#no one is going to know what this is about lol

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

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

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

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

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

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

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

2+2=5.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Digimon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

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

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

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

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

You freeze.

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

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

“I wanted to.”

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

Damn him. Damn him.

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

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

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

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

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

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

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

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

The two of you don’t speak.

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

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

He’s just really there.

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

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

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

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

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

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

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

Cutie.

What?

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

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

You pull away.

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

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

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

It’s that you care.

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

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

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

Gojo is here.

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

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

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

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

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

You’re so screwed.

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

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

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

Not you.

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

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

But you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll never be his equal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa—”

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

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

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

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

Oh. Right.

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

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

A beat passes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

“You really don’t know?”

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

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

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitches.

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

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

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

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

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

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

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

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

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

You don’t answer. You can’t.

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I’m into that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

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

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

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

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

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

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

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

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

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

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

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

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

Silence.

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

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

general masterlist

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

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[jinxvex]

omg haiii :3 #1 i just found your account and i love your works! the way you write is just… mwahmwahmwah. besides that! i’d love it if u could do a jinx x reader where reader is lowkey oblivious but jinx is super obvious with how much she wants to fuck… and when she finally gets to hit she degrades and dumbifies reader… orrrr am i just thirsty 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

♱ fantasy. ♱

oh girl this is sexy trust, WE IS THIRSTY TEW!! also thank you, you’re so sweet!! i’m glad you enjoy my works :))

syp. the first time jinx set her glowy shimmer-charged eyes on you, she knew she had to have you—and she always gets what she wants. no matter that you were friends and you were oblivious to her constantly undressing you with her eyes, fighting her urges to completely ruin, defile, and destroy you. you’d come to realize soon enough.

cw: nsfw content!!, dom!jinx plotting on that p***y (lol), sub!reader (i'm a switch!jinx truther but let me cook...), a lot of degrading + dumbification, cursing, dirty talk, some praise, teasing, mocking, she forces you to take it!!, mentions of oral/fingering/gun-play, strap-on sex, hair-pulling, pet names (toots, hon, babe, baby, bunny, etc?), possessiveness, nastiness galore (lord forgive me!), reader’s past sex life is purposefully written to be vague, + prob more

wc: 4.2k!!

jinx’s fantasies involving you started a month ago when she was off roaming the rowdy streets of the undercity for a market sale. well, before it. she had begrudgingly taken up silco’s orders to keep tabs on the shipment coming in and out before the market opened to the public. for what? ‘who freakin’ knows?!’ she thought.

in retrospect, jinx was never an overly sexual person. she understood what it was, why people participated in it, and her own sexual preferences but she’d never devoted much time to finding someone to fuck or to fuck her for that matter. she's fucked before, but that was it. plunging her long, slender fingers into her own cunt while reading a racy scene in a shitty romance novel was enough to get her rocks off. she figured something was missing but she brushed it off.

her mind was… elsewhere most of the time.

(a month ago...)

lost in her thoughts, per usual, jinx doesn’t see you standing in all your beautiful glory. she walks right past you, eyes darting along everything she can see to accurately take in the information silco wants her to report back to him. she's still preoccupied with the inner workings of her mind and not too much with the zaunite public.

well, that's bound to change one way or another.

suddenly, she's stopping dead in her tracks. something's changed. the air feels charged, full of opportunity and something else. curly lines, shapes, and colorful graphics fill her vision—overwhelming but she feels as though she can really see clearly for the first time.

her nostrils catch a whiff of something… sweet. inviting. like freshly baked cookies although it's almost incomparable to how truly delectable the scent is. she's taken by surprise at the smell of something so good, good enough to eat, to devour. she’s never smelt anything or anyone so delicious. it intrigued her beyond belief, she knew that whatever it was, she was going to have that thing.

that’s when in her own self-induced frenzy she'd caused by frantically turning and thrashing around to look for where the smell led her, she sees you for the first time. as radiant as ever.

everything's in slow motion.

you're leaning up against a metal post and speaking to a market vendor, your voice as sweet as ever chatting to them about ‘who the fuck cares’. your smile is the brightest she’d ever seen living in a place full of drug addicts, violence, and poverty like you’ve never been subjected to zaun in your entire life.

she watches as you flip your hair to one side, hips swaying and fingers twiddling against your satchel. she watches you so intently, that she can see your eyes blinking slowly, she can count your individual eyelashes and remember the number for the rest of her life.

to say the least, jinx is enamored by the sight of you, let alone your smell. images of how good you'd look naked, and what your skin would feel like against hers cloud her vision, creating the perfect first impression of you in her mind. she looks further at you, specifically your ass and the jeans hugging it perfectly as well as the curve of your hips. the veins in your neck travel further down beneath your shirt and she can't help but wonder what your chest would look like.

bare.

before this moment, she'd never thought of somebody in such a vulgar light; it put her in a state of shock. she let her mind wander even farther off into jinx-landia and she imagines what it would feel like to slide her fingers into your pussy and press the pads of them onto your g-spot. she wants to know what it feels like to feel you get wetter and wetter and what it feels like to make out with your pussy—to push your own juices into your mouth and kiss you dumb. she thinks about testing how deep your cunt could get—how pretty your ass would look riding a cock, tits bouncing in the air.

controlling herself was something jinx always had problems with, so she isn't surprised when she is unable to stop herself from approaching you. her feet seem to be dragging themselves towards you like some sort of magnetic force.

“hiya, toots,” spills from her lips before she can even stop and think about what she's doing.

you pause your conversation with whomever you're speaking to, looking over in her direction to find her staring intently at you. confused and a little petrified, you stand up straighter, as you aren't expecting silco’s adoptive daughter to be staring you down at the beginning of some random ass tuesday morning.

“uhm, hey,” you respond, sounding more like a question rather than a greeting in return.

‘this is gonna be so much fun,’ jinx’s eyes light up and she lets her lips curl up in a friendly smirk, running through ways in her mind how exactly she’d ruin your body, mark you up, and claim you for herself.

because no matter what, nobody else is ever getting a piece of you now that she's sought you out.

no fuckin’ way.

…

somewhere in the present, there’s an idea—a certain narrative established between you and jinx.

you’re friends. good ones.

you don't know what else would explain the obvious liking jinx has taken to you. what else would explain the way she’s always touching you, looking after you, and asking you personal questions? questions so personal they have your eyes widening and gripping the edges of your clothes.

"have you ever, y'know, done it before? had sex?"

"what sorta stuff you into? like, sex stuff."

"you ever touch yourself? what feels the best? just trying to see if i could learn somethin' interesting for myself."

you never answer, often opting to lower your head in silence. how could you? it was wildly inappropriate and quite frankly, jinx made you shy. maybe it's because she's so pretty, and bold, and has a waist so small and touchable that you just want to-

no! 'why does she care so much?' you ask yourself frequently. no friend has ever been so crass...

duh! she gives a shit because she wants to fuck your brains out 'n then maybe cuddle you a bit! but you don't know that...

jinx follows you around too, insisting you need protecting since "you're too pretty 'n perfect" to not have protection.

one day, she started walking you to your god-awful job and never stopped. her excuse was, "can't have anyone takin' advantage of ya so early in the morning, princess. janna knows they'd try with a face 'n a body like that...whew", she whistled to herself.

needless to say, she kept your life interesting. she always seems to find you, no matter where you are. like she can sense your presence anywhere. you figure she doesn't have many people to talk to, everyone's scared of her being silco's daughter and all. but, you don't have anyone either; no parents or friends. no girlfriend.

well that makes two of you. sort of.

you both are currently smushed together on her sofa in her hideout making bracelets—snacks, craft supplies, and sleepover galore surrounding you. earlier on in the day, jinx had swung by your apartment (how she found out where you lived, you had no clue) and invited you over for a sleepover for the first time. you were surprised she was trusting you enough to let you see where she retreats at night and where she spends most of her time eating, sleeping, plotting; scheming.

she has a knack for making you feel special; like it’s just you two in the world and nothing else matters.

she makes you feel alive.

you’re shaken out of your thoughts by a grinning jinx. yes, physically shaken. both of her palms are placed on your shoulders, gripping them tight and looking into your eyes almost as a way to silently ask if you’re having as much fun as her. heat transfers from her usually cold hands to your skin which has you internally reeling. you’re wearing a tank top, comfortable enough with her to show a little something extra, “whatcha thinkin’ about, hon?”

you smile back at her, “nothing.”

you swear you see her eyes flicker down to your chest for a split second but you ignore it. her eyes move quick due to the shimmer, ‘you’re seeing shit, girl’ claims the angel on your shoulder.

“hmm, you’re lying.”

“am not!” you counter.

“are too,” she doubles back.

“whatever.” you finalize, emphasizing the ‘ever’. you’re not interested in arguing with her any further or giving her the satisfaction of proving her right.

you focus on the friendship bracelet you’re creating for her, determined to make it as pretty as you can for her. you want her to wear it—like it. love it, even. it fills you with a sick satisfaction knowing that soon you’d be wearing each other's creations, way more than it would if you just saw her as a friend. you see her pause her movements out of the corner of your eye but you keep going.

the faint sound of her own bracelet dropping to the couch cushion causes your head to rise up, looking at her in slight confusion. you’re not shocked to realize that she’s already looking at you.

“’m bored,” jinx replies blankly, pouting cutely.

“and grass is green. what else is new? you’re always bored, girl,” you playfully nudge her arm.

“well… grass has more of a grey hue down here so-“

the funny but slightly depressing joke nearly flew over your head but the knowing smirk on her face clued you in on her shenanigans.

you gasp in disbelief and nudge her arm a little harder now, fighting to stifle your laugh under your breath, “ha ha. very funny.”

“yeah, toots. i’m extremely hilarious,” she holds her head up high and crosses her arms above her chest.

she pauses, “let’s play somethin’.

she faces you fully now, right knee switching from resting next to your left to mirroring both of your knees, parallel to you. she scoots closer, and by now you know her calculating personality. you know that whatever she’s up to, has to be mischievous.

“ever hear of truth or dare?”

you roll your eyes, “of course i have!”

“then, you know the rules… right?”

“yes, jinx. i know how to play,” you rebuttal.

maybe you should’ve known her attention span wouldn’t last long while bracelet making. even if the speaker blared her favorite music at her gadget station, filling the space with a comfortable ambiance.

she smiles widely, “then let’s fuckin’ play!

“it’ll be so. much. fun,” she gets closer to your face with each word to emphasize her point, biting her lip and giving you intense eye contact. sexually charged eye contact. but again, you don't realize.

“fine. fine! but you’re going first. you're better at this sorta thing.”

she leans back to give you more space, just enough space to where it's socially acceptable to still be incredibly close to your friend. she's clapping her manicured hands together as her smile grows bigger and her shoulders tense with excitement.

"truth or dare?!" she asks in a televised over-dramatic fashion.

"truth."

'too easy' she thought. although, 'this is good,' her thoughts linger further. she figures she should start you off easy.

jinx has now stopped her clapping to put a finger on her chin in a thinking motion, obviously pretending to conjure up an interesting question that she's probably already picked out in her head.

"hmm...have you ever had a boyfriend?" she asks confidently, putting emphasis on the 'boy' part of "boyfriend" in a mocking manner; like how a sibling or family member would tease you about a crush.

your eyes widen, already caught off-guard by her first question.

"uhm... no. i-i don't really like boys like that."

she licks her lower lip and smiles once again, unbeknownst to you because you've just confirmed that she actually has a chance to win you over. although, she had her suspicions when she first met you.

"ever had a girlfriend?" she questions further, a serious, eerie edge to her voice appearing at the thought of you ever even romantically touching another girl. hell, in any way, shape, or form.

blinking rapidly, you shut her down quickly, "what, no! never really got the… chance to."

initially, you were going to tease her by mentioning that she was only allowed to ask one question but, you couldn't help but shake the feeling that she wasn't going down without an answer from you.

"awesome, good to know! your turn."

"okay. truth or da-"

"dare," she cuts you off delightedly.

you file through your mind to give her something entertaining to do but you find absolutely nothing, your mind blank like always the very moment you get around her. jinx makes you feel like you don't have to live your life thinking so hard. it's peaceful.

"damn, you are bad at this game," she snorts.

"hey, i can't help it. you've gotta help me here."

she raises a brow, "i mean, you could ask me t'do basically anything. y'know i'd do it," she slowly cocks her head to the side, still gazing deep into your irises. her braids follow the movement of her head.

"make it nasty."

"what the hell am i supposed to do? tell you to take off your clothes?!"

she doesn't waver, "yeah. yeah, that's a good one. do it."

you gulp, throat now dryer than ever and your fingers hurt from tightly grasping the fabric of your sleep shorts, 'here goes nothing.'

"u-uh... i dare you to t-take off your shirt," you order weakly.

jinx doesn't even let you finish your sentence before she's crossing her arms in front of her to tug the tiny, thin tank top off of her body, you follow her hands and you watch her chuck it on the floor carelessly. you look back up at her only to realize that,

she isn’t fucking wearing a bra.

you gasp in shock and secret arousal, eyes darting to the spot below you as you avoid looking at her soft, perky chest any longer, not wanting to over-step or make her uncomfortable.

"hey, you're startin' to hurt my feelings, babe. gave you that idea for a reason. makes shit more... interesting."

you look up to meet her eyes and for the nth time, you see her staring right back at you, gaze charged with something more than usual. you may have been oblivious, but you weren't dumb, something was definitely going on here. something that friends shouldn't do alone.

but you can't stop. it's turning you on.

the game continues on for many rounds after that, you and jinx switching back and forth from truth and dare, learning more and more about each other as time passes by. you start to get the hang of her outlandish questions, answering them shyly but not as reluctant as before. something you'd never get used to was the hypnotizing way her tits bounced with each slight movement, entrancing you. you learn that she's had sex once before and that she likes rope play and getting her hair pulled.

she also mentions other personal traits of hers that make your head spin, "y'know when i get wet, i get reeeally wet. like water wet."

needless to say, you know more than you should. she seemed to not mind telling you these things either, almost excited to clue you in.

"truth or dare, baby?"

"truth," you choose once more, the pet name affecting your better judgment and the seductive tinge to her voice causing the wetness already present in your underwear to leak through to your shorts.

jinx doesn't attempt to pretend to think of a question, "tell me, toots. what turns you on? what gets ya goin'?"

"what do you mean? like some sort of a kink?"

"yeah, like a kink."

embarrassment falls over your face like a dam breaking. you have to lie. this was getting too up close and personal for your own good and the only thing that could save what's left of your dignity is a lie.

"i-i don't know..."

so much for a lie.

her unhappiness with your answer is expressed when you see her narrowing her eyes at you. she leans in close, nose brushing yours and you can feel her warm breath on your face, "i know you're lying," she says real sing-songy-like. she's teasing you, and enjoying it.

her slender finger points in your face, “no fair! showed you my tits, toots! play by the rules."

"okay! okay! god, this is so fucking embarrassing-"

"c'mon..," she urges you on, eager to learn more about your sexual side and what takes you cream. she desired to know what made your pussy wet before she stuffed you full. but again, you don't know that.

"i-um. i read something onc-,”

she cuts you off once again, “don’t got all day!”

you sigh, “okay! i like getting called names. mean ones,” you blurt out quickly—sick of her antics.

“and i think i like it…rougher?”

her seemingly continuous stare falters for a split second before a bubbly laugh escapes her throat, smiling bigger and better than she has all day.

“oh, yeah? you like it… rough? you like getting treated like you’re nothin’?” she laughs out incredulously and somehow she’s gotten closer to you, lips almost close enough to graze yours.

“jinx… i- what are you-“

“what if we… played somethin’ else? somethin’ a little more worth our while.”

she figures, ‘ay, i’ve waited long enough…i need her'.

“like what?” you inquire even though you're no longer oblivious, catching on to what she means by “somethin’ else.” you feign innocence.

you feel a calculating hand travel up your leg, they’re slightly sweaty and cold which makes a shiver crawl down your spine. your chest visibly quickens, eyebrows furrowing, and eyes glossy with desire. jinx, still maintaining eye contact with you, remains calm although internally jumping for joy as she's finally got you where she wanted you the moment she laid eyes on you.

"how wet are ya right now, toots? you look like you're 'bout to cream your fuckin' pants!"

you audibly gasp, and she continues,

"i bet you're just drippin' down there... this whole time i've been sittin' here thinkin' you're being tortured answering all my questions, but, the entire time you've been gettin' off to it, haven't ya?!"

a single tear gathers in your eye out of complete and utter embarrassment. despite that, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't fucking love it.

her hand stops at the edge of your top, fiddling softly with it, "you can tell me to stop, baby! but, i have a feeling you don't want that," she whispers against your lips. you feel her tug the bottom of your tank top tighter, balling it in her clammy fist.

"dont! d-dont stop."

and just like that, a switch flips in her head. she's grabbing the back of your neck and smushing her lips against yours, capturing them in a searing kiss that has your lips aching. as soon as you feel her tongue attempt to break into your mouth, you let her in.

you initially jump in surprise but quickly sink into the kiss once you get used to the overwhelming contrast between her cold hands clutching your waist and her warm lips pressed on your lips. soon, she's basically drooling into your mouth, tongue trailing over every detail of the inside of your mouth as if she's trying to memorize the space. it's disgusting, really. but, it makes your cunt sloppy.

jinx breaks the kiss to pull your top over your head. she throws it on top of hers. the same one she abandoned long ago at the start of the game. it creates a small heap on the floor of her cozy abode.

"fuckin' whore," she laughs.

you moan, biting your lip softly as a seductive tactic to keep her kissing you.

"wooow!!" she drags out humorously, pressing her hand against your throat and tightening slowly with each word that comes out of her mouth, "you really are a slut. you like when i'm mean, slut?"

you nod, words seemingly impossible to form at this point.

she tightens her hold on you, bringing your neck closer so her mouth resides next to your ear, "if you don't speak up, i'm gonna make it hurt. 's gonna hurt so bad, bunny. gonna torture you. ‘n i know it’s our first time and all! don’t wanna have to scare ya just yet!"

unable to stop rambling, she continues, "hmm... maybe i'll shove the biggest fucking cock i have into your tight cunt... no prep! betcha you'd take it so well. hell, you'd probably like it! you're nasty like that."

"maybe i'll stuff my gun in there...with the bullets inside."

"please, jinx. fuck me.”

she just smiles, “i thought you’d never ask.”

…

you swear you see your life flash before your eyes because of how hard jinx is pounding your poor, abused cunt into the couch cushion. she has you face down—ass up with your hands held together behind your back by her own hands. your face rests on the couch arm, halfway visible to her so she can marvel at your eyes rolling to the back of your head and crossing achingly.

her own eyes roll at the sight of you in such a lewd state, “fuck, toots! you’re takin’ this cock so good. suckin’ me in your pussy like a good little cockslut. mmph. jus' swallowing it whole, fuck!!"

her pace is fast but calculated; and planned. as always. she’s roughly rolling her hips into yours to produce the addictive whore-ish moans to spill from your mouth. she’s also focused on watching her cock disappear in you, your cunt swallowing her cock like it was supposed to be there. the open space is filled with creamy cunt sounds and skin-slapping noises.

“holy fuckin’ shit, hear that? ya hear that pussy creaming ‘round my dick? she’s talkin’ to me, baby!”

you speak, remembering her resentment towards you not responding to her, “y-yes! i-i do, jinxie.”

“yeah?! you think she’s tryin’ to tell me how much she loves me? how much she loves when i split her open on my dick?” she reaches below your stomach to slap at your clit right where the balls on the faux cock meet your skin and you shudder in pleasure.

“fucking love your dick, ‘s so good, s-shit!”

it’s like her mouth won’t stop. she’s relentless—bullying you with her words as well as her cock. jinx pulls you up by your hair so your upper body mirrors hers. she slows her pace to thrust deeper and harder in you, damn near knocking the wind out of you. that causes to you choke on your breath, and your mouth is open as far as it can go.

“h-hah! aww… ‘s just sooo good, isn’t it?"

"see what happens when you’re good for me? good lil’ whores get good dick, ‘n i love givin’ it to ya, hon.”

you’re uncontrollably moaning, voice echoing loudly as you beg her for more—to wreck you.

“more! m-more please!”

“more?!“ she removes her hand from your head to dig her nails into your hips so she can get deeper, so she can open you up.

“you. want. fuckin’. more?!” she slams into your pussy with each word.

your pussy is drooling with your arousal and the shared sweat between you and jinx. you can feel it squelching down your legs with every thrust and throaty laugh she lets out at your pathetic form.

