaty moan as he rocks against the bed.

“Stop.”

He pulls back, mouth wet and brows furrowed. “Huh?”

The alarm on your phone pings again. Swiftly silenced this time as you roll out from beneath him and land beside the mattress on unsteady feet. “We can’t skip. We have to give exams back.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he argues, flopping down into the warmth you left vacant.

The room is too bright, a clear sign your morning routine is behind. “You think now is the time to start slacking off?”

“It’s not slacking off.” Wonwoo snags his glasses. He looks more annoyed with them. “It’s a break. You clearly need one.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just forget it. I’m not arguing with you about stupid shit.”

“And what's stupid shit? The job we signed up for? With the professor who controls our futures?”

Wonwoo fixes his pants and rolls out of bed. On the opposite side. As far away from you as possible. “Whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

You slam the bathroom door shut with finality. When you come back out, any trace of Wonwoo is long gone.

There aren’t many people in class. A benefit of Halloweekend is the partying starts Wednesday and doesn’t stop until the following week. Even with last night's rain plenty of students are battling hangovers which leaves a third of the usual lecture attendance to witness you and Wonwoo go head to head while Dr. Wagner sits at home with a mysterious illness she announced in an email three minutes after nine AM.

The few that are there snag their papers, lips curled in disgust at the plethora of red ink spilled on white pages. Their own faults for not paying attention during lecture but maybe the scarlet gashes were a little dramatic. Wonwoo’s jaw is tight, pointedly ignoring you except to hand exams over that someone is waiting for with dread in their eyes.

You could’ve skipped. It wouldn’t even count as skipping because class is canceled and there’s no award for hauling ass at the crack of dawn when your advisor isn’t even here to see it. You could be tucked away in your apartment with him under your skin; firmly in the place between dreams and waking where you liked him best, nothing but warm skin and rough hands with his lips on your hairline and your head burrowed in his chest.

There are too many witnesses to just drop the act and wrap your arms around him from behind until he gives in. Apologize for the stupid shit he rightfully called you out on. But as your courage grows with each student’s exit, Wonwoo makes to leave before you can make use of it.

Barely an hour of fighting and it already feels like an eternity.

“Hey,” you call.

He freezes by one of the desks near the back of the room, like he’s shocked you’re even there in the first place. But he doesn’t turn around; just tilts his head so you know he’s listening even if he doesn’t want to.

“Sorry about this morning. I-I think the stress is getting to me.”

And the fact that I can’t be mad at anyone besides the universe for this incredibly shitty situation. And I miss you. Even when you’re right next to me.

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” you fidget with the strap of your bag; a million pounds heavier even without the weight of ungraded tests that Wonwoo snatched before you could divide the remaining work.

He turns around, eying you with an exasperated look. “What else should I say? You called me a slack off and implied I don’t do my job.”

“I didn’t,” you argue but it’s salt in the wound because—

“You did.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. I’ll finish grading the exams over the weekend.”

And then you're alone.

You’re alone in the study room you both usually occupy to work on the Nanochemistry project due at the end of term. The shared document has updates, the blink of his cursor mocking your from wherever he hunkered down. Away from you. The temptation to type ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again disappears once he logs out barely a minute after you logged on.

You’re alone at the circulation desk of the library through your shift, head whipping around to every squeak and cough only to find someone who isn’t Wonwoo. There’s an email from him, to Dr. Wagner with you CC’ed, about class averages and exam questions that should be thrown out.

You walk home alone. Other students in various states of dress and intoxication crowd the sidewalks, a few you recognize but they feel a million miles away.

Alone in your apartment, the two mugs from last night clean in the sink.

The good part of being alone is when you start crying, no one is there to see.

It’s near midnight and the chill of the breeze whipping down the street bites at your exposed skin. Already the should-be-condemned frat house pulses with life, the promise of a long night ahead thrumming through the symphony of drunk screams and music.

It’s not unusual for you to attend frat parties. Wonwoo’s favor guarantees free booze and a perch at the top of the staircase where underclassmen are barred from entering. But you’ll settle for watching drunk underclassman stumbling over the front lawn from one of the couches on the front porch (which are so broken in, no one sinks into the cushions – they just fall straight down until the worn springs catch them) because the inside of the house is too hot, and too crowded, and far too loud.

A hail Mary apology is the only thing on your mind. Yesterday had been the nastiest spat in recent history between you two; notwithstanding sophomore year when Jeonghan asked you for tutoring and Wonwoo insisted on helping. “Helping” meant cutting off every question Jeonghan dared ask with a series of snorts and huffs until you left and refused to talk to him for a week.

He’d apologized in the most Wonwoo fashion – completing your Thermodynamics assignments for the rest of the semester and before going down on you until you threatened to kick him in the head through sensitive sobs.

Wonwoo is here – somewhere. Shuffling up the past, past the line of eager party goers looking for a way in, you scan the front porch, he’s not in his usual waiting spot to whisk you upstairs where the older members hang out with better drinks and better music. Not that he would be. He doesn’t even know you considered coming to this.

Instead, poor Chan, dressed in yellow and black stripes, mans the door with pilot Jihoon by his side.

“Jihoon,” you greet, before looking at the younger man. “Speed bump.”

Chan mumbles something under his breath but lays on the ground regardless. When Wonwoo went through the same hazing you only got a few chances to enjoy the ridiculousness before he dragged you upstairs and shut you up himself.

“Can you not torment the kids?” Jihoon grunts.

“I could. But, where’s the fun in that?”

“Your boyfriend is inside. If you see Jun, tell him it’s his turn to watch the door.”

“Got it.”

Stepping over the underclassman still laying on the ground, you head inside and straight for the packed kitchen to get a drink. There’s barely any space between the hoard of bodies, forcing you to shuffle forward everytime there's a gap in the crowd; but it’s more like swimming against a rip tide.

It’s difficult to see with nothing but a few strobe lights and some strings of Christmas lights to clear the dark. One glance up towards the upper landing of the staircase is all it takes to find him right next to Mingyu. Matching costume, two bean poles standing out from the crowd of shorter men. Mingyu makes a brief nod in your direction but before you can see Wonwoo turn you’re off into the kitchen.

It’s an even tighter fit in here. A pledge pours drinks from a cooler, for a brief second you’re tempted to indulge. The last time you did, freshman year, you ended up crying in Wonwoo’s room mid-hookup. You scan the slim pickings and settle on an unopened beer. The shots you took while getting ready are already catching up.

Forced between anxious isolation and drinking, a few of your friends come up and briefly make conversation. You feign interest, eying over their heads for a familiar mop of dark hair without success.

A few guys stop to compliment your costume. They give themselves away in glazed heavily lidded stares, single minded focus on your legs. They ask what your major is, boast their status as pledges to your disinterested grimace, and move on when you finally put them out of their misery and fib about your “boyfriend” being “president or something” but “I don’t pay attention to those things,” and they all disappear significantly paler than when they first appeared.

You bite the bullet of your pride and turn to leave, only to find Wonwoo barely an inch away.

His eyes burn over your figure, the short toga covering just enough for you to avoid public indecency. Good. It’s the entire reason you wore this stupid costume in the first place. He’s a horny loser for nerdy shit and this is the best thing you could’ve worn other than one of those video game character costumes forcing your boobs in your throat and leaving you at serious risk for public indecency.

It’s not the first time you’ve wrapped yourself in barely enough fabric to constitute an outfit for the sake of his forgiveness and it probably won’t be the last.

Wonwoo pins you to the counter with his hips, hands bracketing your figure on either side. The green hat with an ‘L’ is lopsided on his head but at least he didn’t wear the fake mustache. “So, what is your costume?” he hums into the space just below your ear with a kiss.

“Guess.” You tilt your chin, cocky.

“And if I get it right?” he asks, lips at your ear.

Heart pound, you ditch the beer and reach for his hips with purpose. “Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

“Think of it as my apology for being a huge bitch yesterday.”

He sighs into your neck, arms tight around your waist in a loose semblance of a hug. It’s a farce. Your ass meets the counter with minor effort and Wonwoo claims the space between your legs before you can pretend to object.

He still hasn’t kissed you.

You want more than kisses. You want to feel him, all of him. Want to drag him to the living room serving as a makeshift dance floor and sink into the heat of his body pressed flat against your own for everyone to see. You want to pull him into that closet off the main hall, familiar from that hot night of freshman year when a drunk make out turned into a timid fingering and eventually Wonwoo handing over his first time on a silver platter. Or even run back to your apartment, pluck through the leftover Halloween candy you bought on discount and watch whatever horror movie has become his recent obsession. You just want him.

“Mingyu thought you were Socrates.”

Pressed this close on the sticky counter, his body is the only thing protecting what little of your dignity is left. Even then, there's enough of the slippery warmth of alcohol to tempt you into rutting against him right here for those stupid pledges to see. “Mingyu is an idiot.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “The rubber chicken gave it away.”

You shake it at eye level. “Behold, man.”

“Lame,” his kissing gets bold down the shaft of your neck, teeth scraping your collarbone.

“Oh please, I feel your boner.”

He doesn’t resist you when you nuzzle along the bare parts of his neck, a tease of soft kissing usually reserved for quiet moments tucked away in your apartment. Even in the chaos of the party, body heat turning the air uncomfortably warm, you crave more of his closeness.

His hands feel nice on your legs. None of the timid gentleness of years prior when he’d touch you like it’d burn if he wanted it too much; trailing higher and higher but never under the short hem of the bedsheet turned dress. His fingers flex into the muscle at the outside of your thigh, hook behind your knees and drag you to the edge of the counter.

You're sweating through your own skin when he kisses you.

The need in your gut blooms at full force. Your mouth loosens, welcoming his tongue and teeth and whatever else he’s generous enough to give while you tug at the loose fabric around his hips to force more close proximity; the zipper of his pants is hot against your core and if you fucked him right here it wouldn’t look that different than the PG-13 make out happening right now.

“Wanna show me your room?” You blink like some moony eyed freshman, glassy, pupils blown from vivid images of all the possibilities in the solitude upstairs. Wonwoo is fine with the game of whatever your apology entails even if it means you throw cheesy lines like that.

He ushers you off the counter, flat to your back as he pushes through the crowd with you ahead. Even in a drunken haze people part out of his way because of the mastery of resting bitch face only he seems to have despite the complaint putty that lies behind it. A private smile splits your lips. He can’t be that mad. Not with how he pulls you closer, in the protective way he so often does in the buzz of a single minded crowd with more alcohol in their veins than blood.

Mingyu is standing on the landing. Girls in scraps of fabric eye him up and down, even in his stupid costume with the mustache but he ignores them in favor of pouting straight into a red cup.

“Why is your boyfriend moping?”

“Fuck if I know.” Wonwoo focuses on sucking another bruise on your neck like no one's watching.

You’re loose enough not to care about Mingyu’s annoyance as Wonwoo ushers you by. “Cheer up buttercup, I’m sure there’s a Peach here into charity fucks!”

It’s meant to be encouraging, but Mingyu looks like he’s torn between strangling you and throwing himself over the banister.

Maybe you did lie about being Wonwoo’s girlfriend, but he is president and his room is the biggest and furthest away from chaos. Up on the top floor where the music isn’t as loud and the only people on this floor are other members and their guests for the night.

Wonwoo pushes you inside, kicking the door shut loud enough you wince before crowding you against the wood. You throw his hat away somewhere into the darkness, hand twisted in his hair as he kisses you. Sloppy and gross until he rocks into the softness of your stomach, gasoline on the flame.

“Turn around.”

He barely gives you enough space to do so, pressing you flat once again, cheek squished to the door and a rough pull at your waist.

“If you’re thinking about touching my asshole, don’t. I have shit to do tomorrow,” you warn.

On the other side of the door you hear footsteps but they pass by without stopping.

“Noted, but not what I’m going for,” he jokes.

Your skirt flips up and a draft against the damp crotch of your panties sends a tremor straight through your core. “Share with the class.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m shaking in my toga.”

“And you call me a loser.”

“I can call you some other things,” you grit, pushing back into the heat of his covered cock. “They aren’t as nice though.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your panties off.”

He’s a little bit of a freak. Sometimes he enjoys fucking you in nothing but your underwear and others he wants you in everything but. Maybe because of how this entire thing started; when you wouldn’t even take your bra off and he survived on the barest flash of nipple.

The flimsy soiled fabric barely passes your knees before he’s on you again, easily tempted by the arch of your spine. You hum content as he presses a finger into your cunt, then two. His other hand forces the neckline of your dress down and lo-and-behold your lack of bra delights like you knew it would.

Whatever bright idea that fluttered in Wonwoo’s brain is forgotten as he spins you back around for an eyeful of naked skin; a mouthful of your chest and your leg hooked around his hip for a pathetic dry hump into the heel of his hand.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan with extra emphasis and a caved stomach because there’s teeth and he makes it hurt. “Kiss me.”

Another rut into your thigh and his teeth are back at your bottom lip. It’s not exactly what you anticipated when you showed up tonight but there are far worse places than having a doorknob in your back while Wonwoo leaves a hickey below your ear; a perfectly good bed ten feet away but neither of you can be bothered to move much more than forcing Wonwoo’s pants down enough his cock leaks in your grip, head nestled at your entrance.

You surprise him by sinking to your knees. Head tipped back against the door, you tilt your mouth open to welcome him on your tongue. Wonwoo stares down at you; tits out, hand between your legs as you suck his cock in quick motions until he takes over and fucks into the curve of your throat.

“Holy s-shit,” he hisses and you flatten your tongue to help him along. It feels good; seeing him reduced to so little just from the wet suck of your mouth on him.

A choked gag forces Wonwoo back into his body, hips curving away so you can swallow air before leaving a sloppy kiss on the tip. Seizing him in a tight grip, you use the spit to jerk him off until he cringes with another pathetic moan.

Someone giggles in the hallway, close enough you both hear. They’re far enough away you can still whisper to Wonwoo. “Remember that time we fucked in here last year?”

“When you almost got us killed?”

Last year, at the same party, when you showed up in a skin tight Shego costume, Wonwoo pulled you to the only available room: Seungcheol’s. It’d been hot. Fucking when you aren’t supposed to, having Seungcheol pound at the door while Wonwoo came down your throat (no condoms and no hope to clean up).

“Do it again.”

His hand creeps into a loose collar around the base of your throat. You keep rubbing between your legs, working up a slick slide until your nails dig into the skin of his thighs.

“Really?” There’s no need for muffling the noise when it's his room and the only people at risk of hearing anything have done far worse. He pulls you to your feet, forces your cheek against the door and slides right behind you. Like he was made for you.

“Choke me,” you gasp before digging into the sick part of your brain that likes seeing him strung out, extra breathy just to see his eyes go wide. “Sir.”

Your skin sticks to the door, shamefully squeezed as he drags his cock through the mess of your pussy. “You can’t just say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because what?” you goad. “Gonna punish me?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Show up wearing this,” he grits, tugging at the white fabric bunched around your waist, using the hand on your throat to squeeze your cheeks tight with authority you drool for. “Asking to be choked and now you probably want me to spank you and call you a good girl.”

You grunt through the raw thrust at your gut, sending your head back from sheer enthusiasm. “N–not my fault you fuck me so good.”

Wonwoo almost can’t control himself, hearing nothing but praise fall from your mouth as he fucks you limp against the door. “God.”

Someone screams, “Leave room for Jesus!” from the other side of the door and you almost rip it open to kill them if Wonwoo wasn’t dragging you to the bed.

He folds you onto your front, both standing at the foot of the bed. A deep roll of his hips and you’re filled completely.

“O-oh, fuck me,” you moan, uncaring if the idiot outside the door is still listening. Wonwoo has a hell of a hand and puts it to use against the curve of your ass. The coil in your gut pulls taunt as he delivers one after another.

He fucks deeper, a the hand not burn against your bottom between your shoulders. “You look so good— ah —taking my cock like this.” His voice waivers with the same stunted rhythm of his hips.

“W-want,” you choke on spit, drooling into the comforter. “Wanna taste you.”

The animalist need to suck both your flavors off his cock nearly sends you into a fit but Wonwoo’s there, hooking his hand back around the front of your neck with a subtle squeeze. You want the stupid dress off, you want Wonwoo’s clothes off, you want to fuck him where there’s no one around to catcall in the hallway like twelve year old boys. Want. Want. Want.

What you get is enough pressure from his fingers that your mind blanks. Wonwoo gets a tight enough squeeze on his cock that he’s forced to a grinding halt.

Then his rhythm goes deeper, harder. Course curls against the resistance of your ass until you almost collapse against the edge of the bed. His cock hits that spot like it was made for your body. “Touch yourself.”

You comply without further command. You’re wet, soaked, arousal smeared down your thighs from Wonwoo’s treatment. Your fingers bump against his length as you match the pace of his strokes. “Fuck, Wonwoo — hmmm.”

“Tell me how it feels,” he gasps like it’s his first breath in hours.

“Wet, so wet,” you croon, arching harder, joints locking. “Gonna cum. Oh my god.”

He reaches low, grabbing your hand from between your thighs and pulling it to his mouth for a taste. His tongue slides between your digits, liquid slick with a soft suction your crave on your clit.

“Beg for it.” Wonwoo bites your shoulder hard enough you cry.

Stuffing your hand back between your legs, you play with your clit clumsily. Until pink crowds the edge of your vision and it hurts. “Please, please! I need—Want it. Wanna come for you. Please, sir.”

Wonwoo strains to hear your pleas over the clap of bodies. He’s worked you near the middle of the bed, practically laying on top of you as he fucks in quick succession.

“Harder, fuck me,” you demand. “Yes, yes, y–yes!”

If you were on top you’d fall straight off, jerking tightly under Wonwoo’s weight, turning your face to greet his tongue between your teeth and mewling sensitivity. He doesn’t show mercy, continuing to fuck you through the worst of it.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, head throbbing. Wonwoo forces you back on your knees and you fight through sore muscles and sensitivity to preen under the weight behind his hips.

“Can I come in you?” he asks in a shivery breath.

You nod with closed eyes, tugging the hand around your throat to your lips and sucking his fingers like it’s a cock. He finishes with a choked breath, flooding your insides with sticky warmth you’ve never gotten used to in all the months you’ve fucked without condoms.

His breath fans against the nape of your neck, another swivel of his hips from the sensitivity. Your walls squeeze as Wonwoo pulls away.

You roll onto your back with a bounce, Wonwoo jostling you when he joins. Shoulder to shoulder, you stare up at the ceiling while catching your breath. “Do you think you’ll pop a boner when your students call you a sir next year?”

Wonwoo heaves a long breath, amusement in his voice. “I come inside you and that's the first thing you think of?”

Immediately you regret the joke. Since Dr. Wagner’s announcement weeks ago neither of you had broached on the topic of what happens after graduation. Mostly from fear. But also because it’s a long discussion you’re not exactly sure what you want out of.

“Answer the question.”

“I hope not.”

The bed shifts beneath your knees as you crowd over Wonwoo, laying with his arms behind him to keep from sinking flat. The tired lines of his face look deeper in the lamp light. He’s nothing more than a big softie that wants to cuddle half naked in his bed while you play with his hair until sleep finds its place.

“It’s our last Halloween party.”

“Wow, just like old times,” you snort. “Should I start crying? Then it’ll be just like freshman year all over.”

Wonwoo laughs, his hand snatching yours and lacing your fingers together. “You wore a bra and bunny ears freshman year so if you’re gonna whip that out too – by all means.”

“God, we were so lame,” you announce matter of factly. Crying in lingerie and animal ears in one of the supply closets downstairs all because—

“Don’t rope me into that, miss ‘crying-because-she-didn’t-know-how-to-suck-dick’.” Wonwoo rolls on top of you, hoping to silence whatever argument bubbling in response with a teasing press of his lips. You're still sticky with sweat and spit and cum, nipples and pussy out and the thought of his dick, limp against your thigh, makes you sensitive all over.

“That’s former miss ‘crying-because-she-didn’t-know-how-to-suck-dick’,” you trail off into his mouth. “And you’re one to talk. Remember the time you cried about how happy you were that we were friends.”

He bites your lip in retaliation. “I didn’t.”

“You did. I have the video from Mingyu.”

“I thought he was an idiot.”

“He is but he’s good for blackmail.”

You might consider staying the night if he keeps tracing his nose along the arch of your collarbone. But a shrill giggle and some pornographic moans ring through the walls of the neighboring room. Not the side Seungkwan occupies. Hoshi’s. And it’s only the start.

“We can’t sleep here.”

Wonwoo collapses, tugging you with him. “I can’t ditch again, I’m on pledge duty.”

“You’re hiding in your room with me.”

“Okay, technically I’m on pledge duty.”

He wouldn’t stay here if he wasn’t required. Wonwoo hates party nights, especially Halloween. Too many variables requiring all hands on deck; too many needy people demanding his presence for some issue that could’ve been handled if they used their brain to think farther than the tip of their nose. Rarely, if ever, does he sleep in his own bed when you have a perfectly good one tucked away in a private apartment without thirty other men tripping over each other.

“Well, I’m not sleeping with that.” On cue, another whimper, clearly a man’s, breaks through the tentative silence. Are they fuck against the shared wall?

Wonwoo sighs, scrubbing his face before moving for his phone. “I’ll send one of the kids to walk you.”

“Wow, a pledge escort. How thoughtful,” you sneer.

He huffs again, unwilling to start a fight that’ll leave neither of you satisfied. “Text me when you get home.”

You don’t.

There is an unspoken habit between you and Wonwoo that Sunday mornings are spent at the only reasonably priced coffee shop just near your apartment. A charming hole in the wall, with hanging shelves displaying layers of tchotchkes, paintings lining whatever free space between them, and wobbly tables with equally unbalanced chairs. It’s always packed because the coffee is decent and they have outlets. After last night, you hope he’s too exhausted to even think about showing up.

Mugs click against dark lacquered tables, the dull murmur of conversation churns over the music swelling softly through the speakers. The smell of pastries and espresso wake you enough to slide into a vacant table in the corner and set to work.

Or you would’ve if someone didn’t sit down first.

“Oh.”

Wonwoo already has a mug and a little brown bag as he looks up at where you stand dumbly.

“I can just go…sit somewhere else…” You turn to leave, except there are no other tables. Couples and groups claim every single seat except the one across from Wonwoo.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know, probably because I’m mad at you.”

He unpacks his laptop, shaking his head. “You’re not mad at me.”

“Yes, I am,” you emphasize.

“You’re a bad liar.”

Neither of you are good at lying. Even worse at fighting. Incapable of committing to real anger when it takes all your energy to stand up straight and not fall asleep in a pile of ungraded papers and half finished assignments. Besides, you're only pouting because he passed up a night at your place to clean up pledge vomit.

You can’t tame the annoyed grin cracking your face. “Fine, I’m not that mad at you. Buy my forgiveness in the form of coffee.”

“Too much caffeine will kill you.”

“I can only hope,” you sigh, arms cradling your head against the hard wood of the table while he joins the queue at the register.

Wonwoo orders your drink and a cheesy pastry the size of your head, the smell of greasy carbs first thing in the morning softening the ice in your veins. He knows your weaknesses too well.

“Is this penance?”

“Something like that.” He tears the crispiest corner off and pops it into his mouth.

“Did you look at the study guide for Calc yet?”

Two hours later you approach the counter for a second round of coffee and snag one of the jammy tarts Wonwoo likes but rarely buys for himself. Whatever chaffs between you two melts under the constant stream of note checking; Wonwoo’s hand on your knee under the table helps too.

“If I look at this anymore, I’ll run into traffic.”

“We’ve got the Nano project that needs some work,” you suggest.

He stretches wide, a sliver of skin visible between the hem of his sweater and the band of sweat pants. “I’ve got practice in an hour. We can do it tonight when I’m done.”

You try not to stare and instead return to focusing on the screen of your laptop burning your retinas.“I’m tutoring Seungkwan.”

“After?”

“He’s gonna be a bitch and the last thing I wanna do is look at more school stuff.”

“Then no school stuff,” he decrees with finality. “I’ll bring mushroom pad thai from that place on Market.”

“Are you trying to bribe your way in?”

“Is it working?”

You hum a dismissal but watch him through your lashes. He looks good – washed in late afternoon glow, hair a mess with glasses and a sweater that hangs off his shoulders. It all screams ‘drag me to bed and nap the rest of the day’ which is trouble for you because you still want to be mad at him if only to see how fair he’s willing to go for your forgiveness.

“We can watch Yellowjackets,” he barters, packing his bag.

Another group eyes your table with hope to claim it the second it’s available. Sadly, your ass is firmly planted for the rest of the afternoon. With or without Wonwoo.

“You’re really trying to butter me up, aren’t you?”

“I cannot sleep in that house,” he deadpans. “Please take mercy.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me for a place to sleep. Even after I wore that stupid Halloween costume?”

He pauses, eyes glazing like it’s a distant memory and not less than twenty four hours ago. “You looked hot.”

“You made that pretty clear.”

“Anyway, I’ll come over after practice. You can bitch about Seungkwan until you pass out.”

“Fine, but if there is no pad thai then don’t come.”

“Whatever my woman demands,” he snorts, dropping a kiss to your lips before turning towards the door.

Two hours and another coffee later, Seungkwan occupies Wonwoo’s abandoned chair. There’s no reason for him to be taking an intro chem class as a Creative Writing major other than the fact he’s a bit of a masochist. He’s not half bad at it and doesn’t really need any tutoring but you get paid for showing up even if it’s complete silence as you pick your nails until he needs something.

You’re marking through his latest attempt when he finally speaks up, “You're dating Wonwoo, right?”

Red pen scratches through the edge of the paper. “What?”

“You and Wonwoo.”

What is the absolute configuration of the two carbon atoms in this compound? More red ink.

“What about me and Wonwoo?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes with exasperation, like you’re on the outs of some obvious joke. “Dating.”

If an alkene has 24 hydrogen atoms, how many carbon atoms does it contain? Another X.

“No.”

“Oh, I thought—”

“We’re just friends.”

When 10 g of 90% pure lime stone is heated completely, the volume (in litres) of is liberated at STP is… Wrong, again. Which makes no sense because Seungkwan is good at this level. He’s fucking with you on purpose.

“Huh,” he comments, grabbing the worksheet back from your claws.

“‘Huh’ what?”

“I heard a rumor he had a girlfriend last night, that’s all.”

It's not the first time someone assumed there's more between you and Wonwoo then there actually is, your fib last night clearly fanned the flames of even more speculation. But neither of you date; not enough time, willpower, or patience to entertain someone around packed schedules. If you and Wonwoo didn’t have the same life within the chemistry department then you’d never see each other. It’s convenient as it can possibly be.

Maybe at one point there was. Summer of sophomore year when he studied abroad in Spain and the usual substance of correspondence morphed from memes and jokes to something softer; I miss you’s and you’d like it here’s. Late night phone calls that lasted hours, refusing to hang up first until one of you fell asleep and the other finally canceled the call.

But the opportunity to tip over the edge came and went without coalescing into whatever was on the other side.

Seungkwan can pretend it’s an innocent suggestion but he stares you down until you crack with your own curiosity. “Who told you that?”

“Some pledges said they accidentally hit on his girlfriend. I don't even think he knows another girl beside you. Plus you were at the party last night.”

Stupid fuckers, you mutter under your breath. “We’re not dating.”

“But you guys are always together.”

“We work together. You and Vernon are always together, are you two fucking?”

“My room is next to his and it doesn’t sound like work to me.”

“How does me failing you sound?” you spit.

Seungkwan doesn't so much as flinch at the threat but returns to the practice sheet with a smile nonetheless.

Typically, fall break is spent hidden away in a pile of blankets with you and Wonwoo alternating movie choices throughout the weekend. Dead Poets Society (him), When Harry Met Sally (you), Over the Garden Wall (him), Fantastic Mr Fox (you), and so on and so on.

This year, you have a strong feeling Dr. Wagner’s favorite pastime is seeing her TAs squirm. It’s the only explanation for the unique brand of humiliation she subjects you and Wonwoo to. Tonight, Friday and technically your first night off for the long weekend, she decides to engage in a new sort of torture. A fancy dinner that neither of you could ever hope to afford, and even as her treat, you still eye the menu prices nervously.

But Dr. Collins sits across the table, in the flesh, so you pull out the skills you learned in the ridiculous theater class you took freshman year to “diversify” your transcript and smile through the anxiety.

Wonwoo does a little better; in a button up you’ve only seen him wear a handful of times when his usual wardrobe is sweatshirts and free shirts from campus events, he looks more comfortable than you feel.

“Jill, tells me you both work on Epitranscriptomic mapping in her lab?” Dr. Collins asks after another sip of his drink. Two whiskeys at dinner.

It’s not an official interview. Not anything close to it, according to your advisor. Nothing is set in stone, even if Dr. Collins laughs at Wonwoo’s awkward jokes and nods enthusiastically to your stories about working in the library (he also worked in the library in undergrad, but used it to nap more than actually work). But it feels like a step in the right direction.

“Yes, sir.” Wonwoo and you nod in tandem.

Dr. Wagner’s research focuses on how different RNA modifications vary across various cell types and states. It’s high level stuff that no one but Wonwoo understands when you rant about the broken Cellraft machine. And his complaints about NovaSec’s constant crashes that leave him without work fall on deaf ears except when they’re directed at you.

Half the reason you two started speaking during orientation is because the overly enthusiastic intern asked what people were looking forward to the most during school. You and Wonwoo were the only ones who seemed to think she meant school-related and not where to buy a fake ID. Apparently, the best person to get a fake ID from was a junior in Dr. Wagner’s lab that year. Go figure.

“I’ve seen you two listed down the line as co-authors,” he nods.

The waiter brings dessert, spiced toffee cakes and ice cream. You’re starving but the knot in your stomach from when you sat down is even tighter and all you can do is pick at the plate.

“Well, Y/N does a lot of the troubleshooting for the RNA degradation issues,” Wonwoo shares.

Your face heats at the unexpected but not undeserved compliment. Dr. Wagner’s work isn’t cheap and the thought of wasting valuable money, money that could line the pocket of an extra set of hands, forced you to run a tight ship. The other researchers in her lab could say what they wanted behind your back but Dr. Wagner nods with fondness and you try not to preen.

“We’d be a mess if it wasn’t for her,” Dr. Wagner agrees. “The lab techs should write her a card.”

Not wanting to leave him out, you shoot a look to your left where Wonwoo pulls at the napkin in his lap. “Wonwoo is the one that made sure the parameters made sense for the last publication.”

“Also true.” Dr. Wagner smiles. “I told you, Harry, they’re my best students. Excel a mile past my TAs last year. They work together exceptionally well. If I could keep them both for next year, I would.” She says it with finality. There might very well be an opportunity to stay here and continue in her lab, even if your ambition has outgrown the place you’ve called home for four years.

The table is cleared, your plate full of mashed cake and melted ice cream with not a single bite missing. You’re exhausted. Mentally, emotionally; physically from the three all nighters you’ve pulled this week. There’d be an earful from Wonwoo about the dangers of sleep deprivation (hypocrite) but he looks like he’s seen a ghost tonight and won’t sleep himself.

