#it’s nice to like myself finally I’ll say that much!
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Gods these new shirts I have are so good!! This is the first time in my life I’ve been feeling good about my looks and then I buy clothes like this?! Gods damn I’m cute sometimes 🤭
#it’s nice to like myself finally I’ll say that much!#and these outfits are so goooooood#fuck work for making me dress so boring 😤#I wonder how like just !!!!!!! my coworkers would be to see the 180 of style I’d do if we hung out outside of work lmao#like oh you usually wear all black and skinny jeans yeah cool!#then just show up in a tight crop top and a skirt looking cute as fuck#not at all what anyone would expect
0 notes
Text
it’s all the rest of what i want with you
connor dewar/brandon duhaime :: 8k
Summary:
“Brandon,” Connor says with a sigh. “There’s no baby in there.”
“Not yet,” Brandon says. Connor feels his stomach twist, almost like what he would imagine a baby kicking to feel like.
in these trying times of dewvorce, may i offer you 8k of pwp inspired by @stillfertile’s wonderful art which i had. several breakdowns about 🫶 anyway please enjoy!!!
#OFFICIAL FIC ANNOUNCEMENT 🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️ i wish i had pretty fic graphics but alas i have No Skill and also. so much work i should be doing bu#HI SHE’S HERE i would love to say this is a complete surprise drop except i have Anxiety & i needed to ask you guys about it beforehand#in my defense i started writing this in like. january far before any tragedy occurred#because square asked about my tags on their dewey2 art and she spawned like. a million more thoughts about it#including the part where i got absolutely kicked in the face with the lightning vision of those two lines.#like those two lines are the first actual lines of the fic i wrote ajdhkwdiowdjiw ANYWAY please be nice to me i know i am always like#‘this is not the first real fic i ever thought i’d post’ and if i had a nickel i’d have three but this is the first pwp i’ve ever posted#and it’s 8k and it’s not a fic for an exchange (although technically i did very much write this for the dewey^2 hivemind so.)#i have SO many things to say i have so many comments on this doc also i couldn’t pick a title for the LONGEST time and i finally decided on#this one but the full quote was too long:#all the rest of what i want with you that scares me shitless#so. i was angling SO hard to make a yung gravy lyric as a title bc i saw the video of him at a wild game but i couldn’t find a good one#and instead y’all got a very sentimental title l m a o.#liv in the replies#shout out to the extended universe this lives in and also my unhinged comments in the docs.#if you liked fun fuck a baby in him friday i’ll be here all week i promise i am the exact same in the comments as i am in the tags 🫡#the NUMBER of times i wrote something in this by pulling it out of my ass and then actually went back and did the research & was RIGHT is.#far too high. also the amount of coincidental things that dropped while i was writing this (yung gravy song about pregnancy AFTER i wheeze#laughed myself into a yung gravy title the athletic player poll confirming my restaurant & bar choices from googling ‘st. paul good bars’…)#also if anybody got advice on formatting for these little announcements. help. this is different from my miro/luka one &i’m still not happy
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
woke up at 4am feeling the weight of my life crushing me, so I’ve been sitting out in my car for the last couple of hours because I just need. to. be. somewhere else.
#tumblr ate something like this but I think I deserve to shout uselessly into the void#shits rough dawg#I know it’s rough for everyone. I feel shitty even talking about myself. still… compelled to vent… big butts#haven’t really been on here much since it hasn’t really scratched that itch lately & just makes me feel lonelier#it’s cold#saw the Jazzercise studio open across the street. 5am for Jazzercise? wow. early.#and then everyone left an hour and a half later. lights out. everybody gone. weird schedule. I am perplexed.#went down the road and got a soda and I’ve been sitting in my driveway contemplating for the last 2.5 hours#guy at the gas station tried to talk to me but I just half assed a smile and nod and left#even though I know I’d love to just… talk to someone. I suppose it has to be ‘on my terms’ whatever those are#I miss having a therapist. or even just when my little brothers would talk to me. when anyone would. blegh#my insurance is still a mess and I’m about to run out of one of my blood pressure meds this week#maybe I’ll have a stroke. scary to think about. I think about dying a lot but that potential feels too real. just… pop! and I’m done.#I’ll try today to finally push to straighten it out but everything feels daunting#woke up with so much anxiety. about my health. my hearing. no money. my life. had to get out of the house even if it’s just right outside#hate to say it but I need(want) thc. haven’t wanted to spend money on it but I could have really used it this morning#can’t be sad if you can’t feel anything (jokingly but also not. whichever is less sad sounding)#actually treated myself to Dune 2 last week and it was so so good. wish I could go again. but it’s drugs food or movie right now. so…#I know. dumb priority but BIG SCREEN. maybe it’ll hit theaters again for the next awards season hopefully. just a real nice loud experience#anyway… I should go inside. almost 7am. need to take my brothers to school then drive my mom to her daily appointments#I’ve felt so hollow and angry and sad for so long it feels like. I feels so weak and sad and I’m tired of it. I’m so tired.#I’ve been eating about 1 meal a day and sleeping a lot. this is the worst my body has ever been. I feel like I’m just waiting to die.#is this relatable?#just have to look past it. it is nothing. this body is nothing. just enjoy your soda.#gonna look at pictures of butts now#ok gotta go I love you goodbye forever#you can ignore this#text
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
HI TUMBLRR it’s me
#I ate ramen just now it was soooo god I think ramen is just it just is better after 10pm#im right#ughhh ok that actually reminded me earlier my classmate was making an Asian people eat dogs joke like he put on this awful accent and he wa#all like ‘dog tastes so good with rice’ and then he did other stuff too#but what really made me upset is that someone who I thought was my friend found it really humorous! wow okay!#I know it’s not really a big deal but im still kind of sad like I’ve lost all my respect for you now#anddd they were my only friend in the class so now I’m stuck there for the rest of the semester I guess . I mean I’ll still be nice to them#but I just don’t think I can bring myself to like them anymore sorryyy . not really . but kind of#idk if I’m overreacting . in elementary school though people would make jokes actually about me eating dog and it always made me really sad#but I never held it against them cause we were children#but now I feel like you’re old enough to know what you’re laughing at..#wow ok this really derived away from me being on tumblr and having just ate the worlds best ramen#well . not really I mean it was good but I’m allergic to normal noodles and I need to eat rice noodles and they’re not bad I just don’t lik#them as much Lol#I feel like my actual posts say nothing but if anyone ever reads the tags they probably know everything about me..#I use tumblr to complain half the time loll and I used to post my drawings more but I haven’t made any good drawings recently😭😭😭BUT WAIT!#i have a comic I’ll post in October we’ll see how far I am in it by then…#im like . halfway done with chapter oneeeee so maybe like I’ll post all of chapter one on hallowern.. how does that sound… cause actually#for those of you who don’t know my story has ghosts in it#im like trying to keep it a little silly right now but the tone might shifftttt idk!!!!! we’ll seeeeeeee cause actually I have NOT worked#out the entire plot.. just like. most of it.#but I keep having ideas like midway through ughhh it’s an endless cycle!!!!!#like Francis . she used to be a random character who shows up once but then I was like . wait no! anjali should have ghost friends! and tha#that’s how Francis came to be#and actually today I kind of finalized her design^_^ albeit in my math notebook lol
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
I didn’t go to sculpture again……
#please please please I have anxiety I have a mental illness#I can’t make myself go there it’s hell idk why I’m just so nervous every time I make myself feel sick#and then I get another excuse not to go becuase I literally feel like I’m gonna throw up#I’m not going to pass if I don’t start going there…….#and I cannot handle repeating a semester#I live in fear#and it doesn’t help that I have intermedia class later today which is my second greatest enemy and just as dreadful#banging head on the table#I need to be wrapped in a blanket and go to sleep forever#god even if I go there I’m never going to be able to come up to my prof and talk to him about my project I get physically I’ll at the#slightest suggestion from my friends that I should finally do it#everyone’s done it already#I will literally cry if anyone talks to me#the profs just intimidate me so badly I feel like they hate me#and everyone says they’re super nice but I can’t make myself believe ittttt they will eat me alive#but if I never go I won’t pass the class and repeating the semester will cost money#pleas I have the stupid project idea ready but I just can’t do it I’ve thought about just emailing them and doing it all through email but#I couldn’t do that either I’m just in panic mode instantly#so yeah I’m just venting not asking ppl for solutions 😶✌️ I just don’t want to text my friend again bc I’ve been putting way too much on#them#they do practically everything for me anyway bc I can’t do shit by myself#uh ok I just need to put this SOMEWHERE#I’m gonna curl up and draw metal or whatever#ugh I know I’m making things worse by not coming#but I can’t make myself I just cant I’m gonna have an anxiety attack ✌️#no one look at me#I being sensitive and vulnerable here
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa
summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.
contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total
notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3
𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .
there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold.
your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.
the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity.
the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants.
chuuya kills them all — except for one.
the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards.
“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding.
he can feel the man swallowing.
chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well.
“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand.
he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.
the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you.
how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity.
finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you.
chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.
“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them.
limply, they fall to the floor.
chuuya rushes over to you.
the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it.
“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing.
“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?”
it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?”
guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either.
he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…
“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.”
he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.”
“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones.
“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.”
“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.”
"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later.
finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.”
𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .
the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off.
with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.
though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him.
he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage.
“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.
but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course.
but you… you’re different.
“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.”
akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own.
he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.
there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable.
mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you.
as regrettable as that may be.
akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow.
“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.
“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.
even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy.
akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets.
what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.
and he can’t do that if you’re dead.
finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found.
akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain.
a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him.
though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain.
he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding.
his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips.
“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you.
you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads.
“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.”
“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?”
“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”
anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”
“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.”
he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken.
“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word.
he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you.
“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you.
𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .
dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies.
though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest.
his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well.
dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating.
but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe.
he should’ve at least told you to take a friend.
“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”
“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.”
“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation.
and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you.
with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation.
there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own.
he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed.
today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive.
you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them.
dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall.
slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive.
he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes.
“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats.
the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile.
dazai hums. “you the leader?”
the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you.
“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all.
dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him.
you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become.
he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple.
it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you.
“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.”
“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”
you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.
“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.”
you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.
“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?”
you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.”
dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.
thank you for reading !!! ❤︎
#bsd x reader#osamu dazai x reader#dazai x reader#osamu dazai x you#dazai x you#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#nakahara chuuya x reader#chuuya x you#chuuya nakahara x you#bsd x you#bsd imagines#bsd x y/n#dazai osamu x reader#chuuya imagines#bsd fanfic#bsd x gender neutral reader#dazai x fem reader#akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader#akutagawa x you#akutagawa x reader#akutagawa x y/n
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Why I Love Hanamusa
I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:
First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.
I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!
Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!
It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.
Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.
Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.
All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs.
Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.
Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.
There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.
I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Pillow Talk*
Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.
Word Count: 7.2k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“Come on. Just one time.”
“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”
You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it.
“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”
You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”
“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”
You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine.
But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.
“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”
There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.
You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.
Or maybe it won’t.
But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.
So, with that thought…you open the door.
He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.
And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.
He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.
“What?” you huff.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”
“Okay…?”
“You changed your hair.”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. It’s nice.”
You cross your arms. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.
“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.
“Right, yeah.”
“Okay.”
You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.
When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Why?”
Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”
He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”
“I don’t care.”
He smiles. “I know.”
“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”
Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”
“Never thought I’d have to say it.”
“Mm. You changed your mattress.”
“Obviously.”
“And the sheets and blankets, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”
“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”
“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice.”
“Bite me.”
He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”
“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions.
You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.
And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”
You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”
“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”
“Yeah. I know.”
More quiet.
“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence.
Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”
“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”
“Right.”
“And I just figured—”
“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.
The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.
“What?” you eventually hiss.
“Are you dating someone?” he asks.
“What?”
“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”
You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”
“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”
“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”
“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”
Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”
His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”
You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”
“Vanilla?”
Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”
“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”
You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”
“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”
“Yeah? And?”
“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”
Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”
“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”
“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”
“So he’s not vanilla?”
“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”
“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”
“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”
Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”
“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”
“So what he’d do?”
“Harry—”
“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”
“Ew, no—”
“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”
You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”
“And…?”
“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”
“Sure.”
Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”
Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”
“I guess. It could have been worse.”
“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”
You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”
“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”
“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”
He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”
You turn back. “What?”
“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”
“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”
“Poppy—”
“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”
“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”
“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”
“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”
“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”
“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”
You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”
He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”
“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”
“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”
“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”
He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”
“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”
“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”
“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”
“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”
“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”
“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”
“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”
“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”
“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”
“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”
He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.
Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.
But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.
Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.
He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.
The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.
He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say.
His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.
“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”
You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”
He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”
“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”
Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.
He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.
Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.
However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.
“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”
You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”
“Hm. Don’t push it.”
“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?”
“Maybe.”
“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”
“…not exactly.”
“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”
“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.
“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”
“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”
He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”
He smirks. “How romantic.”
“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”
So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.
Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over.
He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.
And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out.
Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.
He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.
You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.
But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?
There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment.
Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh.
And just like that…
It’s over.
You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.
He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.
Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”
You blink. “Um…okay.”
He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”
The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”
“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”
“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.”
“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”
“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”
“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”
“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”
“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”
“I was taking care of myself—”
“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing��cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”
“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”
“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”
He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”
“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”
He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”
You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”
His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”
You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”
His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.
“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”
“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”
You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”
“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”
And deep down…you know he’s right.
“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”
Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.
Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.
So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit.
You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.
Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.
And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.
“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”
“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”
“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”
“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”
“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”
You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”
“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”
“Harry. Come on. I know you.”
“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”
You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”
“No?” He grins. “Why not?”
“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”
He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”
You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”
He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”
You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one.
He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.
Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy.
“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”
“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”
“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”
“Obviously.”
“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”
You pout. “Mhm.”
He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle.
And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment.
“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.
“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”
You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.
He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon.
But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.
You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.
“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.
You glance up.
“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”
You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”
“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”
“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”
He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”
“You used to make me happy.”
The soft strokes against your spine slow.
“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”
“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”
You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.
But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.
“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”
“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.”
“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”
More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.
And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”
You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”
“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”
Another pause. You don’t know what to say.
“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”
You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”
“Did we?”
“Harry…”
“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”
“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”
“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”
“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”
He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.
But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.
“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”
You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat.
“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”
His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”
You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.
You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.
“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further.
He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”
You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.
His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”
It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”
“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”
You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”
He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”
“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”
He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”
You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”
“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”
“Oh, you did, huh?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”
You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”
“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”
“We did indeed.”
“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”
“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”
“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”
“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”
“And does it work?”
“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”
He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”
“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”
“I imagine you, too.”
You blink. “You do?”
“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”
You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”
He smiles. “Yeah.”
The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop.
Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.
Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent.
Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.
Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.
The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.
He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.
You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.
You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot.
You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave.
And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.
You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.
Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.
But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.
“Make me a deal,” you whisper.
He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”
“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”
His eyes open.
“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”
He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.
Even if it’s just as friends.
Exes.
Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.
His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.
You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.
You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open.
You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.
And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Good morning, Poppy.”
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry
#harry#harry styles#harry edward styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles x you#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fan#harry styles smut#harry styles request#harry styles concept#smut#concept#soft dom!harry#nsfr#ex!harry#exes to lovers#harry and poppy#angst
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
You want my groupie love
Ft. Dick, Jason, Roy, and Wally 400-500 words each Request: Anon requested any of the above finding out you have a crush on their hero alter-ego. I did all of em cause I've been looking for an excuse to sink my teeth into some fluffy rambling! Warnings: Swearing | Alcohol | Secrets | Non-graphic mentions of violence
Dick: Hey Neighbour
Dick could easily see how the new mailman switching up your post so often could get annoying, especially considering his busy schedule. However, he just couldn't bring himself to be upset over anything that gives him an excuse to see you. Admittedly, he's pushing it today, ringing your buzzer so early in the morning but the moment you open the door, revealing the most adorable bedhead and an oversized Nightwing shirt, he can't bring himself to care.
“Nice shirt.” He offers, but he's not certain you understand as you stare at him with squinted eyes and pouty lips.
“You want something?” Your voice is low and slow, thick with sleep but still hot as hell.
He wants you. “Yeah, um, my parcel says delivered but it's not! I just wondered if maybe they left it with you again?”
You continue to stare at him blankly for a moment longer before recognition seems to click in those pretty eyes.
“Oh yeah, sorry,” you murmur as you grab his mail from somewhere behind the door and hand it to him. Together you go through the polite thanks and no problem motions, but when you're done, he can't bring himself to leave. Maybe this is the day he finally asks you out.
“Do you- “
“Are you- “
You talk over each other, and then you dance around it until you finally win out the no you go argument.
“Do…” He’s about to ask when a thought pops into his head. That oversized tee is very oversized. “Is that your boyfriend's top?”
“I don't have a boyfriend.” You confirm, nervously playing with the hem and accidentally revealing a hint of your Nightwing sleep shorts.
“Just a big Nightwing fan, huh?” He's not sure why he's pushing it, something about the notion makes him feel good.
“You could say that.” You reply hesitantly. Your eyes flicker from him, back into your apartment a few times before you open your door. Nothing could have prepared Dick for the sight before him. Your living room was chockful of Nightwing merch; pillowcases, replica wing-dings, figurines, Blüd postcards with his likeness on them to name a few. Some are licensed, but most are not. There's a very real moment in which the blood drains from him, and he's concerned that he should be worried about you and your intention before you explain. “I kind of went on a big dumb rant about how Nightwing was snubbed for The Sexiest Hero Alive award a few years ago, and my friends have never let me forget about it. Now everyone and their dog buys me his merch for my Birthday and whatnot. I just can't bring myself to throw any of it out.”
“Ohhh.” That's a relief. His unease is replaced with twice as much giddiness. Sexiest Hero Alive, huh? He hadn’t cared that much about the award, but he cares that you care. “I’d love to hear more if by any chance you wanna grab breakfast together?
Jason: On the news
Jason is already sat in your usual spot when you arrive at the café, he even went ahead and got your usual order. The $12 was worth it for the look of gratitude and reprieve on your face as you collapse into the chair across from him.
“Thank you for ordering for me! I’ll send you the money.” Once you catch your breath you dive into your drink, moaning aloud at the flavour in a way that has him averting his gaze and shifting in his seat. He prays you don’t notice the heat in his face as he tells you not to worry about it, Bruce can afford it anyway.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” You continue. “Apparently Red Hood and some of Two-Face’s guys got into some kind of turf war near the bank last night, and police have shut the whole block down.”
“Oh, that sucks.” He grunts, pretending like he doesn’t already know.
“Right! So annoying. Red Hood gets a pass though, 'cause he’s hot.”
Jason actually chokes on his coffee, narrowly missing you with his spray as you lean away from him. Before you can even ask if he’s okay, he’s grilling you.
“He’s hot? How do you know he’s hot? You’ve never met the guy!” It’s an instinctive response, maybe a little paranoid, and though he doesn’t mean to, he’s definitely selling some kind of jealousy angle right now.
“No, but I’ve seen him on the news, and in the papers.” You explain. “He’s got that kind of, cool, mysterious, badass thing going on, you know? With the helmet, and leather, oh and the motorbike! And the voice!”
Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. If he wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now. Some badass. “B-but you don’t know what he looks like.”
“I know he’s good-looking. ‘An I bet he’s a nice person, under all that tough guy exterior.” You state decidedly. “I feel it in my bones, and my… I’m not gonna finish that sentence.”
You both laugh, yours is more light-hearted. Like music to his heated ears. Jason feels like you reached into his chest and started tweaking at his heartstrings. He might not seem it externally, but he’s thrilled. This is a step in the right direction for your more-than-friends-not-quite-lovers-relationship, he thinks.
“I’m just saying, if the opportunity ever arose; Red Hood could get it.”
He just has to figure out what the next move is.
Roy: Prince Charming
When he’d gotten done saving your life from some back-alley thief a few nights prior, you’d thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Roy had seriously considered never washing that cheek again. But, he’d figured you wouldn’t want to kiss him ever again, hero or no if he stank. So, he’d scrubbed up and trimmed before picking up the pizza and heading to your place for your bi-weekly movie night.
When you open the door there’s a far-off look in your eye and a dreamy smile on your lips that he could certainly get used to.
“You okay?” He asks, making no attempt to hide his amusement as he stands in your kitchen, smothering his fries with ketchup and watching you stare off into space, swaying your hips like a puppy dog who can't control their tail.
“Yeah.” You answer, only half snapping back into the present moment, a sheepish, excited look on your face as you grab your share of the food and head for the couch. “I got mugged.” You call back, like it’s nothing. Playfully baiting a reaction from him that he’ll have to fake because he already knows.
“No- oh shit! Are you okay?” He leans in close as he sits beside you on the couch, pretending to examine you for injuries, but actually using it as an excuse to savour your scent.
“Yeah.” You turn to him so that your noses brush together, and he has to will himself not to blush at the proximity. You’d always had a bit of a flirtationship going, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still get under his skin when you had that tenacious look on your face. “I met the love of my life.”
“The love of your life mugged you?” He teases and you shake your head all cute and determined before leaning away to bite into your dinner.
“C’mon, who’s the lucky guy?” He goads, he has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he's trying not to get his hopes up.
You look at him like you’re thinking it over before confessing around a mouthful of food; “Arsenal.”
That’s fucking hilarious. He bites his lip to keep from laughing in your face.
“Arsenal.” He repeats. Is it hot in here? He feels exceedingly flush. “Huh, crazy.”
“Arsenal.” You say it again, this time like some Disney character swooning over their Prince Charming as you lean into his chest. It makes eating significantly harder, but he doesn’t care, lifting his arm and draping it over your shoulder, urging you closer. He’d starve it meant getting to hold you till he died. “He saved me.”
“No kidding.” You ghost a hand up and down his arm, and he enjoys the sensation too much to notice how your fingertips trace his exposed tattoos. This conversation might be the best thing that’s happened to him in ages. Second best. No, third best. Behind Lian being born and you kissing him. “But, ah, I thought I was the love of your life?”
You chew on his comeback for a minute, and he enjoys immensely how you try not to grin as your eyes dart around while you think up a response. “Guess you’ll have to share me.”
Roy Harper, share you with Arsenal? He could definitely live with that.
Wally: Fuck, marry, kill
“Okayokayokay. Fuck, marry, kill.” His words all string together in an excited jumble. He’s totally buzzing, and not from the booze. It’s never the booze, he metabolises it too fast. No, his excitement is entirely caused by you. You and your proximity, your smiling face, and your hypnotic laugh. “Nightwing, Tempest, and The Flash? Go!”
“Oh, well that entirely depends.” You reply matter-of-factly, and Wally watches admiringly as you take a sip of your drink, licking the rim when a drop spills over. Damn, he wishes you’d put your lips on him like that.
“Depends on what?” He finally asks when he remembers it’s his turn to speak, and you bite your lip for a second as if considering whether you should say what you’re about to say.
Eventually, you commit. “Are we talking Central City Flash, or Keystone?”
You watch him expectantly while he sips his own drink, waiting for his clarification. He’s glad that the difference matters to you but he can’t help challenging you, partly to keep up the clueless civilian shtick, but mostly because he wants to prolong the conversation. He wants to hear you say ‘The Flash’ a million more times. “You’re so sure they’re not the same guy? Could be running back and forth really fast. That’s his whole thing, right?”
“Nah.” You shake your head, a self-assured smile on your face. You don’t even entertain the idea, and he wonders what has you so confident but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. “Central Flash is cool and all, but I’m in loooooove with Keystone Flash.” You giggle as you declare it.
This is brand new information to Wally, and it takes him a moment to process it. His cheeks must be as red as his suit as he watches you melt into your seat, thinking about him The Flash.
“Have you ever met the guy?” He’s pretty certain he knows the answer already.
“No.” You confess shyly, but it doesn’t stop your next, very bold statement. “He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re gonna get married one day.”
“Really?” He’s grinning from ear to ear, like the cat whose canary landed right in his bowl and started chirping ‘EAT ME! EAT ME!’