“god, you should see yourself. such’a perfect slut.”

with every word you feel your pussy quiver, getting closer and closer to cumming around her cock. when you curl your toes and inch off of her to prevent yourself from orgasming a whopping 3 minutes in she’s not having it, quickening her pace but keeping her almost-painful thrusts deep.

“nope! gonna take it all. ya asked for it, toots! you begged me to stick my dick in you. so take all of it.”

“b-but ‘m gonna cum! don't wanna yet! oh my god, p-please!!” you beg her for the slightest bit of mercy.

uncaring, she leans down next to the side of your head, lowering her voice, “you’re gonna fuckin’ cum, ‘n you’re gonna cum telling me whose pussy this is. who’s is it, babe?”

“who’s feedin’ this cunt good dick?!”

“you, you! only you.”

“yeah, ‘s me. cum, toots. soak me—get me wet.”

and that was it, “fuck! ‘m cumming!”

you release a soul-crushing moan and triggered by your sudden high, you grip the edges of the couch arm and fuck your ass back on her to deepen her thrusts if that’s even possible. wetness squirts from your cunt and everywhere around you, soaking the entire space below you including jinx’s lower half. the last thing you remember before you pass the fuck out is the hazy, content look on her face and incoherent mumbles that probably consisted of,

“that was way better than a fuckin’ fantasy.”

…

PLEASE TAKE THIS FOOD WHILE I WORK ON MY SEV REQS!!🙏🏽🫣...

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

MORE MEAN!RAFE PLEASE!!! Maybe leading from the last ask and it’s him being the desperate one and she’s just scared of him now but she still loves him or smth idk lols

even when you pushed me away

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — stalking

summary — rafe somehow finds you after you frantically ran away from home.

authors note — this is a continuation of my mean!rafe series. it is in my rafe cameron masterlist under “au’s” if you’d like it read it as a series instead of a standalone. thank you guys for all the love with this au, it means the world to me. please request more!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“why are you here, rafe?” you asked, your voice firm and unwavering even though you were slightly terrified and cowering behind your half-opened front door. “how did you even find me?”

he shook his head and brushed it off. “why am i here? because you just got up and left. no note? text? a call? nothing,” he explained calmly. “why? and where is all your stuff?” you bit your bottom lip nervously and stared at him. to your surprise, he looked genuinely confused. “did i do something?”

you almost laughed. did he do something? was he serious? “you should leave. i don’t want to talk to you,” you stated while beginning to close the door.

he lunged forward quickly and pushed back on it slightly, not enough for you to be scared that he was going to force his way in or anything like that, but just to keep you from shutting it in his face. “please, baby. i jus’ wanna talk to you. i want you to come home. i wanna know why you left in the first place.”

your resolve was beginning to slip. he was being so sweet and his eyes were all glassy like he was going to cry. “rafe, i don’t want to talk to you. i can’t,” you said a little more forcefully.

his bottom lip trembled slightly and he stared at you with wide eyes. “why not? what did i do wrong? if its about not spending enough time together, i promise i’ll change. i’ll clear my schedule for the rest of the week and we can spend every second of it together. jus’ please, come back home.”

“it’s not about that,” you replied. you wanted to leave with him so desperately. he sounded so torn and sad and it was beginning to make your heart break for him. “you’re not a good person. i can’t get mixed up with that.”

a tear slipped down his cheek as the realization set in. “baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered softly before talking a step closer to the door. you threatened to close it, narrowing the gap between you and him. that made him take a step back instantly. “please. jus’ come home and i’ll explain. i promise you. no lying, no bullshit. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

you felt your nose begin to sting and tears pool in your waterline. “i can’t, rafe.” you quickly shut the door and twisted the lock. a loud bang sounded on the door and you instinctively jumped back as you sobbed.

“open the fucking door!” he shouted angrily. you could hear his voice tremble before he began to repeatedly bang on the wood. “open the door!”

you slid down the wall and curled up into yourself, letting the tears call and the ugly cries escape your mouth. you’d never seen this side of him and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t terrify you to your core.

“baby, please! i’m begging you to open the door. i just want to talk to you,” he said, his voice slightly muffled through the barrier. “i need to talk to you. i need you to know that i’m not a bad person. please.”

you were pretty sure you were past that point now.

[prlssprfctn]

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

[dubioushonour]

Drafted this up after this post broke containment. Good heavens. For funsies, here is a retrospective of things I learned from this poll and other humorous highlights now that the vote is over:

You can't edit the wheel once it's gone live because it changes the URL. Sorry aroace community, I forgot to put No Sex on there and by the time I remembered it was too late and this had like 30k notes 😔

For everyone mad they got something extremely terrible- my three test spins were Drowning, Suicide, and Major Character Death. The Wheel is not only impartial, it is merciless!

I would say like maybe half everyone reblogging understood the assignment so I'm maybe half proud of you, Tumblr.

Several instances of "I don't like what I got but considering what I do to MY blorbos, I get it and I can't even be mad" which I thought was very amusing.

Inevitably, with 300 tags, there were going to be ones people were unfamiliar with (especially older fandom ones or the really niche kink tags). Some people looked them up! Many did not. (Many people regretted looking them up and others learned something new about themselves! Yay!)

In a similar vein, there was a notable population of individuals spinning this wheel who don't read a lot or ANY fanfiction, or have a familiarity with AO3 at all, and they consistently had a VERY bad time with this.

Some people were very, very upset to get #Teeth. Others were VERY enthusiastic about it.

Fewer people were happy to get #Slime (but some were!)

Many people were confused about #Robot Sex. I don't know how I could have been clearer tbh.

A nonzero number of adults were unfamiliar the word "cunnilingus".

I'm not sure what the odds were, but I think it was VERY funny how often the sex repulsed aroace crowd kept getting porn/romance tags VS how often the kinky allosexual crowd kept getting the No Romance Queerplatonic Non-Sexual Unrequited Crush Gen tags. Sorry for the character assassinations/sorry you didn't get laid!

Anyways I don't think I actually learned anything lol. If I did this again I would keep better track of my tags and make it 400 or 500 because I want to see how awful the wheel would look.

Spin this wheel of ~300 AO3 tags three times.

[witherby]

I need anything and everything of jason being Mouses favourite. (The Littlest Wayne AU)

They get a snack/ meal - Jay Jay has to take a bite first before they eat

They have a new toy- Jay Jay has to see and play

I’ll take anything you can think of.

I am obsessed. The AU is amazing

-🤍💜

Say less! I love Jason Todd and so does Flittermouse! By the way the word count is 3100+ lol oops

The Littlest Wayne: Fist Bumps

Masterlist is Here!

"This is stupid."

"Shut up, you're just mad you won't get picked."

Tim kicks Damian in the shin, who retaliates by kicking him back much, much harder in the ankle. Tim cries out, about to start a fight, but one stern look from Alfred settles them both down. They continue to sit beside each other without fuss, and soon everyone is all neatly lined in a row while Hal uses his ring to keep you safely suspended in a bubble, playing with a little rattle.

"Alright," Dick says excitedly, "we're going over the rules one more time! No jingling any shiny objects for Flitty to chase after, no getting out of line to get closer to them, and Bruce, no bare skin! We're gonna have Hal set them down and see who they come to first."

"This isn't gonna go the way you think it's gonna go," Bruce says, endlessly amused. "Please, none of you get your feelings hurt."

"Nobody's gonna start cryin', relax," Jason says, lounging on the floor between Damian and Hal. "Kay, we ready?"

A chorus of agreement follows, and Hal gently lowers you to the floor. They all immediately call your name, or variations of your nickname, waving their hands and patting their laps to get you to come to them. Your eyes widen, startled by the sudden rush of noise, and turn your head to assess everyone across the room.

You lock on to the man you want, the binky in your mouth bopping up and down excitedly, and you start speedily crawling to Jason.

"I KNOW that's fuckin' right!" He yells, scooping you into his arms and gently tossing you in the air a couple inches, then peppering your face with kisses. "I'm the favorite you little freaks. Kiss my ass."

"Okay, whatever, we knew that already," Dick says, "now it's time to see who the second favorite is. Put them down and go away so we can play again."

"Be nice to your brother," Bruce says. Dick flicks Bruce in the ear and he scowls. "Ow. Be nice to me."

"Fine. Gotta know who my competition is for the number one spot in Mousey's heart, even if I'm winning by a landslide." Jason carries you across the room and sets you back down. "You stay for a sec, kay? Pound it." He picks up your chubby arm and makes you give him a fist bump, then walks away from you.

Before they can even start a second round of the game, you're shuffling after him again. Christ, it's adorable.

"It's because they can still see you, Todd," Damian says, scooping you up to put back in starting position. "Duck behind the couch."

Jason rolls his eyes but complies, bending down until he's out of sight. When the rest of the family calls for you again, you shuffle forward like you're going to crawl to Hal, but you veer past him and around to the back of the couch to get to Jason again.

"Oh my god, they've developed object permanence already," Tim says. Jason's triumphant laughter fills the room as he lifts you up to give you more kisses. His endless delight and your happy squealing softens the blow to everyone else's egos.

"This game sucks anyway," Dick mumbles, crossing his arms in defeat. "What idiot even came up with it in the first place..."

--

"You ask."

"Uh, no? You ask? I don't care."

"Yeah but he tolerates your questions. I don't wanna get my jaw blown off."

"Then don't ask, dumbass. It's so easy."

Jason clears his throat, causing the two goons to stiffen up and turn to face him. One of them looks upset that he was caught unaware, and the other looks one wrong move away from pissing himself.

"Hi, boss," they both greet.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Jason asks, taking a half-step closer. "Cause last I checked, I sent you both over here to do quality control on our newest drug shipment. And I'm not seeing a lot of that gettin' done."

He turns to the more frightened man. If he didn't have his helmet on, he would've sneered at him.

"So what's the hold up? Need me to sew some mouths shut? Hmm? Want me t'cut out your fuckin' tongue? That'll motivate you real fast, I bet."

"We'll get right on it, boss," the other, clearly smarter, henchman states. "We were just. Uh. Wondering why there's... why there's a baby strapped to your chest."

Jason looks down at you. You stare right back at him, making a soft cooing noise around your Red Hood-themed binky, and reach up for his mask. He gently takes your hand instead, feeling your tiny fingers curl around the leather of his gloved pointer. He's smiling sweetly at you, despite no one being able to see it.

"This is M," he says by way of an answer. "Won't be an everyday occurrence — couldn't find another babysitter so I assured the dad I'd keep 'em safe for the night."

He doesn't mention that your dad is also his dad, and that when Jason tried to leave to do his vigilante work, you screamed the house down and would only calm down in his arms, therefore he had no choice. So here you are, strapped to his chest in a onesie padded with kevlar and vital-tracking tech, while your favorite brother carries your diapers and formula around in the same duffel he stashes his guns.

And because you're his favorite, too, he secretly hopes you throw more fits so he gets to hoard you all to himself again. Taking a few minutes to tickle your tummy or gently rock you in his arms stops him from losing his patience and blowing out the brains of several subordinates tonight — which his men clearly catch onto, because they all start telling him how nice it is to see such a cute and perfect and pleasant, life-saving baby hanging around.

Fuck yeah it's nice. S'cause you're the coolest baby ever. Jason gently makes you fist bump him.

--

"AHHH!"

Jason is out of his chair and bolting across the Manor before his brain fully registers your screaming through the baby monitor. There's surprised exclamations and footfalls not far from him as his thunderous steps stir up a commotion, but he doesn't care about that.

There are very few times in his life when he's moved this fast. Large, expansive rooms fly by him in a blur of color. He takes the stairs six at a time. If a door he needs to get through is closed, he's breaking it down with a well-placed hit with his shoulder and moving on.

When he gets to your room, he stops to yank the door open because he doesn't know if you're near it, and darts inside with a sharp shout of your name.

"What's wrong!?" He pants, zeroing in on you immediately. You've rushed into your wardrobe and climbed inside it, red-faced and crying as a crow flaps haphazardly around the bedroom. The shattered glass on the floor gives him the missing context, and he snatches the bird out of the air with more force than necessary while the adrenaline spike is still scrambling his nervous system.

Bruce is the second person to rush into your room just moments after, crouching by your hiding spot with furrowed brows and a soft, slightly winded voice.

"Are you hurt?" He asks. You whimper but shake your head, fat tears rolling down your little cheeks, and lift your hands. Bruce picks you up without hesitation and stands up.

"Jaylad?" He says, still in that gentle tone. "You alright?"

Jason doesn't answer. He's not alright, not really. The rage he'd built up thinking someone was in here hurting you is still burning through his veins, and with no outlet for it, he's struggling a bit.

Bruce doesn't take offense to his lack of response. He just offers you a small, reassuring smile and bounces you a bit in his arms.

"Let's go find Grandpa and snuggle up with some hot chocolate," he murmurs. "Jay-Jay will hang back and make sure your bedroom is safe for you."

"No!" You sob, leaning around your father's broad shoulders to reach for Jason. "Want Jay-Jay!"

"You can spend time with him in a little while, Mouse," Bruce says, starting to carry you out of the room. Your protests get louder and more frantic, pushing against him to no avail.

"Want Jay!" You repeat, sobbing openly. "Jay-Jay! Want, p'ease!! Jay-Jay!"

"Bruce," Jason utters through grit teeth. His father stops, only a few steps down the hallway, and turns back to him. "It's fine. I'll take 'em, you clean up the mess."

"...are you sure?" Bruce frowns, visibly cautious. He looks down at the bird still flapping helplessly as Jason holds it by the neck, firmer than strictly necessary.

Jason takes a step towards the broken window and tosses the crow out. After a second of frantic flapping, it straightens itself out and flies away with panicked sqawking.

He turns to you and holds out his arms. They're only trembling a little bit, but the edges of his vision are still tinged with green. Bruce hesitates to pass you over.

"I've got it," Jason murmurs, "I'm calm enough. Gimme my fuckin' sibling before you piss me off worse, B."

Bruce nods slowly. He brings you back into the room and hands you off to Jason. Your arms circle his neck and cling on tight, and you bury your face in his chest as you cry. It breaks his heart that you had such a bad scare. He can see the half-completed Lego build you were playing with on the floor in front of the window and hopes Bruce can get all the glass shards out between the bricks and carpet.

Jason carries you out of your bedroom and down the corridor to his. He leaves his door cracked open and flicks on lights as he goes, then brings you to the en-suite bathroom.

"Okay, Mousey," he mumbles, trying to set you on the sink's vanity. You clutch him tighter and whimper, and it drives a spear right through his chest. "Kid, I'm not goin' nowhere. Jay-Jay's right here, I just wanna make sure there's no glass on you."

A little more prodding and the compromise of you holding one of his hands gets you to relent. You sit miserably on the counter as your sobs slowly die down, and Jason tediously checks your hair and clothes for any bits of glass that may have landed on you when the crow crashed into the window. The slow, repetitive motions help quiet the last of his anger until he's just tired and concerned for you. He finds a couple tiny pieces, but your skin is unblemished and when he asks if you're hurt, you shake your head, which then calms him entirely.

"Alright, great job," he murmurs. "Come here, we'll go bother Alfie t'give us an icecream sammy before dinner and then cuddle in the main living room. Good plan?"

You sniffle, wiping the last of your tears away. Your cheeks are flushed and puffy. "Yeah, good pwan..."

Jason kisses the top of your head and offers you his fist. You gently bump yours against his, then lift your arms again to be picked back up. He obliges, refusing to put you back down for the rest of the day. When it's time for bed, you don't wanna go back into your room, so he spends the evening reading his current novel with a dim book light while you snooze away on his chest.

--

He's livid. Jason's got a hole in his leg and he can't run away from the rival gang leader pointing a gun at his head, and he's fucking livid.

"My first death was way cooler," he mutters. "Got blown up and everything."

"What the fuck are you saying?" The other man scowls. "I never could understand you through that thick-ass helmet."

"I'm saying, if you're gonna go down as the guy that killed the Red Hood, at least make the execution something fuckin' noteworthy," Jason rants, the pain making him bitchier than usual. He waves his hands for emphasis, pointing at the gunman much like a mother scolding her child. "Ohh I shot him and watched his brain splatter everywhere! So has every single marksman ever. I'm worth more than a bullet in an alleyway. The fuck do I look like, Bruce Wayne's folks?"

"Whoa, man," the shooter says, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad I'm gonna kill you. You're that mad I'm not gonna kill you...in a cooler way?"

"Excellent listening ears, bucko! Gold star!" Jason coos, clapping. "Immolation, decapitation, tossin' me in an acid pit — fuck me, I'll take a stab wound over a bullet! D'you know how skilled you gotta be to get close enough to stab Red Hood to death!? If not for me, do somethin' that'll raise your own paltry street cred, shit. You're so fucking boring."

The man doesn't get another chance to weigh his options. The darkness of the alleyway pounces on him, sucking him into the void while he shrieks like an animal. Jason slumps against the wall and watches the shapeless darkness warp and twist, the gun abandoned on the ground in the gunman's initial panic. He feels his heart rate slow when you step out after a minute, wearing a thick jacket over your pajamas and a domino mask over your eyes as you hurry towards him. A flash of irritation makes him scowl as he realizes one of the others woke you up for this, when you aren't even a vigilante to begin with. The culprit's gonna get their ass beat as soon as he recovers enough to track them down.

"Okay," you stammer, kneeling next to him on the ground with a first aid kit. "Okay okay okay...Alf — umm, Agent A? I'm here, what do I do?"

"Remain calm, Flittermouse. All will be well," Alfred soothes you over the comms. Jason feels the adrenaline steadily exiting his body now that he's registered that he's safe. Now, it's a fight to stay conscious so you don't freak out even more than you're currently doing. He's so proud of you for coming out here despite the blatant fear.

Your hands shake as you pop the kit open and pull out the field tourniquet. Alfred instructs you on how to set it up, and Jason gently adjusts it when you wrap it a little too close to the bullet wound in his thigh. He grits his teeth as you tighten it, refusing to make a peep, and gives you a quick thumbs up when you tie it off.

"Okay, I stopped the bleeding. Do I bring him home, now?" You ask.

"As long as he has no other injuries, the medical bay is ready for you to transport him back to the cave."

"M'good, Mousey," Jason says, lifting his fist. "Sorry you had to come rescue your cool big bro. S'not your job."

"I was the one who could get here the fastest," you reply. After a moment's hesitation, you bump his fist with your own. "You're gonna be okay."

"M'gonna be okay," he echoes, knowing you need that confirmation. "Saved my life, kid. I'll do all your chores for the next week."

That gets a wet laugh out of you. You hug Jason tight and the shadows of the alley pool underneath your bodies. Jason closes his eyes and hugs you back, a steady anchor in the free-falling sensation entering your darkness gives him.

"My heroics are only worth a week of chores?"

"S'better than the rest get," he says. "They get one chore. Not even a whole day, just one chore."

You bury your face in his shoulder as the void swallows you and him up.

"You're my favorite, too, Jay-Jay," you mumble. Jason smiles as he loses the battle for consciousness.

--

"Good afternoon; welcome to Truce Juice. Would you like a moment with a menu or are you ready to order?"

Jason leans his hip against the counter and takes a menu off the small, laminated stack you've got sitting there, glancing over the options. Behind the helmet, he smiles as he remembers all the late nights you pulled him and your other brothers into the kitchen to taste test these drinks and snacks, desperate to make things that would appeal to many people. He remembers how proud you were to graduate from your culinary courses and the victory cry you let out when you found insurance willing to cover the building.

You smile warmly at him, waiting patiently for him to choose something off the menu for the first time in your brand new business.

"Black coffee," he says, voice warped by the modulator in the helmet, "two sugars."

"What size?" You ask, tapping it into the screen in front of you.

"Large. And a turkey panini, with avocado and pesto."

"Toasted?"

"What other fuckin' way would anybody get a panini?" He muses aloud. To strangers, he would sound angry, but you can tell he's genuinely asking. You just shrug and keep the soft smile on your face.

"You'd be surprised. Your total's on the screen; will that be cash or card?"

Jason reaches a gloved hand down. It glides past the pistol strapped to his thigh, eliciting nervous gasps from bystanders in the cafe, and into the pocket underneath, drawing out a plain, tri-fold wallet. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and huffs at you to keep the change, then saunters over to the pick-up counter to wait.

He crosses his arms and watches you scuttle around behind the counter, genuinely happy to make food and drinks for anybody that comes in. So far, you're uninjured and you've been able to stop any rising conflicts in seconds, which he's endlessly thankful for.