Dr. Collins glances at his watch with a muffled yawn, “My, my! Look at the time! My apologies I didn't mean to keep us all out so late. I know you two probably have far more interesting things to be doing than spending the evening with a couple old timers like us.” He winks at Dr. Wagner, who rolls her eyes and hands the check back to the waiter who can’t be more than nineteen. “It looks like I’ll have some tough decisions to make in the upcoming weeks. Best of luck to the both of you.”

Hands shakes all around, and an awkward shuffle at the door and Dr. Collins and Dr. Wagner disappear into the night, leaving you and Wonwoo alone on the long walk back to campus.

You don’t beeline to your apartment for a debrief. Or even to ignore the obvious awkwardness cracking between. A bench to the side of the campus green is where you find yourselves, across from the fountain that upholds the tradition of drunken seniors taking a dip during finals when they’ve given up.

You want to drown in it.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper. “What happens if one of us doesn't get in?”

“I–I don’t know.” He peers down at you with what you think is grief and the white noise that follows his quiet admission chokes painfully. There’s no plan B for something like this

If you got in, then Wonwoo did too. An unfounded assumption that wherever you went he’d be there too, based on almost four years of something between you. Too much to be friendship but too scared to call it something else. Something more. All the stereotypical college firsts had been with him or witnessed by him, you assumed grad school would be the same.

But it can’t be.

“Then we should end this.”

The words are out like shaken champagne, a dramatic explosion you can’t take back; a mess in the slimmest inches of space between your bodies on the bench in the freezing air.

“What?” he says.

You can’t swallow back down the idea. Wonwoo won’t let you. Maybe you don’t want to. You stare at the fountain across the green with a twitch in your jaw.

“One of us is gonna move to Boston and the other is gonna have to figure it out and I’d rather not hate you or you hate me when it happens.”

You won’t take it back but you won’t look at him either.

“You think I’d hate you?”

He’s staring at you. You can feel the burn of his gaze on your cheek where embarrassment heats as well.

“I would.” You ignore the break in your voice at the complete lie. “I’d hate it if you got in and I didn’t. Even though you deserve it and I couldn’t be mad about it. I’d hate it. All I’ve wanted since freshman year is to go there, and I won’t ruin it for you just because I can’t have it.”

For a painstaking moment, he doesn’t say anything. His shoulders are still rigid and he props his weight into his knees, head bowed so you can’t even see his face in the stark street light. He doesn’t do anything until you do, until you slump with utter defeat.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Your voice pinches in your throat.

“What else is there? You’ve already decided for the both of us. That stupid fucking program matters more to you than—”

You heat close to explosion.“It’s not stu—”

Wonwoo rushes off the bench. “It is! It is because we’ve been dating for the past three years but you won’t even fucking admit it! You’ll tell some stupid pledge I’m your boyfriend but everytime I think we’ve worked it out – that you’re finally ready to talk about it – you pretend nothing is happening.”

“That wasn’t—” you shake your head.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it.”

You move quicker than he does and find his hand, but he doesn’t want to stay and you can’t stop him from leaving. “Wonwoo.”

“Stop.” His voice is stoic, whatever emotions previously controlling him locked up tight behind faux dismissal. “Just…stop.”

If you’re going to lie then the smallest favor you can do is obey his command. You hide your face in your hands, cheeks hot and eyes stinging. Because if you look at him then you’ll break into a million pieces. You’d admit to lying to his face; that you could so much as entertain the idea of hating him.

Wonwoo waits but you say nothing. No argument, no final comment.

When you finally look up he’s far enough down the sidewalk that the pathetic croak of his name is unheard.

Endpoint: a critical moment in a chemical process where a specific change indicates that the reaction is complete.

Two days later, when you finally get the balls to call Wonwoo and apologize, to tell him he’s right and that you’re an absolute idiot, he’s already blocked your number.

In a game of passive aggressive pettiness, Wonwoo takes gold.

He won’t talk to you outside of class and lab hours. Even then, he refuses to look at you; talks straight around you. Any form of correspondence you receive has Dr. Wagner’s name attached and anything you send without it is loudly ignored.

Other people notice too.

In study hours, the students notice, whisper to each other when Wonwoo snubs your attempt to discuss a batch of graded homework in favor of focusing his attention on a cowering freshman who looks like he might piss himself when Wonwoo calls him by name. All the others bury their heads in their textbooks in fear he’ll pick them next.

In Nano, when he shows up just in the nick of time to leave his self-assigned seat next to you empty, and instead sitting next to the door. You feel the eyes on you, hair standing on end at the back of your neck when Dr. Lim stutters through his intro with wide eyes at the scene.

Seungkwan shows up to tutoring significantly less interested in your love life. Or he pretends he isn’t. He doesn’t ask outright and there’s pity in his eyes, thick enough you want to burst into the tears you’ve waited to come for the past two weeks. Instead you feel hollow.

Even Mr. Lee, the night guard at the library, eyes your solitary exit with something like concern. Even going so far as to call campus public safety to escort you the short walk home.

Your other friends try to take you out, get your mind off the tilt in your world axis. You go. Sit at bar tables and laugh when you're supposed to, make empty conversations with strangers but you don’t care. You want to go home and curl up in your own misery like a blanket and cry until your eyes swell shut and pass out from exhaustion. Eventually, they stop asking if you want to come and just leave ice cream and bottles of wine on your doormat as support.

Your grades don’t suffer, and that’s the only thing you can cling to right now.

In Dr. Wagner’s office, an impromptu meeting under the guise of setting final exam expectations and tinkering the schedule, Wonwoo continues the harsh coldness of silence; content to pretend you don’t even exist.

You work through it easily enough. You and Wonwoo have the same finals so there's only two schedules (Dr. Wagner’s and your shared one) to coordinate for extra study hours. The entire ordeal takes ten minutes to complete the shared calendar, pack it full of final lab meetings and deadlines for grading.

And when it’s over, you move to rise but Dr. Wagner stops you short.

She looks sheepish which is an odd sight. Immediately, you go to the worst. You grit and swallow and sit back down in the same upholstered chair from the last time she dropped a bomb in your lap.

This is the bandaid rip you’ve waited for all semester. Whatever is at the end of this meeting means you finally know if you’re good enough or not. If karma does justice and gives Wonwoo the spot in Dr. Collins lab next year because you committed the sin of wanting it too much, sacrificed too much.

“It seems my attempt at friendly competition had some…unintended consequences.”

Where sizzling anger would once flourish and bloom, nothing but empty exhaust stutters to life. “What?”

“Last year, the second my TAs found out I’d recommended them, they slacked off. Missing class, incorrect results in the lab. Now I know you two are hard workers but I was afraid senioritis might set in and I’d have to lay down the law. I don’t like being harsh with my students, not directly anyway. I want the best out of them, and I knew I could anticipate the best from you two. I was always planning to recommend both of you to Dr. Collins. I told him he would regret it if he even thought about not making space for you both next year.”

“What?” you repeat again.

There’s a weight on your knee. You don’t even need to look to know it’s Wonwoo’s hand. He doesn’t look before flipping it over when you place yours on top, fingers knotting together; holds it tight like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. You unconsciously squeeze and he mimics without thought.

“So what does this mean?”

“Dr. Collins can’t outright say it but he’s on the admissions board and decides who gets to join his lab. He was adamant that both of you join him in Boston.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“I know, but the application is a formality at this point.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Your work speaks for itself.”

Wonwoo is still there, clenching your hand for dear life. Waiting for the other shoe to drop because there is no way – no way – it’s this easy. Months at each other's throat from the tension and for nothing. You’re sweaty, heart thumping loud enough it might break from your chest and skitter on Dr. Wagner’s desk. She keeps talking and you still haven’t looked at Wonwoo.

“I’m so proud of you both!” she beams. “And I’m sorry if I’ve…complicated things…for the two of you. It was never my intention. Now, go! Rest! Take the day off and celebrate. Send me the links to your applications and I’ll do my part so you can finally relax before finals.”

The pair of you shuffle outside like zombies. In broad daylight, the world keeps spinning and someone drops their coffee a little further down the street and curses a storm; a car honks at a biker, there's packs of students shuffling around where you stand dumbfounded. Your sweater does little to block the chill of late November wind.

Wonwoo still hasn’t let go of your hand.

“Did that just happen?” he asks.

“What the fuck.”

Your laughing, deranged and fatigued cackles that earn several looks but on the cusps of finals it’s not uncommon enough to stop anyone out of concern. “What the fuck!”

You’re not sure what to do. Celebrate? Cry?

It’s a little bit of both as Wonwoo swoops in, wrapping his arms around you tight enough to squeeze a surprised scream from your lungs. He’s not done, lifting and spinning you around in a quick circle before crying, “What the fuck!”

You laugh, snorting ugly cackles as he almost drops you with both of you gasping for breath. Completely deranged but what just happened that the rift between you momentarily heals.

Wonwoo sets you down gently but keeps close, his hands your waist like he’s afraid to let go. Like he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. You finally look at him, and it’s the first breath of air after drowning for hours. The creases around his eye, the happy wrinkles around his nose. His hair is long enough it brushes your skin where your foreheads almost touch. His hold is like a cocoon of warmth.

“I’m sorry!” you blurt. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m stupid and stubborn and I’ve been so caught up in this program that I—”

“No,” he shakes his head, arms tightening as you squirm in his hold.

“Let me finish.”

“No,” he says. “I like that you're stubborn and a pain in the ass. And it wasn’t fair that I expected you to just push aside something like grad school for me. I was being selfish and—”

“I love you.”

You might say it again just to see the way he chokes and turns purple; pulls you closer. He’s at a loss for words and you capitalize on the moment.

“I’ve thought about what would happen if I didn’t get in, like a million different possibilities and never once were you not there. I felt like…I don’t know, honestly. Like I was losing you and it was easier to be upset about the program than admit that. It was stupid and I’m stupid, and I’m really bad at speeches so…feel free to shut me up or whatever.”

You wait for him to process what you’ve said – a million emotions swiping across his face. Ridiculous some people act like he’s the embodiment of stoicism because if you know what to look for then they’d realize he’s terrible at hiding the way he feels.

“You love me?”

All that crying you did in the past few weeks means nothing because you could cry right now. But you don’t look away, you don’t ever want to look away from him again because you’d miss the way his face softens.

“Well, we’ve been dating for the past three years. It’s about time I told you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak, facing morphing into confusion before he scoffs with disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”

“Hey!” you stomp but Wonwoo pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck and squeezes so tight something feels on the verge of popping in your spine. His ears burn red as he whispers those three words back quietly enough you strain to hear them. He bites your shoulder just to be an asshole.

“What the hell was that for?”

He does it again.

“Stop biting me you freak, we’re in public.” You pinch his side for good measure and only then does he smash the side of his face to yours and begin walking you backwards, in the direction of your apartment.

“Whatever, you love me.”

He lets you walk normally at the cross walk, your hand in his, both tangled in the warmth of the pocket of his sweatshirt because it’s fucking cold and the wind isn’t helping. Wonwoo drags you straight home, up the stairs, and crowds you against the door and kisses you until you can’t breathe.

“Why are you crying?”

You are. You don’t even realize it had started until you reach up and feel the dampness on your cheeks.

“Probably because I haven’t slept in two days and I missed you, idiot.” Wonwoo kisses you flat on the mouth again at the confession, smiling big enough it’s less of a kiss and more of teeth pressed together. But it’s good. You like it. You speak into his mouth, “I promise I would have really ‘sloppy I love you sex’ but I’m so tired I think I might throw up.”

“You missed me.” he hums, more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah, big head, I missed you. Now let’s sleep.”

“God,” he moans, biting his lip in mock pleasure. Maybe even real pleasure at the idea of a Friday afternoon full of nothing but hazy dreams in silence rarely found in a frat house. “I love you too.”

You undress straight down to your underwear. Cotton with a conservative cut because in no universe did you think you’d end the day with Wonwoo back in your orbit. Wonwoo who loves you, Wonwoo who you love back. But he eyes you like you’re a grand prize and all he wants is to touch you. But the rush of adrenaline keeping you conscious is burning out quickly.

He strips too, nothing but boxers and circles under his eyes but he’s happy. It radiates off him in waves and if you weren’t part of it, you’d throw something at him because it’d be annoying. You might just be glowing too.

You slip under the covers and Wonwoo snuggles up behind you, a second skin with his hand flat to your stomach to keep you from going anywhere. Not that you would. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, it’s dark outside; which could mean it’s been minutes or hours since the winter sun likes to deep beneath the horizon early in the afternoon. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

Everything is warm; your body beneath the comforter, where sweat sticks at your back, the lips dragging across the curve of your neck, Wonwoo’s crotch firm between your legs.

“Good morning to me,” you sigh.

He hums in happy agreement, tongue traces the shell of your ear before kissing across your cheek and chin and finally landing on your mouth with a kiss that can only be described as sappy.

“Got started without me?” Your hands press under his underwear, two palms full of his ass holding him still enough to grind up into. Something about a sleepy make out has you hungry to lay there and take whatever he’ll offer.

“I’ll catch you up, don’t worry.”

You snicker, “No wonder those freshmen have crushes on you.”

“What do you mean?” He traces your naked sides with his fingers.

“I’ll catch you up,” you mock, then wince from a razor of his teeth as he shifts down your chest. “If you were my TA, I’d try to fuck you.”

“I’m trying to have’ sloppy I love you sex’ and you’re trying to goad me into some student teacher shit?”

He bites your side, just a nip but you flare and blush anyway. “Ooooo, tell me I’m bad.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

“As I was saying,” he whispers into your stomach, fingers tugging your panties off. “Sloppy I love you sex.”

“Okay, okay.” You sink a hand in his hair only for him to tug it away, fingers laced together over your sternum as he strokes you to life. “O-oh, that’s—fuck.”

He hikes a leg up over his shoulder, out of the way for the fingers that satisfy the empty squeeze in your gut. Your tongue prickles with another goad but Wonwoo senses it first and swiftly works to silence you with a hot kiss to your clit that makes your vision bleed red.

The cold of the room works in his favor, pinching your nipples tight until you cave to the need to touch yourself. If the light was on then he’d watch and you get the urge to pause the action just for the chance to watch him watch you.

“Don’t stop,” you grunt.

He eats it filthy, spit and arousal forming a wet mess slipping down your ass. The way his tongue lashes is nothing short of despicable and you know you’re the one that taught him that and you can’t help but flare with pride. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m—” you chant blindly.

The warmth between your legs surrounds, suffocates until your thighs go numb and your shoulders pull away from the mattress with a groan rivaling porn; but you mean it. Wonwoo means it too.

You clench harder, revitalized in the stretch of another finger and a clip of teeth on your clit. You tug at your still clasped hands on your chest, bite into the meat of his palm and let the flood consume you with stiff legs and tears in your eyes. “Oh, Wonwoo – u-ugh. Fuck. Fuck.”

Wonwoo takes it, mouth waiting for every eager roll of your hips; completely unphased until you melt back in the sheets with a pathetic mewl.

He kisses up your body, mouth and cheeks wet and warm. When he reaches your mouth you resist the urge to lick him clean. Something about that feels decidedly unlike sloppy I love you sex. So you slip your tongue between his lips instead and spread your legs until his crotch is level with the raw sensitivity of your own.

“Roll over,” you pant.

Like an asshole, he laughs. And then he drops his weight behind his hips and you actually see stars. “Wanna do it like this.”

“Make love to me,” you croon.

He doesn’t even pretend to stifle the obnoxious snort. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“What happened to sloppy I love you sex?”

“Getting to it. You like it when I come inside you?” Now he’s the one goading and you’re blushing like you’ve never fucked him before. To be fair, you haven’t fucked him as the man you’re in love with so it’s a first time for the both of you. Wonwoo’s drunk on the power of having you stutter through something so familiar yet new.

“Love it.”

“Good,” he agrees with a saccharine peck to your nose that makes you feel like a doe eyed virgin again. “I love you.”

Your need for games and pretense dissolves. You just want Wonwoo, all of him, until you can’t take it any more.

Wonwoo senses the change, noses against your cheek before kissing you. He’s still holding your hand, the other cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the curve of flesh. It’s vulnerable and soft and something you probably could’ve experienced years ago if you weren’t willfully blind.

“I love you, too.”

You whisper the confession so quietly it doesn’t even make a sound but Wonwoo figures it out because he surges into action, pulling you to the center of the mattress in all your naked glory. The flood light from the side of the building reflects back in through the slats in the blinds and Wonwoo sits up to soak in what he can see in the limited light.

Twisting a hand in his hair, you pull him down for a kiss; forcing all the emotions you have to the surface. He doesn’t make you wait. Instead, he drops flat, flat together from head to toe as he slips inside. You’re still tight and sensitive, squirming at the feeling of being stretched so thin with Wonwoo wrapped tight in your arms.

“W-wonwoo,” you mewl. You know he loves the sound of his name, any time, in desperate moans and sleepy coos. You’ll say it as much as he wants to hear if he kisses you like he is now – with something new at the edge. Something needy. “More.”

He wraps your legs around his hips, folding you clean in half with a heavy rut into your pussy you’ll feel for days. You both want to drag this out – take hours to come apart and come together again and again – but Wonwoo is already working a hand between your bodies; stroking you over hot coals just to hear you moan his name again.

In record speed, you feel that familiar burn creeping along your spine. He fucks you into a wet mess and it’s all you can do to hold on and claw up his back. Breaks you into something limp and pliant, hands twisted together over head; tugs at that loose thread over and over until you unravel beneath him and Wonwoo watches like it’s magic.

“Oh- oh, Wonwoo–” you cry. Actually cry. Tears he swipes away with a thumb before pressing his mouth to yours.

You’re swollen and stiff, muscles taunt while they twitch from a rush of complete bliss.

“M cumming, baby – oh my god.” Wonwoo bucks into the tight squeeze of your legs, deeper, harder, more. “Love you—fuck.”

He hides with soft sighs in your neck, skin sticky where you both slide together. You cradle him to your chest, fingers rushing through the sweaty tangles on his hair gently. A kiss to his head, his brow, his nose that wrinkles from pure content.

But you’re not done yet.

You wiggle from beneath him, peeling yourself off the pillows, lower half still numb from one hell of an orgasm. But you want more, insatiable and doped on years of repressed fondness. “Can you go again?”

Wonwoo looks like you asked him to run a marathon. “You want me to die?”

“Worse ways to go,” you coo, sinking low enough to take his cock in your mouth. It tastes like you and him and it makes your eyes roll.

“God. I didn’t know sappy sex meant you’d try to kill me,” he moans airly under your ministrations, a hand at the back of your head when you show off with a nose to his crotch before sliding off. “You’re evil.”

“I’m in love with a sexy nerd and I'm horny,” you sigh dreamily, thrilled with the way he pulses in your hold.

“Yeah, well…” he gives up on whatever rebuttal under the weight of your body on top of his. Nothing he can argue with in that statement anyway so you tease him with a kiss, smile when he chases your mouth, roll when you realize he can taste the mix of you both off your tongue.

“You know…I’ll need a roommate in Boston.”

“Huh,” Wonwoo feigns. His focus is on the way your tug at his cock, spit and cum webbed between your fingers. This isn’t the best way to have this conversation but you’re both high on sleep deprivation, love, and orgasms and it encourages loose lips.

“Know anyone interested?”

He shudders back into the pillow, leaving his neck open for your teeth with a choked, “Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah —fuck—wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Even if I’m a cranky bitch?” Your knees bracket his hips, cunt split on his cock as you grind against the underside.

His stomach caves as he responds with a thin voice, “yeah.”

You like waking up to him too. Falling asleep with him tangled in your body, listening to him hum in the shower when he thinks you aren’t listening. Sometimes he even sings with a little encouragement like those times you were sick and the only thing that got your mind from exploding like thunderclaps was the lullabies from his childhood that he cooed into your hairline.

Starting and ending everyday with Wonwoo sounds nothing short of blissful.

“Okay.” You tangle his fingers with your own, rising on your knees to distract from the sheepish smile splitting your face in two.

“Really?”

“I like having you around,” you admit, sinking down on his cock. “Makes me feel better.”

Weird conversation over the back track of slapping skin and pathetic muffled sobs but you like it. Feels well overdue.

“A-about?”

Everything.

He gives a tender squeeze to your thigh, cradles your face in both hands, eye contact that you fight not shutter away from because it’s terrifying he can see you clearly.

He’s lost; completely mesmerized by the way you bounce on the length of him, grind back into his lap like you’re possessed.

“Can’t last—” he chokes.

“S’okay,” you press the words into his cheek, his jaw, the bones jutting from around his collar. “Just wanna feel you.”

You bend and strain for his pleasure, to watch it dance across his brow as he cums inside you again, his hands heavy on your ass, your thighs, whatever he reflexively grips in a bid for grounding, nails leaving streaks of color. Twitching and jerking in sensitive painful bliss, his eyes roll back with a quick exhale. “Fuck-k.”

You're sticky and used between the legs but you take comfort in the feeling and bask in the glow on top of him. Nothing but a pile of satisfied boneless goo where you lay with sweaty skin and heat you feel from the top of your head to your toes. “Good?”

“Great,” he hums, pulling into one last toe numbing kiss.

When feeling returns to your bodies, you spend the rest of the night eating greasy pizza on the couch in nothing but his shirt, drinking wine straight from the bottle in celebration. You kiss Wonwoo whenever you want, which, admittedly, is a lot; a flurry of sappy pecks over his face leaves him blushing and dewy. When you fall asleep after making love once again, the last thing you hear is him saying he loves you too.

Epilogue

4 months later…

There’s a certain level of comfort that comes with receiving an official acceptance email. The words you’ve been waiting to hear since Dr. Wagner all but confirmed your future in a fifteen minute meeting last semester.

On behalf of the Chemistry department, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a part of…

The big envelope in the mail today helped too.

Wonwoo sends a photo of his, unopened, because you promised to open them together tonight. On your date; which is nothing more than grading assignments and eating leftover take out on the couch like so many nights have been spent already. But this time he’s your boyfriend. And after all the worksheets are graded, and you get to cuddle deep into the worn couch cushions, you get to tell him you love him and he’ll say it back and the flutter in your veins at the thought is nothing short of magical.

And this time you have a surprise waiting for him and he might just cry. Or you hope so. You’ve got $50 riding on the possibility.

You’re sweating through your shirt from putting the new piece of furniture together for the past three hours by the time he shows up with a bag of takeout, Thai food from the place on Market where they know you by order, and a kiss you’ve been missing since the morning when he left for one of his stupid workouts.

Wonwoo sets the bag on the counter, immediately pulling you into his arms before sagging like a deflated balloon. “Pixel got adopted today.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He’s moping. He accepts your placating kiss with a pout, and starts unpacking the food.

You feel the smallest flutter of guilt but it's worth it. “That sucks.”

“She needed a good home.” Wonwoo confirms and that's the end of the conversation.

Even in your final semester, your schedules are still packed. Crammed full with meetings, exams, work, Wonwoo’s volleyball stuff that you attend with posters and sit near the other girlfriends. It’s weird but not because its the same stuff you two were doing for years. But it’s exhausting.

So you don’t blame Wonwoo for not noticing the newest addition to your apartment until he’s inhaled his food and the last third of yours.

“Babe.”

“What?” you ask, focusing on cutting another red slash into the white paper.

“What’s that?”

He points at the gigantic cat tower in the corner next to the couch. It’s cramped in tight but in two months you’ll both be in Boston with a bigger apartment with real bedrooms so it’s only temporary.

You shrug and make another mark. “Oh, just something I picked up.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Huh. Weird.” Your eyebrows furrow in mock confusion but you keep grading papers or else it’s game over and the need to watch him puzzle together your plans is all you want. “Then what’s the thing in the bathroom?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” you confirm.

Wonwoo stares open mouthed, between you and the bathroom door and back to you. He might pinch himself but he flies off the couch with childlike eagerness and your face hurts from smiling already.

Pixel spends the rest of the night curled up asleep on her new dad’s lap and you’re $50 richer. Mingyu’s girlfriend is already offering to catsit despite Mingyu’s pouts about losing money.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia @tinkerbell460

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zaczenemiji · 3 months

Note

Hi I hope you are having a lovely day my dear ♥. I was wondering if you could do a Kenji Sato x reader where the reader is an assistant manager to him and one day he like acts arrogantly towards her during one of his interviews when he sees a pretty journalist amongst the crowed of ppl interviewing him and he says some hurtful things to reader and collectively ignoring her and instead choosing to focus on the journalists girl. Ever since that day reader has been silent around Sato and he thought he didn't care but it bothered him because even though she is usually quite, these days she is *too* quite and then there is like a mini celebration for like a baseball game win and reader goes with a guy who is like an athlete but is not as famous as Sato. So the kicker is reader is absolutely DROP DEAD GORGEOUS and ppl at the party even think she is a model. So Sato get jealous and he acts all possessive and protective of her , while she is still angry at him but eventually he makes it up to her over time. If you have anything else to add please do.

Shattered Pride

Kenji Sato x AssistantManager!Reader

Word Count: 1,873

Genre/Warnings: Character Development, Eventual Romance, Forgiveness, Jealousy, Regret, Redemption

Author’s Note: The idea behind this was just fantastic! Thank you so much for the request, writing this was my honor.

MASTERLIST

Being Kenji Sato’s assistant manager is not an easy task. I repeat: Not. An. Easy. Task. Throughout his baseball career, he has had several assistants who quit as soon as they were hired because, for one thing, Kenji is stubborn.

Ghosted interviews, off-topic answers, and insults to other players were just some of the many things about him that gave you a headache.

You remember being referred to him by his last assistant saying that it was a high-paying job. However, you were skeptical at how quickly and willing they were to give off their job to another person.

You understood why the first time you met him. After the meeting, you asked him, “Is there anything else you need from me today?”

In response, he gave an irritated sigh. “If I needed something, I would have asked.”

Thankfully, you were more on the nonchalant scale, and how people respond to you didn’t bother you much. You were here to do your job—and excellently at that, not exactly to be friends with an arrogant baseball star.

Kenji’s behavior was… challenging, that’s the best word for it. He barked orders, rarely said thank you, and seemed to take your presence for granted. But in conditions like these, you thrive the most; you succeed where others have failed.

Today was a usual day with the usual crowd of journalists and fans gathering in the conference room. You stood by his side, ensuring everything was in order for yet another post-game interview.

It was going all smooth and well when Kenji suddenly paused mid-sentence. It was a very short pause that wouldn’t be noticeable to others but you, with all the time you spent as his assistant, noticed it.

Your eyes looked in the direction he kept glancing at. A girl, of course, strikingly beautiful with long sleek back hair that cascaded down in soft waves.

When it was her turn to ask, Kenji leaned forward to give her a dazzling smile. “Why don’t you ask me a question?” he said, ignoring the list of pre-approved questions you handed him before the interview started.

Kenji was holding court with this journalist longer than he should. You noticed that the others in line were starting to murmur in annoyance.

You stepped forward, maintaining your professional demeanor. “Excuse me, Mr. Sato, but we need to move on,” you said. “Other journalists are waiting for their turn.”

“I’m not done here,” he said arrogantly, not bothering to look your way.

You took a deep breath, wanting to handle this situation diplomatically. “I understand,” you said. “But we’ve exceeded the time limit, and it’s only fair to give everyone a chance.”

Whichever agency’s plan was it to send her here to get ahead of other journalists, it’s working. She gave you a polite smile, clearly enjoying the extra attention.

Kenji frowned and turned to you. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important?” He asked. “If you can’t manage your job properly, maybe you should reconsider.”

Your eyes widened. You could feel others’ on you, their stares almost cutting through your professional facade.

Swallowing your pride, you nodded and stepped back, keeping your expression neutral. But as neutral as you looked, deep down you felt a mix of anger and humiliation.

From that day on, you remained silent around Kenji, only speaking when necessary. You remained professional though, and you made sure that your job was not compromised.

During meetings, you no longer offered insights unless directly asked. When you did speak, your tone was strictly professional. Well, it has always been, but the warmth that characterized your interactions was now gone.

Like that one time during a team strategy meeting. Kenji asked for input on a new play. The room fell silent as everyone waited for your usual insightful suggestions, but you simply looked down at your notes, saying nothing.

The coach glanced at you, surprised. "Any thoughts, (y/n)?" You shook your head. "No, Coach. Nothing to add."

At first, Kenji was oblivious to all of this. He was absorbed in his own world and the adulation of his fans, as always. But as the days turned into weeks, your silence grew too loud to ignore that even he finally noticed it.

A month later, the team planned on celebrating a recent major win. This time, they have decided to invite other athletes as guests of honor. The organizers wanted to have a mix of established stars and up-and-coming talents from the sports world.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to have yourself pampered. You have been working hard, after all. Despite the obvious tension between you and Kenji, you were still able to do your job well.

That’s why at the party, you were stunning. Drop dead gorgeous, as the team said. Though the lights were dim, it seemed as if a spotlight was following you as everyone you passed by turned their heads to look.

You decided to settle by the bar for drinks. “Hey there,” came a familiar voice. You turned to see Jake approaching. He was one of the promising young athletes and a rising star in the sports world who was invited to this party.

He plays as a forward for a popular soccer team and has recently garnered attention for his impressive performance in the league. This wasn’t the first time you met as Jake and Kenji ran into each other a couple times before at different events.

He leaned against the bar, signaling the bartender for a drink. “It’s nice to see you again and this time, enjoying yourself,” he said. “You looked like you needed a break at the last event we were at.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating his observation. "Yeah, it's been a bit hectic lately."

Jake's drink arrived, and he took a sip, his eyes studying you with genuine interest. “Well, you look incredible tonight,” he said. “Have you been hearing what the others are saying?”

Jake turned to glance at the crowd, then back at you. “They were all asking if you were a model or something,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the same.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you replied, smiling. “You clean up pretty well yourself."

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound that put you at ease. "So, how's work been treating you? Still managing the chaos that is Kenji Sato?"

You hesitated, the memory of Kenji's recent behavior still fresh. "It's been… challenging," you admitted. "But I manage."

Jake's expression softened with understanding. "I can imagine. He's got a reputation for being difficult."

Unbeknownst to both of you, the baseball star you were talking about has finally arrived. His presence commanded attention as he navigated through the crowd, exchanging greetings and handshakes.

As he made his way deeper into the club, his eyes caught sight of you. At that moment he froze. Or was it time that froze? He didn’t know. All he was sure of was that for a little while, he couldn’t breathe.

You were stunning. Your outfit, a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated your every curve, made you look like you had just stepped off a runway. Your hair was styled to perfection, your makeup highlighting your natural beauty.

Suddenly, he noticed the man you were talking to, Jake. “That rookie soccer player,” he thought. Gosh, you deserved so much better. At that moment, with firm resolve, he declared upon himself that he would work to be the better that you deserved.

Kenjl's jaw clenched as his own possessive instincts flared up, a mix of jealousy and protectiveness surging through him. He made his way over to you, his eyes never leaving your form.

On your end, you noticed the crowd parted slightly, and you saw Kenji making his way towards you.

Turning slightly, you met Kenji’s gaze with a cool, indifferent look. "Kenji," you acknowledged, your tone polite but distant.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Jake looked at you, his gaze asking if you were fine with it. You smiled at him, a genuine and warm expression, something you haven’t given Kenji in a while. “I’ll go on ahead,” you told Jake. “See you around.”