The feet of his chair scrape on the floor as he shuffles closer, and even though he’s not ‘your future husband’, you let him close the distance, happily voicing your answer to his original question and his most recent. “Yep. If it’s Keystone, can I say fuck and marry The Flash?”
“Yeah, totally, I’ll accept that answer.” Wally blurts, making no effort to hide his elation as he places his hand atop yours. “You know, I’ve been told that I’m a lot like The Flash.”
Please remember, do things that make you happy!
#dick grayson/reader#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson#nightwing x reader#nightwing#nightwing/reader#jason todd/reader#jason todd x reader#jason todd#red hood#red hood/reader#red hood x reader#roy harper/reader#roy harper x reader#roy harper#arsenal/reader#arsenal x reader#arsenal#wally west/reader#wally west x reader#wally west#the flash x reader#the flash#the flash/reader#gn reader#gilverrwrites#dc#thanks for the request
950 notes
·
View notes
Text
boyfriend!ateez reaction to you receiving a love letter from someone else
☾pairing: bf!ateez x reader
☾warnings!: suggestive dialogue, mature themes, jealousy
☾a/n: enjoy ;), always open to requests etc.
Hongjoong🌶️
Hongjoong finds out that you have received a love letter, and his initial reaction is cool and collected. He doesn’t see the point in getting upset right away, but he is curious.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s in the letter?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s confident in your relationship, so he’s not worried about you leaving him, but he definitely wants to read the letter to see what the other person has to say.
You let him skim through the letter willingly, and he laughs at it.
“I mean, points for effort…but this is rookie-level literature.”
He glances up at you with a smirk.
“Babe, if this is what I’m up against, I’m not worried.”
He then crumples up the paper with a playful grin.
“Think I’ll send them a response and give some pointers—for educational purposes, of course!”
---
Seonghwa🧚
Seonghwa would feel a little unsettled but not overly jealous. When he finds out about the love letter, his first reaction is to ask you how you feel about it.
“You got a love letter? How do you feel about that?”
He trusts you, but a part of him feels protective. He suggests ignoring the letter if you don’t reciprocate the feelings. With a soft reassuring smile, he adds,
“It’s nice to know others see how amazing you are…”
He leans in closer, whispering in your ear,
“…but remember, I love you the most.”
He wraps his arms around you in a comforting hug, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Though…if they try to send another letter, I might have to let them know the position is already filled.”
---
Yunho☂️
Yunho’s reaction is more lighthearted, even if he feels a bit jealous. Upon hearing you got a love letter, he immediately starts teasing you.
“A love letter? Wow, I thought I was the only one with great taste!”
He pretends to be hurt in an exaggerated tone to make you laugh.
“Looks like I’ll need to step up my game before you run off with your secret admirer.”
He suddenly turns serious with a fake gasp.
“Wait…do I need to send myself a love letter just to compete?”
Yunho begins to pace the room, clearly adding to his show.
“Dear Yunho, you’re amazing, and no one can compare to you. Love, Yunho. P.S. Please never leave me for some random admirer.”
He laughs at his own joke and finally wraps you in his arms.
“Just kidding—you’re stuck with me.”
---
Yeosang🪽
Yeosang wouldn’t show much outward jealousy, but he’d be quietly bothered by the love letter. He knows you wouldn’t stray, but he feels the need to address it.
He leans back on the couch after hearing about the letter, his expression calm but thoughtful.
“You got a love letter, huh?”
“Well, I can’t blame them for having good taste.”
He shifts closer to you on the couch, placing his hand lightly on your back.
“But I hope they know that you’re not available.”
His tone is still calm, but there’s a subtle protectiveness in his words. He looks into your eyes, his gaze steady.
“If they try anything else, I might have to write them a little letter of my own…letting them know exactly how things are.”
He gives you a small smile and gently squeezes your hand.
“I’m not worried, though. I know you’re mine.”
Then a playful glint flickers in his eyes.
“And if they don’t know, they’ll find out soon enough.”
---
San🗻
San feels protective upon learning about the love letter. He wraps his arms around you immediately, half-joking, half-serious.
“A love letter? Really? Guess I need to up my game. Should I write a letter every day? Or maybe serenade you outside your window at 3 a.m.?”
He grins and plants a playful kiss on your cheek.
“Though, I gotta say, no letter’s gonna beat the real thing.”
San’s voice is full of playful energy, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind it. He holds you closely, giving you a soft smile.
“Maybe I should send them a picture of us together—but at the end of the day, I know who your heart belongs to, and it’s staying right here with me.”
---
Mingi🩰
Mingi is dramatically over the top upon finding out about the love letter. He falls back onto the couch as if the news has knocked the wind out of him.
“A love letter? To you? I’ve been replaced, haven’t I!?” he groans, covering his face with his hands.
He peeks through his fingers, faking an exaggerated pout.
“Am I not good enough? Should I start writing poetry and serenading you in public?”
He laughs and pulls you into a playful hug but suddenly pulls away, looking at you with mock suspicion.
“Wait…was it a really good letter? Should I be worried?”
Before you can answer, Mingi gasps.
“No! Don’t tell me! I can’t take the heartbreak!”
Finally, Mingi breaks into a wide grin, pulling you close again and resting his head on your shoulder.
“I’m just kidding. If they’re trying to win you over with sweet nothings, they should know I’m the one who gets to whisper all the naughty things in your ear.”
---
Wooyoung👹
Wooyoung’s reaction is all about playful possessiveness.
“A love letter? Seriously? Well, someone clearly doesn’t know how out of their league you are,” he says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
He wraps an arm around your waist.
“Do I need to start leaving notes in your lunchbox or maybe hide them in your coat pocket? Just to remind you who the real romantic is here.”
Wooyoung tilts his head, thinking for a moment, then flashes a mischievous grin.
“Actually, maybe I should send them a thank-you note—‘Thanks for helping me realize I need to step up my game. But don’t worry, I’ve got this.’”
He winks and pulls you closer.
“But seriously, babe…they don’t stand a chance.”
Then he leans in to whisper,
“Maybe we should write them back together…just to give them an idea of how happy we are.”
Wooyoung laughs and gives you a kiss afterward.
---
Jongho🧸
Jongho would be quietly protective. He wouldn’t say much at first, just nodding when you first tell him about the letter.
His voice is gentle but firm.
“I see. You got a love letter… How do you feel about it?”
He’s confident in your relationship but wants to ensure you’re comfortable with how you handle it. He reaches out to hold your hand, giving a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m not worried, but I just want to make sure you’re okay with all of this.”
With a small gummy smile, he leans closer.
“But they should know…actions speak louder than words, and I don’t need a letter to show how much I care.”
His tone softens as he gets up to go to the desk with pen and paper.
“I’m going to write a reply, actually: ‘Thanks for the attempt. But no.’ they need to know you’re already with someone who’s a bit more…hands-on.”
After writing his reply, he lets out a quiet laugh as he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on top of your head.
“But honestly, I’m not worried—I need to see the return address on that silly letter, though.”
#kpop#ateez x reader#ateez fluff#ateez scenarios#ateez#hongjoong x reader#seonghwa x reader#yunho x reader#yeosang x reader#san x reader#mingi x reader#wooyoung x reader#jongho x reader#ateez ot8#ateez fanfic#ateez imagines#kpop x reader
655 notes
·
View notes
Text
Your first and only semester as TA throws your previously unassuming college life into disarray, fuelled almost entirely by the brown-eyed and charming student who’s slipping closer to failing with every lecture. And in return for your mathematical assistance, Lee Chan decides he’s going to set you up with the guy you’ve been persistently pining over for a year and a half. It’s a simple equation: you teach him calculus, and he’ll teach you how to flirt. Except, as you’re both quick to discover, mathematical equations don’t translate over to real life as easily as you’d expect.
as part of the svt ta collab hosted by @camandemstudios !
⇢ pairing: lee chan x ta!reader
⇢ genre: fluff, idiots2lovers, minor angst?
⇢ wc: 10.2k (i’m just as surprised as u are)
⇢ a/n: so many people to thank (the whole collab server for all the sprinting!!) but especial thank u to cam (@/highvern) and em (@/gyuswhore) for hosting this collab. they put SO much work into this and i couldn’t be more grateful to be part of it, so thank you both for everything!!! and thank you to alta (@/haologram) for being my first official beta ever and managing to convince me to not trash the whole thing <3
“I NEED YOUR help.”
Those are probably the last four words you expect to come out of Lee Chan’s mouth. Because you’ve graded his assignments and you’ve seen his work and you’re pretty sure he’s doing above average in the calculus class you’re TA’ing this semester.
So when he manages to corner you after one of the lectures to ask for some extra tutoring, you’re startled, to say the least. “You need my help?”
He nods, once. You cock your head to the side, and your surprise must show on your face, because he fishes a slightly crumpled looking paper out of his bag. You recognise it as the latest quiz, one that, fortunately, landed on the other TA’s marking pile. Scrawled at the very top, in Joshua’s unforgiving red pen, is a glaringly large ‘F - 27%’.
“It was only a pop quiz,” you say encouragingly, hiding your sympathetic wince. “Doesn’t count for anything.”
“I can’t afford to let my grades slip,” he counters quickly, like he’s prepared for this. “Which they are And I really don’t get this module. I just think some extra time could help, but I’m terrible at teaching myself.”
You look at him for a long moment. He can’t be more than a year or two younger than you, this boy with eager brown eyes and a hopeful smile; it’s almost charming, how he leans forward in anticipation of your reply, how worried he is about one small test. And — well. You’ve seen the grade sheets, and his grades are slipping. Not drastically, but this is your job, after all.
“Well,” you say finally, glancing at your watch. “Why don’t you come to the office hours tomorrow, and we’ll go over the quiz? And we can go from there.”
He smiles then, so sudden and bright you almost feel caught in it. “Perfect!” he agrees, as he takes his quiz back, shoving it haphazardly into his bag. “I’ll see you then. Oh, wait — my name’s Chan, by the way.”
You cast him an amused look as you zip up your own bag. “I know that.”
“Oh! Cool! Nice! That’s — yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow!” And as he backs away he stumbles over his own feet, catching himself before he topples over. He sends you a sheepish, flushed smile that makes you smile too. You’re always quick to smile at the students, and you send off the younger boy with a wave. Despite being a math major who loves her subject, you know just how much people despise it. Especially calculus.
“What’s got you thinking so hard?” A light voice interrupts your thoughts, and you jump, before turning to face Hong Joshua with a smile just as sheepish as Lee Chan’s was only moments ago.
“Nothing much,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Trying to look anywhere but at his honey brown eyes, you shuffle papers as you continue. “Just about how much people hate math.”
Joshua smiles that breathtaking smile, and your stomach quite literally does a flip. “Why? People bullying you for being smart again?”
You’d mentioned to him that you got made fun of in high school once for liking math. He refuses to let it go: you roll your eyes at him. “No. It was just a train of thought.”
“People who hate math are just not as cool as us,” he says, picking up his own folder, flashing you another smile.
(Us. Your stomach could be Simone Biles, with the amount of somersaults it’s landing today.)
“But anyway,” he continues, checking the time with a frown, “I gotta go. I’ll see you around, dude.”
Dude. There it is: just as quickly as you inflate, you deflate, watching him leave with a wrinkled brow. The problem with Hong Joshua is that he makes it incredibly easy to fall for him — and all the while, he’ll remain incredibly oblivious. You’re just another one of the sorry suckers who isn’t careful enough to nip it in the bud. But really, can you be blamed, when he looks like that? When he acts like that, all sweet and caring and let-me-hold-open-the-door-for-you?
You snap yourself out of your reverie with a sigh. Back to reality, as your mother always says — and your reality is the pile of algebra waiting for you back home.
“What I don’t understand,” Seungkwan says thoughtfully, pacing Chan’s room with his hands folded behind his back, “is why you’re putting on cologne to go to office hours.”
Chan hears the know-it-all tone under his roommate’s pretension, and he resents it. Running a final hand through his hair, and glancing himself over in the mirror one more time, he turns back to Seungkwan with a frustrated scoff. “Does it matter?”
“A problem shared is a problem halved,” Seungkwan wheedles, “In this case, it’d be a problem thirded. Three’d. You know what I mean - there’s three of us to share your problem. Right, Vernon?”
Vernon just blinks from his seat on Chan’s bed, slow and confused. “I don’t really know what we’re talking about. But sure.”
“Nothing,” Chan answers brutally, snatching up his bag. “We’re talking about nothing. Because I don’t have a problem, and Seungkwan’s just being nosy.”
“Look at him!” Seungkwan gesticulates loudly to Vernon, “look how dressed up he is. For class — for calculus! Nobody dresses up for calculus!”
“Ahhh,” Vernon nods slowly, drawing it out; and then he pauses, furrows his brows and asks mildly, “But isn’t that just because he has a crush on his TA?”
Chan hisses; Seungkwan triumphs. “I knew it!” he declares with glee, “I knew there was something! Who is she? Do you have a picture?”
“Nobody,” Chan grinds out, grabbing his backpack and jamming his feet into his worn-out shoes, casting Vernon a resentful look. “And I do not have a picture. But if I did, I wouldn’t show you. Goodbye.” And with that magnificent gesture, he shuts the door firmly behind him.
He’s not late to office hours. He never is. In fact, he’s three minutes early, but you’re already there, along with one or two other classmates he knows by sight but not by name. You’re leaning over one of their desks, talking rapidly as you gesture to the papers in front of them, lanyard swinging.
Chan doesn’t have a crush on you, contrary to what seems to be popular belief. Well. Not a big one. Like, a teensy tiny one, maybe. He thinks you’re pretty, and you’re smart, and you’re incredibly kind. But does he have a crush on you? No. Are his intentions here solely to get to know you better, in order to have a crush on you? Yes. In fact, that’s exactly what this is. Pursuing the butterflies in his stomach. Just out of interest, he reminds himself, as he pushes open the door and you turn around. Pure, innocent interest.
Within an hour of his entrance, you’ve explained every one of Chan’s mistakes — and there were a lot — in digestible detail. Twice as efficient and twice as digestible as Lee, the old, weak-voiced professor with an evidently wrong glasses prescription. He says as much to you, which has you laughing and shaking your head. (“Don’t,” you scold, even as you smile, “he’s so nice, though.”)
The professor is nice. Chan thinks you’re nicer.
He leaves office hours even brighter than he entered. Those butterflies are multiplying.
And, as it turns out in the very next week, when there’s yet another pop quiz — Chan is under the suspicion that Professor Lee doesn’t plan his lessons and just shoves last year’s quizzes at them instead — he does actually need your help. His grades are getting worse. There’s always the other TA, Joshua, who Chan actually happens to know, but Chan thinks that his half-crush is worth following up on. At the very least, you could be a good friend.
Is pretending to need calculus tutoring in order to get to know a girl his finest moment? No. Because as much as he tries to justify this with his slipping grades, he knows perfectly well he could be doing excellently (well, averagely) if he put a little more effort in. But is that as appealing as the TA with the best laugh he’s ever heard? And so, somehow, with impressive persuasive skills he probably picked up from Jeonghan by accident, Chan manages to wheedle you into tutoring him, smiling as you hmm’ed and haa’ed and bit your lip nervously.
“I’ve got a full list already,” you had said slowly, and he’d jumped in before you could go down the route of polite refusal.
“I know, I know, but seriously — I’ll be the best student you’ve ever had! I’m a good learner, I swear. I can study whenever you want.”
Which is how he landed himself early morning sessions — and when you said early, you weren’t kidding. The times you’ve scheduled for him to start range between eight to ten, and he specifically didn’t book morning classes this semester because he loves his sleep. But still: his grades are slipping, and there’s a cute girl on the line, so he takes his success with warmth — or perhaps it’s just the thought of spending more time with you, but whatever it is, he feels like he’s glowing, inside out.
Your first tutoring session with Lee Chan goes surprisingly well. The moment he began halfway guilt tripping you into tutoring him (“Imagine if my grades slip so far, I don’t get to graduate on time. Could you live with that?”), you knew he was something. And somehow, you still agreed to this, despite being loaded with all the shit a master’s student has on their plate, on top of TA’ing. Maybe you should work on saying no sometimes, but who are you kidding? You don’t have time to deal with your possibly self-destructive flaws, not when your to-do list is three miles long
Despite your qualms, however, Chan turns out to be a great listener. He doesn’t act pissy when you tell him he’s doing something wrong, either, which is already better than half your students.
“I probably seem really stupid,” he says with a quiet laugh, as he re-attempts a question from the last quiz.
“Not at all,” you say instantly. “Don’t tell Lee, but calculus is the worst, anyway.”
He lifts his head with curved lips — “Oh? From the words of the mathematical extraordinaire herself?”
Immediately, you’re growing hot, shaking your head and laughing, looking away. “Oh, come on. Don’t call me that.”
Chan’s eyes don’t move from yours — it’s like you can physically feel the weight of his gaze, sometimes. You’ve never met someone with so much… presence. “Why not?” he asks. “Own it. Professor Lee says that about you all the time.”
“Okay, not me specifically,” you correct quickly, “he says that about Joshua too.”
Chan clicks his tongue dismissively. “Yeah, but Joshua’s a piece of shit anyway, so…”
Your surprise must be visible on your face, because when Chan looks back at you, he laughs out loud, louder than the other students in the library are happy with; they cast him dirty looks, but it’s like they bounce straight off him. He only lowers his voice a little, leaning closer. “Joshua and I are friends,” he explains, amused, “I’m not serious. But anyway, if you don’t even like calculus, what are you doing TA’ing it?”
You shrug. “I don’t know, just… Lee asked me to, so I was like, why not?”
“I can’t imagine anything worse,” Chan says bluntly, “than teaching a bunch of people how to integrate shit.”
A giggle slips out of you before you can prevent it; he makes you do that a lot. Laugh, without meaning to. “Well. That’s why I majored in Math. I don’t mind.” You hesitate. “What are you actually majoring in?”
His eyes do that thing again. Sparkle. He bites down on his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Math.”
“What?” You can’t help it, you’re laughing again, louder this time and trying to stifle it. “You never said!”
“You never asked!” He mirrors your incredulous tone teasingly.
“You just let me embarrass myself like that.”
“You didn’t do anything embarrassing.”
You try to ignore his eyes on you again, picking up your pencil to doodle awkwardly in your notebook. “I thought you were like… on a sports program. Or in, like, accounting or something.”
Impossibly, his smile widens. “Those are two very different things.”
The playful lilt to his tone does something to your stomach. “Have you finished your question yet?” You change the subject so sharply that he laughs again, sliding his notebook over to you.
You glance over it, blinking in surprise. “That’s perfect,” you say, pushing it back towards him. “Well done.”
That smile shifts into something more — well, if you didn’t know any better, you’d call it flirty. Lopsided and charming. “Yeah, well,” he says, packing up his stuff, “I‘ve got a great teacher.”
The tutoring sessions continue to pass much the same. Chan does his work, but keeps stopping to ask you all kinds of questions in between. Your favourite colour. Your favourite type of coffee. Your favourite movie, TV show, your hometown — somehow, his easy, open nature has you telling him all kinds of things, and more than that, you’re asking him all kinds of things in return.
“You know, I’m not like this with the rest of my tutoring roster,” you observe quietly, as you finish a story about your high school prom. “Like, at all.”
“Good!” he says, grinning at you. He’s wearing glasses today, you notice. He looks — nice. Cute. “That’d be like you’re cheating on me. I’m your favourite student.”
Slightly appalled, you nudge him. “Not true! I’ve never said that. I don’t play favourites.”
“I do,” he says just as swiftly. “I’m your favourite. I can tell.” He pats your hand. “It’s okay, you’re my favourite too.”
You pull your hand away, ignoring the swoop of your stomach. “Focus!”
“How am I supposed to focus when you’re right there?”
“Easily,” you snap, “since you’re my favourite student.”
Chan positively beams when you say it, not even attempting to hide it as he returns to the problems in front of him. “As long as you can admit it.”
At the end of the session, Chan digs into his bag and slides a candy over to you, and you can’t help the smile that splits your face open. “No way,” you cry, picking it up, “I love these! How did you know?”
He smiles, not even glancing at the candy once, fixing his eyes on you. “You told me. Like, a week ago.”
You barely remember that Something swells up inside you, tight and hot and sweet. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Chan.” You hope he can hear how touched you are, because you can’t quite express it.
“It’s nothing,” he says, with a small smile, one you can’t quite read. “We’re friends, right?”
“Yeah,” you say after the shortest of pauses. “Of course. We’re friends.”
He truly is something else. Almost your opposite, with his confidence and his openness and outright friendliness. You can’t quite put it into words, but something warm just pours out of him.
When you say as much to Minghao, your best friend, he laughs in your face. “Chan? Lee Chan?”
“He’s nice,” you protest lightly. Minghao somehow knows him, through Jeonghan or something or other. Briefly, you wonder how many people Chan knows — which really just proves your point. He’s annoyingly likeable, and even though you have to be forced to admit it, he is easily your favourite out of all the students you tutor. It’s barely even a competition; it’s not a competition. Your other students are fine, but they’re not quite Chan.
“Lee Chan is a little shit,” Minghao says with a hidden affection you’ve had to learn to detect. “But, yeah. He’s a good guy.” There’s a pause filled by the surrounding murmurs of people in the coffee shop you guys are in. It’s always overflowing with people, but it’s the only place that serves halfway decent herbal tea for Minghao, so the two of you always end up meeting here.
“How’s Joshua?” Minghao asks suddenly, doing the annoying thing where he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Still as sexy and gentlemanly as ever, is he?”
At the very mention of his name, you feel yourself growing hotter. “He’s fine,” you say shortly. “Busy.”
Your crush on Joshua has never been a secret from Minghao. Even if you’d wanted it to be, Minghao would’ve worked it out in two days, tops. But, as you keep reiterating, it’s just a stupid crush. It’ll fade. Just like your crush on Kim Hongjoong two years ago, and your crush on Kim Namjoon the year before that. You have a habit of letting things die out, and you’re very comfortable in that habit.
“___,” Minghao says seriously, “you should tell him.”
“There are literally so many things I’d do before I confess. I’d rather memorise the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem than do that.”
“You never know if you don’t try! And besides,” Minghao adds, softer, “even if he, you know, doesn’t feel that way, Joshua’s not... well, he won’t make you feel bad about anything. You guys can still be friends. Joshua’s nice.”
Which is the sentence that echoes in your head later that same day, when your meeting with Professor Lee and Joshua is over. Lee is long gone, leaving you and Joshua to go over a few minor details with your tutor schedules and office hour planning. Joshua just looks… really good, with all his files spread out in front of him, his silky voice talking about something stupid one of his tutees had done, his long, dyed hair slightly mussed.
“…and then he asked me how to find where the line intercepts the asymptote!” he finishes, chuckling. You’re a little late with your laugh, too busy focussing on how the afternoon sun lights up his hair, making it look lighter than it actually is.
Joshua calls your name, his smile shifting into something more concerned. “Are you okay?”
Your words stumble into each other on their way out. “I — well, yeah. Fine. I’m fine — good. I’m good.”
You guys can still be friends.
“Actually, Josh, I wanted to ask you something,” you say in a sudden emboldened rush.
“Go for it,” he says, smile fading ever so slightly. “Everything okay?”
“I — ” You hesitate, and in that split second, your courage disappears. You stare at him, and your brain decides for you: unattainable. Untouchable. “I forgot,” you finish lamely, ducking your head and shuffling your papers. Surprisingly, you’re not quite at the level of mortification you thought you would be.
“Ookay,” Joshua drags out, still watching you with concern, before he shakes it off and starts to gather his things. “Well, just let me know if you remember. I’m here for you, okay? We’re friends, not just TAs!”
That fucking word again. Friends. Only this time, you realise suddenly, it barely even hurts.
Maybe you’re just getting used to it.
“So…” Vernon says, sidling up to Chan in their shared kitchen, “how’s your TA?”
Chan sighs, looking mournfully at the spicy ramen he’d just made for himself. So much for peace. It must’ve been the smell that lured Vernon out of his bedroom, but he’s clearly an opportunist; killing two birds with one stone by prying into his life and poaching his food. “Joshua is fine.”
