#like even an ATTEMPT at hurting you the way you’ve just hurt him

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I was in a car accident yesterday (car took most of the damage, I’m ok other than bruises and sore muscles) and the whole thing has been a whirlwind of insurance and hospital and half asleep crying. I was wondering if I could request James potter x reader for comfort in a situation like that? I’m going through it rn lol hope you’re having a good day :)

Oh I'm sorry lovely! I had a very similar thing happen a little over a year ago, it's sooooo exhausting even when luckily no one is seriously hurt. Thanks for requesting, hope you're having a good/better day too <33

cw: past car accident, no details but talk of general aftermath of police questioning, insurance, etc.

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

The way James half-jogs up to the automatic doors of the hospital, seeming caught between walking and running, feels like someone is pressing down on the bruise of your chest. You wish you’d called him sooner. 

“James,” you call as he comes in, hating how your voice cuts through the taut quiet of the waiting area. It’s worth it for how his whole self softens when his eyes find you. 

He slows to a fast walk the rest of the way to you, the urgency slowly leaving him—which is appropriate, there is no urgency, everything has happened already—like an engine running out of gas. You stand as he nears, and both of you reach for each other before James hesitates. His hands stop midair, his brow tightening for a moment, before they come tentatively to your elbows.

“Hi,” he says, squeezing. “How bad is it?” 

“For me or the car?” you joke. 

“You.” James is feeling too earnest for joking, it seems. “Well, both of you. But you first.” 

You really thought you’d cry when you saw him. Worried you’d make a whole scene, blubbering and inconsolable, but you don’t seem to have any tears left. It makes sense, you suppose; you’ve cried a lot in the past few hours. First the slow, shaky kind right after getting out of your car, and then a real cry when a police officer had pulled you aside to get your version of events. (It had been embarrassing. She’d been nice about it, though.) Now, you wait for the tears to come, but for all your relief at seeing your boyfriend you feel rather dried up. 

It makes you wish, once again, that you’d called James sooner. You’d wanted to, of course, but you’d been nearly certain you’d be even less capable of holding yourself together if he were there, and there wasn’t much reason for him to be anyways. He was at work and you weren’t terribly hurt, so there was really nothing he could have done while you were talking to the police and the tow company and the paramedics and attempting not to drown in an overwhelm of insurance information. The only thing you really wanted him for was to hold your hand.

“I’m okay,” you say, the necessary preface. “A bit bruised up. My chest got the worst of it.” 

Unconsciously, your hand comes to your sternum as if to demonstrate, gravitating towards the center of the ache. James’ hand follows, seemingly just as thoughtless as it covers your own. He can’t see the bruise, but he makes a low, sad sound anyway. 

His care softens your voice. “They said my neck will probably hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t yet.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds really, truly heartbroken for you. “And the rest, it hurts a lot?” 

You shrug. What’s a lot? You know you could’ve had worse, much worse; still, you could do without that frightening soreness that comes with each breath. 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. “I could still hug.” 

It’s the question he’s been dying to ask, clearly. James’ arms are around you in a second, ardent but still gentle, palms pressing to the high and low points of your bag. It’s a good hug. You melt a little against him. 

James tucks his face into the side of your neck, like he’s trying to get as much contact with you as he can. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.” 

“You were at work.” 

“I’d have left work.” 

“There wasn’t anything you could do. I was fine, I just had to…” a little sigh escapes you, exhaustion creeping in now that he’s here “...talk to people. Insurance and all that.” 

James makes a soft, half-agreeing sound. His thumb strokes the base of your neck. “Still. I could have held your hand.” 

A new ache rises in the back of your throat, coming to join the rest. You wind your arms tighter around James. 

After a few, silent moments, he kisses your neck chastely and loosens his hold. “Ready to go home? Anything else you need?” 

You shake your head. “I’m signed out,” you say, so eager you feel like you could float out the doors. You hope you can entice James to lie in bed with you when you get home. You think you’ll sleep until tomorrow. “Let’s go, please.” 

“Alright, you don’t have to say please, sweetheart.” James curls an arm around your shoulders, pressing a smile into your cheek. “We can go. You need one of those wheelchairs for me to take you out to the car?” 

“Ha ha,” you say drily. “No.” 

“Just checking. Think maybe I ought to ask for one, just in case?”

“James. I will take your car home without you in it.” 

“Alright, lovie, I’m coming.”

[insidekatmind]

Memories of the past-Hwang Jun ho (feat. Cho Sang woo)

Wearning: angst

A year has passed since you saw Sang Woo collapse under that cold light, while your hands trembled, powerless to stop it. The promise of escaping the games together, of living a full life, had stayed with you until his last breath. The necklace he gave you, his final gesture of love, still hangs around your neck every day. It's his last connection to you, and you can't bring yourself to take it off, even though its weight crushes your heart.

Every time you look at the necklace, a lump forms in your throat. Sang Woo had promised you that he would be with you, that you would build a life together once you got out of that terrible nightmare. But there was no escape for him. You were the one who left, alone, alongside Gi-hun, with a void you couldn’t fill.

Since then, you've closed your heart. You've built walls, keeping everyone at a distance, yet there's Jun-Ho, your colleague in the police force, who for months has tried every way to make you smile. He brings you coffee, makes jokes, tries to be the anchor you've lost, but you won't let him. The distance between you is vast, and it’s not just physical, but emotional too. It's impossible for you to think about anyone else, while his presence at the core annoys you, as if he’s trying to force open a locked door.

Every day, he looks at you with eyes full of hope. Every gesture, every word he says is an attempt to break through your armor. But every time he gets closer, the necklace you wear seems to weigh heavier, as though the past is suffocating you.

One day, as you’re working on a case, you feel him approaching. "Hey, how are you?" he asks in a gentle voice, which only makes you want to run away. You slowly turn to face him, trying to appear distant. "I need to focus on work," you respond, but he doesn't give up.

"I understand it’s hard, but... maybe you should let go of everything that’s hurt you. You don’t deserve to carry that pain alone," he says, trying to make you understand he’s offering you a way out, that he wants to be there for you. But his words strike you like a blade. "It’s not that easy," you reply with a trembling voice, lowering your gaze to avoid him seeing how those words hurt you.

He looks down, probably noticing the necklace you always wear. Maybe he’s noticed it for a while, but he’s never had the courage to ask. "I can't forget," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "I can't move on."

Jun-Ho looks at you, his gaze full of concern, but also hope that hurts you. His love is sincere, but you're not ready. You’ve never been ready, and you won’t be as long as the memory of Sang Woo continues to torment your heart.

[writing-mlm]

hi !! saw you write for criminal minds and would love to see something with spencer reid !! there aren’t enough male reader fics for him out there. personally i’m a sucker for reader being used as bait for an unsub with spencer getting jealous and taking care of reader afterwards if they get hurt. but no worries if you don’t want to write that specific scenario, i would just love to see any spencer content at all lol. i love your writing and hope you’re having a great day !!!

The stress of a married man

Summary: Spencer doesn’t like the fact that his husband is out there; his husband doesn’t like the fact that Spencer’s worrying. Pairing: Post-prison!Spencer Reid x Male!Reader wc: 2.4k Tags/warnings: reader used as bait, blood, attempted drugging, kidnapping a/n: while what im referring to won’t be a part 2, just now I wrote 2 separate fics for this request. i’ll try and push it out before next week and it’ll be around 20k words… and a marvel crossover…

Spencer didn’t want this. It’s stupid. It’s beyond stupid, it’s dangerous. He doesn’t care that there’s logic behind it— why should he? Not when you’re putting yourself in danger just to speed up a case, not when there are other solutions. 

He twists the cap of the marker as he strains, trying to think of said solutions. None are coming to his head; none that are useful anyway. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek when his eyes dart over to you; sitting in a chair getting your appearance tweaked to fit the victim pool more. A fake mole under your eye, changing your eyebrows a little bit. You’re wearing clothes they’d found in a nearby Ross, stuff that he knows you’re itchy in because they haven’t been washed yet. 

Your feet are pushed into shoes a size too small, he can tell because you’re sitting without putting pressure on them and they’re laced too loose. If you run with them they’ll go flying. Maybe that’s for the better, he quickly decides. 

He doesn’t see the irony in his worry. The same Spencer who walked into a train and took off his bulletproof vest when the UnSub had a loaded gun? The same Spencer who made Hotch kick the snot out of him? Caught himself on fire and in the middle of an explosion? Stab himself and frame the other guy in prison— that Spencer Reid? Yes. Because he’s him and you’re you. 

First name Spencer, middle name Risk himself for everyone else, last name Reid didn’t want you to hurt. He didn’t want you tossed in the back of some guy's van and hauled to wherever. He didn’t want you to experience the torture the other victims are going through firsthand. He just didn’t. 

But you’re smiling with Tara, agreeing to let Luke slip a tracker into the thrifted bracelet you planned on keeping because it looked nice. You’re listening to Emily’s specific instructions carefully, you’re understanding the dangers that you’re about to face. 

And dammit you’re still agreeing to go through with it. 

“Be careful,” He’s almost pleading— no, he is pleading. He absolutely cannot keep himself composed like the others are. He can’t. 

“I’ll be alive,” You tell him, messing with the clunky jacket that fits the same way a child wearing their dad's jacket fits. Lightly, you punch his shoulder. “Don’t go worrying about me; this is my specialty, Walter.” He nods, tucking his hair behind his ear because yes, it is. You had transferred from the Hostage Rescue Team after getting your degree. 

He doesn’t even care that you’re using his middle name. He doesn’t catch it, in fact. He just caught that you said you’d be alive when he asked you to be careful. 

“Just…” He closes his eyes, opening them when he pictures the worst. You’re staring at him from behind a paper cup of water, eyebrows raised because you’ve never seen him so worked up. So nervous before; it’s stressing you out. 

“I’ll come back, man. Don’t sweat it, please. You’re making me nervous,” Shit, he blinks an apology and wrings his hands. He doesn’t want to throw you off your game any more than he already has and backs off. 

You watch as he walks away, heading back to his drawing board. He messes with the marker cap again, this time chewing on it. It’s a set he’d gotten that day, only used by him, so he’s not worried about germs or anything of the sort. Meanwhile, you move over to JJ to go over the plan seeing as she’s going to be the bartender. 

The plan is simple. You’re going to hang out at a local bar, the one flying the highest American flag and that has some stupidly adorable couple trivia night going on but you aren’t going to play. You’re going to sit at the bar, rolling your eyes when someone gets an answer wrong because it was so obvious even a moron could get it right. You’re going to nurse a stein of sparkling apple juice dyed to look like beer. And you’re going to get the attention of the man killing people. 

Currently, you’re still on the eye-rolling part. The questions are hard, you have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about but you can hear Spencer through your earpiece saying the answers without catching himself. 

A guy approaches you as you’re taking another sip of your drink. A white man, probably in his fifties to sixties, dressed as if he was a professor, and on the shorter side. So far, this is the guy. You smile as he takes the newly vacant seat next to you, his eyes immediately traveling to the jacket around your chair. 

“Can you believe they don’t know the fifty-six element?” He huffs after no one has gotten the answer right and the announcer presses the loud buzzer. 

“Barium,” Spencer immediately tells you. 

“I know,” You scoff. “Who doesn’t know what barium is?” The man looks delighted by your answer and orders a beer. He doesn’t care what brand, just says beer and drums his fingers on the wood until JJ brings him one. He thanks her without any condensation, no sweetheart, or even a lingering look. He says a simple thank you, miss. And hands JJ a crisp ten-dollar bill. 

“The youth these days,” He shakes his head as half of the trivia goers don’t get the answer to who made the laws of motion right. “They’re spending too much time learning nonessential things like provocative dancing and texting abbreviations.”

“You’re so right, sir,” You sigh. “I’m glad my grandparents raised me better.”

“Oh, please,” He laughs, holding his chest. “Call me Vince. I’m sorry for forgetting my manners.” 

“It’s quite fine,” You smile. “I’m Kyle.”

“Well, Kyle,” He smiles back. This is the part where he’ll have you look away and he’ll slip something into your drink. You’ll look back and he’ll cheer for something. It’ll be strong based on the videos, you’ll be stumbling within three minutes. But even before that, he’ll talk you into leaving the bar so no one can notice. “Whaddya say about a game of pool?” He points to the pool table behind you. 

You look, spotting Luke and Emily pretending to pay attention to a group of frat guys playing a game. Spencer tells you that he’s slipped the pill inside and you turn back to Vince. 

“It seems crowded,” You shake your head. 

“Well, cheers to two smart guys left in a modern age of idiots?” He holds up his beer and you laugh, nodding with your bottle. The drinks and you pretend to drink it. You feel it on your upper lip, it’s fizzy and you swallow your spit to make it seem real. He watches until you set it down and runs his fingers over your ear. 

“How about some fresh air?” Pretending to be bashful, you get up and follow him out. He’s not aware that Luke and Emily follow, too. 

Spencer watches from the van's cameras as you walk out of the bar. Vince has his hand on your waist and he’s talking about things so well it’s almost convincing. But he’s saying surface-level facts as if he’s only read the summary but not the full text. He doesn’t like how Vince speaks into your neck and how his eyes seem to gleam when you start to pretend to stumble. 

You prepare yourself as you hear the red car. Because once you do, he charges you into the side and it’s enough to send someone who’d been drugged to the ground. So, you lay next to the car, pretending to fall in and out as he opens the trunk. You hear the duck tape being pulled and he steps back into your view. 

“All you youth are still driven by lust,” He says, holding your face and then applies enough to cover your mouth. He puts you on your stomach and your arms strain as he ties your hands behind you. Honestly, you’re glad he’s counting you as a youth. You know the youth surely doesn’t because boy, you’ve stopped getting carded at bars years ago. Your ankles are the next things he tapes before you’re tossed into the trunk. 

Your head hits a pipe and you groan as he slams the door closed. Rolling onto your side, you feel the car start and work on finding the knife in your pocket. The blade flicks up— it had been pinned to your pants just for this— and you work on cutting your way out. He hadn’t done a lot of layers, just three so you’re out of it quick enough. 

His car stops, at a red light, because the car is still buzzing and he’s still listening to music that hasn’t been on the radio since there was a transatlantic accent. You take the time to rub your forehead before the car lurches forward. Working on the ankle tape, you hear the line between you and the others cut. You’ve officially entered the dead zone. They’ll track you using the bracelet from here on out. 

—

It’s nearly an hour before the car stops. It’s been twenty since Spencer joined Luke in the SUV. Being trailed by local PD and two ambulances with their lights off, he messes with the FBI windbreaker jacket folded on his lap. It’s yours, it’s tailored to your arms and the collar is worn from where you continued to flip it up and down. You’ll probably want it, it’s chilly out and only getting colder. 

He hopes you’re only cold because of the weather. 

“It’s up ahead,” Luke warns before he parks the car. They can’t risk the UnSub hearing the cars so they’ll have to walk the rest of the way. He nods, fixing his gun as they climb out. The others are close behind and separate. JJ and Rossi go left, Emily and Tara go right, while he and Luke go straight. 

The driveway, if you could call it that, to the barn, is nothing more than grass that’s been driven over so many times it doesn’t grow straight anymore. They’re sickly shades of green compared to the bright green elsewhere. He looks up, seeing the car you’d gotten tossed into, and adjusts his grip on his gun. His heart hammers, pleading that you’re okay. 

A barn comes into view, the lights are on and Spencer shudders. There’s the smell of pigs nearby that makes his stomach twist before he changes his focus. The doors are ajar— some blood is on the handle. He doesn’t touch it, but it’s wet. He sees the light reflecting on it. Luke gives him a look, holds up three fingers and Spencer nods. 

He gets to two before the door gets thrown open. 

They jump back but it’s only you. You’re standing tall, one hand on the doorframe and the other gripping your pocket knife. His shoulders sag at the sight of you alive and able to stand before he looks at your face.

“You’re bleeding,” Spencer immediately has you in his grip, wiping the blood from your nose and lip with his shirt. It’s a lot, but considering it’s a nosebleed that’s to be expected. 

“Got dropped on my face,” You explain through a wince. “The others are in the barn— they need medical. I patched their wounds as best I could with whatever was lying around,” Luke nods and radios for the ambulance to make their way up. 

“And Vince?” Luke looks inside the barn and whistles. “Shouldn’t have been worried, then.” He knocks your shoulder with his fist and you wink.

“Yeah, he really wasn’t strong. He dropped me twice, once on my face and then on my back. I think my head hit a rock—“ Again, Spencer’s hands are on you as he checks the back of your head. Luke chuckles and you roll your eyes, messing with your wedding band tattoo. “I kicked the shit out of his face and then hogtied him.” You wait for a beat before looking over at Spencer. “No hogtie facts?”

“You have a shallow cut on your head, it’ll leave a small scar.” He says instead and opens up the jacket. “You should sit, we can deal with the others.” He drapes it over you and you smile, rubbing his matching tattoo. 

“Okay,” He smiles and watches as you walk to sit on a log before heading inside with Luke. He looks at the man still tied up and then looks at the knife in his hand before walking closer. The man is wriggling and trying to speak, both of which he makes a point to ignore. 

He saws at the tape before it lets go and quickly handcuffs Vince, ripping the tape off his mouth as hard and fast as he could manage with his shaking hands. Vince starts speaking but Spencer simply lugs him up from the ground in one fluid motion.

“Shut up.” He walks Vince out and tosses him over to the local PD before he finds you again. You’re helping the lady of the victims into the ambulance, setting the thick wool blanket over his shoulders. 

“I told you to sit down,” He sighs and you spin around, hands up to show you weren’t doing anything. “Baby, you’re injured, please.” He grabs your hands and kisses your neck, hoping it’ll sway you.

“EMT said it's surface level and just a little bleed, nothing to fuss about.” He ignores the first part as he steals a kit from the ambulance, checking the inside to make sure he has what he needs.

“I’m fussing,” He beckons you over with two fingers and you huff, following him to the SUV where he sets you in the passenger seat. You watch, head on the seat as he carefully puts the items on the dashboard and cleans his hand with wipes. 

“It’s cute that you’re worried,” You smile, eyes flickering between him putting on a pair of gloves and his face. “Maybe now you’ll stop being so reckless during cases.” Leaning over, you kiss his cheek but he moves back in for a kiss on the lips.

“I don’t know about that,” He smiles and gently holds your chin. “Let me know if it hurts too much, okay?” You roll your eyes but he doesn’t move so you sigh. 

“Yes, doctor,”

[hongjoongspoetry]

LET'S GO, BABY! A FIC FOR MY BIAS MADE BY THE ONE AND ONLY ARI??? Life is looking bright again, the grass is greener, and it’s raining money—Okay, so I was actually going to read your Yunho stories first, buuuuut I couldn’t hold back, and you can’t blame me. Hongjoong’s my bias, what was I supposed to do?

Anyways, I don’t even know where to start. Whenever I read something new of yours, it feels like you outdo your previous work, which is crazy because I always think, “This is it, this is the story!” But then you go ahead and prove me wrong by creating a new masterpiece that won’t leave my head for an X amount of time.

Both the MC and Hongjoong were really interesting characters in this story and for a good chunk into the fic, I didn't know what to think about Hongjoong. He was quite annoying in the beginning with his "know it all" talk and I feel like his attempt at cheering up the MC was so poorly done on his part, like what was he thinking talking sweet to her when another douchebag was already getting on her nerves? 😭

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?”

It wasn't even anything remotely nice, he literally talked about her as if she was an object. what is this shitshow of a man? 👹 I also like how you made his appearance give a hint of "I'm a mysterious guy" but he still turned out to be a douche. I feel like in most stories nowadays, the mysterious character is almost always flawless or perfect. They never get to fuck up.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Oh, this shit got me fucked up. Lord knows I would've lost my job that night if a customer ever talked to me in that way. Matter of fact, I'd be put on a blacklist and be unemployed for the rest of my life because not only would I jump over the counter, but I'd beat the shit out of him until he wouldn't know the simplicity of the alphabet. And although this made me furious and angry at Hongjoong's character, I still love how you made him into an entitled prick 😭 Like yes, give me something else than the woke artist who thinks good of everyone. Give me a douchebag who wears a million bucks and gives his honest opinion about others, without thinking if he's going to get his ass beaten to a pulp.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

While I love to drag out on the angst, I really enjoyed his apology. It wasn't anything grand, just him owning up to his mistakes and taking responsibility. It makes the story feel a little more like real life, just two adults talking it out.