Kenji led you away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner of the club. As soon as you were out of earshot, he turned to you, his eyes dark with jealousy.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Kenji asked, his frustration evident.

You scoffed. “First of all, you didn’t ask me to.” You crossed your arms, fixing him with a hard stare. "And you made it very clear where I stand with you. Or rather, where I don't."

He winced, the memory of his hurtful words coming back to haunt him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I was wrong. I was an idiot."

You remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I've been a jerk, and I know it,” he continued. “I was arrogant, dismissive, and I took you for granted.”

You watch him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Yet you looked away, the hurt still fresh. "You hurt me, Kenji,” you said. “You made me feel worthless and unimportant."

Kenji steps closer, his voice filled with regret. “I know, I'm so sorry. I was so focused on myself, on my career, that I didn't see how much I was hurting you. Your silence has been killing me. I miss your insights, your presence.”

He paused for a while before continuing. “I miss you.” He reaches out, gently taking your hand.

“You're more than just my assistant,” he said. “You're the reason I can do what I do. You make everything better, and I've been too blind to see it. Please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to earn back your trust.”

You met his gaze, searching for any sign of insincerity. All you saw was genuine regret and a longing to make things right. "This isn't something that can be fixed overnight, Kenji."

"I know," he said quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I just... I can't lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. "We'll see," you said. "But it won't be easy."

He nodded, relief flooding his features. "I understand,” he said. “Thank you, (y/n)—for giving me a chance.”

As you walked back to the party, Kenji stayed close by your side, protective and possessive. arm subtly wrapped around your waist, a clear signal to everyone around that you were with him.

As the night came to an end, Kenji offered to drive you home. To which, you agreed. The drive home was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything else, it was rather hopeful.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Kenji found you alone in the office. “Hey," he said softly, "I was thinking we could grab dinner. Just the two of us."

You looked up, surprised. "Dinner?"

He nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. "Yeah. To thank you for everything. And to make up for being such an idiot."

You smiled at him for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Dinner sounds nice."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie

#kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman: rising #ultraman #fanfiction #oneshot

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gojonanami · 5 months

Text

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❞

❝ PROF GETO BROKE YOUR HEART & NOW YUTA IS HOT ?? ❞

✧ pairing: prof!suguru geto x f!reader (& grad student! yuta x f!reader)

✧ summary: after suguru leaves you broken hearted, yuta's there for you when you're putting your heart back together, and he's not sure when or if he even wants you to tell you how you feel. but what happens when you start to realize your feelings?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, angst, depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader and yuta are grad students, but age is vague, dealing with a breakup, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @ / polariae (who is incredible and everyone should go follow them now!!)

✧ wc: 12,464

Yuta felt as if he was always running late — for everything.

He had transferred into this university a year into his schooling, he was always running late to meetings, and he was too late when he fell for you.

But he seemed to have good timing in this moment — as he ran into you, as why was it he could always find you effortlessly without trying, but there was no smile on your lips when you met his gaze, but only tears — if only so he could comfort you.

He says your name, as he stops you gently, fingers brushing against your shoulders, as your gaze falls to the ground, “What happened? Are you—”

“Yuta, I’m sorry, I have to go—” but he stops you for a moment.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s completely fine, but can I call someone?” he says gently, he could see the tears slipping off your cheeks, even as you attempted to wipe them away, “I don’t think you should be alone—”

And then you’re hugging him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t—but I—”

His arms go around you gently, “It’s okay, don’t apologize, I’m here for you,” and he doesn’t know what else to do but stand there with you, as curious gazes of passersby watched the two of you, “come on, let’s go somewhere more private.”

~~~

When had he fallen for you? It was hard to say, but apparently easy to see.

“So did you tell her you like her?” And Yuta nearly spits his drink out when Maki asks him that after one of the student government meetings. She sipped at the can of black coffee, nonchalantly, her eyebrows raised at his sputtering. He wipes his mouth, a slight glare in his gaze, “based on that reaction, I would say no,”

“What are you talking—“ and your name leaves Maki’s lips, and his cheeks flush, ears burning, as he presses his knuckles to his lips, unable to meet her gaze, “was it that obvious?”

“To a person with eyes,” and his gaze snaps to her, a question on his lips, “no, she doesn’t know,”

Yuta slumps back in the chair he was sitting in, as he sets his drink down on the round table, “how can I tell her? She has a boyfriend,”

“One that she doesn’t even see that often,” Maki leans back in her chair, “I’ll give you some unsolicited advice, Yuta — if you keep having these feelings and don’t do anything about it, you’ll regret it,”

But how could he do anything when he already knew you were struggling? It wasn’t enough that your boyfriend was far away, but he didn’t seem to make time to come see you — even on your birthday — but to push his feelings on you on top of that. It wasn’t fair.

So he had to settle on being your friend, just your friend.

“What happened?” He asks again when the two of you get to a secluded corner of campus, a bench far enough away, as you sniffled, wiping your tears and murmuring apologies, “you don’t have to talk about it—“

And you shake your head, “My boyfriend, he, uh, broke up with me,” and he stares at you — your voice wavering as you speak, “I just, didn’t expect that to, you know—“

Yuta tilts his head, speaking softly, “Why don’t I take you back to your apartment?”

So he does, taking the quick metro ride there, as your fingers brush his as the two of you walk beside each other. The silence hangs as comfortably as it can, your eyes straight ahead, as he sneaks glances at you. He wants nothing more than to take your hand, to tell you it would be okay, but he couldn’t — he didn’t want to overstep. It had already been hard enough to contain his feelings when you were with someone — and now that you weren’t — he wanted nothing more than to love you as you deserved to be loved.

But it wasn’t his love you wanted — and it wasn’t what you needed either.

You needed a friend, not a lover, more than ever.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Yuta,” you mumble, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess — I’m not being—“

“You don’t have to be anything, you’re fine,” he says softly, as you fumble with your keys, “do you want company?”

You give a terse chuckle, as you unlock the door, “I’m not the best company right now, Yuta,”

And he could have told you that you were the company he always wanted, the company he never would say no to — good or bad — but he couldn’t. So he said something else.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make up for it by being very good company,” and you give a watery laugh, shaking your head, as you hesitate, glancing over your shoulder.

“Are you sure?” And he only steps past you into your apartment, as he smiles.

“Come on, I’ll order us dinner and you can put on an…interesting movie again,” and your lips quirk up as you step past him into the apartment.

He couldn’t be more than a friend — not now — but maybe at some point. But he would be happy to just be in your life.

That was enough.

~~~

He wasn’t enough, Suguru sat in the train, the sun long set on Tokyo as he watched the city fade into the distance — as he leaned his face against the glass of the window. He had taken a late train back to Kyoto — one of the last — he could have taken an earlier one, but he had lost track of time.

How long did he stand there?

It felt like hours — minutes had ticked by as such, but he knew it was long enough for him to miss several trains by the time he had left for the station. It was long enough that he saw you disappear in the distance, Yuta assumedly in tow.

It was right — it was what was necessary. That’s what he told himself as he watched the scenery move past him in seconds, but it felt as if time had stood still. He could hear the soft snores and quiet murmuring of the sparse passengers among the train, the footsteps of others as they walked up and down the aisle, and the steady shudder of the train as it ran along to its destination. But still, it felt as if he was still trapped behind glass in that moment, he watched himself drop your heart, watched it shatter beneath his feet, and he didn’t go after you.

Why didn’t go after you?

He asked himself again and again — but the only answer amongst the buzzing white noise that had only served to numb his mind to the pain was that it was necessary.

He had always known you had a bright future — you could anywhere, lecture overseas, do fellowships or a Phd program, or even become a professor elsewhere. But when he had spoke to Yaga, it had solidified in his mind even more so — he wasn’t giving you what you needed and he was holding you back while he was at it.

And the worse part was he knew you would never blame him — not for a minute. You would try to make it work. Long distance, giving opportunities up, or even choosing him over yourself. And he couldn’t abide letting you give up what you wanted for him — even if it wasn’t what you would have chosen. Because he knew you would always choose him.

So he had to be the one to choose you.

He needed to leave you behind, just as he had left Tokyo. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it — and live without you.

It was necessary. It was right — he shut his eyes, leaning against the window beside his seat, tears burning at the corners, as a tear rolled past hidden behind his hand — so why did it feel so wrong to be without you?

~~~

You didn’t want to wake up.

You pulled the comforter over your head, finding refuge underneath the plush duvet, and wondering if it was possible to stay under here long enough for your problems to disappear. But you knew the pain would remain, but even so, you sought the sweet escape of sleep — if only for a few hours, you didn’t have to feel this heartache, you didn’t have to remember this.

You didn’t have to remember him.

And then there’s a knock on your door, a persistent knock that draws you from the arms of your only oasis under your sheets, and you drag yourself from bed, your eyes aching from your tears from last night.

Fuck, you rubbed at your eyes. You glanced at the couch, finding no one there — when did Yuta leave last night? You couldn’t remember — and you’re dead on your feet as you find your way to the door, opening it without a thought.

And your breath caught.

“Suguru?” you stared, as he stood in front of you, bouquet of flowers in hand. You stumbled over your words as gracefully as you had gotten out of bed, as his arms wrapped around you. You stood motionless for a moment before melting into his touch, tears burning at your eyes yet again, “what are you doing here? Why—“

“What do you mean?” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, “you know I can’t stand to spend more than a few hours away from you,” and you’re burying your face in his chest, biting back the urge to sob then and there.

You kept your tone as even as you can manage as you pull away, “Suguru, you said—“

“I know I’m early, but we can just spend some time together before we head out—“

And you’re shaking your head, “Head out where?”

He furrows his brow in confusion, a chuckle escaping his lips, “Did you forget? You’re the one who insisted that we should be early — you kept saying we couldn’t be late,”

“To what?”

“Our engagement party,” he takes your hand gently intertwining your fingers to show you the ring you wore — and you’re staring at it, as he presses sweet kisses to each of your knuckles, “now shouldn’t you get ready? Or are you the one who’ll make us late?”

“Suguru—“ and his lips find yours in a gentle kiss, warmth blooming from his touch alone, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulder. For a second, it’s real and it’s right — Suguru has found his way back to you.

Right?

And his lips part from yours, his fingers brushing your cheek, “I love you,” he murmurs, saying your name again and again and—

A hand brushes your shoulder and you jolt awake, your hand slapping whatever had touched you away, as your fingers grasped at your comforter. You blinked, as your breath slowed, and you had found yourself in bed—

Again.

And another mutter of your name snaps your gaze up to find Yuta standing a foot from your bedside now, his brow wrinkled, holding his hand in the other—

Fuck.

“Oh my god, Yuta, I’m sorry — I was having a—“ you cut off a moment, you didn’t know whether to call it a dream or a nightmare, “just, I’m sorry,” you cover your face with your hands, “I barely remember getting into bed last night,”

He waves you off, “It’s ok, I know you had a rough night,” he offers a small smile, “I had to help you into bed — you were a little out of it, so I just stayed on the couch,”

You groan, wishing you could burrow into the Earth and never emerge, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again—I’m sorry I made you stay—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, “I’m your friend — I’m here for you,” and you swallow, tears burning at your eyes again, “s-sorry, did I?”

And you shake your head before slipping out of bed and hugging him, “Thank you, Yuta, really,” and he wrapped his arms around you tentatively, “I think you’re my best friend,”

You were so lucky to have him — especially when you needed someone the most.

“Of course,” he murmured, and you didn’t not know his heart was aching ever so slightly, “you’re mine too.”

~~~

“Do you want to talk about what happened with…your boyfriend?” Yuta knew the only way you would be able to heal is by talking about it — and that’s the one thing you had avoided doing all weekend. Sure you talked — but about the movies you were watching, about classes, about anything — then what had happened.

You hadn’t brought it up since that morning, you had washed up and it was as if he had imagined what had happened. You made breakfast, you put on a movie, and you joked about his allegedly questionable restaurant choices. But not a word about your dream or about your breakup.

But he knew he had to ask.

You were just coming off laughing at something that had happened in the rom-com you had switched on, and your lips fell into a seamless frown, as if the facade of happiness melted off with his words.

Your gaze falls, arms tightening around the cushion in your lap, a bitter chuckle falling from your lips, “does anyone ever want to talk about their breakup?”

He furrows his brow, “Bottling it up won’t help you heal from it — the only way is to let it out, and I can’t tell you what to do but—“ he bites his bottom lip, your eyes never lifting to meet his, “I know you need to let it out, one way or another,”

You pause a moment, as you press your face against the cushion, “It hurts too much, Yu, I don’t know if I can,”

“It doesn’t have to be now, I just want you to—“

“We were long distance,” and he’s opening his mouth to cut you off, but you shake your head, “you’re right — if I don’t talk about it now, I never will,”

So you told him. Told him how you both had gotten together right before your boyfriend had received a job offer that required him to move, how the two of you decided to date regardless, and how you continued to be long distance even after he started.

“It just got harder to see each other, and he ran late on my birthday but I didn’t care—“ and Yuta tilts his head, “I mean, I did care — but I knew it was temporary. I was going to graduate and move to be with him—“ and your nails dig into the soft fabric of the cushion, “but it didn’t matter. He thought it was for the best — for my best interest — that we break up,”

He furrows his brow. This, the crying and heartache, was for your best interest? “Why—“

“Because he thought I was limiting my options, that he wasn’t a good enough boyfriend — one that I deserved,” you shake your head, tossing the cushion aside on the couch, “but he didn’t understand — I just wanted him—I knew it would be different when we were together—“ your voice breaks, “but he didn’t want to wait.”

Yuta lets you talk and lets you rant and cry — until you’re asleep after lunch, taking a nap on the couch beside him. And he wonders if this is helping, but at least you’re sleeping now — he spotted the bags under your eyes when he saw you wake in the morning — as if you had spent the entire night tossing and turning.

Was this okay for him? He wasn’t expecting anything — aside from your friendship. He didn’t think you were going to wake up and fall in love only because he did what a friend should do. But was it okay for him to be here?

Because he couldn’t quash the little bit of hope that inched its way into the crevice of his heart that maybe you’d heal from this — maybe you would be able to get over this and you’d see him, as more than a friend or a best friend. He wanted to think he would do this even if he didn’t have feelings for you — it would probably be easier if he didn’t.

But the facts stand that his motivation was corrupt — he chuckled, fuck, even the philosophy you had dosed him with, during your meals and student government meetings, was infecting his mind. Motivation mattered — because if you know or expect a reward from doing something, no matter how hard you try, your motivation will always be just that,

And his eyes slide to you — fast asleep as he grabs the throw blanket on your couch and gently places it over you — but he wouldn’t mind being corrupt, if it meant he could stay with you.

~~~

“She broke up with her boyfriend?” Maki raises an eyebrow, placing her drink down, “and you still haven’t told her?” Maki’s judgment pierced through Yuta, even as he couldn’t quite meet her gaze, biting his lip, “what are you waiting for? For her to get back together with him?”

“Maki, I can’t make a move so soon—she’s vulnerable—“

She sighs, leaning back, as she crosses her arms, “Well, you’re a good guy for that, but you need to do something, even if it’s not confessing. You should try spending more time with her, encourage her to open up more—“

“I don’t know — I don’t want to overstep—“

“Yuta,” Maki cuts him off, “you’re a good guy and you deserve to be happy — you spend a lot of time worrying about other people, and not enough time thinking about yourself. If she’s not ready right now that’s fine, but she might not realize she’s ready until someone helps her to,” she tilts her head, her fingers beginning to toy with the straw of her drink, “I just don’t want to see you regret hesitating,”

Yuta’s phone went off — your name flashing on the screen, hey, are you free to hang out and watch a movie tonight? Finally finished working on my thesis proposal for the night!

Maki glances at his phone, raising an eyebrow, “just don’t wait too long, “or you may end up alone, either way.”

~~~

“I told you we should have gotten dumplings tonight,” you grumble, as the two of you take your takeout back to your apartment, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, “I can’t believe the sushi place was closed,” you pout.

And Yuta bites back a smile — his cheeks burn — god, you’re so cute. It wasn’t fair. He knew you were just mostly teasing — only so you could have the pick of the movie tonight — which you knew he’d give you anyway.

The two of you had settled into these weekly movie nights on Fridays, which had a 70% chance of devolving into a weekend of hangouts amidst work for your programs. It had been weeks since your breakup — and your sadness seemed to ebb with each passing day, normalcy seemingly returning.

“We could have gone there—“ and you give a long, over dramatic sigh, shaking your head.

“It’s fine, but if this food sucks, I will be holding this over your head,” you bump him with your shoulder, a smile on Yuta’s lips, and right then someone calls out Yuta’s name. The two of you glance back, and Yuta blinks as he spots his friends.

“Toge, Panda,” Yuta greets them, Toge’s hands raise as he begins to sign—

Hey, who’s your friend?

Yuta replies, before gesturing to you, introducing you by name, “we’re just headed back to watch a movie—“ and he points from the shorter one to the taller one, “this is Toge and Panda,” Panda flashes a knowing smile, adjusting his leather jacket, head tilting as he gives you a small once over. Toge’s lips are covered with his face mask, his dyed silver hair brushing against his forehead —

Panda grins between the two of you, “Ah it’s good to meet you — I heard about you from Yuta, and Maki," he adds, while Yuta shoots him a look that he hopes that you don’t notice, “how’s the work in student government? I hope Maki isn’t working you too hard,” but you seem oblivious to it, only smiling between the two of them.

“No it hasn’t been bad, and Yuta has made it really easy. He’s been a really big help—“ and Panda before leaning over to whisper in Yuta’s ear.

“You have a chance with her, don’t mess it up,” Panda’s elbowing him, before clapping him on the back, his arm slinking around his shoulders, while Yuta tries to will his blush to leave his cheeks, “well we should let them get going, right, Toge?” and Toge nods, and Yuta only knows Toge has a smile hidden under his mask as well, flashing a thumbs up out of your line of sight, while you glance between Yuta and Panda, “you two love birds have fun!”

And Yuta stammered, “We’re not together like that,” he’s shooting a glare at Panda’s back as the two of them walk off, waving. And his eyes snuck a glance at you, but you seemed unfazed, only tilting your head — and shit, his head was spinning, heart doing its best to exit via his chest by banging against his ribs. Did you know? Was it obvious? Was this it?

“I didn’t know you knew sign language,”

And apparently it wasn’t.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I learned when I met Toge in high school,” he offers a forced smile — but relief isn’t the only thing that floods his system, disappointment comes in waves — because again, here he was, right back at the start.

The two of you continued to chat on the walk back to your apartment, his fingers curled tightly around the handles of the takeout bag as you pulled out your keys, wondering how many more times would he do this — how many more times would he think you realized his feelings only for it to remain unspoken? He was more than okay to stay your friend, but — he watched you open the door to your apartment — would he regret not taking a shot at being something more?

And as you glanced back at him, a smile on your lips, he knew he would.

~~~

You didn’t think it would — but it had gotten easier, easier to be without Suguru.

There were days you still had woken up crying, there were other days you had almost forgotten.

Almost.

But now in hindsight, adjusting to life without Suguru hadn’t been much different than being with him the last few months. Not when the two of you had barely seen each other. You had put away his things, tucked away the memories, and picked up the scattered parts of your life —even though you couldn’t find the piece he had taken with him.

But even so, you had finally felt as if you boarded up the love the two of you had built, one that he had set on fire and burnt the insides to nothing but ash and smoke — the same fire that had you coughing up the broken pieces of your heart — throat burning with his name on the tip of your tongue.

Even so — your fingers found the dragon pendant under your shirt, some things were harder to let go than others.

But it shouldn’t be hard, right? Love shouldn’t present so many obstacles — it should be simple, easy — not difficult and tenuous. And that’s all your relationship had been — only due to circumstance, but sometimes that was enough.

And in your case, it had been too much.

But you knew you couldn’t have made it through without Yuta. Your eyes slide to him, his face illuminated only by the glow of the TV — lights turned off for the best movie night experience. Or at least not as quickly as you did. He was leaning back against the couch, his head leaning towards your side.

You bite your lip. Your mind wanders to what Panda had said — love birds — it hadn’t been the first time someone had commented on the two of you together. How many of your friends had made some comments about Yuta, even the ones in student government (Maki in particular had been dropping not so subtle hints)? How many of them had you brushed off without a second thought?

But now — ever so conscious of his weight beside you on the couch, of every twitch of his fingers, shift of his limbs — you had second thoughts.

You had tried your best to play off Panda’s comment, and Yuta did the same, the two of you had grown used to dancing around this topic. And before you hadn’t thought of Yuta that way in the slightest— not with everything going on — not with your mind still full of Suguru.

But now…His eyes softly lit by the bouncing lights of the movie, until they found yours, and somehow growing even softer, as his lips curled.

“Need something?” When was it that Yuta could make your heart flutter with only a smile? He was a friend — right? Just a friend, but now—

He leans over, your heart squeezing as he does — your eyes nearly fluttering shut, his hand brushing your cheek, only for the barest of touches. And your cheeks burned in the dim light of the TV.

“You had something on your cheek,” he explains, and you nod, biting your lip — as you snap your gaze away, and a small chuckle on his lips, “What is it?”

What was it about him now? His smile was just a smile, his eyes were just eyes, and his presence was only comfort. And now — his smile made your stomach bloom with butterflies, his eyes were depths you wished to swim in, and his presence gave you comfort but in the loneliest of ways — the gap between you both a cliff you stared down, unable to jump.

So you shake your head instead, “It’s nothing,” you smile as you press your knuckles to your lips.

Maybe your head was full of someone else for once.

~~~

“Do you want to grab dinner tonight?” You ask Yuta — a routine for most other weeknights, as you grabbed your bag, as you wait for him outside the conference room as the student government meeting ended for another week, “I heard this new restaurant opened up near my apartment, and we could hang out at my place after—“

“I—“

“Yuta?” A cute girl comes up to Yuta, and he smiles as he greets her, she pulls Yuta aside, as he chats with her just out of earshot, her hand grazing his shoulder.

And your stomach turns, a twinge in your heart as you watch the two — you don’t remember Yuta mentioning her, but then again, Yuta rarely talked about himself, even when you asked. It was like pulling teeth — and now here he was. Now, he was smiling at a girl you knew nothing about.

What was this feeling? You shifted from foot to foot, restlessness settling over your body as you purse your lips as if to prevent unnecessary words from spilling from your lips. Why did you feel so...helpless? Your arms crossed over your chest as if that would hold you together — keep your heart from falling back into the pieces you had meticulously put back together.

Oh.

You watched them talk, as the girl finally seemingly said her goodbye and flashed a small smile your way before disappearing down the hallway.

“Sorry,” Yuta walks back over, a smile on his lips, but you knew that smile wasn’t for you. Not like before, “yeah let’s grab dinner,”

And you weren’t the same either—

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you force your lips to curl, as you walk past him, “let’s go,”

—because you were jealous.

~~~

“Yuta, have you thought about dating?'' Your question comes seemingly out of nowhere one night, right after midterms, and Yuta has to stop himself from spitting out the sip of his tea he had taken, forcing himself to swallow. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, your eyebrow raising, “you good?”

“Y-yeah sorry,” he clears his throat, hoping his cheeks weren’t flushed red from that, “why do you ask?”

“I was just curious because we’ve talked a lot about my dating life, but nothing about yours,” it was late, or rather early—nearly 3 AM on a Saturday night, the two of you were half asleep on the couch, stuck in a stubborn battle of not wanting to sleep quite yet, “you don’t talk a lot about yourself,”

“There’s not much to say,” he shrugs, and your raised brow tells him you’re not satisfied with his reply, he relents with a sigh, “there was a girl I liked when I was a kid — Rika, we met when I was in the hospital,” and your lips twist into a frown, “I was sick a lot when I was little, and that’s when I met Rika. She lived with her grandparents — her parents both had passed when she was even younger. We were inseparable—“ he gives a soft chuckle, “but then she…” his voice wavers.

“You don’t have to—“ and he’s shaking his head.

“We were playing and she went into the street to cross when a car sped by—“ and he shakes his head, “she didn’t make it,” your fingers knit together, before one of your hands finds his.

“You didn’t have to share that if you weren’t ready,” and he’s offering a weak smile, squeezing your hand.

“I wanted to,” he sighs, as he rubs at his eye, “there’s not much I wouldn’t tell you,” and you supposed that was the difference between him and Suguru — communication that wasn’t limited, a conversation that wasn’t one sided, and honesty — without a price.

“So there’s been no one else since Rika?” you tilt your head, and you swear you see a twinge of red across his cheeks, dusting his features even in the dim light.

“Why are you asking?” he says slowly, it feels as if he’s caught you, as your gaze snaps away, a pout on your lips, as you press your knuckles to your lips — and it’s as if he got a hold of your thoughts, “is it because of Kirara earlier?”

“Oh, that’s her name?” Yuta has to bite back a small smile at your narrowed eyes, unable to meet his gaze, “how do you—”

“She’s a friend from high school — and she’s dating another old friend from high school,” he adds, and your eyes snap to his, “I don’t like her like that anyway — she’s just a good friend, and likes to give me unsolicited advice on my fashion sense,”

Your lips curl, “Well you are a little basic in your—” and he cuts you off with a look, and you’re shifting your body to face him fully, “so if it’s not Kirara, you don’t have anyone in mind? Not even a crush?”

Your question feels like an answer in and of itself — along with the look you’re giving him — the same one he had always given you, when you weren’t looking — longing. But what if he was wrong? What if he was projecting? But he could spend his whole time wondering, and never knowing — or he could take the leap.

He chews on his bottom lip, and he steels himself, his gaze turning back to you, “and if I said there was?”

Were you ready for this? Would you ever be ready for this? Suguru still lingered in the back of your mind collecting cobwebs, on the tip of your tongue like a curse unspoken — and yet your forefront was filled with nothing but Yuta — his kindness, his honesty, his straightforward nature — all things you hadn’t gotten from Suguru when it mattered, when it counted. And it would be easy — there would be no complications — other than the complications that always came with relationships and emotions.

But that was far simpler than what you and Suguru had to deal with.

“Then I’d ask you,” your fingers reaching across a line that was meant to be crossed, but one that perhaps you shouldn’t anyway, “what are you waiting for?” and your hand finds his — his hand smaller than the one you’re used to, but warmer and softer.

“I don’t want to rush—” and you’re shaking your head, as your squeeze his hand, fingers laced together, as your thumb runs over his palm.

“We don’t have to,” you murmur, your gaze finding his, and he’s leaning closer to you, as if with a magnetic pull — and you find yourself attracted and not repelled to his pull, “we can take our time, can’t we?”

And his lips curl into a small smile, his dark eyes nearly consumed by the shadows underneath them, but somehow as soft as they always were — “Is this a dream?” he murmurs, whisper like, as if his words would ripple across the surface of reality until it disappeared within its depths, “I wanted to tell you for so long — but I didn’t know it if was too soon or if—”

“I know,” it had been three months, three months since you had your heart broken, but you were tired of wallowing, of trying to put your heart back together by yourself — you may have filled in the cracks, but maybe you needed someone to cement the parts back into one — and maybe Yuta was the one, “and maybe it is, but I want to try,” you admit, “is that wrong?”

And how could he say it was — when it was all he wanted?”

“No,” his fingertips brush against your cheek, “maybe it’s just right.”

~~~

He shifted in his sleep, a warm body pressed against him, his arms slinking around your own, your face buried in his neck in the best way he could imagine. Your fingers raked through his jet black locks, you pressed a sweet kiss to his neck, and a soft groan left his lips.

“Baby, finally awake?” your lips press a smile against his skin, your finger drawing a circle against his chest, “we have to get up soon, we’ll be late,” you murmur, “and I know how you feel about being late,” your nose brushes against his jumping pulse, “Sugu?”

Suguru groans softly, burying his face in your hair, “Five more minutes,” and you chuckle against him, his favorite sound that graces his ears, his eyes fluttering shut again, as he surrounds himself in your scent — the notes of lavender and rosemary from your shampoo, “just want to spend a few more minutes with you, sweetheart — I need you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You hum, rubbing his head softly, fingers curling around one of the locks of his hair, “I don’t recall you gracing me with five minutes when I was late on that first day,”

He groans, shifting only to bury himself in your chest, pressing soft kisses to the valley between your breasts, nose pressed against the hollow of your throat, the cold metal of the dragon pendant against his cheek, “I wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he’s leaning back only to press a sweet kiss to your lips, again and again — it always felt so right being with you.

“But you’re not my boyfriend now,” and he pauses, before glancing up at you, your eyes glassy with tears, “remember?” your fingers ghosted over his cheek.

RING. RING. RING.

His eyes don’t bother to open as he reaches for his phone, turning off the ringer, before his hand reaches for you, only to find an empty space beside him. He flutters his eyes open, glancing over, and finds your absence beside him.

It had been months, but you still haunted him—and he would spend the rest of his life running from the ghost of what could have been—and pretending it doesn’t hurt.

He turns on his side to look away from your side of the bed — even though it still did.

~~~

You stared at the outfits laid out on the bed — practically your entire closet threw up your complete wardrobe, and even so, you couldn’t find a single thing you wanted to wear. Or rather—

You tossed another blouse onto the pile— you couldn’t find a single thing that didn’t remind you of Suguru. One of these he had said brought out your eyes, the other he had picked out for you, and the other he had taken you out on your one month anniversary for a surprise date.

There were too many memories — and too many that you didn’t care to relive. Especially today, as your phone goes off — I’ll be on my way over soon. Are you almost ready?

Fuck. Yuta was on his way almost and you hadn’t even finished picking an outfit.

By almost ready, do you mean not ready at all? You bite your lip, I know it’s silly but I can’t decide what to wear.

You dig two outfits out of the bottom of the pile — and stare at them — you didn’t like to wear new outfits on a first date, but maybe this would be a fresh start for you. One where you could leave behind some of the memories tied around your ankles like anchors, dragging you down the depths of waters you didn’t want to explore any longer.

Your phone goes off again — You’d look amazing in anything — I’ll be there soon.

Your lips curl at the sight of his text — you choose a dress, tugging your shirt over your head and your shorts down, before pulling the dress down. And you adjust your hair in the mirror, before looking closely at yourself — a glint catching your eyes.

Your fingers ghost over the dragon pendant — you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to take it off. But maybe it was time — and your hands reach around unclasping the chain before placing it in the palm of your hand.

Your fingertip traces over the rainbow colored gems — and he wondered if he even still thought of you like you thought of him. It was so easy for him to leave — so did he put you out of his mind while he was at it? You held the necklace over the trash bin next to your vanity — your fingers squeezing at the chain and pendant, as it dug into your skin — should you toss it away like he had with you?

No —you pulled your hand back — no, you couldn’t. You placed the necklace in the box it came in, tucking it away behind some things.

You heard your phone go off again, as you spared one last glance at the vanity, where the box was hidden away—

Because it still meant something to you. Even if it didn’t to him.

~~~

“You complain about my movies, but the one you chose was much worse,” you say as you unlock your apartment, “that plot line made little to no sense,”

“If you suspend your disbelief—“

You stop, your key hanging from your door, as you stare at him, “I can believe that supernatural powers exist in that universe, but why would the universe entrust these powers to the stupidest people alive?” He snorts, as you continue unlocking the door, as you spare a glance at Yuta who is still fidgeting near your doorway, “you gonna come in?”