“That’s great, but I know that already,” Vernon says, as he helps himself to some of the ramen. Chan lets him, and that must be how his friend realises something is wrong, because he’s suddenly narrowing his eyes at Chan around his mouthful of noodles. “What is it? Did she turn you down?”
Chan drags out his words. “I haven’t said anything to her. She likes someone else. I can tell.”
Vernon considers this for a moment, characteristically quiet and contemplative. “Are you sure?”
“Well — not really. But I’m like, eighty percent sure? But also I don’t really know her that well, and Jeonghan once said to me she’s always super nice to everyone, so I don’t think she’s into me. But then I also don’t know if she’s into him either! Because she’s nice to me and him and apparently every motherfucker on the planet, so it’s, like, confusing, you know? But like. I think she is into him. She looks at him in a kinda way, so…”
Vernon chews with wide eyes. “Damn. That’s crazy, bro, what are you going to do?
Chan exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I think we’ll be better off as friends. I’ll probably just… give up.”
Vernon nods slowly, already backing away. “Good luck, dude. Here for you.” He raises an awkward fist in solidarity, and that’s when Chan glances at his bowl of ramen and realises it’s empty.
Chan allows himself one day to mope. He even cancels a session for the first time, shooting you a quick message to let you know he isn’t feeling great, and he wallows. Stays in bed the entire twenty four hours, scoffing all the ramen in the house, and now he owes Seungkwan and Vernon two packs each, but still — he feels better. He’s grateful he didn’t let it get too far, at the very least. You guys can still be friends, and one day this will be a funny joke he slips into conversation.
When he shows up to the next session, a few days later, he’s determined not to show any hint of awkwardness. He plunks his books down with a renewed energy, startling you as you take out your headphones.
“I was going to ask if you’re feeling better,” you start dryly, “but I can see that’s clearly the case.”
“Yeah. Nothing big, I’m fine now,” he waves off your concern. Heartsick, maybe. It still twinges at him, when he sees your soft smile, faintly smells your trademark perfume, your colour coded notes in front of you. He doesn’t know when highlighters became so endearing, when he learnt that you always overuse the pastel green one.
“Okay, so asymptotes,” you begin, and Chan scoots closer, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You��re my asymptote,” he says with solemn seriousness, “because I always tend towards you.”
You fluster easily, Chan has noticed. You avoid his gaze, but you’re laughing, telling him how terrible his jokes are but still — you’re laughing.
Suddenly, in only a few minutes, the thought of getting over you is a lot more daunting than he imagined. You make it harder when you laugh at the stupid joke he quips a moment later, too; you always tell him he has an infectious laugh, but yours is like music to his ears, no matter how hard you try to suppress it in the library.
“Come on,” you say, finally, gathering yourself together. “Asymptotes. It’s our last lesson for a bit. Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”
“Leaving tomorrow afternoon,” he confirms. “What about you?”
“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “Asymptotes will be the end of this chapter, so it’s perfect timing, really. We can start the new stuff after the break.”
Privately, Chan thinks the break really is perfect timing. He can wallow a little more, back at home with the comfort of his mother’s food and his father’s baseball reruns. He’ll come back ready to finish his tutoring, ace calculus, and be your friend. With firm emphasis on friend. For a moment, he considers you and Joshua as a couple, and honestly, as much as it stings, it’s cute. It makes sense.
After the break, winter hits full force. Your first tutoring session at the library is with Chan, and you’re layered up to the max, treating yourself to coffee as a shield against the bite of the cold outside. Vaguely, you remember Chan saying something about how he only drinks lattes hot, and so you order one for him too, taking extra packets of sugar and a stirring spoon on your way out. You know he likes to do the sugar himself.
“I’m late, I know.” You shrug off your coat when you arrive at your guys’ usual table, shaking the raindrops off your coat and hair with an apologetic smile. “It literally started pouring just two minutes before I got here, but here — coffee.” You unload your arms on the table in front of him, slightly breathless, tugging a hand through your untamed hair.
You catch Chan looking at you, something unreadable in his gaze, and you wince. “Sorry,” you apologise again.
“It’s okay,” he says, “I’ve just — I’ve never seen you so…”
“Messy?” you finish, laughing half self-consciously.
“Disorganised,” he corrects, and it feels gentler. “You’re kind of, like, windswept?” He pauses, quieter. “You look — pretty.”
You ran to the library a solid ten minutes ago. Your heart shouldn’t still be beating this fast. “Thank you,” you reply, just as quietly. There’s silence for a beat, fraught with some sort of tension, before you slap the textbook with too much enthusiasm, “So, uh, next chapter!”
“Next chapter,” he agrees quickly, and just like that, the weirdness dissipates, and it’s just you and Chan.
At least, until Joshua steps in the library. He’s browsing the section near you; you see him before he sees you, but only by a few seconds. You just have enough time to think how cute his scarf is, and then his eyes fall on you and Chan, and he waves with a smile.
You wave back as he nears the table. “I don’t want to interrupt,” Joshua explains quickly, “just wanted to say hi. To both of you. How’s it going?” He directs his question to Chan, adding — “Is she running you to the ground?”
“She wouldn’t,” Chan says simply. He doesn’t say much else as Joshua says his goodbyes and disappears between the shelves, but you’re still a little harried-looking, dusting down your clothes unnecessarily.
“So,” Chan says casually, as you return your focus to him and take a sip of water to try and cool you down, “how long have you had a crush on Joshua?”
You choke. Heat curls up your neck, and not because of your coughing — hot-faced and spluttering, you demand, “What are you talking about?” Even as you speak, you can tell your voice is pitched too high. Too defensive.
The younger boy gives you a look. “Come on. I’m not blind.”
You duck your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, so this question about limits — ”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he sings, cutting you off. “You have a big fat crush on Hong Joshua!”
Eyes wide, you slap a hand over his mouth, glancing behind you in horror. “Oh my God, keep your voice down!”
Beneath your palm, Chan gives you the most self-satisfied, victorious look, and belatedly, you realise you’ve given yourself away. “Fuck you,” you say, without any venom, releasing him and leaning back, trying extremely hard not to sulk. “It’s none of your business anyway.”
“It is when you’re making googly eyes at him right in front of me. Your student.”
“I don’t make googly eyes!” you object immediately, horrified. “I’ve never made googly eyes.”
“Whatever you say, teach.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t!”
“Okay, I said.” He still has that smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s infuriating.
Briefly, your mind flits back to the stumbling boy you’d spoken to when he’d first asked for your help, back in late September. You miss him, you think sarcastically. He was the total opposite of the guy in front of you now.
“So?” Chan leans forward over the desk with raised, expectant eyebrows.
“So what?”
“So, how long? A month? Two?”
Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Again.
“Longer?”
“A year,” you whisper, avoiding his gaze.
“A year?!” He practically yelps, and you have never wanted to bury yourself alive more than you do at this moment.
“A year and a half. Or something,” you confirm weakly, and then shake your head. You gently push his forehead with the eraser side of your pencil, forcing him back to his side of the desk. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m meant to be helping you with limits today.”
“I think you need more help than I do,” he says with sudden, sweet sympathy, patting your hand how he always does. You snatch it away and glare at him, but he ploughs on. “How have you not made a single move for a year and a half? You should do something about it. Move past the googly eyes.”
“Don’t want to. Can’t make me.” You tap your pencil against his open, untouched /textbook. “Now focus. On your work, and not on prying into my love life!”
He clicks his tongue softly, but picks up his own pencil again; inwardly, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Mortification still boils in the pits of your stomach — a guy you barely even know caught on so quickly. Are you really so obvious?
Chan works quietly for all of three minutes, and then he glances at you again. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say warningly, cutting him off before he can even start.
Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “I didn’t say anything!”
”You were going to.”
“I think you should make a move, that’s all.”
“I think it’s none of your business.”
“You said we were friends now! I’m trying to help my friend!”
“I take it back. Strictly tutor and student. We’re no longer friends.”
“No, seriously. I think you could totally get him to fall for you.”
You audibly snort. “Chan, do you know how many people have a crush on Joshua? He wouldn’t look twice at me. And I’m fine with that.”
“I’m not!”
You groan, tip your head on to the textbook in front of you. Then you turn, glaring at him and his entertained smile — with a smushed cheek and sulky pout, you ask, ”Why is this such a big deal to you, anyway?”
Chan almost seems to fold in on himself when you ask that. For someone so open and friendly, he has a way of shuttering down that startles you a little. It’s subtle, but you’re starting to notice it; his avoidant eyes and the faint pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging with obviously feigned nonchalance. “I guess — I think you deserve to be happy.”
Sometimes people say things that hit you straight in the gut. Wind you. Leave you just a little bit breathless with their sincerity.
You open and close your mouth like a fucking fish. “Oh,” you say at last, stupidly, “that’s — that’s really nice of you, Chan.”
Whatever brief embarrassment he was experiencing, he seems to be over it. “I know. I’m the best. And that’s why I’m going to help you.”
You laugh again, amused and slightly endeared by his enthusiasm. “Okay, fairy godmother. Let’s get back to work, maybe.”
“No, seriously,” Chan insists, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m going to teach you how to flirt.”
The previous flattering you felt disappears in the space of a second. “Excuse me?” you say incredulously, but you’re laughing already, simply at the pure audacity. “Who says I don’t know how to flirt?”
“You did,” he says, matching your smile, “when you didn’t make a single move for a year and a half. But don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help!”
“No, but you need it, so I’m going to help you anyway,” he nods generously.
“How kind,” you say sarcastically, before thwacking his shoulder with your thinnest textbook.
Chan bursts out laughing as he dodges it, before switching back to that tone — the one that had you caving into him only a few weeks back, when he asked you to be his tutor. (Briefly, you wonder how it’s only been a few weeks. Part of you feels like you’ve known him forever.)
“Seriously,” he continues, “I can help you. I’ve literally never been rejected in my life.”
“Oh, yeah?” You snort, but honestly, you don’t doubt it.
He tilts his head to the side. “Well, like, once in middle school. It doesn’t count. 100% success rate, baby.”
“99%, maybe.”
“That is not how statistics works,” he says smugly. “Thought you’d know better, teach.”
“You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best. I’m going to get you a boyfriend; literally just give me twenty minutes at the end of the rest of our tutoring sessions.”
“We only have, like, three left.”
“That’ll be enough.”
Fuck it, you think. You don’t think this will help you with Joshua — nor do you want it to — but why the hell not? If it makes Chan happy, as it so clearly seems to…
“Ten minutes,” you sigh.
His eyes brighten. “Fifteen.”
“Fine,” you acquiesce after a short moment, waving your hand dismissively. “From next time, though. I don’t have time today.”
You try to ignore his Cheshire cat grin, but it’s infectious. You’re mirroring it by the time he slaps the desk victoriously, assuring you, “You won’t regret this, I swear.”
“I’m sure I will. So, limits — ”
“Limits,” he agrees, an infuriatingly triumphant smirk on his lips.
You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. “You have no limits.”
“Lesson one,” Chan says, a little too gleefully, only a few days later. “Body language.”
He watches you pass a hand over your forehead with a grimace. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“First tip is to not be doing things like that when he speaks,” Chan says lightly, pulling your hands away from your forehead. He places his index fingers either side of your lips, and gently, carefully, he pulls the corners of them upwards. “Smile.”
You blink at him, and it is, unfortunately, the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “But,” he continues, shaking it off and pulling his fingers away, “you’re good at smiling anyway, so that’s not a key concern.”
Surprise appears on your features. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I usually get the opposite.”
Chan is slightly taken-aback, because you’re always smiling. You’re quiet, definitely, but you laugh super easy, and smile even easier than that.
“But go on.” You change the subject quickly, and Chan realises that despite yourself, you’re getting intrigued now.
“Tip number two,” he continues, magnanimously, “eye contact.”
“Absolutely not.”
“What? Why not?” The swiftness of your refusal startles him, but even as he asks, he kind of knows; you tend to avoid eye contact, especially when you’re shy, or embarrassed, or confused, or… well, a lot of the time. “You can practise.”
You look at him with horror. “Practise?”
“With me,” he nods, steeling himself already. “Now.”
“You’re joking.”
“I never joke,” he lies straight to your face, just to make you relax. Sure enough, your shoulders loosen almost instantly, and you let out half a smile. “Come on. Just for two minutes.”
“Okay,” you finally agree, meeting his stare. Chan leans forward just the slightest bit, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to sink into someone else’s eyes. Your gaze isn’t intense, but it’s captivating, and he’s not sure if that’s his own feelings surfacing up again, or it’s just — natural. Either way, being this close to you is doing something funny to his ribs, the same thing that happened when you brought him coffee.
He tries to distract himself. “Can’t believe we only have two tutoring sessions left.” His voice has lowered instinctively, taken on a slightly gravelly tone that seems to surprise you a little Your lips part for a second, and then you nod; he watches your throat bob as you swallow.
“Yeah,” you say, equally as hushed. “Time flies, huh?”
His lips are dry. The tip of his tongue darts out, and he watches as you seem to follow it. “Yeah. When you’re having fun.”
Chan goes home that night more confused than before, and it only gets worse when Seungkwan’s waiting for him in the living room, hands on hips. One look at him, and Chan can tell he’s going to play interrogator.
“I just don’t know if this is a good idea,” Seungkwan says, at last, after Chan slumps on to the couch. “Helping her get with Joshua. You’re going to break your own heart.”
Chan wrinkles his nose. “I am not. We’re just friends, Seungkwan. I’m over it.”
Seungkwan looks at him disbelievingly, and Chan rolls his eyes. “I’m getting over it,” he corrects himself. “But we’re fine. Don’t worry.”
“I’m your best friend,” Seungkwan replies instantly, “Of course I’m going to worry. You just — you open your heart so easily. Which is a good thing!” he tacks on hastily, “But she… well.”
Arching a brow, Chan leans forward. “She what?”
“Let me put it this way. You’re a romantic, and from what I can tell, she’s a cynic.”
Chan has never given much thought to what other people think about you, not until now. In all honesty, he’d had a similar perception of you, at first. Extremely organised. Kind of stoic. Nice, but distant. But now, he’s sure that nothing has ever been further from the truth. You’re reserved, that goes without a doubt, but you’re not cold. You’re kind. Care immensely for your friends, even though there are only a few of them. Shy, but sweet, and he thinks it’s a fucking shame that people can’t see that. He’d thought you were distant, but he’s heard other people describe you as uptight. Snobbish.
All people do is talk, he thinks with a little contempt.
He looks back at his roommate. “You don’t know her, Seungkwan. She’s not a cynic.”
His friend shrugs. “I trust you. Just… be careful.”
Your second “lesson” with Chan begins with him grabbing you by the hand and pulling you in between random bookshelves.
“Stand here,” he instructs, before patting you on the shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his hands through your sweater. “Okay,” he says, “lesson two is all about conversation. He’s going to fall in love with your mouth — not like that,” he adds quickly, when he sees you biting down on your lip to hide your laugh. “Mind out the gutter, teach.”
You grin at him cheekily. “You’re the teacher now. Come on, then.” The truth is, these lessons are more entertaining than anything. You’re enjoying it, hanging out with Chan without having to remind him to finish his questions or double-check the textbook.
“Be serious!” he complains, but his eyes have that usual sparkle to them. He glances at your clothes for a moment. “Nice sweater, by the way. You look good in blue. But anyway, quick tips — remember what he likes, compliment him, talk about what you have in common, stuff like that. Okay, I’m going to go over and I want you to imagine I’m Joshua. So you see me randomly in the library, what are you doing?”
You snort. “Running in the other direction.”
He holds a finger up, hiding a smile at your silly answer. “Bzzzt. Wrong answer. You lose ten points.”
“When did I have ten points to begin with?” you argue, but still, you’re struggling to suppress your giggles.
“You didn’t. You’re in the negatives.” He flicks you gently on the forehead. “Try again.”
“Ow,” you complain, pouting. “Okay, I’m meant to say hi.”
“Ding! Ten points. Back to zero.” Chan waits expectantly, and you look at him in confusion. He motions with his fingers. “Go on. Say hi.”
“I am not roleplaying with you!” you hiss, horrified, pushing his arm gently. He stumbles back exaggeratedly. “We do math, Chan, not drama!”
“Actually I do math and history,” he corrects nonchalantly, “and history is dramatic.”
Flummoxed, you repeat after him — “History? Since when do you do history?”
“Since, like, three years ago…?” He laughs at your expression, but you can’t bring yourself to mirror his lightness, for once.
You feel rooted to your spot. “You’re a double major?” Something uncomfortable stirs in the pits of your stomach, and you know you’re not being rational — there’s no reason why this should jar you so much, but you feel jarred. “How did I not know this?” you ask, more to yourself. You turn to him, head moving so sharply he almost steps back. “Did you ever mention this?
Chan’s smile is fading. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” he laughs awkwardly, “it never came up. It’s not a big deal!”
“It is to me,” you insist, “Chan, you’re my friend! I should know this stuff!”
“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats, his brows furrowed. “Seriously. You know me better than half my friends already, and we’ve only been friends for like, a few months.” He attempts a smile — “You even know about the whole story behind that girl rejecting me back in middle school, I don’t tell that to everyone.”
“Yeah,” you say distractedly, “I guess so.”
Chan looks at the time. “Don’t you have a meeting now? With Joshua?”
You tilt your head, confused, your mind still on his history major. “I do?”
“It’s Wednesday,” he reminds you, and you snap out of it, checking the time yourself. “You’re going to be late,” Chan laughs, gently pushing you towards your bag. “Go!”
You wave at him as you gather your stuff haphazardly, calling an, “I’ll text you later!” ok your way out.
“Remember my top tips!” he calls back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You laugh and flip him off, bundling yourself out the library — only to run smack into another girl leaving at the same time.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you apologise, helping her pick up her pencils. “I wasn’t looking!”
“It’s okay,” she assures you quickly. “By the way,” she adds, “you and your boyfriend are so cute!”
“My… boyfriend?” You hand her stuff back to her with a furrowed brow.
She beams at you sunnily. “Yeah! I always see you guys on your cute study dates over there, it’s soo sweet. The way you guys look at each other is, like, to die for.”
“Thank you,” you say automatically, before opening your mouth to correct her. But it’s too late, she’s gone and you’re left standing in the exit with a thousand thoughts rushing through your mind, ones that preoccupy you all the way back to yours and Joshua’s shared office.
They only multiply when you see Joshua, and feel absolutely nothing. There’s no typical dip in your stomach, no stuttering heartbeat, just a familiar smile and nothing else, which is when you realise — you haven’t been feeling anything like what you used to feel.
At least, not around Joshua.
“That’s the first time you’ve been late, like, ever,” Joshua observes, “Were you with Chan?”
“Yeah, I — uh, how did you know that?” You cut yourself off to stare at him in surprise.
“Our tutoring schedules are right there,” he smiles, nodding to the pinboard next to him. You almost sigh in relief. A normal explanation, finally. Something that makes sense. These realisations and observations are nothing more than —
“But you always have a certain look after you see him anyway,” Joshua continues obliviously. “Your eyes get all shiny. You smile more.” He pauses, grins at you knowingly, “You guys are close, huh?”
“I — I don’t — ” You stutter feebly, because suddenly everything is hot and you need to lie down. “I don’t feel well,” you almost shout, way too loud; Joshua startles, but nods.
“Okay,” he says, worriedly. “We can reschedule, but do you need a ride home?”
“No!” you snap, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry. No. I think — the fresh air will be good for me.”
Joshua lets you go, and you feel close to tears the whole way home.
You can’t stomach this, you think, curled up in a ball under your duvet. It doesn’t make sense; you may be a math major, but none of this is adding up.
“I like Joshua,” you say out loud, and it sounds hollow. It sounds false. It doesn’t bring anything with it.
Slowly, tentatively, you say, “I like Chan.”
That brings so much, but more than anything, it brings warmth. Warmth like the serious brown of his eyes, his rough hands, his smile, his laugh, the way he chews his lip when he’s thinking hard about a question.
You stick your head in a pillow and let out a scream.
Chan doesn’t know if he should invite you to the end of semester party that Seungcheol is throwing, considering his absolute failure in getting over you, but he does it anyway. He invited you to the Halloween one, and you turned him down, saying you had plans with some other friends, but he reckons it’s worth trying again, so he does just that.
Your response comes within minutes.
[16:43] you: isn’t that the night before our last tutoring?
[16:44] chan: i know! but i’ll be on time i promise i wont even drink that much [16:44] chan: it’ll be like a celebration!!
[16:45] you: of what?
[16:45] chan: you put up with me for a full semester :)
He watches your typing bubble appear and reappear multiple times with a frown, until:
[16:48] you: i don’t “put up” with you chan
A smile. A big cheesy one that has his cheeks aching a little.
[16:48] you: we’re friends, aren’t we?
No matter how hard he tries, that still stings.
The party sneaks up faster than expected, and Chan agrees to meet you there, because you’re coming with Minghao, and he agreed to help Seungcheol set up before he knew you were coming. Which is, you know, whatever. He’s not a little upset that he doesn’t get to pick you up in his car and do the whole opening-your-door-for-you thing — not at all, no matter what Seungkwan tries to imply.
Joshua probably would’ve, he thinks miserably, as people begin to arrive. That’s what you’d once said, ages ago, that you liked about him.
‘He’s sweet,’ you’d said, ‘and he, like, holds doors open for me.’
‘The bar is in hell,’ Chan had said in response, making you snort with laughter, hiding your face.
“No moping at my party!” Seungcheol yells as he sails by, carrying a load of ping pong balls — they’re setting up beer pong in the other room, but for once, Chan doesn’t feel the need to take up Jeonghan’s challenge. He dithers by the door, looking up hopefully every time someone enters, and every time, it isn’t you.
Until it is. You come in just after Minghao, and Chan’s breath is quite literally taken away. It’s horrifyingly cliché, how gorgeous you look — you always do, but he’s never seen you dressed up before. Not like this, with a blue dress that falls to your mid-thigh, hair done to perfection. Makeup too, that makes your eyes look bigger and softer, that matches your outfit exactly.
Something swells inside him when he sees you on your tiptoes, craning your neck this way and that; instinctively, he thinks you’re looking for him. And when your eyes finally land on his, you smile so big that his insides turn molten; hot and tight and full, so incredibly full. He moves towards you without even realising, a moth to a flame.
“You look — ” He swallows. Hard. “Amazing. You look amazing.”
You open your mouth to reply, but before you can, Minghao mutters something in your ear, gesturing to a room on the right before tugging you away. Chan watches as you send him an apologetic wave — and then you’re gone, melting into the sea of people that Seungcheol somehow knows. And he’s tugged in completely the opposite direction, casting one longing look after you.
About an hour into the party, you see Chan with someone else. A girl. Short, dark-haired, bright-eyed — pretty. So pretty.
You’re not one to get jealous, usually. But that’s the only word to describe the way your stomach drops and your heart twists. Green-eyed monster, rearing in your chest. She makes him laugh, and he touches her arm when he does, and honestly, it’s a completely innocent picture. They’re probably just friends, and you’re usually so secure in yourself, but with Chan — you feel everything but secure. It was only last week you allowed yourself to acknowledge you were halfway to falling in love with him.
Joshua was familiar, at least. This is not, which is why it took you so long to accept it.
You smooth down your dress (“You look good in blue.”), and watch as Chan leans down to hear her over the music. Maybe it’s the second drink in your hand, which you’d only taken after being egged on by Mingyu — he’d handed you his “professional” jungle juice. It tastes like shit, but recent events have brought with them a desire to get absolutely fucking wasted.
Tragically, you’ve managed tipsy at best, but it’s still enough to have you over-emotional, and with one last look at Chan and the pretty girl, you escape the watchful eyes of Minghao to the balcony of Seungcheol’s disgustingly wealthy place to cry. Which you do, with shaky, gulping breaths, and blurred vision.
When you’ve calmed yourself just the slightest bit, you glance at yourself in your phone camera, lit up by the yellow lighting inside. The girl in the mirror is almost unrecognisable — drunk and face streaked with cheap mascara (advertised as waterproof but clearly not).