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

THE WAY I SCREAMED, LIKE FUUUUUCK!?!?!?!? WE GOT MULLET!JOONG CALLING ME A PRETTY BARISTA?????? THAT's ANOTHER THING — WE GOT MULLET JOONG BACK!!?! He can psycho analazye me all he wants baby- *GUNSHOT*

Ahem... Anyways!

“Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

Man, this lil dude really loves running his mouth, doesn't he? Like NO ONE ASKED what you think of people. WHY IS HE LIKE THAT????? But at the same time, I LOVE HIS JOONG VERS. YOU'VE CREATED?!!? He's not plain and boring and all nice, he actually has some color on his canvas.

It's crazy how they haven't exchanged names until much later into the story :0 That's another thing that makes this story so real, their interactions aren't long enough for them to just stop and ask for each other's names, but they aren't that short to not have grown into some form of acquaintances.

“Pretty barista from the pub!”

HE'S SO SMOOTH AND SHAMELESS WITH IT OMG. If a man (hongjoong) would call me that every time we saw each other, I'd be giggling like Lisa Simpsons, WHICH REMINDS ME. WHY IS THIS (0:34) LITERALLY THROUGH YOUR COLORS HONGJOONG?????

“Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

Is this said best friend perhaps Park Seonghwa? 👀

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

I would call her out for following a stranger home and getting high on his weed, but he gave her his hoodie 🥹🥹 (the bar is in hell, is it not?)

The scene where Hongjoong and MC talk about their "dreams" /goals is so... nice and so real (again). How Hongjoong won't give his art to just anyone mirrors his irl personality too; how they value their works (songs and paintings) and just how much effort is put into it. We can clearly see the moment he "fell" in love with the MC. It wasn't the first night when she served him a Cosmopolitan or when she called him out on his bullshit, no that just caught his attention. The moment he knew MC was the possible one for him was when she saw him through his paintings. The MC subconsciously showed that she could see beyond Hongjoong's exterior and actually understand his soul. It's quite intimate, at least to me it felt like an intimate scene filled with a lot of emotions and to be frank, it's the best type of intimacy I've read in a while.

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

I always say this, but it won't become less of a truth the more times I repeat myself: Your writing is one of a kind. Both your creativity and the ability to come up with amazing ideas that makes the reader yearn for more, and your writing style that gets better and better with each fic/story you publish. You really outdo yourself Ari and I can't wait to see your next project 🩷

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

            Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

            The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

            You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

            It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

            Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

੭ Masterlist ੭

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[redicillin]

i’m at the point in the series where Cameron and chase are sleeping together as fwb, can I request doctor reader who finds out about this and is really upset because she thought there was something between her and chase, but maybe chase thinks that he’s not good enough for her and that she’d never go out with him and that’s kinda why he goes fuck it and starts sleeping with Cameron? sorry if that doesn’t make much sense!! 😭💗

𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

chase made a stupid mistake, and it ended everything between the two of you before it even began.

gn!reader ☆ 1.0k ☆ masterlist. ☆ sorry—

You’ve always prided yourself on being rational. You don’t get involved in workplace gossip, you don’t let emotions cloud your medical decisions, and you certainly don’t engage in petty jealousy.

But right now, sitting in House’s office as he drones on about a new case, you can feel the tightness in your chest, the sting behind your eyes, and the unrelenting weight of something ugly and unspoken pressing against your ribs.

Chase is sleeping with Cameron.

You wish you hadn’t found out. That House hadn’t been an ignorant prick and outed the two in the middle of the diagnostics room.

Maybe you could have gone a little longer in blissful ignorance, believing the stolen glances between you and Chase meant something.

Maybe you could have continued thinking that the lingering touches, the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the easy banter—it all meant something.

But it doesn’t. Because if it had, Chase wouldn’t have fallen into bed with someone else.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and focus on House as he scrawls nonsense across the whiteboard. No one else in the room seems remotely aware of your inner turmoil. Foreman is scribbling notes, Cameron looks perfectly composed, and Chase—

Chase won’t meet your eyes.

That hurts most of all.

You don’t know how you missed it. Looking back, the signs were there. The subtle shift in Chase’s demeanor, the way Cameron would smirk at him from across the room, the way they seemed… closer. More comfortable. And now, knowing what you know, you can’t unsee it.

“You still with us?” House’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink and realise that everyone is staring at you.

“I’m fine,” you reply, keeping your tone even.

House gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you but, surprisingly, doesn’t push. “Great. Go do doctor things.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You especially.” He points at Chase. “I need a coffee, British people drink coffee don’t they?”

“Australian,” Chase rolls his eyes but stands, shooting you a hesitant glance before leaving the room.

You should let it go. You should get back to work, shove your feelings down where they belong, and pretend none of this affects you.

But you don’t. Instead, you follow him.

—

You catch up to Chase in the break room, where he’s waiting for the coffee machine to finish brewing. He notices you instantly, posture stiffening as he glances over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says cautiously.

You cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “Hey.”

For a moment, there’s only silence between you. The sound of coffee dripping into the pot is the only thing filling the space, and the tension is suffocating.

Finally, Chase sighs. “I should’ve told you,”

The confirmation makes your stomach twist. It’s not even a denial, not even an attempt to play dumb. Just quiet resignation.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess not,”

You want to be rational about this. You want to be mature. But all you can think about is how stupid you feel. How blind you were to something happening right under your nose.

“I just…” You shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “I thought there was something between us.”

Chase’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping to the floor.

You swallow hard. “Was I wrong?”

“No,” he admits. “You weren’t,”

His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words slams into you with full force. You weren’t wrong.

“Then why?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

Chase exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because it wouldn’t have mattered,”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s something almost painful in his expression.

“You’re… you,” he says, as if that’s supposed to explain everything. “You’re brilliant. And focused. And incredible. And I—” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I didn’t think I had a chance,”

Your heart clenches. “So instead of even trying, you just… what? Slept with the first woman you spoke to?”

He flinches. “It wasn’t like that,”

“Then what was it like?”

He hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Easy? Safe?”

That stings more than it should. “So I wouldn’t have been easy or safe?”

His gaze sharpens. “No. You would’ve been real,”

The words knock the breath from your lungs.

Chase shakes his head, jaw tight. “Look, I know I screwed up. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Hell, I didn’t even think I had the ability to hurt you,” He huffs a bitter laugh. “Guess I was wrong,”

You don’t know what to say to that. Because he did hurt you. And the worst part is, you don’t know if he even realised he had the power to.

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

Finally, you speak. “Do you love her?”

Chase doesn’t answer right away. And that tells you everything you need to know.

“No,” he says at last, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod slowly, processing his answer.

Chase steps closer, hesitating before speaking again. “Do you love me?”

Your breath catches.

It would be so easy to lie, to tell him no, to walk away and pretend none of this mattered. But you’ve never been good at lying to yourself.

“I could have.”

Chase’s expression twists with something unreadable. Regret, maybe.

You don’t say anything else. You just turn and walk away, leaving him standing there with the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Because maybe, in another life, in another version of this story, things could have been different.

But in this one, Chase never even gave you the chance.

[soluversworld]

MISTER x SHOUJO - Subaru Oogami x G.N Reader part 1!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words: 16000

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!)

Summary: You and Geo navigate an unconventional relationship built on misunderstanding, tension, and unexpected moments of connection. After a lie spirals out of control, rumors spread that Geo is your boyfriend, much to the confusion of everyone around you—including Geo himself. Despite his cold and hostile demeanor, Geo reluctantly agrees to play along, but only for his own peace and solitude.

Geo’s sharp, broody personality often leaves you feeling uncertain and overwhelmed. He doesn’t hesitate to criticize you, flick your forehead when you talk back, or scold you for minor mistakes. Yet, he also protects you, whether from prying classmates or persistent admirers, and even takes your hand to make a show of your “relationship” when his friends are watching.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

Tension-filled dynamics with elements of power imbalance and verbal hostility’s

Rumors and social pressures leading to feelings of alienation and discomfort.

Physical gestures of dominance (e.g., flicking foreheads, pinching).

Underlying themes of unresolved trauma and complex family dynamics

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He’s a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, Been reading a lot of Shoujo mangas why not! Make Geo and reader in such a simple plot!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SUBARU OOGAMI!! 15K SPECIAL FOR MY BOY

In the daytime, you’re Y/n Brugmansia.

Just a normal person living an ordinary life—or so everyone thinks. Because there’s something about you that no one knows yet.

You have a secret.

Your brother is a stalker.

Yes, your brother. Your blood, your family, the one person who’s supposed to have your back. Instead, he’s an emo, obsessive creep with a fixation that makes your skin crawl. The kind of guy who lurks in the shadows, watching, scheming.

But this isn’t just about him. No, your life was thrown into chaos the moment you set foot in that school.

The Hierarchy.

You weren’t supposed to be there. It was a place for the elite, for the kids whose families could pay their way to success. For you, though? It was your scholarship that got you in—a ticket earned with late nights and relentless effort. While others coasted on their wealth, you clawed your way up with sheer determination.

But this place? It doesn’t care about how hard you worked. They only value your worth—the kind that comes with a price tag. If you can’t keep up, you’ll be discarded, just like the others before you.

You’ve heard the stories.

Students who didn’t meet the school’s impossible standards, quietly shuffled to the “other building.” The one for failures. The ones who didn’t fit the image of perfection. A few were expelled altogether, their names erased from the records like they’d never existed.

The students here don’t like you either. You’re an outsider, after all. Not one of them. Surviving without being bullied or set up for things you didn’t do? That’s a challenge in itself. And every misstep feels like a calculated attempt to push you out.

Then there’s your brother.

You don’t live with him anymore—you couldn’t bear it. Not after what he’s become. He’s obsessed, twisted, a shell of the person you once knew. The kind of person who might even hurt you if it came down to it.

And yet, a small part of you wonders: does he care?

The thought of it makes you feel… something. Hope? Comfort? You’re not sure if it’s worth the cost.

But it’s not just him.

You still have Hyugo. Your childhood friend. And Subaru—though you hesitate to call him that anymore. You three used to be close, inseparable even. But that closeness shattered the day something happened.

Subaru changed.

He stopped talking to you, his warmth replaced with an icy indifference. The sweet, playful boy you knew became someone cold, sharp, and unrecognizable.

You don’t know if you’ll ever fix what’s broken.

And honestly, you’re not sure if this place will let you try.

It has been years since you seen him…

You’ve tried to explain it once.

The exhaustion, the loneliness, the way it eats away at you day by day. How studying and living alone isn’t glamorous or freeing—it’s a slow grind, a life that wears you down until you’re nothing but raw nerves and a hollowed-out shell.

But no one really gets it.

They see your grades, your hard-earned scholarship, and think you’ve got it all together. They don’t see the hours you spend hunched over textbooks, eyes burning under the dim glow of your desk lamp. They don’t see the pile of instant noodle cups next to your trash can because cooking is too much work when you’ve been running on fumes for days.

You’ve told yourself it’s fine. That it’s temporary. That sacrificing your health, your happiness, is just part of the process. But some nights, when the silence of your apartment becomes unbearable, you wonder if this is all life will ever be.

Unhealthy. Unhappy. Alone.

It wasn’t always like this. You remember what it was like to have a family. A real family. Before things fell apart. Before your brother became… well, him.

But now, it’s just you.

You wake up every morning in the same cramped room, surrounded by the same cheap furniture you’ve been dragging from one place to the next. You work hard. You study harder. But no matter how much effort you put in, it never feels like enough.

There’s always another exam to ace, another essay to write, another hurdle to jump over just to prove you belong.

Belong where, though?

This school? These people? The ones who sneer at you in the hallways and whisper behind your back? The ones who’ll never see you as one of them because you don’t come from money, because you don’t have their polished, picture-perfect lives?

You’re surviving on scraps. Scraps of energy, scraps of time, scraps of whatever you can salvage from the wreckage of your days. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to sit down and eat a proper meal. To relax without guilt clawing at the back of your mind.

Even sleep feels like a luxury now.

Some nights, you lie awake staring at the ceiling, your chest tight with thoughts you can’t shake off. You wonder what your life would be like if you weren’t so alone.

If you had someone—anyone—to share the burden with.

But then you remind yourself why you’ve done this. Why you left. Why you worked so hard to distance yourself from your brother, from everything he’s become.

You hated what he turned into.

The obsession, the darkness, the way he seemed to spiral further and further into madness with every passing day. You told yourself you couldn’t live like that. That you wouldn’t let him drag you down with him.

But even now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

Because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s still your brother. The same boy who used to pull you out of bad dreams and promise to protect you from everything scary in the world.

What changed? When did everything fall apart?

You hate him. You miss him. You hate that you miss him.

And then there’s Subaru.

Once upon a time, you thought you understood him. Thought the two of you were inseparable, that nothing could ever come between you.

But now, every interaction with him feels like walking on shards of glass. He’s distant, cold, like he doesn’t care anymore. Like you’re just another face in the crowd.

And maybe that’s what you are now.

Just another face, another name, another person struggling to stay afloat in a world that doesn’t care if you sink.

But even as these thoughts weigh on you, you refuse to give up.

Because giving up isn’t an option.

Not for you.

You’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much to let it all go to waste now. Even if it means eating nothing but instant noodles for another month. Even if it means enduring the whispers and the stares, the isolation and the exhaustion.

You’ll keep going.

Because at the end of the day, this is all you have.

Your work. Your drive. The dream of something better waiting for you on the other side of all this.

And if you have to face it alone?

So be it.

You’ve been alone before. You’ll survive. You always do.

That day came.

The day when you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You’d had enough. The isolation. The pressure. The constant fight to keep up with everything and everyone. It was suffocating, like you were being dragged under by a tide you couldn’t control. And in the midst of it all, there he was.

Hyugo.

You hadn’t seen him in so long, but there he was, standing before you on the crowded street, his gaze soft as he noticed you.

“Y/n… is that you?” His voice was gentle, as if he’d just stepped out of a dream.

You froze, your chest tightening. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to run, to pretend like everything was fine, but you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Before you even realized what was happening, the dam broke.

You nearly crumpled right in front of him. Your throat burned with the emotion you’d kept bottled up for so long—anger, sadness, frustration—and it all poured out at once. You didn’t want him to see you like this, to witness your weakness. But it was too late. The tears came anyway.

Hyugo must’ve seen the pain in your eyes, because without a word, he pulled you gently into a nearby cafe.

The warmth of the room felt almost suffocating, but the air was filled with the rich scent of coffee, a distraction from the storm inside you. You sat down across from him, your hands trembling as you gripped the coffee cup, trying to steady yourself.

Before you could say anything, Hyugo spoke, his voice calm but observant. “Your eyes… they’re almost like Sol’s.”

The mention of Sol’s name struck you like a lightning bolt, but instead of reacting, you clung to the cup harder. You didn’t want to hear his name. You didn’t want to think about him.

“I… I hate him,” you managed to choke out, voice breaking. “I hate what he’s become.”

Hyugo watched you carefully, as if weighing his next words, before asking softly, “What about your studies? How’s everything going?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the question almost unbearable. You had been running from the truth for so long, but you couldn’t lie to him. Not anymore.

“It’s fine,” you said, though the words felt like they were scraping against your throat.

Hyugo didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way his brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing with concern. “No, it’s not. You almost broke the glass just holding that cup. Y/n, what’s going on?”

The words were like a trigger, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back. The tears spilled over as you let out a shaky breath. “They’re tormenting me, Hyugo. They blame me for things I didn’t do. They keep talking… rubbish, nonsense, and I just—I just want it to stop!” Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you’d been bottling up. “I wish they’d all just… die!”

The anger surged inside you, but it was swallowed by the crushing despair. You gripped the cup even harder, your knuckles white, trying to contain the flood of emotion that threatened to tear you apart.

“Why… why do you even support him? Why do you care about my brother? He’s insane, Hyugo! He’s delusional!” The words came out like a scream, as if you were pleading for him to understand. “Why do you support him like a… like a mother?! Why do you even put up with his bullshit?”

Hyugo’s face softened, and he leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Even if he does… things… even if he’s lost himself, I still care about him. And you, Y/n. I care about you, too.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, your chest tight, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

“I need to go,” you muttered, standing abruptly from the table, your chair screeching against the floor. Hyugo looked at you with concern, his hand twitching as if to stop you, but he didn’t.

“Go where?” he asked, his voice steady but questioning.

“Home,” you replied, your tone clipped. “The goons… they’ll be waiting. Around 7 p.m., maybe earlier if I’m unlucky. I need to escape before they find me. I can’t—” Your words were sharp, urgent, spilling out faster than you intended.

Hyugo’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Y/n, you can’t keep running like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. There was no point in explaining further. You grabbed your bag and left the cafe without another word, your mind racing as you hurried down the street. The world outside was darker than you expected, the evening chill cutting through your jacket as you quickened your pace.

Every shadow felt alive, every movement in your peripheral vision like a threat waiting to pounce.

The next day came like a blur.

You didn’t get much sleep—if any at all—but you forced yourself to get up and go to class. As you walked into the building, something felt… off. The air was heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You pushed open the classroom door, and that’s when you noticed it.

Everyone was looking at you.

Not the usual stares of indifference or mild disdain. These looks were different—wide eyes, hushed whispers, the faint rustle of papers as students leaned toward each other to mutter under their breath.

Disgusted. Scared.

The rich kids, the goons who never paid you any mind, suddenly couldn’t seem to look away. Their sneers were gone, replaced by something that almost resembled unease.

You froze for a moment, the weight of their gazes pressing down on you like a physical force. Then, forcing yourself to keep moving, you headed toward your usual seat at the back of the class.

The kid who usually sat there, slouched and half-asleep, glanced at you briefly before muttering something under his breath and moving to another seat.

Fine. You didn’t care.

You sat down, pulling out your books and pretending to read. But you could feel it—their eyes on you. Every single one of them.

Your throat tightened as you flipped through the pages, the words blurring together into meaningless lines. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t think.

What the hell was going on?

You stayed quiet, trying to shrink into yourself, but it didn’t help. The whispers grew louder, the stares more pointed. Some students didn’t even bother to hide it, their eyes burning holes into you as if you were something they couldn’t comprehend.

It didn’t make sense. Yesterday, they hated you because you were poor, because you didn’t belong here. But now?

Now, they looked at you like you were something to be afraid of.

You gripped the edge of your desk, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to scream. To demand an explanation. To tell them to stop.

But you didn’t.

You sat there in silence, the noise around you growing louder and louder until it was all you could hear.

And you didn’t u

The tension in the room reached its peak when the teacher walked in. You were too distracted by the whispers, the stares, and the suffocating atmosphere to notice her at first. But her sudden gasp caught your attention.

She froze, staring at you as if she’d seen a ghost. Her face paled, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, her lips parting and closing as though she was struggling to find words.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “They didn’t inform you?”

You blinked, confused. “Inform me about what?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved quickly toward you, grabbing your arm—not harshly, but urgently. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled you out of your seat. “Come with me. Now.”

The whispers grew louder as she dragged you through the room, her pace brisk, her movements almost frantic. You looked back at the other students, their eyes glued to you, their hushed voices cutting through the silence like knives.

And then you heard it.

“…their brother hurt them so much…”

Your breath hitched. Your brother? What were they talking about?

“What do you mean?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “What’s going on?”

But the teacher didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at you as she led you through the hallway, her grip on your arm tightening.

Your heart raced. The whispers, the stares, the fear—it all felt like it was closing in on you.

She stopped abruptly in front of the principal’s office, knocking quickly before opening the door and ushering you inside.

The principal was seated at his desk, his face pale, his hands clasped together tightly as if trying to steady himself. When he saw you, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear crossing his features before he masked it with a forced calm.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him.

You sat down, your mind racing, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the edges of the chair.