“I-well, I thought since this our first date, maybe I shouldn’t since you wouldn’t do that one a first date,” and you blink, your lips curling, as you watch him trip over his words, cheeks tinged pink, “not that anything would happen if I did come in—but—“

You step closer, silencing his words, seemingly stuck in his throat, “You really thought a lot about this, haven’t you?” and your fingers brush his, slowly intertwining with his as you bridge the gap, “I really appreciate it,”

He bites his lip, eyes sliding sideways, as he does, before he’s tilting his head again, “I just don’t want you rush into anything, and I don’t want us to still feel like—”

“Just friends I know,” you smile, “well then why don’t we leave it here for tonight, but call me when you get home?” He slowly nods, but he still isn’t leaving, “Yuta?”

And he steps a little closer, your breath catches, stuck in your lungs, as your chest squeezes when his fingers find your cheek, “Can I kiss you?” And your answer comes before you know it as you nod wordlessly.

His lips curl into a smile, as he leans closer and your noses bump, a small chuckle escaping your lips before his lips find yours.

It’s chaste, at first, until his lips find yours in a firmer kiss. He tastes faintly of the salt and butter of the popcorn he just had, and you can feel him smile against your lips, before you both part.

Your lips curl, “Well that is definitely something I never do with a friend,”

“You sure?” He murmurs and you hum, as your foreheads press against the other’s, as your fingers intertwine and you tug him inside your apartment.

“Maybe just the ones I really like.”

~~~

“You look happy,” Maki notes, as Yuta shows up early to work on a project for student government — it had been a few days since their first date, and Yuta had just gotten a text from you asking if he was coming over tonight. His lips quirked upwards as he told you he’d be there after he finished his work, as his eyes flitted up to find Maki’s, “don’t tell me you actually got the balls to ask her—“ and his eyes won’t quite meet her own, a smile on his lips, “fuck, don’t tell me—”

“We had our third date last night—” and he earns himself a hard punch to his shoulder, as he jolts, staring at Maki, “ow! Why—”

“Three dates and you tell me now?” and Yuta’s rubbing his shoulder, as he frowns, “what’s with the face? My punch didn’t hurt that bad,” she takes a seat, and leans back in her chair, as she rifles through the paperwork,

He shakes his head, “I wasn’t sure if I should be going around telling people — it’s new—”

“Wouldn’t you be happy to talk about your relationship?” And he’s hesitating, and Maki’s chair legs clack against the floor as she leans forward again, “what are you so scared of still?”

What was it that he was scared of? That it wouldn’t work out? That he’d lose you before he had even truly had you? That he’d hurt you? And it was true, he was scared of all of those things, but it wasn’t those things holding him back—

“I saw the way she talked about her ex, the smile she had when she would come off talking about him,” he leans against his hand, elbow propped up on the table, “she always had this smile on her face — just this look that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have with me—“

“A look doesn’t make or break a relationship, Okkotsu,” Maki says with a sigh, “and she was already in that relationship for who knows how long at that point?”

“I know, but—“

“I can’t tell you how to run your relationship but you have to decide whether you’re in this or not — because if you keep comparing yourself, you’ll never be happy,” and Yuta nods, before glancing at her, “what?”

“How do you know so much about this?” Maki crosses her arms, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“You’re not the only one with a social life—“ but she cuts him off before he can ask more questions, “but this is about you, not me,” she leans forward, “you need to focus on your relationship now, not her old one,”

And he nods — he needed to trust you, otherwise this would never work with his head stuck in the past or looking into the future. Otherwise, this insecurity would seep like poison into his present — and he would lose you anyway.

“You’re right, thanks Maki,” and his phone goes off again, another text from you — I miss you — come soon.

Maybe he just needed to trust you — and himself. But even so, as he typed his reply to you — I’ll pick up dinner on the way. I’ll be back soon. Promise — but why was it so difficult?

~~~

“Ah, Yu,” you murmured against his lips before swallowing your words completely, you were even prettier breathless than he had imagined. Well, more like than he had dreamt. He had resisted the urge to fantasize about you, thinking it would be disrespectful, crossing a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. But that didn’t mean he could control his subconscious when he would slip into the embrace of sleep.

He’d see you beside him on the couch, and you’d lean over and simply find his lips as if you’d done it a million times before. And he’d melt into your touch with such practiced ease, his fingers skimming over your sides, and he was desperate for more, more, more. He would only slide his hands up your thighs, fingertips brushing against the fabric of your panties before he’d wake in sweat soaked sheets and his cock straining against his boxers.

This was so much better.

It had started on the couch just like his dream, the two of you lying together, cuddling on the couch as the two of you half watched a movie.

“Are you sleepy?” He asked softly, tucking a strand behind your ear, and you shake your head, as you shift closer to him, half of your body pressed against him. He did his best not to shift much, as you move even closer to him, nearly lying on top of him, “what—“

His breath catches as you lean closer, “can I—“ and he’s nodded without a second thought, as your lips found his, and his fingers found your hips. His tongue grazed the seam of your lips before slipping inside, and he eagerly steals your breath from your very lungs. And you’re moving, now lying squarely on top of him, your hips pressed against his, as his already hard cock throbs against your cunt.

He bites back a moan when he feels just how wet you already are, soaking through your shorts and drenching his sweatpants, “Fuck,” he murmurs, as your lips both part for a breath, as he cups your chin, only to press hot kisses to your burning skin, “baby, you taste so good,”

And that’s where he found himself now.

Your tiny gasps and murmurs of his name, as his lips explored what skin he could reach, while his hands slid up and down your body, now warm palms resting above your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Yuta, please,” the whine in your throat makes the heat grow thicker been you two, the movie fading into but white noise, as he cards his fingers through your hair, “don’t tease me,”

And he’s swallowing thickly, his dick twitching at the thought of taking this further — the two of you had done everything but this step, your hands had grazed under the other’s clothes, grinded against each other as you made out, but one of you would end up stopping it for one reason or another. It was a game of chicken, one or the other seemingly daring the other to take that step — but neither of you had.

But now — as his thumb dragged over your puffy, kiss ruined lips, “Do you want to?” he asks an unspoken question, his resistance weakening to your touches, your fingers ghosting up his chest before one of your hands finds his cheek.

“I do,” you answer, but bite your lip, “I’m just…a little nervous,” and his lips press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“We can always wait — I never want to make you feel uncomfortable, baby,” he’s featherlight in his touches now, “it’s up to you,” and it was — he would wait for you, as long as you wanted him.

You smile at him, finding his lips in another kiss — he didn’t know it was possible for someone to be this soft, or feel this good — he could taste the sweetness of ice cream you had ate earlier on your lips, but you were so much better than any dessert.

Your fingers rake gently through his hair, “Let’s move to the bedroom?”

~~~

You wanted Yuta — you did. You had for the weeks the two of you had dated. It had been almost two months, and the two of you hadn’t had sex yet. There wasn’t a reason to rush, but there wasn’t a reason not to. The line had been edged to the brink of insanity — for the both of you. There was always seemingly a reason to stop — an early class, a late night, stomach upset — and it always felt like timing was just off. But it wasn’t always just the timing.

It was also you.

Every time you and Yuta got close, each time you felt even an ounce of pleasure, the guilt of Suguru would claw up your throat, again and again. And you were sure Yuta had noticed. But even if he had, you didn’t know a way to explain without making him think you were still in love with Suguru — which you weren’t.

You didn’t think you were. The guilt lingered, like blood dried from a still open wound, scabbed over but not healed, easily reopened with even a scratch or a step. And it felt like with each step you took away from Suguru, you bled more and more — but you didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. You couldn’t stem the bleeding at its source, not when the person you had cut it open didn’t even give you a chance to speak.

And you couldn’t talk to Yuta about it — not when you still hadn’t explained who Suguru is — and what exactly he does for work. Or much of anything else and you didn’t even know how to begin that conversation or why it would be necessary. Does he need to know all of that when you would be graduating soon enough and Suguru would be only a distant memory.

But you hoped Yuta wouldn’t be.

Your fingers laced with his as you led him to your bedroom — as you pull him inside, shutting the door behind you. You gently guide him onto your bed and have him sit while you stand, your fingers cupping his face, as his breath hitches at your proximity. His lips parted ever so slightly, as a pretty pink settled over his cheeks.

“Baby, are you sure?” His lips are half twisting in a frown, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again, “I don’t want—“

And your lips find his in a soft kiss, pressing yourself between his legs, as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, “I want you, Yuta,” you murmur, you were tired of letting the past dictate your present — you wanted to move forward, “don’t you want me too?” And your lips ghost over his jaw up to his ear, as you whisper in it, while leaving kisses that make his body shiver, wondering if you’ve turned his blood to ice or made it turn to steam with how his skin burned.

“You’re not playing fair” he mumbles, as he buries your face in the crook of your neck, and you laugh, your fingers skimming the back of his neck.

“I’m here to win, we never said anything about fair,” you twirl the black locks resting against his neck, your lips press another kiss to his cheekbone, “you still haven’t answered my question—“

“Of course I want you,” he looks up at you, his need like a spark catching fire on your body, “I always have,”

“Well I’m right here,” you murmur, you tilt his chin up, fingers threaded in his black locks, “what are you going to do about it?”

~~~

Yuta was going to lose his mind — but it’s just as well, you already had his heart.

At your words, he’s tugging you even closer as he moves back on the bed, gaze hot as he watches you move, sitting on his lap — knees on either side of his waist. Fuck, you felt so good against him, plush thighs pressing into his hands already sliding down your lower back and grazing your ass to press you impossibly closer.

“Good boy,” you murmur, and his blood flees his cheeks to his cock, twitching against your clothed cunt, and you smirk, a giggle escaping your lips, “you like that, huh?” you breath against his ear, “my good boy,”

And in an instant, you’re pinned under him, and you’re blinking up at him, smile exchanged for parted lips, as his hands slide up your sides, and he’s leaning down to kiss you. His mouth burns against yours, tongue teasing the seam of your lips, before they part for him.

“Now who’s being good for who?” he murmurs, as he pulls back with your teeth catching his bottom lip between your teeth. He groans, grinding against you, the length of his cock grinding against your clothed slit, “you won't let me have a moment, can you?” He murmurs, a red flush on his cheeks that makes you grin.

“Not as long as you’re with me, Yu,” and god, that nickname for him makes his head spin— it’s already so much — the picture of you spread so prettily for him, your thighs parted under him, shirt riding up, just asking for him to slide underneath, and your bodies pressed together in all of the right places, as if neither of you could get close enough.

And apparently you couldn’t, as you guide his hands to the hem of your shirt, and you’re helping him pull it over your head before tossing it onto the floor. And he sees nothing underneath, your nipples pebbled and hard under his gaze, so pretty for him.

When his fingers twitch, you chuckle, “touch me,” and your words melt away his reservations, as his hands find your breasts, warm palms squeezing and teasing the soft flesh. He leans down and presses a kiss to one of your pert nipples, his tongue flicking the pert bud, drawing a small gasp from your lips, a pretty noise he wants to make fall from your lips again and again. Your head falls back into your pillow, as he switches sides, teasing the one with his lips, while he rolls the other between his index and thumb.

“Fuck, Yuta,” he smiles against you, as his lips begin to kiss down your body, starting with the valley of your breasts before trailing wet kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. And his eyes are flicking up to meet yours to ask silently, and your nod is all it takes for his fingers to dip in and tug the thin fabric down your legs, fingers dragging along the dips and curves of your legs as he does. He bends down to steal kisses to your swell of your hips and the crown of your knee.

“S’pretty,” he’s mumbling, as his eyes find the wet patch on your underwear, fabric messy and soaked through as it cling helplessly to your hard clit, “how are you this pretty, baby?”

“All for you, sweet boy,” you’re murmuring, as you hiss when he’s teasing your clit through your panties, “Yu, fuck—“ he could cum just listening to you — he doesn’t know what he’ll do once he’s inside you—

But one step at a time.

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to it, before he’s slipping two fingers into the elastic to tug it down, with a nod from you. He’s pressing kisses and nips to your inner thigh, relishing in the marks he leaves on you — ones that he and you would only see. And finally you’ve kicked your underwear off, fully bare for him.

“How do you smell so sweet?” he’s whispering, as his eyes drag over your exposed folds, and a whimper escapes your lips, he can’t wait to make you moan. And he’s bending down to drag his tongue over your dripping cunt, a thick stripe that has you gasping, fingers winding their way into his black locks, nails digging deliciously into his scalp.

And you taste even better than he imagined — so good that he's already lapping at your folds, tip of his tongue flicking over your clit — and he hears the wrinkle of the sheets as your toes curl into them. He’s rutting into your mattress, ready to cum in his boxers at how good your pussy feels — dick nearly bursting at the thought of having your cunt around him.

“Fuck, baby,” you’re swearing under your breath, as your body tenses under his tongue, he begins to slurp at your juices. His hands find their way under the soft flesh of your thighs to tug you flush to his lips, “Yu, so good,” and all he can hear are the lewd sounds of his tongue buried in your pussy, working your walls open, pretty walls fluttering around him, “feel so good, ngh, ah—” your eyes find his, and it’s enough for him to blow his load then and there — eyes blown out with lust as they meet his own, your lips parted in lovely pants and moans.

And he knows you’re close, can feel it in the way your walls shudder, and he’s burying himself in your cunt, fucking you open with his tongue while he rubs your clit in quick circles.

“Yu, I’m cum—“ and you cut yourself off with a moan, back arching as you cum hard, his name on your lips, and he’s eating you out through your orgasm, greedily drinking every bit of release you give him. And it’s only when it’s too much, your body slightly shaking, as you gently pull at his hair, that he eases off.

You watch him with half lidded eyes as he pulls away, still between your thighs — lips and chin glossy and drenched in your release. He licks his lips and chin clean, watching you come down from your high, fuck, the way your walls clench around nothing makes him want to bury his face back in your folds.

“So good, Yu, s’good for me,” you’re panting, sweat slicked against your skin, as you’re gently tugging at him, and he obliges, keening at the praise as he slips up your body until your lips find his. You moan, tasting yourself on his lips, a sloppy, messy kiss that leaves him breathless.

And you’re flipping you both over, his eyes dilating at the sight of you, eyes raking over his body, eager hands thumbing at the hem of his shirt.

Your lips in a smirk that leaves his dick throbbing, “my turn, Yu, let me make you feel good,”your hands make quick work of his shirt, tugging it up and over, tossing it in the growing pile of clothes in the corner of your bedroom.

Your lips press sweet kisses all over his chest, fingers teasing his chest, but you have bigger intentions in mind, as your fingers quickly find their way to the waistband of his sweatpants. And with a nod given, you’re deftly tugging it down with a raise of his hips to pull the fabric off and kicked away, leaving him only in his boxers.

You bite your lip when you see the large wet patch from his pre, your fingers teasing his slit through the fabric, drawing a hiss from his lips. He swallows, watching your pretty lips bend down to press a kiss to his cock through the fabric. And it’s enough for him to lose his mind completely, “please,” he whimpers, and you smile down at him, dragging your thumb down his lips.

“Please what?” you ask innocently, for someone whose fingers were grazing his erection the way they were, he swallows as he watches your finger trace up and down his clothes cock, “what do you want me to use? My hand? My mouth?”

And he’s shaking his head, “Anything, just please I need—“ and your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, snapping it against his skin, a yelp escaping his lips that makes you giggle, “that’s not nice—“ and he’s gasping when your lips press a hot kiss to his hip, your eyes lidded with desire.

“Who said I was nice?”

~~~

You were going to be the death of him, and with the way your fingers tug down his boxers — finally freeing his cock, slapping against his stomach as it does — it would be a sweet death.

“Didn’t know your cock was so pretty like the rest of you, Yu,” and it was, so long and thick, pearly precum dripping down his flushed length, veins that ran up and down the length that you were far too eager to trace, “can’t wait to taste you,” you’re murmuring, as your tongue flicks down against his slit.

“B-baby, please,” his hand is covering his face, but you reach up to pry it away, seeing the lovely red that settled over his cheeks, lips parted in need as he painted, “please—“

And your fingers wrap around his dick, thumbing the slit and working the precum up and down his length. And he’s moaning your name on his lips again and again, as you kiss his tip sliding your fingers down to his base and squeezing. And when your lips part for him, sliding his length in your mouth, his head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he can’t help but roll his hips into your mouth. And when his tip brushes the back of your throat, it’s enough for him to cum right then and there, but he doesn’t want to — not yet, not until he’s inside you.

He’s easing you off, watching strings of pre and your spit connect you to his aching cock, as you look up at him, and he’s pulling you into a messy kiss, tasting his own pre on your lips.

“I need you,” he’s murmuring, fingers finding your hips, “baby, please,”

You smile, parting from him, “how do you need me?” And he’s swallowing, cock twitching, and he knows he’s one stroke too fast from bursting — so he needs control.

“Lie on the bed, baby,” and you do, easing from between his legs, and onto your back, head against the plush pillows. He parts your legs for you, warm palms squeezing your flesh teasingly, drawing a whine from you, he presses your thighs up, letting them hook around his back, as his skin meets yours. And god, you’re perfect, “how did I get so lucky? You’re so perfect, so pretty,” and he’s slotting himself between your thighs, fingers lining up his cock with your dripping slit, his curiosity getting the better of him as he drags the head up your messy folds still slick with your release, and groans as he watches your walls flutter around nothing, “so good for me, are you ready, baby?”

You’re nodding, “please Yu, I need—” and his tip is sliding into you, his length stretching your walls far too well, and it’s enough for him to cum right there — as your cunt adjusts to his size, dragging against you as he pushes past your entrance. It’s enough for him to cum right there, but he wants it to be good for you both — wants you to hear you praise him again, wants to hear you say his name again and again until you fall apart on his cock.

And finally he’s bottoming out, a moan from both of your lips, your walls fluttered around his length, your head lolls back a moment, before your eyes flutter open and meet his, “S’good, Yu, please, move,” and he’s cupping your cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, before he begins to fuck you slowly.

The echoes of your skin meeting his rings in hie ears, needy walls pulling you back in even as he tried to pull out, sinking deeper and deeper each time he fucked you.

He’s burning, ready to melt at your very touch, putty in your hands to bend and shape at your will, even as you swallow him whole, he’s ready for you to consume every inch of him with your being.

“Feels s’good, Yuta,” you’re moaning, legs around his hips pulling him impossibly closer, “such a good boy,” and his cock twitches, your mixed releases forming a ring around the base of his length, “s’good, need more,”

And he’s groaning, as your wet squelches fill the silence between both of your moans and pants — and you’re close, as he gives a particularly deep thrust that finds the spot that has you seeing stars. Your head falls back, lips parted in his name, “Yu, I’m close — ngh, please—“ and he’s smiling, his cheeks surely flushed blood red, panting, as he reaches between your bodies to find your clit.

“Cum f’me, baby,” he’s murmuring, and you’re nodding, as you fall apart for him, toes curling as you cum hard around him, making him groan your name as he spills his warm seed inside you, pumping slowly as he does. His body slows as you both come down from your highs, and he slowly rolls off of you, running fingers through your hair and pressing sweet kisses, “are you okay?” he murmurs, eyes soft with affection, but laced with concern.

You smile, “I’m more than okay,” you press your face into his chest, and he’s shivering at your touch, pulling you even closer, “I’m with you,” and his fingers run up and down your cheek, before leaning down to meet your lips in a soft kiss.

That’s right, he smiles as he kisses your forehead — he was with you. And the past didn’t matter — when he was in your present.

“I’ll always be with you,” he mutters against your lips.

And hopefully in your future.

~~~

“What are you doing, I thought you were almost done,” Yuta mumbles against the soft skin of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that did nothing but sap the need for productivity from your very veins — leaving only behind thoughts of his touch behind, “baby,”

“Yu, I promise I’m almost done, I just have to send this email about my thesis and you’ll have my undivided attention,” you both had been stuck in the end of the semester rush, trying to find time for each other — leaving you stressed out and Yuta a little needy. That’s what this night was supposed to be for — a chance to reconnect, and yet here you were working. But you had to send this thesis out or you knew Yaga would have your head for delaying your work on your outline for so long — something you would be spending next semester fleshing out into a full thesis you’d be presenting.

He nods, but continues to pepper you with kisses, your skin nearly molten under his touch as his arms wrap around your waist to pull you further into his lap instead of beside him on the couch, “After all the work I did to snag Professor Yaga as my thesis advisor, I cannot let the department head down with my draft,”

He hums, vibrations making you nearly shiver, “I know, I’m really proud of you. I know you’re going to have something really special by the end of the year,” and you shake your head.

“I just hope I make it past the defense — it’s the most nerve wracking part,” you sigh, “a room of my peers and professors staring me down while I discuss the work I’ve done,” you proof read the email for the millionth time — scanning for any errors and make sure the attachment is the correct attachment — and finally click send, and sigh before relaxing into his arms.

“Can I come to your defense?” Yuta asks, perking up, and you smile, leaning back against him.

“Are you sure you’d want to come? It’s going to be just me rambling about my thesis and answering a bunch of questions,” you kiss his jaw softly, nosing the small hickey you left blooming on his pale skin last night, “might not be the most exciting thing,”

“I want to support you, as long as you want me there,” and you can’t help but wonder — would Suguru show up to your defense? The thought makes your stomach churn at the thought of them watching you present, eyes flitting from one to the other. You had doubts he would show himself there — but the only catch was if Yaga would twist his arm. And then what? You had nearly blown your relationship wide open once before when you had ran into Suguru in front of Yuta—

You couldn’t risk it again.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You nuzzle your nose against his cheek, as he frowns, “I just think if I have you there, I might get too nervous—“

He shakes his head, “Whatever makes you comfortable, either way, we’re going to celebrate right after,” and you tilt your head.

“What if I don’t pass?” And he shakes his head.

“If hell freezes over, I think we’ll have bigger problems,” and you snort, “but on the very off chance you don’t, you still accomplished something incredible—“ and your lips find his, and he melts into your kiss after a moment.

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I’m so lucky to have you,” and he curls his lips into a sweet smile.

“I’m the lucky one,” and his lips press against yours this time, meeting yours again and again, until you’re placing your laptop aside, and turning to sit in his lap, “baby,” heat rolls off his body in waves, as your fingers trace down his chest.

“I heard someone wanted my undivided attention tonight,” you smile, before taking your phone and placing it on ‘do not disturb,’ “well now what are you going to do with it?”

He smiles, “Don’t know if we’ll have enough time for everything, but,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, “we can try,” and the two of you are making your way to the bedroom soon enough, unaware that you had gotten an important email that night—