When his order is ready, you hand it to him with another bright smile.

"Alright, mister Hood, here you go. Have a great day!"

Jason nods, about to turn away, when he sees you hold your fist out in his periphery.

He grins, heart fit to burst, and bumps it back.

[minswriting]

ONLY NEED ME - Spencer Reid x Reader

About: You were scrolling on your phone, swiping left and right on tinder to find a date. Spencer finds you scrolling on your phone and asks what you’re doing. So you tell him you are looking for someone to hookup with. He decides to show you that you don’t need anyone but him.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f), pussy drunk Spencer, jealous spencer

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: happy valentine‘s day my little sluts. although this isn’t valentine’s day themed, let’s pretend that it is lol. i hope you guys enjoy!

It was a rare day when there were no cases and yet, you were still required to come into work, just in case something happened. Usually, these days consisted of paperwork, going over recently solved cases to ensure nothing was missed and that everything had followed protocol. But for a team that is so action-based, having to do paperwork was entirely boring for everyone except Spencer, who was engrossed at his desk, the one across from yours, reading every file intently.

Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. It had been a long time since you had sex. With your line of work, it’s hard to find time to do anything outside the realm of your job. So you were doing what any normal person would do nowadays: resort to dating apps. You were scrolling on Tinder, mindlessly swiping left and right on people you thought were and weren’t attractive. You stopped at a certain profile, trying to decide if someone was cute or not and if you’d actually be willing to have them in your pants.

JJ walked past your desk and glanced at your phone. “Oh? Who’s this?” She asked, standing next to your chair.

You glanced at JJ before looking back at your phone. “Some random guy,” You said, showing her your phone. “Do you think he’s cute?”

JJ shook her head no, a small grimace on your face. “You can do much better, sweetheart,” She said, her grimace becoming a smile. “Are you finally looking to meet someone?”

You laughed, shaking your head no. “I’m just looking to get dick,” you replied bluntly, giving JJ a cheeky grin.

JJ laughed, nodding her head. “I get it,” she said, sighing. “Will and I haven’t had our alone time in weeks,” She rolled her eyes.

You pout in sympathy before swiping away the guy on your phone. “Do you want to help me look for the perfect person?” You asked.

JJ nodded her head, grabbed a random chair, and pulled it up to your desk. “Hell yeah, give it to me,” She grinned as she looked over your shoulder at your phone.

Unbeknownst to you and JJ, Spencer, though his attention looked as though it were on the files, had a frown on his face. To anyone, it would look as though he were deep in thought. But actually, it was due to listening in on your conversation with JJ. Why did you have to resort to some stupid dating app? Shouldn’t you know better than to trust random strangers on the internet? That’s like kind of what your job is about. Spencer felt a gross feeling in his chest, something he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps he’s been attracted to you since you joined the team some time ago and the idea of you seeking someone else for pleasure made him jealous. Not that he’d actively admit that.

As you and JJ sat there, talking and giggling with one another about random people you see on your phone, Spener bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his attention on the files in front of him. His jaw was clenched, and his hair tousled all over the place. It wasn’t until it was finally time for everyone to go home that he could get some peace and quiet. As everyone, including you, exited the bullpen to go home, Spencer remained alone with his thoughts for a little while longer.

He thought about you going on a date with some random person. How you’d get yourself all dolled up and beautiful for some random loser who likely wouldn’t even know where the clitoris is. Spencer may not have the most experience in the world but he definitely knows where the clitoris is located. He groaned to himself, realizing that his jealousy was consuming him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting back in his chair. And then, Spencer came to a sudden realization, causing him to quickly stand up and grab his satchel before leaving the Bureau.

You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch as you looked through the television channels. You were dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair mostly dry but still a bit damp from the shower you took when you had gotten home from work. You were originally going to see about possibly going on a date tonight but instead, you opted to stay home, too exhausted to really want to go out and meet anyone.

You didn’t particularly care to actually date anyone. Your desires are always laid elsewhere, with a very specific coworker you had. And unfortunately, you could not have this specific coworker as it would break so many Bureau rules. But you were allowed to have your thoughts, thank you very much. And if those thoughts included thinking of Spencer pounding into you and whispering praises into your ear then that was your own volition.

It was currently eight o’clock in the evening when there was a knock on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock before standing up from the couch and walking to the door. You looked out of the peephole, seeing Spencer standing there looking a bit disheveled. You opened the door, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you looked at the brown-haired man in front of you. “Spencer…?” You asked. “What are you-”

“You know, some people use dating apps to target potential victims for violence or sexual assault,” Spencer interrupted you. “Which is why you shouldn’t use dating apps.”

Your look of confusion remained on your face. “You know, that could’ve been a text,” you replied sarcastically.

Spencer bit his lip, looking at you. “Maybe,” he replied. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were always so beautiful at work, dressed in mostly professional, sometimes casual clothing with light makeup on your face. But right now, you were ethereal. Dressed in lounging clothes with your hair perfectly natural and no makeup on your face. At that moment, Spencer didn’t understand why you even bothered to get yourself dressed up each day when you were perfect just the way you were.

“Why are you here?” You asked softly, noticing the way Spencer was looking at you. You didn’t question it, however.

Spencer remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think of a proper response to give you. He hadn’t completely thought this through when he made the sudden decision to visit you. Finally, he spoke, “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head. “No!” You responded immediately. “I just- I’m surprised you’re here is all.” You bit your lip nervously. You hadn’t invited Spencer in yet and that had suddenly dawned on you. You moved to the side, allowing Spencer to step inside before closing the door behind him. You leaned against the door, looking at Spencer as he turned to look at you.

“You shouldn’t resort to dating apps,” He spoke. You furrowed your eyebrows at Spencer, confused as to why he would come here just to tell you that. Just as you were about to respond, Spencer cut you off by speaking once more. “Not when I could help you.”

“What?” Your voice came out more hoarse than you intended.

Spencer cleared his throat, the only sign that his confidence had slightly diminished. “If you need someone to pleasure you, you don’t need to use dating apps when I’m right here,” he said again, rewording his earlier statement.

“Are you saying you want to have sex with me, Spencer?” You whispered, biting your bottom lip.

Spencer moved closer to you until he was right in front of you. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered.

Spencer nodded his head. A silence overcame the two of you before he spoke again, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” you responded.

Spencer leaned in and gently kissed your lips. It was nervous and hesitant, as if unsure if you’d actually want to kiss him or not. But when you kissed him back, Spencer became more sure of himself as he kissed you deeply. He brought his hands to your cheeks, cupping them. The two of you moved in sync, kissing one another slowly. Eventually, Spencer pulled away slightly to look into your eyes as you stared back at him. The gaze the two of you had held a hunger that neither of you had admitted to yourselves in the entire time you’d been working together.

Spencer kissed you again, this time more roughly and hungrily. A soft noise escaped your lips from the roughness but it wasn’t unwelcome whatsoever. As the two of you kissed, you gently pushed him around the apartment to try and get to the bedroom. Spencer accidentally bumped into a side table, causing a vase to fall to the ground but luckily it didn’t break. “Whoops,” he said, pulling away from the kiss to look at it.

You put a hand on his chin. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as you pulled his face back to yours. The two of you continued moving throughout the apartment until you reached your bedroom. Spencer’s lips left yours and began kissing your jawline, making his way down to your neck. His touch was like feathers as he lightly kissed along your skin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you to clench your thighs. An action that wasn’t missed by Spencer.

“Needy?” He asked against your skin.

You nodded your head. “Very,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a hum as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly pulled the material up, moving his head away from your neck so he could pull it off of you and tossing it to the side. You weren’t wearing a bra and Spencer couldn’t help but just look at you. “Can I touch you?” He breathed out, eyes locked on your tits.

“Yes, please,” You replied breathily.

He didn’t hesitate to use both of his hands to massage your tits, feeling the flesh in his hands. He thumbed your nipples, causing you to moan softly at the feeling. “You know, some women can orgasm just from having their nipples stimulated,” he murmured, eyes fixated on your breasts.

You let out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m one of those people,” you exclaimed.

Spencer let out a hum as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth. The action caused you to let out a whine as he tongued the nub, his hands still massaging your boobs. He moved to the other nipple, doing the exact same thing. Your cheeks were warm as felt the sparks of pleasure being sent down your spine. Eventually, Spencer pulled away, pressing gentle kisses along your chest before returning up your neck and to your lips.

He guided you to your mattress, sitting you down at the edge of the bed as he pulled away from you. You looked up at Spencer, watching Spencer as he got on his knees in front of you. “Do you want me to continue?” He asked softly.

You licked your lips, nodding your head. “Yes, please,” you murmured.

And that’s all Spencer needed to put his hands on the waistband of your sweatpants and pull them down, tossing the material to the side. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath, causing Spencer to let out a soft hum of approval. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking at you with his puppy brown eyes.

“Please do.” You whispered, biting your lip as you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to him.

He let out a groan, his eyes immediately moving to look at your glistening pussy. Without hesitation, Spencer dived in, licking a strip down your slit and then back up, causing you to moan. Spencer hummed against your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed as he tasted you. His tongue began lapping around in figure-eights, teasing your clit with each flick. If you had told yourself that your night would end up with Spencer on his knees, eating you out, you would’ve laughed. And yet, here you were.

Spencer made out with your cunt, his lips moving against your pussy like you were the sustenance he needed to live. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub. You let out a loud moan, bringing your hand to Spencer’s hair and tugging on his curls. The action alone caused Spencer to whimper against your cunt as it encouraged him more.

You were whining and moaning, relishing in the pleasure Spencer was giving you. No one had gone down on you in so long and you had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But Spencer? He was built for this. His face was sculpted to eat pussy. If you could live with Spencer’s head between your thighs for the rest of your life, you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back. Spencer hummed against your pussy, his tongue dipping into your hole while his nose rubbed against your clit. He was breathing in your cunt, drunk on your juices. You could feel yourself getting closer, causing you to buck your hips. “I’m gonna cum,” you whined. With a slurp to your clit, you gasped and let out a choked moan, thighs clamping against Spencer’s face as you arched your back. “Spencer!” you moaned his name as you came.

And when you finished, Spencer pulled away from your pussy. His face was glistening with your juices as he looked at you with a smirk. “You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily as he gently rubbed your thighs. “Did I do good?”

“So good,” you breathed out, smiling at Spencer.

“Then you don’t need anyone else, right?” He asked, standing up.

“I only need you, baby.” You replied, looking up at Spencer with a dazed look. “Now fuck me.”

Spencer grinned, undressing himself before crawling onto you. “Gladly.”

And after that, you begin a new journey with Spencer where you explore each other’s bodies. Why do you need to use dating apps when all you need is Spencer?

[onceinablueberrymoon]

the name game | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

scenario: pregnant!reader is overdue and put on bedrest. you quickly grow bored and try to find ways to stay entertained, one of which involves a certain former player.  setting: a few months after the events of season 1; set shortly after i spy. for added context, please read part 1, part 2, and part 3 first! word count: 1.9k warnings: pregnant!reader; deception; practically taunting gihun (poor guy); lots of fluff; reader and salesman work for the games; mentions of birth; no use of y/n; second person POV notes: sorry this took so long, this was more difficult to write than i first imagined. everything after this part will take place in season 2, so it shouldn’t take as long :) also, i felt so bad for gi-hun while writing this lol. as always, please enjoy! borders by @enchanthings-a!

Any day now.

That’s what the doctors told you two weeks ago. 

Ever since you passed your due date, your husband had basically confined you to bedrest. He didn’t want you walking out and about in such a vulnerable state. To top it off, it just so happened that recruitment had finished for the 35th Games, meaning that he could stay home to care for you. Your doting husband waited on you hand and foot, bringing you anything and everything you craved. Even so, he would have to leave the apartment for hours at a time, whether it be to buy groceries or to take care of some business for the Frontman. When the salesman wasn’t there, boredom quickly became your best friend.

Since you had so much time on your hands, you decided to do a deep dive into Seong Gi-hun. While you had previously done research on the man that considered you a friend, you realized you didn’t know too much about his recent life, other than the fact he was lonely and vengeful towards the Games. 

You retrieved your work laptop from your desk and settled on the bed against the headboard. A sharp kick from the baby caused you to flinch. You couldn’t wait to be done with your pregnancy. 

Opening the Games’ database of players, you browsed through the files until you found what you were looking for: List of Players, 2020. You clicked the folder, which had profiles of the players from the year Gi-hun won. Your eyes scanned the numbers before eventually arriving on 067.

Kang Sae-byeok. 

Browsing through her profile, one detail caught your eye. 

“How did Gi-hun know someone from North Korea?” You whispered to yourself. 

While it wasn’t uncommon for North Koreans in debt to make their way into the Games, they usually didn’t have close allies. You remembered how distraught Gi-hun had been when 218 had stabbed her in the neck. Gi-hun had also told you how he had helped Sae-byeok’s younger brother afterwards by entrusting him to his childhood friend’s mother. But you were baffled as to why he would go to such lengths for someone he just met. 

You closed Sae-byeok’s profile and scrolled down to click another number. 

218. 

“Cho Sang-woo.” You muttered under your breath. You remembered him from the final game against Gi-hun, and that the two seemed to be closer than just competitors fighting in a match to the death. 

Scrolling down, you noticed that he had graduated from Seoul National University. Then it clicked. Gi-hun had once mentioned a childhood friend who had attended that school in one of his many stories, but you had forgotten his name.

You grimaced. With that background, he must have screwed up big-time to have landed in that much debt. When you saw that he put up his mother’s shop as collateral for his loans, you almost pitied the man. Clearly, he was desperate.

The sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted your thoughts. Peering through the open doorway of your bedroom, you tried to get a glimpse of your husband and whatever goodies he bought you. Today’s craving was pastries from the local bakery, which he had promised to get on his way back.

“I’m home,” he called from the foyer. He soon entered your field of vision, holding his briefcase in one hand and your bag of treats in the other. You cheered, clapping your hands. He came to your bedside to place a kiss on your head, then another on your bump. 

You smiled, rubbing your stomach gently. Another kick. “Mini’s active today.” 

While you decided not to know the sex of the baby until they were born, you still chose names for your child: Min-seok for a boy, and Min-seo for a girl. Regardless of gender, you had affectionately nicknamed the baby “Mini”. Your husband wasn’t the keenest on the idea of nicknames in general, but seeing you happy made his heart swell.

“What were you doing while I was gone?” He glanced at your computer screen. 

“Trying not to die of boredom. Do you know if Gi-hun was close to that North Korean girl before the games? A…” You looked back at your notes. “A Kang Sae-byeok?” Your husband shook his head. 

“He took her brother out of an orphanage to leave him with 218’s mother. What a hero,” you mused. “Speaking of which, did you know that 218 was Gi-hun’s childhood friend?” Again, your husband shook his head.

You continued, “Cho Sang-woo, top of his class at SNU. Yet he still ended up in crippling debt.” Your husband nodded. “It’s not surprising, I suppose. They came from the same place, after all.”

Suddenly, your cellphone rang. It was Gi-hun.

“Why would 456 call you?” Your husband asked curiously. You shrugged. “He told me that he would update me on the investigation.”  

Answering the call, you put Gi-hun on speakerphone.

“Hello? Are you there?” He called your name. 

“Any news?” You asked.

“Not yet, but Mr. Kim thinks he has a lead. One of his men received a suspicious business card, but the phone number was out of service.” You could hear him sigh. 

Then, an idea popped into your head.

“Gi-hun-ssi, could I get your opinion on something?” Your tone was innocent, which made your husband turned to you, his eyes wide. Nothing good ever came of you feigning innocence.

“So my husband and I were thinking of names.” You spoke casually. “What do you think about ‘No-eul’ for a girl? I know ‘sunset’ is kind of cliché and all but it’s so pretty… Although if the baby’s born at dawn, perhaps ‘Sae-byeok’ fits better instead?” You could hear Gi-hun’s breath hitch on the other line. Your husband let out a small chuckle.

You paid him no mind, continuing on with your rambling as if nothing happened. 

“That is, if the baby is even a girl at all. Maybe it’s a boy. My husband wanted to wait until the baby’s born. Everything’s a game to him.” You paused. 

‘Damn,’ you thought, ‘I hope Gi-hun didn’t pick up on that.’ 

He said nothing. 

“Anyway,” you shook it off. “What do you think?” It took a few moments for Gi-hun’s voice to crackle through the speaker. 

“I… I think either is nice.” Silence. “I once had a friend named Sae-byeok… It’s a beautiful name.” His voice was strained. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could tell he was trying not to cry.

“Oh, really? That makes it even more special. I’ll keep that in mind.” You replied sagely. “If the baby’s a boy, my husband suggested naming him after his uncle.”

Your husband raised his eyebrows, looking at you expectantly. You took a deep breath. This was going to hurt. 

“…Do you know if the name ‘Sang-woo’ is popular nowadays?” 

Almost immediately, sobs began pouring out from your phone’s speakers. 

“Gi-hun-ssi?” Your voice was laced with concern. “Gi-hun-ssi, are you alright? Did something happen?” 

“I-I’m fine. I have to go. P-please let me know what name you choose.” The line went dead.

Your husband let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed. You’re more cruel than I thought.” You giggled, blowing him a kiss. He climbed in bed to sit next to you, and you curled up into his side as best you could. He rested a hand on your stomach like he always did before peppering your neck with kisses. You chuckled. He truly loved when your dark side came out. 

After the initial rush of excitement wore off, you started to feel a bit bad for Gi-hun. His reaction was more intense than you expected. Perhaps you took it too far.

Your husband’s lips on yours snapped you out of your thoughts. Then, as if sensing your anxiety, he smiled softly.

“Don’t worry. I doubt 456 will make the connection. It was just a coincidence.” 

You nodded. It was just a big coincidence — both names were common enough. And besides, Gi-hun had no reason to think you and the salesman were connected. For all he knew, your husband worked for Samsung.

You rested your head on your husband’s shoulder and he placed a kiss on your forehead. You soon dozed off, the pastry cravings (temporarily) forgotten.

A pang in your belly woke you up from your slumber. While you were generally uncomfortable all the time for the past couple months, you were never in pain. This was different. Your hand flung to clutch your bump and you took a deep breath to ride out the pain, which soon ended. But that did little to ease your concerns. 

‘Was that a contraction?’ You wondered. You had had false contractions recently but were told not to worry. How were you supposed to know what real ones were like?

A sharp kick to your side. Strong enough to wake your husband whose hand had slightly slipped down your belly.

“Are you alright?” He asked, glancing at your distressed face.

“I… I think the baby might be coming.” You took a deep breath, the weight of your words crashing down.

The moments that followed were a blur. You vaguely remembered your husband helping you out of bed and the cramped drive to the hospital. After spending hours in agonizing labour, you gave a final push, and your baby had arrived. Their shrill cries did little to comfort you – you just wanted to hold them. The nurse soon placed the baby on your chest and maneuvered your arms to hold them properly.

The world around you seemed to fade away, your focus solely on the tiny newborn you were holding. Distantly, you heard someone say, “It’s a boy.”

Your husband kissed your cheek and murmured, “You did so well.” You let out a breathless chuckle, tears welling in your eyes.

As your son opened his eyes, you let out a little gasp. 

“He looks just like you, don’t you think? His eyes are the same as yours.” While his features were still scrunched up, it was clear that he was your husband’s son. 

You carefully passed your son into your husband’s waiting arms, and you wished you had your phone on you so you could take a picture. The difference in your husband was striking – his usual cold and stoic recruiter persona had disappeared and was replaced with this warm, calming presence. You almost cried when your husband kissed the top of your son’s head. 

Even though he never said anything, you knew he worried about becoming a father. Your husband didn’t talk about his own father, but from what you gathered, he hadn’t been a good one.

A nurse soon came with the birth certificate. “Do you have a name?”

You looked at your husband, who had since passed your son back to you. A sly grin formed on your face. 

“So, Sang-woo?” Your husband laughed, shaking his head. 

You turned to smile at the nurse, who was visibly confused. “His name is Min-seok.” She nodded and scribbled the name down before leaving the room. 