The principal took a deep breath, leaning forward slightly. “Y/n… have you been having trouble with goons recently?”

You blinked, startled by the question. “Yes,” you replied cautiously. “But… what does that have to do with anything? What’s going on?”

The principal hesitated, his gaze darting to the teacher, who stood by the door, wringing her hands nervously. He looked back at you, his voice low, almost trembling.

“If you knew someone with… powerful connections, you should have told us. Things like this could’ve been avoided.”

“What things?” you snapped, frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface. “What happened?”

The principal’s eyes widened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of his desk.

“You don’t know?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “I don’t know anything! What is going on?”

He stared at you, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend how you were so unaware of whatever had happened.

The principal’s voice was sharp, accusatory, as if every word he spat at you was a bullet meant to tear you down.

“That family’s worker—their enforcer or bodyguard, whatever they are—beat up the goons who were after you. The students too, the ones who even stood nearby! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Your breath hitched. “What—what did I do?”

“What did you do?!” he repeated, his face twisting with rage. “You ruined their lives, that’s what! Those students? Their limbs are broken, their reputations in tatters! Why didn’t you just keep quiet?!”

“I didn’t—” you stammered, your voice shaking. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t ask for—”

“Quiet!” he roared, slamming his hand on the desk, making you flinch. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused? The parents of those students—they’ve stopped funding the school! Their kids are worth more than you will ever be!”

The words stung, each one sharper than the last, but your mind was too clouded to process them fully. The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as his words echoed around you.

“Those broken limbs…” he continued, his voice lower now, dripping with venom. “Someone from that family family—took it upon themselves to send a message. You should have kept your head down. Instead, this happened.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Broken limbs.

You didn’t need to hear more. Your mind raced, and for a moment, everything around you faded into the background.

The image came to you unbidden.

The night before. The goons—waiting in the alleyways, lurking in the shadows. And then… him.

A man, cloaked in a dark hoodie, his face obscured by a mask but his presence unmistakable. His crimson eyes gleamed like blood in the dim light, his black hair catching the faint glow of the streetlamps.

The goons, cocky and loud, sneered at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them snarled, stepping forward.

The man didn’t answer. He simply tilted his head slightly, his crimson gaze locking onto the speaker.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” the goon barked, stepping closer, his hand reaching for the weapon at his side.

That’s when one of them recognized him.

“Wait… isn’t that—”

But it was too late.

The man moved with inhuman speed, his strikes precise and brutal. The first goon went down before he even had a chance to react, his weapon clattering to the ground as he crumpled, clutching his shattered arm.

The others charged at him, shouting obscenities, but it was futile. The man was a whirlwind of destruction, his movements fluid and calculated. Each punch, each kick, was delivered with devastating accuracy, bones cracking under his blows.

It wasn’t a fight—it was a massacre.

And when it was over, the goons lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

The man stood over them, his breathing steady, his crimson eyes cold and unfeeling. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only chaos and broken bodies.

Your stomach twisted as the scene played out in your mind.

It wasn’t the family’s worker.

It was him.

Your brother.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you stared at the principal, who was still fuming, his voice rising once again.

“And now—now you’re telling me you didn’t know? You didn’t think this would happen?! You’re a liability! We can’t have you here anymore. You’re being moved to the other building—”

“What?!” you cut him off, your voice rising with panic. “No! I worked hard to get here! You can’t just—”

“I can and I will!” he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk again. “If you’d kept your mouth shut, none of this would’ve happened. But no, you just had to—”

“Had to what?” you interrupted, your voice cold now, cutting through his tirade. “Had to exist? Had to study hard and not depend on anyone? Is that it?”

The principal glared at you, his face twisted with frustration and fear.

“You should’ve been quiet!” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “Because of you, because of your connections, those students—those valuable students—are ruined! Their parents have pulled their funding! They’re worth more to this school than your… your—”

“Garbage,” you said, cutting him off again, your voice steady and ice-cold. “No matter how much garbage you collect, it’s still garbage. Just like those idiots who got beat up.”

The principal’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for a response. But you didn’t wait for him to find his words.

The principal’s voice boomed, his face a mix of frustration and fear.

“You’re expelled from this building! Effective immediately, you’ll be transferred to the other one!”

You blinked, the words hanging in the air. For a second, your chest tightened, and you almost felt like crying—but then, inexplicably, a smile stretched across your lips. It wasn’t happiness, not really. It was a strange mix of bitterness, relief, and vindication, all bundled into one small, defiant smirk.

“Maybe this isn’t the place for me,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with a subtle edge. “Maybe it never was.”

The principal’s face turned red with rage, but you didn’t stick around to hear whatever rant he had brewing. You turned on your heel and walked out of the office, your head held high.

Whispers erupted around you the moment you stepped into the hallway. You didn’t bother looking at the students lining the lockers, their wide eyes and hushed voices buzzing like bees in your ears. You were done with their judgment. Done with their stares. Done with this.

Two days. That was how long you had before your official transfer to the other building.

Your locker greeted you with its usual dull metallic clang as you opened it, shoving your books into your bag with slow, deliberate movements. The weight of your situation pressed down on you, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely powerless.

Why?

Your mind flashed back to the incident—the broken limbs, the terrified whispers, the way the principal’s voice shook when he accused you of “ruining” those students’ lives. It wasn’t fear that gave you confidence. No. It was something else.

Was it him?

The thought of your brother filled you with conflicting emotions. Rage. Confusion. Maybe even the faintest trace of… gratitude?

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why the hell would that idiot’s actions make me feel safe?” you muttered, slamming your locker shut.

Still, deep down, you knew the truth. For all his faults—and there were plenty—he had your back.

Later that evening, you returned to your tiny apartment, hoping for a moment of peace to sort through your chaotic thoughts. But instead, you found your belongings scattered across the pavement outside.

“What the hell…?”

Your landlord stood in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring at you with pure disdain.

“You’re out,” he said bluntly.

“What?!” you snapped, storming up to him. “What are you talking about? I’ve always paid my rent on time—”

“Don’t care!” he barked, stepping forward and shoving you back before you could argue further. “You and your connections aren’t welcome here anymore. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?!” Your voice cracked with anger and disbelief. “What trouble?! I don’t even have connections!”

But he slammed the door in your face, leaving you standing there, stunned and furious.

You stared at your scattered belongings, your chest heaving with frustration. The weight of everything—the expulsion, the stares, the whispers, and now this—felt like it was crushing you. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill, but you refused to let them fall.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked up to see Hyugo and Sol standing a few feet away.

Hyugo looked at you with an apologetic frown, his hands shoved into his pockets. Sol, on the other hand, was a mess. His hoodie was torn, his knuckles were bandaged, and bruises bloomed across his face. His crimson eyes were sharp and piercing, but there was something in them—something tired.

“Hyugo,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

Hyugo crouched down beside you, his expression soft and filled with regret. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, your emotions swirling. “Thank you,��� you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For helping with the goons.”

Hyugo shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Thank Sol.”

Your gaze flicked to your brother, who stood silently, his crimson eyes boring into you.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Sol said, his voice flat and cold.

You didn’t know what to say.

But before you could think of a response, Sol broke the silence. “You have nowhere to go now.”

Your stomach dropped.

“So move in with me,” he said.

You blinked, stunned. “What? No! Absolutely not!”

Sol raised an eyebrow, his expression completely unimpressed. “You don’t really have a choice.”

“I do have a choice,” you snapped, standing up to face him. “And I’d rather be homeless than live with you!”

Sol didn’t respond. He simply crouched down and started gathering your belongings, completely ignoring your protests.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” you demanded, panic rising in your voice.

“Taking your things home,” he said calmly, not even looking at you.

“Home?!”

“Yes. Home. My apartment. Two rooms. Small but functional.”

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling over. “I don’t need your help!”

“Too bad,” he replied bluntly, standing up with your bag slung over his shoulder.

You glared at him, your voice trembling with anger. “I don’t even have anything worth taking! Just clothes and—”

“And cheap junk?” Sol cut in, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.

Your face burned with embarrassment as you looked away. “Don’t judge me. I’m broke.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, to your surprise, his voice softened—just barely.

“I’m not judging you,” he said, his tone unreadable.

You stared at him, taken aback. Sol was always cold, distant, impossible to read. But now, for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—something faint and fleeting, but undeniably there.

Understanding.

You threw your hands in the air, frustration bubbling over as you glared at Sol. “What the hell even are you?!” Your voice cracked, half from anger, half from the strain of everything that had happened. “I’ll never talk to you again. Not after this. Not after—whatever the fuck this is!”

Sol stood still, his crimson eyes fixed on you. For a moment, you thought he might lash out or bark back, but instead, his gaze softened.

“I regret a lot of things in life,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But this… what I am, what I’ve done—it is what it is.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. There was no malice in his tone, no defiance. Just a quiet, resigned sadness.

Sol turned his gaze to the ground, his expression distant. “After this year, you can move out. You don’t have to stay with me any longer than that. This is just for now—for you to stay safe. It’s the least I can do.”

His words hung in the air like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“And after that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at you, his crimson eyes duller than you’d ever seen them. “After that,” he said softly, “I’ll disappear. I’ll stay in the shadows, far away from you. You can hate me all you want. I’ll carry that, too.”

For a moment, you were frozen. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, to break down and cry all at once—but you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, silent and broken, unable to find the words.

It took time—time you didn’t want to admit you needed—but eventually, you moved in with him.

The apartment was small, just like Sol had said. Two rooms, clean, minimalistic. It was nothing like the chaotic mess of your old place, where everything was a constant reminder of your struggles. Here, it felt… oddly peaceful.

Sol didn’t talk much, and you didn’t ask questions. It was easier that way. The tension between you was always there, simmering under the surface, but he never pushed.

What surprised you the most, though, was how much he did for you.

Every morning, without fail, there was a freshly prepared bento waiting on the kitchen counter. Carefully packed rice, vegetables, protein—a far cry from the instant noodles and junk food you’d lived on before.

At first, you wanted to refuse, to push it all away out of spite. But your stomach betrayed you, and after the first bite, you couldn’t stop. It was so much better than anything you’d had in ages.

You hated how much you appreciated it.

Still, you didn’t say thank you. You couldn’t.

Life slowly began to find its rhythm. The new building accepted you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could study without constant fear or harassment. The weight of the goons, the whispers, and the stares had lifted.

You focused on your classes, determined to finish your degree and leave everything behind.

Sol stayed out of your way for the most part, true to his word. He didn’t ask about your day or pry into your life. He just… existed in the background. A quiet presence that you couldn’t quite ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

One evening, as you sat at the small dining table, absently picking at your food, you overheard something that caught you off guard.

It was a phone call—Sol’s voice, low and muffled through the thin walls of the apartment.

“She’s fine,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft. “No, I don’t need anything. Just take care of yourself, alright?”

You froze, your chopsticks hovering mid-air.

A few minutes later, Sol walked out of his room, his expression unreadable as always.

“You…” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to know. “You’ve been seeing someone?”

He stopped, blinking at you in surprise. For the first time in a while, you caught a glimpse of something almost human in his crimson eyes—something vulnerable.

“It’s not important,” he said curtly, brushing past you and heading to the kitchen.

You didn’t press. If he wanted to keep his secrets, that was fine. It wasn’t your business anyway.

You still weren’t sure how you felt about living with Sol. Sometimes, the weight of his presence was suffocating. Other times, it was strangely comforting.

What you did know was that, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

The new building was peaceful. Your studies were going well. And for all the chaos and pain that had led you here, you were starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could finish your degree and move on with your life.

For now, that was enough.

The students, for the most part, weren’t as cruel as those from the first one. There were no constant whispers or mocking glances. No one actively sought to tear you down. In fact, for the first time in a while, you felt like you were fitting in.

It didn’t hurt that you made a couple of friends, too.

Crowe, a student council member, was probably the most surprising of them all. At first, you thought he was just another stuck-up overachiever, someone who only cared about his grades and keeping up appearances. But to your shock, Crowe was kind, understanding, and remarkably down-to-earth. He made an effort to include you in group activities, always looking out for you when you felt like you were on the edge.

Then there was Brittney, a gyaru girl with blonde hair and a look that screamed “don’t mess with me” in the best way possible. You’d seen her walking around with her friends, looking like she owned the world, but once you got to know her, she was actually one of the nicest people you’d met in a long time.

Life wasn’t perfect, but it was better. You could breathe easier here.

Until, of course, some shitheads from the other building decided to ruin it all.

You had heard the rumors. The students from the first building still had their eyes on you, and not in a good way. They’d been whispering behind your back, mocking you, probably spreading lies about you. You’d thought you could leave all that behind when you transferred, but it seemed that the hatred for your last name followed you wherever you went.

One afternoon, while you were walking to class, a group of them cornered you in the hallway. They wore smug smiles, leaning in closer as you tried to brush past them.

“Well, well, if it isn’t her,” one of them sneered, a girl with jet-black hair and a silver stud in her nose. “How’s life in the new building? Not as glamorous as you thought, huh?”

You kept your head down, walking faster, but they followed you.

Another student, a lanky guy with glasses, laughed loudly. “What’s the matter? Afraid to talk to us? Or are you just embarrassed to be here?”

The insults kept coming, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You could feel your patience slipping away. They thought they had power over you. They thought they could just keep pushing you around because of your name, your past, your connection to your brother.

But no more.

You turned to face them, your voice low and controlled but full of authority. “Enough,” you snapped, eyes flashing with a fire that even you hadn’t realized was there.

One of the girls laughed, clearly trying to push your buttons. “What’s the matter, princess? Can’t handle the truth?”

You stood up straighter, meeting her gaze with cold, unflinching eyes. “You want to know the truth?” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “My boyfriend won’t tolerate this. He’s not going to let you get away with this. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t like people messing with me.”

The group of them paused for a moment, clearly surprised by your sudden shift in demeanor. Then, one of the guys—a taller, muscular dude with a tattoo on his neck—sneered at you. “Oh, you’ve got a boyfriend? Who would want someone like you?”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you gave them a sharp smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “He’s busy. But if you really want to meet him, I can show you a picture.”

The group of them exchanged glances, clearly amused by the idea that someone like you could have a boyfriend.

“Well, then,” the girl with the silver nose stud said with a smirk, “show us. I dare you.”

You kept your gaze steady, knowing exactly what you were doing. You pulled out your phone, holding it up in front of you like a weapon. “Fine. Two days,” you said, your voice cool and confident. “I’ll show you a picture. You’ve got two days to get off my back, or I’ll make sure he pays a visit here. You won’t like it if you push him too far.”

The group laughed, thinking it was all a joke, but you could see the doubt creeping into their eyes. They hadn’t expected you to fight back.

“Alright, we’ll give you two days,” the guy said, clearly eager to get away. “But don’t try to back out. We’ll be expecting that photo.”

With that, they all dispersed, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart racing but your face betraying no emotion.

You let out a sigh, leaning against the wall. You hadn’t expected to be so forceful, but it felt good to finally stand up for yourself. Even if it was a lie.

But now, you had a problem. You didn’t have a boyfriend. And if you didn’t show them a photo in two days, they’d be all over you like a swarm of angry bees.

You cursed under your breath, pulling your phone back into your pocket. What had you gotten yourself into?

You sat in the back of the classroom the next day, trying to focus on the lecture, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel the eyes of the other students on you, some out of curiosity, others out of contempt. It was no different than before—except now, it wasn’t just because of your last name.

You were being mocked,

You tried to ignore the whispers, you glanced over at Crowe, who was sitting a few seats away, scribbling notes in his notebook. Brittney was next to him, chatting quietly with some other students, her usual carefree attitude making you feel slightly more at ease.

But the peace didn’t last long. The students who had mocked you the day before were back at it, making sure to keep their voices loud enough for you to hear.

You tried to block them out, but it was impossible.

And then, a strange thing happened.

Brittney turned to you, her face unreadable. “Don’t let them get to you,” she whispered, her eyes serious. “You’re not alone.”

It felt like a small comfort, and for the first time, you felt like maybe you could make it through this.

Two days.

You could figure something out in two days. You had to.

The door clicked shut behind you, the familiar sound echoing through the small apartment. You sighed, your shoulders sinking in relief, glad to be home after another exhausting day of pretending everything was fine.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

Sol was already there when you walked in, sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands. His voice was light, like he was chatting with someone and clearly enjoying himself. It was almost sickening, how happy he sounded.

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze narrowing. What was it that had him so cheerful today? You’d never seen him like this, not even when he got good grades or when he finally kicked his bad habits. He wasn’t even looking at you; his attention was fixed entirely on the screen, his voice soft and relaxed.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual as you dropped your bag by the door, “who are you talking to?”

He glanced up at you, his smile widening just a little, before turning his attention back to the phone. “Oh, just my lover,” he said with a weirdly creepy grin plastered on his face.

Your eyebrows shot up. Lover? What the hell? He was still going on about it, his voice practically dripping with giddiness. He’s like a puppy “I can’t get enough of them. we’re meant to be together.”

You froze, your eyes going wide. What the actual fuck? He wasn’t just casually talking to someone—he was head over heels. And you had to sit there and listen to it? You couldn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, you had been completely oblivious. All this time, you’d been drowning in your studies and dealing with the goons and everything else that kept you on edge. You hadn’t even thought about relationships, hadn’t even considered love as part of your life. It was just… forgotten. You had nothing.

And now, Sol—Sol—had someone.

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach, and you couldn’t hold back the bitterness that bubbled up. You stared at him like he was the world’s biggest idiot, feeling your jaw clench. What the hell was wrong with you?

You didn’t even know why it stung so much. Maybe it was because you had never realized how important love was until now. Maybe it was because, for once, you wanted to experience that kind of happiness, that kind of connection with someone. Maybe it was because the one person who you thought was stuck in the same mess as you was already way ahead of you.

Shit.

“How was your day?” Sol asked, his voice almost too soft as he glanced up from his phone for a moment.

For a split second, you wanted to tell him everything, to unload your frustrations, your anger at the goons, the way they tormented you, how you were faking everything just to get through the day. You could have told him about the lies, about how you had to lie about having a boyfriend to shut them up. You could have shared all of it.

But no.

You couldn’t let him know. You wouldn’t. Not after seeing how genuinely happy he was. You couldn’t let your mess affect his life.

So you smiled, fake as it was, and answered. “I spent time with my boyfriend.”

Sol blinked, looking confused for a second. He raised an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend?”

You instantly regretted saying it. You weren’t sure why you said it, but you couldn’t take it back now. “Yeah,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “My boyfriend. I just… I spent time with him. That’s it.”

There was a beat of silence as Sol stared at you. His eyes seemed darker now, suspicious even. You could see the gears turning in his mind. “Wait, what?” He put his phone down slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Who is this guy? How long have you been together?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Why was he asking so many questions? Why did it matter to him?

You felt your pride kick in. You had to keep up the act. You had to show him that you weren’t some loser, stuck in a miserable existence. “It’s none of your business, Sol,” you snapped, irritation creeping into your voice. “Just drop it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head slightly, eyes still locked on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. “I’m just trying to be a good brother here,” he said quietly, but the words were heavy. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!” you shot back, then immediately regretted it. Your words came out too sharp, too defensive.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, clearly frustrated. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything. But if you need someone to talk to—”

“No!” you cut him off, more forcefully this time. “Just… just leave me alone, alright?”

Sol blinked at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you thought you saw something soft in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly before picking up his phone again, his voice more distant than before. “Fine. then.”

You shot him a glare, already heading toward your room. “Whatever.”

But as you reached the door, he called out to you again. “Hey.”

You didn’t turn around.

“I know you think you have to keep things from me,” he said quietly. “But I’m still your brother, okay? Even if you hate me.”

You didn’t respond, just stepped into your room and slammed the door behind you.

But as the silence settled, your mind wandered back to the lie you told. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the emptiness that still lingered in your chest. Your life had become so focused on surviving, on studying, on dealing with the shit that kept piling on top of you, that you forgot about the things that truly mattered.

You’d built walls so high around yourself that even the smallest glimpse of happiness felt out of reach.

You sat down on the bed, head in your hands, overwhelmed by it all. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal?