From: Suguru Geto

Subject Line: Regarding Your Thesis Advisor

~~~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re adjusting your hair as you sprint your way to Professor Yaga’s office. This is what you get for staying up far too late with your far too tempting boyfriend. And now you woke up thirty minutes before the meeting, with barely enough time to make it on time, much less breath. Yuta gave you a kiss goodbye, but that’s all he had time for — before you were out the door.

But you finally reached Yaga’s door, catching your breath when you took a second to regain your composure before knocking. You blinked — weird, his door was usually open. And the door opens, but it isn’t Yaga—

It’s Suguru?

It’s Suguru.

You stare at him, wondering if this is another twisted nightmare you had ensnared yourself in, but no — it isn’t. Because even your subconscious couldn’t make a scenario this twisted. His lips parted to say something, but you beat him to it.

“If you’re meeting with Professor Yaga, I can come back at a different time, Professor,” the title slips from your lips without barely a thought, but it carries far too much weight. A flicker of emotion catches on the corner of his lips and in the glint of his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“You’re on time, but I still you did not have the time to check your email before this meeting,” he tilts his head, as you blink slowly, “please come in and have a seat,”

And you do, taking a seat across from him as he sits on the other side of the desk, you shift in your seat, as you take him in for the first time in months — his hair was still long, black tresses brushing against his shoulders, hair half up in a neat bun near the crown of his head; his eyes tucked behind his glasses for once, but you could see the burgeoning beginnings of dark bags under his eyes; and his clothes were meticulous as always — and you spot the tie pin he has — it’s the one you had gifted him near the beginning of your relationship — a joke that you had made about pinning him down in class turned into a gift.

And that makes your neck feel all the more bare.

“Is Professor Yaga ok?” and Suguru sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“He’s fine, he is sick at the moment — and receiving treatment,” you sigh in slight relief, “so he’s decided to take the rest of this semester off, as well as next semester,” and you sigh, leaning back as you cover your lips with your hand.

“Is he going to be—”

“He has a good prognosis, and his son’s with him, looking after him, so it should be fine,” he says softly, and his lips curl in a small smile, as he flips through the papers on Yaga’s desk.

“What’s with the smile?” and he shakes his head, as he rifles through the stacks of paperwork, until he seemingly finds what he’s looking for.

“Nothing, just noticing that your habit of worrying about others before yourself hasn’t changed,” and you glare slightly at him, pursing your lips, as he slides a stapled stack of papers to you.

“And what’s this—”

“Your thesis proposal,” and you take it, flipping through and grimacing at the red pen, “and my thoughts on it,” you scoff, as you see the familiar picture of his scribbles and notes in the margins of your work.

“It looks like old habits die hard for the both of us,” as you finish flipping through, but your brow knits together as the pieces of news start to fit together like a puzzle — with a very mortifying picture, and your eyes meet his, slowly — the news going as well over as a lead balloon, and crashing down on your head like one, “so does this mean—”

His lips curl in a small smile, “I’ll be taking over as your thesis advisor — for the rest of the year.”

✧ a/n: it was supposed to be the last part and now! we have. one more part since i decided i wanted to flesh out the final arc a little more! one more part of this and it will be all done...:)

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @difficultdomains , @diogodxlot , @that-goth-bisexual , @dazailover1900 0, @aliyalala , @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri i , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @maddietries

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #geto x reader #suguru geto fanfiction #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu fanfiction #geto suguru x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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chikaras-garden · 4 months

Text

Batboys as your sugar daddy pt. 2

Don’t you know you’re his?

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. Allusions to daddy kink in Jason’s.

Notes: So quick. Very short. I said “one” and wrote three. I’m a giver. 18+ or you’ll be blocked. I don’t usually do part 2s unless I want to, so please don’t request them—thank you!

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Standing behind you, Dick dangles a breathtakingly dainty pendant in front of your face. You can feel his smile in the way he holds you: hands on your hips, chest puffed up with pride, lips against your temple.

“I got you this,” he says. “You’ll wear it for me, won’t you?”

Mesmerized, you reach out and touch the stone. No, it’s not his name, not even his initial, but a perfectly cut, dark blue-green gemstone nestled in your favorite shade of gold. Dick’s not the flashiest of men—yes, you look at him and instantly know that he’s wealthy, but he has nothing to flaunt because his confidence is as easy as breathing.

But he is possessive. Almost everything you own is blue now—because he thinks it’s funny to be so on-the-nose about a secret only a select few people know. He doesn’t care who else knows that you’re his, no; it’s that you know you’re his, so much so that straying isn’t even a thought in your pretty head.

Why would you, when he spoils you so?

JASON TODD 💋

“Are you going to be a good girl and ride my thigh?”

Jason doesn’t give you the chance to answer. It’s not that you can’t; he know you can. You’re his smart girl, his clever baby. You could solve all the world’s problems if you set your mind to it; you just don’t need to.

Because Jason takes care of things for you. That’s why, even though he asks, it’s while he already has his hands on your hips to drag you, pants and panties off, back and forth over his muscled thigh.

When he brings you close to his chest, he pressed playful, teasing kisses against your mouth; his eyes are alight with mischief, darkly sparkling in a way that invites you to get lost in them. In him.

Sensation climbs and your mind goes hazy, but that’s okay. Jason’s here. He always will be. Always within arm’s reach, always ready to give you his full attention—hands, lips, cock—at the drop of a hat. No matter where you are, you’re his, and he wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

DAMIAN WAYNE 💋

“Can you behave?” Damian asks in a tone that suggests he knows you can’t.

It’s his fault, really; he sets impossible rules knowing you’ll break them, just because you and he both want to find out what happens. Your lover is brutal, yes, and ruthless—but most importantly, he is fair. He answers every one of your whims before you even say the word.

“I can,” you insist, tilting your head in search of his lips. Behind you, he leans away, holding you in place with a firm grip on your hip and shoulder.

When you whine that you can’t reach him, he tuts, chuckles, and cups your jaw in one hand. “Do you know what the word means?”

Behave, you think. Of course you know what the word means. Everyone does.

But then he murmurs, voice low in your ear and breath warm on your skin, “Should I show you?”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you'#jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood smut #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne smut #🌸— mine.#🌸— dick grayson.#🌸— jason todd.#🌸— damian wayne.

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atinystraynstay · 9 months

Text

I Don't Share - Jeon Jungkook

Synopsis: Jungkook was the one that proposed you should be friends with benefits. You both were single and had desires. Falling in love wasn't a part of the plan though.

Pairing: Idol!Jeon Jungkook x Back up Dancer!fem reader

Genre: Smuttttt! Jealous, posessive Jungkook, friends with benefits - Minors DNI

Contains: public sex, mentions of eating out (f. receiving), light spanking (f. receiving), no protection vaginal sex, slight degradation, creampie, hair pulling

Word Count: 2.6k

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You were given the opportunity of a lifetime. What started as a way to kill time during the pandemic quickly turned into you flying to South Korea to join BTS in their rehearsals for their Permission To Dance shows. A little over a year later, you were in rehearsals again for Jungkook's solo promotions with the release of his debut album, Golden. You didn't think your life could get better than this.

Never before would you think that your dance studio closing to meet shutdown requirements would grant you the opportunity of a lifetime. Or that you would meet the guy of your dreams.

Jungkook was around your age, so it was easy for you two to get along. You often would spend late nights going over and over the dance routine for performances and the filming of upcoming music videos. His manager would often ask if he wanted a ride home, but Jungkook would always come up with an excuse.

"No, I'm ok. I want to make sure my hyungs are proud of me when they can finally see this!" Which often made the staff smile that he wanted to make his members proud.

Another one often was along the lines of - "No, thank you though. I am just stuck on this one part of the choreography and I think I'm finally getting it down. I will call security to make sure I get home." He promised every single time to use the resources at the company, but he never did.

He always opted to take Uber rides with you. At first, it was because Jungkook liked being able to talk to someone around his age. He had a solid group of friends, but you were new. Coming from the United States, he wanted to know what it was like to be a 20-something-year-old making it work.

The two of you often shared after practices drinks and meals. "You know, we have to nourish our bodies well. Jin-hyung taught me that well."

Quickly though, his hunger turned into something else. Getting to know you, getting to watch how your hips moved with ease, he began to grow hungry for your pussy. Jungkook was a very competitive guy, and he was determined to be the best at fucking you until you see the stars. He wanted to make you cum and scream until you forgot your name, until you questioned your ability to walk after.

Meals quickly turned into eating you out at your apartment. To be fair, it was his favorite meal of the day. He loved getting down on his knees for you, spreading them wide, and exposing you to him. Only or him. He often liked to blow cool air on your pussy to watch you squirm underneath his touch.

Jungkook thrived on knowing the reaction he could pull out of you. He liked knowing you whimpered and begged for him to lick your pussy, to suck on your clit as if his life depended on it. And if you begged well, he would reward you by sliding two of his fingers into your pussy.

Dance practices weren't the only reason why he would come over. If a recording session didn't go well, you offered comfort by letting him bend you and pound into your pussy. Afterwards, you would always talk about how he was feeling but you quickly learned that Jungkook preferred letting his frustrations out physically rather than verbally at first.

There were just a few more performances left for the group. Everyone knew that Jungkook would be enlisting soon, so nobody was taking it for granted. Every dance, every member of the crew, and Jungkook himself were basically putting their all into every dance practice, dress rehearsal, and performance.

You were currently sitting criss-cross on the dance practice floor, your water bottle resting in your lap. Your thumb moved your TikTok FYP up every once in a while. There was a 30 minute break, allowing some people to go grab lunch while others were taking a minute to just relax.

"So, y/n, did you know someone here in Korea before you moved?"

There was often conversation floating among the dancers. Down time and hanging outside of practice were opportunities to get to know one another, and do a little networking. With the days narrowing down on this contract, you were beginning to consider your options. Part of you wanted to go back home, to reunite with family, but you also were having the time of your life here.

Hearing your name, you locked your phone and set it on the floor. There were a few others who joined you on the floor, in their own worlds until the current conversation started. You felt all eyes on you as the question was directed to you.

"No, I actually didn't," You laughed. A year ago, you never would have had the courage to move across the world by yourself. Being here now, you knew it was the best decision. "So a good dancer, a risk taker, beautiful," one of the male dancers began to list.

You blushed at the compliment. One thing that has changed is your struggle to accept compliments. You knew he meant well, but it didn't stop you feeling as if your face had gotten incredibly hot.

"You've got to have a partner, right? Meet someone here in Korea? I mean, Korean men know how to treat you right," he winked.

You heard one of the female dancers scuff. She rolled her eyes at his words, shaking her head towards the two of you. "Don't listen to him. Stay away from Korean men," she warned before going back to eat her salad.

"You're just upset still about your breakup," he muttered. Quickly, that was followed by a loud smack and laughter from the other members. You watched the one male rub his tender arm, apologizing to the woman to his right. Satisfied, she nodded in acknowledgement before going back to her lunch.

The male looked back at you, smiling sheepishly. "Anyways, are you single?" He asked. "You've never met up with us after practice for a quick drink."

Yeah, I normally can't go out because I'm getting railed by Jungkook after practice.

"Maybe she has a boyfriend back home?"

Decided to speak to yourself, you laughed as a way to break the conversation. Eager eyes were on you, wanting to know more about their American colleague.

"That's my bad for not showing face after practice. I normally get tired and want to go home. Sometimes I'm even here practicing a bit more just to make sure I'm as good as you all. I mean, you guys are professionals."

The group smiled wide at your kind words. You weren't sure how you'd fit in as an outsider, especially if you weren't sure if you were going to be staying or not. At the start of this job, you placed a huge amount of pressure to do well especially as you knew that so many people would do anything to be in your position. You wanted the company to be satisfied that they chose the right person.

"Well, now that it's known that we want you here. You are coming out with us tomorrow night." "Yes, you have to! We'll have to show you around the best parts of Seoul." "And hopefully get you with the best guy." "Or at least go home with the best guy."

Your cheeks turned pink again, which caused all the whole group to smile. How could life get any better?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun had already set by the time you got done with practice. Most of the group had left for the evening whereas you were packing up your duffle bag with all your belongings. While you were very much looking forward to tomorrow night, you always loved a night-in to yourself.

You couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook would want to come over.

"You know, you really should be leaving here by yourself," a voice called out to you.

Startled, you looked over your shoulder to see Jungkook leaning against the practice room door. Speak of the devil. You placed one hand over your chest as your racing heart began to settle, very slowly that is.

"God, you fucking scared me."

He let out a laugh before coming into the room. You only could tell how he was moving by the sound of his laughter growing louder. "Sorry, doll, I couldn't help myself," he apologized. You hummed in amusement as you had your back turned towards him, trying to get the rest of your belongings together so you could leave. Because if he was ready to go, that meant that you were to.

You felt his hand ghost over your hip. Zipping up the duffle bag, you slowly stood up straighter to feel him right behind you. His lips hovered over the shell of your ear, feeling his hot breath against it. You shivered from the effect and with excitement.

"You seem to really be finding your place here," he said.

His voice was very smooth. He knew the effect he had on you, how you were basically wrapped around his finger. And he used it to his advantage. You were a bit confused as to where this was coming from.

"I mean, I overheard you making plans with the other dancers. I think that's good for you." His hand gently caressed your hip, the touch light as a feather. You were almost in a trance from it all. Just feeling his body heat radiate into your back sent a wave of warmth throughout you.

"But there is one thing I do not like." You were about to look over at him, but were cut off when his grip on you tightened. He yanked you back so you could feel his boner right up against his ass. You gasped in surprise which caused him to chuckle lightly. The laugh sending shivers done your spine. "I don't like sharing, angel."

Everything happened so suddenly. One minute, you were getting your duffle bag, the next you were being pinned against the mirrors of the dance studio. Jungkook's grip was tight enough to inform you he was in charge here, but loose enough to slip out if you felt uncomfortable. Yet, his gaze locked on you told you to stay put.

His breathing was a bit rigid, sensing emotions were coursing through his body. What was on his mind? You noticed his jaw was a bit clenched, almost as if he was contemplating what he was doing or his next move.

"Let me make it clear. You are not going home with anyone else besides me. You'll always come back to me."

Oh god, he overheard your conversation earlier. It was starting to make sense.

"I'll have to remind you if that's an issue." "Then mark me up and make me yours."

Jungkook's breathing hitched hearing you. He wasn't expecting such a response from you but it made him so damn weak. God, you were the death of him.

Not one to back down, he accepted your challenge.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Smack.

You whimpered loudly at the feeling of Jungkook's hand meeting your left asscheek. It was like an electric jolt. A bit painful, considering he has spanked you repeatedly throughout the evening, but also pleasurable because it made you feel alive. It honestly made you feel powerful.

Jungkook had you on your hands and knees. You were at the dance studio. You knew everyone had left but the thrill of someone potentially catching the two of you turned you on.

With one hand staying on your hip, Jungkook's other hand ran up your spine gently. His touch was still a stark contrast to the feeling of his thick cock sliding in and out of your soaking pussy. Each smack against your ass caused your walls to squeeze around his cock, sending the two of you into a chorus of moans.

His hips rammed into you from behind. It created a rhythmic sound of skin slapping, the two of you moaning, and how wet you were. The last sound caused your cheeks to heat up, much to Jungkook's satisfaction.

The hand on your spine gathered your hair. You were grateful you put it in a low ponytail during practice earlier. Jungkook pulled your head, causing you to hiss in response. The sweet sting of your hair being pulled made you crave more. The sudden movement also caused your eyes to become a bit glossy. Your head tilted back as you met his in the reflection of the mirror.

"Look at you," Jungkook asked. His mouth was curled into a sinister smirk. "You're crying over my cock. Is it not enough for you, hmm? Is that why you wanna go out to meet other guys?"

"No, Jungkook, fuck," he panted out. "You're all I want, all I need." "Oh yeah? Prove it. Cum on my cock. Show me that I really am the only one that can make you feel so damn good."

If it were possible, Jungkook increased his pace. You cried out in pleasure as the intensity of his brutal thrusting caused your arms to give out. You upper half of your body rested against the cool wood floor, causing your ass to move a bit up. Jungkook groaned in appreciation for the change. He couldn't help himself. Smack.

Your mind was hazy. You couldn't comprehend anything besides Jungkook's cock filling and stretching you out. Your vision was getting blurry from the tears beginning to fall as you felt that familiar tingling, warm sensation in your stomach.

In a matter of moments, your vision went white and your toes curled. You screamed out his name. His grip on your hips could be burned into your skin. You never wanted him to stop touching you. Jungkook groaned as his thrusts got harder, determined to meet you at your high. The world around you seemed to stand still while your head was in the clouds.

After a few more thrusts, Jungkook let out a loud groan. You could feel his cum filling your pussy, which sent you into a whimpering mess at the feeling. You felt so content. He also felt content seeing some of his cum spilling out of your pussy once he began to pull out.

He swore you've never looked more beautiful. All his.

Lips were being pressed against your spine. You didn't even register that your body had sprawled out onto the wooden surface until Jungkook gently moved you. Your head rested on his chest, your back on the floor. His hand ran up and down your lower back. His other hand reached up to wipe away any of your remaining tears.

You were bringing brought down to reality. You could register the sound of you two heavy breathing, the slight tremors of your body starting to subside. With your head pressed into Jungkook's chest, you could hear his once racing heart beat begin to steady itself.

"You won't forget about me, right?" "How could I ever forget about you?"

There was a pause. Jungkook was the type to usually have a response, or do something in response to what was said to him. Not this time.

You looked up at him, concerned as you knew something was bothering him. Unfortunately, you got confirmation when you were met with his own glossy eyes.

"Look, I know a lot is going to change over 18 months. I don't care if you stay here in Korea or you go back home. I don't like sharing, y/n, so just promise not to forget about me because I'll come back to you. Every single damn time." "I could never forget about you, Jeon Jungkook. I'll be waiting for you, regardless of what happens next."

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sluttywonwoo · 7 months

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they wanna (fuck)

pairing: joshua hong x f reader x vernon chwe

summary: your boyfriend joshua wants to explore something new with you… and his best friend

warnings: swearing, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: threesome/cuckolding adjacent, oral (f receiving), protected and unprotected sex, choking

word count: 3.2k

your boyfriend grew up an only child. he’s not the best at sharing. which is why it surprised you more than a little bit when he suggested letting one of his best friends fuck you.

it wasn’t like you were opposed to the idea, you just didn’t think he was serious. you thought it might be a test. but it wasn’t.

“why vernon?” you’d asked.

“he’s got a thing for you,” joshua said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“and he told you this?”

“nah, just caught him looking at your ass a bunch of times.”

“and have you asked him about this?”

“i was going to bring it up the next time i see him.”

“oh my god, he doesn’t even know?”

joshua scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “well, of course i’d bring it up to you first! it’s your vagina!”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“look, do you want to fuck him or not?”

you did want to fuck vernon. it wasn’t like it was a fantasy of yours or even something you’d dwelled on beyond a passing thought, but the man was certainly easy on the eyes and the way he carried himself made you wonder about… things how big it was.

joshua didn’t tell you exactly how the conversation went down. he just told you that vernon was “extremely down” for it, and that they planned for a time when all three of you were free.

“but why do you want me to fuck one of your friends?”

his cheeks turned pink. “um, it’s kind of a possessive thing, i think.”

“what? how does that work?”

“i just think it’d be hot to watch someone fuck you knowing that i get to have you all the time. i’m letting them have a taste but they’ll never get to experience you the same way i will… never get to make you feel the way i do.”

it was your turn to be flustered.

joshua peeked at your reaction. “is that… bad?” he asked nervously.

you shook your head. “no, not bad at all.”

he breathed a sigh of relief. “okay, good. good.”

when the day actually rolled around, you could tell joshua was having second thoughts. he kept himself busy all morning, cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry, organizing and reorganizing your shared record collection (they’re chronological now)…

“we don’t have to do this,” you reminded him.

“i know. i want to, though,” he assured you. “i’m just nervous about what it will be like to see you with someone else…” he trailed off but you knew what he was implying. he was afraid his jealousy would get the better of him.

you rubbed his back comfortingly as you listened. “well, we can stop at any time.”

he nodded and took your hand, squeezing it once. “the same goes for you, you know.”

you checked the clock. “shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“have you ever known vernon to be on time?”

“fair enough.”

he gets there around fifteen minutes later, looking just as nervous as your boyfriend. maybe even more so. but once joshua goes over the arrangement again and everyone starts taking their clothes off, they both seem a lot more relaxed.

“you can kiss her, you know,” joshua murmurs from his side of the room, apparently dissatisfied with the pace of things. “as long as you don’t leave any marks.”

“is that ok?” vernon asks you.

“yeah, kiss me,” you encourage, pulling him by the shoulders until his nose is just inches from yours.

he closes his eyes and leans in, meeting you halfway. it’s a weird feeling, kissing someone who isn’t your boyfriend, but it isn’t bad. embers of excitement from the unfamiliarity of it all are quick to spark between you, quelling the anxiety and igniting something carnal inside you both. vernon’s the first to use tongue, much to your surprise. a startled moan leaves your lips as he slips his tongue between them.

you’re not sure how much time passes before he pulls away but when he does you’re taken aback by his appearance. your boyfriend’s best friend, always so reserved and quiet, looks like a completely different person.

vernon’s always been handsome of course, but you’ve never looked at him like you’re looking at him now.

he looks almost vampiric, pale skin glowing in the dim light of the table lamps lit on your nightstands. his cheeks are flushed pink with heat and his lips are a little swollen from kissing you so deeply.

“can i touch you too?” he asks, breathless.

“yes, please,” you gasp, “please touch me.”

his hand slides down between your bodies to where your legs are already spread for him. you’d be embarrassed about how eager you are for another man in front of your boyfriend if he wasn’t currently watching the two of you while he palmed himself over his boxers.

everyone had just undressed to their underwear so no one’s naked yet but vernon appears to be intent on changing that for you. he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to both him and joshua as he pushes a finger inside of you.

your grab on to him for stability, head falling slack against his shoulder.

“add another one, she likes the stretch,” joshua advises.

vernon stiffens a bit— you can’t tell whether it’s from annoyance at being told what to do instead of being allowed to figure it out himself, or if it’s because he had forgotten your boyfriend was still there altogether, but he does what he’s told nonetheless.

the effect is immediate. you moan, maybe a little too loud, and try to muffle yourself in vernon’s shoulder. your first instinct is to bite him, because that’s what you do with joshua when things start feeling intense, but you don’t know him like that. you don’t know if it’s something he’s into. still, your grip around his bicep tightens as he continues to finger you, nails threatening to dig into his skin.

“you can mark me up,” he tells you with a smirk, like he can read your mind. “i don’t mind.”

you take him at his word, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. he moans at the feeling and it’s only then that you realize you could be touching him too. you reach for him but before you can get your hand on him he leans back to look at joshua.

“can i eat her out?”

your boyfriend considers his friend’s request for a moment before answering.

“yes, but she can’t suck you off.”

you wilt a bit but you know joshua didn’t make that rule to punish you. he was already sharing so much of you by exploring this kink that you can’t blame him for wanting to keep part of you for himself. you’re honestly surprised he’s letting vernon go down on you in the first place.

vernon tsks. “i don’t care about that, i just want to taste her. lay back for me, baby.”

you do, but not before scooting up the bed so that vernon can comfortably lay on his stomach between your legs. joshua comes to your side and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“how’re you doing, baby?”

“good,” you say through a hazy smile.

“yeah? his fingers feel good?”

“mhm…”

“i bet his mouth will too.”

you can see how hard joshua is through his boxers, can see the small dark spot where precum had seeped through the fabric. you’re relieved to know he’s enjoying it just as much as you are— maybe more. you long to touch him too. you try to, but he steps just out of reach. is no one going to let you jerk them off tonight?

you’re distracted by vernon again before you can protest.

“let’s get these off of you,” he murmurs, tugging at the elastic of your panties.

you lift up so he can slide them down your legs. he gets them off in record time and shoulders himself between your thighs, kissing his way up to your pussy. first your knee, then your inner thigh, then the crux of your hip.

“not too much now,” joshua warns from his corner.

you roll your eyes. “shua…”

“what! i’m just reminding him not to get too comfortable!”

“that’s fair,” vernon interjects. “sorry.”

joshua mumbles something else but neither you or his best friend catch it because vernon had already buried his face in your cunt.

“oh, fuck,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair.

he’s eager for it, that much is clear. he only sucks on your clit for a couple of seconds before going straight to tongue-fucking you, as if that had been his goal this whole time. you figure he must feel like he has something to prove— or he just really likes eating pussy.

it’s good. he’s good. too good. he’s not better at it than joshua, but he is about to make you cum in a few seconds flat which is a problem because you never cum that fast with your boyfriend.

it’s probably a mixture of vernon’s aggressive technique and how hot you find this whole arrangement to be but you still don’t want it to make joshua feel some type of way so you try your best to hold off a little longer.

you conjure up sad thoughts, try thinking about all the chores you need to do, all the things you’ve heard men do when they try and stave off an orgasm but you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“already, baby?” joshua muses, drawing your attention to him again.

he’s degrading you like he normally would in bed but you can tell he’s at least a little pissed off from the way his eyes are wider than usual.

“is he that good?”

you shake your head adamantly, fumbling for words. “n-no! i mean he’s good but uh, i don’t-”

between your legs, you can feel vernon smirking against you. you want to smack him but you can’t feel your arms anymore.

joshua scoffs in disbelief and tongues his cheek as you bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. always the gentleman, though, he leans down and offers you his hand for you to anchor yourself as you cum.

"you're not a very good liar, angel," is all he says as you give up on fighting it and let it hit you. you squeeze his hand hard, back arching off the mattress, pushing your hips further into vernon's face.

vernon doesn't stop until your body goes slack and joshua doesn't let go of your hand until vernon stops.

they let you catch your breath before either of them speaks again. vernon is still grinning as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. he's dripping with you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, going as far as to lick the remnants of you from his fingers as if he hadn't just had his head between your thighs less than a minute ago.

"she tastes so fucking good," he murmurs.

"i know," your boyfriend mutters.

"lucky bastard."

joshua turns his attention to you, expression softening when he sees how dazed you look. “you okay, baby?”

you nod with a smile. “mhm.”

“do you want to keep going? do you need a break?”

“wanna keep going,” you say as you prop yourself up on your elbows and look between the two of them. “if you guys do, obviously.”

“fuck yeah,” vernon exhales, making you and your boyfriend laugh.

“you brought condoms, right?” joshua asks.

you and joshua don’t use condoms anymore so you didn’t have any on hand. the two of you debated picking some up beforehand but joshua wasn’t sure what size to get so he just told vernon to bring some himself. problem solved.

“uh yeah,” vernon answers, grabbing his jeans off the floor and fishing a handful of them from one of the pockets. “i didn’t know how many to bring,” he says sheepishly.

“if we don’t use them all today, we can save them for another time,” you assure him.

joshua and vernon react at the same time. “another time?!”

“like if this goes well, right?”

joshua pretends to be annoyed but you can see the little smile that he tries to hide behind his hand, secretly pleased that you're enjoying this as much as he is.

vernon's quick to get the condom on and his boxers off, ripping the packet open with his teeth and rolling the latex down to the base of his cock.

he isn't longer than joshua but he is thicker. he's really thick, actually. your mouth waters at the sight and you clench around nothing, feeling even more hollow than you had when he first took his fingers out of you.

"she's got a bit of a size kink," joshua informs his friend, following your gaze to his dick.

"that's not true!" you protest.

"it's a little true," joshua insists.

vernon just grins. he clearly doesn't care about the truth, whatever it is. he's just happy to know you like what you see.

"josh, what position do you want me in?" vernon asks.

joshua doesn't even have to think about it. "either from behind or tabletop. regular missionary is too intimate."

you have to agree. even though it feels incredible, you wouldn't want to experience that with anyone but joshua.

"do you have a preference?" vernon asks you.

"let's do tabletop," you decide. "i want to see you."

"i was hoping you would say that," he admits. "we can switch positions later on if you want."

"you think you'll last that long?" you tease, reaching out to stroke him once or twice just to see him react.

vernon hisses and jerks away from you, cock twitching against his stomach. "good point," he grits out, "we'll cross that bridge if we get to it."

he gets up off the bed and walks around to the foot of it, grabbing you by the ankles and pulling until you're flush with his hips.

"damn dude," joshua says under his breath.

vernon ignores your boyfriend's comment even though he's blushing, choosing to put his full focus on you instead. you're already squirming beneath him, desperate to feel him for the first time.

"are you ready?"

"yes."

"are you sure?"

"god, vernon, if you don't put it in alr-"

the threat works. he pushes himself inside of you in one go, face scrunching up as he fists the sheets beside your head to steel himself.

"god damn it," he chokes out, legs trembling. it sounds suspiciously like a sob but you're too busy trying to adjust to his size to call him on it. "fuck, how do you feel so good?"

"it's insane, right?" joshua gloats. "she's perfect."

"it's not fair..." vernon whines, mostly to himself.

"how does he feel, baby?" joshua asks you, coming close and petting your hair again. he then wipes the tears from the corners of your eyes and then presses the same fingers against your mouth, the salt stinging your swollen lips.

"he f-feels good." your answer comes out muffled against his hand but it seems to satisfy your boyfriend and your lover nonetheless.

he feels better than just good, he feels fucking incredible. the stretch is so intense you feel like you're about to be split in half but you aren't able to articulate that with how overwhelmed you are.

vernon gathers himself eventually but it takes several deep breaths and what sounds like a prayer for strength before he continues.

"can i move?" he asks you, the request bordering on begging.

"yeah, please. please fuck me."

he gives a couple of experimental thrusts before building up to a steady rhythm, each one feeling better than the last. you're so wet that the glide of him inside of you is almost too easy but there's still a bit of resistance due to how thick he is.

"how do you like it?" he grunts, "fast, slow?"

"th-this is good," you say.

"rub her clit," joshua adds.

"i was getting to that," vernon mutters.

he slows down and snakes a hand between your legs, feeling around for it until he feels you tighten up around him.

"there we go," he whispers gently, repeating the pattern he remembers you liking the most.

"you're so fucking pretty, baby," you hear joshua say, making you reach out for him in search of his hand. he gives it to you immediately, squeezing affectionately and encouraging you to do the same. you always held hands during sex. it was a way you were able to anchor yourself to him, squeezing his palm whenever something felt particularly intense. it was comforting to have that translate here as well.

"i love you," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

a profession of love while another man is inside of you is a little strange, all things considered, but it still makes you melt.

"i love you too," you reply, before remembering the aforementioned other man inside of you. "sorry, is this turning you off?"

he doesn't even look fazed by it. "nah, it's fine. she got so fucking tight when you told her you loved her."

joshua smirks. "wanna know what else makes her tight?"

"what?"

your boyfriend lets go of your hand, promising to come back, and rounds the bed to whisper something in his best friend's ear. vernon's eyes get wide and his hips stop moving.

"for real?"

joshua just nods as he takes his place by your side again, offering you an innocent smile that you don't buy at all.

vernon exhales harshly and shakes his head like he has to psych himself up for whatever he's about to do or say, which makes sense when he leans forward and wraps a hand around your throat.

you gasp in surprise but clench around him almost immediately, just like joshua said you would. he only applies a little bit of pressure but it's enough to have the desired effect.

vernon curses and stutters forward, eliciting what sounds like a whimper as he struggles to get his other hand back between your legs.

"told you."

"i'm not going to last," vernon stammers, looking away from his best friend in embarrassment.

"you can cum whenever you want."

"but sh-she hasn't yet..."

"i'll take care of that, don't worry," joshua assures him. "you made her cum on your face already, remember?"

"but i, i... fuck," his voice breaks off into a whine, the rest of the sentence dissolving on his tongue. it's like he can't stop fucking you, can't even slow down, even though he doesn't want to cum yet.

"come on, give it to me," you sigh out.

he gives in finally, practically collapsing on top of you as he cums into the condom. he weakly thrusts himself through it, kissing you to swallow the noises he's making.

he's still twitching inside of you when he catches his breath.

"sorry, i'm sorry," he breathes. "i didn't mean to-"

"baby, it's fine," you tell him earnestly. "we wanted you to feel good."

he pouts but nods like he understands and pulls out with a groan.

"and like i said," joshua interjects, patting his friend on the back as he trades places with him and notches the head of his cock inside of you. when he took his underwear off, you have no idea, but you can't bring yourself to care when he bottoms out and offers you his hand one last time. "i'll take care of the rest."

#we don't fuck with kim petras in this house but the title was too good to pass up #like cmon la and new york boys #they wanna (fuck)#seventeen smut #svt smut #joshua smut #joshua hong smut #vernon smut #vernon chwe smut #hong jisoo smut #chwe hansol smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen x female reader #joshua hong x reader #vernon chwe x reader

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inkskinned · 10 months

Text

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

#spilled ink #writeblr #warm up #the reason i tag warm up on so much is bc often i write them between me doing other things so im mostly telling myself to come back and edi #bc i rarely have time to check for typos lol #this is partially about compulsory heterosexuality btw #and why it took me so long to realize im a lesbian #i just assumed sex wasn't really supposed to be that good #been reading feminist lit and u can always tell