The three of you were left in comfortable silence, with Min-seok stirring every so often in your arms. Soon after, your exhaustion caught up with you, and you handed him off to your husband so you could get some well-deserved rest. You watched your son snuggle into his father’s arms, a smile gracing your face as you drifted off to sleep. 

tags: @delfinadolphin

[er1nne]

blurred lines

⸝⸝⸝ ⑅ —໒ྀི ִֶָ rafe cameron is kown for throwing the best parties, so of course your best friend had to attend, but who'd guess she'd leave you alone with him to take care of you

word count: 6.4k sorry lol

warnings : roofing / slight drug use, mostly fluff, misunderstood rafe as usual lol, also not proofread unfortunately so excuse any mistakes

AN: the problem is left ambiguous & left to the imagination so you can make up the problem, you guys loved the last one lol :) i have plenty more in the vault so let me know if y'all want them. enjoy!

(please do not copy or plagiarize, this is my original work subject to copyright)

You don’t know why you’re here.

The party is overwhelming, a pulsing, chaotic blend of music, voices, and movement that sets your nerves on edge. The heat of too many bodies pressed into one space makes the air thick, suffocating.

You hadn’t even wanted to come, but your friend had convinced you, promising it would be fun, promising she’d stay by your side. Your friend had dragged you along, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of getting into a this party in particular for some reason. You don’t understand, she had gushed, fingers tight around your wrist, her eyes wide with something close to desperation. People would kill to be invited to one of these. She had promised it would be fun, that she wouldn’t leave your side, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of night.

All lies. And just as quickly as you arrived, she had disappeared into the crowd, swallowed whole by the chaos, leaving you stranded in a place you had no business being. That promise had shattered the moment you stepped through the door. See, what she didn't tell you however, that it was at the famous Cameron Estate. As quickly as you both arrives, she had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

You don’t belong here. Not among the drunken recklessness, the glossy, carefree people who thrive on excess. Not in a house where money drips from every surface, where the air itself feels steeped in entitlement. You’ve heard the stories—everyone has. Rafe Cameron’s parties are one of a kind. But you're not the type to be interested in the whispers and gossip everyone spreads about them on campus.

Now, you hover near the wall, gripping a red solo cup with fingers that feel too tight, the plastic bending under the pressure of your grip. You're not normally a drinker, but given your nerves right now, you definitely needed the drink. You take a slow breath, exhaling through your nose. You’re not here to have a bad time. Maybe you just need to loosen up. One drink to take the edge off. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the liquid burn as it slides down your throat. It’s stronger than you expected, too sharp, making you cough slightly. You grimace, the burn lingering on your tongue, but you swallow it down anyway, hoping the warmth will spread, will make you feel like you belong here. You roll your shoulders, forcing yourself to relax, but the tension in your body remains stubborn, coiling tight in your muscles.

The bass reverberates through the floor, through your chest, making your pulse feel off-rhythm. People are laughing, shouting, clinking drinks together in messy toasts that spill onto the already sticky floors. Someone stumbles past you, knocking into your shoulder hard enough to make you stumble. You flinch, pressing yourself closer to the wall, hoping to make yourself smaller.

Still, you scan the room, searching for your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight. Irritation flickers through you—how could she just abandon you like this? You shift on your feet, debating whether to go find her or just leave altogether. But then, you feel it. A prickle at the back of your neck. It’s faint, barely noticeable at first, like the sensation of a cool breeze brushing your skin. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you tell yourself it’s just the temperature shift from the packed, overheated room. The feeling lingers, subtle and nagging, trickling down your spine before settling deep in your gut. You shake it off, shifting your weight from foot to foot, convincing yourself it’s nothing more than the side effect of being in a crowded space with unfamiliar faces. But as the seconds stretch, so does the discomfort. The undeniable feeling of being watched. A vague, creeping unease, like an itch beneath your skin.

At first, you ignore it. The party is crowded, filled with wandering gazes and fleeting glances. It’s probably nothing. Probably just your imagination. But as the moments stretch, the feeling lingers, heavy and persistent. You force yourself to move, to look natural. You take another sip of your drink, even though the taste is sharp and acrid against your tongue, even though your stomach twists in protest. The burn should be grounding, but it only heightens the awareness prickling along your spine. You scan the room carefully, slower this time, more deliberate. Your gaze drifts past groups of people caught in conversation, past the drunken laughter and the messy dancing, past the flickering glow of the chandeliers overhead. Your fingers tighten around your cup as you look toward the bar, toward the far end of the room where the shadows stretch just a little deeper.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the bar like he belongs there, like he owns the place -- oh wait he does. Shit. You're the one who doesn't belong here. A drink dangles loosely in his fingers, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. He’s not talking to anyone, not engaged in the revelry like everyone else. He’s just watching.

Watching you.

His gaze is a weight, heavier than it should be, anchoring you in place even as every nerve in your body is telling you to move. To look away. To do something. But you don’t. You can’t. The darkness in his gaze draws you in too close. The dim lighting carves deep shadows along the sharp edges of his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool detachment in his features. He looks almost statuesque, like he was placed there, perfectly sculpted, perfectly still. And yet, despite the stillness, despite the casual way he leans against the bar, drink loose in his grasp, his presence feels anything but passive. It almost feels like an accusatory stare, but something in your gut tells you it's something else.

You swallow hard, pulse flickering unevenly as you force yourself to breathe. He’s like a fixture in the room, unmoving, his presence both effortless and overwhelming. The dim light carves shadows along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the cool detachment in his gaze. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t pretending not to stare. Doesn’t break the stare. He just is.

You look away, but your body betrays you. A shiver traces your spine, and your fingers tighten around your cup. The weight of his attention settles over you, thick and suffocating. You shift from foot to foot, adjusting your stance, suddenly unsure of yourself in a way you hadn’t been moments before. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just bored. Maybe he’s not even looking at you. But when you glance back, just for a second, his gaze hasn’t wavered. The space between you feels charged, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

Your throat is dry, so you take another sip of your drink, trying to dispel the tension. The burn should be grounding, but it only adds to the growing warmth pooling low in your stomach. The room feels different now, like you’ve slipped into another layer of reality where things happen slower, where every movement matters. The ice in your glass has long since melted, leaving behind a diluted, lackluster drink that won’t do anything to soothe the warmth pooling low in your stomach. It’s the perfect excuse. A reason to step away, to put some much-needed space between you and the weight of his gaze, still heavy, still unwavering. The kind of look that sinks beneath your skin and stays there.

A group of people pass between you, momentarily breaking his line of sight. The spell should break. It doesn’t. Your heartbeat presses against your ribs, too fast, too shallow. He’s still watching, still waiting. You tell yourself you’re overreacting.

The other side of the bar feels farther than it should. The walk is a slow unraveling, each step meant to shake off the feeling of his eyes still following you, still holding on even when there’s distance. But it doesn’t work. Your heartbeat presses too hard against your ribs, too shallow, too quick, the way it does when something isn’t quite right. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that it’s just in your head, that you’re overreacting.

But then your head starts to feel heavy.

Your fingers feel a little looser around your cup, but you barely register it. You take another sip, but the taste is wrong now—bitter, artificial. The warmth that had been pleasant before now sits heavily in your stomach, slow, syrupy. A strange warmth spreads through your limbs, slow and unfamiliar. Your vision feels sharper and blurrier at the same time. The music presses against your eardrums, a dull, throbbing hum that no longer matches the rhythm in your chest. The music distorts, stretching and bending at the edges. The lights seem dimmer, then too bright, flickering as if they’re keeping time with your unsteady pulse. The conversations around you feel distant, layered on top of one another like a badly tuned radio. Your breath catches, sharp and uneven. The sensation is gradual, creeping, and for a moment, you convince yourself you’re just tired, or maybe you drank too fast.

You steady yourself, shifting against the wall. But the floor feels different beneath you—less solid, somehow. Your limbs feel lighter, and at the same time, unbearably heavy. A cold sweat beads at the back of your neck. Something isn’t right. But it takes longer for your mind to catch up with your body, to connect the dots between the warmth in your stomach and the sluggish, detached feeling seeping into your bones. Panic claws at your throat. You try to take another step, force yourself to move, but your limbs feel detached, foreign.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to shake the feeling, but it only makes the vertigo worse. The heat of the room presses in on you, suffocating, and the sound of laughter and music stretches, distorts, becomes something distant and hollow. You want to move, want to breathe, but it feels like you’re wading through thick fog, each step heavier than the last.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, erratic and deafening. A sickly nausea curls in your stomach, spreading outward in slow, unbearable waves. The cup in your hand feels impossibly heavy, the plastic slick against your palm. You let it slip from your fingers, hear it hit the floor, but the sound is muffled, insignificant against the chaotic hum surrounding you.

Your vision tunnels, and for the first time, real fear grips you. The once vibrant room is now a mess of shadow and movement, colors bleeding together, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. You open your mouth, trying to call for your friend, but the words die before they leave your lips, dissolving into a breathless whisper. The realization is slow, unfurling like a nightmare you’re just starting to understand.

Your drink. Something is wrong with your drink.

Your breathing quickens, shallow and uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, too tight. Your fingers twitch, grasping at nothing, muscles sluggish and unresponsive. The walls seem to bend and stretch around you, the lights overhead shifting like distant stars, too bright, too sharp. You blink rapidly, but it only makes the dizziness worse. The edges of your sight blur further, darkening. The room feels impossibly far away, your awareness slipping, slipping—

And then there’s a presence beside you.

A firm grip on your arm. The touch is steady, grounding, but you barely have the strength to turn your head and see who it is. You don’t have to.

You don’t know who it is.

The scent reaches you first—something clean, sharp, expensive, mixed faintly with alcohol. A voice cuts through the fog, low and steady, but the words slip past your understanding. The presence is steady, firm, an anchor against the overwhelming sensation that you’re floating, weightless. A name—your name?—is spoken again, but it barely registers, as if it belongs to someone else.

You part your lips to respond, but the words slip away before they can form. A strong arm curls around your waist, another against your shoulder. The world tilts, and you realize you’re being lifted. Your body feels light, unmoored, like a doll in someone’s grasp. Your head lolls against a broad chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat against your ear, grounding but distant. Footsteps echo—slow, purposeful—but you barely process them. The lights of the party blur into a smear of gold and shadow, flickering at the edges of your vision as you’re carried away.

The voices, the music, the chaos—it all drifts into silence. The world fades. Everything dissolves into black.

Dawn arrives in fractured light and warmth. The first thing you register is the persistent press of sunlight against your closed eyelids, insistent and intrusive. The dull ache in your skull pulses in synchronicity with your heartbeat. The silences of the space unsettles you—too stark a contrast to the last thing you remember.

A scent infiltrates your awareness—rich, savory. Coffee. Bacon. The comforting familiarity should soothe, but instead, it feeds the dissonance pooling in your gut. The weight of the blankets drapes over you, cool fabric against your overheated skin. Your limbs remain sluggish, burdened by an inexplicable fatigue.

Blinking against the light, you lift a hand to rub at your eyes. The motion feels distant, disconnected, as though your own body resists you. A tremor skates along your fingertips. A creeping unease slithers through you.

The room resolves in pieces. Soft, sun-dappled sheets. A nightstand, its dark wood surface adorned with a solitary glass of water. The low murmur of movement, distant yet present, beyond a partially ajar door. Every detail unfamiliar.

You sit up too fast.

The dizziness crashes into you, rendering the world momentarily unsteady. Your stomach churns in protest. A cold sweat prickles along your spine as you press your palm to your forehead, struggling to tether yourself to the present.

Where are you?

Your breaths come faster, shallower. The space surrounding you—spacious, curated, the kind of elegance that exudes wealth—does not belong to you. The bed is too large, the sheets too luxurious. The walls are adorned with artwork that suggests taste and affluence. This is not yours.

And you do not remember how you got here.

Your stomach knots, nausea clawing its way up your throat. Fragments of the night attempt to surface—the party, the music, the sensation of liquid sliding down your throat, the slow unraveling of your control. A pair of eyes lingering in the distance.

And then—

Nothing.

An abyss where your memory should be.

A new sound pulls you back—footsteps, nearing, steady. Your pulse stutters, skittering in your chest. Fear coils tight in your ribs, an instinctual response to the unknown.

The door swings open.

The figure standing there is silhouetted against the morning light, their presence filling the doorway with an unsettling quiet. You try to focus, to piece together something recognizable—an outline, a familiar stance—but the fog in your mind is thick, unrelenting. Your hands grip the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric as your breath catches, morning crust still coating your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Good morning.” The voice is smooth, calm, too composed. It should be comforting. It is not.

Your throat tightens as the memory gap yawns wider. Who is this? And why are you here?

The scent of coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something else—something darker, something you can’t yet name.

And then the figure takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. The weight of their presence fills the space, shifting the atmosphere in an unplaceable way. Shadows stretch and contract in the morning light, their silhouette still obscured by the glare of the sunlit doorway. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thud a heavy punctuation against the silence.

Your fingers tighten against the sheets, as if their fabric might tether you to some semblance of control. But control is slipping. Your breath catches in your throat as they advance further, their posture unreadable, their face still hidden from view. The scent of coffee lingers, but now it’s mixed with something else—something faintly metallic, almost sterile, unsettling in a way you can’t name.

They pause just short of the bed, standing over you now. A tension lingers in the air between you, thick, expectant. And then—finally—their voice cuts through the quiet again, smooth and even, but carrying an undercurrent of something you can’t yet define.

"You’re awake."

The voice sends a shiver down your spine. Familiar, yet distant. Your eyes finally adjust, your surroundings sharpening into something tangible. The deep mahogany furniture, the neatly pressed linens, the faint scent of cologne woven into the fabric of the room. Recognition dawns in pieces, fragments of memory slipping through the haze like sand through fingers.

Your breath stutters. This is Rafe Cameron’s bedroom.

Panic blooms in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, grounding yourself as the weight of realization crashes over you. How did you get here? The last thing you remember—the party, the drink, the slow, dizzying descent into something dark and consuming. Everything after that is a blur, an abyss where memories should be.

The tension in your limbs loosens, but a strange warmth replaces it—one you can’t quite define. The proximity, the realization that he had carried you, that he had seen you at your most vulnerable. A rush of heat blooms beneath your skin.

You shift against the pillows, suddenly hyperaware of the way the fabric clings to your skin. The weight of the night presses down on you, something heavy and lingering, something you can’t shake off. Your arms pull in close to your body, shrinking in on yourself instinctively, the way you might if you were trying to disappear. The feeling creeps in, insidious and unspoken, settling in your chest like an ache.

Rafe notices.

He exhales, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, then hesitates, watching your reaction. "Nothing happened," he adds, quieter this time, as if anticipating your thoughts. "I just... made sure you were okay."

You swallow, your throat dry. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you nod, the weight of the moment settling over you. He moves again, this time toward the bed, lowering himself onto the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, closing the space between you in an intimate proximity that makes your pulse stutter.

Your breath catches. He took care of you.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is heavy, charged, filled with unspoken questions neither of you seems willing to voice. Your gaze flickers to his hands, resting loosely on his lap, his fingers curled slightly as if he’s resisting the impulse to reach out.

You should say something, anything. But all you can do is sit there, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you, your heart hammering against your ribs as you struggle to process what this moment means.

And Rafe just watches, waiting.

"Why?" The word leaves your lips before you can stop it, barely more than a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. It lingers between you, heavier than you intended, like it carries more meaning than just the question itself.

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away again. There’s something about the way he won’t meet your eyes, the way his fingers press into his palms like he’s holding something back.

"You don’t remember much, do you?" His voice is quieter this time, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head, swallowing around the lump forming in your throat. "Not after a certain point. Just… flashes."

You think you see something in his expression shift, something fleeting. His jaw clenches for half a second before he nods, just once, like that was what he expected. And then he looks past you, toward the window, like there’s something out there more bearable to face than this conversation. Like maybe he doesn’t want to see the way you’re looking at him now.

Rafe leans forward, resting his chin slightly down as if in deep thought. His jaw tightens, like he’s considering his words carefully. "Because that party wasn’t for you. You’re not like them."

His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something almost reluctant. As if he’s saying more than just that, as if there’s something else sitting on the edge of his tongue, something he won’t let himself say out loud. Your breath hitches. He noticed you. Not just that you were there, but that you didn’t belong there, that you weren’t the kind of girl who let herself get lost in that world.

His fingers tap absently against his elbow before he exhales through his nose, slow and measured. Without a word, he reaches toward the nightstand, fingers closing around a small, amber bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes out two pills into his palm before handing them to you along with a glass of water.

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the weight of his words. A thousand questions press at the back of your mind, but none of them make it past your lips. So instead, you just look at him, studying the way his shoulders stay tense, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they rest.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the offering. The silence lingers, thick and unspoken, but he doesn’t push. Just watches, unreadable, until you take them from his hand. The cool glass feels solid in your grip, the only thing grounding you in the moment.

"It'll help," he finally says, voice low, controlled. Not an explanation, not an insistence—just a fact. And then he looks away again, like the moment never happened.

Your heart stutters, warmth creeping up your neck. You aren’t used to this side of him, this quiet sincerity. It makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

You clear your throat softly, fingers tightening around the blanket as you shift. you murmur a quick thank you to him, the words barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid to break the fragile quiet between you, you must have lost your voice last night.

Rafe doesn’t react at first, doesn’t acknowledge it right away. He just sits there, staring at a fixed point on the floor like he’s lost in something too deep to name. And then, finally, he nods—just once, a subtle dip of his chin. No arrogance, no teasing. Just acceptance.

The silence stretches, thick and unmoving, pressing against the walls of the room. The air between you is charged with something neither of you is willing to name, a slow, smoldering tension that lingers in the way he breathes, in the way his fingers twitch just slightly where they rest against his knee. The world beyond the bedroom feels impossibly distant, like something you left behind the moment you opened your eyes.

You can hear your own breathing, the slow, measured inhales that feel too loud in the quiet, the way your pulse thrums against the side of your throat. Everything is heightened, magnified—the subtle shift of the mattress beneath his weight, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the sheets, the way the sunlight spilling through the curtains catches in his hair, illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

Rafe doesn’t move. He hasn’t since he handed you the water, since he watched you take the painkillers without a word. He just sits there, his posture loose but intent, his forearms resting against lightly against his body, as if he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what. You don’t know if he does either.

Your fingers tighten around the glass, the condensation cool against your skin. The weight of his attention is suffocating, not because it unsettles you, but because it’s steady. Because he’s not watching you the way other people do—not with expectation, not with scrutiny, but with something quieter, something that feels like it belongs entirely to this moment.

You shift beneath the covers, suddenly aware of the space between you, of how small the room feels despite its size. There’s no rush, no urgency, but the tension coils slow and tight in the air between you, a pull that neither of you acknowledges, but neither of you breaks.

You should say something. Maybe to fill the silence, maybe to push away the weight of whatever is settling over the two of you, but the words don’t come. Instead, you glance at him, at the way his jaw is set, the way his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to the space where your hands curl into the blanket, to the way your shoulders have drawn inward, like you’re bracing yourself for something.

The realization lands heavily: he’s waiting for you to be okay.

You exhale, slow, measured. It should ease some of the pressure in your chest, but it doesn’t. The sheets smell like him. The realization makes your stomach twist, sharp and unexpected, and you inhale quickly, trying to steady yourself, to push it away. But it’s everywhere. His scent, his presence, the ghost of the weight of his gaze on you.

Rafe leans back slightly, his movements deliberate, unrushed. He shifts, settling more comfortably, but it does nothing to loosen the tension laced through the room. If anything, it solidifies it, makes it more tangible, makes it something that feels like it could snap at the slightest provocation.

The past few hours are a blur, a haze of flashing lights and distorted sound, of the world tilting beneath your feet, of a hand—his hand—steadying you before everything went dark. And now you’re here, in his bed, wrapped in the lingering remnants of a night you can barely piece together, but one thing is painfully clear: Rafe Cameron didn’t leave you behind.

And that fact, that certainty, makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers toy absently with the edge of the blanket, your gaze trained on nothing in particular. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of it in the space between you, in the air that crackles with something unspoken, something slow-burning and unrelenting.

It’s infuriating, the way he’s so still, so quiet, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to make sense of whatever is unraveling inside you. Like he doesn’t care how long it takes.

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, he shifts, pushing himself up from the bed with a slow, fluid motion. His presence doesn’t leave with him, though—it lingers, draped over you like a second skin, woven into the air you’re breathing, into the space he just vacated. He pauses near the door, his hand resting loosely on the frame, his body turned slightly like he’s debating whether or not to say something.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at you, a glance that lasts only a second but feels like it stretches forever, before he turns and disappears into the hallway, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of his presence and the steady, relentless pounding of your own heart.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, staring at each other, something unspoken stretching the space between you like a frayed wire. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch, makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

The weight of the night still lingers between you, thick like smoke, curling around the edges of whatever fragile thing this is. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full, layered with everything that wasn’t said. The flicker of his throat as he swallows, the way his fingers flex against the counter like he needs something to hold onto. His presence is a solid thing, inescapable.