The night passed quietly, the silence of the apartment settling heavily around you as you drifted to sleep. Your thoughts were a swirling mess of frustration, loneliness, and regret. You tossed and turned, unable to quiet the storm in your head.

The scene shifted.

At the same time, across town, the conversation was unfolding in a cozy corner of a cafe where you wouldn’t be, but where the people you’d come to know were. The three of them sat together, sipping their drinks, their chatter light despite the weighty topics that had been hanging around you.

Brittney, Jess, and Crowe were in the midst of a rare quiet moment, their usual teasing and laughter taking a backseat to something more serious.

“I just don’t get it,” Crowe was saying, his voice low, almost like he was trying to make sense of something he couldn’t fully comprehend. “You know, they’ve been through so much. It’s like… their whole life’s been one disaster after another.”

Jess nodded, her face thoughtful. “I feel it too,” she said softly, her voice tinged with empathy. “They’re like a walking storm cloud, always pushing people away without meaning to. It’s hard to watch someone live like that.”

Brittney, who had always been more outspoken, tilted her head, frowning. “They’re just so… nice, y’know? They’re really relatable in a way. Like, it’s easy to see why they’ve been through so much. But they hide it so well. I respect that.”

Crowe smiled at Brittney’s words, his gaze softening. “You’ve made a new friend, huh?” he teased, leaning back in his chair.

Brittney shot him an unimpressed look, her eyes rolling. “Don’t act like it’s hard for me to make friends, Crowe. I’m not that bad,” she said, a half-smirk on her face.

Jess chuckled at the playful exchange but then grew serious again. “But, seriously, you guys think they’ll ever fit in here? I mean, meeting Deryl is one thing, but how will Geo feel about them joining the group? You know how he is with… new people.”

Crowe’s expression hardened slightly, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Geo’s a problem. If they can’t handle him, this whole thing’s gonna blow up. But… I think he’d accept them, eventually. I hope.”

Brittney leaned back, her lips curling slightly as she pondered the idea. “Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t scare them off,” she muttered. “Because with the way they’ve been acting, I don’t think they’re in the mood for more drama.”

There was a heavy silence between them, the weight of the conversation pressing down on all of them. They had seen glimpses of the life you led—your struggles, your isolation, and the way you tried to hide it behind a wall of sarcasm and forced smiles. And despite their differences, despite their own challenges, they understood you in a way most didn’t.

And just as the silence grew uncomfortable, Crowe broke it again, his voice quieter this time, a little more thoughtful. “We’ll see. I think, in their own way, they’re starting to open up. But… we all need to be patient with them.”

They all exchanged glances, unsure of where this new chapter would lead. Would you really fit in with them, or would the weight of your past hold you back from finally connecting with people who genuinely wanted to be your friends?

Only time would tell.

You woke up on Sunday feeling oddly restless, your thoughts swirling. You needed to do something about that “boyfriend” situation. You could ask Hyugo for help, but a tiny voice in your head told you that would be a huge mistake. You didn’t need his involvement—not now. What you really needed was someone like Sol, someone intimidating and powerful who could send a message. Someone who made others back off without lifting a finger. But finding someone like that wasn’t going to be easy.

You walked, your mind raced through all the possibilities. Could you find someone who matched that terrifying energy? Who could fill the role without looking like a total joke?

Suddenly, a murmur caught your attention. A group of girls were talking excitedly, their words a mixture of awe and admiration. You glanced in their direction, curiosity piqued, and your gaze fell upon the source of their chatter.

There, walking casually down the street, was a man who commanded attention. His pale complexion stood out against the dull backdrop of the city, his aquamarine eyes seemingly piercing through everything in his path. His lips were fuller than usual, giving him a strikingly handsome appearance. But it wasn’t just his looks that made him stand out—it was the energy he exuded. Something about him screamed power, something that made you feel a strange flutter in your chest.

He had dark bluish-purple hair, the type that could easily be called stylish but still slightly intimidating with its bowl-cut shape. His low ponytail was tied neatly, as though he didn’t even need to try. His clothing matched his entire vibe: a dark, bluish-purple hoodie with a white turtleneck peeking out, paired with black ripped jeans that added an edge to his appearance. And the accessories—those long, rectangular block earrings in teal and white, not to mention the septum piercing—made him look like someone who didn’t care what anyone thought.

He was, in a word, perfect. He looked like the kind of guy who would make a fantastic, terrifying boyfriend. You could feel the pull, the certainty that he would be just as frightening as Sol. You took a step forward, feeling that strange urge to get closer to him, to make him yours somehow.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, your heart racing slightly. This was it. You didn’t need to talk to him, you just needed a photo, something to show the goons who had mocked you. Something to prove you had a boyfriend—someone they’d never dare question. You lined up the shot, focusing on his face, waiting for the perfect moment.

And just as you were about to snap the photo, you saw him look up. His gaze locked on yours. Time seemed to freeze for a second.

“Did you take my photo?” he asked, his voice cold, his expression unreadable.

Your heart nearly stopped. His tone was sharp, almost predatory. The way he asked it… it wasn’t just a simple question—it was a warning. His cold stare sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh no. You felt your face flush, and before you could react, he looked away. But then, just as quickly, his eyes returned to you, piercing through you with a chilling gaze.

“Did you take my photo?” he repeated, the question more threatening now.

Your mind went blank. You were trapped. You realized, in that moment, that you’d made a huge mistake. You’d done the exact thing your brother would’ve done. You’d stalked someone. You’d taken their picture without permission, without any regard for boundaries. You’d become that person—the one who couldn’t control their obsession.

Your body froze as the realization hit. “Congrats,” you thought bitterly to yourself, “You’ve just become like your brother. It’s a crime, you idiot.”

Panicking, your hands shook. The girls who’d been chatting earlier noticed the scene and started laughing. “Aww, look at there, an idiot!” one of them teased, her voice ringing out like a bell. The sting of their mockery made you want to disappear.

Your heart pounded. What had you done? This guy was terrifying. He was exactly the kind of person who could ruin your life with a single word. You stood there, paralyzed, as he looked at you with disdain, clearly not impressed by your actions.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing at you. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. He took a single step toward you, and you couldn’t stand it anymore. You turned on your heel and bolted, running as fast as you could, your heart in your throat.

Your mind was a whirlwind. What the hell had just happened? You had crossed a line, and you knew it. The anxiety in your chest grew heavier with each step you took, and it wasn’t just because you had taken his photo—it was because, in some messed-up way, you kind of wanted him to catch you. But now you were scared of what might happen next.

You kept running, never looking back, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just made a terrifying mistake.

You slowed down, your feet dragging slightly as you tried to catch your breath. The adrenaline was wearing off, but your mind was still racing. You pulled your phone from your pocket, your fingers trembling as you looked at the picture you’d taken of him. The shot was perfect. He looked so intense, like a figure from your twisted fantasies. Your heart was pounding, but there was a strange sense of satisfaction building within you.

Your life won’t be hell anymore. The thought rang in your mind, though you weren’t entirely sure if you believed it. Was this really the answer? You’d gone this far, taken this huge leap, and now you couldn’t back down. You had something on them, something that would protect you, wouldn’t it?

But as you walked, you heard the unmistakable voices of the goons. You froze, the panic starting to rise again. There was no escape. No more hiding. They had found you.

“Hey,” one of the guys sneered, his eyes locking onto you. “What’s that you got there?”

You didn’t even get a chance to react before the other guy grabbed your phone from your hand, swiping it with ease. You tried to fight back, but they were too fast, too strong. Your pulse quickened, your breath shallow.

“What is this?” The first goon asked as he stared at the screen. He glanced at the picture you’d taken. “Looks like someone we know…”

The tension in the air thickened, and before you could do anything, they grabbed you. One of the goons sneered down at you. “You’ve really crossed the line this time, haven’t you?”

A rush of cold terror washed over you, and before you could get a word out, a fist collided with your face. The world spun as you crumpled to the ground, everything going black for a moment. A sharp pain shot through your skull as your vision blurred.

But then, you heard something. Voices. A scuffle. Another punch. And then, to your surprise, two men came into view, swinging at the goons who had been tormenting you. The sound of fists hitting flesh was almost deafening, but you barely registered it. Your head was still spinning from the punch. One of the goons was knocked to the side, groaning. The other barely managed to stand before another punch sent him to the ground.

The man who had delivered the blows stood tall, a dark presence looming over you. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his face. You blinked through the fog in your vision, trying to make sense of what was happening. The man who had just taken down the goons looked familiar, his features hauntingly similar to the guy you’d just photographed.

Your breath hitched. The connection was clear now. This was him.

You had taken a picture of his face. You had made a move, and now, here he was, standing over you like some kind of dark savior, though it didn’t feel like you were in safe hands at all.

A voice cut through the haze. It was the other man— you thought his name was—asking the man if you were okay. The other voice was tentative, almost kind, though there was a nervous laugh in it.

“Don’t touch ‘em,” Geo" muttered, his voice cold and detached, though there was something else there too. “Why even bother with someone like them?”

You blinked, struggling to stay conscious. Your vision blurred again as your body betrayed you, and you nearly passed out. But not before you heard Deryl’s voice again, this time more insistent.

“Buddy,” Deryl said, trying to lighten the mood. “You should help people in need. Even if they photographed you.”

Geo shot him a look, his eyes deadly serious, but there was a flicker of something—something darker—in them when he looked down at you. His gaze was hard, calculating. It was like he was piecing something together in his mind. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke.

“I’m not touching them,” he muttered again, but it was clear that wasn’t the case anymore. He was trying to pretend he didn’t care, but his eyes told a different story.

You could barely focus, your eyelids growing heavier as your body refused to stay awake. Geo’s voice cut through the fog once more, and you caught a few words before everything went blank.

“Deryl, you carry them. I’m not touching that.”

Deryl adjusted his grip on you as he walked, muttering softly to himself. “Man, you’re heavier than you look…” He chuckled nervously, more to ease his own discomfort than to make a joke. You were completely unconscious, head lolling slightly, and he glanced back at Geo, who followed a few steps behind with his usual brooding expression.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes lingered on your face, his sharp gaze narrowing. Something about the way you looked stirred a memory, one he wasn’t prepared to confront. His steps faltered for just a moment before he hissed, “Wait.”

Deryl stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow. “Huh? What is it?”

Geo’s eyes widened slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grimace. Without explaining himself, he stepped forward, his presence looming over both you and Deryl. “Give them to me.”

“What?” Deryl asked, startled. “You just said—”

“I said give them to me,” Geo snapped, his voice low and cold, cutting through Deryl’s hesitation. He reached out, his movements sharp but deliberate, and took you from Deryl’s arms without waiting for an argument.

Deryl blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. “You’ve been all high and mighty about not helping, and now you’re—”

“Shut up,” Geo hissed, his tone dangerous. He adjusted his grip on you with a surprising gentleness that contradicted the hostility in his voice. He glanced down at your face again, his expression hardening. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Deryl stared at him for a moment before sighing and scratching the back of his head. “Alright, fine, Pal! . Lead the way, I guess.”

Geo didn’t reply. He simply started walking, his strides long and purposeful. Deryl followed behind, shooting the occasional curious glance at Geo, who carried you as if it were both a burden and something he couldn’t let go of.

When they reached the nearest bus stand, Geo stopped. He looked around briefly before stepping toward the bench. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he carefully set you down, leaning you against the metal backrest. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers curling slightly as if he were resisting the urge to do more.

Deryl, watching the scene unfold, crossed his arms and tilted his head. “So, uh… what now? We just leave them here?”

Geo straightened up, his face as unreadable as ever. “Yes.”

“Seriously?” Deryl’s voice rose in disbelief. “You’re just gonna walk away and leave them like this? What if something happens?”

“They’ll survive.” Geo’s tone was clipped, final.

Deryl took a step closer, trying to catch Geo’s eye. “How do you even know that? You’re acting like you know them or something.”

Geo froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Slowly, he turned his head to glare at Deryl, his aquamarine gaze sharp enough to cut. “I said shut up.”

Deryl raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t quite mask his curiosity. “Alright, alright, no need to get all hissy about it. Just saying, you’re acting weird.”

Geo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he cast one last glance at you. His expression remained cold, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, perhaps? He pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw tightening as if he were swallowing words he didn’t want to speak.

“Annoying,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He turned on his heel and started walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Deryl jogged after him, falling into step beside him.

“Okay, but seriously,” Deryl said, his tone lighter now but still probing. “You’re acting like this is personal. Do you know them?”

Geo didn’t slow down, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “No.”

Deryl snorted. “You’re a terrible liar, buddy.”

“Shut up,” Geo snapped again, his voice lower this time, almost a growl. His pace quickened, but Deryl kept up, undeterred.

“Come on, man,” Deryl pressed. “If you don’t know them, why’d you suddenly change your mind? You went from ‘leave them to rot’ to ‘I’ll carry them myself’ in, like, two seconds. What gives?”

Geo’s teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw tightening. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer, but then he let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “They’re too familiar.”

Deryl blinked, taken aback. “Familiar? Like how?”

Geo’s lips curled into a sneer, though it seemed more directed at himself than at Deryl. “I said, shut up.”

Deryl held up his hands again, though his grin widened. “Alright, alright. But you’re really bad at keeping secrets, you know that?”

Geo ignored him, his strides long and purposeful as he walked away from the bus stand. His mind, however, wasn’t as composed as his outward demeanor suggested. Memories he’d buried long ago were clawing their way to the surface, and no matter how much he tried to suppress them, they wouldn’t stay hidden.

“Still look the same…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself. His aquamarine eyes flicked toward the ground as he walked, his expression darkening. The weight of recognition was heavy on his shoulders, though he refused to let it show.

Deryl, walking beside him, noticed the change in Geo’s demeanor but chose not to press further. Instead, he settled for a quieter approach, matching Geo’s pace without saying a word. He could tell Geo was lost in his thoughts, and though Deryl was naturally nosy, he knew better than to push too hard when Geo was in one of his moods.

Geo’s mind raced as he replayed the events of the past hour. Your face, your fainted form, the way you’d looked so vulnerable—it all felt too close to something he couldn’t quite place. Or maybe he could, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“You’re too into my memories,” he muttered again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His fists clenched in his pockets as he walked, his gaze fixed ahead.

But despite his outward hostility, a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter wasn’t over. And that thought, as much as he hated to admit it, unsettled him more than anything else.

You jolted awake as a high-pitched wail pierced your groggy mind. A child, no older than five, stood in front of you, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. “I want to sit!” she cried, her tiny voice laced with impatience.

The mother gave you an apologetic smile, gently shaking your shoulder. “Excuse me, but could you let her sit?”

Blinking rapidly, you straightened up, your head still spinning. “Oh, uh, sorry! My bad!” You quickly stood, brushing yourself off as you apologized again.

The little girl climbed up onto the bench, beaming as she claimed her throne. The mother gave you a curt nod of thanks, and you stepped back, trying to collect your thoughts.

Your heart was still racing as you walked away, your legs shaky but functional. A strange heaviness settled in your chest as you tried to piece together what had happened. Then, with a sudden jolt of panic, you patted your pockets. Your phone. Relief flooded through you as you pulled it out, still intact.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you unlocked it. The first thing you saw was the photo. The guy. His face stared back at you, aquamarine eyes cold and piercing even in stillness. You stared at it, holding your phone closer for a better look. He looked familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place why. Then again, did it matter?

You sighed, switching off your phone. At least you had something to show those goons. Even if they were terrifying, this picture might just save you from whatever chaos they had planned. You tried to convince yourself that was enough.

Your thoughts drifted back to the encounter. You couldn’t quite recall how you’d escaped, but you decided it wasn’t worth overthinking. You’d survived, right? That was all that mattered.

Later at Home

The familiar scent of food hit you as you walked through the door. Your stomach growled in response, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since morning. Sol was in the kitchen, idly humming as he set down a plate on the counter. He didn’t look at you, his attention focused elsewhere.

“Food’s ready,” he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing the plate without much thought. You caught a glimpse of him as you headed toward your room—he was hunched over the table, sketching something in his notebook. The silence between you was heavy, but you didn’t feel like breaking it.

Once inside your room, you locked the door behind you and plopped down on your bed. The plate balanced precariously on your lap as you mindlessly ate, your thoughts still scattered from the day’s events. Sol’s unusual quietness lingered in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off. He’s probably just sulking about something, like always.

You finished eating and set the empty plate on your bedside table. Lying back, you pulled out your phone again. The photo of the guy stared back at you, his aquamarine eyes boring into yours. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly.

“Guess I’ve got my ‘boyfriend,’” you muttered to yourself with a wry smile. The girls were going to love this.

The next day, you strutted into the campus with a newfound sense of pride, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. The image of the man’s piercing aquamarine eyes had become your badge of defiance against the girls who had bullied you. As they approached, the usual smug grins plastered on their faces, you decided it was time to strike.

“So, where’s your boyfriend’s picture?” one of them sneered, arms crossed.

“Oh, you mean this?” you said with a dramatic flourish, pulling out your phone and showing them the picture. Geo’s cold, intimidating gaze stared back at them. You almost felt sorry for them—almost.

Their smirks instantly dropped. One of the girls snatched the phone from your hand, staring at the screen in disbelief. “Wait… he’s your boyfriend?” she stammered, her voice laced with uncertainty.

“Yes,” you said smugly, crossing your arms. “He is. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my phone back.”

They handed it over quickly, their attitudes doing a complete 180. “We didn’t know he was your boyfriend! We won’t bother you anymore!” one of them said, her tone almost apologetic.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, an exaggerated, evil laugh escaping your lips. “Hehehehehehe!” You turned and walked away, feeling like you’d just conquered the world. Metaphorically, your nose was growing like Pinocchio’s, but who cared? You’d earned this victory.

Later, at lunch, you bumped into Brittney, who waved you over enthusiastically. “Hey, you coming to the cafeteria today?” she asked, her usual sunny demeanor infectious.

“Why not?” you replied, shrugging. It would be nice to eat with someone who wasn’t Sol for a change.

You all sat down to eat, Brittney turned to you, a sly smile playing on her lips. “So… I’ve been hearing some rumors.”

You blinked at her. “Rumors?”

“Yeah, you know, about a certain someone being your boyfriend,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Before you could answer, Crowe chimed in, “Speaking of someone, it’s been a while since Deryl and Geo hung out. Wonder what they’re up to?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Deryl and Geo? who are they?”

“Deryl’s great—kind as ever,” Crowe said with a grin. “Geo, though… well, he’s a piece of work. But don’t worry! He’s not as bad as he seems.”

You smiled faintly, unsure if you should feel reassured or not. Brittney, however, wasn’t letting the conversation shift away from the topic of your so-called boyfriend. “So, spill! Who is he?” she pressed.

With a dramatic flourish, you pulled out your phone and turned the screen toward her. The picture of the man filled the display, and you couldn’t help but add a smug, “Hehehehe!”

Brittney’s reaction was immediate. Her face fell, her cheerful expression replaced by something darker. “Wait… is this…?”

“What?” Jess leaned over to look, and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god.”

Crowe, curious about the fuss, leaned in as well. His usually calm demeanor cracked as his blue eyes sparkled with surprise. “You’re dating… him?”

All three of them screamed in unison, “YOU’RE DATING OUR GEO?!”

The cafeteria went silent, all eyes turning toward your table. You froze, your face flushing as you tried to stammer out a response.

Before you could say anything, two familiar figures entered the cafeteria: Deryl and Geo. Deryl looked as cheerful as ever, while Geo’s usual broody expression darkened as soon as his eyes landed on you.

“Geo!” Brittney yelled, pointing at him like he’d committed a crime. “You’re dating them?!”

The entire cafeteria erupted into whispers and murmurs, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked between you and the others, his expression unreadable.

You panicked. Before he could say a word, you grabbed his hand and bolted, dragging him out of the cafeteria as fast as your legs could carry you. Geo barely resisted, following behind with a mixture of shock and annoyance etched on his face.

“Wait—what the hell are you doing?” he hissed as you shoved open the door and pushed him outside.

“Just—just go with it!” you snapped, your voice a mix of desperation and embarrassment.