God, your head aches. When did life become so fucking complicated?
You know when; you know exactly when, that little snarky voice in the corner of your head tells you, flashing you an image of a certain brown-haired boy with his stupid smile. You know that this mess started somewhere around when he waltzed into your life, brandishing his flirting tips and stupid math puns. What you don’t know is when he slipped his way into your heart, when you somehow gave him the power to crush it in his fingers.
That’s what it feels like. Lee Chan has your heart in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t have a fucking clue.
The thought makes you feel slightly sick — or maybe it’s the overconsumption of the jungle juice that Mingyu cooked up, but whatever it is, your stomach churns uncomfortably, leaving acid climbing your throat. You cast a contemptuous look at the mixture in your red solo cup, and with a sigh, dump the rest of it over the balcony next to you. You ignore the call of hey, fuck you! that comes from below, instead sinking to the floor, hugging your knees and leaning your aching, hot against the cool metal railing to blink away the tears that burn behind your eyes.
Momentarily you consider how at the start of the year, you’d never have expected yourself to be here, not in a million years. At the SVT frat house, hidden in a corner to weep over a boy. A boy that isn’t Hong Joshua — a boy that is, technically, in some ways, your student.
“Fuck you, Lee Chan,” you say bitterly, and as always, you can’t bring yourself to mean it.
“Why’s that?” A familiar voice has you snapping your head towards the balcony doorway. Tall and smiling as always, Joshua regards you with a look of mixed sympathy and pity. You resent it.
“Fuck you too!” You try to scowl at him; it doesn’t quite work, and you’re too drunk and tired to muster up the energy to be angry at him. Joshua didn’t really do anything; the only crime you can hold against him is obliviousness. He’s not the one holding your heart in his hands. You don’t think he ever really was — at the very least, what you felt with him was never like this. There was never so much.
Joshua doesn’t say anything, just laughs and sits next to you on the floor. Both of you have your backs pressed to the railing, and he nudges you softly with his shoulder. “Everything okay?”
You swallow thickly. “No.”
He smiles ever so slightly, nodding to your tearful face. “Yeah, I mean, I figured.”
You let out a watery giggle. “God. I’m such a mess.”
Joshua hums, like he’s actually considering your words deeply. “You aren’t, really. You’re like, the least messy person I know.”
You sniffle a little. “What?”
“Come on, ___, you’re like the most put-together person in this whole university. It’s kind of refreshing to see you outside of that.”
“What, you enjoy seeing me cry?”
“No, of course not,” he says quickly, bumping your shoulder. “Just. In general, I mean. You’ve been happier lately.”
You gesture to your tear tracks. “This is happy?”
Joshua clicks his tongue at you. “I think Chan is really good for you,” he says finally, quietly. Like he knows he’s broaching a forbidden topic — which he is. You flinch at the very sound of his name. “He makes you happy. That’s what I mean. You should give yourself a shot.”
“No,” you say immediately, automatically. “I can’t.”
“You could,” he says, without reproach. “If you let yourself.”
You let that settle. Silence falls — or at least as much silence as you can get when you’re metres away from a house party. “I used to have a crush on you, you know.” You don’t look at him, facing straight ahead thoughtfully.
Joshua smiles, rueful. “I know.”
You snap your head round, and your disbelief must be etched onto your face because he laughs. “I could tell,” he shrugs. “You got flustered so easily, sometimes.”
The slightest of groans. “I do that, apparently.” You hug your legs to you again, resting your cheek on your knees as you look at Joshua, sitting by your side. “I almost asked you out, too.”
“I probably would’ve said yes,” he confesses honestly, but still, somehow, you don’t feel anything. “But then I saw how you are with Chan. And that is not like this,” he continues gently. “The way you looked at me back then is nothing, compared to how you look at him.”
“Don’t tell him.” You’re not afraid to beg.
“God forbid you let yourself feel something, right?” Joshua laughs a little, but his eyes bore into you with sincere sympathy. “Why are you so afraid of your own feelings?”
You don’t know what to say. But you’re saved from having to think about it, because Lee Chan himself sticks his head through the door, something shifting on to his face when his eyes finally land on you.
“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for — ” he freezes for a second, the exact moment his eyes land on Joshua sitting next to you “ — ages,” he finishes, slowly, before taking a step back. “I should go.”
“No, stay,” Joshua says, quickly, standing up. “We were just finished.”
Chan fidgets with the end of his shirt as Joshua leaves, casting one more empathetic smile at you, and the moment the older boy is gone, Chan steps closer towards you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t realise he was — you’re crying.” His change in tone is so abrupt, from apologetic to dead serious in half a second. ”What happened?”
“Nothing,” you say, too high-pitched. “I’m fine now. It’s fine.”
“Was it Joshua?” he demands, already looking back in the direction his friend disappeared to. “What did he say?”
“What? No. It wasn’t him.” You try to change the subject. “I am older than you, you know, I don’t need to be babysat. I hope you didn’t interrupt your fun just to come looking for me.”
He smiles, but his eyes don’t. “Only by a year. And anyway, I have more fun with you.”
You hate that your mind flits back to that girl, the laughing one. “What about your friends? I saw you with, um, what’s her name? The pretty one, dark hair?”
Subtlety is not your strong suit.
Chan just blinks at you. “You mean Jana? Yeah, she wanted me to play beer pong against her and her girlfriend. But I did that.” Something untwists in your stomach. He steps closer, fishing a tissue out of nowhere, and with the tenderest touch, wipes at the makeup staining your cheeks.
He’s so close, you can see every individual eyelash. “Why? Were you jealous?” he asks lightly, referring to Jana as he uses one hand to cup your cheek and remove the dark mess under your eyes more carefully.
“No!” Your voice is harsher than intended, jerking out of his grip. and his eyes flick to yours with worry.
“I was kidding,” he says softly, frowning, “Is everything okay, teach?”
Alcohol blurs your rational thinking. You lean your forehead against his chest with the deepest sigh. “Sorry. Sorry.” A short breath. “Chan, I’m so tired.”
He wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back up and down. “Are you drunk?”
You shake your head. “I was tipsy, but I only had two drinks. I’m sober now. Just… exhausted.”
“I can take you home,” he murmurs against your ear; he’s so warm, he always is, but his touch sends goosebumps all over your skin. “Is that what you want?”
You lean back, look him in the eye, but neither of you let go of each other. Eye contact. From lesson one. “What’s the third lesson?”
“What?”
“Tomorrow. Our last lesson. What’s it on?”
He’s silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he replies, at last.
You cock your head to the side, questioningly, and it’s like something in him snaps, and the words come rushing out, stumbling into each other — “I’ve been making these up as I go along. On the spot.”
“Oh,” you say, surprised but too numb to feel it properly. “Why?”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, looking defeated. “I don’t know. Well. I do. I just don’t know how to tell you.”
Something clicks for you. I’ve got a great teacher. You’re my favourite too. You look — pretty. I think you deserve to be happy. You look good in blue.
“Chan,” you say, taking an abrupt step back. Your voice is hoarse suddenly, scratchy with yet another realisation. “What colour is my dress?”
He looks utterly perplexed by your swift change in subject, but he obliges you anyway. “Blue. Why?”
“Do you remember,” you begin, voice shaking ever so slightly. This is the precipice. You’re taking the leap. God forbid you let yourself feel something — well, you are. “Do you remember a week ago? Lesson two?”
“Conversation,” he nods, and you can see his mind working a hundred miles an hour.
“I was wearing that sweater, and you said — ”
“You look good in blue,” he finishes at once. His eyes flit between you and the dress, and you see the exact moment it dawns on him; the light of comprehension. “But you — Joshua — ”
You shake your head at the question he doesn’t ask.
It’s like he’s frozen. A minute or a century passes, you’re not sure which, before his eyes meet yours again, filled with something heavy, raw, tender emotion. “How long?”
“Long enough,” you say, and then you’re kissing him, or he’s kissing you, you’re not sure who moves first, or if you move at the same time, but whatever it is — you’re melting into him and he is melting into you, and it’s like your heart gives a happy little sigh. Your shoulders relax, and the tension of the past few weeks evaporates in a few gentle touches.
You break apart with a soft little ‘tch’ sound, and he looks at you with full eyes and the shyest smile you’ve ever seen him wear.
“You know, technically, you’re still my student,” you say, slightly breathless, entirely giddy.
He rolls his eyes, tugging you back in already, sliding his arms around your waist. “Yeah, for a week.”
“And a half,” you add, as he begins to kiss up your neck. “You’d better ace your exam next week, after all our hard work.”
He presses his nose into your neck, huffing out a laugh. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about. Now, of all things.”
“That’s what you should be worried about,” you say, bringing a hand up to his hair, running through it with your fingers as you’ve wanted to for so long. “That, and walking me home, maybe.”
“I fully intend to do at least one of those things,” he says, landing a chaste kiss on your lips. “We have a lot to talk about, you know. Starting with me asking you out. Properly.”
A hint of mischief appears in your smile. “Do well in your exam, and I’ll consider it.”
Chan pulls back, a familiar, confident smirk on his lips. “You have yourself a deal. But until then…”
“We’re still at a party,” you say, dodging his lips with a laugh, even though you really don’t want to. Not at all. “We can’t be that couple.”
He drops his forehead against yours. “We can be whatever the fuck we want. Nobody’s looking, anyway.”
And so you let him kiss you, again and again and again, until he walks you home, and does the same at your door, and the same in your living room. Over and over, making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t, he whispers. Your whole body softens at the weight of his hands, travelling the small of your back, cupping your cheek, squeezing your hips. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and everything makes sense. Everything adds up.
a/n: (yes another) i hate this so much but i think i’ve been dealing with it too long so im just going to. throw it out there. thank you for reading!!! i’d love to hear what you think!!!! hopefully i’ll venture into longfic more often <3
#seventeen fluff#chan fluff#dino fluff#dino x reader#chan x reader#seventeen x reader#dino comfort#seventeen imagines#seventeen fic#seventeen fanfic#seventeen headcanons#chan comfort#chan angst#dino angst#chan fic#dino fic
708 notes
·
View notes
Text
Looking Out For You — Giyū Tomioka x gn! hashira! reader
summary: your decision to befriend the reclusive water hashira turns your life around for the better.
tw: anxious and insecure reader, awkward convos, non-descriptive injuries, mentions of getting stitches.
a/n: I finally wrote for Kimetsu no Yaiba, been a fan of this when there was only one season of the show (read the entire manga as it got updated).
wc: 6k
Master List
It was no secret that the water hashira was a loner. He stuck to himself and blended into the background. At first you were neutral towards him, you were similar in a sense. Kept to yourself and tried to blend into the background. The big difference is that not only were you friends with the love hashira, but you had managed to endear yourself towards some of the others. You weren’t sure how you did it, but it was nice to know that they cared. For Giyū Tomioka, it was the complete opposite.
You could only hear insults towards the man for so long. A part of you related to him, and hearing Kochō be so passive aggressive towards him made you feel unsettled. So you made up your mind, you were going to try and befriend Tomioka. You had been completely alone before, and you had wished for someone to befriend you, so you were sure he was longing for the same.
You had told Mitsuri of your plan as you both walked towards the Ubuyashiki Estate. You all had been called for a brief. These were rare, but it was nice to see how your fellow hashira’s were, and also a perfect excuse to try and talk to the water hashira. Mitsuri was nearly jumping up and down at the information, an excited grin overtaking her features.
“That’s so cute!” She squealed, clasping her hands together. “You have to tell me how it goes.”
“I already feel like I’m going to fail,” You said, slightly sweating at the thought. “Last time I tried to make a friend it ended up really awkward because I never know what to say.”
“Hm,” She hummed in thought. “Just try and find a connection.”
You purse your lips, “That’s easier said than done.”
It wasn’t much longer before you found yourself sitting next to the stoic man. Ubuyashiki was going over statistics, how we could improve and how well we’ve been doing. I felt myself getting more anxious by the second. After the meeting I would try and at least say hi, but I was wondering if that was a good idea. Seconds ticked by while you had basically toned out Ubuyashiki’s smooth voice, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Once you were all excused, you hyped yourself up, looking over to the black haired man.
“Hello!” You said a little too loudly, a nervous smile adorned your lips as you gained Tomioka’s attention.
His blank stare watched you for a few seconds before replying, “Excuse me.”
Then he left.
…just like that. You blinked, mouth dropping in slight awe at just how fast he managed to escape. You had spent so long going over situations and anxious thoughts…only for him to barely acknowledge you.
You didn’t even realize Mitsuri joined you until she spoke up, “Maybe next time?”
You turned your attention to the green eyed beauty, a pout adorning your lips, “He didn’t even say hi back.”
“Ara ara~” Kochō joined us, an empty smile placed on her lips. “I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”
Your playful pout had turned into a frown, your feelings towards the insect pillar were mixed. She was blunt, which would be nice at times, but others it could be harsh. “Oh well,” You shrugged. “At least I’ll be able to say I tried.”
You had accidently ran into Tomioka only a few days later. You were walking back to your estate, exhausted after a long mission. It was more tedious than difficult, as the walking had been longer than the fight by far. You couldn’t believe your eyes when they landed on the split patterned haori. Before your anxiety could get the best of you, you approached him.
“Hello!” You waved, this time not shouting. “How are you doing Tomioka-san?”
Once again his stoic features watched you briefly, like he was trying to gauge your intentions, “I’m doing fine.”
Yes! He couldn’t run away like last time, you’ll make sure of it.
“How old are you?” You asked, genuinely curious. He looked both young and old in a sense, and you were curious where you stood compared to your ages.
Another awkward pause as you both stood on the trail, Tomioka finally answered, “Ninteen.”
Your mouth dropped open, unable to hide your surprise, “Nineteen! I thought you were at least twenty-two!” Tamioka only glanced away awkwardly, and you waved your hands around. “Not that it's a bad thing, I’m only twenty! So we’re really close in age. Besides, Tokitō’s fourteen so nineteen isn’t that bad…sorry I’m rambling.”
Your anxiety started to run rampant, this is the most you had spoken to the water pillar and it was really awkward. You both seemed to be in the same boat as he awkwardly nodded, arms crossed as his eyes couldn’t meet yours. An awkward silence encompassed you both and you felt yourself losing your composure.
“I’m sorry,” You apologized again, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment. “I want to befriend you but I’m very bad at talking to others. Mitsuri-chan recommended finding something we both relate to, but I am unsure how to do that.” You weren’t sure if your mind was playing tricks on you, but you swore Tomioka’s eyes widened slightly, head tilting ever so slightly. He almost reminded you of a puppy.
“We shouldn’t be friends,” Tomioka’s tone spoke with finality. Your brows furrowed, you could understand him saying that, but the sting of rejection overpowered your thoughts. Normally you’d bow as an apology and scurry away to mull over all the points in which you made yourself look like a fool, but your wish to friend him overpowered that.
“Why not?” You asked, a slight frown pulling on your lips.
Tomioka opened his mouth only to close it, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Finally, he replied, “I don’t want to be friends with you.”
You nodded, the sting of rejection spreading. You felt your face flush in embarrassment as you bowed, “I apologize, I wish you well Tomioka-san.”
You quickly turned around, rushing towards your estate, shame and embarrassment continuing to flood through you. You had quickly written a letter to Mitsuri, venting about how embarrassed you were. You had been sent on another mission shortly after, allowing you to forget about your embarrassing fiasco, at least for a brief moment. You were nearly back to normal, your restless nights finally ceasing as the memory started to fade to the back of your mind. Until it was violently forced back to the forefront.
You had found yourself resting in the same wisteria house as Giyū Tomioka. You both sat in silence, eating your food without acknowledging the other. It felt wrong, like you should say something, but those words he spoke rang in your head, holding you back, ‘I don’t want to be friends with you.’
You hate to admit it, but that simple sentence had brung back insecurities you thought you had overcome. You didn’t blame him, not at all. It wasn’t Tomioka’s fault that you had seemed to crumble due to one person's seemingly unapproval of you. You ate with your head bowed, hoping that you weren’t annoying him in any way. Was it the way you looked? The way you talked? Had you rambled too much in your nervousness? Did your mere aura annoy him? If so, you felt even more guilty for making him sit in your presence.
Tomioka on the other hand hadn’t noticed your inner dilemma. Although he did find you seeming to shrink in on yourself further and further unusual, he wasn’t sure what your normal was. You hadn’t seemed to act like this around the other hashira’s, he only saw glimpses of you. If he were to be honest, he had seen the way you interacted with Mitsuri, so lively and happy. He wished he could experience that side of you, but he knew he had ruined any chance already. ‘I don’t want to be friends with you,’ those words haunted him. It was a lie, he did in fact want to be friends with you, but you were better off without him. He would only manage to drag you down.
“Are you finished?” Tomioka asked. You hadn’t even realized you had stopped eating. Looking up at him for the first time, you stared at him with wide eyes.
“Oh! Uh, yeah,” You stumbled. “Here, I can clean up.” Moving faster than he could protest, you had grabbed the empty bowls and started cleaning, not wanting to be a burden. The lady of the house was surprised when you approached her with the dirty dishes, asking where to set them. When she protested you helping her wash them, you begrudgingly made your way back to your shared room for the night.
“Thank you,” Tomioka spoke up randomly, causing you to glance at him.
“It’s okay,” You shrugged, prepping your futon to your liking. “I like helping.”
It was harder for you to fall asleep than you’d like to admit. You had been running around for the past few days and it seemed that your mind couldn’t settle just yet. You kept your eyes closed, willing yourself to sleep as your body felt exhausted.
It was even harder for you to fall asleep as Tomioka had murmured into the night, “I wish we could be friends, but this is for the best.”
Great, now you really weren’t going to fall asleep.
The sun was just starting to shine through the windows, causing you to slowly wake up. You were surprised that you had awoken earlier than Tomioka. He looked so peaceful, the usual tension in his face had been relaxed. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you went to take care of yourself in the bathroom. Your foggy mind slowly remembered the restless night before, how Tomioka had confessed to wanting to be friends with you when he thought you were asleep. Now that you knew that you weren’t the problem/reason, you were going to try even harder to befriend him.
When you returned to the room, you had half expected the room to be empty, but to your delight, Tomioka was still there, having just woken up.
“Good morning,” You smiled sleepily, still feeling sluggish. You tried to ignore how cute he looked as he rubbed his eyes.
“Good morning,” Tomioka replied back softly.
“Did you sleep well?” You asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. While talking, you made your way to your satchel, making sure everything was in order.
“Yes,” He replied, the sounds of shuffling cloth coming from behind you. Glancing back, you watched as he was about to leave. “Excuse me,” He alerted, sliding the door open and leaving. At first you thought he was leaving completely like the last time, except you noticed his sword was still in the room.
‘Good,’ You thought. ‘He should at least eat something before leaving.’
The lady of the house knocked on the door before entering, a bright smile on her face. You both chatted briefly as she set up a zataku table, loading some food on top. Tomioka entered the room not long after, glancing at the food but ignoring it. Swallowing the bite of taiyaki, I spoke up, “You should join me! The food’s really good.”
“I’m not hungry,” Tomioka muttered.
You bit your lip, trying to think of how you could get to know him better, “Not even for just a bite of rice?” His deep blue eyes glanced at me, pausing before he grabbed his sword, then his eyes drifted to the food. “I really can’t eat this all by myself,” You said, hoping that would finally entice him. It seemed your persuasive skills were better than you thought (or his loneliness was finally getting the best of him).
As you both sat at the table, you found yourself rambling about your mission. The awkwardness between the both of you from before had seemed to vanish (on your end at least) as you talked to fill the silence. How the demon’s you were sent to kill had become more challenging, how the treck left you exhausted, how awkward you were around to kakushi. It got to the point of you rambling about this cute Ezo red fox you saw.
Tomioka may be a bit oblivious at times, but he had noticed this drastic change. Just last night you barely let out a peep, and now you were talking about anything and everything. He didn’t mind, no one has talked with him in such a way since…Sabito. It felt very bittersweet for him. He could only ponder on what caused your change, and he hoped that you hadn’t heard his confession last night. Especially since he found his will to be weaker than he’d like to admit.
…
Misturi was a very good listener. The way she’d dramatically gasp or watch with bated breath. You knew she was hanging on to every word you spoke. When you had finished filling her in on everything that had happened between both you and Tomioka she squealed.
“You two are so cute!” She smiled brightly, finishing another bowl of pork cutlet.
“More like we’re both awkward,” You mumbled. Picking at your food (still only on your first portion).
“He said he wanted to be your friend!” She pointed at you with her chopsticks.
“But I’m not sure how to proceed,” You complained. “Do I just keep talking his ear off about random stuff? I feel like that’ll get annoying quickly.”
“Why don’t you get him something?” She asked, sipping some tea. “Maybe that’ll open him a little.”
“Hmm,” You pondered. What would you even get him? “Maybe.”
So you had continued to think about what a reclusive water hashira may like. It didn’t help that you were in the midst of a market. Vendors resided on either side, showing off their wares to entice customers to view their stalls. You took in the sites, yet nothing really caught your eyes. That was until a vendor who was selling omamori. You were surprised to find someone selling these charms outside of a shrine, so you were a bit weary of the product, but they seemed to be made from genuinely good materials.
You perused the items, there were many different colors and intentions. Finally, you picked out a blue omamori that wishes for happiness. You didn’t really think much of it. You did, in fact, wish Tomioka happiness. The rest of your mission went smoothly, and you sent Tomioka a letter upon your arrival. In the time it took for your crow to come back, you had almost forgotten of the invite. You felt yourself waiting anxiously for the time to come, tidying up your estate even more (much to the kakushi’s dismay), making sure you had enough tea and snacks.
By the time Tomioka had arrived, you already had two cups of tea and a snack platter set out on your engawa. It was a nice warm and bright sunny day, and you might as well enjoy the scenery of the forest that surrounded your estate. You greeted him with a bright smile, coaxing him to sit down. The both of you savored the tea, sipping in silence. It was nice. Normally you’d feel pressured to say something, like you were failing at keeping the other person entertained, but at the moment you felt peaceful. Sharing a warm cup of tea on a nice day with someone you cared about.
You watched as the sun rays fell down, barely hitting the forest floor. Rabbits hopping about as insects buzzed around. You quite liked your estate, you were grateful for all that Ubuyashiki has given you. It was in a secluded area not too far from a small village. It gave you a space for yourself, but you were still close enough to society that you weren’t a hermit. You enjoyed nature as well, watching animals was one of your favorite hobbies as you discovered silly little behaviors that they would do. Though as a hashira you found yourself having less and less time to yourself.
“I have something for you,” You finally spoke up. You both had finished a cup of tea and some of the snacks were gone. You turned your gaze to Tomioka, only to meet his ocean blue eyes. You took the omamori out of your pocket and handed it to the water hashira. He hesitated before finally accepting the gift. You bit your lips, trying to suppress the giant grin that threatened to spread across your lips. A light pink dusted across his cheeks as he stared at it.
“You didn’t have to,” He replied, eyes still on the gift. “...thank you.”
“No biggie,” You waved it off. “I saw it and thought of you.” You didn’t realize what you said until you had said it. Your eyes widened, and Tomioka’s blush seemed to only intensify. Deciding that ignoring the remark was the best option, you started talking about your last mission and the market you had found that charm in. A giddy feeling overwhelmed you as you watched Tomioka pocket the charm, his gaze looking warmer than usual.
It was safe to say both you and Tomioka were quite close to each other now. You were someone he enjoyed spending time with and you loved being in his presence. The awkwardness that had initially been a part of your relationship fizzled, a warm atmosphere left in its wake. The two of you would spend time over tea, mostly at your estate, but you were proud to say you’ve spent time at his as well. Sometimes you found yourself going on walks on the trails that littered across your property, and you would point out animals you’d observed and little facts you found out about them over the years. Tomioka thought that if demons hadn’t screwed over the world, you’d have made a wonderful researcher.
The feeling of something slipping into your pocket had put you on edge. Turning your head swiftly to the side, you stared at Tomioka with wide eyes. He stared at you back, eyes wide and cheeks a light pink. He had been caught. He didn’t know what he was expecting, you were a highly skilled hashira, trained to detect the slightest thing off. Slipping your hand into your pocket, you pulled out an omamori. You felt your face flush as it was not only your favorite color, but it was an anti-evil omamori.