He clears his throat, breaking the stillness like shattering glass. "I should take you home," he says, voice low, even. "You probably want to get out of here."

You nod automatically, but the motion feels disconnected, like it doesn’t belong to you. The truth is, you don’t know if you want to leave. You don’t know if you’re ready to walk out of this moment, out of this strange and suffocating thing pressing against your ribs. But it’s the logical choice. The right thing to do. So you shift your weight, stepping further into the room as if that will make it easier, as if that will make it feel real.

Rafe watches you for a second longer before pushing off the surface he was leaning on. He moves with the same careful deliberation he always does, like he’s in control of everything, like nothing touches him unless he lets it.

But then, as he reaches for his keys, his jaw tightens. His movements slow. His grip on the metal rings shifts slightly, like he’s debating something, like something about this moment doesn’t sit right with him. And then he looks at you again, his eyes catching yours, something flickering in his expression—something restrained, something almost unreadable.

"Be more careful next time." His voice is quieter now, rougher at the edges. "

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest as a slight warmness fills your cheeks, even if he can't see it. The words settle between you, heavy. He’s not scolding you, not angry. But there’s something else beneath it, something darker. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. But maybe it's all in your head.

A part of you wants to say something—to defend yourself, to explain—but nothing comes out. You just nod, barely, the movement almost imperceptible. He watches the way your fingers tighten around the hem of your shirt, the way your shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

He exhales sharply, turns toward the door, and motions for you to follow.

But the moment doesn’t end there. The shift in the air is subtle, but it’s there. His fingers flex around the keys, his body pausing for just a second longer than necessary before he moves. Like he’s giving you the chance to say something. Like he’s waiting.

You don’t take it.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and biting against your skin. It’s the kind of morning that lingers somewhere between the last remnants of night and the hesitant promise of day, the sky washed in pale hues of blue and gray, the world still and quiet.

You don’t say anything, but the shiver that rolls through you betrays you, your body instinctively curling inward as if you can escape the chill. Rafe notices. Of course he does. He hesitates for a second, just a fraction of a beat, then lets out a slow breath, as if he’s annoyed at something—himself, maybe.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket.

It’s heavier than you expect when he drapes it over your shoulders, the thick, well-worn material settling around you like a second skin. The scent of him lingers in the fabric—something clean but deep, a mix of faded cologne and the unmistakable warmth of skin, like the kind of comfort you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

The jacket is old, but not in a neglected way. More like it carries weight, history. It’s a varsity jacket, dark navy with white leather sleeves, the kind that looks like it’s seen late-night drives, fights behind stadium bleachers, and moments that don’t belong to you. His name is stitched into the fabric on the chest, subtle but undeniable: Cameron. The embroidered lettering is slightly frayed at the edges, as if it’s been touched too many times, traced over absentmindedly. On the sleeve, a faded championship patch clings to the leather, the numbers slightly worn, a quiet reminder of a past you know nothing about.

But he doesn’t just let it fall into place. His hands stay there, gripping the edges just beneath your collarbone, holding it closed, holding you—if only for a second too long. His touch is light, almost hesitant, but deliberate in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, one that has nothing to do with the cold.

The space between you feels smaller now, the tension stretched taut, humming like a wire between you. His fingers shift slightly, his knuckles grazing your collarbone through the fabric, his touch warm even against the cold bite of the night air. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosts over your cheek, close enough that if either of you leaned in—just a fraction—you’d close the distance entirely.

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to meet yours, something unreadable passing through them, something almost thoughtful, almost careful. It’s a contradiction—the way he holds the jacket like he’s reluctant to let go, yet his jaw is set, his expression betraying nothing.

You swallow, fingers curling around the edges, your hands on top of his, pulling it tighter around yourself. It’s warm, warmer than his hands. Too warm, maybe, but you don’t push it off.

Rafe watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on you that makes your breath come slower, makes your chest feel too tight and your hands are touching before he reluctantly pulls away, almost as if not to scare you off or harm you.

"It’s cold," he mutters, like that explains it, like that’s the only reason he did it.

You don’t challenge it. Because maybe that’s the reason you don’t take it off, either.

And just like that, whatever this moment was slips away, fading into the morning light as he leads you to his car.

The world beyond the house feels different, like the air is thinner, lighter, no longer weighed down by the silence between you. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you follow him toward his car, your steps feeling almost mechanical. The sky is still streaked with soft shades of dawn, a nostalgic blue still coating the sky, the edges of the horizon tinged with the last remnants of night. The streetlights on the corner on still on,

He unlocks the door, pulling it open for you, but you hesitate. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

His fingers tighten around the top of the door, his gaze flickering to yours. But he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You don’t know what you’re looking for. Some kind of confirmation. Some kind of explanation. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. And the space between that feels too charged to make sense of.

You step inside, settling into the seat, the leather cool and smooth beneath you, molded from years of use, broken in but still exuding something undeniably expensive. The scent of rich leather and faint motor oil lingers in the air, a combination of luxury and the kind of careful work that doesn't come from a mechanic’s shop.

The dashboard glows with a soft luminescence, highlighting the precision of the controls—sleek buttons, polished chrome accents, the faint imprint of his hands worn into the steering wheel. The passenger seat, by contrast, is almost untouched. The leather is stiff, uncreased, lacking the wear and shape molded by frequent use. There are no stray belongings, no faint imprints of past passengers, no lingering signs that anyone else has ever sat there. It feels untouched, almost foreign, as though this space was never meant for anyone else. The thought makes your stomach twist, the realization settling in like a whisper you can't quite decipher. For all the history his car carries, for all the work and time poured into every inch of it, this seat feels like it doesn’t belong to anyone—except maybe, just maybe, to you now. The seats cradle you, low and firm, the kind of comfort designed for control at high speeds. A faint scuff on the door panel catches your eye, and you can almost imagine him there, late at night, sleeves pushed up as he worked under dim garage lights, fine-tuning something only he could perfect.

The convertible top is locked in place for now, but the idea of wind rushing past, of the open road stretching ahead, lingers in the air like a promise. This isn’t just a car. It’s his, in every sense of the word. And now, for the first time, you’re inside it.

You grip your hands together in your lap as he closes the door with a quiet click. The sound lingers in the air, final in a way that makes your stomach twist.

The car is dimly lit, the dashboard casting a faint glow across his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The movement is small, restrained, but you notice it. You notice everything.

The drive is silent. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The road stretches ahead, the faint hum of the tires against the asphalt the only sound between you. The air feels heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm, thick with something unsaid.

Your fingers twitch slightly, pressing into the fabric of his jacket still draped over your shoulders. It’s too big on you, the sleeves hanging long past your wrists, the collar brushing against your cheek. The warmth of it, of him, lingers against your skin, a constant reminder that he was close, that he chose to put it there. You could give it back. You should. But you don’t.

The leather of the steering wheel creaks as his hands flex, his grip tightening like he’s forcing himself to keep steady. You steal a glance at him, at the way his jaw tenses, the muscle there twitching slightly. The way his fingers tap once against the wheel before stilling. He’s holding something back, something weighted, and you don’t know if you want him to let it go or keep it buried between you, a secret neither of you knows how to say out loud.

The headlights cast long shadows across the empty road, the outside world slipping by in streaks of gray and muted gold. But inside the car, it’s different. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a silence that feels almost sacred, like speaking would break something fragile, something delicate.

You shift slightly, the fabric of the seat cool beneath your legs, your knee brushing against the center console. The touch is barely there, a whisper of contact, but his fingers flex again, his grip tightening like he felt it too. Like he’s trying not to react.

You turn your gaze back to the window, but you don’t really see the passing streets. Not when every part of you is aware of him, of the tension strung between you like a wire ready to snap. It hums beneath your skin, lingers in the space between your breaths, curls in the air between you like smoke.

A red light slows the car to a stop. For a moment, the world outside is still, painted in the muted glow of streetlights. You chance another look at him, catching the way his fingers drum lightly against the gear shift, restless. His eyes stay forward, locked on the road, but his shoulders are stiff, coiled with something unreadable.

Then, without looking at you, without taking his eyes off the road, he exhales, slow and measured. "You warm enough?"

It’s nothing. Just words. Just an excuse for something else. But the way he says it, low and rough, makes your stomach twist, makes your fingers curl tighter around the sleeves of his jacket.

"Yeah," you murmur, voice softer than you mean for it to be. "I’m fine."

He doesn’t believe you. You feel it before you see it—the weight of his gaze settling over you, careful but unrelenting. When you finally look at him, his eyes are already on you, studying, assessing, searching for something in your face that you’re not sure you even understand yourself.

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. It’s not just concern. It’s something quieter, deeper, something that lingers in the way his brows draw together just enough to show he’s holding back words he doesn’t know how to say.

His mouth parts, just slightly, like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers shift against the gear shift again, as if grounding himself, as if trying to keep some sort of distance between whatever is happening between the two of you. But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his throat moves when he swallows, in the way his shoulders seem to tense and relax all at once. And suddenly, the car feels smaller, the air thinner, the space between you pressing in from all angles.

The light turns green, and he finally looks away, jaw tight as he presses down on the gas. But the moment lingers, stretching across the quiet miles, settling somewhere neither of you wants to name.

His fingers drum against the gear shift again, once, twice, before stilling. The light turns green, and the car moves forward, but the moment stays, lingers between you like an unanswered question.

Another mile passes in silence. Another breath held too long before being released. The weight of the night still clings to you, woven into your skin, into the spaces between your ribs. And you know, without him saying it, without needing to ask, that he feels it too.

You tighten his jacket around yourself, pressing your fingers into the thick material. You don’t want to acknowledge how it feels like something you weren’t supposed to have, like something borrowed but not meant to be returned. But neither of you moves to change it.

The distance between you and the night before stretches, but it doesn’t fade. Whatever this is—whatever happened back in that house, in that room, in the space between breaths and silence—it isn’t over.

And somehow, you don’t think it ever will be.

© ER1NNE est. 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized use, duplication, or reposting of any original content from this blog without explicit permission is prohibited. please respect the creator’s work.

[bonefall]

Is there beef with the Holstein cows and you or what was that joke lol

It's kind of wild It's just never come up on this blog before, but I HATE holsteins. Bottom 10 cow breeds for me. I hate how they're so common they account for the majority of milk produced. I hate that they're the "default" cow to the point where some don't even know cattle HAVE other colors. I hate their tiny horns (IF THEY EVEN HAVE THAT. LOSER ASS HORNLESS COW) and their painfully massive udders.

Legit I'm trying so hard to not launch into a No Mouth Must Scream style AM speech-- shoot my hand slipped.

(AM speech about why i dont like holsteins below the cut)

For starters, I have to give a brief lesson on what these terms mean; the "Holstein" is the American strain of the "Frisian" breed. Frisians are an ancient breed from Frisia, in the north of what we now consider the Netherlands. Crosses between the breeds are "Holstein-Frisians."

(There’s even more to this but im keeping it as simple as possible. Also one of my friends is Frisian and she is probably going to kill me for describing it like that.)

Historically, livestock was adapted to the environment they lived in. Frisians were bred by the Frisii people for hundreds of years in extremely grass-rich, lush, flat environments. The "polders" of the northern parts of the Netherlands. They're huge and eat a LOT of food.

Traditional Frisians were developed to produce as much meat and milk from a single individual as possible, without compromising the health of the cattle with constant inbreeding to get quick gains. We are talking about a breed that is over 2000 years old. They had the perfect environment to make The Ultimate Food Cow and by god they did it. I can respect that.

So, take that, drag it across an ocean to a place that does NOT have polders, and add the rapid enshittification of capitalism to it. BAM you've got a fucking holstein.

There is ONE goal for "improving" the holstein. Make More Milk. As long as the black and white milkbag leaks enough, nothing else matters. Health? Fertility? Feed ratio? Ability to not die of infection? WHO CARES. MILK LINE GO UP.

Over 90% of holsteins are inbred to start with, because Milk Line Go Up. To the tune of having an average COI of 8%-- where extreme negative effects (think Hapsburgs) start to crop up around 10%

Holstein bulls are aggressive bastards (many dairy bulls are), so no one wants to keep intact males in their herds, meaning most cows are artificially inseminated

Not being limited by the natural lifespan of a living bull means that the same stud can keep having direct offspring for decades after his death

Toystory the bull had 500,000 calves before he died, and hit over 1 million offspring in 2015. That's ONE animal and to put this in perspective, there are 9 million holsteins in the US.

DON'T WORRY IT GETS WORSE

Not only can 99% of holsteins be traced back to just two bulls-- 99% of male holsteins share one of two exact Y chromosomes with those two bulls.

The gene pool is so small that it's equivalent to about 60 individuals. Warrior Cat allegiances are larger than that. That's barely bigger than modern ThunderClan.

"Massive lack of genetic diversity" does not begin to capture the existential dread of this situation. Mark my words, WATCH, when the Bird Flu finally mutates a strain that rips through a mammalian population, it's gonna be in the USA and it's going to be through our dairy cattle.

This is not prophecy or me laying a curse on the land, this is the natural consequence of basing the stability of US milk production on the equivalent of 9 million clones of two classrooms worth of individuals, and then packing them in close quarters

And we don't have to wait for doomsday for the impacts to be apparent on the cattle themelves

Holstein fertility has also dropped by half since the 1960s when the intensive inbreeding really kicked into high gear

Because their whole body is dedicating all of their resources to milk production, they have a notoriously "bony" frame.

Show judges, however, like this because they think that's a very "feminine" look for a 1600 pound ruminant. Very normal thing to think.

Like. I don't know if i can communicate this to people who don't look at cows a lot (it's not quite as obviously dramatic as a pug skull) but here is a comparison of an "ideal" show holstein and an "unselected" holstein from a herd that's been established as a sort of "control group" for what they looked like back in the 1960s;

The way that the artery on the "modern" cow's belly runs to the udder like a big pink worm freaks me out the most ngl

The udder also bulges out from between the back legs

The show cow is so thin

And then compare these both to a Holstein-Frisian cross who leans more on the Frisian side;

Proper weight, developed legs. Its biggest "problem" is actually just the udder shape-- deep udders, which "hang" low like that, aren't optimal for milk-focused breeds because the higher away from the ground the less chance there is of infection. In that department, the "unselected" holstein clearly outclasses the holstein-frisian.

But it probably won't be surprising to hear that the "show holstein," with its massive, swollen udder, is SUPER prone to infections such as mastitis.

But it is also just more prone to getting sick generally

And, to keep up with these insane demands, holsteins need a TON of food. You aren't going to just turn these things out into a pasture and be done with it. Even its ancestor the Frisian needed premium Dutch polder grass to be such a good cow-- crank that up to 11 with these Monuments to Humanity's Hubrice

The Texas Longhorn developed in semi-feral conditions and can eat a bush to become the best thing in a 10 mile radius. The Scottish Highland was iron-forged in upland moors with a steady diet of turf and rain.

Meanwhile if a Holstein has less than 5 homemade meals a day without poland spring bottled water it will die to death.

And the WORST part? You have to use these if you want to make money in dairy farming. It's WAAY too expensive to just run a suboptimal farm. Their milk isn't great, but they sure do make a lot of it.

...so Holsteins and Holstein-Frisians (and other "super efficient" breeds) have absolutely decimated heritage cattle. The American Milking Devon is a deep reddish brown with gorgeous horns and low maintenance; rare. Randall Linebacks are painted with lines of white speckles down the back and can be used for any purpose; critically endangered. The Niata was a pug-faced cow who could fight jaguars; extinct.

And THAT'S what makes me hate them most of all. I LOVE cows, but whenever I see a reference to one, it's a holstein. It's always boring black and white splotches with big pink udders. They're practically synonymous with "cow" when their homogeniety is actually hiding much cooler breeds from you.

Did you know cows can be tiger-striped?

And that England has its own type of longhorn?

Or that cow horns can twist upwards like an antelope?

And that they can have REALLY LONG ears?

And that they can be blue?

And that's not even getting into some of the cows that have gotten a small crumb of attention lately, such as Highlands, Ankole-Watusi, and Texas Longhorns. There's so many cool cows out there! And they're all really different from holsteins! MOST of them are also a lot healthier and produce tastier milk and meat!

TL;DR yeah i don't like holsteins and I like sniping at them. For reasons both legit and petty.

[bonus-links]

MY TIME HAS COME please discuss in great detail the GrooZeLink dynamics in prologue part 5. I am so intrigued by the stark differences between this shot:

And this shot:

The scar on triforce. The hiding. Please tell me everything there is to know

this is 4 u groozelinkers

why did i do text bubbles this way. how did anyone read this comic. god bless.

this is essentially Loft Monologues His Feelings The Update. It was very important to me that the audience understands where Loft's head is at from the get-go. and like listen, sometimes u have to have a bestie debrief even if ur bestie is a dormant sword spirit who can't talk to u. if bonus links was a musical this would be Loft's I want song lol

jokes aside I think Loft comes here to talk to Fi a lot. it makes him feel both better and worse

LOFTS FI IMPRESSION i feel like he used to do this a lot and thought it was so funny and every time Fi would be like. objectively that is not what i sound like. also, peep the textbox pattern!

even though Loft has trouble acclimating to life on the surface, it was important to me to show that it's not all like. angst and doom and gloom. But that's kind of the problem right? things are good, and he feels like this anyway. also I did my best to include most of the young adult skyloft npcs, I feel like the older one have mostly stayed up on Skyloft for now. LAKE TRIP!!

this is a direct reference to this shot from the game. this line of dialogue is an important thing to keep in mind. tbh the entire reason this comic exists is bc i thought too hard about the implications of skyward sword— what if you found out your girlfriend was really your god, who had orchestrated your entire life? wouldn't that make everything feel a little strange, even if you love her more than anything? much to think about

I like the scar through the triforce mark as a kind of symbolic gesture, but there's not really any intended meaning behind the two pieces of the triforce is goes through. feel free to interpret it however u like tho lol

AND THIS SHOT my headcanon is that Loft doesn't actually help much with the early building in Faron. It's partially because he can't- he pushes his body to the limit during his quest, and then completely crashes when it's over, and it takes a loooong time to even start recovering. He spends most of the time sleeping.

But it's also partially because he doesn't actually want to move to the surface. He wants to stay on Skyloft. In my mind it's like. he fought really hard to return to a state of normalcy that doesn't exist anymore, and that's hard to come to terms with. This is Zelda and Groose's project, and while he'll go along with it, he's not that enthusiastic about it. It's a source of tension in their relationship. Combined with Zelda often acting as a mouthpiece for the gods, it starts to grate on Loft that this aspect of his future has also apparently been decided.

tldr groozelink love each other a lot but things are definitely not perfect, and especially not right now

this is actually something I intended to get a little bit more into in ch2, but the chapter kind of. wrote itself away from it. every time I tried to include a scene with it, it felt too much like I was forcing characters to have too many heart-to-hearts too early. we'll get there eventually

this is an important update in the grand scheme of things :-) mystery mouseketool etc etc

[queervegancryptid]

They fought back in part because the cops were literally checking their genitals so they could arrest the trans and gender non-conforming people there.

Stonewall wouldn't have been fucking necessary if not for cops pulling that shit and the powers that be supporting them so there wouldn't be any consequences. Cis queer people were also under threat, obviously, because you don't have to be trans to suffer from cissexism. But to remove references to trans people from this monument in particular is to literally erase trans people from a key moment in our history.

It's all part of the plan. One of the insidious things about erasing us in this way is that knowing our history can be a source of pride as well as strength, and it can help us resist the demoralizing nature of all of what's happening.

That's part of why they're doing it. They don't want us to know our history, and they also don't want cis people to know it, either, because then they can spread the false narrative that trans people were invented by attention-seeking people on Tumblr circa 2014. It goes hand in fucking glove with censorship and calling anything remotely queer "obscenity." If they can paint us as an anomaly that's definitionally obscene and therefore Morally Bad, it's that much easier to justify attacks on us.

Despite every way the Democrats have disappointed me over the years, when Harris gave a speech in November that called people at Stonewall "patriots," I teared up. Not that I put much stock (or any, really) in patriotism. But as a child, I never let myself imagine a future where a politician running for a major office, let alone for president, would say anything like that about people like me. This country is where I was born, but I never felt a sense of belonging in that way, like I had a welcoming home here. Maybe I never will.