You stopped a few paces away from the building, finally letting go of his hand. Geo crossed his arms, his piercing gaze locked on you. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

You gulped, feeling the weight of his stare. “Um… it’s kind of a long story.”

“You-!“ he said coldly, his tone daring you to try lying again.

The moment you finished explaining, you felt your heart pounding as Geo stared at you, his expression cold and unreadable. You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to snap under his piercing aquamarine gaze. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand. I won’t tell anyone else. Just… please don’t expose me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Geo crossed his arms, his tall figure looming over you. His silence was more intimidating than any verbal berating. Finally, he let out a sharp sigh, the faintest trace of irritation flickering across his face. “You really are the most idiotic piece of shit,” he hissed, his voice low but cutting. “Photographing me, spreading rumors, telling people I’m your boyfriend—do you even think before you act?”

You flinched, clutching your phone tightly. “I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” he cut you off, his tone icy. “Just stay out of my business from now on.” He turned as if to leave but paused, glancing back at you with narrowed eyes. “But… where did you even get that picture?”

Your mouth opened to respond, but suddenly, a memory bubbled to the surface. The sight of him standing there, broody and imposing, triggered something deep in your mind. “Wait…” you murmured, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I’ve seen you before. I know you from somewhere.”

Geo’s eyes narrowed further, his body tensing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s you,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Subaru-kun… it’s really you, isn’t it?”

The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. Geo’s face shifted from annoyance to pure panic, his aquamarine eyes widening as he looked around. A few girls nearby, overhearing the conversation, started whispering.

“Subaru?” one of them muttered. “Isn’t his name Geo?”

Geo clicked his tongue, his sharp jaw tightening as he grabbed your wrist. “You,” he hissed under his breath, “shut up.” Without another word, he dragged you away, ignoring your protests as you stumbled after him.

“Wait! What are you—Geo, I mean Subaru, I—”

“Stop talking,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His grip on your wrist wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to keep you moving. He navigated through the campus like a man on a mission, his long legs making it hard for you to keep up.

When you finally reached a secluded area behind one of the buildings, he released your wrist and spun to face you. “Don’t ever call me that name again,” he said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“But why—”

“Because that’s not who I am anymore,” he interrupted, his tone softer but still guarded. He raked a hand through his dark bluish-purple hair, his earrings catching the light as he turned his gaze away from you. “Got it?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. The Subaru you remembered—kind, soft-spoken, always smiling—was so different from the man standing in front of you now. But even in his hostility, you could see fragments of the boy you used to play with, buried beneath layers of coldness and resentment. “It really is you,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Geo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re so damn persistent,” he muttered, his tone laced with exasperation. “Why couldn’t you just leave things alone?”

“I didn’t know it was you!” you defended, your voice rising slightly. “I just… I thought you looked familiar, and now I know why. We used to play together, remember? You and Hyugo and—”

“Enough.” His voice was sharp, but his aquamarine eyes betrayed a flicker of something—pain, maybe? “The past doesn’t matter. Not to me, and it shouldn’t to you, either.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. The tension between you hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions pressing down on both of you. Finally, Geo straightened, his usual cold demeanor sliding back into place.

“Just… forget this happened,” he said, his tone more resigned than angry. “And stop dragging me into your messes.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking away, his long strides carrying him further and further from you. For a moment, you considered chasing after him, but something in his posture—rigid and unyielding—stopped you. Instead, you watched him disappear around the corner, the name “Subaru” lingering on the tip of your tongue like a forbidden word.

Your heart ached as you stood there, alone in the silence. It wasn’t just Geo who had changed—you realized, with a pang, that you had, too. And somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, you had stumbled back into each other’s lives. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, you weren’t sure yet.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes narrowed, frustration evident on his sharp, pale face. He crossed his arms and stared down at you as if you were the most infuriating puzzle he’d ever encountered. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his tone icy and cutting. “First, you drag me into this whole boyfriend nonsense, and now I’m stuck dealing with your idiotic face. You’re just like Hyugo—always causing problems I never asked for.”

His words hit like a slap. You blinked, trying to keep your composure, but the sting of his insult made your chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”

Geo scoffed, clicking his tongue in irritation. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything,” he snapped. He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over you, and tilted your chin up with a surprisingly firm yet gentle hand, forcing you to look into his aquamarine eyes. “You’re the one who got us into this mess,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “And the only reason I’m even this nice to you is because, unfortunately, you’re someone I used to know. You haven’t done anything wrong—yet. But keep pushing, and we’ll see.”

His sharp words were laced with venom, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of restraint, as though he were holding back more than just his temper. Your breath hitched under the intensity of his stare, and you bit your lip, looking away. “It’s fine,” you said quietly. “I’ll fix it. I’ll tell everyone it was a lie. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

You turned to leave, your head low, but Geo’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Wait.”

You froze, glancing back at him hesitantly. His expression was still hard, but his aquamarine eyes had softened, just a fraction. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his bluish-purple hair, his earrings swaying slightly with the movement. “There’s no point in fixing it now,” he muttered, almost to himself. “The damage is done. And if I’m being honest, it might actually work in my favor.”

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Geo’s lips pressed into a thin line, as though he hated every word he was about to say. “This school is full of shitty people,” he began, his voice laced with irritation. “Love letters piling up at the end of the year, girls stalking me, and way too much work to deal with. If pretending to be your boyfriend gets them off my back, I’ll do it.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

He fixed you with a deadpan stare. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

You blinked, your mind racing. Geo—cold, broody, terrifying Geo—was offering to pretend to be your boyfriend. “I don’t understand,” you said slowly. “You hate me, and now you’re offering to help?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, though his tone wasn’t exactly reassuring. “I hate the situation you dragged me into. But if it gives me some damn solitude, it’s worth it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. This didn’t feel real—Geo, the guy who seemed to hate everyone and everything, willingly offering to go along with your mess? It was the last thing you expected.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said, his tone sharp, as if reading your mind. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, and keeping people away from me. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. “Got it.”

“Good.” He stepped back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “But don’t push your luck. If you do anything stupid, this deal’s off.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly. “I promise.”

Geo rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Whatever. Just try not to embarrass me more than you already have.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his long strides carrying him out of sight.

You stood there for a moment, replaying the conversation in your mind. Geo, of all people, pretending to be your boyfriend? It was so absurd you almost laughed. Almost.

But as you thought about his offer, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The weight of everything from the day was making your head spin. You had barely registered the final bell ringing, signaling the end of classes, before you packed your things in a rush. There was so much pressure on you, too much. You wanted to thank Geo for the ridiculous arrangement, but the reality of it was starting to sink in, and it was suffocating. You just needed to escape, get away from everyone, clear your head.

But as you stuffed your notebook into your bag, you heard Crowe’s voice behind you. “Hey, can we talk for a second?”

You paused, turning to look at him, a little surprised by his sudden approach. “What’s up?” you asked, trying to mask the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

Crowe shifted on his feet, his expression a little more serious than usual. “It’s about you and Geo…”

Before he could go any further, someone at the door interrupted, their voice cutting through the air. “He’s waiting for you.”

You froze. He? You glanced towards the classroom door, and there, standing in the hallway, was Geo. His aquamarine eyes were focused somewhere off in the distance, looking as uninterested as ever, yet there he was—waiting.

A strange feeling tugged at your chest. Was this really happening? You’d expected him to be cold, but to actually see him waiting for you like this was a different kind of surreal.

Crowe raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at you. “Looks like someone’s waiting, huh?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You nodded, but your voice barely escaped. “Yeah, I guess so…”

With that, you made your way to the door, feeling your feet move like they were carrying you toward your fate. As you approached Geo, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was he really waiting for you, or was this some sort of joke? You were bracing yourself for his usual stony indifference.

“Geo?” you asked hesitantly. “Are you… waiting for me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, his face expressionless, his stance relaxed but distant. For a split second, you thought maybe this was a chance for him to act sweeter, to at least pretend to play along with the whole boyfriend act. You almost expected him to give you a teasing smile, some playful banter. But then, everything changed in a flash.

Without warning, he reached out and pinched your side, hard. A sharp pain shot through you, and you gasped, immediately feeling the sting of his fingers digging into your skin.

“You should’ve waited for me,” he scolded, his voice low and cold, but with a noticeable edge of annoyance.

You winced, holding your side where he pinched you, and instinctively, you apologized. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Geo’s eyes narrowed, his face still unreadable. “Tch. Whatever. Let’s go.”

He didn’t even wait for you to respond, immediately turning and walking toward the exit. You stood there, momentarily stunned, before scrambling to catch up to him. The moment the words left his mouth, you realized just how much control he had in this situation.

You hurriedly walked behind him, your heart pounding as you struggled to keep up with his brisk pace. The silence between you both was almost unbearable, the weight of the earlier events and his cold reaction weighing heavily on you. You had expected something—anything—that resembled affection, but instead, all you were left with was his cold indifference.

Geo walked ahead, you felt something stirring deep within you—a mix of frustration, confusion, and a strange pull toward him. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were both stuck in this weird dance together.

Brittney and Jess were sitting together, the usual buzz of the cafeteria surrounding them as they spoke in hushed tones, exchanging glances. They couldn’t believe it—Geo, Geo, of all people, was actually dating someone. It was almost surreal.

“I just… I don’t get it,” Jess murmured, her voice still tinged with disbelief. “How can someone as… scary as him be in a relationship? Like, who could handle that? He’s so intimidating.”

Brittney glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “You really think he doesn’t care? Maybe he’s just… hard to read? I don’t know, maybe someone’s actually getting through to him.”

“Who knows? Someone has to be changing him,” said with a small frown. “I just… I can’t see him acting this way for no reason. There’s no way someone could stay that icy without something or someone… breaking through.”

Before they could dive deeper into their thoughts, Deryl walked into the cafeteria with his usual carefree stride, scanning the room for his friends. As soon as he spotted them, he made his way over, looking a little too smug for anyone’s liking.

“Hey, where’s Geo?” Deryl asked, looking around as though Geo had just disappeared off the face of the Earth.

“Ah, Geo?” Brittney started, her voice flat and disinterested, though her mind was still buzzing. “He went with his… partner.”

Deryl blinked, the news landing on him like a slap to the face. “Partner?” he echoed, eyes wide with shock. “He actually has a partner?”

Brittney nodded curtly. “Yeah. I’m guessing that’s what’s happening. Can’t say I expected it.”

Deryl’s jaw nearly dropped. “Wait, wait, wait—hold on. Geo? Dating someone? But… he’s the I’m happy for my pal!”

Jess looked a little uncomfortable at Deryl’s outburst, glancing at Brittney for reassurance. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I guess if someone’s able to get through to him, that’s… impressive?”

Deryl was still in shock. “But—who could handle him?” His eyes widened as if the very idea of someone taming the chaos that was Geo was too much to fathom. “He’s… so unpredictable, so intense. Who even—”

Brittney, sensing Deryl’s struggle to process, gave him a knowing smirk. “Maybe Geo does have a heart, after all. Strange, right?”

Deryl’s response was instant, his face lighting up with a smirk of his own. “Pfft, Geo having a heart? Nah, he’s a cat. Cats are stubborn and difficult to deal with, but deep down, they’ve got their moments. They can be soft when they want to be, but don’t expect them to show it all the time.”

The idea of Geo being a “cat” seemed to hit a nerve with the group, causing them to laugh despite themselves. Deryl’s tone had been teasing, but there was a strange sense of truth to it. Geo, with all his aloofness and cold demeanor, was a little like a cat—moody, hard to figure out, but once he trusted someone, he was loyal in his own way.

Brittney nodded slowly, her lips curling into a half-smile. “I guess… but a cat? You’ve got a point. He’s certainly got his claws out all the time.”

Jess, who had been quiet up until now, shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… can’t picture it. I mean, it’s hard to imagine him with someone. But hey, maybe that’s the thing. Maybe he’s just… waiting for the right person to bring him out of his shell.”

Deryl leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, still processing everything. “I guess. If someone can get him to soften up, then maybe he’s not as messed up as he looks. Who knows? He’s got a reputation, but… maybe it’s not all bad.”

The group fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment. Geo was a mystery to everyone, but now that he was involved with someone—someone—it added another layer to his already complex persona. The idea of him being soft or affectionate in any way still seemed so foreign, but with everything they’d learned about him, it was becoming increasingly clear that there was more to Geo than met the eye.

They continued to ponder Geo’s strange relationship status, the sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted their thoughts. It was a loud thud followed by a voice calling out, and before they knew it, Deryl turned his head toward the door.

Geo, the ever-distant, ever-aloof figure, walked in with that same cool, expressionless demeanor. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto you. And despite everything he had said, despite his cold exterior, there was something about the way he carried himself that made it clear—he wasn’t going to let anyone push him around. He was here to stay, and no matter what anyone thought, you were with him now.

Brittney and Jess exchanged glances as they watched him approach, and even though they had their reservations about Geo, they couldn’t help but wonder—was this the side of him they had yet to see?

The questions and the mysteries about Geo only seemed to multiply, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t just a “cat” or an intimidating figure anymore. He was someone with more layers, and those who cared to look close enough were going to see them, one way or another.

Next day

Lunchtime came, and as expected, you found yourself seated next to Geo at the lunch table, a situation you never could have imagined. His friends had planned it—no doubt to make things even more awkward for you. There you were, sitting beside him, unsure of what to even say or do. It was supposed to be a casual lunch, right? But it was far from it.

You had brought a soda with you, offering it to Geo in a small, kind gesture, hoping that maybe it’d be a step toward a more comfortable moment between you two. But instead of accepting it, Geo looked at you—dead in the eyes—and gave you his water bottle without saying a word.

“W-What?” You blinked, unsure of what just happened. Was he messing with you? You looked at the water bottle in your hand, feeling an awkward lump form in your throat. What was this? Why was he acting like this?

You took a sip, trying not to feel too frustrated. There was nothing to do but follow the silent pattern of your lunch together. You ate your food slowly, almost like a dog eating scraps, feeling small in your chair. The taste of the food was bland, but you didn’t mind. It didn’t matter much anymore, did it?

You ate, your gaze wandered around, and then you noticed it—most of the girls in the cafeteria had their eyes on you. You felt an uncomfortable shiver crawl up your spine as you tried not to look up, not wanting to attract more attention. Why were they staring? What was going on?

Before you could figure it out, two girls suddenly came and sat next to you. Their eyes were full of curiosity, and they wasted no time in asking, “So, how’s Geo doing?”

Geo remained silent, not even looking at them, his face as impassive as ever. Then, without warning, he took your hand—his fingers lightly curling around yours—and stood up. You froze for a second, not sure if you were imagining this. Was he really doing this?

His hand in yours felt warm, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort wash over you. “What?” you asked, almost whispering in disbelief, your eyes locking with his. “Your hand…”

He barely glanced at you before answering in his usual cold tone, “Let’s stay like this for a while.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You felt… happy. It was unexpected, sure, but there was something about the closeness that made you forget about the strange situation. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as cold as he always appeared. Or maybe you were just imagining things, holding on to a fleeting hope.

But then, his next words crushed that tiny bit of hope you had managed to build. “My friends are watching,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through the moment like ice.

You looked behind you instinctively, and there they were—the familiar heads of his friends, staring at the two of you with intense curiosity. Your heart sank, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at your intertwined hands. There it was again, that feeling from childhood, that strange sense of familiarity, the way you and Geo used to be when you were younger.

It was unnatural to let go now, wasn’t it? You couldn’t bring yourself to pull your hand away. Maybe it was that part of you that longed for something—anything—that felt real and lasting, even if it was tied to a lie. But looking back at the stares, you felt uneasy. Geo’s friends watching, the girls eyeing you, the weight of the lie hanging over you like a cloud.

In that moment, you realized that this… whatever it was between you and Geo, wasn’t real. Not in the way you wanted it to be. It was a performance, a farce, an act for everyone else. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were just as much a part of it as he was.

But the strange feeling still lingered. The warmth of his hand, the memories from when you were younger, the sudden pull toward him despite everything. It was like your childhood self had never really let go, and now, you had no choice but to face the consequences of holding on to something that could never be.

Geo dragged you into a quiet corner of the school building, away from the prying eyes of his friends and the girls who seemed to be watching your every move. The hallway was eerily silent, the distant murmur of voices from the cafeteria fading into the background. He finally let go of your hand, and you flexed your fingers, still feeling the lingering warmth from his grip.

“It should be safe now,” he muttered, his voice low and cold.

You looked at him, feeling awkward as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Geo, I—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off sharply. His aquamarine eyes glared at you, and you froze on the spot.

“But—”

Before you could finish, he flicked his finger against your forehead with surprising force. “Ow!” you yelped, covering the sore spot with your hand, your eyes wide with disbelief. “What was that for?”

He crossed his arms, his expression unamused. “I told you to shut up. You’re part of this mess now, so just deal with it.”

You blinked, staring at him. “But—”

“If you disobey me and try to make excuses again,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than before, “I’m not tolerating it. Do you understand me?” His gaze was intense, pinning you to the spot.

You hesitated, fidgeting under his scrutiny. He was so harsh, but… it wasn’t just anger, was it? There was something else in the way he spoke, a strange sort of protectiveness, even if it was buried under layers of frustration. “Geo…” you murmured softly, trying to find the right words. “You… you’ve done so much for me. Even though all those rumors say you’re dangerous and scary, you’re…”

He raised an eyebrow, looking almost annoyed. “What?”

You swallowed nervously, barely managing a smile as you finished, “You’re just… a moody little neko…”

There was a pause—a heavy, awkward silence—as Geo processed what you’d just said. His expression shifted from confusion to utter disbelief, and then his usual scowl returned in full force.

“A what?” he growled, leaning closer to you, his intimidating presence making you shrink back slightly.

“I-I mean, it’s kind of cute how you care in your own way!” you stammered, waving your hands defensively. “Not that I’m saying you’re actually a neko or anything! Just that—”

“Shut. Up.” He snapped his fingers in front of your face again, and you flinched. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a nervous laugh. He was so serious, so moody, and yet… you couldn’t help but find it endearing. Maybe it was foolish, but despite his sharp words and cold demeanor, you felt oddly safe with him. Like, under all that hostility, there was someone who actually cared, even if he’d rather flick your forehead than admit it.

THIS ISN’T WORKING! MAYBE YOU SHOULD FIND A REAL BOYFRIEND SO- HAHAHAHHA, MAYBE HE WILL NOT GET HIT!

[luvst4rc0r3]

If you're interested in a bsd request

Dazai’s suicide attempts keep getting interrupted by Reader barging in and dragging them into the most ridiculous. arguments and then the mending that he comes with them to the computer so they can look up the answer to the question they're arguing about. Successfully distracting him before he can drink poison or hurting himself. Little does he know that was Reader's secret plan all along!

“The art of distraction”

Dazai x Reader

The room was dim, just the flicker of a lamp illuminating the small, quiet space. Dazai sat on the floor, staring at the small bottle of poison in his hands. His fingers traced the edge of it as if trying to decide whether today would be the day. The darkness of his mind crept in again, and the familiar numbness filled his chest.

But just as he was about to tip the bottle to his lips, a loud bang from the door echoed through the room.

“Dazai! You won’t believe this!” You barged into the room without hesitation, a flurry of energy as you stomped in, completely oblivious to the fact that he was about to end it all.

His gaze flicked over to you, the poison still in his hand. His face fell into its usual mask, though the pain behind his eyes was impossible to hide. “You’ve got terrible timing, [Name].”

“Timing? No way!” You scoffed, dramatically placing your hands on your hips. “I need your help with something very important, and you’re coming with me.”

Dazai blinked. “Important? Right now?”

“Yes! Right now,” you said firmly. Before he could even protest, you walked right up to him, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and yanked him to his feet. “No more of this self-pity nonsense. I need you to help me figure out if penguins are technically birds or if they’re some kind of sea creature.”

“…What?” Dazai stared at you, incredulous.

“I mean, seriously! We need to settle this debate! You can’t leave me hanging!” You pulled him out of the room before he could voice any more objections, dragging him toward the computer.