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saphronethaleph · 3 months

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Institutionalist

“Vader,” Palpatine said, his voice touched with silky menace. “What are you doing?”

“I am facilitating politics, my master,” Vader replied.

Palpatine looked at him, then up at the large poster Vader had just finished affixing to the wall of the Senate Chamber.

REMEMBER TO VOTE FOR THE NEXT EMPEROR, it said. REPORT ANY VOTER INTIMIDATION WHATSOEVER TO DARTH VADER, AND HE WILL KILL THE PERSON DOING IT.

“...you don’t think that’s a little paradoxical?” he asked.

“I am not telling people who to vote for,” Vader replied. “I am attempting to make sure the Senate vote is fair and free.”

“Vader…” Palpatine said, slowly. “I am the Emperor. The Senate is irrelevant.”

“You said the Jedi were a threat to the Republic,” Vader pointed out, in reply. “The Separatist Crisis is over. The Jedi are scattered and unable to intervene. It has been enough time that there should now be a new election. For Emperor.”

“That is not the law any more!” Palpatine retorted.

“Why not?” Vader asked. “Meaningful elections are important. Padme said so.”

Palpatine bit back his next reply, seething faintly.

Vader was usually easy to manipulate, but every so often one of those ideas about Padme got stuck in his head and he went from easy to utterly impossible. On that subject, he was immovable.

“Then… why the poster?” he asked.

“The vote should be fair and free,” Vader reiterated. “I will prevent voter intimidation.”

“...huh,” Bail said, a week later. “How did that happen?”

He was looking at the election results, which showed that seventy-four percent of the Senate had voted for him to be the next Emperor.

“I suspect Darth Vader was involved,” Mon replied. “His men ran an exhaustive investigation of the whole Senate over the last few weeks, then he killed everyone who’d taken their post through bribery or through falsified results.”

Bail clicked through to the details of the report, and winced.

The number of people who’d voted for him was about what he’d expected, the Senators who he could count on. The number of people who’d voted against him was… drastically smaller.

Then the door opened with a crash.

“Emperor,” Vader said. “It is time for you to take your position. The previous incumbent of your position was unwilling to vacate his post when the election results came in, but he has been dealt with.”

Bail blinked.

“...you killed Palpatine?” he asked.

“That is a good question,” Vader replied, somewhat quizzically. “I don’t know if it was my lightsaber or something else, but he has exploded and so he is certainly dead whether or not I was the one to kill him. I do not believe it is tradition, though.”

The Alderaanian senator swallowed, trying to hide his nerves.

“Are you going to kill everyone who looks at me funny?” he asked.

“No,” Vader replied. “Though I will kill anyone who tries to assassinate you. That is tradition.”

Mon and Bail exchanged glances.

“...would you actually have a problem if I tried to make things better for the galaxy?” Bail asked.

“You won the election,” Vader said, firmly, and apparently that was all that mattered.

#star wars #palpatine #darth vader #another bad day for palps #bail organa #not actually because of the recent uk election

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kookslastbutton · 2 months

Text

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter v

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 14k+

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, tornado of emotions, morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, mean relatives, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, denial, self-deprecating in some areas etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, there is one scene depicting some physical violence (tame) , finally some fluff!, and I won't spoil any more

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: OMG....ignore the fact that this is releasing a month after ch. 4. 🫠 i'm sorry. On the bright side, I'm VERY excited to share this with you AND this actually isn’t the last chapter. There’s one more after! I hope you enjoy 🥰 ALSO, this is GP!Taehyung in this chapter (....😮‍💨)

<< prev. | series masterlist

"This can't be right," you mutter to yourself for the umpteenth time, eyes heavily fixated on your laptop screen. You've been scrolling through the latest press releases all morning, a cup of tea growing cold beside you.

Ever since Jimin’s text last week, rumors about your ex-husband stepping down from his position at JeonX practically spread like wildfire, with nearly every journalist adding their individual spin on the matter—some suggest personal issues, while others hint at possible disagreements within the company.

Despite the influx of information, however, it all remains too vague and inconclusive. An official statement from the company directly would help clear up speculations, but it’s been crickets. Their silence only makes you consider the validity of the rumors even more.

Why would they make such a critical leadership change right after their newest product launch though?

This question, among others, continuously swirl in the back of your mind and you find the entire predicament ironic. You used to be one of the first to know the ins and outs of the company, easily able to distinguish the truth. Now, you're left in the dark like everyone else, dependent on the media for answers.

Before your eyes have time to skim the next group of articles on your screen, your phone rings.

It's Taehyung.

“Hey,” you answer casually, momentarily forgetting the significance of the call.

“Morning!” His voice is gravelly yet carries a cheerful tone. He seems quite upbeat for a foggy Saturday at 8 a.m. “Are you still okay to carpool to my parents' place today? Tan and I are on our way over.”

Dammit. Of course, this isn’t just any old Saturday—it’s the day of Taehyung’s family gathering. It had slipped your mind that you asked to ride together a few days prior. Given that it would be a five-hour long commute, driving separately seemed less convenient and enjoyable. Besides, you’d miss out on having Tan on your lap, his head poking out of the passenger-side window.

“Yeah, I’m good to go,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”

“Great! See you soon.” Taehyung hangs up, and you put your phone down with a deep breath.

To be blunt, you're still extremely nervous about the affair. Surely his family knows who you are and has seen their fair share of articles about you. So how will they react when you show up next to Taehyung at their family function? He says they’ll like you, but it's hard to accept.

Nonetheless, you know how important this family gathering is to him and how much he wants you to be there. Not only is it a family event, but it’s also a celebration of his recovery from a motorcycle accident that could’ve been much worse.

As you pour your cold cup of tea down the sink, you try to push away the unsettling mix of thoughts, focusing instead on the next task at hand— how you should dress. Prior conversations with Taehyung advise you that something polished would be ideal for the occasion, as his family appreciates a touch of elegance, yet your mind blanks on a tangible option. Surely, there’s something in the back of your closet that would do the trick. Right?

Well…you’re right-ish.

Upon searching through rows of hangers, arms growing tired, you finally find a somewhat suitable sundress. You’re hoping it won’t look too casual, but you don’t seem to have a better alternative with your closet currently overtaken by work clothes.

Wasting no further time, you quickly slip the dress over your head and observe how it fits in the mirror. Not bad, you think, before deciding on a few complimentary jewelry pieces. The saving grace of this choice of clothing is that it can easily be dolled up, which is exactly what’s needed today.

Soon, you hear the muffling of an engine and when you peek through your bedroom window, you’re unsurprised to see Taehyung’s car pull into the driveway with a very excited Tan poking his head out from the backseat. A small smile forms on your lips at the sight.

Sparing one final look in the mirror, you slide into your shoes, toss your bag over a shoulder, and head outside to meet them.

“Hey!” Per usual, you're met with a warm smile as you hop into Taehyung's car but before you can return the greeting, Tan bounds onto your lap, tail wagging eagerly. “God, I’m so sorry about him,” Taehyung reaches for his dog, but you quickly reassure him it’s alright.

“I’m happy to see you too, Tan,” you laugh, petting him affectionately. Your focus then shifts over to Taehyung, "Thanks for coming to get me."

“Of course,” he replies, smile widening as he watches Tan settle into your lap. “I’m really glad you’re coming with me," he continues, pulling away from the curb. "My parents are looking forward to meeting you.”

You nod, trying to calm your fluttering nerves. “I’m looking forward to meeting them too.” This time, when you glance his way, you take in his attire—a crisp white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and black dress pants. It’s a classic look, yet it seems oddly refreshing on him. It's not like you expected Taehyung to look bad or anything; far from it, but did he always have to look this good? A queasy feeling soon settles in the pit of your stomach...maybe you should have worn something else.

Before you're able to fully turn away from him, Taehyung speaks up. “You look really nice today,” he says softly, eyes lingering over your face and down your body before shyly refocusing on the road. “That dress is beautiful on you—it really suits you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply with a shy smile of your own, unexpectant of his comment. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Something about the subtle exchange of compliments stirs a bundle of nerves in both of you and even with averted eyes, neither of you finds it entirely unpleasant.

The rest of the drive is long, but luckily, soon fills with lighthearted conversation and laughter. It's become easier and easier to be around Taehyung, you think.

After more than a few bathroom breaks—mostly due to Tan’s persistent whining—you finally catch sight of Taehyung’s parent’s house.

It’s even more picturesque than you imagined, with its charming architecture and well-tended garden. In the distance, the ocean glimmers, tying the scene perfectly together.

“I meant to mention earlier, but my parents have an oceanfront view,” Taehyung says casually, pulling up to the house. “We can go down there later if you’d like. It’s private access.”

“Really?” You glance over at him with anticipation, your excitement clear. You can already taste the saltiness of the water. “If it’s really okay, I’d love that.”

“It’s more than okay,” he assures with a smile. “In fact, it’s a done deal. The best time to go is in the evening. We can even use the excuse that we need to take Tan for a little stroll if necessary. Family bonding can get a bit overwhelming without a few breaks.” He lets out a chuckle but stops when he notices your slightly demure expression.

“Hey,” he turns to you with gentle eyes. “Everything okay?”

You blink, momentarily pulled from your thoughts. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just thinking it’s been a while since I’ve gone to any kind of family affair. They know I’m coming, right?”

Understanding your apprehension, Taehyung shifts the gear into park and places a light hand on your arm. “Absolutely, and please believe me when I say they’re more than ready and excited to meet you. They’ve asked about you so many times—I’m pretty sure I’ve lost count. I’m really happy you’re here with me too, so I hope you don’t feel like you’re intruding because I promise you’re not at all. And if at any point you need a moment to yourself, take it. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible, and I’m confident my family will want the same.”

With his hand on your arm, you find yourself wrapping yourself in the comfort of the gesture, nerves slowly easing in the process. “Thanks, Tae,” you reply, feeling a tad lighter than before.

“Are you ready?”

You nod, signaling him to remove his hand to take the key out of the ignition. As his hand leaves your arm however, you feel a subtle, unexpected shift—wishing the warmth of his touch could linger just a moment longer.

But hold up.

Since when did he affect you like this?

Dwelling on it further proves to be futile because before you can blink, the house’s front door swings wide open, revealing an older, petite woman with a kind and inviting smile. You both step out of the car immediately, Tan happily trotting around the yard confidently.

The woman pulls Taehyung into a big hug once close enough, and it’s all the evidence you need to deduce that she must be his mother.

“We were wondering where you were!” she starts. “Everyone’s here except you.” It’s a light scold, not that Taehyung minds from the giant grin spreading across his face.

“Forgive me, Mom. I guess we’re fashionably late,” he replies.

Mrs. Kim looks up and down her son with adoration, hands still gripping his arms. “Look at you,” she coos, as if proud. “My son is so handsome. I’m so happy to see you here, healthy and well.”

“Mom, this is __.”

Her eyes then shift to you, standing somewhat awkwardly beside them. If possible, her warm expression brightens even more, taking you by surprise.

“My goodness, I’m being so rude," she says, stepping toward you. "It’s wonderful to finally meet you, honey. Are you okay with hugs?”

“Sure.” You offer a sincere smile and embrace her. When you do, you feel a sense of peacefulness that you hadn’t ever before, soothing any lingering tension. You can’t help but assume that many of Taehyung’s qualities must come from her.

“I’m so pleased that my son brought you today,” she says, pulling back from the hug. She takes in your clothing as well. “You're absolutely lovely, my dear. Doesn't this color work wonderfully on her?” She glances at Taehyung, who merely nods in agreement.

“You’re the one who looks beautiful, Mrs. Kim,” you return the compliment, feeling a tad embarrassed by all the praise. “I love your earrings by the way. Are they jade?”

She nods, pleasantly. “Thank you for noticing. They’re indeed jade. My husband gifted them to me for our anniversary last year. I told him he didn’t need to get me anything, but that man is so persistent. Speaking of which, you should come inside and meet him.” She turns around at once and ushers you and Taehyung into the house. He allows you to go first.

As you follow Mrs. Kim up the steps, Tan bounds ahead excitedly. The aroma of delicious food fills the air the further you walk, and soon you’re greeted by a cozy, homey atmosphere.

Finally, you find Taehyung’s father in the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. “Honey, Taehyung’s here and he brought __ with him.” Upon hearing your name, the man quickly dries his hands on a towel and extends a friendly hand your way, eyes twinkling.

“Hello, __! I’m glad you could come today. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. It’s gorgeous in here.”

“Well, we have our son to thank.” He directs his attention to Taehyung, reaching out and patting his son on the back with a proud smile. “He bought this house for us after all. He’s a good son.”

What?

You glance at Taehyung in surprise, intrigued to learn more about this new bit of information. However, seemingly flustered by the comment, you decide it’s better to save it for another time. His mother is quick to step in.

“Taehyung, dear, why don’t you show __ around and introduce her to everyone?” she suggests smoothly. “They’re all in the living room. We’ll gather everyone to have lunch soon.”

Taehyung nods at the suggestion and begins leading you through the house, until you reach the living room at the end of the hall. The room is even larger than you anticipated upon entering, its high ceilings finished with a delicate glass chandelier. A grand piano sits in the far corner as well where a number of children huddle together, each taking turns playing a few notes.

One by one, Taehyung starts introducing you to his relatives and despite your initial apprehension, each person you meet greets you with nothing but warmth and kindness. Not even a single person shows discomfort towards you or makes a dig into your personal life (though you’re certain they’re well aware of who you are). It’s no wonder Taehyung boasts about his family so often—they truly are a close-knit and respectable group of people.

At least, that’s what you think until Taehyung asks, “Where's Auntie and Uncle? I haven’t seen them yet.”

One of Taehyung’s cousins looks a bit hesitant before replying, “Oh, Tae, I’m sorry, but we haven’t heard anything from them so they might not be coming today. Maybe they had last-minute plans. It’s a bit of a shame, really.”

An odd silence settles over the room at this, conversations lower in volume, and a few knowing glances are exchanged among relatives. The abrupt shift seems to throw a wrench into your previous statement of closeness since, evidently, the absence of Taehyung’s aunt and uncle casts a dark shadow over the cheerful gathering.

Sensing an awkward lull, Taehyung tries to lighten the mood with a bright smile. “Well, I’m sure we’ll still have a great time. I’m just happy to see everyone here.” He gently redirects the conversation to something more upbeat, attempting to remedy the unusual tension.

Just then, a small figure bursts into the room, capturing everyone’s attention.

A little girl, no more than six or seven years old, runs straight toward Taehyung with arms outstretched. “Taetae!” she shouts, using the affectionate nickname as she latches herself around his legs.

Taehyung's face breaks into possibly the happiest grin you’ve seen in response as he kneels to lift her up effortlessly, holding her close as she giggles. “Hey, sweetheart! I missed you!” His voice is filled with affection, though there’s a hint of shock as well.

Eagerly, the little girl secures her arms around his neck. “I missed you too! Mommy and Daddy said we might not be able to come, but here we are!”

“Well, I'm so glad! Have you been a good girl for your parents?” he asks with a playful tone.

The little girl nods vigorously. “Yes! I’ve been helping Mommy with so much lately.”

“Good job!” Taehyung says, giving her a high five.

You’re unsure exactly how the two relate, but the longer you watch the interaction unfold, the more evident it becomes that Taehyung’s a natural at connecting with children. His playful demeanor and patience make it clear that he has a special way with them. It’s heartwarming to see, quite honestly.

“Taetae, who’s she?” the little girl asks suddenly, her big, curious eyes setting on you.

Taehyung smiles and gestures for you to come closer. “This is __. She’s my friend.” He looks at you and adds, “This is my little cousin Eun-ha. We’re quite close.”

“Hi, Eun-ha,” you greet with a soft smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t return your greeting, but rather leans into Taehyung’s ear and whispers something you can’t quite hear.

Taehyung chuckles softly, though it does little to conceal your curiosity. “No, Eun-ha,” he says, shaking his head. “We don’t kiss like in my movies. But yes, she's very pretty.”

Though you wish otherwise, your surprise is barely hidden as you process the revelation.

“Why not?” Eun-ha asks, puzzled. “You kiss lots of pretty people in the movies.”

Flustered, Taehyung clears his throat. “Who’s letting you watch my shows? You’re a little young for those I think.”

“She likes to watch them when she can’t see you,” a new voice interjects.

Following the voice, you see two adults entering the room– Taehyung’s aunt and uncle. Their expressions are clearly stiff and somewhat distant, a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of the family.

“Well, I guess it’s okay then,” Taehyung responds, maintaining his usual beaming smile. “Auntie, Uncle, it’s good to see you.”

His aunt and uncle offer polite but somewhat curt greetings.

“Glad to see you’re alright, Taehyung,” his aunt says, her tone lacking warmth.

“Hello,” his uncle adds, his expression neutral. “I see you’ve brought a guest.” He nods toward you.

“Yes, this is __,” Taehyung introduces you, “She’s a friend of mine and a colleague as well.”

The pair glance at you briefly, their eyes betraying a lack of interest.

“Nice to meet you,” his aunt says, though the thickness in her tone suggests otherwise.

“Likewise,” you respond, trying to match their formality with a friendly smile.

“You know, when I heard my nephew was bringing a guest, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect,” she continues, though the implication is unclear.

“I’m sorry?” you ask, trying to grasp her meaning.

“My apologies. I work as an editor for a journalism outlet, so I’ve come across your name before,” she explains. “It’s always interesting to see people in person after reading about them. I can’t say I ever imagined having the opportunity today.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to keep your composure. “I hope the coverage has been accurate.” You know they haven’t been, aside from a couple of progressive news outlets. Based on her rigid stare, you don’t think she belongs to either of them.

“They’re accurate most of the time,” she replies, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Although, there are always…different perspectives on such matters.”

You offer a polite, tight-lipped smile in response. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, however, your hands unconsciously clench into fists at your sides, indicating your bubbling discomfort.

“Well, I’m sure those articles are just one side of the coin,” Taehyung chimes in, attempting to smooth over the conversation. “I’m of the mindset that you really don’t know a person until you spend time with them. And I can assure you, those overpriced tabloids have it all wrong.” He shoots you a reassuring look.

In the midst of it all, Taehyung’s father steps into the room, oblivious to the tension. “Alright everyone, it’s time to eat!” he announces, his voice carrying a cheerful note. “Let’s gather around now.”

Neither you nor Taehyung’s aunt speak another word to each other as you follow his father into the dining room. You take a deep breath along the way, an attempt to steady yourself.

As lunch begins, Taehyung’s father stands at the head of the table, a broad smile on his face as he raises a glass.

“We want to thank everyone for being here today to celebrate Taehyung’s recovery,” he begins, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. “We’re grateful for this family and for the love and support that has carried us through. To Taehyung!”

“To Taehyung!” everyone echoes, lifting their glasses in a unified cheer.

From then on, the meal progresses smoothly, with conversation gradually returning to pleasant topics. Dishes are passed around, and laughter helps lighten the mood. Taehyung’s parents share stories of their journey together, their voices rich with wisdom and nostalgia. As you listen, you get a glimpse of the morals that have shaped their family. It’s so different from your own upbringing, and you feel honored to be a part of it today.

Yet it's still difficult to ignore the lingering heaviness in your chest from your earlier interaction with Taehyung’s aunt. Even now, her sour expression is directed your way, though she seems to withhold her remarks, perhaps due to Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s presence.

Don’t take this personally, you repeat in your head. There’s likely some underlying history or traditional views being projected onto you. This isn’t really about you…don't take it personally.

Midway through the meal, Taehyung’s mother intrigues everyone by pulling out a collection of old photographs. She begins sharing the backstories of various childhood photos of Taehyung, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy and amusement as she recounts each memory. Taehyung, visibly flustered, tries to hide his blush as his family teases him.

“Oh, look at this one!” his mother exclaims, holding up a particularly old photo of a much younger Taehyung with a hilariously exaggerated hairstyle. “He was so determined to be a rock star!”

The room bursts into laughter, and Taehyung grins sheepishly, his cheeks rosy. “Is this really necessary? I mean __’s here…”

“Come on, Tae, it’s cute!” you say with a smile, giving his arm a playful shove. As you do, Taehyung’s aunt’s eyes widen slightly. Her gaze shifts sharply between you two, and a flicker of disapproval crosses her face. You stop your playfulness upon first notice, finding it hard to ignore.

“It’s embarrassing,” Taehyung retorts, unaware of his aunt’s reaction.

“Oh hush,” his mother replies with a warm smile. “Let a mother indulge in the memories of her children. You’re all grown up now, and with your busy schedule, I hardly see you anymore.”

“Alright, fair point,” Taehyung concedes. “Carry on.”

When the meal winds down, Taehyung’s aunt clears her throat and speaks up. “Is everyone ready for dessert? I’ve baked a homemade cake,” she announces, tone carrying a hint of forced cheerfulness. Turning to you, she adds, “Would you mind assisting me in the kitchen, __? I could use an extra hand.”

Taehyung immediately offers to help, but his aunt insists on speaking with you alone, masking it as an opportunity to get to know you better.

Once you’re in the kitchen and away from prying eyes and ears, Taehyung’s aunt’s demeanor shifts abruptly. She returns to her previous blunt and unreserved nature. “I need to be honest with you,” she begins, her voice low and steely. “I don’t think you should be here.”

Her words sting, yet a part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s some merit to them.

“I know this is a family event, and I’m sorry if it seems like I’m intruding. Taehyung invited me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she dismisses, venom lacing her tone. “I mean, you shouldn’t be here with Taehyung.”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to—”

“Oh please, don’t pretend I don’t have eyes, Ms. __,” she interjects sharply. The use of your formal name sends a chill down your spine. “You may be friends now, but I can see there’s more going on beneath the surface. Unlike the rest of my family, I won’t just stand by and let it happen. So, if you think you can charm your way into my nephew’s life just like you did with that ex-husband of yours, then you’re mistaken. I won’t allow you to ruin his life.”

Ruin his life? You ruined Jungkook’s life and now you are about to ruin Taehyung’s? Confused and hurt, you finally realize the root of the matter–she's convinced you’re a gold digger.

You’re stunned by the accusation, struggling to find words as she continues. “There’s nothing you can say to change my mind either. Even if the articles aren’t exactly true, you still have a past, and Taehyung deserves better—someone without all these complications. Don’t you agree? Maybe if you hadn’t been married before and were ten years younger, things might be different. But honestly? A woman your age should already have a family of her own.”

Silence falls heavily in the kitchen after her final words, the only sound being your labored breaths. Your throat goes dry and your hands clammy as some of your deepest insecurities take root, striking right at your core.

It’s true—you’re 30 years old, divorced, and without children. It’s a stark contrast to your peers.

You’d always imagined your life turning out differently, but here you are, alone and without any kind of companionship. You weren’t expecting to be reminded of it all today.

“I think you’ve made yourself clear about how you feel,” a voice speaks up, and you think it’s yours, until you realize it’s much too deep.

Taehyung’s aunt looks momentarily stunned to see her nephew standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. But she quickly regains her composure. “Taehyung, I was just—”

“Please don’t,” he interrupts, voice firm. “If I had known you were going to be this cruel towards someone I deeply care about, then I’m sorry I invited you.”

He steps closer, his gaze unwavering. “You have no right to judge someone you don’t know based on rumors and assumptions.”

His aunt’s face softens, though her disapproval remains. “I’m only looking out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t need you to protect me from my own choices,” Taehyung replies, his voice calmer. “I’ve made my own decisions, and __ is a part of that. If you can’t respect that, then maybe you should reconsider how you approach these situations.”

Taehyung’s aunt stands silent for a moment, her gaze shifting between Taehyung and you. She seems to weigh his words before finally nodding and turning back towards the dining room, her displeasure still evident.

Taehyung turns to you, his face etched with worry. “Are you alright?”

You hesitate, unable to give a clear response. “I… I think I need some air,” you finally say.

“Maybe it’s time we take that walk down to the beach,” he suggests gently. “What do you think? Of course, if you’d prefer to go solo, that’s completely your call too. I’ll understand either way.”

You nod, appreciating the idea. “I’d like you to come with me.”

“Let me grab Tan and we can head down,” Taehyung says with a reassuring smile.

The sound of the waves grows louder as you approach the ocean, providing a soothing backdrop to your racing thoughts. It's even more beautiful up close, you think, observing how the sun reflects off the water.

As you walk along the shore, Tan runs ahead, chasing the waves and barking playfully. The sight of him brings a small smile to your face, easing some of the heaviness in your chest.

Taehyung walks beside you, his presence peaceful, though neither of you are quick to speak.

Finally, after a few minutes pass, he breaks the silence.

“I’m really sorry about what happened back there," he says quietly. "My aunt's always had more traditional perspectives, but I didn’t know how rigid they’d gotten. Regardless of how she might've made you feel, I want you to know that you’re very important to me and I couldn't care less about what the public says. The rest of my family seems to love you too so far."

You take a deep breath, the salty air filling your lungs. “It’s not your fault, Taehyung. But thank you.” You pause, your face visibly conflicted. “To be honest, I’ve heard variations of it before from other people. I just didn’t expect her to be so… direct.”

He nods, turning to you with sincerity. “I know it was hurtful, and even though I didn’t hear everything she said, you didn’t deserve it. It's not true, either.”

You manage a small, tight-lipped smile, but it hardly matches how you feel inside. “Well,” you begin, continuing your walk, “some of it's true, I think.” Taehyung looks at you with concern, though you struggle to hold his gaze.

“Wanna sit?” he suggests lightly, gesturing to a spot on the beach with a clear view of the waves ahead. "Tan'll be fine to roam around on his own."

You nod slowly in reply, a gentle breeze caressing your face and feathering against your legs as you move.

Once you reach the area, you tuck the skirt of your dress beneath your thighs and take a seat on the soft sand. Taehyung sits down beside you.

“So,” he starts again, his eyes never leaving your face, “what’s true?"

You take a moment, watching the waves crash against the shore before forming a response. “It’s just…” Your voice falters as you search for the right words. “I’m 30 years old. The natural course for someone my age is to have a family, a couple of kids, and of course, be married. Or at the very least, have a reliable romantic partner.”

“Instead,” you take a short breath, “it feels like I’m living in a completely different reality from everyone else. Divorced from a big shot CEO, without children, and painted as some kind of spinster or gold digger for the media to exploit. Being a woman, there's really no in-between which makes it that much harder to overcome."

Upon finishing your thought, an unmistakable nervousness bubbles up within you. Had you just overshared? Were you too honest? Although unsettled, everything in you hopes that you didn't just overstep your boundaries with Taehyung, as the two of you hadn't had this deep of a conversation before. You find yourself holding your breath as he replies.

"To have all that unnecessary pressure placed on you is unfair,” he says quietly. “I can’t imagine how tough it must be to feel disregarded and reduced to so little. I'm so sorry, __. I'm sorry that we gets so fixated on image and what’s deemed proper that we often forget the real meaning behind things. I know it might be hard to believe, but there’s more to your story than what others see or say. More than even you might think, too."

As if inevitable, your vision goes misty and a tear spills down your cheek upon hearing his words, though you're quick to wipe it away. It's not that the words themselves are monumental, but rather, they confirm the closeness of your relationship. Few people have ever understood or cared to understand you, so you had stopped expecting it altogether, especially after your divorce. Yet somehow, Taehyung always surprises you, being one of the few who truly does.

Feeling a bit more comfortable, you admit, "I know it's probably an overstatement, but I can't help but feel like I'm alone in ways that are hard to escape. Some days I just don't know what to do with it all. Does that make sense?"

“Sweetheart,” Taehyung says softly, taking the hand you used to wipe your tears and lacing his fingers with yours. The warmth of his touch sends a comforting spark through you. He’s never called you that before, and it feels unexpectedly intimate—almost domestic, if you didn’t know better.

“It makes complete sense, especially given what you've gone through and still are. You don’t ever have to feel alone anymore though,” he continues. “I’m here for you. You have Jimin and Namjoon too. And the three of us? We’ll always have your back.”

Your eyes soften as you meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with such warmth and innocence, yet he hasn’t fully grasped the weight of your words.

“I appreciate it,” you say gratefully. “It’s not all one-dimensional, though. When I say I feel alone, I mean relationally as well because, given my age and marital status, it's unlikely I'll find any real companionship. I’m just considered ‘used goods' after all.”

“Used goods? Who the hell said you're used?” Taehyung’s voice rises, not in anger but in genuine offense. Amid his reaction, his hand slips from yours.

“Our entire society?” you retort, raising your voice before lowering it again, realizing he means well. You pull your legs up to your chin and hug them. “I’m divorced, Tae. I’m no beauty queen. Just used goods, as I said.”

You both stare out into the distance, falling into a brief silence.

“Well, I for one think you’re very gorgeous,” he says softly, still gazing ahead. “So please, don’t call yourself used. You’re definitely not.”

“Tae—”

“Do you wish you were still married?” he interjects gently, eyes returning to yours, searching for the truth. He wants to add, To Jungkook? but keeps it to himself, not deeming it his business.

You take a moment to process his question before responding.

“Some days I do,” you admit. “Not just with anyone, though. I’ve already learned my lesson the hard way. Jimin tried setting me up with a few of his coworkers a while back, but I declined. They’re so far away that I doubt anything would work out. Plus, not to be harsh but who in their right mind would risk it with me anyway?”

“I mean...I would,” he replies almost immediately, insistence in his voice. There's no trace of bluff at all and for a moment, your heart feels like it's doing about a hundred somersaults in your chest. Taehyung's seriousness makes it seem like he means it in a deeper way, but it can't be—he’s merely speaking figuratively because of your closeness.

“Of course you would,” you reply, grabbing his hand again and smiling gratefully. “Because you love me, right?”

You pose the question playfully, feeling your mood lift slightly, but Taehyung’s expression turns stunned, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I do,” he finally murmurs, deep and meaningful, a soft glimmer in his eyes. “I really do.”

"Hu-" you choke on your words, still trying to process his. You never finish, though, as Taehyung suddenly moves to stand up, a newfound cheekiness taking precedence over his face.

“Come on,” he says, “on a warm day like this, we should find a way to enjoy ourselves. Dance with me.”

“What?” you ask, though to be honest, you're not surprised by his spontaneity. “Dancing is a no, Tae. You know I have zero rhythm.”

He doesn’t reply to your argument but instead draws his phone from his pocket, tapping around until light jazz music starts playing. He turns up the volume as loud as he can before placing it on the ground beside you.

“What are you doing?” you watch as he begins swaying his body from side to side, snapping his fingers when the beat feels right.

“I’m dancing by myself since you refuse to get up.”

You laugh, “I happen to like it this way. You can be my source of entertainment.” You adjust yourself so your legs are stretched out in front of you, feet crossed as you lean back on your arms.

He chuckles and continues dancing in small circles. You feel a little guilty the longer you watch. But then...

“__,” he calls your name, low and raspy. He steps over towards you and leans down until he's face to face with you. You like the way the sun glows down on his face, and the thought crosses your mind—he looks incredibly handsome. “__,” he calls your name again, and you realize you've been staring a little too long.

“Sorry,” you reply. “Sun’s making me dazed.”

He gives his usual boxy smile, and damn, why are you feeling so affected by him today? It’s not usually this much.

“Will you please dance with me? I don’t mind dancing by myself, but I prefer a partner.” He pouts and you know you’re done for.

“I’m not going to be good though,” you reply, reluctantly rising from your comfortable seated position. Taehyung pulls you into his hold the moment you’re on your feet. It's a little rougher than he meant, and your bodies accidentally collide in the process.

“Shit, my bad,” he says, taking a small step back.

“It’s fine," you assure, doing the same but not before catching a whiff of his cologne. You can't quite place the scent, but it’s nice...really, really nice.

As the music continues to play, you both sway gently to the rhythm. Taehyung’s touch is warm and steady as he guides you through each simple step. You feel a strange sense of comfort and safety in his arms, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

“I didn’t realize you were such a good dancer,” you start. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

He spins you gently, and you let out a surprised laugh, the sound mingling with the soft notes of the jazz music. “I had to take ballroom dancing lessons for a role I played years ago,” he replies smoothly, “but I enjoyed it, so I kept it up.” When you come back to him, he holds you a little tighter, and the closeness feels more intimate and special than you anticipated.

“You’re doing great, by the way,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Even with barely any practice."

“All thanks to you,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I guess it’s kinda fun.”

“See? Not so bad,” he says with a triumphant grin.

You glance towards the ocean, feeling a rush of spontaneity yourself. “The water looks so inviting. We should go in.”

He quirks a brow, taking in both of your more formal attire. “Dressed like this?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Instead, you slide out of his hold and run towards the water, laughing and splashing him once he’s close enough behind you.

“Hey! This was expensive!” he shouts, but there's no threat in his voice, only amusement.

“Well, you shouldn’t have worn it around me then!” you tease, splashing him again.

Now nearly drenched, Taehyung huffs and bends down to scoop water into his palm. “You’re gonna get it…” You back away quickly, but he follows after you. “Come here, I have a very special gift for you __,” he says mischievously, water spilling from his hand as he chases you.

You both end up playing in the water for the next ten minutes, splashing and laughing until you find yourself regaining confidence. At some point, Taehyung unexpectedly tackles you from behind, his arms wrapping so tightly around your waist that no amount of movement would free you.

You find yourselves too lost in amusement to notice your closeness until small droplets of water begin falling from above.

"Was that rain?" You stop all movement, but his grip doesn’t loosen. "Tae?" You call his name when it seems he doesn’t register your question, twisting your head over your shoulder to peer at him.

“Oh…um, sorry,” he finally stammers, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as he realizes the tight hold he has on you. His body flushes against your back.

“No, it’s okay…” you struggle to conceal a blush of your own, the warmth of his embrace a little overpowering. "So, I think we should head back. I'm pretty sure it's raining."

He nods and slowly unwraps his arms from around you. "I agree, but where's Tan?" His eyes frantically scan around the beach. "Tan!" he calls, and soon, two fluffy, slightly damp ears pop out from behind a rock.

"Aww," you exclaim, bending down to pick up the little dog when he trots over. "Look at him. We neglected the baby."

Taehyung snorts at your remark. "He'll be okay. It barely started."

You pretend to cover Tan's ears and shoot Taehyung a faux alarmed expression. "He can hear you, you know."

Taehyung chuckles and gently cups Tan’s face while he nestles in your arms, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Sorry, buddy,” he says with a grin. As he looks up, he catches a prolonged gaze in your eyes and raises an eyebrow. “What? You want one too?”