Part of the reason queer bars are a thing at all is that queer people, especially trans people, were pushed underground and had nowhere else to fucking go aside from the odd bar that might be friendly to us. These places did become like home for a lot of people, and understanding it in context matters. It wasn't like they just threw bricks because "lol fuck cops." They fought back after enduring a lot, and they fought back out of genuine necessity, and I used to think, "They threw bricks so I wouldn't have to."

Lately, though, I'm coming to the realization that one day I might have to throw a brick, myself. I just hope I have my queer family around me, throwing bricks alongside me, if and when the time comes. We can resist, and we must do it together, and that's yet another reason they don't want you to know history. Collective action is necessary and can work. And it terrifies the folks in power.

Sigh. I'm sorry to go off. But this shit has me feeling some kind of way, and I just need people to understand the importance of queer history. If we don't protect it ourselves, it'll be destroyed.

Please read and share history. It matters. It really, really matters.

Okay. I'm gonna go cry.

Not to be dramatic but this is a massive fucking deal and I legitimately hope every single politician dies.

[crushedsweets]

CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

[lover-of-mine]

soooo 👀 the fit of buck's clothes in that bts video 👀 👀 would love to know your thoughts 👀 👀 👀

I know, right? The way his clothes keep getting more oversized is making me vibrate. Usual shoutout to @stagefoureddiediaz, Kym talked about the fit of Buck's clothes changing back in season 7 and we were talking about it earlier, so Kym 🫶🫶

Okay, so before season 7, Buck's clothes were too tight a lot of the time, we all joked about how his buttons were about to pop off or how his arms would rip through his shirts, or how we can see the outline of his muscles perfectly. Like, sometimes it would honestly look like he was one wrong movement from ripping those.

But they changed to putting him in more oversized stuff for season 7 (and started shortening his pants, but I digress) and gets more obvious in s8.

It is partially attached to Tommy and how tommy gives him the right path but isn't the right person, since his clothes start to get looser when he starts dating him. The shirts don't fit right on his shoulders, they don't sit right on his chest, they have the wrong fit in his arms. So his overall aesthetic still doesn't fit exactly right.

The whole thing with the changing the way his clothes fit in the other direction is very indicative of how Buck still doesn't fit in his own skin, he thought dating men was the answer but he was Buck dating Tommy, he didn't look further than that, and he is spiraling further with what we know, spinning like a top one would say lol, and both scenes we saw of his clothes (yesterday's uniform possibly included), include VERY loose shirts.

I keep being drawn to the fit around his arms because my god, for a shirt to look that big on Oliver's biceps it has to be BIG lol. And while his shirts have been looser, they haven't been this big yk? And today's video, with the cropped fit, how lose it is, like, Buck is GOING through it, which makes me think this fit is from 810, just to add the emotional distress of the kidnapping to his abandonment issues being extremely triggered between the breakup and Eddie leaving.

It's all about the way Buck still hasn't gotten it right. We know Buck is on his way to figuring his feelings for Eddie out, and therefore finally understanding the final piece of the puzzle that allows him to stop over-correcting. But he's not there yet. The choices he's making don't fit exactly right. And his clothes will be the wrong size until he's ready to fight for Eddie.

But Anna what makes you think all this means buddie and that Buck's clothes will fit when Buck is ready and buddie is coming?

Well, I believe there are clues about the general idea behind buddie going canon hidden in the coming out scene. I have talked extensively about the blue and yellow elements, the way I believe this is Buck's shade of blue. I think all of it is indicative of what's to come.

And that includes how perfectly that shirt fits. The seams are resting on the right spot on his shoulder, they are the perfect length for his arm, they're not overly tight around his chest or biceps, nothing looks too big or too small.

And this isn't an accident, everything about the show is very intentional, so the clothes getting looser as he lets Eddie go even though he doesn't want to? It makes me very !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because the oversized fit also plays into the way we haven't exactly seen Buck in his signature jewel tones, the bright reds and blues, this season yet. And I think that once buddie happens he will be walking around with his brighter colors in shit that fits right lol.

So we are on the lookout for Buck in clothes that fit right and in this shade of blue.

As always, if you read all this I love you 🫶

[taelophone]

Malevolence ⋆˙⟡ — Academic Rival!Luigi Mangione x Reader CWs: Slight narcissism . Mean Luigi (what did u expect) . He Makes You Cry . Identity Issues . Feelings Denial . Masturbation (Luigi) . Jealousy . Pebbling (literally lol) . Apology Sex . Oral (F receiving) . NOT PROOFREAD!! ⟡ — Reader is hinted Mid-Western cuz I thought it was funny lol. It’s NOT major tho + a cliffhanger cuz for some reason nobody wanted to wait n just wanted to blow my inbox up about this fic. Suffer.

Luigi had always been hailed as a smart boy. From the time he was born to when he opened his mouth, complexities and conundrums rolled off of his tongue that would leave the oldest and wisest of men in a marveled stupor.

He was used to having eyes on him at all times, and admittedly, it almost grew too much to handle at such a young age. However, after a couple of years of balancing paranoia and self-righteousness, Luigi had grown to adore the affections that seemed to shower him from all angles.

He was smart, incredibly talented, had both feet firm on his moral sands, and was at least somewhat attractive. What more could a man ask for?

He carried through his adolescence with the world nestled gently on his shoulders. The threat of faltering or underperforming wasn’t a possibility for him. He was better than that.

So when he got accepted into an Ivy League, he felt like he was on top of the world. No object stood between him and greatness, and if there were, he would conquer it like he had hundreds of times before.

On his first day of college, he wiggled through orientation with a relatively quiet presence. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, letting himself get a feel for his environment and how to acclimate before plunging himself in headfirst.

However, one of the people his eyes seemed to pull to the most was you.

Whispers and remarks whisked around him, flicking drops of color and light over your shadowed character. Valedictorian…pretty…community service warrior…and a STEM major from somewhere in the States that he had been ignorant of in his prior years. 

Love and hate are two sides of the same kind. Both require one to feel so deeply for the other, and it drives them mad and in anguish. For a man as intelligent as Luigi, it seems he wasn’t aware of this common concept.

He had never even properly interacted with the poor young woman, yet the years of evolution sent bells ringing in his mind that categorized you as a threat. The empire he had spent so much time building to better himself as a man— for the sake of other people, threatened to capsize with the introduction of a new apex predator.

You didn’t do anything. He didn’t even know you yet, and he was never one to believe mindless rumors or unconfirmed information. But alas, man is still man when placed in a foreign environment.

Ever since orientation day, he’s kept a close eye on you. He wasn’t ready to relinquish his title of valedictorian, especially not to some random Midwest malevolence that posed a threat to his persona’s integrity.

One thing Luigi loved about the grand and precise creation of man was the mind; what does it take to make it tick and writhe in shame? What can you do to influence the brain to tear itself apart until it reduces itself to its simplest biological form— vulnerable prey.

Well, there are many ways. Depravation, intimidation, ostracization, or simple bullying.

Luigi was never a bully, no, that’s too far. What Luigi really was, however, was wholly mad and half obsessed with the woman who sat two rows in front of him with a pen in her hand and a pink journal next to her arm.

Ostracization it is!

When you first spoke to Luigi, things seemed pretty…interesting. It was the day before midterms, a little later into October, and you were cooped up in the library with a large cup of liquid energy and a near-overheated computer.

Papers surrounded you in a way that would seem near manic to passersby, watching yet another engineer go mad with determination and get high off stress. You were so immersed in your work, the multi-colored highlighters gliding across the dry paper as you recited different codes in your mind and punched them into your computer, that you neglected to hear the footsteps that had stopped at the end of your table.

“Oh…you look…tense,” he smiled, his brows furrowing with mild concern. “You sure you got this, girl?”

You paused, gazing at him with what could only be described as disheveled innocence.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m Luigi,” He added, giving you a small smile as he sipped the coffee—…no, tea, in his cardboard cup of mystery.

You nodded, giving him your name in response with a half-there smile. You weren’t trying to be rude, but the near weeks of study and lack of sleep were starting to eat away at the back of your brain and left you feeling a little more vulnerable than you’d care to admit in front of a six-foot man.

“Yeah I’m…fine, sorry, just cramming,” you sighed, your hands resting on your head after you dropped your little pen.

“Oooh,” he whistled, sucking in a shallow breath through his clenched teeth. “That’s not good. Are you sure you’re meant to be in computer science?” He chuckled, boyish and unserious.

Crackle…Crack…KSSSHHKH.

You chuckled, breathy and shallow as your brows pinched together a little at the subtle audacity behind his joke. 

“Haha…ha, no, yeah I’m right where I wanna be. It's stressful but I’ve loved it ever since I was in middle school,” you nodded with a polite smile.

Well played, girl!

He nodded, the bone of his jaw locking up a bit more as he fought to keep the smile on his face. 

“Oh…that’s cute, yeah!” He beamed, readjusting his black-and-silver browline glasses that began to slip down the bridge of his nose. “Well…good luck!” He nodded before he slinked away almost as quietly as he had arrived.

Cute…? What’s so cute about my interest? Has he been involved in robotics and computer science longer than me? What does cute even mean…

You sighed, the slight feeling of insecurity and confusion creeping up through your spine and drowning your head in the murky black sludge of inferiority that infiltrated your mind. What a fucking condescending man.

Actually, I was gonna pack up and leave, but now I’m mad.

Pity the disease that plagues the mad scientist. For she has naught the skill or composure to stop the self-made machine that drives her into Abaddon.

Wholly mad and half-obsessed, you were now just as focused on Luigi as he was on you. Eager to prove him wrong— hungry for an outlet to be just as abrasive and patronizing to him as he was to you.

Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe he genuinely thought your life-long interest in engineering and science was cute! Whatever that means.

But his strange and slightly infuriating comments became a habit of his. Every time you had a conversation with him, he made a little vague comment that left you feeling more slighted than before. Hidden under the guise of elderly concern, his viperous venom of hatred poured from his mouth like a child who couldn’t stand the taste of his food.

Everyone seemed to love Luigi, though… Whenever he came up in a conversation, at least one woman in the room proclaimed her platonic—or intimate—love for the nerd. He was so kind and reassuring, the kind of man who can only be born from a lifetime of gentle love and firm parenting to keep him on the right path.

But little old you never got any of that. He was always so surface-level, slightly cold, and maybe even aggravating– but nothing could have prepared you for when you finally began to get grades and mid-terms back.

A ninety-six.

You were ready to jump and shout with joy, do laps around the whole building, or maybe even praise the god that sat upstairs that willed your success into existence. Unbridled joy poured through your eyes as you nearly passed out from relief, much to the dismay of someone nearby.

Something about how your eyes twinkled like stars, the wet salt pooling at your waterline glossing them over like a beautiful orb of light. It made his stomach jump and twitch with…irritance.

Did you think you were better than him? He’s supposed to be the gold standard, not you! But that’s okay, but he got a ninety-eight on his exam and knew just how to knock the wind out of you.

Just as silent as last time, he approached with a slightly confused look on his face.

“What did you get for forty-seven?” He asked, folding over the packet of paper to reveal the only question he got wrong.

“Oh wow, you’re…really good,” you murmured, scanning over the big red number on the back of his paper.

“Oh, thank you! I think the class average was like ninety-eight or ninety-nine. I need to study more, really…” He fibbed, the little white lie falling over his words and casting a spell of superiority over you.

You instantly stopped smiling, the joy you once had flickering away drastically. You had always considered yourself a good student, but why now were you underperforming? 

“Oh, I guess I’ll just have to study more and beat you,” you joked, the weight of your words dying on your tongue as you attempted to placate the rage that ran rampant in your mind. It wasn’t a joke, you were one hundred percent serious, and you hoped deep down that he knew that.

Here you were, performing at below-average levels and celebrating it like some sort of fool with her red nose and fiery hair. Luigi had made as many comments as he could over three months, now all that had burned from the embers and ash of your strained relationship was unspoken rivalry and hatred. 

Rather than trying to find the root of Luigi’s strange animosity toward you, you matched his academic attitude. Sometimes, you even spent full days hunched over your desk in your dorm rapidly correcting and tweaking code in Hello World to organize and understand each command and its result.

Coffee, eyebags, pain, tears, and suffering were poured into your day-to-day life. Many philosophers claim women's strongest motivation is love and determination; In your case, Gandhi had never been more wrong.

No, what propelled you forward in your academic prowess was nothing short of abhorrence and resentment. The bitter citric acid of his words burned the tip of your tongue, the thoughts that had once flowed so easily from off of the wet muscle stumbling and pausing from the sheer weight of his vitriol.

And the worst part of it was, you were all alone in this feeling. There was nobody else who seemed to believe or have witnessed these small moments of malice.

Lashing out and crying was never an option. You were grown now, according to American law, and your days of crying because someone was even slightly mean were over. That wouldn’t do you any good, and why bitch and moan when you can just violently better yourself?

You buried yourself so deep in your work, immersed in the realm of source code and computing. In the rare moments where you managed to break free from your computer, your surroundings morphed into strings of code…you even found yourself trying to type the language into the ATM at Chipotle just off campus.

Your brain was so wrinkled it rivaled a dried grape, your eyes nearly crossing over from how hard you had pushed yourself the entire semester. Academic weapon was a criminal understatement— you were more like a philosophical firearm.

What you felt was your only outlet for coping with your classmates' puzzling animosity towards you wasn’t necessarily hurting you, after all, it was making you smarter! Unbeknownst to you, some eyes began to catch on to the subtle charge between the pair of you.

Both your professors and peers alike had noticed the rising tension. When one outperformed the other, suddenly all the other party could do was study until they threw up. In fact, your roommate had dragged you from your desk about twenty times in the past month so you wouldn’t deprive your body of sunlight and nutrition.

“What’s been going on with you and Luigi?” Ruby asked, attacking her pizza with the gentle bite of an untamed puppy.

“Who? Oh, Luigi?” You murmured, tearing your gaze away from your computer. 

You didn’t look terrible, but you certainly didn’t look put together. Your hair was a frizzy mess, your eyes had grown accustomed to their lack of sleep, and your sweatpants were low enough on your hips that you were sure there would be a problem if they weren’t your size.

“He’s just… passive-aggressive, and it pisses me the fuck off. I feel like he’s just putting me down constantly and being so fucking nitpicky…” you sighed, your arms crossing over your chest as you leaned back in your chair.

“Really?” She murmured, her face fixing into a look of disbelief as she bit into an overly salted French fry. 

“And that’s the fucking problem! Nobody sees it but me and it’s driving me up a fucking WALL!” You groaned, your hands running over your face and pulling down your bottom eyelids and lashes in their trail.

“Well…he’s like, really really nice to literally everyone. I’ve never seen him not being of use to someone,” she explained, a pitying expression on her face as she mirrored your stance, crossing her arms and throwing her ankle over her knee. “Why’s he doing that to you, then?”

“I don’t know! He’s been like…on my dick since orientation,” you sighed. “Is it obvious that we don’t like each other?”

“I mean, dental knows, so…yeah,” she nodded. “It’s actually a very known fact…but everyone’s confused because both of you are like, really nice and you’re literally so alike, so.”

“Oh wow…” you hummed.

“Yeah…well good luck with that, girlie, but stop locking yourself in the dorm that shit is not healthy. Take a break, you need it…like really fucking bad,” She smiled, reaching over to hold your hand with contrastingly gentle affection.

“If I take a break that fucker will catch up to me…I need to stay on his neck until I die,” you rasped, a deep sigh emptying from your lungs before you stood up to leave for your dorm.

It just wasn’t fair. Your entire college experience seemed to be going wrong from the very beginning all because some stupid future frat boy decided he wanted to make your life difficult.

Hate was a strong word, and rivalry was another, but you felt very strongly about Luigi. He did too, but unfortunately for him, not in the way he thinks he does.

He was unsure at first, the hornets and sickness that stung and bruised his stomach when he laid eyes on you served as his first warning. Then, it was the agonizing heart palpitations that came from seeing you pay attention to him.

He wanted your eyes on him and him only; your beady black pupils to burn searing hot holes into his own. He wanted the fiery red embers of the flame he had cast upon you to open up and swallow him whole, condemning him for the plague of madness he had released upon your soul.

You made him so mad, so bitter and disgusted, so hot with envy that he wanted nothing more in the world than to just see you crumble beneath his hands in a fit of…tears. And so what, maybe it does stem from a place of insecurity, but he was grown enough to admit that he was the only perfect specimen!

Fire cannibalized his body from head to toe, burning and blazing the expanse of his skin, rivaling the scorching hot droplets of water that dribbled down his shoulders in the foggy shower. He hated you more than he had ever felt for anything before, but he couldn’t explain for the life of him why.

He had seen you stalk the streets of Penn’s campus in the passing weeks, and you looked more exhausted than you did anything else. Still, he wasn’t able to pull his attention off of you.

He had chalked it up to envy, green and scaled with fanged fury that bit him at the neck and fueled him full of venom, but he wasn’t able to deny the bubbly side effects of the initial bite that kept his heart a little fast. Or maybe he did, and he just refused to acknowledge it.

Regardless, he hated you. Your stupid small hands, your dumb gorgeous hair that you barely even changed anymore, your stupid fashion sense that was oh-so-true to your character…oh god—

Hatred is a strong force, but pleasure is another. He would never speak of what happened in the shower, but he’d bear the burden of his sin as soon as he finished.

When spring rolled around, her trail of warmth melted the icy roads and awakened the creepy crawlers from their deep slumber. Spring was a time for flowers to bloom and praises to be sung— and more importantly, break was just three months around the corner.

As you made your way into the levine hall for what felt like the millionth time this month, you were nowhere near surprised to see your professor absent with instructions displayed on the large projector board. Class project; develop a tool to identify potential vulnerabilities in computer networks. Due in two months. You will split up into the following groups.

Nikoletta Wiley

Hayden Stein

Rico O’Brien…

Luigi Mangione…

You.

Your fight-or-flight senses lurched in alarm, alarms and screams of rage echoing in your head as a deep and slow breath filed out from your lungs like a hasty bullet flying from its chamber. You could be cordial…you could be calm, you could be tame.

Could Luigi? You’d come to learn if that was the case soon enough.

You dispersed from the front of the room to go find each member of your group, starting with Rico and ending with Nikoletta. Finding Luigi was simple, you just didn’t wanna talk to him right now.

“Yeah I’ll make, like, a group chat and then we can talk about everything there,” Nikki beamed, you all standing huddled together with your phones out while quickly punching in each other’s numbers. 

It seemed everyone already had Luigi’s and didn't need to retrieve it from him, but Hayden still beckoned him over so you could fill in all the details and plan as a team. As soon as you felt him join, the energy seemed to shift as three sets of eyes burned searing holes into you and Luigi’s heads.

“How do we wanna do this then? Like, what program are we using? Cuz Billards has been using VS, but we can use Sublime, too, I think…did he say what we had to use, actually?” Hayden asked, peering over at the board once more to double-check the requirements.

“No, I think we should just—“ you began, powering your phone off and slipping it into your back pocket.

“Nah, we should just use VS. I think it’s the easiest, plus it’ll be much easier for some people.” Luigi smiled, completely ignoring the fact that he just spoke over you in favor of observing the nods from everyone else.

“I wasn’t finished, but sure, Luigi, we can use VS. It’ll be much easier for you, don’t worry,” you nodded with a contrastingly kind smile.

“I was thinking that it would definitely help you out more, but thank you for the advice,” he nodded with a smile just as kind as yours.

You chuckled, straining against the will of goddesses to not lash out at him in the middle of the lab. The icy exterior that coated his words disguised as warm concern had hit you just as hard as he intended them to, and it was even worse considering you were in front of all of your partners.

“No, I’m actually extremely talented with VS right now! I’ve been coding apps in my free time. I even have an app that lets you track your finances and predict stock market changes…I think I’m fine. What have you made this month?” You smiled, your eyes intensely focused on his as your chest subconsciously puffed out a little bit more.

For the first time in a little while, Luigi became slightly intimidated by you. He hadn’t done anything this month, and it was a grave error that would follow him to his grave and fatal embarrassment.

“I’m not working on any projects right now, actually…I heard you haven’t stopped working, though. That’s not good, maybe get some rest. You look like you need it…” he hummed, watching as your partners wordlessly exchanged slightly panicked glances.

“Guys, I think we should just use VS…” Nikki interrupted, placing a hand on your shoulder to calm you down.