“Thank you, Tomioka-san,” You thanked with a bright smile. You were so busy trying to figure out how to attach the charm to the hilt of your sword, you almost missed Tomioka’s next words.
“Giyū,” He muttered, head turned away from you. You stared at him slightly in confusion until he clarified, “You can call me Giyū.”
“Thank you, Giyū-san,” You clarified, smiling so wide it felt like your cheeks hurt. “You can call me by my first name as well.” He nodded, still not facing your direction. Tugging gently at his haori, you led him to continue your walk along the trail, the day seeming a lot brighter than before.
…
“Please Giyū-san,” You pleaded, putting on your best puppy dog eyes.
He tried his hardest to not meet your gaze, feeling his resolve slowly crumbling, “I…am busy that day.”
“Pleeeeease,” You drawled out, hands clasped as you jutted out your bottom lip. “I don’t want to be stuck as a third wheel.” He had accidently met your gaze, and he felt himself fold, how could you look so cute?
“Fine.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You exclaimed, pulling him into a hug without a second thought, squeezing him tightly to try and express your gratitude. “I love Mitsuri-chan but Iguro-san scares me.” Giyū stood stiff, arms fell limply at his sides. Unsure what to do, he awkwardly patted your back before you pulled away. Your warmth that had seeped into him seemed to vanish and he immediately wished you held him for just a moment longer.
The dinner had arrived too quickly for his liking. Although he found himself wanting to spend more time with you, and he didn’t mind Kanroji, Iguro had made his distaste of the water hashira clear multiple times. He hasn’t spent time with you in the presence of others, and he was scared that you’d finally come to your senses and sever your ties with him.
He had arrived at least fifteen minutes early, which was exactly when you arrived as well. Giyū couldn’t help but stare at you in awe as he approached. You stood to the side of the restaurant that you were all to dine in. You wore a simple kimono, but he couldn’t help but find himself astounded. He thought you were ethereal in your uniform and haori, but seeing you in such casual wear had seemed to revise your beauty in another light.
You, on the other hand, felt blood drain from your face. Giyū had been the next to arrive after you, and he was wearing his uniform. Your brain had become frenzied as you wondered if you had enough time to make it back to your estate and change your clothes. You didn’t want to stand out amongst your friends.
“Wait, is everyone going to be in their uniform?” You blurted, feeling slightly dizzy at the thought. Giyū, still being stunlocked, seemed oblivious to your turmoil, shrugged. Your shoulders raised as Giyū stood next to you, waiting for the other two to join. Your brain continued to bug you for ten minutes, and only got worse upon notice of their outfits. Both in their uniforms. You felt your face flush in embarrassment, wanting to hide behind the water hashira as Mitsuri and Iguro spotted you both.
“Hi!” Misturi waved enthusiastically before gasping your name. “Your kimono is so cute!” Unconsciously, you slightly hide yourself behind Giyū, not enjoying all the eyes on you. This is exactly why you didn’t like standing out in a crowd.
“Thank you,” You muttered, hand grasping gently at Giyū’s haori. Normally, you wouldn’t have such a harsh reaction to being in such a position, but you could feel Iguro’s eyes watching your every move, judging your every decision. But you’d have to endure it, for Mitsuri’s sake.
Giyū wasn’t faring much better. He hadn’t expected you to become so shy, using him as a shield. It made him feel a bit prideful and protective, you had chosen him even though you had been friends with Kanroji for longer. Though he also felt a bit embarrassed, unsure how to react to such a situation. He had never thought someone he found attractive would look at him, let alone find comfort in him in such a way.
You all had entered the restaurant, Mitsuri trying not to squeal at the site before her. She had been trying to refrain from mentioning how your relationship with Giyū seemed to be some romantic plot from a novel she’s read. Every detail you shared with her had her blushing in excitement. She had recalled when you told her you didn’t expect to find love in this lifetime. As a demon slayer, you had little freetime, and the fact that you never knew if the day was going to be your last would loom over you until demons were eradicated. So having friends was tough, and a lover even tougher. She couldn’t be more overjoyed by the fact that you had managed to find someone even with the complications. Which led her to this master plan with Obanai, a secret double date (it would be a double date in her heart). A double date where only one person knew of it as such.
Once you all got in, you found yourself feeling more comfortable. You found yourself in a comfortable conversation with Mitsuri, both your companions silent as they eyed the other up. It was a comical site for anyone who witnessed it. Mitsuri had beat us all in the amount she consumed, a bright smile as she asked for another. The atmosphere was warm in the small restaurant, the night sky shining through the windows. You slightly felt bad for Iguro and Giyū, as they both seemed out of their element, but overall it was a fun night. It almost felt like a date due to the fact Giyū insisted on walking you home.
It didn’t take long after that night for you to realize your feelings. You were helping two lower ranked demon slayers defeat a demon. At the end of the battle they had checked in on the other, making sure they were both relatively okay before embracing. It had reminded you of how you treated Giyū, and suddenly it all came crashing down on you. You were in love with Giyū Tomioka. The two demon slayers had thanked you, as you weren’t there to help them initially. They were surprised at how kind you were towards them, remarking how they heard all the hashira’s were cold. You quickly waved them off with a slight laugh, explaining how most of you were just trying to get by like the rest of them.
You had continued to stew on your feelings, unable to think of anything else. Your mind had been so dangerously drifting off, you found yourself injured. Not gravely, thankfully, but enough for you to end up in butterfly manor.
“It’s rare to find you here,” Kochō commented as she cleaned your wound, causing you to wince. “Is something the matter? Have you finally realized the lack of heart Tomioka has?”
You frowned, unsure if unpacking your feelings to Kochō was the right play. It wasn’t due to Tomioka’s lack of heart, rather how much heart he has. Your eyes drifted to the sword leaned against the wall next to your current bed, the omamori charm dangling tauntingly.
“No,” You confessed, hands clenching as she cleaned a particularly deep wound. “It’s actually quite the opposite.”
You took slight satisfaction in the surprise Kochō’s eyes held, but her empty smile didn’t waver, “Don’t tell me he’s managed to trick you somehow.”
“No,” You once again simply answered. “It’s all my own doing.” That was true, in a sense. Of course you couldn’t control your own feelings, but it was you who pushed past Giyū’s barriers and managed to sneak your way into his heart, just as he had snuck his way into yours. Though you weren’t sure if he viewed you in such a way, and you didn’t want to push him farther than he could handle.
Without pause, Kochō took out a suture kit, threading the needle. Your eyes widened in horror. You’ve only needed stitches very few times, and the nausea you felt when a needle was presented never left. Mercifully, Kochō took out a balm and applied it to the skin around your wound.
Waiting for a few moments to let the balm numb your skin, she spoke up, “Don’t get your hopes too high with him.” It was at that moment that you realized that Kochō was looking out for you…in a passive aggressive way. Although you didn’t exactly like the way she showed this care (by insulting Giyū), you still felt touched that she even cared in the first place.
“Don’t worry,” You shrugged. “They’re never really high in the first place.” It was that moment she deemed worthy to pierce your skin.
…
You didn’t need too many stitches thankfully, but even with the numbing the process was excruciating. You were relieved when the bandages were finally applied and Kochō bid you farewell. You were sore all over, waiting for the medicine Kochō made you take to finally kick in. Not only were you sore and tired, but you felt slightly ashamed. You allowed your emotions to overtake you and get injured in battle. You were a hashira, these simple things weren’t meant to let your guard down.
You had been so absorbed in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed said water hashira entering your room. Kochō hadn’t been too surprised when she saw him stalking down the hall as she exited your room. With your previous conversation, and the bits Kanroji accidentally let slip, she had pieced together that Tomioka wasn’t all she thought he was. It was hard for her to believe that he would care about someone, but now that she witnessed the terror that shone in his blue eyes, he had even managed to surprise her.
“They’re resting,” Kochō said, a fake smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Visiting hours aren’t open for them yet.”
Giyū didn’t even pause, continuing his trek to your room. It didn’t matter that his crow had told him you were only mildly injured, or the fact that Kochō left your room (a clear indicator that you were fine), he needed to see that you were okay with his own eyes. He had lost so much already, and he surrendered himself of such attachments, not only because he didn’t deserve it, but because he didn’t want to go through that again. You had managed to brighten his days again, he looked forward to waking up, wondering if he’d get to hear you laugh that day. All the good came crashing down the second he heard of your injured state.
You were both demon slayers, hashira at that, so you were bound to face injury. Yet he couldn’t help but blame himself. For what? Even he wasn’t sure, but he felt like it was due to the fact you were close to him. Karma for being the one to always survive. So when he quietly opened the sliding door, a breath of relief passed his lips as he saw you stare out the window. The sun hit your figure, causing a warm glow to light up your features. The usual smile that was on your face had turned into a frown, eyes distant. He wasn’t sure what to do. He had accomplished his mission, he’s seen you with his own eyes and you’re breathing perfectly fine, although the bandages that littered your face tugged at his heartstrings.
“Oh, hello,” You spoke softly, snapping Giyū out of his thoughts.
“Are you okay?” He asked, internally berating himself for asking such a stupid question. Of course you aren’t okay, you're sitting in a hospital bed at butterfly manor.
“I’m fine,” You smiled slightly. “Just some small injuries. Honestly all this pampering is a little too much if you ask me.” That was a slight lie on your part. It was clearly not just small injuries, or you wouldn’t have been taken to butterfly manor. You felt bad for the poor kakushi that had to tend to your injuries enough so you wouldn’t bleed out as they carried you all the way here.
Giyū also seemed to sense your lie, his blue eyes unwavering from their intense stare. His eyes raked your body, trying to pinpoint all the injuries that littered your body. Fortunately for you, most of the injuries were hidden by your clothes and blanket. With a sigh, you patted the bed, gesturing for him to sit and join you. He did so hesitantly, ending up sitting as close to the edge as he could. You felt your mood lighten at the sight, the seriousness from before slowly dissipating.
“You can sit closer silly,” You chuckled lightly. He scooted just slightly, and you smiled at him. “Okay so maybe I needed some stitches, but that was the worst of it. Really, I’m fine.”
Giyū’s shoulders slumped, finally he seemed to be able to calm down. You were fine, truly. You were still there, still sitting by him, still smiling at him, still laughing. Your breath hitched at how intense his gaze was. You felt your face flush as he stared at you with utter adoration. You felt your own gaze soften, probably matching his own.
“It was my own fault,” You muttered, hoping to quell his worries further. “I was distracted, but that won’t happen again.” His eyebrows furrowed, the silent question in his eyes being loud enough for you to understand. Scratching your cheek, you looked away to try and hide your embarrassment. Should you just say it? Get it off your chest? Would he be weirded out?
“I was thinking about you.”
Now you both were avoiding eye contact, flustered more than you’d like to admit. He hadn’t expected that. What exactly were you thinking? Have you been thinking about him often? It left him feeling warm at the thought. For some odd reason, it made him happy.
The silence between you both grew, and you felt more anxious the longer it lasted. “Not…not in a weird way,” You defended weakly, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. Glancing up at him your eyes widened in wonder as a tiny smile pulled on the edges of his lips, red dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. If you could capture this moment, you would in a heartbeat. Deciding that now was your chance, you ripped the bandaid off.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
This time Giyū stared at you in disbelief, and you wondered if you did the wrong thing. But he had smiled earlier! The first smile you had ever seen grace his beautiful features. Perhaps you came to the wrong conclusion. Both of you stared at the other, waiting for the other to make a move. Your heart beat faster and faster the longer he stayed frozen. His entire face and neck was engulfed in a violent shade of red, and you were scared you might’ve broken him.
“You don’t have to love me back or anything,” The words quickly tumbled passed your lips. “And I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. That’s a weird thing to confess to your friend.”
That seemed to snap him back, he looked down at his lap, trying to regain composure. He found it harder and harder to remain stoic in your presence. The emotions he repressed would always flow to the forefront when you were around, and although it could be overwhelming at times, he still welcomed the feelings. Not sure how to convey his feelings properly (he surely didn’t trust his mouth to say the right thing), he scooted a little closer to you. You watched with bated breath, unsure where he stood on your feelings (he really didn’t make it easy to read him either).
“I reciprocate your feelings,” He replied, voice wavering just slightly. You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. You weren’t sure what you expected, but such a formal response actually made you feel a bit better. Clearly this was new to both of you and you both weren’t sure how to go about this new territory. But that was fine, because you both could traverse it together.
…
Only a few days later, Mitsuri had managed to visit you. Giyū had refused to leave your side, assisting you with the simplest tasks. You felt bad for the girls who brought you your necessities as Giyū would watch their every move, ensuring you got all that you needed. When Mitsuri entered your room, she hadn’t expected to see the water hashira sitting next to you, let alone so close! Her green eyes took in the scenario, Giyū not meeting her gaze as he felt flustered that he was caught. You smiled brightly at the love hashira, welcoming her into the room.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” She apologized.
“It’s okay,” You waved off her concern. “Giyū-kun has been keeping me company.”
Mitsuri couldn’t hold back her squeal, the two of you clearly have grown closer, dare she say you two have a more intimate relationship. Giyū looked even more flustered, head turned away from the both of you.
“You have to tell me everything!”
#giyuu tomioka x reader#giyu tomioka x reader#kny x reader#demon slayer x reader#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#giyū tomioka x reader#tomioka giyuu x reader#tomioka giyū x reader#tomioka giyu x reader#demon slayer#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#giyuu tomioka#giyu tomioka#giyū tomioka#tomioka giyuu#tomioka giyu#tomioka giyū#x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Preston’s 18th Birthday
Content Warning: Incest, Homophobic Slurs, Weight Gain
Preston was a normal teenage boy, except for the fact that he was adopted by a gay couple when he was born. His mother didn’t want him and he learned that some time after he was born, she died. He knew nothing about his biological father, but he never stopped looking, his dads didn’t even know who his father was. His dads were great, but Preston never stopped wondering what life would be like had he been raised by his biological father.
A couple months ago, Preston’s biological father reached out through Facebook. His profile had no pictures and seemed to be new, but he had the DNA test from when he was born to prove his relation. His name is Travis, he’s in his mid 40’s and he is a construction worker. Despite not knowing what his dad looks like, Preston started to talk with his dad more and more. His two dads suggested that he meet his father for his 18th birthday before the party, Preston thought this was a great idea and so did his dad. So they had made plans to meet, he would chat and have lunch and come back to his house for his party.
Preston’s Birthday
Preston woke up to a massive aching boner, one that was begging to be released. “Oh GOD!” He moaned loudly as he grabbed the hard on, his underwear soaked in precum. “Fuck I don’t have time to take care of this” Preston thought, “I’ll just take a shower and maybe it’ll chill out.”Preston’s cock calmed down after he took cold shower, but he could help but notice that he was still very horny. He threw on a t-shirt, a pair of briefs and some gym shorts. Preston checked his phone, it was 11:30am already, he needed to hurry or he’d be late for lunch with his dad. He went downstairs saying bye to his dads, got into his car and headed towards Travis’s place, his cock slowly leaking precum the whole way there.
Preston noticed as he was getting closer that his dad lived in a trailer park, which was fitting given he is a construction worker. He didn’t realize how nice he had it with his dads, living in a suburban home with a nice new car and electronics. Travis would barely be able to afford rent let alone all of Preston’s nice commodities. Preston knocked on the door, he heard heavy footsteps walk towards the door and it swung open to reveal Travis.
Travis was HUGE! His tight orange shirt couldn’t even cover his massive belly, and his underwear… or are they shorts??? They looked tight on his waist. His face was covered by a bushy beard, hair that the top of his head lacked. He still has some hair around the sides of his head, which only added to his grotesque appearance. “Preston!” The massive bear of a man said with a thick southern accent, he squeezed Preston in a tight hug, the contact making his cock leak some pre cum. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, I’ve been waiting to watch- I mean… see you all day!”
Travis showed Preston into the trailer, it was dingy and grimy, Travis clearly doesn’t know how to pick up after himself. Preston could tell he also didn’t smell the best, having a very distinct and vile musk that emanated from him “I’ve been excited too…” Preston noticed the massive amount of food that was over in the kitchen area. “Is that… for lunch today?” Preston was confused, there was no way two people could eat that much, even if Travis was a massive hog.
“Of course it for lunch big guy! You’re 18!” Travis said that as if Preston should know what that means, it was then that Preston felt his stomach gurgle in hunger. “But let’s start with your birthday cake, I made it special myself.” Travis walked Preston to the dining table and pulled out the most delicious cake Preston has ever seen.
“Oh you really didn’t have to do this much, there’s no way I’m eating all of this.” Preston said as he sat down, Travis cutting him a slice of cake. “Oh it chocolate, that’s actually my favorite.” Preston took a bite of the cake and it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten in his life, it even made his cock stand back up. “Oh god… this is good!”
“I thought you might like it, made it with my own secret recipe.” Travis went behind Preston, massaging his shoulders as his son starts to pig out on the rest of the cake. “It’s a tradition for men in our family to eat like this on their 18th birthday, son.” Preston couldn’t stop himself from eating more of the cake, he couldn’t process what was going on. “When men in our family hit adulthood, we grow quickly into slobbish pigs.”
Preston was having a hard time processing the information, he couldn’t stop eating the cake long enough to worry about what was happening to him. “Oh god… daddy what’s happening to me?” Preston’s voice started to have a light souther accent that could barely be heard through the chewing.
Preston’s body started to plump up quickly, his abs from his years in track were fading away. “You can’t stop the change, son.” Travis started to feed Preston once the cake was gone, “Your faggot daddies couldn’t have prepared you for this son, they wouldn’t know what to do with a pig like you.” Preston’s head was spinning, his body getting fatter and fatter as his body gives in to his DNA.
Preston’s once smooth chest has pumped into two soft moobs that jiggled with every bite, his jawline started to fade as the fat started to accumulate. Preston was in a blissfully perverted shock as his whole life was being ruined by this pig of a man, his cock rock hard was leaking like a faucet, soaking his underwear. “Daddy… I’m getting so fat…” Preston moaned in between foods, “w-why do I sound like this daddy… w-“
“Shhhhhh” Travis shushed Preston as he shoved a greasy slice of pizza into his mouth. “You’re becoming just like your daddy, and your daddies daddy, as so on. You come from a long line of perverted hogs.” Travis gripped Preston’s cock with his other hand, “my daddy helped me out exactly like this, fattened me up real good.” Travis pumped Preston’s leaking cock as he told him how much of a pig he was going to become. “You’re gonna love it boy, you’ll be able to turn other men into fat hogs just like us. It one of our many talents, one that I can’t wait for you to use.” Preston was in a fattening bliss, listening to the hypnotic words coming out of his daddies mouth as he played with his own fattening body.
“Oh daddy… daddy I’m gonna-“ Preston released, soaking his underwear and his dad’s hand, this act of finishing sealed Preston’s already inevitable fate. “Oh god daddy, look what you’ve done to me…”
Preston’s belly was as big as his daddies, he couldn’t stop jiggling the soft flesh that had taken over his body. “I didn’t do nothin’ boy, this was your natural calling.” Travis took a doughnut, wiped Preston’s cum into it and fed it to his son.
After Preston was done chewing his specially glazed doughnut he wondered who he could make into a fat piggy himself, the he thought of his faggoty dads. “Let’s go visit my dads, daddy!”
“Of course boy, those faggots are gonna piss their pants when they see how big you’ve grown.” Travis helped Preston up and walked his half-naked fat ass to Travis’s pickup truck, the two whales could barely fit in it together. “We’ve got a party to get to, boy.”
Part 2?
#male weight gain story#weight gain story#weight gain tf#fat gain tf#male weight gain stories#male tf
696 notes
·
View notes
Text
Describing your love trope with your future spouse as a writer
Pick a picture
MASTERLIST ☆ PAID SERVICES
LONG POST AHEAD!
Pictures belong to their rightful owners, I only own the content of this post.
Picture 1
Arranged blind date
I stared at my reflection, the dress clinging to my frame in a way that was both flattering and unfamiliar. It had been months since I’d worn anything other than sweatpants and old t-shirts. My heart pounded as I thought about the evening ahead. What had I let Emma talk me into?
“Trust me, y/n,” she had said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You deserve someone who treats you right. This guy is perfect for you.”
I wanted to believe her. After all, Emma knew me better than anyone. She had seen me through the worst of my relationship with Adam, watched as I shrank into myself, convinced I was unworthy of love and respect. She had been my rock when I finally walked away.
Now, she was determined to help me move on, even if it meant dragging me into the world of blind dates.
“You look stunning,” Emma said, stepping into my bedroom. Her smile was warm and reassuring. “And you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”
I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. “What if he’s... I don’t know, another Adam?”
Emma shook her head firmly. “He’s not. Trust me. I’ve known him for years. He’s kind, funny, and he’s been through his own share of heartbreak. You two will understand each other.”
Taking a deep breath, I followed Emma out the door and into her car. As she drove, I gazed out the window, my mind a swirl of anxiety and hope. The city lights blurred past, a cacophony of life that felt distant and unreal.
We arrived at the restaurant, a cozy little place with warm lighting and the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals. Emma squeezed my hand. “He’s waiting at table five. Go on, I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”
As I approached table five, I saw him. He was looking down at his menu, but there was something about him that immediately put me at ease. He had an air of quiet confidence, and when he looked up and our eyes met, he smiled. It was a smile that reached his eyes, genuine and warm.
“y/n?” he asked, standing up and offering his hand.
I took it, surprised by how natural it felt. “Yes. And you must be Michael.”
He nodded, his grip gentle yet reassuring. “It’s really nice to meet you. Emma’s told me a lot about you.”
I laughed nervously, taking my seat. “All good things, I hope.”
“Only the best,” he said, his eyes twinkling with kindness. “She’s very fond of you.”
As we started talking, I found myself relaxing. Michael was easy to talk to, his sense of humor lightening the mood. He shared stories about his work as a graphic designer, his passion for painting, and his dog, Max, who sounded like a real character.
“So, Emma tells me you’re quite the photographer,” he said, his tone genuinely interested.
I blushed slightly. “I dabble. It’s just a hobby, really.”
“From what I hear, you’re pretty talented,” he replied. “Maybe you could show me some of your work sometime?”
I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’d like that.”
The evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was enjoying myself. Michael was attentive, respectful, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. It was a stark contrast to the indifference and criticism I had grown accustomed to with Adam.
As we said our goodbyes, Michael looked at me with a hopeful expression. “I had a great time tonight, y/n. Can we do this again sometime?”
I smiled, feeling a lightness in my heart. “I’d like that very much, Michael.”
As I walked back to Emma, who was waiting with a knowing smile, I realized something. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to open my heart again. And maybe this time, I’d find the love and respect I truly deserved.
—☆
Emma hugged me as soon as I reached her. “See? Told you it would be fine.”
I hugged her back, gratitude welling up in my chest. “Thank you, Emma. For everything.”
She grinned. “That’s what friends are for.”
And for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful about the future.
Picture 2
Friends to lovers
I stood outside y/n’s apartment, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. The city was quiet tonight, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the sidewalk. I had been here countless times, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was about to change.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. Almost immediately, I heard her footsteps approaching. The door swung open, and there she was, her smile lighting up the entire hallway.
“Hey! Come on in,” she said, stepping aside to let me pass.
I walked in, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hey, y/n. Thanks for having me over.”
We settled on her couch, the same spot where we’d shared countless conversations, laughter, and even tears over the years. She handed me a cup of tea, her eyes sparkling with the warmth I had come to cherish.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, taking a sip of her own tea. “You sounded a bit urgent on the phone.”
I looked at her, really looked at her, and realized just how much she meant to me. Her kindness, her strength, her infectious laugh—all the little things that made her who she was. It hit me like a tidal wave. I was in love with her. I always have been.
“y/n, there’s something I need to tell you,” I began, my voice trembling slightly.
She set her cup down, her expression turning serious. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”
I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. “y/n, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. You’ve been there for me through everything, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She smiled, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I am your best friend. I will always be there for you no matter what happens. Now tell me, what is bothering you?”