“Oh, uhm, no,” you laugh, a bit nervously, shaking your head. “It’s just nice to see you so endearing.” You think back to how Taehyung had interacted so sweetly with his younger cousin, Eun-ha, earlier. It’s a side of him you're finding increasingly appealing.

Taehyung's gaze softens as he replies, “I like to take care of those I love.”

Love, you repeat quietly to yourself. It sounds so different when he says it.

You smile and, side by side, head back to the house.

The faint drizzle of rain quickly turns into a downpour, with a flash of lightning illuminating the sky and thunder rumbling in the distance. Despite the potential inconvenience, Taehyung’s parents insist that it would be better for both of you to wait until morning to drive back.

"It isn't safe," his mom advises, fluffing a pillow in the guest bedroom. "The two of you can stay here for the night. I’d offer the living room sofa too, but some of your cousins are staying over as well."

"Thanks, Mom," Taehyung replies, and when she leaves the room he casts a brief glance your way. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“What? No, you can sleep in the bed with Tan." You pause, eyes scanning the room for an alternative spot. “This chair looks pretty comfortable. I’ll grab a blanket and make do.”

"Okay no, I’m not letting you sleep on that old, dusty chair and risk waking up with a giant kink in your neck.” Taehyung places his hands on his hips, his tone firm. “Why don’t we just sleep in the bed together? For some inexplicable reason, my parents chose to put a California King in here so there should be plenty of room. I’ll even sleep on top of the covers.”

“No, it's fine. Tan needs his space."

“Sweetheart." There it is again, that same petname from earlier. Why do you not seem to hate it? "Tan is so tiny he’ll literally curl between us," he argues, though it does little to convince you.

“Tae, I told you it’s—”

“Alright, I’ll take the chair then-” Taehyung starts to move toward it, but stubbornly, you block his path. There's no way he's sleeping on a chair when you're the guest here.

“You will do no such thing!" Naturally, you place your hands on your hips. “This is your home—well, your parent's home and I won't be subjecting you to sleep on something that small. Seriously Tae, I'd fit much better on it than you would given our height differences.”

A small, frustrated sigh escapes him as he counters, “I'd really rather you be comfortable, especially in an unfamiliar environment. So can we please stop arguing about this? It’s really unnecessary. Either I take the chair or we both find a way to share the bed. You can’t tell me you and Jimin never shared a bed before, and he’s your friend too!"

“Yes, but that’s different,” you insist. “Jimin and I have been friends for years! There’s a strong trust built between us.”

“What do you mean by that? You don’t trust me?” His face mirrors that of a sad, puppy-dog.

“Tae, it’s not that at all,” you say softly, trying to sound reassuring. “I do trust you. It’s just… I guess I just meant that Jimin and I have a long history together. We’ve grown very comfortable with each other in ways you and I haven’t yet.”

Taehyung’s brows furrow in concern. “What are you really worried about, __?”

You shrug, feeling a bit flustered. “Nothing…”

Your mind immediately drifts back to the beach—how he listened, held your hand gently, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and what it felt like to be held so close under the rain. Everything felt so genuine, warm, and openly vulnerable.

You share similar feelings with Jimin, but they have limits as you are definitely only friends… best friends, to be precise. With Taehyung, you figured it would be the same; however, after today, you're realizing more and more how unsure you are of where the limits are (or where you want them to be), and it startles you.

But it’s not this alone that fuels your apprehension tonight— there’s something else.

“You know I won’t do anything right?” Taehyung asks, his voice earnest. “I sleep with five pillows!”

You raise an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Five? What the hell, Tae? Are you a princess?”

“Yes,” Taehyung says, more nonchalantly than expected, “but stop deflecting. It sounds weird and a bit kinky, but why won’t you sleep in the bed with me?”

Should you tell him?

Your expression grows serious as you explain, “Because it can be very intimate,” you murmur softly. “Maybe I'm overthinking it all, but the last time I shared a bed with someone it...uhm...it was…”

“...with your ex-husband,” Taehyung finishes for you, his tone gentle with understanding. His eyes soften as he looks at you.

“Yes…” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s silly, but I haven’t done it in a long time. Even Jimin and I haven’t shared a bed in years.”

“I’m sorry…” Taehyung says, his voice filled with genuine regret.

“Tae, you don’t have to be sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s my own issue. I’ll just sleep on the chair, alright? It’s only one night.”

“Not happening, you’ll take the bed with Tan.”

“Seriously,” you start to protest, but he’s already moving toward the foot of the bed with determination in his eyes. He grabs the blanket from the end and rushes over to the chair with haste. You run after him, pulling at his arm, and both of you end up laughing, the tension gradually breaking.

“It's been a very long day and I'm quite tired, __. How about turning off the lights, please?” He spreads out the blanket and settles into the chair with a satisfied sigh. Then, there’s a loud creak followed by a distinct cracking sound.

“Fuck—” Taehyung swears as the chair suddenly collapses under his weight. He rises from his seat, grimacing at the broken chair. “I knew it was old, but damn, I didn’t think it was that old.”

“Shit, please tell me this wasn't a family heirloom or something.”

“Uh… I don’t think so?” Taehyung scratches his head, looking sheepish. “I’ll let my mom know in the morning. It’ll be fine, okay? No worries. But, um, I’ll sleep on the floor instead.” Taehyung then grabs a couple pillows and a blanket and starts forming a makeshift bed on the floor. While you watch him, your heart softens despite your exhaustion.

“Alright, enough,” you sigh, exasperated. “If we keep this up, we’ll just be going in circles all night. Let’s just share the bed, Tae. It’s not worth you being uncomfortable.”

Taehyung looks up, concern written over his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable either. I’m happy to—”

“I’m sure,” you cut him off, doing your best not to overthink it. “You're the one who'll be driving for five hours tomorrow anyway, so let’s just get some decent rest. It's okay, really.”

After a good long pause, you both end up climbing into the bed, each taking your own side as Tan curls himself at the foot of the bed. Taehyung reaches over to turn off the light, but despite the calmness of the room, you find yourself unable to sleep right away. You’re unaware he feels similarly until he unexpectedly breaks the silence.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks quietly. “We have more blankets if you need them.”

You turn slightly toward him. “I’m okay for now, but thanks for checking.”

He gives a soft, reassuring smile. “Alright. Just let me know if you need anything. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You roll back onto your side and close your eyes. “You too.”

As the night deepens, the storm outside continues its relentless drumming against the windows. At some point, Taehyung jolts awake to a faint but unmistakable sound.

He blinks groggily at first, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. Then he notices your restless movements and hears you murmuring softly in your sleep, a note of distress in your voice.

"__?" he asks quietly, still half-asleep. "Are you okay?"

When you don’t respond, he shifts closer, concerned by the unease on your face. Seeing your share of the blankets has slipped off, he gently tugs them back over you, making sure they cover you comfortably.

Amid the movement, a muddled groan escapes your lips—something between a whimper and a sigh, "Mmm… no…"

It doesn't take a genius to figure out you must be having a nightmare of some sort. “It’s just a dream,” he whispers soothingly, brushing a stray hair from your face. “You’re safe here with me.”

He gently takes your slightly trembling hand and holds it gently in his. “I’m right here, __,” he sighs softly. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here.”

Taehyung isn’t sure how much time passes before your restlessness stops, but he stays awake, hand clutching yours until it does. Eventually, assuming you’ve finally entered a more peaceful sleep, he releases your hand and rolls onto his side.

What he doesn't expect is for you to unconsciously follow him over, your body snuggling against his back. The warmth of your body against his is comforting, but he knows he can't let you stay there and risk any awkwardness in the morning. So with the utmost care, he rolls over to face you and gently adjusts your body until you're lying comfortably on your back again.

"I hope you'll be able to sleep better now," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the storm. "Goodnight."

Following the reunion, you and Taehyung part ways with mutual thank-yous and promises to see each other soon.

Time seems to vanish afterward as you find yourself increasingly buried under an endless pile of work projects. Apparently, over the weekend, a notable investor reached out to your company with hopes of setting up a meeting.

Namjoon is nearly tripping over his words when he relays the message to you.

"Can you believe it?" Your secretary stands within a foot from your desk, excitement evident in his voice. "They want to meet with us! This could be huge for our company."

You share his enthusiasm but your need to remain holistic in the matter tempers your ability to feel overly zealous. Meetings with investors always carry significant opportunities; however, there's no guarantee a deal will be struck. Truthfully, it depends on a number of factors, their level of interest outweighing them all.

Plus, every meeting requires extensive preparation—late nights where you tirelessly hunch over your computer, perfecting every detail of the pitch and this one promises to be no different.

"Did they happen to mention a time or date for further discussion?" you ask, matter-of-factly. Namjoon nods, pulling out his phone.

"Yes, they suggested next Wednesday at 10 AM.”

You weigh the proposal in your mind. “That should give us enough time to get everything in order, then,” you conclude. “Please put it in our calendar and let them know we’ll be ready to meet on that day.”

From then on, the remainder of your week unfolds exactly as you anticipate—relentless preparation, long nights, and meticulous planning until the small of your back aches for relief. One might say it's an exaggeration, but the only breaks you can afford are for primal necessities like eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom.

Even your weekend is spent within the walls of your home office, a far cry from previous weekends when you used to visit the book café or meet up with Taehyung.

Speaking of which, you haven’t really gotten to see each other since his family gathering and though it was only a week ago, the lack of his presence leaves you feeling a bit disheartened. He replied to your text yesterday, but even so, it was brief—something about a new project or talk show interview was keeping him busy as well.

By the time Wednesday arrives, your neck is so riddled with the stress of the upcoming investor meeting that you can barely focus on your proposal notes. Everything in you hopes that the investors will be impressed enough to partner with you, but thinking about it does nothing except heighten your nervousness.

In search of some kind of solace, your mind wanders to Taehyung instead. The memory of the small dance you shared with him on the beach is once again vivid, as if it happened just moments ago—the soft sand beneath your feet, the sound of the waves, and the way his gentle hands gripped around your waist.

But why does this memory, out of all the possibilities, feel so soothing?

You've been struggling to come to a plausible conclusion since the day it happened, yet deep down, you know it’s not as trivial as it seems. You miss it, your subconscious hums, you miss him.

Just then, Namjoon pokes his head into your office, signaling that the investors have arrived in the conference room. You send a curt nod in reply and gather your notes, refocusing your mind on the task at hand; everything else will have to wait.

Turns out, you might have been a bit too pessimistic about the investor meeting. They’re surprisingly pleased with your plans and proposals, nodding along to each of your points. However, their request for a day or two to reach a final decision catches you a tad off guard.

Rather than grapple with the uncertainty though, you decide to mentally prepare for whatever comes next... starting by decompressing at the bar downtown, a glass of their strongest alcohol in hand.

At first, finding a seat proves to be a challenge as you navigate through a sea of sweaty bodies. But luck, seemingly on your side, provides you with an empty chair at the far end of the bar. While you sit and order your drink, you can't help but wonder what Taehyung might be doing tonight. Should you text him to see if he’d join you, even if only for fifteen minutes?

Slipping your phone from the side pocket of your bag, you curse silently at your apparent haste. Your subconscious was right—you really have missed him, damn.

All at once, your thoughts are put to an abrupt stop when you take a quick glance around the bar, your gaze unprepared to land on two familiar silhouettes at the opposite end—Namjoon, with Taehyung next to him, drinks in hand. You don’t know how you failed to notice them before. They’re laughing, clearly enjoying each other’s company, and for a moment, your face lifts into a smile.

But that smile quickly fades when you catch sight of two women sauntering over to join them. Your initial joy is swiftly replaced by a sharp sting of jealousy and you chastise yourself for the feeling. Who are you to react this way? Taehyung can do whatever he wants—why should you care who he’s out with?

Forcing yourself to shake off the feeling, you take a sip of your drink, but your gaze keeps drifting back to the group. It’s obvious that the taller of the two women, arguably as stunning as Taehyung, is laser-focused on him, her hand brushing his arm lightly as she laughs at whatever joke he’s just told. Probably a dumb one, you think bitterly; it's obvious she's not just there for the humor and booze. It's strange to witness, as you've only known Taehyung to allow a few, select women to touch him so openly—his mother, his onscreen cast members, and you.

Okay __, stop, you scold yourself. This is a bad idea; you’re getting too involved for your own good. Hastily, you finish your drink and head out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. If Taehyung goes home with her, it’s none of your business.

You're barely a few feet outside the bar's door when you hear commotion echo from a nearby alley. Alarmed, you whip towards the noise, your eyes widening in disbelief. There, in the dim light, you see your ex-husband doubled over, clutching his stomach, while a shadowy figure stands in front of him, fist clenched.

You’re not sure where the courage comes from, but within seconds, you're springing to action, racing towards the scene with a surge of adrenaline. “Hey!” you shout as loudly as you can. The attacker glances back, frazzled, then bolts into the night, leaving Jungkook hunched against the alley wall.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask frantically, rushing to his side and helping him to his feet. He flinches away from your touch initially, his face a mix of panic and agony. “It’s me, Jungkook. It's __. Can you hear me? It’s okay, I’m here,” you reassure him the best you can, hoping to ease him.

Jungkook takes a few shaky breaths, body still weak as he struggles to hold himself up against the wall. His eyes are glazed, and he seems disoriented. “I… I didn’t expect you,” he mutters, his voice strained.

Offering him an arm, you help him steady himself. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” He nods weakly, and as you guide him towards the parking lot and into the light, you ask, "What happened back there? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

Jungkook sighs, wincing slightly. “No, it’s... I’m fine. He was just a kid—no more than 21. Angry, probably a little drunk, and accused me of being the reason his father got fired. At first, I was confused, but then I vaguely recognized him as being one of our employee’s sons. Pretty sure it was my dad who fired his—I was probably just an easier target."

You both fall into a contemplative silence as you continue walking. Of course Jungkook's father, the chairman of the company, would be behind this, you think. Previous times spent with him had shown you how ruthless he could be when it came to the "well-being" of his company. Whoever the kid was, he probably had a right to be angry, but physically taking it out on Jungkook wasn’t justifiable by any means.

“You sure you don’t need a doctor?” you ask, glancing at him with concern.

He shakes his head dismissively, "Don't worry about me," he replies. "A couple of punches to the gut won't kill me. I think it's about time I head home though."

You nod in agreement. “Where did you park?”

He points to a spot on the far left side of the parking lot, and you nearly groan at the sight. “Did you have to bring your bike tonight?” you ask, a hint of exasperation in your voice.

Jungkook gives a weak smile, understanding the inconvenience of the situation. “Thought I’d ride it in case I needed to get somewhere fast,” he replies, his voice strained but with a touch of humor.

"Come on," you say, walking him toward your car instead. "We might not be married anymore, but there’s no way in hell I'm letting you ride your bike home in this condition. You can pick it up tomorrow."

Jungkook chuckles weakly. “Damn, and to think we were about to ride it together for old times’ sake. You used to be pretty good with my motorcycle back when you were my girlfriend, __." You roll your eyes, patience thinning. If this is another one of his sexual advances, you’re long over it.

"Yeah, well, that was before Taehyung’s accident scared me half to death," you retort. "And for the record, I was never your girlfriend. We went from work partners straight to I do." You open the passenger door and help him into the seat, giving him a gentle shove. "Now sit tight and no more motorcycle talk."

Jungkook leans back and raises an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Well, what are we gonna talk about then? It’s a twenty-minute drive to my place.”

You slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, giving him the go-ahead to enter his address into your car’s GPS. “Are you really whining already?”

As Jungkook taps away on the GPS, you’re suddenly reminded of a series of past car trips you shared with him. It’s almost like déjà vu.

“Seriously, __,” he starts, allowing his playful demeanor to fade. “Thank you for doing this for me. I know we… well, we aren’t exactly on the best terms.”

From the corner of your eye, you observe the way he aimlessly stares out the window, unsure whether to meet your gaze.

"We may not be in the best place, but that doesn’t mean I’d just leave you there," you sigh, gripping the steering wheel tighter. A long pause follows afterward until the question that's been gnawing at you finally slips from your lips. "How's everything with the company?"

Seemingly unfazed, as if he’d been anticipating the question, Jungkook replies, “I’m guessing you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Hard not to,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road.

He takes a deep breath before continuing, "Well, it's um... it's a sabbatical. I know it's probably a shock, right? My father isn’t too thrilled about it, so he’s delayed the official announcement until we reach a final consensus. But things have been... complicated. Our newest product launched recently, and it’s doing well, but now I think I need some time for myself. To take a step back.”

Well, shit.

Even with all the rumors, you never would have guessed in a million years that the truth of the matter was an impending sabbatical. Jungkook has always been the type to work himself until his hands bleed, so this is the last reason you expected to hear.

“I’m glad to hear you’re finally letting yourself have a break, but honestly, it doesn’t sound like you at all. Feel free not to share, but what do you mean by ‘complicated’?” The way he frames it sounds almost ominous.

“You really want to know?” He finally glances at you for the first time since getting into the car, his eyes carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“Only if you want to share,” you reply cautiously.

He looks down at his hands, gathering his thoughts. “So, remember when we last saw each other a few months back? Well, I’ve been reflecting a lot on our relationship since then. I know I wasn’t fair to you, __, and I really wish I could take it all back. You never deserved any of it. I was incredibly selfish and I’m truly sorry.”

You remain silent, thrown off by how quickly everything circles back to your fragile past together. Still, you allow him to speak.

"Before we parted ways, you suggested I see a professional, and… I thought I'd finally take your advice for once. It’s strange because I’d never gone before, but…”

He pauses, searching for the right words. “I’m starting to understand a lot about myself—why I react the way I do and how I handle things. It’s been tough, but I’m trying. I guess I’m taking this sabbatical because I need to figure myself out, away from work, so I can be better and stop hurting people around me."

For the first time in a long time, as you listen to your ex-husband, you realize he's beginning to sound genuinely mature. If it's true that he's been seeing a therapist and taking a sabbatical to prioritize his well-being, then you're extremely proud of him.

Yet, a small part of you remains stubborn, wishing he had made these changes earlier—imagine where you might be now if he had.

“Thank you for being open enough to share this with me," you respond slowly, careful not to misspeak. "Though I’m still a little surprised, I have to say I’m really proud of you for seeking help. I’ve been seeing someone as well, and it took me some time to settle in too, but I suppose that’s part of the healing process—being uncomfortable to an extent. We’ve had our share of challenges with one another, but despite everything, I’ll always wish the best for you, Jungkook—including your health and mental well-being.”

As you pull into the driveway of his house, parking the car near the front door, Jungkook takes a deep breath and turns to you, visibly affected. "It means a lot that you'd say that, __," he starts hesitantly, hands fidgeting in his lap. "I know I've made a lot of mistakes, and I understand if you can't forgive me completely. But I want you to know that I am sorry. I wasn’t fair to you and I'm not proud of my behavior at all."

You nod in response, a small, tight-lipped smile forming. His remorse for the past is finally sincere, yet even now, as he looks at you with those hopeful eyes—the same ones you carried for months on end—you know he's searching for more than just your forgiveness.

But this time, you don’t think you can offer him more than that.

Because while you grew fond of him during your marriage, you've come to realize how unearned and misplaced that affection was. He broke your heart not once, but twice. And although you can never hate him, deep down, you can't ignore the lingering sting you feel when you're around him.

It's both sobering and eye-opening.

So, rather than reversing into old emotions, you simply say, "I believe you, Jungkook, and I think with time I'll be able to forgive you. If there’s ever a time when you’re in dire need of help, like tonight, I’ll do my best to be there. I’m afraid that’s as far as we can go, though."

It’s written all over his face that it’s not what he was hoping to hear, but respectfully, he doesn’t press further.

"I understand," he says, fingers reaching to for the passenger door handle. "Thank you again for being there for me tonight, and for driving me home. Please feel free to reach out if you ever need me as well. I hope for the best for you too, however and with whoever you choose."

The two of you exchange a brief look of gratitude before he finally pulls the door open and steps out of the car, making his way to his front door.

"Have a good night, and rest up," you call out to him. He smiles, gives a wave, and heads inside.

As you slowly back out of the driveway, you sigh, leaving only one person ruminating in your mind: Taehyung.

Then, inevitably, images of the stunning woman at the bar with him intrude your thoughts, stirring a deep, unsettling emotion within you.

Does it really matter that much who he's out with?

Are you really that jealous about it?

Mentally, you go back and forth as if plucking petals from a large sunflower… Yes. No. Yes. No. Until—Silence.

You can't seem to give a straight answer. It's like the closer you and Taehyung grow, the more undefinable and knotted your feelings become. Yet, the further apart you are, the more unnatural it feels...

Well, your indecisiveness doesn’t get any better by Friday because, finally, after what feels like an eternity, you and Taehyung have plans.

You’re heading out for dinner at a restaurant of his choosing tonight, as he insisted you go somewhere new. Where could it be? You have no clue, and while surprises aren’t usually your thing, his enthusiasm when you confirmed plans earlier has left you intrigued. There’s also this faint, inexplicably giddy feeling in your stomach that won’t go away, coinciding with a slight nervousness.

With such a seemingly important occasion, you find yourself in front of your bedroom mirror, twisting from side to side in what’s probably the fifth outfit you’ve tried on. But nothing seems to fit quite right. You’re feeling especially frustrated to be frank, as something that usually takes you twenty minutes is turning into a whole hour.

You end up tossing one final dress over your head—a bit more elegant for the occasion, but it’s one of the few items you own that accentuates your body down to the last detail. The dress hugs around your waist and falls just above your knees, its rich color perfectly complementing your skin tone. But isn’t it a little revealing? The neckline dips down further than you remember.

Crap—the alarm on your phone suddenly chimes, reminding you that Taehyung's arriving in ten minutes. You're running out of time.

"You’re being ridiculous. It’ll be fine,” you reassure yourself, smoothing down the skirt of the dress. “You're just friends. He won’t care.”

“Friends” stings more than you anticipated, leaving a bitter aftertaste and a deflated feeling in your chest.

Nevertheless, you give yourself one last look in the mirror, apply a quick swipe of lipstick, and head downstairs. Just as you finish slipping on your shoes and grabbing your purse from the coat rack, the doorbell rings, causing your heart to leap from your chest.

Deciding to rip it off like a band-aid, you toss open the door, and there he is—standing on your doorstep with his signature boxy grin and gently tousled raven hair. Taehyung's dressed in a tailored blazer and matching slacks over a crisp white t-shirt, and you find yourself at a complete loss for words as if you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around him.

Maybe it’s something in the air, but he appears equally stunned, looking you up and down with wide eyes. His gaze soon softens into admiration as he takes in your entire appearance. “Wow,” he chokes, clearly impressed. “You look amazing.”

You feel a rush of warmth at his compliment and muster all your strength to keep from looking away flustered. “Thank you,” your voice wavers slightly. “You look pretty great yourself.”

Tongue in cheek, he replies with a playful smirk, “I was hoping you’d say that,” which prompts you to lightly punch him in the arm.

“Don't be arrogant.”

He chuckles, rubbing his arm with a grin. “Shall we head out?”

You nod and step outside, locking the door behind you.

The drive to the restaurant is a brief one, and you're immediately struck by the charm of its exterior when you arrive—stone walls, covered with vines of ivy and warm glowing lanterns. Inside is even more beautiful, with wooden shelves lined with old books and bottles of fine wine wrapping around the room. You're starting to understand why Taehyung was so insistent on bringing you here; the place perfectly reflects his taste and, unexpectedly, yours as well.

One of the hosts leads you to a deep mahogany table after confirming your reservation. The closer you get to it, the more you notice the crisp white linens and small tealight candles that sit on top, setting a romantic scene. If you had to describe the feeling, it would be as though you’ve been transported straight to a quaint corner of France.

"So, what do you think?” Seated across from you, Taehyung looks at you with bated breath. His fingers fidget with the edge of the table, nervously anticipating your verdict.

“Honestly? It’s so charming,” you reply, glancing around in awe. “I didn’t even realize we had a place like this around.”

At this, his demeanor relaxes, and a pleased smile spreads across his face. “It’s a bit hidden, but once I found it, it quickly became one of my favorite spots.” He pauses, then adds, “This is actually the same restaurant I wanted to take you to months ago, before my accident.”

“What? You’re serious?” you blink in shock as the realization slowly sinks in. You take another look around the restaurant—the rows of books, the bottles of wine, the elegant dining atmosphere—and suddenly, it all makes sense. How did you miss it before? “I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner,” you say softly, regretful of having turned down his offer before.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung's quick to reassure you, reaching out to lightly touch your hand. “What matters is that we’re here now. And honestly, I’m just happy to finally share it with you.” He gives you a warm smile, and immediately, you feel a small lump form in the back of your throat.

“Thank you for bringing us here tonight,” you say, “It’s wonderful, and I’m really glad we could make it up.”

“Of course,” he replies, “I thought it was a place we’d both enjoy.”

Everything about his responses seems to carry a heightened level of endearment and attentiveness, as if there’s more hidden beneath them.

Perhaps selfishly, you also sense there’s something uniquely special about this night—something you believe only exists between the two of you. So, when Taehyung retracts his hand, you feel a fleeting instinct to reach out and grasp it again, but you stop yourself short.

What are you thinking? This isn’t a date.

Needing a distraction, you grab the menu and start scanning the options.

Taehyung sees the way your gaze drifts and tilts his head, a concerned expression on his face. “Everything alright?” he asks gently.

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual. “I'm just getting pretty hungry with all the food I smell.”

He chuckles, "Same here," then picks up a menu of his own.

The two of you sit in silence for the next few minutes, fixated on the food and wine list. You find yourself stealing glances at him from time to time, and unbeknownst to you, he does the same.

After the waiter takes your orders, Taehyung leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “How’s everything at work been? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Your face lights up at this. “Highs and lows," you reply, voice brightening, "but we got some exciting news today. I met with a potential investor earlier this week, and they’ve agreed to partner with the company. It’s a big win for us!”

Sharing your enthusiasm, Taehyung raises his wine glass, implicating you to follow suit. “This calls for a toast,” he says. “I know it must have meant long nights for you, but I’m so glad they recognized the value of you and your work. Seriously, __, you should be incredibly proud of this!"

You clink your glass with his, a light chuckle escaping you. There's something uniquely satisfying about sharing even the smallest things with him.

The conversation flows more comfortably from there, with Taehyung eagerly asking about the details of your new partnership. You reciprocate by asking about his current work projects, and soon, you both get lost in discussion, naturally causing your conversation to grow increasingly spontaneous. By the time your food arrives, the two of you must have easily covered fifty topics.

With the evening gradually becoming one of the most enjoyable you’ve had, the initial butterflies you felt at the start almost fade away... almost. That is, until you near the end of the meal and Taehyung looks at you with a seriousness in his eyes.

“I’m really glad we could do this tonight," he says, "We’ve both been so caught up with work lately that we haven’t had much time to spend together… I’ve missed it."

"Missed..." The simple six-letter word echoes in the back of your mind in a hushed murmur. It feels nice knowing you aren’t the only one affected by the recent distance.

“Me too,” you reply, more breathy than intended. Before you can fully process your words, you find yourself adding, “I’ve missed you a lot myself.”

A flush of embarrassment twists in your stomach the moment the words leave your mouth. You shouldn’t have said it like that—it almost sounded like… pining? God, you can’t even blame it on the alcohol at this point; you barely had one full glass of wine. Contrary to what you'd expect, Taehyung looks at you with a hint of shyness.

“You know,” he begins, briefly eyeing your dress, “you really do look great tonight. I’ve been a bit worried these past couple of weeks, seeing how much you work and how little sleep you get. But now… I'm relieved to see you looking so well.”

You blush. If only he saw you before tonight—greasy hair, bloodshot eyes, and oversized sweats on, you think. Evidently, tonight was an exception.

"I guess I've been worried about you too if I’m being honest,” you admit, shifting slightly in your seat. "The last time we saw each other was at your family reunion. It feels like it was ages ago for some odd reason."

“I know what you mean,” he says softly, gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than usual. “It’s strange going so long without seeing each other. It feels…unnatural.”

All at once, you pause, unsure if you heard right. Did Taehyung really say "unnatural"? It’s exactly how you’ve felt about the distance this entire time, but you hadn’t expected him to feel the same. Your mind struggles to process the sheer coincidence and its possible implications—was there something more to your relationship than you had realized?

While you try to make sense of it all, Taehyung’s raspy voice pulls you back to the present. “Well, uh, we should probably head out,” he suggests lightly, breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, though it does little to deter you from your thoughts.

You find yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress the entire drive back, occasionally glancing at Taehyung in silence. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, eyes focused on the road, yet you could’ve sworn his mouth parted at one point as if he was about to say something. But then, he held back. You wonder what he might’ve wanted to say, but you’re no better—hesitant to breathe a word yourself.

Why are neither of you speaking all of a sudden? It feels tense and unfamiliar.

In what feels like a blink of an eye, you're standing at your front door again, Taehyung close beside you. The space between you feels smaller this time, with unspoken words still lingering, but it’s clear that despite having your keys in hand, neither of you are ready to part ways just yet.

“__?” He speaks first, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” You respond, turning to face him fully.

Taehyung takes a deep breath when you do, his usual warmth replaced by a heavy, unreadable expression. “There- there's something that’s been on my mind,” he begins, voice trembling slightly. “I've been going back and forth tonight on whether or not to tell you."

“Okay, what is it?” you ask, pulse quickening.

“It’s about us..." He hesitates, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly before continuing. "Earlier tonight, when I said I've missed being able to see you, I wasn’t lying. If anything, it was likely an understatement because, no matter how busy I was, I kept thinking about you—our time at my parents' place, and how you always came to visit me when I was in the hospital."

He pauses, his fist clenching nervously.

"I’ve realized since then that maybe the reason why is because somehow…you've always been more than a friend to me,” he confesses softly.

Searching your face for a reaction, Taehyung mistakes your blank expression for discomfort. Little does he know, however, that your stillness is merely due to shock, as every nerve in your body threatens to awaken. It feels surreal, you think. Sure, you had a small inkling that tonight felt different and Taehyung was sweeter than usual, but eighty percent of you chalked it up as nothing more than overthinking or projection.

Now, you realize how short-sighted you’ve been, convincing yourself that you could only ever be friends and denying the rest when it's been quite the opposite.

“I’m sorry," he adds sheepishly. "It must be a lot to take in. I don’t want to lose you or our friendship, but with my feelings growing, I think I’ll always want more. I thought it would be better for you to know.”

You see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks, and though he patiently waits for your response, you’re unsure where to start. It’s not that you question Taehyung’s genuineness or intentions, or that you don’t reciprocate his feelings—you haven’t shared such a deep connection with someone in a long time, if ever.

Rather, it’s the years of a mostly apathetic marriage that leave you feeling wary.

What would a relationship with Taehyung be like?

Would you truly love each other?

For how long?

What startles you most is the possibility that if you and Taehyung really do this and it doesn’t work out, you’ll be left even more devastated than before.

When you finally speak, your voice wavers slightly. “To tell you the truth, a big part of me is relieved that you told me all of this,” you admit slowly, your hands clammy. “I thought I sensed a shift between us at your parents' and again this evening. But I also thought I was reading too much into things, convinced it was just us getting closer as friends do."

"I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was wrong because I've been wanting more with you too," you continue. "It's like the further away we are, the worse I seem to feel, and I can't help but wonder what it would look like if we were more than friends. The thought scares me as much as it excites me, though…for reasons I'm sure you already know."

You're uneasy about how he'll react until, all at once, his eyes fill with warmth and his hands gently reach for yours, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the backs.

“Do you remember when we were at the beach and you asked who’d risk it for you?” Taehyung asks. You nod, recalling the exact moment. “You also asked if I loved you, and I agreed to both that day. I didn’t realize how much those words would come full circle, but I meant it then, and I mean it now. I will love you, __, in the way you've always meant to be. I'm pretty sure I'm at least halfway in love with you already, and not just because we're friends."

Wordless, you stand facing each other, your hands still held in his, eyes steady in the brisk night air. His gaze then drifts from your eyes to your lips and back again. The movement is subtle, but in that brief moment, you let your eyes fall to his lips as well.

Taehyung’s waiting for your answer, but you can’t stop thinking of what would happen if you just…

Adrenaline takes over from there, and before you fully process it, you’re leaning in to close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. The sudden touch catches Taehyung off guard, but he quickly responds with gentle, tender kisses. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he deepens the embrace, one hand finding its way to your face while the other rests on your back, pulling you closer.

Sooner than you realize, he begins deepening the kiss as well, eliciting small, breathy moans. At this point, you can feel the tent forming in his trousers, but he makes no move to grind into you yet. Rather, the hands that grip around you tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough that your body pushes further against his firmer chest. You suspect your back will meet the hard surface of your front door within the next three seconds, allowing your entire neighborhood a show, but before then, you're interrupted by a subtle stirring in the pit of your stomach.

"Wait, I'm sorry-" you suddenly break the kiss, a rush of nerves returning. It’s been a long time since you’ve shared such meaningful kisses with someone, and the intensity of it has you feeling overwhelmed. "I'm so sorry," you repeat.

When Taehyung sees you aren’t backing away but rather standing completely still, he settles his hands around your waist, gently drawing you further into a soft embrace. "You don't need to apologize," he assures. "I'm the one who took it further than I should've when I want this to be comfortable for both of us.”