He stumbled behind you, still dazed and now thoroughly confused. “You’re dragging me to look up penguin classifications?” His voice was full of disbelief, but the edge of bitterness in his tone had softened.

“Absolutely. It’s vital.” You plopped him in front of the computer, forcing him to sit down. “I’ve been arguing with Atsushi for days. He thinks penguins are just ‘cute sea birds.’ But I know there’s more to it! Now, type it in and let’s end this, once and for all!”

Dazai sat in front of the computer, running his fingers through his messy hair. He stared at the screen in front of him, completely caught off guard by your sheer determination to distract him. “Is this really what we’re doing right now?” He let out a small, defeated laugh. “I thought you were going to stop me from doing something foolish, not… start a ridiculous debate.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “a debate is way more fun than the alternative.”

His eyes softened, just a little, though his usual smirk remained in place. “You really think arguing about penguins is going to save me, huh?”

“Why not?” You gave him a look that was equal parts sarcastic and sincere. “Maybe it’ll remind you that there’s something worth sticking around for. Even if it’s just a penguin debate.”

Dazai stared at you for a long moment, as if weighing the depth of your words, but before he could say anything, the computer beeped with the results.

“See? Penguins are birds, but they’re not just sea creatures,” you declared triumphantly, pointing at the screen. “They’re a whole thing, and now we know.”

Dazai chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you managed to distract me with something like this. You’re too clever, [Name].”

“Maybe,” you said with a grin, “but I’d rather use my powers of distraction for something more… productive. Like keeping you alive and arguing about penguins.”

He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing slightly as he allowed himself to smile. “I suppose I should thank you for that. You’ve got an odd way of pulling me out of my own darkness.”

You shrugged. “I’ve got my methods. And they involve penguins. Who knew?”

Dazai let out a genuine laugh, something rare and pure. “I suppose it’s a good thing you barged in when you did.”

“See?” you teased. “I’m basically a superhero.”

And for the first time in a while, Dazai didn’t feel quite so alone in the darkness.

this is kinda a silly fic

I want food

[kolboette]

it is SO funny to me that, if you help astarion carve the scars into cazador’s back but then decide against allowing him to ascend afterwards, he actually thinks he stands a chance against you and the rest of your team. Like…..babygirl you are on a single target glass cannon build and shadowheart’s not healing you anymore. also im holding all the healing potions. this is just not a fight you can win

[jensthwa]

show & tell (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

You have known Mingi since you both were fourteen. You’ve been by his side through thick and thin and you would do anything for him, really, considering he’s your other half. When he has an unfortunate bed experience and asks for your help and you say yes, he starts considering that, maybe, you’re just the best friend a guy like him can have.

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends to ?

WORD COUNT: 8k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit, hwa being the voice of reason, sex talk, pet names (love and also dude and bro but in a sweet way), mingi scaring the sense out of you, descriptions of female anatomy, kissing, dirty talk (sort of), teasing, a little bit of voyeurism, fingering, squirting, almost getting caught, unresolved feelings.

NOTES: had to do a lot of research for this one, so i figured nothing better to post as my first fic here! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 18th 2024.

masterlist. / part two.

“Delete her number right now!” 

“She's such a bitch for saying that to you…” 

“And over text too? Wow.” 

“Yeah, no, I didn't like her from the start.” 

Wooyoung’s living room comes to life once again that morning, voices echoing and insults flying out, all towards the girl Mingi’s seeing. 

Was seeing. You're sure she's out of his usual rotation with the lovely shit show she just caused. 

You stay silent, your eyes fixed on your best friend's expression, on his red cheeks and apologetic eyes because everyone told him that girl was bad news. 

He should've listened to you when you told him you liked her friend better. She was a sweet girl, clearly had a thing for Mingi. 

Unfortunately, Mingi has a type. And that type always ends up breaking his spirit one way or another. 

But you stay silent, letting your friends have their little rants about how much of a bitch she is for hurting Mingi's ego like that, until he covers up his face with his hands and lets out a frustrated whine. 

“That's enough, everyone. I think he got it.” You smile a little and everyone turns to you, Yunho’s chest heaving and everything but Seonghwa (who also kept his mouth shut all this time) interferes before anyone else has the chance to start again.

“You know you shouldn't feel ashamed for that, right?” he asks Mingi, who slowly lowers his hands to his lap and looks at you for a brief second. You nod, confirming what Hwa says “No one is born knowing everything and she shouldn't expect you to know how to make a girl squirt.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Mingi whines again, closing his eyes “Don't say it like that.” 

“How else should I say it?” Seonghwa is confused but he laughs a little bit and turns to you. 

Being the only girl in the room, you think everyone it's expecting you to pick your friend up and join them in their insults but you can't (for Mingi’s sake). Instead, you let out a sigh “I mean, it's hard to even make it happen on your own without any help, Mingi. I don't know what the fuck she's on but…” shrugging, you extend your arm to pat him in the shoulder two times “Hwa’s right.” 

“So you do know?” 

“Woo—” Hongjoong reprimands right away and you turn to Wooyoung, confused.

“Huh?” 

“You said that it's hard making it happen,” he explains, smiling because he just found a new target for the next few days “So you must know.” 

Talking about sex with them was never difficult, it didn't make you uncomfortable whatsoever but you know what Woo is doing. 

You look down at Mingi before answering though and his eyes are glued to the carpet, begging for the topic of his unfortunate encounter with that bitch to die on everyone's tongue. 

So you take mercy on him. 

“Oh. I mean… Yeah.” You shrug once again, leaning back against the cushions on the couch while Wooyoung claps like he just heard the most hilarious joke ever. 

“You truly are amazing.” 

Rolling your eyes, you get up from your comfy seat “Sure. But it took a lot of practice and the whole ordeal was frustrating for me, so, again, I don't know what the fuck she was on,” you say again, smiling down at Mingi before taking a few steps towards the door “It's noon already, by the way.” 

“Shit.” Woo gets up quickly from his spot on the floor and everyone else follows suit. 

“Alright, everyone out! We have a midterm to cheat on.” San calls out and everyone takes it as their sign to actually leave (not just hang around the apartment) and continue with their days. 

This reunion was a little impromptu, just because Wooyoung texted everyone begging to come over and hang out with him and San before their online philosophy midterm. 

“And by that he means that you need to stay,” Wooyoung hugs Seonghwa hard, almost begging him with his eyes “We didn't study… Don't look at me like that! Please?” 

“I'm not doing your fucking midterm for you!”

You chuckle, leaning on the door and waiting for your ride home to get his shoes on. When you look down at him again, Mingi mouths a thank you and you blow him a kiss. 

When you get downstairs, you swear you still hear Wooyoung begging his senior to take the test for him. 

Everyone is quiet in the car. You can tell they're tired from exams and life in general, so you don't press them with questions and just let the music play in the background while you look out the passenger window and, eventually, at Mingi. 

His grip on the steering wheel lets you know he's a little more affected than he let on back there. But, again, you say nothing. 

You know better than to pressure him into telling you his feelings. 

Mingi and you have been friends forever. He lived a few houses down from yours, becoming your first friend when you moved to the city. You both were fourteen when it happened, so you've known him long enough to know what happens when he gets his heart broken. 

Not that Mingi loved that girl or anything, but he never really took embarrassment well. He didn't when the first girl he liked rejected him in front of the whole ninth grade class and he didn't when his pants ripped in the middle of the stage while performing a routine with his dance team on senior year. 

You stood by his side every single time and every single time he waited to sit down and let everything out, collect his feelings and talk to you through his frustrations. You really loved that about him, because he never said anything he regretted just because he was upset at the moment. 

Maybe that's why you two have been friends for so long. Opposites attract, or whatever your mother told you one time. 

In reality, you think it's because you two complement each other well. 

He knows when to speak his mind and you're kind of impulsive, heart on your sleeve and sharp tongue ready to defend your and your loved ones honor if needed. 

That's why it takes a lot of strength for you to not pull up that girl's number from his phone and give her a piece of your mind. 

One by one, you drop your friends off in different parts of the city and when it's time to go into your own house, you circle the car and Mingi rolls his window down.

He reads the look you give him a little too well, so he opens his mouth to stop you but you shake your head. 

“Call me, come over or just let me know if you need anything,” you start before he says anything “If you need me to beat her up, I can do that too.” 

He huffs out a laugh “You don't even know how to fight, love.”

You sigh at the nickname, he's been using it since the time you told him you had a crush on his friend, way back in highschool, and that you were positive you were going to get together and he would call you love because that's what good boyfriend's do. 

Turns out, you weren't exactly his friend's type. Neither were the other girls in your school. 

“I don't give a shit, I'll do it,” You two smile to each other fondly for a few seconds and then you tap the top of the car “Thanks for the ride, dude.” 

“You’re welcome, bro.” He rolls his eyes, annoyed because he hates when you call him that, but waits for you to get inside either way. 

And in the solitude of your room, you wait. 

You distract yourself with papers that are due in a few days, you start studying for your finals even though they're months away and you even go downstairs to say goodbye to your parents when they leave for a fancy dinner with their colleagues before you hear your phone ring. 

Mingi's FaceTime comes right on time, because you were getting really anxious from the radio silence on his end. 

“I have a small query for you.” He puts on an accent that makes you grimace immediately and he laughs at you. 

“Ew. Never do that ever again,” you beg, going back upstairs to your room “Go ahead.” 

“How do you do it?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“How the fuck do you make yourself squirt, love?” 

Oh. 

Definitely not the conversation you were hoping to have with him. 

It catches you off guard and you stammer your response “Um… You— I mean, it's not really a thing I can explain.” 

“You have such a way with words, though.” 

You stare at him through the screen, annoyed, and he just laughs again “Don't make me come over and beat you up.” 

“Alright, alright,” his giggling dies out and you distract yourself from the heat you feel creeping over your cheeks while putting away your statistics prep for the quiz you have next week. There's a bit of silence and then you hear him sigh “I do really want to know, though.” 

“If you're asking me this to then go over to her house and prove her wrong, I'm not telling you shit.” 

“No! No, that's not it at all,” he defends himself quickly when you turn your head to the camera, scowl in your face “When she asked me to do it, I really did try to make her, you know…” 

“You said squirt so freely a minute ago, Mingi,” you tease, smiling, but at his expression, you give in “What exactly did you do?” 

“I tried to, you know, do it like they do it in the movies,” he demonstrates his point with his free hand, his middle and ring finger down on his sheets, pressing and moving side to side “And she was enjoying it and she came, but nothing really… came out.” 

“Wow, first of all: you make her come and she has the nerve to give you shit over text? I hate her,” you shake your head, disappointment written all over your face “and second of all, that was a terrible mistake.” 

“What? Going like this?” He does it again and you roll your eyes, laughing a second later. 

“No, dude, trying to porno your way into making her squirt.” 

“Oh.” His movements on the sheets slow down and you grimace again. 

“Please stop doing that,” you beg and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you through the screen. You take your phone and move to the bed, resting your head against the pillows with a huff. 

You ponder for a moment. You're sure telling him what he wants to hear it's not really a threat to your friendship, but it's also something that's very personal and intimate. You can talk about sex with Mingi and the other guys, sure, what doesn't mean you tell them about your sex life. 

Maybe that's why Wooyoung was so excited earlier today, because you spilled something that involves you directly and not something vague and general like you usually do. 

“Would it give you peace of mind if I explained it to you?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper as you sit straight on the bed. 

Your best friend takes what feels like a lifetime to respond and, when does, it's in a hushed tone as well “Please.” 

You groan and you comply either way, trying to find the right words to even start “Okay, I'm going to be very technical about this.” 

“I wouldn't expect anything else from you.” 

His teasing tone makes you glare at him for a few seconds before dismissing it with a click of your tongue “The very first thing you need to make sure happens, is that you wash your hands—” 

“Yes, Y/N, I'm not a virgin,” he huffs this time, annoyed “I know all of that, just skip to the part where I make her squirt.” 

“Jesus, fine! I also want to clarify that this works on me and I'm not really sure if it'll work on anyone else, alright?” he nods and you look away from the screen because you're not sure how to look him in the eyes “The first thing that I do— The first thing that you need to do,” you correct yourself quickly “Is make sure she's comfortable. And I mean, the space. Towels, water bottles… She needs to hydrate a lot.” 

“Hydrate… a… lot…” You turn your head to the screen and your jaw goes slack at what you see. 

“Are you writing this down?!” 

“I’m making sure I don't forget anything!” 

“You're unbelievable…” You let out under your breath and take a deep one before resuming the, apparently, class “Squirting can be confused as peeing and—” 

“Shit, hold on.” He interrupts and you hear his mom’s voice at the door, asking him something you can't really catch through the shitty airpod audio “It's just Y/N… I'm not really saying anything so I don't understand how I'm being too loud for— Yes ma'am.” 

You try not to laugh because he's literally being scolded right in front of you. 

Old habits die hard, and Mingi's mom loves to put him on the spot. 

Your laugh dies hard as well, because the next words, for some reason, make your heart drop to your ass. 

“She's telling me to either cut it out or go to your house, so… I'm coming over.” 

“Oh, I— Hello?” Your lockscreen mocks you because the call literally ended before you could tell him to go and fuck himself “Shit.” 

You don't know why you panic, but you do. You tidy up the room, you change your pajamas into something more presentable and you try to remember what you were telling him before he pulls open your bedroom door. 

“Mingi! Fuck, you scared the shit out of me “ you're panting, hand over your chest. 

He’s also panting, like he runned to get to your house, but he looks dumbfounded by your reaction “Your mom literally gave me the spare keys in your presence.”  

When he steps closer, you notice he's wearing cologne and that his hair it's a little wet, still, so you figure he took a shower before calling you tonight. 

Which means he probably wanted to sleep everything off, like he usually does, but whatever this is made him call you. 

“Yeah! But I thought you— Nevermind.” He shrugs and gives your hair a kiss before he moves to sit at your desk, the same way he usually does when he steals your laptop and notes to complete his assignments for the few classes you share. 

God. Somehow, you wish he was doing just that so it brings back some sense of normalcy. Maybe then, your heart can calm down enough for you to understand why this specific situation has your senses going insane. 

You sit back down on your bed and try to get your heart back to its place in the meantime. 

“They're not home, right? I didn't see your dad’s car.” 

“Company dinner.” 

“Ah.” He nods and you both fall in uncomfortable silence. It shouldn't be awkward, but it kind of is, even if you laugh when he pulls out the notebook he was writing on from underneath his oversized shirt and steals a pen from your pencil case, it's still a little weird. 

You gulp. 

“So, squirting can be confused as peeing.” He recalls the last thing you said with a smile and then he turns to look at you for a second “Go on.” 

You're grateful he's taking notes all of the sudden. He's turned to you, so you have a clear view of his back and you can freely take a grounding breath before continuing “It can make you feel very uncomfortable if you think you're going to pee yourself and that's really why most women don't squirt in the first place.” 

“You sound like you're reading a textbook.” He confesses with a laugh. 

“I told you, I'm being very technical about this— Besides, I did my research when I was trying to…” you gulp again “You know.” 

“You said squirt so freely a minute ago.” Mingi teases you the same way you teased him earlier and you squint your eyes in return. 

“Very funny. Anyways… Yeah, when you feel that, you usually tense up. You need to relax before even making it happen,” he nods, writing it down quickly “I also read that, depending on the person, you can confuse the liquid with, like, usual… arousal? Yeah, arousal” you sound more confident the second time you say it, unsure on how to call it because you never really explained anything related to your vagina to anyone else. 

He turns to you, confused “So… If she doesn't squirt a lot, how can I tell if she did it?” 

“I guess you'll notice it in her reaction?” You shrug and then cough a little to try and get rid of the sudden lump on your throat “I mean, it's not my case, so I wouldn't… I wouldn't know that.” 

Mingi, because -you guess- hates you, just raises a brow and looks you over one time before turning back to his notes. 

“A-anyways,” you cough again “It's all in her g-spot. It happens because it gets stimulated and that g-spot it's like…” you, once again, try to find the ideal words to explain “It's like the upper wall of the vagina? No, no, that's not right,” you see him draw a line over what he clearly wrote down on the paper and you laugh, apologetic “It's more like the, uh… Like the front wall of it.” 

“Front wall?” 

“Y-yeah?” you offer, nervous and unsure “I mean… Ugh, let me explain again. Something that you need to take into account is that you can only find it if she's really, really turned on.” 

“O… kay.” 

“Sort of like when you get hard we, uh, also get hard. Just differently,” you notice he's no longer taking notes when you turn to him again and the room is suddenly very hot. 

The AC’s on, right? 

Fuck. 

“And apparently it only really shows up when you're really aroused. The g-spot, I mean,” Quickly, you're up from your bed and walking around it, fetching your water bottle and taking a big gulp of it with your eyes closed. 

Mingi clears his throat a second later. 

“So it feels hard to the touch or…” 

“Not really, um… It kinda feels like a berry.” 

He laughs “What?” 

“Yeah, it's kind of soft but it has a texture to it too. And we, uh… have this gland that fills up with the liquid— Kind of like a prostate gland! Yeah, that's what that article said,” putting even more distance within Mingi and you, you sit back on the bed, just on the other side “If you try to do it before it fills up, you end up with nothing. That's what frustrated me the whole time I was learning how to do it.” 

“You didn't drink enough water?” 

“No, no— It fills up when you get really turned on. And when I was trying, I was trying way too hard and didn't, uh… I didn't do a lot of foreplay before trying, s-so.” You nod, finishing the explanation in a softer voice. 

Your cheeks feel hot and you swear your upper lip is sweating a bit. Why would you even say that? 

“Y-you didn't touch yourself enough or…?” 

“Exactly, I didn't, I just… Tried t-to stimulate it. Wasn't even wet enough so I used, uh, lube.” 

“Oh… Lube. Sure, okay.” He nods again, and then moves his hand over his face, looking away for a second “And then?” 

“I'm not really sure how to… Give me a second.”

What were you even telling him before exposing yourself like that? Before the tension in the room skyrocketed in a suffocating way? You're not sure. 

Oh, foreplay. Okay, what's next? 

“Fingering,” you say out loud when you remember and at the sudden word Mingi turns to you, eyes wide and you stumble over your words yet again “Y-you need to finger her to stimulate the g-spot, duh.” 

“Don't duh me, Y/N, I'm learning!” 

“Sorry!” 

“Okay! Now what do I do when… fingering.” 

That makes you frown. You're not really sure what to tell him next. So you look straight ahead and, unintentionally, move your ring and middle finger the way you do when you're touching yourself. 

In the silence of the room, you audibly hear Mingi’s breath hitching and that draws you back to reality. 

When you look at him, his eyes are solely focused on your fingers. 

“I don't really know how to explain this next part.” You sound apologetic, your lips tensing into a straight line. 

A bit passes. 

And then another one and another one where Mingi looks at you with a weird, foreign expression on his face. 

So you open your mouth to apologize to him, but he beats you to it. 

“Then show me.” 

You swear you never even heard him sound like that before. Or maybe you have, the tone of voice similar to when he just wakes up, low, grouchy, as if his throat might be dry. 

It just never affected you this way. 

“W-what?” you blink hard, a few times, trying to focus on whatever the hell is going on. 

“Show me how you do it… I-if you want to.” 

“Mingi!” 

“I just— Look, you don't have to,” he says right away “If you don't want to, you can forget I ever asked but I'm so… curious”, he says, getting up from your desk chair and planting his knee into the bed “And I'm also really butthurt over what happened. I want to learn but I don't really have anyone else to ask.” 

“What about, uh… Minseo! Yeah, what about her?” you offer quickly, also getting up. 

“San's ex?!” 

“I don't know any other woman that you also know, Mingi!” 

He gulps and breathes heavily, gathering his words, his thoughts, just like he always does and you remember: This is Mingi. Your Mingi. The Mingi you've known for years and care about more than anything. 

“I'm asking you because I trust you,” he says, looking you over once again “And because if I fail, you're not… going to make fun of me for it.”

There it is. 

You soften at that and he seems to relax at your reaction. His demeanor lets you know he's not just saying that because he wants to see you touch yourself, he's being honest. 

So you decide to be honest, as well. In a whisper, because your voice will tremble and give away how strongly you feel about his request. 