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment. “But that’s the thing. I don’t just see you as my best friend anymore. Somewhere along the way, my feelings changed. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, there was a silence that felt like an eternity. My heart was in my throat, fear and hope battling within me.
“oh…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I pressed on, needing her to understand. “I know this might come as a shock, and I don’t want to ruin what we have. But I had to tell you. I can’t keep pretending that what I feel for you is just friendship.”
Her eyes searched mine, and I saw tears forming. Panic surged through me. Had I made a terrible mistake?
But then she smiled, a radiant, beautiful smile that took my breath away. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for so long.”
Relief washed over me like a flood. “You... you have?”
She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I’ve loved you for years. I was just too scared to tell you. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”
I reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You’ll never lose me, y/n. You’re everything to me.”
She leaned into my touch, her eyes filled with love and vulnerability. “I love you.”
The words were like music to my ears. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. “I love you too, y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”
We sat there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the world outside fading away. All that mattered was this moment, the love we had finally confessed, and the promise of a future together.
As I held her, I realized something. Love had been right in front of me all along, in the form of my best friend. And now that I had found it, I was never letting go.
Picture 3
Opposites attract
I watched him from across the room, the way he moved with such effortless grace and confidence. The party was in full swing, laughter and chatter filling the air, but all I could focus on was Ethan. He was the epitome of extroversion, charming everyone around him with his easy smile and quick wit.
I, on the other hand, was more comfortable in the shadows, observing rather than participating. I preferred a good book to a loud party, a quiet evening at home to a night out on the town. Yet, here I was, drawn to someone who was my complete opposite in every way.
Ethan caught my eye and waved, making his way over to me. My heart skipped a beat, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling inside me.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “Why are you hiding over here all alone?”
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just taking a break from all the excitement.”
He laughed, a rich, contagious sound. “You know, you’re the only person I know who comes to a party to take a break from it.”
I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, someone has to keep an eye on things from the sidelines.”
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark I was starting to adore.
“Sure,” I said, surprised by how much I wanted him to stay.
We sat down on the edge of the patio, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded house. For a moment, we just sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the party fading into the background.
“You know, Y/N,” Ethan said, breaking the silence. “I’ve always admired how you can just... be. You don’t need all this noise and attention to feel happy.”
I looked at him, surprised by his honesty. “And I’ve always admired how you can light up a room just by walking into it. You make everything look so easy.”
He smiled, a softer, more genuine smile than I’d seen before. “It’s not always as easy as it looks. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just playing a role. But with you... I feel like I can be myself.”
My heart swelled at his words. “I feel the same way, Ethan. With you, I don’t feel like I have to hide.”
We continued talking, sharing pieces of ourselves we hadn’t revealed to anyone else. I told him about my love for painting, how it was my way of expressing emotions I couldn’t put into words. He opened up about his fear of being alone, how he surrounded himself with people to avoid facing his own insecurities.
As the night wore on, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t expected. Despite our differences, or maybe because of them, we fit together in a way that felt right. His outgoing nature balanced my introversion, his confidence bolstered my shyness, and his warmth melted my reservations.
Ethan reached out, taking my hand in his. His touch was gentle, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me. “Y/N, I know we’re different, but I can’t help how I feel. Being with you makes me want to be better, to be more.”
I looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and sincerity there. “I feel the same way, Ethan. You make me feel... alive, like anything is possible.”
He leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “So, what do you say we give this a try? Us, I mean. I know it won’t always be easy, but I think it could be something amazing.”
I smiled, my heart full of hope and excitement. “I’d like that, Ethan. I’d like that a lot.”
As he pulled me into a gentle embrace, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected connections can be the most beautiful. Despite our differences, or maybe because of them, we were falling for each other, and I couldn’t wait to see where this journey would take us.
#pick a card#tarot#divination#tarot reading#spirituality#tarotcommunity#pick a photo#pick a pile#pick a picture#pick an image#future spouse#future lover#fs reading#fs tarot#love reading#love tarot reading#tarot readings#tarot cards#tarotblr#tarot deck#tarot pick a card#tarot pac#pac reading
731 notes
·
View notes
Text
Always Bet on Black
Summary: Reader realizes she has an advantage at the Bureau's Casino Night, when Spencer can't seem to take his eyes off her and her dress.
Prompt: The BAU throws a casino night charity fundraiser. Spencer is a menace. Someone has to find a way to distract him.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warning: drinking, gambling (i have never gambled in my life nor have i played poker or blackjack. this will be super apparent in this fic. many apologies), nipple play, oral sex (f!receiving) hickies, Reader POV, unprotected penetrative sex
Word Count: 3.7k
Masterlist
“And that’s another win to the gentleman on my right!” The dealer announces for what feels like the millionth time that night. There's a shit-eating grin on Spencer Reid’s face as he leans over the blackjack table, wrapping his arms around the hearty stack of chips in an almost in an exaggerated manner, pulling it back towards him much to everyone’s dismay.
My dismay, especially, because while- yes, this is for charity, and what Spencer’s doing could be characterized as noble in some roundabout way, it was getting a bit repetitive. Spencer was so focused, a thousand times more than anyone else at that table, his brain working a million miles a minute to provide him with the best course of action when it came to gambling.
And so far? It worked perfectly. While everyone else was taking their chances and betting away, praying that the odds would line up in their favor, Spencer Reid did fucking math, and suddenly the odds were his bitch. I was beginning to understand why every casino in Las Vegas had him banned now. If he was giving the BAU Casino Night a run for their money like this, I can’t imagine the Bellagio being too pleased with having him either.
I sighed at the thought, and it seemed Spencer picked up on it, the corners of his lips turning upwards, trying to feign a chagrin expression as he stacked his chips on top of the other.
“Something wrong, (Y/N)?” He says, looking at me. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”
Spencer Reid is usually nice, humble, and sweet. In all honesty, I should not be feeling this hostile and sore at the fact that he’d managed to beat me almost every single time we’d played blackjack. My embarrassment was only heightened when I thought of how I’d (stupidly) bragged beforehand that I’d never lost a game in college.
How quickly my streak was destroyed.
My pride was bruised, and the man in front of me knew it.
“I’m enjoying myself just fine.” I say, trying not to grit my teeth as I say the words.
“You look a bit hot.” He says, referring to my face that had gotten slightly red after the most recent loss I’d taken. “Would you like me to get you a drink?” He asks, his gaze turning less cocky, and more sweet and polite.
I melt a bit. “Okay. No need to be a sore loser.” I think to myself. “This is a sweet man, and he’s offering you a drink. Yes, he’s destroying you right now and knows it, but it’s not like he’s acting like a complete dick about it.”
I nod at his words, sending a small smile his way.
“A drink would be great actually.” I finally respond, and he gets up, pushing his chair in.
“I’ll be right back.” He says, turning away from me, and sauntering towards the bar.
I take a second to admire him as he walks away, the suit and tie ensemble he picked out for the night complimenting him so well. I’d never say it out loud, considering we were coworkers, but something about seeing him so dapper, so much more.. mature brought out a warm feeling in my stomach, one that made me shift in my seat as I tried to rid myself of thoughts of grabbing him by his tie, placing a hand on his perfectly sculpted jawline, pulling him against me and- no!
He. Is. Your. Colleague. Snap out of it!
In lieu of my wandering thoughts, I’d realized I had actually heated up quite a few degrees and in an attempt to combat the sudden body heat, I shrugged off the shawl I’d been donning for most of the night. I felt the cool air hit my exposed shoulders and chest, and relaxed a bit, starting to feel my temperature lower. Right as I did so, Spencer returned to his seat, holding two drinks.
I turn towards him, still seated. He’s sitting in his seat, facing towards me as well, and I instinctively reach over to grab the drink in his hand, expecting him to meet me halfway and transfer the cup to me. But instead of the expected interaction, he seems a bit dazed, an intense expression on his face as he bored his eyes into me, studying me almost. It’s an expression that causes me to raise my eyebrows at him.
“Spencer?” I say. “Hello?” I wave my hand a bit, trying to break him from his trance. “The drinks?” I add, and that’s what seems to break him out of his preoccupied stupor. He blinks a bit before shaking his head.
“Sorry. Sorry. I spaced out there for a moment.” He says, hastily handing me my glass and turning away completely from me, taking a sip out of his. I can notice a small tremor in his hand as he sets down the liquid on the table, and I’m a bit concerned. He was just fine a moment ago. Did someone say something whilst he was at the bar? Did he choose to ponder some life-changing information as he took his seat at the table? Was he losing it for no reason at all?
Regardless of what it was, I didn’t have the time to contemplate it further or question him about it because the dealer was beginning to shuffle the deck of cards again.
As the next game started, there was something fundamentally different about Spencer. He looked almost panicked, even going as far as to loosen his tie as he played. I thought I’d maybe imagined the changes, until finally, I got a real indicator that something was off. For the first time that whole night- he lost.
My mouth was agape as the dealer announced the house win, and as I looked between him and the table, he didn’t seem all that fazed, simply shrugging as he attempted to get up. Before he could slip away, I grabbed his arm and brought him a bit closer to me, so that I could speak to him over the sounds of the bustling party around us.
“Spencer- wait. Is something wrong?” I ask, the genuine concern in my tone apparent to anyone who might’ve walked by.
“Yeah, no. Um. Why wouldn’t it be?” He says, his eyes everywhere except me. It was almost comical. The ceiling tiles couldn’t be that interesting.
I grip his arm a little harder, urging him to look at me, to talk to me. “You lost! That hasn’t happened all night! Was someone- did something happen? Are you feeling okay?” I ask, my eyes trying to meet his.
He gulps, finally looking at me. “Statistically, card counting can’t actually work every time so I was bound to lose at some point right?” He says, a little shakily, and despite his words making logical sense, the notion that something was wrong didn’t leave me.
“You promise?” I say, looking at him as intensely as I possibly could to ensure he wouldn’t try to evade giving me an honest answer.
He gives his signature, flat smile, nodding. “I’ll be fine. Look. I’m gonna go play some other games. Maybe rack up my luck somewhere else.”
I lick my lips and finally let go of his arm, nodding. “Have fun.” I say, and he gives me a little wave.
“You too.”
For the next hour or so, I found myself dabbling at the other assortment of games offered by the Bureau that night, until yet again, my path crossed with Spencer, who seemed to be on a pretty hefty winning streak- if the stack of chips he’d accumulated wasn’t a clear sign of that already.
I stood by the table, slightly out of his view, a little amazed by the way his eyes followed the deck and everyone’s movements so precisely. The level of focus required to do what he was was absolutely no joke, and I couldn’t help but admire in silent awe at the exactness of the whole process. It only made him that much more attractive in that moment, if that was even possible.
“Royal flush.” He announces, fanning his cards as everyone at the table groans. It’s only then when his gaze meets mine, watching him, and I can observe the signs of a tell-tale blush creeping up his neck. Odd.
“(Y/N)! Hello.” He says, quickly. “Still liking the party?”
“I am, thank you.” I say, my eyebrows slightly furrowing at how oddly he’s behaving. “Mind if I join the next round?” I ask, already starting to take my seat.
“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He says, clearing his throat and turning his entire body away from me. Spencer and I usually got along just fine. There was nothing ever particularly sour about our relationship, and I’d like to think that in the time I’d spent at the Bureau, our shared experiences had brought us closer. However, the way he was acting as of right now, like we were strangers or mere acquaintances threw me off beyond belief.
It was official, something was off.
I leaned over a little closer, trying to get him to look at me.
“Spencer, I know I’ve already asked but is anything-“ I start, and I can see him glance over, and then almost rapidly turn his gaze away.
“No! Nothing’s wrong. Let’s play.” He rushes out, his words teetering on almost being high pitched.
It didn’t evade me however, in that short microsecond he took to look at me, his gaze dropped partially down. I internally followed his line of sight to realize that my breasts were practically spilling from my dress. I knew that it was a bit showy, but didn’t think much of it when I’d chosen to wear it for this occasion. The event was black-tie, and so I’d fished out a number I’d haphazardly bought during an online shopping spree. It was black and sparkly, but the main caveat of the dress was the gorgeous bodice in the front, managing to give a good show of cleavage whilst pushing up my breasts and making them all that more appealing to anyone who noticed. I began to connect the events of the night, realizing that someone clearly had noticed.
Spencer’s losing streak had coincidentally begun once I’d lost the shawl that was once covering my chest.
An idea slowly entered my head. An experiment, if you will. As we started another game, I barely paid attention as my fingers slid over to what looked like a glass of water on Spencer’s side.
“Spence?” I murmur, tapping his shoulder.
“Mm?” He asks, not even taking a moment to look away from his cards.
“Mind if I take a sip from your water?” I ask, keeping my voice saccharine and innocent.
I can see the look he shoots me, his eyes slightly narrowed in surprise but he quickly looks away. “Yeah, um. Sure. Go ahead.” He responds dismissively, as if talking to me for even a second longer would result in him breaking out in hives.
Totally out of character. For all the closeness in the world, Spencer Reid would never have shared a glass of water.
As I began to sip the water, I did something that could be categorized as deeply stupid, but in the name of my experiment, it was absolutely necessary. I slightly tipped the glass, allowing the cool water to run down my neck and drip onto the swell of my breasts. I made a show of getting up, touching my chest to try and rid myself of the moisture that was now coating my breasts.
“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’ll get you another glass of water.” I say,letting my breasts bounce a bit as I stand up, and when he looks at me, it’s more apparent than ever that his eyes aren’t gracing mine anytime soon. Not when I was like this.
I grinned in secret as I turned around, quickly bringing over a replacement glass to him, leaning over so that if he were to simply turn his head even slightly to his left, he’d get a direct look at what he simply couldn’t seem to take his eyes or mind off tonight.
“Uh. Thanks.” He stammers again, shakily drinking the water as he miserably failed at not looking. Bingo.
When the next round of our game commenced, he lost horrifically, as expected. His mind was in an entirely different dimension, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride, knowing it was me who’d rendered him dumb. So unfocused. So unlike himself. It wasn’t until I felt a tap on my shoulder, noticing Spencer’s hand carrying out the action.
“Walk with me.” He says, simply. His tone was so sharp and commanding, I found myself listening with no hesitation, following as we moved to a more secluded bit of the party.
“What are you doing?” He asks in an accusatory tone, his voice a hushed whisper.
“What do you mean?” I respond, a faux naivete in my words, which he only scoffed at. He leaned in closer, his brows furrowed. I could notice a small vein popping out from his forehead, and the sight only increased the ache I’d begun to feel in my panties since he’d directed me here.
“You know what I mean.” He says, dangerously. “You’re flaunting yourself.” He adds, his jaw tight. “You know what it’s doing to me. You’re enjoying it.” I could tell he wanted to say so much more, the grit in his tone leading me to believe there were some much cruder words he wished to utter to me.
Regardless, the authority in his tone only spurred me to try and resist. It was so hot watching him like this. Maybe a bit fucked up to say that, but it didn’t matter in that moment. I only wanted to test the limits. To see the new man I could bring out in Spencer Reid tonight.
“So what if I am?” I say, biting my lip. “It’s a party, Spencer. We’re all having fun, aren’t we?”
“No.” He responds, darkly. “I’m not having fun.”
A proposal came to mind. One I knew that would pan out deliciously, since I’d now gotten a look into his extensive lust tonight, and just how desperate he seemed. I leaned forward to whisper to him, my lips teasing the outer shell of his ear.
“Win another game, and I’ll show you just how much fun you could be having.”
He immediately pulls back. His eyes narrow, and I can see the weight of my words course through his mind, evaluating the odds of my statement before clicking his tongue.
“See you in 30 minutes.” is his response, as he walks away, beckoning me to follow him to yet another Blackjack table. I grin, sitting beside him.
My presence doesn’t seem to phase Spencer whatsoever this time around, his laser-point focus uninterrupted even as I stared shamelessly at him. It wasn't until the game seemed to be reaching its turning point, in which Spencer had to decide whether drawing or staying would bring forth a better outcome for him. I watched as he mulled over the decision for a few seconds before his eyes locked onto mine, gaze intense.
“Draw.” He voices, not even paying mind as the dealer announced his win.
Spencer gets up without a word, and I can see him head towards a hallway that houses a few restrooms in the building.
“Sir- your winnings!” The dealer calls out, but I smile apologetically, starting to follow Spencer to a more secluded area of the party.
“Sorry. He’s probably a bit preoccupied. I’ll let him know!” I respond, already turning around and making my way to the same hallway Spencer had gone down, finding the bathroom and opening it. I knew Spencer would be there, but what I didn’t expect was to be pulled into his arms, greeted by Spencer’s lips insistently pressing against mine, his free hand clutching the back of my head, as his other hand went to click the lock into place. I responded with a momentary bout of shock, but quickly found myself melting into his touch, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“You like watching me lose, is that it?” He whispers harshly, in between kisses. I can feel the anger, the lust and passion, all rolling into one as his lips meet mine, over and over again, creating the sweetest of sensations that wracked my whole body.
“Mm. Not just you losing. You losing because you’re distracted. Because of me.” I say, my tone a bit dazed and breathy from the intensity he was putting me through.
“Can you blame me?” He murmurs, his lips now trailing down my neck, paying close mind to a particular spot on the side that left my knees weak. “You wear this dress and expect me to not take my eyes off of you?”
His hot breath grazes over my skin and I can feel myself shiver. I’m completely overwhelmed by him. The feel of his hands caressing the small of my back and waist, his smell of his cologne wafting around me. I can only breathe unsteadily, and hold onto him, a needy whimper slipping past my lips.
“Shh. You’re okay. I got you.” He murmurs. His tone was sweet, soothing, but his actions were anything but, as his fingers slipped around to find the zipper on my dress.
In an instant, his mouth was finally all over my breasts, his mouth leaving a few marks on the expanse of my chest before his tongue began to sweep over my nipples, swirling around the raised bud, leaving me grappling to his shoulders, as more moans poured out from within me.
“You like that?” He breathes against my skin, and I nod, frantically. I’d never expected to go this weak, but he was so much more skilled with his mouth than I’d ever expected.
“Please. Keep going.” I moan, and I can feel his hands on my thighs, urging me into his arms. I comply, and can feel myself be lifted to the bathroom counter, his hands squeezing the fat of my hips before dropping to his knees. His fingers looped around my underwear, and I attempted to move in a way that would aid him in their removal. As soon as they were off, he stuffed them into his pocket, and moved to lift my dress up, his face disappearing into my now spread legs.
And suddenly he was everywhere, tongue swiping over my clit in rapid motions, flicking against me in a way that had me immediately squeezing my thighs around his face, to which Spencer responded by pushing them apart, leaving me shaking.
“Oh god, Spencer. Oh-” I moan, over and over again, my hand gripping onto the strands of his hair. My eyes squeeze shut as I feel my orgasm rapidly approaching, my legs trembling more than ever.
“Spencer- I’m gonna-” I groan out, my grip tightening, and I look down, watching him devour me with so much precision and focus, the same I’d seen during his playing all night. I watched as his eyes met mine, his lips sucking around my clit and in a fit of moans, I found myself releasing all over his tongue, my body shuddering as he worked me through my orgasm, moaning against my core.
He rose from his knees and planted a long, deep kiss on my lips, and I moaned as I tasted myself on him. My hands started to go for his belt, desperate to feel this man inside me. As soon as his cock was freed from the confines of his briefs, I guided him towards my entrance, gasping as I felt him push into me, immediately filling me up. I breathed in sharply from the pleasure of the sensation, my eyes screwing shut before opening them to see his eyes staring back at me. He gave me a moment to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort, but there was none, only the carnal desperation I felt for this man. I nodded to let him know I was ready, and suddenly, like a man possessed, he began to jut his hips towards mine, causing me to whimper and dig my nails into his back.
He moaned as he slammed into me, over and over again, while his mouth kissed at my neck, at my jaw, my lips, murmuring my praises over and over again.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans, my hips firmly gripped by his large hands, keeping me from slipping off the counter. “And that dress. Fuck. God, I want you.”
I nod, too overwhelmed with pleasure to even speak, rather opting to moan his name and nod furiously.
He kept one hand on my hip, while the other trailed down to where we were joined, and began to rub fast, hard circles over my already sensitive bud, the action causing me to gasp out and open my eyes, letting him know that my second release of the night was inevitable.
“You wanna cum, pretty girl?” He mumbles, keeping his voice low and his fingers diligent on my clit.
“Please,” I sob out, my voice breaking with just how much I needed this right now. How much I needed him.
“Come for me.” He murmurs, and as if under a spell, I do, coming undone rapidly in his grasp, my head falling against his shoulder as he continues the movement of his hips until I feel him still, and then spill into me, his breath heavy and chest heaving.
I pull back, my forehead meeting his as he stares at me in a bit of a trance, our breaths mingling as we both came down from what had just happened.
“I think.. you should probably cover up.. after that.” He murmurs, grinning a bit at the wide array of marks he’d just left on my neck and chest, undeniably exposing us.
“Right you are.” I giggle back, leaning in for another kiss. This time sweeter, softer.
I was definitely wearing this dress again for him.
hello!! oh my god!! it has been so long since i've posted a fic. finals are over! i am free! i promise we will be back to a more normal schedule now (can i do weekly fics? who knows. i'll try). as usual, thank you for any and all reblogs, likes and comments. it's been a long time since i've even thought about writing, so i hope this is up to everyone's standards. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins office party challenge. so, you know. look at the other fics there too! sorry for clearly not knowing anything about card games. also also, just a fun fact. i envisioned readers dress being meredith grey's prom dress from s2ep27.. hehe. okay, i've already talked enough. thank you thank you thank you for reading and supporting!!!
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds smut#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds self insert#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Too many nights ((G)I-dle Yuqi)
The way you see it, even if the signs were right in front of you all along—written in bright, colorful signposts with the largest text imaginable—you’d still be hurling yourself off that cliff.
Yuqi knows this too—you think she does.
At the very least, she looks convincing enough that she feigns innocence on the matter, and she is. It's mainly a you problem. She doesn’t know you much other than being the sweet, quiet guy who was her roommate in college and nothing else.
And that’s probably the reason why she’s standing in front of your newly minted apartment on a random Monday.
—————
You’re waiting for her to pick her bags off the floor and leave. You told her to leave three times. Threaten to call security on her. She doesn’t budge. Instead, she stares. Stubborn, obstinate, unyielding.
“Please, give me one opportunity. Please let me explain myself.” Yuqi finally breaks her silence, eyes wide, glinting with tears, pleading.
“Shoot.”
She looks down, unable to see you eye to eye, her hands running through the pockets of her skirt. “You’re right. I’ve taken your kindness for granted, and I’m sorry. I really am.”
Pausing, you’ve never heard her sound this quiet, this personal. “I never truly appreciated you till I was home with my parents. I should have focused more on studying than going out and having fun. Now look. They’re pissed that I’m being a bum at home instead of working, so they kicked me out.”
She proves your theory to be true. She has no reason to be here unless you bail her out of trouble again.
“But I can’t find one job that I like. Working a 9-5 or any regular cashier job seems so boring, you know what I mean? Doesn’t feel like my type of thing to do,” she continues, lightly kicking the suitcases with her feet. “My friends are all busy, so I had no one to lean on. Then I remembered you! So here I am.”
At least it was nice seeing Yuqi act mature for at least three minutes before reverting to her usual spry, childlike personality.
“Okay? Well that’s on you for being lazy, and I can’t help with that. Sorry to hear you got kicked out, but I have nothing to offer you. It was great seeing you, though. Good luck with that job.”
You try closing the door, but she stops it with her foot. Peeking through the narrow space, you find Yuqi persistent, unrelenting. “Wait. Hear me out for a second, I said I didn’t wanna be your roommate.”
“No, Yuqi. Just go—”
“I really need you right now. I’ve already applied to like five different companies on public wifi, it’s so fucking slow and I doubt they even got my email. I just need a place to stay for like a month. Trust me, I’ll get a job and when I get paid, I’ll spend it on finding my own apartment! Just give me this one time.”