You take a small breath, "You didn't do anything wrong, Tae, I'm just a little nervous due the newness of everything. I think I’d be best if we wait before going any further tonight….but I’m also not ready for you to leave yet. Is there any way you could maybe come in for a bit? To lounge?”

Taehyung nods, “I completely understand wanting to wait. The last thing I want to do is rush anything.” Concerned about possibly pressuring you, he adds, "Are you sure about me coming in though? It's getting late and I don't want to keep you up."

"Please," you murmur, "just for a little while, if you can.”

“Okay," he agrees, thumbs brushing lightly against your sides, "I can stay."

a/n: ajdfhg, TYSM for reading!! Love you all 🥰

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mononijikayu · 1 month

Text

delicate — geto suguru.

Suguru glared at Gojo. “I’m not concerned, I just—” “Uh–uhuh, keep talking.” “I’m just some friend—acquaintance. Worried.” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Satoru. I don’t know what you’re going on about. If I'm in love with them, shoot me.” Without missing a beat, Gojo grinned, “Bang.” He made a playful gun gesture with his hand and gave Suguru a wide grin. “Cupid’s bullets confirm!”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Modern AU!;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance,, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Confessions, Humor, Getting Together, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Kissing, Profanity, Mention of Fighting, Mention of Bruising, Outcast! Geto Suguru, Popular Cheerleader!Reader;

WORDS: 6.9k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i made this while thinking about what dynamic i wanted to see between cute couples. and here we are. this was supposed to be shorter too, but it ended up way way longer than 4k words. but im satisfied with this. i hope you enjoy!!! i love you all <3

ADDENDUM: i just found out gege akutami said jjk ends in five chapters and i just want to say that this is going to be hard for me since ive been a fan since 2019.

but i will say ill continue to write as much as i can for this story, enjoy the anime with you for years to come. im sad of course, but im thankful. im grateful for gege akutami for letting me meet his lovely story and his bountiful characters.

and of course because of him, i met all of you. i am very grateful. from beginning to end. i am crying but i am happy too. i love jjk a lot you guys. hugs and kisses to manga fans everywhere. lets hope for a happy end to the story we have loved 🥹🫶

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌌*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

YOU WEREN’T LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. You were the it-girl, so sought after. The shining star. You were the girl everyone wanted to be—effortlessly beautiful, charming, and the center of attention at Jujutsu College. As a cheerleader, you had it all: the admiration of your peers, the envy of others, and the kind of popularity that opened every door.

Everywhere you went, eyes followed. Whispers trailed in your wake, a symphony of awe and envy that only fueled your rise to the top. You were untouchable, your smile a weapon, your presence a force. Parties, events, and the campus buzzed with your name. Everyone wanted to be near you, to bask in the glow of your effortless charisma. But all of that came crashing down when you chose to stand up for what you believed was right.

The whispers got worse the moment they took to the locker room. One of the newer cheerleaders, a girl named Emi, was their target—shy, awkward, and an easy mark for their cruelty. You watched it unfold for days, biting your tongue, hoping it would stop. They were the same, the seniors who already graduated. You let them do it then, because you hoped they’d stop like the seniors did. But they did not. Instead, it went too far.

You looked at them for a moment, trying not to be obvious. This was going too far. The girl was about to cry, maybe she’d even get even more hurt. This is enough. You cannot stay and just stay silent anymore. Maybe it was the memory of your own first days on the squad, when you weren’t yet the queen bee, when you still had something to prove. Or maybe it was just a sense of fairness that you couldn’t ignore. But you knew that this had to stop. This has to end.

"God, Emi, you can’t even get a basic cheer right. Why are you even here?" one of the girls sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

Emi stood frozen, her eyes welling up with tears. The other cheerleaders laughed, egging each other on, pushing her closer to the edge. You bit your lip, closing your locker with a loud bang, causing everyone to look at you. You could feel Emi’s eyes on you too, shaking with fear as tears fell from her cheeks.

“Leave her alone, you freaks!” you said, your voice sharp as you stepped forward. “That is enough. She doesn’t deserve this. You’ve gone too far, even more than our seniors!”

They turned to you, surprise flickering across their faces before it morphed into mockery. You moved forward to the captain, eyes narrowed as you glared at her. You shook your head at her. “Just leave her alone. She’s a freshman. She doesn’t need your shit.”

“What, are you her knight in shining armor now?” one of the lackeys taunted, crossing her arms. “You’re supposed to be on our side, aren’t you? This is a tradition for us seniors.”

“I’m on the side that’s not full of bullies.” you shot back, your anger boiling over. “Being bullied doesn’t mean you should be one!”

“What’s your problem?” another girl snapped, stepping closer, her tone threatening. “She’s dead weight, and you know it.”

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your temper in check. “My problem is that you’re all acting like a bunch of jerks. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the dead weight.”

The tension in the room exploded like a storm that had been brewing for too long. You could feel it in the way the air seemed to thicken, in the way eyes narrowed and lips curled into sneers. It started with a harsh word—one of those sly, cutting remarks that slid under the skin like a blade. But this time, you couldn’t let it slide. Not when it was aimed at Emi, the quiet girl who had been on the receiving end of too many of those slights.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, the words spilling out of you in a rush of anger and defiance. “What’s your problem? Why do you always have to pick on someone who’s done nothing to you?”

Your voice cut through the chatter, silencing the room. The others stared at you, shocked that you—of all people—would dare to break ranks. The lead cheerleader, the queen bee, glared at you, her eyes narrowed into slits. “What, are you her bodyguard now? Don’t act like you’re better than us.”

It was the spark that lit the fire. The room erupted into chaos as insults were hurled back and forth. You didn’t back down, not when they turned their barbs on you, not when they sneered at Emi. It all escalated so fast—too fast. Suddenly, hands were shoving, nails were scratching, and before you knew it, you were in the middle of a full-blown fight.

You could barely make sense of it all. The adrenaline surged through you, drowning out the pain as someone’s fist connected with your cheek, leaving a nasty bruise that would bloom later. All you could think about was protecting Emi, keeping her out of the fray, even as the world around you descended into chaos.

The chaos only ended when the coaches rushed in, their voices booming as they waded into the mess of tangled limbs and flaring tempers. They pulled you all apart, demanding to know what had happened, their faces a mix of shock and anger.

But it was too late—the damage was done. You could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at you now, like you were the problem. The principal was called in, and you found yourself standing in his office, staring at the floor as he lectured you about school spirit and the responsibilities that came with your position.

Your words fell on deaf ears. They didn’t want to hear about the bullying, about how you were just trying to protect Emi. All they saw was the fight, the disruption, and the girl who had gone from golden to tarnished in a matter of minutes.

When you returned to the locker room, it was like a slap in the face. Your things had been removed from your team locker, stuffed unceremoniously into a bag and left on the floor. You were no longer welcome. The cheerleaders, the same girls who had once been your closest friends, looked at you with cold eyes and turned their backs.

You had wanted to protect Emi, and now you were left with a throbbing bruise, a reprimand from the principal, and a cold emptiness where your friends used to be. But even as you walked out of that locker room, head held high despite everything, you knew you’d do it all over again. Because some things were worth fighting for, even if it meant losing everything else.

The next day, you found yourself officially kicked off the squad. Well, Emi was also kicked out too, but you were glad that she wasn’t at all hurt. That was what mattered. The news spread like wildfire, and the people who once idolized you now whispered behind your back. Your world felt like it was crumbling, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the biggest mistake of your life.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting alone outside, trying to process everything that had happened. Emi had repeatedly apologized to you today, but you kept waving her off and told her to stay safe around school. It wasn’t really her fault. Maybe if you had acted much earlier, maybe Emi wouldn’t have had to go through the worst. Perhaps this was your punishment. This was what happened because of your inaction. And you feel like you deserve this. You deserve to be punished like this. You could only sigh.

That’s when you heard someone approaching.

“You know, I always thought cheerleaders were supposed to be a tight-knit group.” a voice drawled.

You looked up to see Gojo Satoru standing there, hands in his pockets, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Guess so.” you muttered, feeling the sting of his words even though they weren’t meant to hurt. “I’m sorry, have I met you before?”

“I don’t think so.” He says, removing his round sunglasses. “Have we met before too?”

“Don’t think so.” You admitted also, face scrunching in confusion. “I don’t meddle around with unpopular kids.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not unpopular.”

“Then why have I never heard of your name before?” You raised your brow.

“I don’t know, maybe you were too focused on being a cheerleader and me being a Digimon stan?”

“Oh, so you’re a nerd!” You clapped your hands together. “That makes sense why I haven’t heard about you.”

He sighed. “You cheerleaders are cut throats, aren’t you?”

“I’m an ex–cheerleader now. Not really much of a cheerleader anymore.” You snickered. “Those pom pom waving mean girls, goodbye them!”

He plopped down next to you, stretching out his long legs. “So, what’s the plan now? Are you gonna go all lone wolf, or are you open to a new company?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you care?”

Gojo shrugged, his smile widening. “Because I’m curious about the girl who went from queen bee to outcast in one day. That takes guts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out a little bitter. “Or stupidity.”

“Or both, you know?” he agreed easily. “But I like guts. So does Shoko. And Suguru. And Kento and Haibara. You’d fit right in with us.”

“Fit in?” you echoed, not sure if he was being serious. Your face reminded Satoru of how Kento reacted to him asking to be his friend.

“Yeah.” he said, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “We’re not exactly the most popular kids on campus, but we’re fun. And we don’t care about that petty stuff.”

Before you could respond, Shoko Ieiri appeared, hands stuffed in her lab coat pockets, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “You’re not bothering her, are you, Gojo?”

“Me? Bother someone? Never, Sho.” Gojo said, feigning innocence. “Just making a new friend.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and looked at you. “He’s right, though. You’re welcome to hang with us if you want.”

You hesitated, glancing between them. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shoko said with a lazy grin. “We don’t bite. Well, maybe Gojo does, but only if you ask nicely.”

You laughed again, this time more genuinely. “Okay… I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

As the days passed, you found yourself drifting away from the cheerleaders and into a new circle. It started subtly at first, with Gojo casually inviting you to sit with him and Shoko during lunch. Gojo’s easygoing nature made it hard to say no, and Shoko’s dry humor quickly drew you in.

They didn’t seem to care about the drama that had turned your life upside down. Gojo’s bright grin and carefree attitude were a stark contrast to the cold shoulders you’d been getting from your former friends. Shoko, with her sharp wit and laid-back demeanor, offered a kind of friendship that felt refreshing, real in a way that the cheerleading squad never had.

Soon, Geto Suguru and Nanami Kento joined in. Suguru had a quiet confidence about him, a steady presence that was both comforting and intriguing. He didn’t ask about the fight or why you weren’t with the cheerleaders anymore. Instead, he offered a warm smile and an understanding nod, as if he knew without needing to be told.

Nanami, on the other hand, was more reserved. He didn’t speak much at first, but his presence was reassuring. There was a steadiness to him, a sense of reliability that you hadn’t realized you craved. He welcomed you into their group with a subtle nod, a small but genuine gesture that told you he saw you for who you were now, not who you had been before.

Each of them, in their own way, made room for you. They didn’t treat you like the fallen star or the girl with the tarnished reputation. With them, you didn’t have to pretend. You could be yourself—no masks, no expectations.And slowly, you began to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time: belonging.

That afternoon, all of you were sitting together under a tree on campus, watching the world go by. Geto Suguru was in the middle of explaining something, his voice calm and soothing, while Nanami listened quietly, offering his thoughts every now and then. Yu was more excited trying to make friends with you than before. You think it's interesting, how this ball of sunshine saw you as some sort of superhero for what you did, even if you didn’t.

Yu Haibara, ever the sunshine in human form, plopped down beside you with a grin. “Hey, I heard about what happened with the cheer squad. Pretty badass, if you ask me.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of genuine friendship for the first time in what felt like forever. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing, but…”

“It was! You’re so cool, you know?” Haibara said firmly. “Standing up for someone who needed it? That’s always the right thing.”

“Besides, it’s just what it is, you know?” Geto added, looking over at you. He was smoking his cigarette roll, one he made himself. “You don’t have to be what you aren’t.”

“Yeah.” Nanami agreed, his voice steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not with us.”

You looked around at them—this group of people who had taken you in without hesitation, who saw you for who you really were, not just the image you had projected for so long. And for the first time in a while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As the weeks went by, you found a surprising sense of belonging with Gojo, Shoko, Suguru, Nanami, and Yu. They had become your new circle of friends, and their acceptance gave you a fresh start that you didn’t know you needed. They were a new sort of fun, a different kind of excitement that was worlds apart from the polished, high-pressure life you’d known as the it-girl.

With them, your days became filled with spontaneous adventures. Gojo was always dragging everyone to the arcade, where his competitive streak made every game feel like a high-stakes challenge. Shoko would roll her eyes at his antics but still join in, her laughter adding to the cacophony of beeping machines and cheerful music. Suguru, ever the cool-headed one, had a knack for choosing the perfect music stores to visit, introducing you to tracks that soon became the soundtrack to this new chapter of your life.

Nanami and Suguru were more reserved, especially at first. You could tell they were still feeling you out, trying to figure out if you really fit into their group. But even in their uncertainty, they made an effort. Nanami, despite his serious demeanor, would show up at the burger joints Gojo loved, quietly indulging in the greasy food and ridiculous banter. Suguru, with his calm presence, would often give you a slight smile or a nod, a small but significant sign that you were being welcomed, even if it was cautiously.

Yu was the glue that held it all together, his infectious energy and boundless enthusiasm pulling everyone along. Satoru was as enthusiastic as he was, but unlike him — Yu was someone that tried to keep everyone in good peace together. And he was good. He had a way of making you feel included, whether it was by handing you a spare controller at the arcade or making sure you got the best seat at the burger joint.

That’s just how it was with them. You didn’t have to worry about the petty dramas or the constant pressure to be perfect. With this group, it was all about the moment—the thrill of a high score, the taste of a greasy burger, the discovery of a new song. And you liked it. You liked who you were becoming with them.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, tossing a sugar packet from one hand to the other. “You know, you fit in with us better than you did with that cheer squad.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Are you saying I was too good for them?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Stop teasing, Gojo. You’re ruining the vibe.”

“Hey, I’m not!” Gojo argues as his grin spreads, “Just that our new friend here is way cooler than they ever gave them credit for.”

You looked at Shoko, who was sipping her coffee with a look of amused tolerance, added, “He’s right. They were just too busy with their drama to see how awesome you are.”

Suguru, sitting across from you, offered a more thoughtful observation. He bit into his fries. “Sometimes, it takes getting knocked down to realize where you truly belong. You were always meant to be with people who appreciate you for who you are.”

Nanami, who had been quietly observing, nodded in agreement. “You’re a good blend with us, I think. We’ve had a lot of fun since you joined us.”

Yu Haibara, always the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “Yeah, and you’ve made things a lot more interesting around here. It’s not every day we get someone with your… spirit.”

You smiled, feeling a warm flush of gratitude. “Thanks, guys. I wasn’t sure where I’d fit in after everything that happened, but I really appreciate how welcoming you’ve all been.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time. It was a refreshing change from the pressure and pretense of your previous life.

As the night wore on, Gojo suddenly stood up and stretched. “Hey, who’s up for a late-night walk? I heard there’s a new food truck downtown.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You just want an excuse to get more snacks.”

“Guilty as charged.” Gojo admitted with a wink. “But you’re all welcome to join if you’re up for it.”

“Sounds good to me.” Suguru said, standing up and grabbing his coat.

You looked around at your friends, feeling a genuine sense of contentment. “I’m in.”

“You feeling cold?” Suguru asked as he saw you stand from the booth.

“A little—” He threw you his jacket, which you were barely able to catch.

“Put it on.”

“O–oh, okay.”

As you all walked together through the city streets, the cool night air filled with laughter and conversation, you realized how different this life felt from the one you had left behind. There were no superficial judgments, no hidden agendas—just a group of people who valued each other’s company and had each other’s backs.

Later, as you shared food and stories under the streetlights, you found yourself in a moment of quiet reflection. You had come so far from the popular girl who had been kicked out of the cheer squad. You were no longer defined by your past status or the mistakes you’d made. Instead, you were part of a new chapter, one where you were valued for who you truly were.

Gojo’s laughter broke through your thoughts as he tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it with a grin. “See? This is what life’s about—good friends, good food, and not taking things too seriously.”

You laughed, feeling the weight of the past lift off your shoulders. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In that moment, you knew that despite everything you had been through, you had found something real and genuine. And as you walked beside your new friends, you felt a renewed sense of hope for the future, knowing that wherever life took you next, you would face it with people who truly cared about you.

But in that moment, Geto Suguru looked at you and thought to himself for a moment, just for that moment — how good happiness looks on you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌌*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, HE’S NOT ONE TO TRUST PEOPLE EASILY. But coming from a rough place in life, it was something that can’t be helped. So, in the beginning, Geto Suguru had his reservations about you. He’d heard the rumors about the cheerleader who had once been the queen of Jujutsu College, and he wasn’t impressed. To him, you seemed like just another snob who was used to getting their way and couldn’t be bothered with anyone outside her circle.

When Gojo tried to blend you into the group, Suguru’s attitude was guarded, and for a good reason. So, he kept his distance and even interacted with you, he tried to be casual, trying to not get too deep into it.

He remembers what he said then — “I’m not really into the whole ‘cheerleader’ thing,” he’d said with a shrug. “Not my style. So they're still not my style either.”

You had sensed his cold demeanor but tried not to let it bother you. Instead, you focused on being yourself—friendly, outgoing, and always ready to lend a hand. You wanted to prove that you weren’t just the image people had of you. Even though you could still be rough in the edges with your personality, it didn’t stop people from enjoying your company.

And over time, Geto Suguru began to see a different side of you. You didn’t just laugh at his jokes or offer superficial compliments, nor were you as stuck up as people make you out to be; you were genuinely kind and considerate. You had a really good way of making others feel comfortable, and it wasn’t long before he found himself intrigued by the real you, the one who went out of their way to help others despite their own struggles.

One evening, as the group hung out at a quiet park, you were sitting on the grass, talking animatedly about a new project you were excited about. If he was being honest, excitement was a beautiful color on you. And he thinks that he wants to see more of that in you. He could only sigh as he thought about how much you’ve occupied his mind. He shakes his head. Suguru looks above the sky, trying to distract himself while Satoru spoke to everyone about his new date.

“You know, Suguru.” you said, glancing over at him, snapping him back to reality. “I really appreciate how you’ve been around lately. And how not awkward it is between us now. It means a lot to me.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “I’m just here because Gojo dragged me along. Don’t get any ideas.”

You laughed, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe. But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here because I have to be.”

Despite his words, you noticed subtle changes in his behavior. He was more engaged in conversations around you, his smiles more frequent, and he’d even started teasing you back. You found yourself drawn to him more and more, your feelings shifting from admiration to something deeper. The way he would look at you, even with his usual aloofness, made your heart race.

After a particularly lively conversation about your favorite books, Suguru caught you off guard with a rare moment of vulnerability. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re really persistent, you know that?” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but you’ve managed to get under my skin.”

You grinned, feeling a rush of hope. “Is that a good thing?”

Suguru looked away, his expression turning more serious. “I’m not sure. I told myself I’d just tolerate you, but… the more I hang around, the harder it is to keep my distance.”

He was fighting it, trying to convince himself that his growing feelings for you were nothing more than an annoyance. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” he continued, frustration evident in his voice. “But I’m not someone who easily changes his mind. So don’t expect too much.”

Despite his words, there was a softness in his eyes when he looked at you, a clear sign that he was fighting a losing battle. The more you interacted, the more he found himself charmed by your genuine warmth and infectious enthusiasm. And he didn’t know what to feel about that. He doesn’t know how to react to you.

You were infatuated with him, and it became clear that you wanted his attention—more than just casual conversation, more than friendly banter. You wanted to be the one who made him smile, the one he thought about when he was alone.

And though Suguru tried to keep his distance, you could see the cracks in his resolve. His stoic exterior was melting away, little by little, with every shared laugh, every meaningful conversation. He couldn’t deny the way he felt any longer, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

In moments of quiet, when it was just the two of you, Geto Suguru’s demeanor softened. He would catch himself gazing at you with an expression that betrayed his irritation with his own feelings. He was torn between his desire to remain aloof and the undeniable pull he felt towards you. As you continued to be your bubbly, charming self, Suguru found himself drawn to you more and more, fighting a battle he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.

The house party was in full swing by the time you and your friends arrived. The sorority house was buzzing with energy, and the crowd was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. You were excited to be there, especially because you had a date with you—Mark, a guy you had been seeing for a few weeks.

Suguru Geto, always the reserved observer, was there too, though he seemed more detached from the festivities. He had taken a spot near the snack table, his gaze scanning the room. When he noticed you with Mark, he gave a curt nod but didn’t say much.

As the night progressed, Suguru found himself cornered by Mark, who was chatting animatedly with a group of people. You had gone off to mingle with others, leaving Mark to his own devices. Suguru, being the stand-up guy he was, decided to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m Suguru.” he said, offering a polite smile. “So, what’s your story, bro?”

Mark took a swig of his drink and grinned. “Oh, I’m just here to have a good time, mess around, party hard. You know how it is.”

Suguru nodded, trying to make conversation. “Yeah, I get it. So, how long have you and my friend been seeing each other?”

Mark’s smile faltered slightly. “A few weeks. But, honestly, they're kind of a handful.”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his tone neutral. “Oh? How so?”

Mark shrugged, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. “They’re always so cheerful and in-your-face. It gets old pretty fast. And don’t get me started on their mood swings. Sometimes they’re all sunshine and other times, they’re just… exhausting.”

Suguru’s smile faltered, and he could feel a simmering anger rising. “I wouldn’t say that. They’re actually really kind and caring. Maybe they’re just passionate around you.”

Mark snorted. “Passionate? More like over–dramatic. You must be used to it, though, considering you hang out with them.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. “I think you should stop talking about them like that.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. “Why? It’s the truth. You know, they could be a lot better if they just… toned it down a bit.”

Suguru’s eyes darkened as he took a deep breath. “Seriously, stop it.”

Mark continued, oblivious to Suguru’s mounting frustration. “They’re always making everything about themselves, always trying to be the center of attention. I don’t get why you’d even bother with them. They’re literally like….a bitch..”

Without warning, Suguru’s hand tightened around his beer bottle. He took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. “I said, stop.”

The tension in the room was thick, a simmering undercurrent that everyone felt but no one acknowledged—until Mark pushed too far. He had been needling Suguru all night, his criticisms growing more pointed, more personal with each passing minute. The rest of you tried to steer the conversation away, but Mark wouldn’t let it go, his words becoming sharper, crueler.

Suguru had been holding back, his calm facade cracking only slightly as he tried to keep his temper in check. But when Mark ignored him and continued with his relentless criticisms, something inside Suguru snapped.

In an instant, he moved. With a swift, fluid motion, Suguru swung his beer bottle, the action so smooth it was almost graceful. The bottle connected with Mark’s face with a sharp crack. The impact was immediate and satisfying, sending Mark stumbling backward as beer splashed across the floor, the bottle shattering in Suguru’s hand.

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Goddamn it, Suguru!” Shoko’s voice was the first to break the quiet, a mix of shock and exasperation. She stepped forward, ready to pull Suguru back if needed, though there was a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Couldn’t you have at least waited until he finished his drink?”

Nanami, who had been lounging in the corner, raised an eyebrow but didn’t move from his spot. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Shoko sighed deeply, looking around. “I’ll call someone to clean this up. And maybe get some ice for Mark.”

Mark, clutching his face where Suguru had punched him, looked up in stunned disbelief. “What the hell, man? You’re crazy!”

Suguru’s eyes were cold as he glared down at him. “No. I’m done listening to your crap. You should’ve known when to shut up.”

“You all are a bunch of crazy freaks! Especially that bitch!”

“You don’t get to talk about them like that!” Suguru said, his voice steady but filled with a cold edge. “Not on my watch.”

Mark looked up at him, a mix of pain and surprise in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just backed away slowly, still holding his nose. Yu came between them. “Hey, hey. Let’s all calm down, okay?”

Suguru turned on his heel and walked away, heading outside to cool down. He needed some fresh air and space to collect his thoughts. You, having witnessed the altercation from a distance, rushed over to Suguru, concern etched on your face.

You spotted Suguru standing alone in the hallway, his gaze distant as he tried to calm down from the confrontation. Determined to get some answers, you made a beeline for him, your concern and curiosity palpable.

“Suguru, what happened back there?” you asked, trying to piece together the events of the night. “Why did you hit Mark?”

Suguru glanced at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “It was nothing. He just… he crossed a line.”

“No,” you said, putting the pieces together with a sudden burst of realization. “He called me a bitch, didn’t he? That’s why you hit him. You hit him for me!”

Suguru looked away, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “No, that’s not—”

“Yes, it is!” you interrupted, your excitement and relief bubbling over. “I know I can be a lot sometimes, and I am a bitch! But you actually care about me. You love me, don’t you?”

Suguru’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he mumbled, “No…I didn’t…”

Suguru’s thoughts were still a whirlwind, his mind racing to process the events of the night and the emotions that came with them. He needed to clear his head, and talking to Gojo seemed like the quickest way to do that. He excused himself and quickly went back inside. As he entered the kitchen, the room was a stark contrast to the chaos outside—bright, warm, and filled with the comforting aroma of Gojo Satoru’s sandwich-making.

Gojo stood by the counter, casually assembling a towering sandwich with practiced ease. His movements were relaxed and carefree, a stark contrast to the tension that Suguru was radiating. He glanced up, taking in the scene with a curious, slightly amused expression.

“What’s going on, man?” Gojo asked, his tone light as he continued to layer on the ingredients. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion.”

Suguru tried to compose himself, but the frustration was evident in his voice. “Mark was being a complete jerk. He was bad-mouthing them, and I… I lost my temper.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “He was talking about them? What did he say?”

Suguru’s jaw clenched as he recounted the encounter. “He kept going on about how they are a handful and how they’re exhausting. He was just being really disrespectful. Even called them a bitch, mind you!”

Gojo’s eyebrows knitted together in surprise. “And you punched him for it?”

Suguru nodded, his gaze intense. “Yeah, I did. He wouldn’t stop, and I just couldn’t let him keep talking like that.”

Gojo’s expression shifted from amusement to genuine concern. “Are they okay?”

Suguru’s frustration softened a bit as he considered your well-being. “They’re fine. I mean, they did seem surprised, maybe in some way upset, I don’t know. But they’re okay. It’s just… I don’t like seeing them being talked about like that.”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and understanding. “So, you’re defending them, huh?”

Suguru’s face flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not just about defending them. It’s just—”

Gojo looked up from his sandwich-making with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, but is your lover okay?”

Suguru froze, caught off guard. “They are not my lover, Gojo.” he snapped, defensively. “They are just—”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? Then why’d you hit him? Seems like you’re more concerned than you’re letting on.”

Suguru glared at Gojo. “I’m not concerned, I just—”

“Uh–uhuh, keep talking.”

“I’m just some friend—acquaintance. Worried.” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Satoru. I don’t know what you’re going on about. If I'm in love with them, shoot me.”

Without missing a beat, Gojo grinned, “Bang.” He made a playful gun gesture with his hand and gave Suguru a wide grin. “Cupid’s bullets confirm!”

Suguru stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious? This is not—”

Gojo laughed, clearly enjoying the confusion. “Just kidding, Suguru. You know I’m just messing with you.”

Suguru sighed heavily, his frustration giving way to a reluctant chuckle. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Gojo shrugged, still grinning. “Just having a bit of fun. But seriously, if you need to talk or if something’s going on, I’m here. Just don’t let things like this get you too worked up.”

Suguru nodded, a mix of relief and embarrassment on his face. “Thanks, Gojo. I guess I needed that.”

With a final, reassuring pat on Suguru’s shoulder, Gojo returned to his sandwich-making. He took a deep breath and went back outside. You were talking with Shoko when you noticed Suguru come back outside towards your way. You were about to speak when Suguru turned back to you. There was a softer, more earnest look in his eyes as he met your gaze.

He looked at you with a determination, his voice steady but kind. “Take your coat, doll.” he said, offering it to you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden decision but relieved by the prospect of escaping the party. Without protest, you slipped on your coat and followed him out into the cool night air. The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth of the party was a welcome change, the crisp air a refreshing balm against your senses.

As you walked to the parking lot, Suguru’s silence was a comforting presence. His demeanor was calm and purposeful, a stark contrast to the turbulence of the evening. He led you to his car, and you both got in, the engine’s hum a soothing sound against the backdrop of the night.

Soon enough, you found yourselves parked in the lot of a nearby fast-food chain. The neon lights of the restaurant flickered against the dark sky, casting an almost surreal glow over the scene. It felt like a world away from the party, a simple, unpretentious refuge.

Suguru ordered a handful of burgers and fries, his movements deliberate and focused. You followed suit, choosing your favorites with a sense of familiarity. As you both settled on the hood of the car, the comfort of the fast food and the tranquility of the night began to ease the tension.

You took a bite of your burger, the flavors surprisingly comforting. Despite the simplicity of the setting, there was something deeply satisfying about the moment. “This is the best date ever.” you said with a grin, the warmth of the food and Suguru’s presence making the night feel a little brighter.

Suguru looked at you, a bemused expression on his face. “We haven’t talked in half an hour.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s nice just being with you, even if this doesn’t seem like much.”

Suguru looked away, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not as bad as going bowling.”

You blinked, puzzled. “Bowling? I didn’t know you liked bowling.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the car. “I do. It’s something I enjoy, and being with you is kind of like that—enjoyable and relaxing, even if it’s not always fancy.”

You tilted your head, contemplating his words. Then, feeling bold, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Suguru’s eyes widened slightly, but he responded, kissing you back with a tenderness that melted away any remaining tension.

When you finally parted, you looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. “Not too bad?”

Suguru’s gaze softened as he met your eyes, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Not too bad.” he agreed, his voice warm.

You both shared a comfortable silence, the world outside the fast-food restaurant feeling a million miles away. As you finished your burgers and settled back into a peaceful quiet, you knew that despite everything, moments like these were what mattered most.

You and Suguru remained on the car hood, finishing off the last of your burgers. The night was crisp and clear, the occasional hum of passing cars providing a steady backdrop to your conversation.

“So, what’s your favorite part about bowling?” you asked, genuinely curious and trying to keep the mood light.

Suguru chuckled, a soft sound that warmed the chilly air. “It’s the combination of skill and luck, I guess. Plus, it’s fun to just throw the ball and watch it knock down the pins. It’s simple, but satisfying.”

You smiled, enjoying his enthusiasm. “Maybe we should go bowling sometime. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun.”

Suguru’s eyes twinkled as he looked at you. “I’d like that. I think you’d be pretty good at it. You’ve got a good arm from throwing those frisbees around at the park.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “You think so? I’ll hold you to that.”

Suguru wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a promise.”

The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. The night was quiet, and for a while, you just enjoyed the peacefulness of the moment.

Suguru glanced at you, his expression softening even further. “You know, despite everything that happened tonight, I’m really glad we ended up here. I like these moments with you. They remind me of why I care so much.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights. “Me too, Suguru. It’s the simple things, like eating burgers and talking about bowling, that make me realize how much I enjoy being with you.”

Suguru gave a small, affectionate smile, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “Sometimes, it’s the simple things that mean the most.”

You sighed contentedly, feeling a deep sense of connection. “I guess that’s true. And, even though tonight didn’t go as planned, it ended up being pretty perfect in its own way.”

Suguru chuckled softly, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah, it did.”

You both sat there for a while longer, sharing soft kisses and quiet laughter, savoring the simplicity of the moment. The night air was cool, but the warmth between you made it feel like the coziest place in the world.

Eventually, Suguru shifted slightly, pulling you closer as he gave you a tender kiss on the forehead. “Let’s head back. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

You nodded, standing up and stretching as Suguru helped you off the car hood. “Sounds good. But we definitely need to plan that bowling trip soon.”

Suguru laughed, offering you his hand. “It’s a date.”

As you walked back to the car, hand in hand, the night seemed a little brighter, and the world a little warmer. The small, spontaneous moments were what made your time together truly special, and you both knew that, no matter what, you’d always find a way to cherish them.

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