“I've never done it in front of anyone before.” 

“So no one has ever make you—” 

“No,” you confirm before he even gets it out and you sigh “I never ask for it and I haven't really… I've only slept with—” 

“Hangyeol.” He nods and scrunches his nose in disgust at the memory of your highschool boyfriend. They never really got along and it was a shame, because Han was a great guy, he just wasn't the one for you. 

“Mingi,” you walk over to him and he straightens up his spine “This could really… I mean, there's no getting rid of me in this lifetime, buddy,” reminding him makes him smile and you do as well, nervous, your body on high alert “But this could mess us up.” You finish in a whisper. 

“I'm not letting that happen.” He says back, eyes scanning your face before zeroing on your eyes “There's no getting rid of me either, love.” 

That nickname is going to be the death of you, you're sure. It makes you suck in air you very much need at this moment. 

Fuck it. 

“I'll… get the towels, then.” You smile a little even though your cheeks are burning and you feel a little dizzy while holding his gaze, but you don't back down. 

Before you move, though, he stops you with his hand holding your waist “I know where they are. Stay here.” 

You could literally melt right now. And you know it's a short trip to the downstairs hallway closet from your room, so you make sure you strip your duvet before things get messy. 

You should go to the bathroom, too, to clean yourself up a bit before Mingi finds out what you find out when you sit on your bed. 

You're so wet. 

And it's so fucking embarrassing, because you're not supposed to feel this way for him, for this.

Because, if anything, this is clearly just an educational experience.

And if Mingi’s excited look when he re-enters your bedroom tells you otherwise, you're choosing to ignore it for the clearly educational experience’s sake. 

“These will do?” 

You take the two mismatched towels and place them on the bed right away, not even looking at him. 

“Yep.” 

You think he nods but you're not sure, you just caught a glimpse of him moving towards your desk while you pretend to fix the towels in the bed to perfection. 

“Okay, so… You need to, uh, be comfy and shit. Drink water, you just did that a few minutes ago…” when you turn to him, he's reading his notes like he's actually about to conduct an experiment and you chuckle before shaking your head “The… The foreplay part should be next, right?” 

“Right…” you drag out, biting the inside of your cheek before he looks back at you. 

“You look really tense, Y/N,” he deadpans, looking down at his notes again “You need to relax so it can happen, right?” 

“You're about to see me touch myself and you think I can relax?” 

“Oh,” he frowns, immediately and then blinks a few times to refocus, you think “I'm not the one doing it?” 

“Uh… Yes? Later? I thought you wanted to see me first, y-you… You asked me to show you…” 

You can feel him think, the gears on his brain twisting and you think he's going to backpedal at any second because he's not really saying anything. Then you see it, the moment the image crosses his mind. 

And the next second you have him in front of you, towering over your form and then he's not.

Getting on his knees, he tentatively places a hand on your knee and parts your legs so you can make room for him to touch the end of the mattress with his chest and raise his chin just enough to make you think he's asking you to kiss him.

Oh God, you want to kiss him. 

His voice is a sweet murmur when he speaks again “Show me how to get you there, love,” he sounds like he's pleading, like he's begging you to instruct him and your breath catches when he moves his hand up your thigh “What do you like?” 

Your mouth moves before you can even think “Kiss me.” 

You don't even notice you're leaning forward until his breath fans against your chin and he tilts his head even more so that your noses touch. 

“How do you like being kissed?” 

You breathe out a laugh, a little annoyed by his constant questioning “Figure it out, Mingi.” And then the last thing you see is his smirk before his mouth presses against yours. 

It's not what you expect. If anything, you expected him to take the lead. Han used to do so, all the guys you've ever kissed did it as well. You don't really know why his patience surprises you, but it does and if your heart could race even more, it would. 

Because he waits for your guidance, waits for you to grab his shirt and jank him closer, waits for you to sigh against him and then returns the gesture when he feels your fingers move upwards and tangle in his dark hair. 

His mouth is complying to yours, his tongue is exploring it and wetting your lips in the process and you've never felt this good with anyone before. 

That's something you'll need to unpack later, but your brain disconnects when your best friend lets out a noise the second his hands touch your waist under your shirt and you forget, for a split second, that the point of this is to have you on your back pleasing yourself for him to learn. 

Because you want nothing more than to hear him make that noise again. 

The kisses grow needy and so do you when he trails a path with his wet lips from your chin to your neck and the next thing you know is that your back is against the towels you laid down before and his mouth is kissing the valley of your breasts over the cotton of your shirt. 

You look down and it takes a second for him to feel you staring before he looks up at you “Should we take this off?” 

Your voice gives away how gone you are when you reply a simple yes and your shirt is on the floor the next instant. 

Now, you're sure this is not the first time Mingi has seen you in your underwear. You both have gone swimming before and he has walked into your room a million times while you're getting ready. You're even sure he's seen you walk out from your bathroom in this specific bra before… But he's staring at you like it's the first time he's been able to trace the way your breasts spill a little bit over the fabric of this old bra you decided to wear today, like it's the first time he's allowed himself to enjoy it. 

Like it's the first time he's allowing himself to feel any sort of attraction for you. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, shallow breath hitting his cheek when he returns his mouth to your jaw “Let me… Come here.” 

You scoot up until your head rests against your pillows and he follows, resting his body weight on his side and chasing your mouth when you turn your face to him. 

You should speed this up. There's no way you're not going to feel like shit if tomorrow you wake up and remember you're letting yourself enjoy this more than you should. 

There’s no reason for you to lose your breath when his fingertips trace softly the skin under your breasts or for your legs to grant him access so quickly when they reach your belly and bypass every other part of your body before going straight in between them. 

And he notices it too. 

“I don't know why I asked you so many questions before,” he starts, turning his hand so that he back of it and his nails start caressing the inside of your thighs through your sweatpants “I know what you like. I pay attention to you whenever we're talking about sex with the guys.” 

You frown, about to remind him that you never speak directly about your own experiences but he continues his ministrations, giving your other thigh attention “I usually watch you closely in case any of it makes you uncomfortable, but I notice your reactions when they speak about something that you like.” 

Oh. Heart on your sleeve, your biggest flaw. 

“Like that one time Woo was going on and on about marking and you couldn't stop fidgeting on your seat…” his nose traces your jaw softly before his teeth take the skin underneath it and you gasp just enough to prove him right “Or that time Yunho said he hated teasing because he's an impatient little shit” he chuckles, his index finding the spot next to your mound and going down slowly until his knuckle graces the crevice where your leg and your hip connect “and you defended it until we had to stop you guys from yelling each other over it…” 

Your breath shakes and your eyes close at the sensation “Mingi…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

You shake your head no and you can all but hear him smile when he speaks again. 

“Of course I'm not.” 

You open your eyes and expect him to look at you the way he does when you're unable to defend yourself against his quips, but he's not. His eyes are following his own actions and his bottom lip is pulled by his teeth when he takes the fabric of your sweatpants and pulls it up, enough to give you some friction where you need it the most. 

“Can I take this off?” 

“Fuck, y-yes.” 

Joining your shirt on the ground, you're left only in your underwear while Mingi is fully clothed and it bothers you out of nowhere. 

“You're so wet already…” he observes and you blush, puffing some air and covering your eyes with your hand. He just laughs “That's a good thing, it means that I'm doing okay.” 

He's doing more than okay. Damn all the experience he has and the way he reads you so well. 

But his sweet tone gives you some clarity and you support your weight on your hand to fix your position on the bed. 

“Alright, let's… resume the lesson before my parents get home.” 

“They probably won't for now. The company dinners last until like… two in the morning, usually, right?” 

“That's when they decide to go out for drinks.” 

“Your mom always wants to go out for drinks.” 

“Let's not talk about my mom right now!” you beg and he laughs again, making you chuckle alongside him and you're glad he's talking all of this -the kissing, the teasing, the sweet-talk and the wet patch on your underwear- so well. 

The awkwardness from before dissipated the moment he got on his knees in front of you and all that followed was this lovely tension you're dying to keep between the two of you forever even though you shouldn't. 

“Show me, love,” he pleads and you sigh, his mouth finding your cheek for a quick second, encouraging you “And then you can show me how to make you feel good, too.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds “Damn, you're good,” he shakes his head and you smile, getting rid of your underwear and pushing the quick moment of embarrassment being bare with him in the room gives you “Remember that this is what works for me, okay?” 

He nods and then props himself up so he can see it better. 

You take a second before your fingers dive into your wet folds and, when you do, you gasp at the feeling. 

You've never been more wet just for kissing and teasing before. What the fuck. 

You do what you usually do when you're alone for a while and try to contain yourself from moaning because Mingi's eyes keep moving from your fingers to your face. Then, you remember you should be talking him through it, as well. 

“You see how I'm building it up?” you start, chest heaving and he hums as his reply “I'm not trying to make myself come but I'm kinda just… edging myself a little bit.” 

“Edging,” he repeats and then hisses when he sees your thumb pressing into your clit just how you like it, making you sigh heavily “I know all about that, that's good.” 

“Y-you do?” 

“You'll be surprised,” he smiles, proud of himself. 

“Okay,” you continue, taking a deep breath “Then you know about prepping, too,” he nods “So, a finger first…” you say, swallowing hard when your middle finger makes its way into your cavity without much effort. 

Dragging back and forth for a minute or so, you're incapable of containing yourself any longer. Air leaves your mouth in pants and your eyes close when you drag the pad of your finger upwards, locating your g-spot with ease because you're used to it.

“And then, two fingers.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Look at the position of my hand. I read that these two fingers work the best because they're longer than the rest, although…” you look at Mingi's hand over your belly. You didn't even notice before this that he was touching you, but he is and his thumb is tracing a pattern that both relaxes you and sends shivers down your spine “I'm sure that it won't be a problem for you, huh?” 

He sends a cocky smirk your way and you would've smacked him if you weren't so… preoccupied. 

Pressing your precious spot and then dragging back and forward, you stop the movements altogether. It felt too good, way more than good and it's a different sensation of what you're used to. 

And it's all because of him. 

You look at his side profile, his eager eyes commiting to memory what you're doing to yourself, probably taking mental notes now that his notebook is long forgotten over at your desk and… 

He deserves this. He deserves to be the one to have this, just tonight. 

You hate to leave what feels like it's about to be your best orgasm in the hands of someone who's just learning, yet alone a man.

But Mingi is not just any man. 

“Mingi,” you call and his curious eyes leave your heat a second later “your turn.” 

“Did you… Did it happen? I didn't see anythi—” 

“No,” you interrupt him, your fingers leaving you and you turn to him, your clean hand finding his face “show me what you learned.” 

His mouth parts, but you have a newfound confidence and a glint in your eyes that is new, so nothing comes out. 

“Prove that bitch wrong.” 

That seems to do it. 

His eyes go from being confused to spark with determination and want and electricity runs through you again because he seems so relieved he gets to touch you sooner than expected. 

Shyness and nervousness buried six feet under, you both smile to each other before you feel him. 

His fingers gathering your wetness, his thumb finding your clit with ease and expertise. 

“Wettest pussy I've ever touched.” You can tell he's a little lost in the heat of the moment but it's okay. So are you. 

Fuck. 

It's been way too long since someone else touched you this way, so you all but melt at the circles he draws on your clit. He paid close attention before, because he's touching you just the way you like it. 

“That feels so good…” 

“Yeah?” he asks, dark eyes finding yours before a particular stroke forces you to close them. And then he gathers enough slick to insert his ring finger inside and you can't help the moan that slips past your lips. 

You lift your hand to cover your mouth, but Mingi clicks his tongue in feign disappointment “I want to hear if I'm making you feel good, love. Don't hold back on me just because this is unconventional.” 

The worries die altogether with that. 

And now that you have free reign to stop containing yourself, you don't know how to stop. 

It's not long before his middle joins his other finger but he doesn't go for it right away. He fucks you slowly, allowing you to get used to the unfamiliar stretch of his way longer, way thicker digits until they slide in and out with little effort. 

His pace picks up after what feels like ages and your hand fists his shirt for the second time tonight, nodding and moaning in encouragement. 

“Deeper,” you instruct “curl them upwards and go deeper, you'll feel it then.” 

He obeys immediately, his chest heaving and his mouth parting in delight when he finds it. The pad of his finger presses down on it tentatively and your grasp on his shirt hardens.

“Is that it?” you nod and he does it again, which earns another moan “What do I do now?” 

Before you completely get lost in the feeling, you decide to drop the step by step bullshit aside and give him the full instruction in hopes that he'll remember it all without fucking up: “What works for me is pressing… Fuck, yeah, just like that a-and then…” you take deep breath “Just a little harder… Yeah, then rub it in a circular motion while maintaining that same pressure… Fuck, Mingi!” 

He's a little too good at following instructions, because he touches you like he's been doing this forever and soon you feel the familiar swell, the usual buildup of it all and he's taking you over the age like it's nothing. 

You forget how to speak, you forget how to tell him what he needs to do next and so, when you finally explode, you take his wrist and place his two fingers over your clit. 

When you move them side by side, he lets out a fascinated giggle but knows exactly what to do. 

A second later, your release is coating your thighs and the towels underneath you and you don't register anything else because your ears are ringing. 

Did you lose consciousness for a second? It feels like you did. 

That was the best fucking orgasm you've ever felt in your entire life. 

And when you come back down, you only register the sound of your breathing and plump lips kissing your face, his fingers stopping their pace once he realizes you're done with it. 

Opening your eyes, you stare at your popcorn ceiling for a second. Then, you look at Mingi who's already staring at you with a what the fuck just happened expression. 

It makes you laugh. Softly at the beginning, post-orgasm bliss takes over but then Mingi laughs too and your whole chest swells with inexplicable pride. 

You don't think twice before kissing him again. When you realize you did it, you pull back and blink at him like he didn't make you see stars three seconds ago. 

“That was…” his eyes do the thing he usually does. You never notice it until now, but he scans your face so frequently you've grown used to it, but now… It feels different. His teeth nip his bottom lip and he shakes his head before speaking “Come here, love.” 

And then he's kissing you again, slow, intimate, beyond the stupid lesson you just taught him. 

But you don't mind it one bit. 

You sit up, getting on your knees on the bed and basically forcing him to do the same. Ignoring the gross sensation of the wet towel underneath you, you pull him further into you until his chest presses against yours, until his hands roam your body and settle on your waist, securing the embrace. 

This time, when you pull away, there's this whole unspoken new thing between you. 

“That was…?” you press, smiling a bit, pulling both you and him back to reality. 

Right now, with you half naked and his hard-on pressing on your belly, it's not the time to discuss your feelings. 

“Possibly the coolest thing I've seen,” he starts, giggling when you roll your eyes “and the hottest thing I've seen, too,” you shrug, dismissing his stare because it's making you feel hot all over your body, again “and I'm really, really grateful you said yes, love.” 

The soft tone he uses to say the last bit relaxes you and you nod, deciding it's not the time to tell him you never even came like that on your own. 

Instead, you decide to grasp this intimate moment and extend it as much as you can. You can see Mingi is not expecting it when you reach his sweatpants and let your shaky thumb trace the outline of his cock. 

Closing his eyes, he lets out a pleased sigh before he grabs you by the back of your neck and rests his forehead against yours. 

“This is supposed to be purely educational, Y/N” 

“Is that what you want it to be?” you softly ask, pulling your hand away but then his hips buck and chase after your touch, making you smile despite the emotions swelling in your chest “Let me help you… Please…” 

“Fuck, don't beg me, love.” 

“Don't make me beg, then.” 

What the fuck are you even doing? 

“Y/N, I—” he stops suddenly and you're too lost in the moment to notice why. 

But then the sound of keys and a door closing downstairs scares the fuck out of you and you push Mingi away without thinking it through. 

He lands with a thud on your bedroom floor, next to your discarded clothes. 

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he whispers-shouts, both shocked and offended, but you're getting off your bed and picking up your clothes and the soaked towels so you don't really care about his feelings right now. 

“Bathroom. Now.” 

You're so blessed for having your bedroom right next to the upstairs bathroom. And so blessed that it is your bathroom and you don't have to share it. You’ll get on your knees and thank your gods afterwards, but right now you can only think one thing.

Don't get caught. 

Lord knows you'll never hear the end of it if Mingi walks out of here with a hard-on. Your dad will kill him, your mom will cheer because she loves the idea of you and Mingi together and you'll probably pack your bags and move away if it happens. 

When you lock the door behind you and make a quick show of putting your underwear and pants back on, you hear Mingi chuckle. 

“We can always tell them we're having a sleepover, Y/N, you didn't have to karate kick me off the damn bed!” 

“Hush!” But he just keeps giggling at your very obvious flustered state.

You're about to rip him a new one when he takes two strides, backs you against the bathroom sink, and catches your lips in a quick, sweet kiss and all your worries dissolve just like that. 

“Guess they didn't go for drinks after all..” 

“You think?” cocking your head to the side, the smile on your lips can't be fought at this point. 

He returns it and leans in for another kiss, longer this time and you sigh against his mouth before pulling away because you really, really shouldn't be doing this right now. 

You hear your mother calling your name and then footsteps up the stairs. A murmured she must be sleeping and a hum from your father before they pass the bathroom door. You truly only relax when you hear their door closing at the end of the hallway. 

“Okay, we're safe now.” 

“When were we ever not safe?” 

“When I was half naked on my bed, Mingi!” 

He shakes his head with a smile and takes a step back. 

You clear your throat. 

“I really did want to help you out but—” 

“Raincheck?” he asks and at your hesitation to say yes, he continues “If you want to. If you don't, it's okay. We… We'll figure it out, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He smiles again “Good, uh…” 

Mingi seems unsure on what to do next. Feeling the same, you decide the best thing to do is to get him out of here. 

Opening the bathroom door, you carefully peek into the hallway, taking his hand in yours and beckoning him to follow you down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

“Shit, your shoes…” you whisper. 

“I don't think they noticed if they didn't barge into the bedroom to check on us like they usually do, love.” He returns, in the same tone. 

That does nothing to ease your mind, but he makes sure to put them on quickly and then grabs your shoulders, shaking you in a teasing manner. 

“Quit worrying, Y/N. I can feel you thinking.” 

Of course he does. There's no one, in this world, that knows you better than him. 

It makes your heart flutter and it shouldn't. But you're getting on your tippy toes and stealing a parting kiss before you think about it too much. 

It's irresponsible for you to do so, but Mingi grabs your waist and extends the duration of the kiss and suddenly you don't give a fuck about your parents or anyone else finding out about this… shift in your dynamic. 

“See you tomorrow?” he asks against your lips and you nod. 

“See you tomorrow.” 

And with that, he leaves. 

You lock the door and practically run to your room after. 

What the fuck have you done?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and since it’s an open ending (sort of), let me know if you want a second part! 

© jensthwa, 2024.

[moechies]

cw CHEESY sukuna, soft sex (*´ω｀*)

he was a rough man.

holding you down by your hips and bruising them, leaving red indents of his nails on your waist. but one thing you have chosen to remember from your first time with sukuna were his words, “don’t fuckin’ touch me. keep your hands to yourself, you dumb bitch.”

and ever since, you haven’t. you’ve kept your hands to yourself, always leaving them to your side, or pushing them against your tits to lower any chance of even grazing him.

but he notices.

he notices the way your arm and hand yearn to hold onto or touch something, how glossy eyes flutter to his face, quickly averting it when he notices. maybe you wanted to hold onto the back of his neck, or to touch his face; or maybe, even holding his hand. but you resist everytime, playing it off by letting your hand fall to your side when you find yourself wanting to reach to the man above you.

and he really does hate it, how precious you are. so precious, you’ve made him fall in love with you. how could he not, when you laid so beautifully under him, mewling into his shoulder and whimpering his name.. and the way you always made an attempt to fetch him a water, which he did take a sip out of every time. (he didn’t need it. )

he loved your breathy snores as you slept, aiding him to close his eyes and rest even though he prompted to stay awake to protect you. he’s fallen for you.

“k-kuna..”

his cock prods against your hole, twitching for any sort of stimulation as he rubs stripes up and down your cunt with his cockhead.