You swear you’ve never heard Yuqi this desperate, this loud. Your neighbors are probably ringing up security right now, maybe the owner too.
“Okay, okay. Just calm down for a minute, will you? Our neighbors are listening.” You open the door lightly and Yuqi’s eyes light up. You didn’t even say yes, but it might as well be a confirmation to her.
“You promise? You’re actually working on a job application?” you ask, doubtful about her claim.
“Of course.” Yuqi shows her phone, presents pdf files of multiple application letters to the very places she doesn’t want to work. Some fastfood chains, at convenience stores, and mall outlets. “None of them have replied back, so—I’m still trying to apply to more places, but I’m almost out of data on my plan and I don’t wanna spend another night inside my car. Just give me this one thing? Okay?”
Seeing the evidence firsthand, you can’t help but be impressed. If you had any spine, you’d contemplate the proposal more, give it some time to mellow out, maybe let her elaborate some terms of agreement. But in a moment of weakness, you yield right away. What’s one month of Yuqi gonna do to you?
“All right, fine. I’ll let you stay—”
“I owe you one, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Yuqi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when she brings her suitcases into your apartment at record speed. She gives you a peck on the cheek in appreciation twice, one for each pair of suitcases she shuffles in.
You can only sigh in response before closing the door.
—————
Before Yuqi gets comfortable in her new place, you sit her down on the living room couch to discuss house rules. This isn’t like college, where you share a dorm together, split the bill and have personal spaces. While you don’t own the apartment, you make one thing very clear: she’s bound to you and whatever rules you impose on her.
“Let’s make one thing and one thing clear: you break any of my rules, you’re outta here. I don’t care if you explain yourself, you’re gone. Understood?”
“Right.” Yuqi’s trembling with excitement and impatience, nodding erratically, kicking her legs up, goading you into rushing through everything so she can lay on an actual bed.
You take a moment to analyze her suitcases in the middle of the room. Facing her, you ask cautiously, “Tell me you didn’t bring your—”
“Yep!” She responds almost immediately, thrilled to answer your question, as if it were muscle memory. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”
And there goes your supposed rule one. Of course she brought her entire dorm room decor along. Knowing her, they’re likely encompassing two of her suitcases.
“Yeah, no. My landlord is quite strict about decor, so you can’t put them up,” you tell her bluntly; there’s no getting around his rule, even if your roles were swapped.
She frowns, visibly devastated, probably more hurt than being kicked out by her family. It’s the end of the world, but she won’t give in. If there’s even a slight possibility she can have her way, she will force herself through. “Please? Even just my room—”
“Not a chance. It’s just a general rule here, sorry.” You make sure to shut her down immediately. “I didn’t make that rule, anyway. Blame the owner.”
Yuqi acquiesces. She groans with displeasure, crossing her arms, acting bratty. No act can convince you to change your mind.
“Right. Now actual ground rules. This isn’t a dorm so you can’t just freeload as much as you want. Now I understand you're still working on that job application, so all I’m asking is just for you not to be completely messy, got it? So don’t eat my leftovers without asking, don’t go out to clubs and ask me to drive you home when you’re drunk, none of that. If you’re drunk, sleep outside the room. I don’t want to clean up vomit on the carpets.”
Surprisingly, Yuqi agrees without complaint. You’re unsure whether she’s nodding so she can settle in, or if she actually understood every single word.
“I seriously hope you’re working on that job—”
“Don’t worry! Just give me the wifi password and I’ll be set.” Yuqi can’t help but interrupt you every single time, and to her credit, it’s effective. She does seem dead set on taking this opportunity to redeem herself, and it’s a convincing act. As insufferable as she can be at times, you want to see her succeed. You want to see her win.
You jot down the wifi password on an extremely thin sheet of paper and place it on the table before her. Before walking away, you ask her, “You need me to help with your belongings? I’ll get the guest room ready while you make yourself comfort—”
“Nah, it’s fine!” Yuqi’s typing on her phone, not even shooting you a look in your direction. “I’ll get it sorted out, don’t worry! Just pretend I’m not here.”
To her credit, she does get her belongings sorted out. By evening, she moves into a cleared out storage room that’s now her designated bedroom. Words are hardly exchanged other than simple pleasantries and greetings. You ask her if she had dinner, she says yes. She doesn’t take anything from the fridge other than some water. There’s a knock on the door; she answers and comes back with a package of chinese food. She offers to share some, but you modestly decline.
You never ate together when you shared a dorm in college. She would eat her inside her bedroom or after you already cleaned up. At times, she’d come back to the dorm late and you wouldn’t see her till the following day. You share the same space but you have vastly different lives. The feeling is familiar, but the setting is new: having dinner under the low light, uncertain about your futures.
This feels like your first day together all over again.
—————
The first night with Yuqi is a quiet affair. There’s hardly any commotion. An unusual scene. She finishes her food ahead of you then retreats into her bedroom without uttering a single word.
When you wake up the next morning, Yuqi is already at the dining table. Browsing her laptop, coffee in hand, seemingly focused on that next job application. She doesn’t even greet you or acknowledge your existence; she’s in her own world, but in a good way.
“Morning,” you quietly say, trying to grab her attention, but it falls on deaf ears.
“You off to work?” she asks, preceded by a mouse click while you pour onto your mug. Her attention remains glued to the screen, paying you no heed.
“Kind of?” You take a seat opposite Yuqi’s side on the table. “I work here. Or should I say: this is my workplace.”
“Wow. I wish I could work from home. Would be nice,” she replies between mouse clicks and keyboard taps.
You take a light sip of your coffee. “What course did you take again?”
“Umm—” Yuqi slumps back in her chair, “I think it was medicine? I wanted to become a guitarist and have my own band, but my parents wanted me to become a doctor. And I don’t wanna ruin my handwriting, so—”
“Don’t you have a band with your friends? The one with—”
“Yeah that dream died two years ago.” Yuqi’s eyes squint, brows furrowing, running through every word slightly faster than normal. “And I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Not even a little—”
“No.” She faces you with a surprisingly cold glare, a sight you’ve never seen before. “They can just fuck off—those goddamn bitches.”
You find yourself unable to move the conversation forward after her abrupt turn. It’s probably for the best; you hardly paid any attention to Yuqi’s life to be entitled to a substantial explanation.
The rest of the hour goes by in deafening, awkward silence. Here’s Yuqi, this ball of energy whose life primarily revolves around partying and getting rowdy, calmly clicking on the touchpad and typing a few words every now and then in search of a way to fund her addiction. You can tell from her sullen expression just how deprived she is of that high—how incomplete she feels without the rush of adrenaline, ecstasy, and alcohol flowing through her veins. It’s impressive how it takes someone to hit rock bottom to turn their life around, how all this could have been avoided with a few decisions.
Still, it’s never too late for someone like her, and as long as she holds up her end of the deal, i.e. leave you for good after this, you’ll actively root for her success.
—————
“Fucking hell, dude,” sighs Yuqi, slamming the panel of her laptop hard, her fist narrowing missing the edge of the table. While you’ve made yourself comfortable at your usual workplace, a spacious office desk on the other side of the living room, you’re preoccupied scanning through numerous documents and emails your boss sent you. A look at the bottom right of the screen tells you it’s half past lunch. Then your stomach grumbles, as if the clock wasn’t enough of a reminder.
“Gonna make lunch,” you say to a vexed Yuqi, who’s stretching her legs against the table and her arms to the ceiling, body likely aching from her hunched position. “You good?”
“Yep.” Her tone perfectly toes the line between sincerity and sarcasm. “Got three rejections—no, four, actually. The last one was sent minutes ago.”
You’re not sure how to respond.
“Oof.”
You couldn’t relate to her even if you tried. Of the two applications you sent, your current job is the one that gave you the freedom and flexibility to work from home, even if it paid less than the other. That was six months ago; finding job opportunities has become way harder, or so you’ve heard from your other unemployed peers from college.
“Finding a job sucks,” says Yuqi, stating the obvious. She finally gets up from her chair, brings her laptop back into her bedroom to charge before reemerging with a hairpin wrapped around her knuckles, tying it around her loose red hair. “So, what’s for lunch?”
“Meatloaf and eggs,” you reply, firing up the stove as you grab pans from beneath the sink. “Not sure if you’ll like it, though.”
She lifts her eyebrows, intrigued, but mostly unbothered. She’ll eat anything as long as it isn’t fast food or from the convenience store, and she doesn’t have the gall to complain, anyway, as your roommate.
—————
“So, how’s the job hunting going?” you ask her right as the sun descends over your apartment windows. You have your schedule down to a science, finishing all intended projects and goals when neighboring buildings’ lights open. Weekdays can’t be anymore mundane and monotonous, but you get the job done, you’re paid handsomely, and you have time for your other hobbies.
Meanwhile, Yuqi looks like she doesn’t want to stare at a computer screen for a week, maybe a month. She looks worse off than she did in the morning. It’s evident in her clothes, her hair, her face: frazzled and messy. A perfect representation of her state.
“What do you think?” she replies, never sounding so heated, so frustrated. A look at her screen shows a new rejection letter, piled between several others, already read. Each one with different reasons, different ways to hurt, but with the same intent: we appreciate your interest, but we have chosen a different candidate from a very competitive pool—we don’t think you fulfill our qualifications—we’re looking for someone with more experience—we wish you the best in your future endeavors. You’ve noticed she tends to click back and forth between each letter, as if to torture herself further.
“I think you should put that laptop away. Try again tomorrow,” you tell her, closing the panel while she’s scrolling, stealing her attention. She readjusts her glasses, blinking rapidly, annoyed at your little intervention. “I’m going for a walk. You should join me.”
“And what if I don’t?” she asks, threatening to pull her laptop away from your fingers.
“Good luck going out when I have the room key then.”
“I don’t have my running shoes,” she replies, and she’s telling the truth; she only brought one pair of slippers with her, the rest being colorful sets of boots and expensive high heels.
“Then grab some from my closet and wash up. You’ll look stupid if you go out in those silly boots.”
—————
At first, you believe she had declined the offer; you had already left the building when Yuqi caught up to you moments later, huffing and puffing from exhaustion. Hey, maybe she could have been a great track and field athlete if she put her mind to it.
You can’t help but make a little comment. “Thought you weren’t going to go out.”
That was for all the times she’d make similar remarks to you back in college. They never really bothered you; you were never a man of high morals and upstanding, but at least you had your priorities sorted out, unlike Yuqi.
Yuqi playfully counters your rib, shooting you a disparaging stare. “Dude. I’m doing you a favor by doing this.”
“Elaborate.” You laugh.
“You never went out whenever I asked you. You always said no to parties.”
“And for good reason. Look at us now.”
If you wanted to, you’d be harsher. You have years of dirty laundry and grievances to air out, but this is as concise and as restrained as you can express them without getting accused of attempted murder. Besides, you can’t keep a straight face the longer you look at her. She clearly stands out in a rather dreary and dull crowd, and it isn’t the red hair as bright as the sun, it's her look—or lack thereof. Your oversized hoodie, your running shoes mixed with her pajamas, the lack of bra—it’s obvious she only did the bare minimum to look decent in a public setting, and yet she fits in all of them like a glove.
“Where are we going, anyway? Can it be a bar? I hope it’s a bar.”
The first thing she wants to look for once outside is a place to drink. Of course. It’s hardly a surprise to you or anyone at this point.
“Where’s your car anyway?” you question back.
“I dunno. Could be in the carpark, could have been impounded. I don’t remember, and I don’t really care. It smells like dogshit, anyway, cause I’ve been living in it for the past three weeks.”
Yuqi talks with a fine blend of fast and sardonic, evidently scarred from all her ordeals with that car. She’s never experienced living outside her glass castle until now, and it shows. She’s dragging her feet with every step following you close behind, trying to soak in the scenery around her. Street lights, joggers, buskers, friends, and partners of every sort, people that you actually know and recognize. It’s all foreign in her eyes. All she knows are strobe lights, loud music, drinks, and rowdy crowds.
“So, like, do you just go on a walk every single day or you only do this because I’m your roommate?” she wonders, her gaze lingering at a passing woman jogger that catches her eye. Jumping to conclusions, she adds, “Are you telling me to touch grass? As if I hadn’t been doing that for weeks?”
You turn around and notice her distant stare, still fixated on that woman, ruminating the prospect of leaving you for her instead. “I don’t think getting blacked out drunk and vomiting in your car counts as touching grass.”
“How do you even know that?” Yuqi faces you, provoked by your comment, pouting. “You hardly attend parties, even when I invited you. You always turned them down.”
“Word gets around fast. I thought you already knew that.”
If she could, she’d grab you by the throat and strangle you to death or rip you in half. It stings. She questions whether your blunt, matter-of-fact delivery makes the statement ten times more scathing. Then she wonders if she made a mistake, dressing up and going after you, when you’ll just be making her regret her life decisions like her parents did. You hardly cared back then, so why now?
“Can we just go to a bar? You’re being annoying.” Yuqi stares into the distance, intentionally averting her gaze away from you.
“If you have the money, then sure, let’s go for it.” You know she has no leverage or power; she can only afford fast food and a month’s worth of groceries and daily necessities. It pains her to make a willing decision to pass on alcohol and avoid bars and parties. She’s down horrendously, but she won’t directly confess her own fatal flaw.
It takes everything within her not to slap you square in the face.
And you can play this game all night long until she folds. You can stand there, argue, and debate with Yuqi till she runs out of excuses and complaints. Four years of pent up material to unload onto her, make a scene in public and turn her into an example about not wasting one’s life away. You can go further, you promise.
Instead, you both settle down in a cafe on the other side of the park as a compromise.
The place is more suited to Yuqi’s style: lively crowd, comfortable ambience, all the caffeine and sugar as a proxy to her raging alcohol addiction. Most importantly, she won’t pay for shit. You don’t even end up drinking your own order; she does it on your behalf. You settle for a tiny cup of tap water instead. In a way, she’s acting like a needy dog, desperate for attention without concern for anything else that doesn’t involve her.
“Fucking hell, I never knew I needed this,” she echoes, sipping up the last quarter of your coffee, glancing at the menu over the counter, itching for another. She’s keen on paying from her pocket this time; she recognizes you won’t give her another freebie. “This shit tastes so good.”
You can only shake your head, not even remotely trying to hide your frustration toward her. Her obliviousness is kind of cute in a way, making her look a bit sympathetic.
“Maybe I should just work here,” she says, her eyes moving in every direction, her attention taken by something shiny every five seconds. Plenty of action happens at night: groups entering and exiting, the pervasive scent of fresh coffee brewing in real time, and plenty of girls to ogle at. In particular, there’s a waitress with a cherry tattoo on her neck that’s captured her interest. She can’t help but point her out to you, grinning widely at her. “See that waitress? She’s kinda cute.”
“Uh-huh.” You’re not really paying attention; you’re there mainly for the free wifi and a snack, not to flirt. Luckily for you both, the waitress is preoccupied with meeting high customer demands to notice. “Good idea, maybe you should apply here.”
The longer you stay inside the cafe premises, the more Yuqi becomes less inclined to leave. You end up having dinner, a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches from the snack menu. On her end, four cups of coffee strewn on the table, all drank by her. If this was some ploy to make you pay for free drinks, it worked to a tee. Anything to avoid engaging you in a serious conversation.
The opportunity never presents itself. Soon, the cafe becomes dimmer and muted. Staff are closing off sections, clearing trays, and cleaning up empty tables. Since you entered the cafe, she has not made a move on the waitress at all, even when you’ve tried pushing her over the cliff numerous times. Her shift is close to done, ready to check out for the day. One more opening. Still, Yuqi watches her intently, but can’t find the strength to stand, let alone pull the trigger.
“Well? I thought you were gonna ask her out or something.” You take a look around and come to a grim realization: that you’re the only two customers left.
“I—I don’t think I wanna do it now.” Yuqi turns around, playfully grinning, but rushing through her words. “Maybe when I get the job here. Maybe.”
You can only react in quiet disbelief to how this was all just a huge waste of time—and money.
“Fucking—” you sputter before masking the rest of your response, groaning as you rise from your seat, leaving.
After two days, your main observation is that Yuqi hasn’t changed much. If at all.
—————
The rest of the week follows a similar structure. It’s comforting; it’s the kind of monotony you’ve acquainted yourself in ever since having your own apartment. Yuqi’s always up before you, an hour in advance, she’ll tell you. At her usual spot around the dining table, on her laptop, coffee in hand. You stop asking for updates after the third day; you’re certain she’ll figure things out. Your mindfulness and curiosity get the better of you, peeking through the screen on occasion, only to find the same thing. One rejection after another, mixed in with a new application letter in between. From the outside looking in, it’s as if some divine force doesn’t want her to get that job.
In the evenings, you go for your usual walks. Yuqi joins you out of the apartment building, but instead of following, she separates and heads the other way. She’s wearing her own earphones and your hoodie, something she’ll end up keeping. The few times you run across each other, she's holding some drink in her hand, usually the coffee from the cafe you spent time with her in, her hoodie pooling with sweat all over. No pleasantries, you mind your own business till you return home.
It isn’t until two weeks after she’s moved in that you extend an invitation: a visit to a newly opened lounge on the other side of town. You preface the invite saying you only knew about the place because it had opened a month ago, and had mostly forgotten about it until you remembered her. She’s doing well for herself, so you might as well reward her for her efforts, even if it hasn’t gone anywhere. And it isn’t Yuqi without asking for some kind of favor; in this case, taking a ride in your car because hers has been impounded by the police. You’re not even surprised that she’s too lazy to reclaim it herself.
Your friend says the lounge is newly opened, but once inside, you’re uncertain about her claim. Whether it's by design or her being a complete liar, grimy, poorly lit, in the vein of all those underground clubs you had seen in action movies where a shootout or police raid occurs. Simply put, there isn’t anywhere pretty to look at, and you feel icky just by being here.
To Yuqi, it’s a fantasyland: it’s where she’s meant to be all along. She’s so overjoyed to be there.
“It’s you!” calls a familiar voice; you turn and find a friendly face over the counter waving to you. You quietly leave Yuqi to herself and approach the bartender, who just so happens to be the owner. “I never thought you’d come and visit! It’s great to see you.”
“Only doing this for a friend, Minnie,” you silently tell her, pointing your finger at your invited guest, the sole reason you’d ever be here. She recognizes her immediately and understands.
“Yuqi, huh?” She looks intrigued, her gaze lingering at the girl. A subtle grin is forming on her face. “Never thought the two of you would be an item like that, considering she’s a party animal and you’re—”
“No—no—don’t get it twisted,” you interrupt, frantically trying to clear up any presumption. There’s no chance in hell you will ever find yourself attached to Yuqi romantically, not even a little. “It’s—a long story.”
“Do tell.” Minnie smirks, teasing, alluring. She looks the part of a bar owner, all right; dark eyelashes and shadowy lipstick matching her pitch black hair. Not to mention her slim dress perfectly hugging her tight frame, showing enough cleavage to draw attention. As a friendly gesture, she gives you a wine glass and pours a drink on it. “We’ve got all the time in the world and all the drinks you need. All in house since you’re a friend.”
So you oblige yourself to a tiny sip. The place is surprisingly quiet and empty, even though it’s the weekend, with lo-fi music playing through the speakers as the only form of background noise. Minnie doesn’t have much on her plate. She can lean on the desk and listen to you all night long.
“So, two weeks ago, Yuqi moved into my place trying to look for a job,” you tell Minnie before taking another sip. Both of you take quick glances at Yuqi, seemingly having the time of her life, scaring off the sole patron by the billiards table. “And I was wondering if you can get her a job here. She’s been rejected from every company she applied for. I know she doesn’t want to work a nine-to-five, and I suddenly remembered this place.”
Minnie raises a curious eyebrow, brushing small strands of hair covering her ear. “I see.” Looking past you, she notices Yuqi, now at the karaoke, amused by her voice and energy. You follow along and watch too, wincing at her talent, caught completely by surprise. You can feel the passion and emotion from her rather honeyed, deep singing voice, as well as her natural charisma while performing.
“Damn. She sounds really good. Borderline natural at it.” Minnie’s in awe of Yuqi’s abilities, the sort of reaction that pushes buttons, steals the show. “Wasn’t she in a band? I know she played guitar.”
“She said it doesn’t exist anymore, won’t tell me what happened.”
Even in the midst of conversation, Yuqi’s voice manages to snatch away your focus. She’s an extremely powerful singer—a natural, as Minnie said. Her voice is overpowering the background music with little difficulty. There’s little need to watch when her vocals can easily capture your attention all the same.
Facing you again, Minnie replies, clasping her hands together, “How about she perform by herself?” she suggests.
You meet her eye to eye at the drop of the notion, curious.
“What do you mean?” You take another sip.
“We have an open mic night next weekend, and we could use talent to liven up the place. She sounds perfect for that kind of gig. Who knows? Maybe she can be a resident singer if the cards are right.” Minnie smiles through every word, recognizing Yuqi’s talent and the untapped potential she has. All she needs is a platform to showcase her skill properly. And taking another glance at her, you see that too. She has the passion and the vocals to croon a live audience.
“I’ll tell her,” you say, turning to Minnie again. Yuqi has finished performing and is on her way over to the bar. Your conversation breaks off as the two women greet each other with an exchange of kisses on the cheek.
“Great place you got here girl,” Yuqi tells Minnie, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll be popping by often if you don’t mind.”
“Thanks. I could use some company on the weekdays, if I’m being honest.” Minnie hands Yuqi her own wine-filled glass, as well as a complimentary bottle. She makes sure not to “Take it, it’s on the house.”
“God, this is why I love you so fucking much.” Yuqi drinks up the whole glass in one swig, and immediately pours some from the complimentary bottle. Minnie can’t help but shake her head with a little smile, knowing this is still the same Yuqi she’s acquainted with since college. A rose-tinted view of days gone by.
The two women spend the rest of the time catching up. With how much they talk, it would be a safe assumption to think that these are two long lost friends who haven’t spoken in years. Then the conversation goes on and on, revealing more details than you should probably know: exchanged private messages as recent as last night, Yuqi’s intentions to visit the lounge sooner before present circumstances got in the way, and how she ended up in your apartment. As a listener and side character in her story, it’s a part you quite frankly never wanted, let alone be involved in under any capacity. You make sure to add your point of view in the narrative and clear every question. Whenever you chime in, they laugh heartily. It’s a mess, and they’re unapologetically quirky, never failing to make fun of you at times.
Despite everything, the topic is never brought up: the upcoming open mic night, her performance, her natural talent. You were planning to shoehorn the idea, but one too many drinks later, the conversation and opportunity eventually slips away. Again.
Yuqi can hardly stand on her own two feet when she finally decides it's time to leave. It’s two in the morning when you guide her back to your car, with her drunk out of her mind and slipping into unconsciousness. Minnie assists you, making it even more embarrassing. Even when she’s so inebriated that she can barely move a muscle, she says she wants another round, slipping back into her old ways.
You escort Yuqi back to your apartment, setting her down on her bed and promising yourself that you’ll tell her about Minnie’s offer when she’s sober in the morning.
Except it’s the one fucking day in the month where your job calls you into an actual office for a meeting. Despite that, Yuqi is not at her usual spot in the living room the next morning (unsurprisingly), so you leave food on the table for when she eventually wakes up.
—————
Returning late in the afternoon, you find a note from Yuqi on the outside door of your apartment, stamped by strawberry lipstick, simply reading:
> Not gonna be around till tomorrow. Have something urgent to attend to - XOXO, song yuqi
Sure enough, one brief tour of the apartment and Yuqi is nowhere to be seen. Her room remains untouched: the same, colorful space it’s always been, with most of her clothes and belongings still strewn everywhere on the floor. You don’t even mind the stickers and posters plastered all over the walls; she was gonna break that rule regardless. Typical, but expected. At least you know she hasn’t completely left yet.
Deep down, it’s the first time in a while that your apartment feels a lot smaller—and lonelier. It’s not that you have any sentimental attachment to Yuqi—not in the slightest—but her presence clearly livens up the place. The difference without her around is night and day. Even when your interactions are limited to a minimum, the brief moments you interact make living by yourself a bit more tolerable.