The rest of the group nodded, adjusting their bags on their shoulders in an effort to self-soothe before Rico spoke up. “Yeah, it’s no problem…we can work on VS, and then we can all code together and fix any bugs we find in the process.”

Everything was over just as quickly as it began following Nikoletta’s excellent timed bucket to the budding forest fire. With that out of the way, you began to file out of the room to carry out your separate strings of life.

You’d reunite later at around seven at night via a discord call that featured nothing but silly side chatter and furious typing in a shared file. It was much too serious to your grades if you decided to start throwing jabs at each other— but whenever you or Luigi made even the smallest mistake, like missing a semicolon or even a typing error, your cursor would immediately fix the problem with the most passive-aggressive speed possible.

“That’s wrong…” Luigi murmured, his brows raising and dropping with haste as he highlighted a whole section of your code.

“No, it’s not…are you sure you’ve been coding recently? This is perfectly fine,” you sighed, glaring at your monitor’s camera briefly just to catch the eyes of a very irritated Mangione.

“Yes, all my life, actually! That’s wrong. When you put this in, it’s not gonna do anything, because you’re missing a bracket, and that’s the wrong function…I think you should drop this course,” he chuckled, shaking his head like you were being ridiculously stupid before rewriting your code for you.

He took immense and almost sickly sadistic pleasure in seeing your face scrunch a little and your brows pinch together. He was right under your skin, nestled between your nerves and kicking his feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum on the ground.

Good. Just like how he wants you to feel.

“I think you should shut the fuck up and stop being a dickhead…” you murmured, your hands now completely off your keyboard.

“I think we should all take a break!” Hayden beamed, immediately leaving the call after waving with a bright smile on his face.

“Yeah, he’s probably right…it’s like, one in the morning, and we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you guys in the morning,” Nikki yawned, exiting the call as well and shortly followed by a very laggy and loud goodbye from Rico, leaving you and Luigi alone in the files.

“No, like, actually, what the fuck is your problem? You’ve been on my dick since before we even met?” You groaned, saving all changes in the file so nothing would mysteriously delete itself later.

“You’re slowing us down! Like, everyone knows you’re not the smartest in this class! Some of us worked hard to be here, and if you’re just gonna fuck around—“ he began, leaning back in his all-black gamer chair and running his hands down his face, the expanse of his neck on full display.

“First of all, we never even had a proper conversation. I am trying my best! If you feel like I’m such a burden, then join another fucking group!” You huffed, throwing your arms out to the side in defense. “You literally gave me shit the first day we met, and all you fucking do, is belittle me, and—…and make me feel like I’m not good enough…”

Your voice wobbled, its usual sturdy and focused tone lacking its regular discipline as you came completely apart in your dorm room. How fucking embarrassing…

“And I’ve felt like shit, and I haven’t been getting proper sleep, and fuck you! You’re so nice to everyone but me! Literally, what did I do to deserve this?” You warbled, rubbing your waterline with the knuckles on your pointer finger.

It was like you couldn’t get it to stop. He had popped the cork, and now all the bottled-up insecurity and sleep deprivation came pouring out like shower water, and he had no idea how the dial worked.

In that moment, the weight of his actions finally hit him. The woman on the other side of the screen was in tears, all because he didn’t know how to cope with the fact that there were other smart people in his environment.

Poor, sweet thing…a lamb too close to the frenzied blade of the executioner, forever stuck with the inner turmoil that stems from unrest. Maybe if he indulged the flames, jostling the hot coal with his bare hands and made amends before your altar he’d no longer be bound to the eternal suffering from the merciless and bloodied hands of Aphrodite.

He didn’t mean for it to get this far. After seeing your tired and shaky form sob and whine on screen, he suddenly didn’t have the same drive to compete anymore.  

Love and hate are two sides of the same coin— and Luigi now understood that he was never really threatened by you in the first place he was heads over tails in love with you. Even though he didn’t want to admit it and wasn’t going to admit it, Luigi understood the consequences of being a jackass after the smoke from the machine cleared.

“I’m not doing this, no,” you sighed, ending the call immediately and ejecting Luigi from the file.

Ouch.

Following the storm of emotions that raged between the both of you, the heavy silence of guilt filled his dorm room.

“Dude, you’re a fuckin’ dick…” Luigi’s roommate, Logan, murmured from his half-conscious slumber in his bed.

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned, his hands carding through his hair as he took a deep breath.

In with renewal and purity, out with grudge and taint. This was going to be the longest, most shameful two months of his life.

And long was an understatement— the painful stretch from early February to late March was just as terrible as he imagined. Now you wouldn’t talk to him, or even give him a second glance when your group congregated to work on your project.

By now it was well within its development, and the app was able to identify potential security threats and offer solutions to whoever wanted to keep their information within a concentrated network. As much as it pained his ego to say it, the constant studying he had forced you into paid off entirely. 

After he had corrected your code once, he was never able to do it again. There were no more passive-aggressive changes, no silly side conversations, and much less any interaction outside of your group.

You made yourself completely unavailable to him, even going as far as moving farther away from him when it was a lecture day. You had no reason to cross paths, and that’s exactly how you wanted it.

So you can imagine your surprise when you holed yourself up in a corner, typing away like normal before you heard the familiar foot pattern of a certain Italian man approaching. You stilled the anger and hurt bubbling over in the glass pot that certainly wasn’t meant to be on the stove.

“What,” you stated, not tearing your eyes away from your work.

“I just wanted to say that I’m…really sorry for how I treated you earlier. I had a lot going on that I’m still trying to address, and it was really…really wrong of me. If I’m being honest your grades are probably better than mine, and I just felt threatened by your intelligence,” he explained, holding a little blueberry muffin and a baby-blue crystal as a peace offering that he slowly slid toward you.

“My roommate told me girls like crystals…this is untumbled blue topaz…” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact by all means necessary before he pulled out an extremely large chunk of what you recognized as Rose quartz from his little tan canvas bag. “I picked out this one cuz I didn’t know if you liked blue topaz.”

You stared in disbelief, the casual implication of the crystals he gave you was enough to almost make you laugh, considering he gave you the stone that’s symbolic of uncovering lies and the stone of love. How fitting.

“How much was that…?” You asked, sizing up the fat pillar of pink that surpassed the circumference of your hand. “You’ve been carrying that all day?”

He nodded, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he found himself suddenly interested in the window next to you. He felt like you were prying him apart for the first time, and he didn’t like it…it felt like losing his virginity somehow.

“It was a hundred dollars…” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as a hand came to the back of his neck.

“A hundred dollars!?” You repeated, your brows pinching together as you stared at the madman in front of you.

He nodded again, this time a small ghost of a smile pulled at the ends of his lips as the steady red began to creep up to his nose. 

“I didn’t really know what else to get you…I don’t know you that well” He blushed, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“Oh…uhm…thank you?” You murmured, more of a skeptical question than genuine gratitude. After almost six months of torment and competition, you weren’t entirely ready to forgive or forget. “I don’t really know what to say.”

You stared at the cute little offerings, pondering if his apology was genuine…he seemed slightly on edge. After all, he was rocking back and forth on the tips of his toes, his teeth nervously chewed on his bottom lip, and if his face was any redder he’d be competing with many women’s blush routines.

“I accept your apology, but I don't forgive you. That was really cruel, Luigi. Like, we literally could’ve been best friends. But thank you, for the things,” you nodded, watching as he mirrored your nod as well.

“Yeah, I get that, and I’m just really sorry…you don’t have to forgive me, I know that trust comes with time,” he nodded, giving you a rather cute awkward smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow..? I think?” He added, tilting his head to the side in thought.

“Sure…I’ll see you” you nodded.

And just like that, he was off again. 

Now that he wasn’t spitting hatred and torment at you, you were able to conceptualize just how attractive he was…his chiseled nose, sharp jaw, and gorgeously high cheekbones added a blow tint of masculinity to his boyish face. Both adorable and sexy— a rare combination that was scarce these days.

Now that you were prepared to deal with him again, you thought it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him if he spoke to you. Usually, when he did, you’d end up having short conversations about code or crystals, a small spark of a bond being built from the debris of the fire that had scorned the two of you before.

You came to learn that he was a kind man with a special interest in Pokémon, and he had recently rushed into the “virginity rocks” frat of Penn, Phi Kappa Psi. It seemed fitting, besides the fact that he began to grow into somewhat burlier as he spent more time in the gym.

Now you were in the lab after hours, helping Nikki wrap up with a little robot designed to detect and pick up trash in a small environment. Somewhere in the distance, you saw Luigi tinkering with the 3D printer, printing out pieces for his plans and mini Pokémon in between.

“Alright, I’m gonna go home…I’m hungry as shit and my man is probably stuck in his dorm alone right now,” Nikki sighed, packing her bag and reorganizing her station before giving you a tight squeeze and a wave. 

The wind whistled against the windows, rattling every loose pane of glass as the gentle pitter-patter of rain pressed against the casements while you scrolled on your phone absentmindedly. That was until Luigi approached you with a mini-printed figure of Jigglypuff and a stupid smile.

“I made this in like…four hours,” he chuckled, placing the pink figurine on your table for you to inspect.

“Oh, that’s so cute…” you murmured, pinching it between your finger and thumb and running your eyes over the little details printed on its plastic. “Where are you gonna put it? Your shelf?”

“Nah, I was gonna just give it to you. My shelf is literally so full,” he smirked, watching as you rolled the pink Pokemon between your fingers.

“If only you had a desk,” you sighed, a sarcastic but amused smile creeping up on your face against your will.

“If only there were a pretty woman to alleviate me of my creative burden…” he sighed, pretending to be a woman in distress clutching her imaginary pearls with a limp wrist on her forehead.

“Pretty?” You hummed, tucking the cute figure in the shallow back pocket of your high-rise denim.

“Is complimenting you off limits, too?” He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the side of the desk you were sitting at.

“No, it’s just unexpected…” you chuckled, pinching your brows together slightly as a smug expression overtook your features, piloting the steady rise of heat that boiled at the apples of your cheeks.

“Why? I’m sure you hear it all the time,” he hummed.

“From men? No, they don’t voice their affections” you shrugged, propping the back of your heel up on the white table.

“Stop it, don’t do that, fuckin’ vandal,” he chuckled, immediately grabbing your ankle and gently moving it off the table, opting to just hold it for you instead.

The silence was heavy, bated breaths and mixed signals mingling with the cold air of the room as you stared up at him with a playfully defiant scowl. He smirked, the right side of his teeth flashing at you briefly as he tilted his head to the side.

“What?” You asked, gazing up at him through his lashes.

He didn't respond, only cutting his eyes at you briefly before chuckling deep in his chest.

“Nothing. C’mon, let me walk you home, it’s pouring,” He offered, dropping your ankle with careful abandon before pulling the drawstrings of his hoodie taut around his neck.

“I can walk perfectly fine on my own,” you shot back, gathering your things regardless of what had spilled from your mouth.

“I know you can, but let me do it with you. It’s raining, you have no umbrella, and it's getting dark. I don’t care what beef we had, you’re not walking home alone,” He murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you out of the Levine hall.

“Okay, Hero Time…” you scoffed with a light chuckle.

“Is that a Ben Ten reference?” He asked, turning his head to face you after holding the door so you could pass through.

“Maybe.”

“You like Ben Ten?”

“I watch it sometimes.”

“Huh…You’re a lot cooler than I thought. We’ll talk about that later,” he nodded, keeping you firmly against his side as you trekked and trudged through the heavy rainfall together.

“Will we?” You asked, raising a smug brow at him as you began to direct him across the wet pavement.

“Maybe. Who knows if we’ll talk at all later” he mused, the sneaky double entendre rolling off of his tongue like hot water from an overheated kettle, the scorching fire causing it to bubble over with heat.

“Interesting…define talk?” You asked, an innocent chirp in your tone.

He didn’t answer, only chuckled under his breath as he made his way into the college house. The difference between the chilly spring rain and the warm comforting heat was stark, immediately engulfing you in a sudden burst of gentle kisses of comfort.

“What I mean is…” he began, pressing the button for the elevator with his knuckle as he waited in front of the heavy metal doors. “If you let me, I’ll show you how sorry I am versus tell you.”

“Oh, you’re forward,” you chuckled, your right hand gently trailing down the veins that rested just underneath his olive-toned skin. “Don’t tell me you acted an ass because you wanted to fuck me…”

“No, never!” He gasped, placing a hand over his heart in exaggerated scandalization. “I acted an ass because I had identity issues, and didn’t know how to talk to pretty women.”

“Funny, I recall hearing you were everyone’s favorite on campus,” you hummed, your hand sliding down to his and taking two of his larger fingers in a closed fist.

The elevator dinged, the doors opening up to reveal the hospital-esque elevator, illuminated by its bright white fluorescent lights and the gentle glow of the red floor number on the opposite wall.

“Duh, I’m great,” he joked, a sassy little grin on his face as you pressed for floor number four. “I didn’t struggle to talk to anyone cuz nobody’s as pretty as you.”

“Oh wow,” you purred, your fist enclosing around his ring and middle finger a little tighter, giving them an experimental tug that would mimic the motion of a handjob.

“Oh wow indeed…” he mirrored, his eyes slowly trailing down to your half-intertwined hands, watching as you pumped his two fingers.

“I wish you weren’t so mean to me earlier, we could’ve been the best of friends…” you sighed, now leading the way to your dorm room after releasing his fingers from your selfish hold.

“Now we both know that’s a lie,” he murmured, following you over to your dorm room like a lost puppy trailing after their owners' calves.

You slid your little keycard over the keycard entry system attached to your door, waiting for the green light to flash and flicker before pushing the door open by the silver handle.

“Is it? We’re very similar,” you hummed, letting him waltz into your dorm room like he could rip the title from thin air and declare ownership.

“That’s the problem, there's no way we’d just be friends…” he chuckled, watching you place your keys on your desk and shuffle into the bathroom with a new shirt and dry pants in hand.

“That’s a bold statement…” you chuckled, kicking off your shoes and throwing on your dry clothes before emerging from the bathroom. “I don’t know, you’re a dick…I don’t think we would’ve been that close.”

“C’mon, I said I was sorry,” he sighed, his hands in his pockets as you stepped up to him, leaning your chin on his chest and peering through his soul.

“Yeah, but you don’t seem sorry…” you snickered, letting his hands come down to your waist as his brows furrowed together slightly.

“You want me to show you?” He purred, lifting you by your hips.

He let you dangle just above the ground, smirking like a smart Alec at the way he knew how easy it would be to toss you around if it was this easy for him to lift you. Watching you place your hands on his forearms in a slightly panicked attempt to steady yourself was adorable.

“Luigi, please.” You squeaked, unsure of whether you wanted him to put you down or devour you whole in your very own room.

“Nah, that’s not enough,” he hummed, his head tilting to the side with an amused snarl. “What are you asking for? Matter of fact, where’s that attitude?”

You chuckled, immediately tapping into this little power-play dynamic that broiled in front of your very eyes. 

“I’m sure you’re not sorry, actually…I'm sure you do this to all the women you talk to,” you giggled, watching as his brows shot up with a faux-shocked and slightly offended affection.

“Oh wow, okay, so you need that actually…That’s a’ight, I’ll show you how sorry I am,” He purred, tossing you over onto your bed with a boyish chuckle as you bounced off the mattress with the weight of gravity.

Your bed was soft and comforting, the familiar gentle sheets folding and creasing under your elbows as you propped your upper body up to watch the downright predatory glint in Luigi’s eyes as he took his shirt off. The impurities in his normally angelic aura shimmered in the dim lighting of your dorm room, the black iron bits of his soul reflecting the sterling silver desires that shielded yours.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled, wasting no time in climbing over top of you, slotting his leg between your thighs as he peppered your face with kisses and apologies.

You whined, the pressure his kneecap applied to your achy cunt through the restrictive fabric of your sweats, eliciting sinful sounds of seductive shudders underneath Luigi.

“I’m so sorry, pretty,” he breathed, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants and pressing chaste kisses down your neck trailing to your navel.

“That was very wrong of me, I'm sorry,” he pouted, pulling your sweatpants down to your mid-thigh to press his fiery kisses to the hem of your panties.

“I should have never let my emotions and pride get in the way of such a beautiful lady,” he continued, his teeth pulling your panties down your thighs just so his mouth could attach to your glistening cunt.

Your eyes snapped shut, too embarrassed to hold his heated gaze as his tongue explored your folds with hunger. You were lost in the sensations, waves of pleasure blocking your vision as the sounds of sin echoed across the four walls— until a loud pop interrupted, along with a sharp sting on the side of your thigh.

“I’m apologizing to you, it’s rude to not look at me…you wanted this apology and you’re gonna take it like a grown woman,” he ordered, cutting his eyes at you before his hand came to soothe the pain on your skin.

You whined, fluttering your eyes open to meet his as the heat of shame and ecstasy caught up to your face.

“That’s better,” he hummed, his tongue resuming its relentless attack on your folds, his wet and pink tongue working itself near exhaustion as he coaxed you into two shaky orgasms.

“I’m sorry, I hope you can forgive me someday,” he pleaded, his little pout flashing you his apologetic glare as he kissed all over your stomach and womb.

“F—forgive! I forgive you—!” You choked out, your senses feeling all tingly and sensitive as you pushed his head away from your body weakly.

“No, no, I insist…I don’t feel sorry enough, you can take more.”

[xylatox]

Part 2 to TOWTSYFDTOTBYCF (what an acronym) absolutely looking forward to see how their relationship progresses!

I absolutely love that while at his work Lee Sooneung refers to reader as a ball of sunshine, she really is a cutie. I absolutely love all the idol cameos and the banter between reader and cheol at the

weekend getaway, likes it's so cute. I love reader opening up too and Cheol listening, the relationship progression is so cute.

And the angst kicks in, I'm so sick and heartbroken no :( like especially after that weekend :(((. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think about how you preoccupy my thoughts every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day?” He leaned forward, his arms fencing you at your side as his hand gripped the edge of the desk, fingernails clawing into the paint. “If I had my way, I’d fucking throw all this shit out the window and spread you on my desk before making every wish and command that comes out of your mouth a reality until you’re begging me to stop.” — oh.my.god. I giggled LOL, that was so attractive of him, reader's entire reaction thereafter is so fucking real.

The timer for the foreplay??? that's so creative and absolutely evil oh my god. I'm glad we got the history as to why their friendship ended back then and it's truly sad the length parents go.

His hand brushed over your waist, pulling you towards him, gazing at you with tenderness in his eyes you couldn’t even fathom for words. “Amongst the lies, I didn’t want that to be one of them.” — this was so fucking sweet I'm going to sob.

That was the first of a handful of incidents, but the most memorable of the bunch, at least for everyone below Seungcheol. To this day, the office commemorates it as “The day no one knew why Mr. Choi was taking his lunch break for so long.” That had started a flurry of new rumors going around the building, and honestly, Seungcheol liked these ones better. — god this is such a cute way to end it. I love that we see them in their relationships being so happy, like every aspect from start to finish I absolutely loved. God I love them so much. I'm so glad I finally read it!

the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend (m) [2]

A Valentine collaboration hosted by @camandemstudios and their masterlist

Pairing: office manager!seungcheol x childhood friend!fem!reader Genre: romcom, smut , fluff, slight angst Word count: current 21.9k (total w.c. 34.4k) rating: R Summary: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now. tags: MDNI, Childhood rivals to Best friends to Ex-best Friends to Strangers to Fake Dating to Lovers (try to keep up),childhood trauma, mentions of neglectful parents, mentions of injury and sabotage, random idol features, reader and seungcheol in their 30s, grump x sunshine, fake dating au, office au, taekwondo buddies, virgin!seungcheol, experienced!reader, food & alcohol scenes, yearning, reader wears a dress, drinking, tipsy intimacy, heavy eye contact, grinding, dry humping, exhibitionism, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, hair pulling (m. rec.), pet names (good boy)

[Part 1 in case you missed it]

“Hi! Sorry for intruding, but I bought coffee for everyone in the office!”

Surprise visits at work was a thing that couples did on occasion, so you thought it couldn’t hurt to try it. And as long as you gave a peace offering, nothing should go wrong. To your expectations, your surprise visit came with a whole welcome wagon. Passing through the hall, everyone in his department approached you with confused glances before swarming with warming greetings back as they accepted your bribes. It got loud enough to demand the attention of the office manager, hearing the muffled voices that bled through the thin cracks of his office walls. “What is the cause of all this—what are you doing here?”