“i know. you’re gonna take it well, just like you do everytime.”

and it felt weird, the honey words that fell from his lips. it was sweet but unusual, and it made your heart ache. it hurts when he pushes in, it always does. but this time, it felt better, softer.

“brat, touch me.”

“w-what? but you sai—“

“don’t make me say it again, yeah? jus’ touch me.”

and you whine, before your arms finally part from your tits, your hand reaches for his cheek, from where he hid his face in your collar bone, making him look into you. he finds you pulling him in closer and closer, before your lips melt against each others.

“thank you.”

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

Summary: Megumi is insanely jealous of the new addition to the household.

Warnings: Fluff, Jealous!Megumi

*Didn't have anything bigger for Toji for father's day but I had to celebrate it one way or another sfjosjf. Enjoy my lovelies!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Papa, up!” Megumi yells, hoping to get his father’s attention when he sees Toji holding the new addition to the family. Megumi has reached the age where he claims to be independent, after all, four is such a big age. He’d cry if you or Toji held him, but he’s changed his mind.

“Your baby sister is crying, give me a minute.” Toji sounds annoyed, knowing that Megumi does it out of jealousy. Jealous of a baby that can’t even hold her own head, kids are so dumb. Megumi lets out a cry before yelling again,

“Papa, up!” He wants attention now. He doesn’t want to wait until Toji is done with some stinky baby. Toji lets out an exasperated sigh as tears begin to stream down Megumi’s face– Crocodile tears, but tears nonetheless. He extends his arms and opens and closes his tiny fists repeatedly, yelling, “Up!”

“Megumi, you don’t want to wake up mommy, do you?” Toji asks, trying his best to calm down the crying baby in his arms while also handling Megumi. Toji goes unheard as Megumi begins to cry his little heart out. 

Toji takes a deep breath, trying to remain collected in this situation. Megumi is only four and getting adjusted to the presence of his little sister. Toji decides that it’s best to walk away, going to the kitchen to get the baby’s bottle and deal with her first since Megumi’s issue isn’t easily resolved. 

“Papa!” Megumi yells, following around Toji as he gets a bottle in the baby’s mouth. 

“Megumi, wait for me in the living room.” Toji says, but Megumi isn’t listening. Daddy isn’t like mommy, whatever mommy says goes but when Toji speaks he goes ignored; Toji’s is far scarier and intimidating than you are, he doesn’t understand why Megumi doesn’t take him seriously. “Megumi, go away!”

“I’m running away!” Megumi stomps his little feet before finally leaving Toji to deal with the baby. Toji breathes in relief, his pesky little bug finally giving him a moment alone. He’s able to go to the living room and sit down comfortably as he finishes feeding his daughter. 

“He’ll come around, princess. He hasn’t witnessed just how cute you are.” Toji coos, as if the baby can understand or care. She finishes her bottle, and Toji burps her before setting her down in her crib. He usually chooses to hold her whenever he can, but right now he has bigger fish to fry.

Toji walks into Megumi’s room, watching how his son tries to fit his most valuable toys into a backpack. Toji is trying his best to not chuckle, knowing that Megumi is deeply hurt. Toji takes a seat on Megumi’s tiny bed, clearing his throat before asking, “Need help packing?”

“You hate me!” Megumi cries, and Toji rolls his eyes. Was he that dramatic when he was Megumi’s age? “Mommy and you don’t love me anymore.”

“Oh c’mon, why do you say that, urchin?” Toji tries to see the little guy’s point of view before attempting to comfort him. The last thing Toji needs is attempting to explain to you why Megumi is packing up all his toys– You leave him alone with the kids for a two hour nap and Megumi’s already moving out. 

“You only care for the new baby.” Megumi angrily muffles, and Toji could’ve guessed as much. 

“C’mere, baby. Let me carry you now.” Toji opens his arms for Megumi, and Megumi glares at his father. He wipes away his tears before deciding that he does want to be carried by his father, after all, the tantrum is simply because of this. Toji picks him up, setting him down on his lap before kissing his forehead. “Is this why you’ve been so sensitive? Because of the new baby?”

“Yeah…” Megumi pouts, and it takes everything in Toji to not laugh.

“I will tell you something but don’t tell mommy, okay?” Toji begins, almost whispering to Megumi. Megumi’s eyes perk up, and Toji is fighting back a smirk. “We… Don’t like the new baby that much. I mean, we just met her. But you, urchin? You’re our favorite.”

“Really?” Megumi’s voice is full of hope, and Toji prays that this means Megumi will stop being so jealous about his baby sister. Toji doesn’t hesitate before nodding. It reminds Megumi that he doesn’t like being held anymore, which makes him get off Toji’s lap.

“Will you behave around her, now?” Toji asks, and Megumi takes a moment to think about it.

“Can we sell her?” Megumi responds, which makes Toji’s jaw drop. Did his cute little urchin seriously just say that?

“Okay, new rule: you’re not allowed near her room.” Toji stands up from the tiny bed, his knees cracking. He leans down and kisses the top of Megumi’s head, “Now unpack all of your toys before mommy wakes up.”

[pochaccoups]

cw — dry humping, making out, handjob, pet names ‘baby’ and ‘pretty girl’, best bf cheol (minors dni)

It’s a confession you make half-hoping Seungcheol doesn’t hear you: “you’re so hard. Let me jerk you off.”

You say it in the heat of the moment, utter it against his lips, reluctant partly because it’s perverted, it’s obscene, and it’s just utterly desperate of you, and partly also because you’re supposed to be taking it slow with him. You’ve had too many relationships go to shit when you fucked them right off the bat and found out after that you’d had nothing in common. Then you met Choi Seungcheol, who seemed a little too good to be true, and from the moment you’d told him you didn’t want to rush into any kind of intimacy just yet, he was more careful with your boundaries than you yourself.

For the last God-knows-how-long though, you’d sat in his lap, rutting yourself against him while he stole your breath with his lips, and fuck, he’s so hard against you that you think it must hurt, and he’s your boyfriend, so why wouldn’t you help him out?

When you say it, he tugs you away from him by your neck, not harsh or rough at all but rather in the way that everything he does has an air of dominance. He stares at you with hardened features, his attempt to appear stern betrayed only slightly by his kiss-swollen lips and cherry red cheeks, and yet you’re not afraid to persist.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret,” he says, so soft and low that he could lull you to sleep.

“It’s fine, Cheol. It won’t even count because you’re not putting it inside,” you say with a shrug and a grin.

Seungcheol has never felt so torn in his life. He wants to build up tension slowly with you until you trust him, until you’re certain that you’re ready to go all the way with him, to take the next step and bare yourself to him. Saying no to you is impossible though, especially when you make him want to give you the entire world. He’s also so, so hard, and his only options are to give in to you or jerk himself off in the bathroom alone.

His thumb traces over your bottom lip, his boner growing worse from the soft suppleness of it, from the batting of your lashes, from the carnal gleam in your eyes. Fuck it, he thinks. You’re the one who wanted it in the first place, anyway.

“Alright,” he says, and he already sounds out of breath, like the mere thought of your hand around him is enough to make him lose his mind. (It is.)

He starts to shift beneath you, simultaneously grasping your waist to reposition you ever so slightly as he pulls his sweats a few inches down his hips while your ardent fingers help him along. “But the second you wanna stop, we stop, okay?”

“Not gonna wanna stop,” you say, humming. Seungcheol pauses and stares at you, unamused. It makes you roll your eyes. “God, okay, I’ll tell you if I wanna stop. Now can I touch your dick, please?”

He narrows his eyes at you in faux doubt, only to wink at you and finally push his boxers down enough to let his cock spring free.

You feel your insides literally warm at the sight of it. It’s darkened pink, veiny, long, and girthier than anything you’ve ever seen. How can you not think about how it would feel inside you, stretching you out? Because God knows it would stretch you out. You’re pretty sure you’ll need several weeks of foreplay for him to fit.

“Cheol, you’re huge…” you say before you can stop yourself, growing suddenly timid.

“Good thing I’m not putting it inside then, hm?” says Seungcheol, chuckling a little.

He notices the shift in your eyes—it’s not hesitation, you’re just stunned. His hand soothes up and down your back, a silent reminder to take your time. For a split second his heart drops when he thinks maybe you’ve changed your mind about this, about him, and then your hand reaches for his length.

“Can I?” you ask. So polite, as if you’ve never done anything like this before. It makes Seungcheol want to smother you with kisses.

“Please,” he replies, only hoping it’s not too desperate.

The relief when your fingers finally grasp him makes Seungcheol’s shoulder sag, and he finds himself sinking further into the couch when your thumb swirls over his reddened cockhead. Beads of precum drool from his slit and you smear them all over his tip, smirking softly when Seungcheol’s breath hitches in his throat.

With your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from making an embarrassing noise, you start to pump his member slowly. You drool at the heaviness of it, at the way your fingers don’t touch as they wrap around him, at Seungcheol’s tiny noises as he inhales and exhales.

“Think you could spit on it for me?” he asks and his voice has dropped about three octaves now. He’s careful with his words, wanting nothing but for you to do things on your own accord.

He has to stop himself from cumming on the spot when you give a nod and a sweet smile before bending forward to let a dollop of spit drop from your pretty lips and land perfectly on his tip.

“Show me how you like it, Cheol,” you say. His heart skips several beats and he wishes he could record your words and listen to them again and again. Fuck, you’re perfect. He already knew that, knew it after about two weeks of knowing you, but you just keep affirming it for him and he wonders if you know your effect on him.

Seungcheol’s hand is warm as it engulfs yours. His grip is much tighter—painful even, you would think, but as he starts guiding your hand up and down with vigour, he throws his head back and moans, and you can’t help the way your pussy aches at the sound.

He shows you exactly how he likes it: tight, and with a flick of the wrist to swirl around his tip.

“God, fuck, baby, that’s it,” he grunts and bucks his hips into your hand.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. There’s a dash of timidness you get from being this intimate with Seungcheol for the first time, although it’s not even you who’s exposed, and then there’s desire. Wild, burning lust. He’s the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on, and he’s falling apart in your hands.

“Your cock’s so pretty, Cheollie,” you say. His already dark eyes have grown impossibly darker, riddled with want as they flicker between your intertwined fingers around his cock, and your face. “Can’t wait to have it in my mouth.”

“F-fuck, didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, pretty girl,” he moans, quickening your pace. His precum leaks all over your fingers, so wet that there’s an audible slick sound with every pump up and down.

“Only for you,” you say, and your gaze falls to his glistening lips, and you’re moving absentmindedly towards them until you’re kissing him. It’s even messier than before, more breathless, like neither of you are holding back your wanting anymore. Your tongue licks against his shamelessly. You’re hungry for him. He settles a hand at the nape of your neck, drawing you closer to him so that he can kiss you so hard your head starts to spin.

You’re not sure when you’d started grinding on him again, rutting your crotch over his hard thigh like a dog, but you can’t find it in yourself to feel ashamed of yourself when Seungcheol’s chest is starting to heave, his moans are growing more frequent, and his cock is throbbing against your hand.

“You’re twitching, Cheol. Are you gonna cum?” you tease, your cunt fluttering.

“Yeah, ’m close,” he says through gritted teeth.

And he’s certainly honest, because a few more strokes and he’s giving a deep, guttural groan and cumming in thick, milky white spurts all over his hoodie. His blissed out face is a sight to behold, although he doesn’t let you do so in favour of pulling you in for another kiss, one that’s soft and chaste this time.

Choi Seungcheol’s duality will kill you one day.

“Did so good for me, baby, thank you,” he says, giving you his sugary smile. “I’m gonna go… uh, change real quick and then I’ll return the favour, yeah?”

“Wh- return the favour? But- that- I wanted to help you out, though, so it’s fine!” you stutter, and he’s already plucked you off his lap like you’re weightless and stood up to his feet.

“Baby,” he says, taking your hand. “I felt you grinding all over my leg. Let me take care of you like you did for me.”

[lovegasmic]

 ᰋ. HOW TO GET THE GIRL ? : jujutsu kaisen ᰍ 

request : [ them ] being the “other man” showing reader they won’t give up on her even though she now wants to be loyal. alt : just pretend there is no boyfriend and it’s exes trying to win you back.

‘ toji fushiguro, kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru geto, choso kamo, sukuna x fem!reader ’ ୨୧ taglist

cw. slight mentions of sex◞ Sukuna gets in a fight ◞ other than that it’s all fluff / crack and probably a bit ooc.

˙ . ꒷ toji . 𖹭 ˙ — is the type that would purposely frequent the places he knows you’re going to be at, and to make it worst, when he knows you’ll be with your boyfriend.

the mall, that one restaurant you told him about, your favorite hair salon and that one clothing store, all places Toji attempts to find you at, calling you on the phone? that’s weak.

until you do ‘accidentally’ bump into Toji at the club where you first met, and he has this wide grin while nonchalantly approaching, eyeing your boyfriend up and down as if the sight was insulting, “oh, look who is here” he chuckles and you’re about to scream.

“do you know him?” your boyfriend asks, a bit taken guarded, no one could blame him really, that menacing look on Toji’s eyes plus the size of the man is just a perfect combo for disaster.

pissed is mild, you’ve already told Toji to stay away yet he never listens, “just briefly, he is not important”

the black haired man’s eyes glint with what looks like anger, but still masked under a smirk and crossed arms to purposely bulge his arms, “is that a way to talk to an old friend?” he tuts, mocking, “i’m hurt”

“let’s get going” you mutter in a rush, tugging your boyfriend to leave as soon as possible, but of course, Toji is not having it, holding onto your wrist to tug you instead towards another corner and quite fast, just to push you against a wall.

“what a fuckin’ pathetic man you got” he huffs, noticing how your boyfriend just stood there frozen, “i can’t believe you chose that”

“i chose no one, he was my first, you’re just a fling” that shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

“you didn’t say that when you were screaming my name” his hands are a bit firmer on your arms.

and your face burns slightly, “that’s different”

“how so?” Toji’s voice is demanding and gruff, “we had so much fun together, I can take better care of you than that pathetic excuse of a man you have..., please” he does not need much, really, just a single chance, and by the way your eyes drop slightly, he knows you’re seconds away from giving in.

˙ . ꒷ kento . 𖹭 ˙ — to begin with, finding out you were using him all along was like a punch in the gut, him who thought your relationship was going smooth and steady, only to be crushed down within minutes was not something Kento was willing to go through again. so, he just let’s you go, his ego hurt and heart shattered in pieces.

but then again, if you were with him, it was for a reason, right?

he acts mature, something you quite expect from a man like Kento, yet unable to deny the pull that still lingers, a whole gentleman he is, and in a city like yours finding him again was not impossible.

“hello...” his voice is steady and cool, making your tummy do a flip at the nonchalant and deep tone, “how have you been?” it’s quite obvious his words are forced, and by the way his hands are in his pockets, he wants to leave as soon as possible.

“um, good, yeah” so awkward, and to make it worse, you can’t just stop the way your eyes trail up and down his body, looking as handsome and manly with those khaki pants and blue fitted shirt.

Kento nods again, tapping on the ground with perfectly polished shoes, “good, then, goodbye”

“wait!”

your words come out before you can even stop them, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your top, “can we... grab some coffee? if you’re free, of course”

truly meant to be, how weak you are and how weak Kento is to accept immediately, hopefully, now knowing the whole story, he can convince you to break up with your boyfriend.

˙ . ꒷ satoru . 𖹭 ˙ — another gift left on your doorstep? this is the third that week, a cute yet simple black box with a white bow around it, perhaps another expensive necklace to join the collection your ‘ex’ or better called, fling, left.

the box creates a soft thud as you toss it on the last drawer of your closet, unable to even consider throwing it away, so you better keep them, there were no more reasons behind it, you tried to convince yourself.

then another beep, you have a new voice mail that plays, “hey, sweetheart!” Satoru sounds as nonchalant and fake as ever, “you left a t-shirt at my place, ahaha, don’t you want to come grab it?”

another poor excuse.

“why don’t I better drop it at your place?” silence, “just..., let me know if your boyfriend is there...”

something he was not willing to do was drop by knowing the other man could be there, one to save himself from heartache, and another, to not murder the man with his own bare hands.

another beep, another voice call, “let me talk to you, baby, please, just once, can we talk?” he sounds a bit pathetic but who cares, you managed to get under his skin, wrapped around your finger in such a way that he was not letting you go that easily, “call me”

you couldn’t deny that he was really sweet and attentive, checking one of the anklets he got you now sitting on your skin, perhaps... giving him one call can’t hurt, right?

˙ . ꒷ suguru . 𖹭 ˙ — Mr. nonchalant, you call him, having a grin on his face that makes his eyes wrinkle on the sides, barely raising a hand to greet as you approach — although you tried to avoid him by crossing the road, thing Suguru did too, now face to face while the only one who feels awkward is you, “oh, hi” he says your name as if it was the most common thing he has ever done, rolling off his tongue way too smoothly, “i did not expect to see you around”

what a liar, if you didn’t know him, you could have overlooked the way his fists were clenched and jaw slightly tight, “and who is this?” he points at the man next to you, who Suguru knows every detail of thanks to social media.

“this is my boyfriend...” why were your words so stiff? “what are you doing here?”

“oh, me?” he shrugs, “walking around, buying some groceries, life is amazing” the sarcasm and way his eyes trailed up and down your boyfriend in such disgusted way did not escape your gaze.

“oh, that’s great, yeah... we better get going...”

“wait” there is that smile again, “why don’t you join me for dinner?” you genuinely fear for your boyfriend’s life at that suggestion.

“i don’t think—”

“ah, you wound me” so dramatic, holding a hand to his chest, “aren’t we friends?”

sure, hopefully your boyfriend will make it out in one piece.

˙ . ꒷ choso . 𖹭 ˙ — although his mind screams for not to call you, he still does. the phone feels heavy on his hand the moment he picks it up, dialing the number Choso has began to memorize from how many times he’s type it just to delete it.

straight into voicemail, just great, “doll, we have to talk...” his voice is gruff and low, trying to mask that frustration by sliding his open palm across his face, “...call me”

it’s a little pathetic but he does not care in the slightest, fuck, how much he misses you, your laugh, your smell, your voice, everything, utterly in love with you.

even his brother told him to find someone else, to let you go but he could not, at least not on his own, dragged to a bar by his friends where he oh, so coincidentally finds you again, looking as gorgeous as ever and his chest tightens.

“hey” Choso is even a little flustered to approach you, hoping you don’t push him away, he just wants to chat, really, smiling and ignoring the flutter in his stomach as you actually continue the conversation, perhaps the drinks making everything go smoother, perhaps it’s the atmosphere or just how extremely beautiful you look.

Choso can’t look away, can’t take his eyes off you, and without realizing you’re dancing again as if nothing happened, as if you’re still his, and he really, really prays that you don’t slap him as he leans for a kiss under the bar dim light.

˙ . ꒷ sukuna . 𖹭 ˙ — this was a bad idea, a horrible, terrible idea, who in their right mind even thinks about taking their boyfriend to the club their side piece is a frequent at?

you, you did.

“so this is the guy, huh?” a few drinks in and Sukuna was ready to fight without a care of the show he was putting in, that mean, wicked smirk of his in place as he taps your boyfriend’s shoulder hard enough to make him wobble slightly, “you changed me for that?!” his eyes never left yours, demanding an answer.

“i did not change you! you were not even an option ”

a deep and quite menacing laugh echoes through the now embarrassingly silent club, everyone ready to jump in if things got worse, “oh yeah? that’s so sad, babygirl, because you are mine”

“hey” your boyfriend chimes in, stepping in between you and Sukuna whose hands were on your shoulders, “keep your hands away from my girl”

“listen, pal” Sukuna retorts, his face turned into a sly smile that screams danger, “this is between me and her”

“she is my girlfriend”

and, that did not sit right with Sukuna, as the next thing you see is your boyfriend stumbling back from the pink haired’s punch on the face, and the club bouncer jumping to pull him outside, almost happening in the blink of an eye.

that was just perfect, well done.

and as your hands clean up your boyfriend’s bloodied cheek, and your thoughts trail down to Sukuna, you know you’re fucked.