So you preoccupy your mind with your usual schedule: a walk in the park, then dinner by yourself. But these intrusive thoughts grow worse and worse. You’re not in your pajamas at the usual hour, her absence is keeping you up at night, and waiting for her to walk through that door is about as brutal as federal punishment.
You end up driving to Minnie’s bar, inquiring about Yuqi’s whereabouts. She says she hasn’t been around, and she hasn’t exchanged messages with her since last night. Then she asks about open mic night; you tell her about the inconvenience, about the note on your door, which is why you’re there. Good effort, but she ultimately gives you nothing.
“You should stay here a while, who knows? I can message Yuqi you’ve been looking for her,” says Minnie, her smile as welcoming as it’s ever been. “Why not have a drink in the meantime?”
“Hmm.” You entertain the thought, but she promised to return tomorrow, and perhaps you’re overthinking it; you just have to let it play out. “No thanks.” As a distraction you’re watching another girl at the karaoke machine. She has distinctively pink hair, has similar energy and passion for singing, except her voice is much higher, more nasally. All she does is remind you of Yuqi, but she’s nowhere close—in appearance and in ability. “She promised to be back tomorrow. Maybe I should take her word for it and go home.”
A pour of wine on the glass is followed by her siren-like whisper. With her hand caressing your shoulder, she mutters, “So—you like her. You like Song Yuqi.”
You raise an eyebrow, taken aback by her statement. Facing Minnie, you reply, “What? No way. I don’t like Yuqi at all. I’m just concerned she might have disappeared, that’s all.”
“Cap.” Minnie smirks, murmurs to your other ear. “You like her. Actually, you love her. You just won’t admit it.”
“And what makes you say that?”
“The fact you look so distressed wondering where she is. I mean—just look at you.” Her voice is slow, delicate, each word delivered with profound emphasis. She flickers a lighter, then directs the cigarette in her mouth for a puff. “Would someone who doesn’t like her worry like this?”
“I mean—I’m just trying to help her get back on her feet,” you tell her, and Minnie can only chuckle in response. Puff more smoke. In her eyes, you’re not doing yourself any favors. Your words have no weight to them. It’s the same old same old most women like her hear dozens of times. I’m not into her, says the guy who’s showing an alarming level of concern towards said girl. Something she’s all too familiar with. “You know? Just looking out for a friend, that kinda thing.”
Minnie wishes she can hold up a mirror against you now to prove her point. In a place meant for everyone to relax and ease themselves, you look tumid, on the verge of a historical crash out. She smirks into her next smoke, shaking her head, scrolling through her phone. “Sure. I believe you,” she remarks, and there’s no effort made to hide the sarcasm in any capacity.
That piece of cigar looks quite appealing right now. She sells smoking like she sells the off shoulder dress draping her defined figure: exceptionally well, like she’s meant for it.
Later in the night—you’re unsure whether it’s still today or tomorrow—Minnie suddenly approaches you with a shift in enthusiasm, as seen through her grin: “You should probably head home. Unless you want to stay the night waiting for someone who won’t be here in the morning.”
“She’s back already?” You manage to decipher the hint right away.
She nods, can’t help herself from beaming continuously. No effort to lie or maintain the mystery further. “I guess you’re not as stupid as I thought you’d be.”
Running up the stairs in a hurry, you respond to her little jab with a shout, “And you owe me one for that. Actually—no, I owe you one!”
Unknowingly, Yuqi’s little mannerisms are starting to reflect in you, too.
Sure enough, you’re home within a matter of minutes. Empty streets, dead nightlife on a weekday, the loudest thing heard for miles is the roar of your car’s engine and the elevator headed up to your apartment floor. Any other time you’d burst through that door like an officer with an arrest warrant, but it’s almost three in the morning, and the last thing you want to be is apprehended yourself after a noise complaint.
The place remains as unchanged as you had left it: completely dark, save for one light over the kitchen. It’s quiet, eerily silent—until you hear airy, soft noises in the distance. Room by room, you carefully inspect where the sound is coming from, only to find nothing at all.
There’s only one place left to check, and it happens to be the Yuqi’s bedroom. A room you remember being empty. As you approach the sole unopened door, you notice the faint sound growing in pitch. Hushed words from a familiar tone.
“Fuck—oh fuck—”
You press an ear against the door frame. She sounds clearer. Way more explicit. Vivid.
“So—so—good—fuck yes—”
There’s a subtle creaking sound that accompanies her singsong tone almost perfectly. Nothing is left open for interpretation; Yuqi is feeling herself. Feeling a satisfaction that only comes from something slick, something rough, something good.
As much as you want to respect her space, her moment in the dark, you can’t help yourself. She sounds so good, so gratifying to the ears, it’s making you a little hot and flustered, much to your own guilt and shame. You don’t care about the consequences; you’ll allow yourself one little look then pretend it never happened. At best, she’s too preoccupied with her own bliss to notice, and at worst, it’ll be one awkward conversation starter in the morning.
“Oh, oh God—you feel really good baby—just like that—”
It’s as if she’s reading your mind, understanding your intentions. The way she moans your name like an invitation—something you never thought you would hear or even consider—how it’s naturally delivered from her sweet, intoxicating voice. You’re doing yourself a disservice by listening through the door.
There’s no better opportunity than now.
With your heart racing against your chest, every nerve in your muscles tense up as it desperately opens the door, slowly and as quietly as humanly possible. Miraculously, you go completely unnoticed. Even as light from the living room slowly penetrates through Yuqi’s bedroom, it fails to cover what really matters: the bed and Yuqi herself.
Nevertheless, the sight that welcomes you is one to behold, one worth looking at with complete awe.
Yuqi’s body is splayed out on the bed. Her legs are spread wide, a couple of her fingers aggressively rubbing against her exposed clit, and there’s a glossy sheen coating the sheets before her soaking wet core. Her clothes are, unsurprisingly, scattered all over the floor, along with a pair of consumed alcohol bottles. She’s completely bare for your eyes to see. Nothing is left to your imagination. More importantly, she looks so fucking hot. Your heart is racing like never before, and the scene has your pants in a twist.
Her other hand runs up and down her lithe frame, then squeezes her own breast. She lets out this sharp mewl, grinding her hips against air. Her jaw slacks wide. Her eyes shut tight. Her back arches. Waves of self-induced pleasure send shockwaves through every fiber of her being, her moans growing more and more erratic.
“Fucking give it to me—I love this cock so fucking much—”
It’s about as pornographic and explicit as it gets. It riles you up in an uncomfortable way; you end up unzipping your pants to free your growing erection, but nothing happens beyond that. It feels wrong. It is wrong, but you can’t muster up the strength to look away, let alone walk away. You want to see how it ends. How she cums.
She wraps a hand around her own throat, while her knees are planted upright with her feet firmly gripped on the sheets. There's a noticeable tone change in her whines, as if simulating the act. Yet, the words flow from her lips seamlessly. “I’m so close—so, so close—”
The cackle she makes after is mortifying. Here’s this girl, who you had zero attraction prior to tonight, shamelessly declaring how she’s going to cum, how good your cock feels inside her—without either of the two even happening to begin with. The fact she likes you is the least shocking revelation in itself. A reminder: you only had three meaningful conversations with her since she moved in—two if you consider how blackout drunk she was the night before, and even if you go all the way back to your college days, you can count them with your fingers alone.
“Fucking—cumming—oh my God—”
Yuqi strains her knees and loosens her grip on the sheets as she lets the pleasure wash over. Clear liquid gushes past her throbbing, relentless fingers and spills onto the linen. A guttural, deep moan fills the bedroom as she slumps her body flat on the mattress, her energy completely depleted, her thoughts filled with nothing but orgasmic bliss. Her coated hands rest on her bare waist, her tummy, leaving viscous sheen on her creamy pale skin.
When she isn’t screaming your name or touching herself to the thought of you, Yuqi, at her barest, looks so gorgeous like this. Flaws and all.
Albeit brief, it’s quite the show to more than satisfy your thirst for her. You remember your uninvited presence in this room and where you stand in this relationship. That she’s only a tenant—an acquaintance at best—and nothing more. Any other person and situation would already send you damning to hell.
So you quietly leave, gather your bearings, hoping her haze doesn’t clear before she is made aware of your presence, but you hear a faint whisper right as you close the door, clearer than any whine of pleasure:
“Hey.”
Part of you wants to ignore her, pretend this is all a huge misunderstanding and feign ignorance. Then you hear her soft, alluring voice calling your name and it’s what ultimately folds you:
“W-what time is it?”
Again, you consider the choice of entertaining her question or leaving her dry. She’ll probably fall asleep shortly after and forget these few moments. You tell her it’s three in the morning, hoping she dozes off.
She doesn’t.
“Shit. Can you come inside? I mean—come in.”
She’s still thinking about you, and it’s admittedly cute. You love how unabashedly blunt—and lewd—she is when she’s drunk. You give her the benefit of the doubt and reenter the room.
Yuqi realizes the messy state she and her bedroom are in when you turn on the lights. Cheeks puffed and red from embarrassment, she tries to hop off the mattress, only to stumble to the floor on her fours.
“I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t think you’d—”
“Hey hey, it’s fine.” You grab her off the floor and sit her on the bed. “Don’t apologize. I’ll get some water; stay here and rest.”
Your eyes are meeting, hers twinkling. In those few, crucial moments, right when you’re about to leave, you feel an irresistible tug pulling you closer to each other.
Suddenly, Yuqi pulls you in by the shirt for a deep, passionate kiss. Her lips taste like actual whisky and vodka, indicating what she drank earlier that night. Yet they feel so lush, so sweet, filled with so much passion. You don’t bother trying; you fold to your lust, submit to her desire. You sink onto the bed together, never breaking apart, even for a second. Next thing you know, her hands are all over your body, roaming your chest, coiled around your neck, removing the shirt over your head to be tossed aside and completely forgotten.
Yet there’s still some resistance. Despite making the first move, she pulls back, and you do so in return. You’re hovering on top of her—an unexpected but welcome position to be in.
“I didn’t know what got me there. I’m sorry. I just felt this sudden need to kiss you and—”
You shut her up by diving in and kissing her again, pinning Yuqi down to the mattress—the very thing that got you into this position to begin with. With you all over her, she’s able to shed the rest of your clothes: first the slacks, followed by your boxers. She mewls at the sensation of your hard cock pressed against her slit, and it’s beyond what her imagination can describe. It’s electrifying. And God, you know you’re no better than her, but you just want to fuck her right then and there, give her everything she wants without a second thought.
Grabbing you by the scalp, she rips your lips off her chin as you’re making your way down her neck. “Not yet. Nuh uh.” She pulls you into yet another kiss, as if you’re oxygen—and in a way, it’s appropriate: you’re breathing new life into her. “Did I ever tell you that you were a good kisser?”
“Not at all,” you tell her, gently shaking your head. “You’re not half bad yourself.”
“Half bad?” Yuqi raises a sharp eyebrow, seemingly offended by your backhanded compliment. A dangerous smirk forms on her lips. “Says the one who was watching me the entire time—”
“You knew?” There’s a heightened sense of panic in your voice. “I thought you were—”
“Shhh.” She kisses you, pulls you into a warm cuddle atop her. Slender legs wrapped around your hips, she follows: “Less talk, more lovemaking.”
And more lovemaking you do. You grow more easily acquainted with her lips than with her personality, and you barely know them: it’s only been a few minutes. Even though it’s a Thursday, the weekend feels like a lifetime away. You should be up five hours from now; you have the alarm preset and everything. But Yuqi’s getting in your way again, as she always has, and this won’t certainly be the last. She’s so hypnotic, so alluring, you find yourself unable to slip away, no matter how hard you try.
You find that it’s easier to give in than to struggle aimlessly.
It’s effortless to get your fingers pressed inside her sopping core, brushing along sensitive, wet ridges of skin, where thoughts of you manifested into thin, delicate strokes. Her moans ring against your ears in varying pitches, each with a distinct, pulsing plea of satisfaction. Keep going, she tells you, and you follow without complaint. All this while you leave a soft path of bite marks down her neck and collarbones, until you reach her petite chest.
And fuck, you just go down on Yuqi. Sucking on her breasts like you’re in the middle of an oasis in the desert. She goes wild. Tossing, turning, trembling. You can feel her body close on you, wanting to take you in and suffocate you. The bed is creaking, growing strikingly more intense, turbulent. All this spurring you on, making you more reckless, more daring with her.
“Mmmmm—fuck!” She lets out a hum of desperation, her hot, shaky breath fogging on your skin. You become an intertwined labyrinth of limbs that fit together, where you have no idea where it begins and where it ends. Your fingers vanish between her legs, still working tirelessly, perfectly snug around her pussy even when crushed between the weight of her thighs.
Eventually, you find yourself staring aimlessly at Yuqi. She’s so beautiful, and you’re punching yourself mentally, wondering why it took so long to come to this conclusion. Even when she’s not rocking the trendy hair color of the week and her face is a canvas for every conceivable makeup and filter, she’s naturally pretty. Especially now, completely bare—and with nothing but an exasperated, satisfied look of inebriated, lust filled bliss.
You find the light peeking from the living room, casting a shadow between your tangled legs. She’s dripping at her core, showering your fingers with a fresh flow of sheen, messing up the sheets even further if that’s even possible. They’re beyond saving at this point, and so are you.
Rolling to her side, Yuqi wraps her arm around you, as if enticing you to stay. You shouldn’t have done this, but it’s too late: there’s no going back. You’re too lazy to close the door, and you have the girl you previously never gave a second look rubbing lazy circles on your stomach with her coated nails. Her hair draped all over your arm and shoulder, her eyes looking up at yours, acting all soft and innocent—
Until she starts talking again. “It wouldn’t be complete unless you cum inside me, wouldn’t it?”
The difference between her body language and her lips is night and day. Right then and there, you immediately recognize that there’s no other way this night will end. How your body moves at her will, how you immediately roll on top of her, as if it’s programmed to follow her every command. You have her legs pressed up and spread wide, her knees bent, lining your aching cock against the wet slit of her cunt. All while her features twist into a sickening, slimy grin in the slim shape of a lip bite. The fire, the desire—it’s still as bright as ever.
And to make sure you aren’t second guessing the idea, her arms are coiled around your neck, her hands grabbing at your hair, pressing on your nape. Yuqi wants you—needs you—to fuck her silly; it’s the only way she can be satiated.
You watch Yuqi’s expression contort from anxious to messy, and the feeling is mutual. You slip in, slow and delicate, going against her instruction, and you almost lose it at the first stroke. The deep, guttural moan you make echoes throughout the entire apartment, while her firm walls pulse against your cock. It’s hot, it’s tense, it’s suffocating.
“Shit, shit, shit—” you mutter, gently trying to pull back, but the fiery sensation burns, scratches away at your psyche, at your loins. “So—fucking—tight—Yuqi—fuck.”
“C’mon. Fuck me. Fuck me now.” She kisses your ear, her legs pounding against your hips, demanding you to move. There’s some serious intent behind her tone, a seamless blend of demand and impatience. “Use that big cock—mmm!”
You can only groan in response as you thrust back in deep, her grip on your body tighter than ever. And it’s more than just her cunt; she’s clinging onto you for dear life.
It hardly matters when you’re leaving sore, red marks on her skin or ripping through the blankets. It hardly matters when Yuqi can barely breathe. It hardly matters when you’re so loud that everyone can hear you. What’s important is you’re fucking her—and you’re fucking her hard. You both love the filthiness to it. There’s no rhythm, no pace, no flow; it’s one slow deep thrust, followed by a fast pump into her tight, inviting cunt. You become comfortable; you take her like she’s meant to be used.
And Yuqi takes your cock so fucking well. Bounces against every stroke with ease, as if the feeling is second nature to her. Knowing her, she’s probably been in this position more than you’d want to know or hear. You don’t really care about that for now. Even after what seems to be an endless cascade of orgasms, she’s still keening, still needy, still soaking wet that it’s alarming. Her back arches, melts deep into the cushion. She still wants more.
“So—fucking—good—more—need—fuck—”
The only noise you need is the mesh of your flesh slapping against hers, bouncing against her sharp cries of pain and pleasure. Reaching into the deepest, most sensitive parts of her pussy with your cock, this violent shudder rocks both you and Yuqi to your core. With each drag, more of her slick coats your shaft, and the easier you get access to her smothering heat. You can’t find the will to stop, not that you ever want to; she feels so warm, so inviting, so sloppy sounding to the ears that it’s driving you just as crazy as her.
It’s also driving you wild why it took you this long to fuck her—use her—like this. If you had known, you would have cared sooner. You’d have some leverage when it came to negotiations. A body like hers is too good not to have on speed dial.
Right now, it’s the least of your concerns. Not when you’re pounding a tight body like Yuqi’s so freely, hearing her demand to fuck her harder, like your life’s depending on it. Better late than never.
And it’s for the best that the moment happens later rather than sooner. She cums. Cums again. Eventually you’ve stopped counting, because there’s no point. The mere thought of you restarts the cycle, and your touch accelerates the process. The clutch of her cunt is too overwhelming to avoid at this point; it’s all but directly telling you to fill her, to unload all that pent up tension and need into her. The thought never bubbled up in your head even once; the idea of you and Yuqi with a child together. You never really questioned it. She goes out often, probably gets fucked multiple times in one night if she’s with willing company. She probably knew you’d walk in on her; hell, she’s probably got this whole thing planned out and Minnie is one of her accomplices. Maybe the entire time, she’s been yearning for you, because you’ve never heard her this passionate, this loud, this filthy in your life, even at her most inebriated.
“Inside me. Please cum inside me. I’m safe, don’t worry,” she whispers, as if she’s reading through your mind, reassuring you from your doubts. Her hand is palming your back, as if to line you straight so your cock directly hits her sweet spot. She sounds so pretty, it’s almost impossible to resist.
“Gonna cum,” you tell her, voice going hoarse, rasp, and she nods immediately in return, reinforcing the notion. She’s focused her effort on holding on, her legs tightly wrapped around your waist, her arms coiled around your neck, subtly pushing you against her hips.
“This—pussy—so—fucking—God,” you mindlessly utter, averting her doe eyed gaze, desperate to cling to the last of your resolve as it quickly dissolves with each thrust. You’re on borrowed time and it’s quickly slipping away. Yuqi is tilting your face down to her, to her airy breaths, to her fluttering eyelids, to her passionate expression as you fuck her, pushing you over the edge. “Holy fuck, Yuqi—”
Yuqi’s lips part like a flower in bloom, and it’s a pretty sight. Yet it’s not enough of a distraction to keep everything from falling into place.
And God, it fucking burns.
You swallow hard, but are unable to keep that groan suppressed. Your hips meet her halfway, your cock comfortably buried deep in her heat, and that’s where you come undone. Yuqi digs deep into your skin as it fills her—your cum—and she goes frozen at that moment. It’s a quiet, tense flash of silence. Afterward, she finally breaks. Cries out this deafening whine, her grip all over you loosening, time eventually catching up to her.
She lays beneath you, completely limp, but her body remains trembling, shaking, seizing. You don’t find the strength to drag your cock from her heat; the feeling lingers. Endless ropes of cum gushing into her womb, emptying yourself, just as she wanted. Then you pull out, agonizingly slow, and more viscous slick gushes from her core.
You feel guilty for that poor patch of soaked linen between her legs. It’s about as ruined as a collapsed power plant.
There’s little need for Yuqi to beg you to stay. The climax saps whatever energy you had left. You end up slumping flat on your belly beside her, both of you bathed in the afterglow of sex, exhausted from an already long day, too worn out to make another sound. And when you’re tired, any bed, no matter how messy it may be, is a comfortable bed.
—————
You already expected the scene at the breakfast table to be awkward.
And it was.
It isn’t until Yuqi calls you out standing at the doorway of her room that you realize you’ve been shooting a thousand yard stare the whole time. She waves at you, her cheeks red, flustered, chuckling. “Good morning to you, I guess. Put something on. I don’t wanna drink coffee while looking at someone’s dick. It’s gross.”
This time you’re the one unbecoming, completely in the nude while she got herself into some pajamas. Despite that, you hardly feel any guilt or shame, like this is a normal occurrence in the household. So you scramble to your room and get appropriately dressed. A look at the time and it’s already 15 past ten in the morning, an hour later than when you normally start work. Even more unusual is the absence of the laptop. It’s just Yuqi and her coffee.
Sitting opposite Yuqi, today seems a bit more tense than normal, and you can guess the reason why. She knows it, too. Neither of you are willing to break the ice, only shooting occasional glares at each other while sipping on coffee and scrolling through your phones.
“So, Yuqi.”
The words slip from your mouth, accidental, nearly silent. They follow the mild screech of the chair she sits on. When you meet eye to eye, she asks what’s up. What's on your mind? There’s a sudden barrier in your throat. You have a vague idea of what to say, but not the power to speak them.
“About last night—”
Her lack of response is unnerving. The visible curiosity, the probable apathy. You and her possibly sharing the same sentiment: a feeling of regret.
“I—I just wanted to say sorry. For last night. I should have just—”
“Sorry for what?”
You suddenly stop. This is not the expected reaction; it’s the complete opposite. A moment where you face the consequences of your actions.
Yuqi stands up and walks over to your side, beaming from ear to ear. “What we did last night was—fucking amazing. Don’t feel bad. If anything, I should feel bad because I didn’t tip you off sooner. We could have done so much more.”
You don’t pick up on the implication right away. It’s all strange, uncharted territory. Your previous flings were simple one-and-dones: a night of reckless, frivolous fun. Short, but fun nonetheless. They would disappear in the morning, never to be seen again.
“I didn’t think you’d walk through that door, especially since it was three in the morning,” says Yuqi, casual, running her fingers through your hair. “I got a bit too silly, as usual, but there’s a good reason for it.”
“And that is?”
“I got a job!” Yuqi’s gripping to your shoulder, the only thing keeping her from jumping for joy. “I got a job at the cafe with the pretty lady. I start on Monday.”
It’s certainly a cause for celebration. You can’t help but root and smile for her, caressing her hands. “Well, damn. Congratulations.”
“Yeah!” Yuqi’s wrapped you in a rather heartwarming embrace that you willingly fold into. “I had the interview yesterday, so I needed to lock in. Needed to be alone. Then I got accepted after, so I went and bought some drinks to celebrate.”
That doesn’t surprise you one bit. You’re just thrilled that she’s finally getting somewhere.
“So—does that mean I can kick you out once you get your first paycheck?” you ask her.
“I guess so. But—” Yuqi pauses, tilts your chin on an incline. She’s warm, radiant, pretty. She doesn’t care that you’ve worded yourself poorly and you’re taking it back; she’s still riding off the high from yesterday. You’re already counting the days before she leaves, and admittedly, you’ll miss that sight. “I’m gonna miss staying with you. Thanks for having my back when I needed it. I honestly don’t know how I will ever repay you.”
She tops it up with a quick peck on your lips. It’s all over your face, etched completely in red. The devilish grin.
“I think I know exactly how.”
And that’s all that needed to be said.
Before you know it, you’re right back at square one: clothes scattered everywhere on the floor, her body pressed on the mattress, flat on her belly, your cock stretching her pussy out as you fuck her mindlessly from behind. This time in the comfort of your own bedroom.
All the more reason for you two to stay together.
—————
(A/N: fucksorryforgoingonanotherhiatusfuckfuckfuck—)
(Okay, but I really do wanna apologize for going on yet another unannounced hiatus. Final weeks of the semester were hell, then I was on vacation the week I promised this fic would be released (I'm basically the LeBron James of K-smut when it comes to lying at this point), not to mention a health scare courtesy of my mother. Some very hard times have hit me lately, so my mind wasn't 100%. Nevertheless, I am still standing (shoutout Elton John). Lots of free time throughout June and July, so hopefully nothing bad happens ISTG lemme have some peace for once and let me fucking write goddammit—)
(In non-personal news, Yuqi's solo was very fun and she's getting on that Yena level of bias where she's the perfect blend of cute and hot. Then she went pink recently and that made me :pphurt: Sort of a feel out fic before I *finally* finish these commissions over the coming weeks, thank you for reading!)
738 notes
·
View notes