Your eyes lit up at his appearance, immediately dropping the carrier of coffees in the next available person’s hand before rushing over to join his side. “I came to see you!”

“What about the cafe?”

“I brought a different lunch, just to change it up. We can enjoy it in your office.”

Before you could enter the door behind you, he took hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “It’s a mess in there,” he said through his teeth, code word for ‘off limits’ but if you’ve learned anything from the time you spent with this loon, there was no such thing as limits.

“Aw, baby! You know, I don’t care about any of that! Come on, let’s go!”

His resistance was no match against your sheer will as you pulled him away with a rough tug, subjecting him to a public, involuntary kidnapping in front of all his coworkers while they waved you off, happily enjoying their refreshments. 

As the door shut, you dropped the take out on a table by a couch in a corner, letting out a low whistle. In good mafia boss manner, you jutted your lips out with your hands in your pockets and nodded as you scanned the room, thinking to yourself, ‘if only you accepted that job back in the day,’ but if you did, it would be under a corporation, and the thought tasted bitter in your mouth.

“Wow, this is nice,” you commented haughtily, scanning the perimeter of the room.

He licked his teeth, looking as if he’s about to snap. “You’re pushing it. We didn’t discuss this.”

“Relax, will you? I needed to do something other than go to the cafe because they’ll think that’s all we do.”

“Not my problem. It was the perfect balance between life and work. What if they hear more than they should?”

“We keep our voices low, just like we did at the cafe.” 

You trod over to the couch, breaking open the take out, starving after running around with a wagon stacked high with carriers of coffee. You were thinking, at this point, you were practically that cafe’s sponsor. “Look, if I visit here all the time, you’ll never even have to leave. Plus, you’ll optimize your work hours, get things done here while we carry on with our obligations. Besides, it’s so much more private here, you’d hardly even have to do any pretending.”

He crossed his arms walking over to you, eyes fixed sternly.“…Why are you being so useful for once?” he asked suspiciously.

You smiled, extending your hand with takeout in your grip. “Chicken or beef?”

Your visits to the VENTE Co. office became an every other day occurrence, replacing the lunch dates that would take place in the cafe, now preoccupying the time slot of 11:55 to 12:50 and leaving on the dot. They were so often you were this close to earning a frequent visitor badge made of plastic and not of paper like you were first given, and admittedly that excited you and simultaneously worried Seungcheol that they’d offer you something so official.

“What’s the point of the bachelor party anyway?”

“A bachelor or a bachelorette party is where the person engaged celebrates the last night of ‘being single’ before marriage. Doing things like partying, having fun, but most of the time still clean and appropriate, although television may depict it otherwise.”

“Then isn’t a coed bachelor/bachelorette party contradicting?”

“It’s breaking tradition, and I’m for it! I think it’s sweet that they want to celebrate it together instead of making a big deal about celebrating it apart. Really shows how much they love and are willing to be with each other. It’s always been more for the wedding party anyway. The drinking, the games, clubbing.”

He stopped you from continuing. “How much drinking? What kind of games? And is the clubbing optional?”

You let out half a chuckle, knowing that these questions would eventually come forth. “The details are to be determined.”

“Great.”

“Sound more excited.”

“Great…”

“There was no difference in your tone.”

“I enunciated.”

You sighed, bowing your head. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

He escorted you out of his office, as he’s done every time you’ve come, to ensure that you don’t arouse suspicion from lack of appearances, while you clung to his side like a leech. You’ve begun seeing the difference it made, watching everyone that met your eyes and his with a bit more ease than the first encounter you had with any of them. It was starting to be amusing once they began conversations, asking if you both had anything special to eat, and Seungcheol would eventually give a curt answer when you gave him the nudge he needed. He was growing before your very eyes, improving endearingly everyday.

“Manager Choi!”

A man with salt and pepper hair approached before either of you got very far, his voice traveling from the end of that hall, reaching Seungcheol’s ears, to which he promptly greeted him back. “Hello Sir. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

He returned the respectful welcome with a fatherly grin, patting him on the back. “Well, I was in the neighborhood and decided to make a visit to the branches in the area, do a random check in. Outstanding work as always.”

Seungcheol nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. “Thank you, sir.”

“And who might this visionary be?” The man asked, gesturing over to you with an open hand. “Head of VENTE, Lee Sooneung.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee!” You brightly greeted, shaking the hand as you introduced yourself as the girlfriend. “I’m just visiting him at lunch.”

“Well, aren’t you both just darling? Where have you kept her all this time, Choi?”

Mr. Lee was a bit of a talker, and when he got started, he was the only one that was able to stop it, but there was you. Seungcheol came to realize that you were effortless in pivoting conversations, always knowing how to move them along so they wouldn’t drag out. And to Mr. Lee’s knowledge, he didn't notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. You made good company, and Seungcheol didn’t appreciate that enough when he knew he should.

“Choi, you must come to this charity event. My wife and I will host it three Sundays from now, and bring the ball of sunshine with you.”

Before Seungcheol could answer, you interjected cheerfully, “We’d be happy to attend.”

“Wonderful. Well, I’ll let you two be on your way. Don’t be too in love, not on the company’s dime.”

You both bidded him goodbye and walked towards the elevators, leading towards the exit.

“Why’d you say that?” he mumbled, under his breath.

“What?” You asked in a normal volume.

He stepped closer, repeating the words in hushed tones. “‘We’d be happy to attend?’ When did we ever discuss this? This wasn’t on our set agenda.”

“We can add it,” you argued, “You want people to like you, this charity event can be good for that. It’s charity for crying out loud.”

“That’s my boss, he doesn’t need to like me. He just needs to value me.”

“How is that any different?”

The elevator doors slid open and you both began heading towards the exits, already seeing the cab he called ahead for you. However, before you could take another step, he dropped his voice lower, pulling you closer and cupped his hand to your ear, making the gesture and words that came out of his mouth look more intimate than they should as a shiver ran down your spine. 

“I didn’t get as far as I did by being a kiss-ass.”

You lightly shoved him off before you jumped in your cab. “Going to one event won’t make you a kiss-ass. Think of it as networking, building your rapport with other people in your industry. There’s no certainty that you’ll stay in this position forever, and I doubt that’s what you want either. Having a back up plan, or plans, isn’t a bad idea. I think they might exist at this event. and you could do yourself some good by going.”

“…Who the hell are you?”

Grinning from ear to ear, you closed the door, rolling down the back seat window to have the final word. “Someone who’s about to take a very, very long food induced coma.”

He leaned against the door. “Have you ever considered that you’re a terrifying person?”

“Have a good day at work!”

Just when Seungcheol thought things were getting just a little bit easier, you somehow managed to throw something else in his way. He should’ve expected it. He should’ve known better. This was you after all. Just like he should’ve seen what else was coming that following weekend.

It was early Saturday and somehow Seungcheol still managed to get a work out in. The bachelor/bachelorette party you mentioned was being held that day, and somehow, you managed to convince him that it was worth leaving the house to stay the night in a beach house miles and miles away with about ten other couples. Well, convince was a strong word, what word he really would’ve used was—

“–Trick.” He clicked the roof of his mouth while staring at the banner that clearly stated, ‘Welcome to Seokjin’s and Eunbi’s Bach Overnight Weekend.’ “You tricked me.”

“I did no such thing,” You told back, attempting an air of innocence.

He pointed an accusatory finger, his lips forming a line to present an unamused, but unsurprised, expression. “I should’ve known. No wonder you took extra long in my bathroom. You were sneaking clothes out of my closet for an overnight bag.”

“I could’ve sworn I told you,” you defended, throwing the said duffle over your shoulder.

“You most certainly did not.”

“...Okay, I didn’t.”

He tightly shut his eyes, squeezing them as if the situation brought him to physical pain. “I was led to believe it was one night, not a whole weekend.”

You groaned, “It was a last-minute decision. It’s only overnight because the place they chose is so damn far, and no one wanted to drive all the way back when there’s drinking involved. They wanted to be responsible.”

“You could’ve declined, or warned me so I could’ve declined.”

“Cheol,” you whined apologetically.

“Guys, you made it! Welcome to casa de Kim!” 

“Jin!” You smiled, changing directions to greet an old friend.

Seokjin emerged from the house to welcome you and your unhappy guest with hugs. Seokjin and Eunbi had been your longest friends and recently decided to tie the knot, officially taking themselves off the market for good despite everyone knowing they were nuts for each other all their lives. It was just a matter of timing, and this was their time. “Where’s my girl?” You prodded, looking over his shoulder.

“Uh, you mean my future wife? She’s handling some last minute planning in the kitchen, but I’ll make sure to let her know you guys have arrived. Great to finally meet you, man! Welcome in!”

“Oh, thanks,” Seungcheol lamely greeted, accepting your friend's handshake.

Seokjin took a little time making small talk before going back to his hosting duties, making sure to drop off the party favors–what he also called care kits–before pushing you to your designated room for the night and letting you go on your merry way. “Late lunch in an hour! Don’t be late!”

“Okay, Jin. we’ll be there!”

“We will?” Seungcheol asked, resistance in his voice.

“Yes, now come on.”

There was the matter of the single bed of the room as you predicted—the cliche ever so popular—but that would be a problem for the evening. For now, they would just have to get through the rest of the day and get through Seokjin and Eunbi’s party games, which you didn’t doubt were eccentric as they were.

Your friends were excited to either see you and your fake boyfriend again or meet him for the first time if they hadn't been at the brunch. Seungcheol did the bare minimum, also as you expected, staying by your side and enjoying the food available to the fullest, and by the fullest, you meant loading up on protein and the occasional miniscule portion of white rice. Nonetheless, your friends made sure they were good company, trying to involve you both in conversations while keeping the attention on the guests of honors: the beautiful soon to be wed couple.

“Okay kids, gather around!”

“Kids?” Mark repeated, “We’re in our damn 30s.”

Jin scoffed, an offended hand to his chest. “Speak for yourself, I’m forever 21. Anyways, before I was rudely interrupted, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming. None of this would be possible without the beautiful woman beside me,” he glanced down at Eunbi, who amusingly chuckled back at her fiance, “and me—and I guess you guys too. So! Let’s have a great time this weekend, alright? To love!”

“To love!”

You all clinked your midday cocktails, and you watched to make sure Seungcheol joined in, and he did so from the comfort of his seat. With Just you. With a glass full of ice water. Drinking a measly single sip before setting it quietly down. This was going to be a long night.

“Right after we finish up, we’ll get started heading by down to the pool—the beach if ya’ feel frisky—and then the games will commence after a bit of play.”

“Frisky? 21, my ass.”

“Jeon Jungkook, something will go up your ass if you talk out of turn one more time on my day.”

Most of the guests decided to stay by the pool, while a few ventured by the beach, wanting to get a tan. Meanwhile, Seungcheol stayed inside with you in the lounging area as everyone else enjoyed themselves. He lifted his head up from his phone to see you, watching how your eyes followed the motion of their joy, seeing how everyone interacted with each other or with the water, either jumping in or on the verge to, while muffled laughter bled through the sliding doors.

“Not joining your friends?” He nudged.

“And leave you here alone?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “I’m good.”

“I’m not running away, no matter how tempting that is, I’m stuck here.”

You shook your head, putting your knees to your chest. “That’s not it.”

“Don’t tell me. You’ve come to enjoy my company.” 

You crinkled your nose in response, “You know how to joke now? Since when did you get a software upgrade?”

“When they started to slow down yours to prioritize mine.”

You poked at his head in retaliation, but he successfully evaded it, tilting his head in a 45 degree angle, an angle that if anyone else saw would think he was trying to act funny or cute. Disappointingly, you fell into the second category.

“Will you not tell me why you’re deciding to stay inside and not be with your friends after bamboozling me out of a peaceful weekend?”

You sighed, turned back to your friends, and watched the transparent door screens like it was a television show that played in the background, not interactable. “They make it fun when I'm here.”

“How is that an issue? You enjoy their presence, they enjoy yours.”

“They make it fun. Like I’m being taken care of. While everyone is having a good time, being all coupled up lovey dovey, and happy, I’m chilling on the sidelines, or if I do join, I’m a third, fifth, seventeenth wheel. So, I’m used to sitting back. Letting the couples be couples. I just don’t want to get in their way and I don’t want them to have me join in just because I'm chronically alone.”

“I thought you would take your previous partners to these kinds of things.”

You shook your head, “Only smaller events with people that I know wouldn’t blink twice if saw me single the next day. I usually went to things like the brunches or parties with just my friends. No one else.”

“You brought a boyfriend to this event, you do realize that, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “You,” you kept your voice low, “are different. Obviously. It’s not like we can do all the couple things like everyone else.”

“...You said you might go to the beach later, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So, you brought and wore a swimsuit?”

“...yeah–Hey! Motherfucker, put me down!”

The moment arose once you were stolen from the couch, scooped up in Seungcheol’s arms as he carried you effortlessly as you flailed in his grasp, passing through the sliding doors and out to the pool side. Initially, you both hardly attracted any attention from the people already there, but your voice filled with anguish and unbridled rage was loud enough to reach even the neighbors in the other beach house a mile away. 

“I’m going to kill you, Choi!”

“Oh hey, guys! You’re finally joining us,” Jin greeted, before he and everyone witnessed your fake boyfriend—or shall you put it, attempted murderer—drop you into the pool, submerging you into water. 

For a whole moment, all you saw was blue and light as the pressure of the water  pushed around your body and towards its depths, its cool temperature surrounding you as you inhaled it in your nose and through your lungs. You immediately closed your mouth, preventing yourself from digesting any more and pushed yourself up the moment your feet could touch the ground. Coughing and gasping for air, you scowled at the man responsible. “You—”

“You looked like the sun was getting to you, darling, so I thought some water would do you some good,” he stated, pulling a sinister grin, the dimple present like the mark of horns on the devil’s head.

“You could have killed me,” you hissed.

“Actually,” Wonwoo interjected from a few feet away, “He only threw you four feet deep. Five would’ve drowned you, three could lead to a concussion, but four is actually a good medium. Maybe a scrape of the knee, but you’d mostly be okay.”

You may have dramatized the experience a tad bit, but nonetheless, you were thrown in the fucking pool. You turned to your usually good friend, showing him the same scowl. “Now is not the time, nerd.”

“I like him. Keep him around.” Seungcheol commented, pointing to Wonwoo.

“Hey!” you shouted, still angry. “Are you insane?”

“Oh my god, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad like this before,” Jihyo joined in, doubling over in laughter, “not even when we caught he who shall not be named fucking around summer of ‘18. And you were pissed, but not like this.”

You ran your hand over your wet hair that obscured your vision, “Yeah, well, apparently instead of a pig, I picked a fucking psycho.”

Seungcheol edged by the pool, squating in front of you with knees to his chest before he landed his final diss. “Sounds like your prospects were limited, anyways.”

The bach party gasped, hands covering more mouths than ladies laughing during high tea, and the quiet, subtle laughter dispersed amongst them. It buzzed around you like flies, mocking you, and although you weren’t all that mad–like them you could tell it was all in good fun–you were out for revenge. Blood.

“Cheol.”

��Hmm?”

“I think you were right about one thing. Water does do you some good.” In a split second, you had his arm, tugging him into the water with you, feeling a pair of hands clasp around your waist as your bodies submerged together. Using the surprise attack as an advantage, you purposefully pressed your weight into him with your hip to push him deeper–sacrificing yourself even if it meant taking you with him, ensuring he felt the full under the sea experience.

When you both finally pulled up to the surface, he’s coughing as much as you were the same scowl on his face as you had on yours, except now you’re the one pointing and laughing, leaning against the pool wall for support.

“You did that on purpose,” he mimicked.

“Aren't you the genius?”

He splashed water on you. “I could’ve died.”

“I’ve seen this movie before,” you ask sardonically before his splashes came in waves, rippling back at you until you were forced to act in defense. 

When everyone else saw how the scene unfolded, more of your friends decided to join in on the fun, finding more amusement in the pool activities than before. The noise amplified throughout the perimeter, but not a care in the world was seen. It was as if they were all waiting for you to join, and once you did, there was no more holding back. Even Seungcheol, chronically stoic Seungcheol, bared a smile that didn’t want to come down.

Coming closer to the dinner time, guests were about ready to change out of their wet clothes and into something dry for the evening, keeping in mind the games they’d be playing later. Meanwhile, You and Seungcheol rushed up the stairs, shivering without a towel, and entered your shared room for refuge.

“Get out,” you said, your teeth chattering.

He gave you an offended glance. “I have to change, you get out.”

“And what do you think I’m doing? My taxes? I need to change too, asshole.”

“Fine, we’ll just change in the same room. Quickly.”

“Like I’d let that happen, perv.”

He rolled his eyes, “There’s not really much to see. If anything, I’m the one that should be worried.”

“Excus–you know what? Fuck it, whatever. We grab our clothes from the duffle and turn around and change at opposite sides of the room. Okay?”

“Best idea you’ve had all damn day.”

You stormed together towards the single large bag you brought, both your hands moving in flurries as you grab your things. In the midst of the chaos, Seungcheol’s gaze accidentally pivoted, taking in the way your tee-shirt clung to your chest, the outline of breasts in your bikini clear as day, while your nipples–erect and stiff from the cold—poked through the material, moving violently as your hands swished through the bag. It’s until you got up after retrieving your clothes that he fixed his gaze, returning to rummaging for clothes.

“Can’t find it? It should’ve been on top of the stack since I packed your clothes last.”

“I’m looking!” he answered a little too loudly, embarrassed by the reason for the delay.

Refusing to meet your eyes, he stood up finally when the clothes made themselves known, holding them triumphantly, “Found it.”

“Okay. You take one side, I take the other and none of the paths cross.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the plan we discussed a mere two minutes ago.”

“Asshole. Okay, go!”

You both head into the direction you were already facing, your backs parallel to one another and the immediate sounds of wet clothes squelching on the floor as they fell in loud thuds. The ruffling of dry clothes were next to follow, but the thought hadn’t occurred to either one of you until you stood in your birthday suits that you’d be stripping naked simultaneously until that very moment. 

When the awareness finally did kick in, you were looking at a painting of fruit as Seungcheol stared into the balcony, luckily too far to showcase your awkward circumstance, but both had nothing on their mind but the thought of their fake significant other stark naked. Their actions began slowing down, moving at a snail’s pace as they started putting one arm and one leg through a hole through a single article of clothing at a time, as if savoring the rush they’ve discovered the rustling of fabrics as they slid against skin. 

You lightly coughed, first to penetrate through the silence. “I know what you tried to do.”

The sound of fabric flapping resonated from the direction of the balcony. “I’m trying to change.”

“Not right now, dimwit,” you insulted.

“The insults are juvenile, and frankly uncalled for.”

“I’m talking about the pool.”

“What about it?”

“You listened to my trauma dumping, and you didn’t have to.”

“...I asked.”

You pulled up your shorts, letting them settle over your hips, unsure if you liked how they squeezed, but let it go. “And…you fucking dropped me in the pool like a hot turd—fuck you for that by the way.”

He chuckled, and you didn’t see it, but you could imagine the smile on his face.

“But I know you did it because of what I said, that I wanna do couple shit…like playing in the pool with my boyfriend.”

“Was that playing? You looked fairly mad. Aggressive perhaps.”

“Yeah, well, you fucking almost killed me,” you said, tugging the final shirt over your head.

“Like I almost didn’t die either?” He retorted. “I saw a bright light in that pool when you took me.”

“That was the sun!”

“It looked nothing like the sun.”

“Well, whatever the fuck–oh, my god. You made me lose my train of thought!” 

A hand fell on your shoulder, turning you away from the painted apples and melons to stand face to face with the person you were just imagining yourself screaming at now fully clothed, but as you looked into his eyes, the rage began to dissipate. Instead, you’re overcome with silence and a sense of gratitude, seeing warmth in his eyes you weren’t used to. You could always tell a difference somehow, and moments like this were when you wished you didn’t. Not when they confused you.

“Well?”

You’re jolted awake by the sarcastic tone of his voice, a stark contrast to his soft features, and the glint of something in his eyes you’re probably mistaken about. Or maybe he had just gotten a lot better at pretending. “Just, thank you. Thank you for trying.”

A corner of his lips slightly lifted before dropping, wrapping his hand around your wrist—making your eyes jump in size and only adding to your uncertainty—as he tugged you towards the door. “Alright, let’s get the rest of this over with.”

Jin and Eunbi came and delivered as expected. Their dinner spread was even better than lunch, making sure all their guests knew that they were in good hands. Seungcheol even found himself getting a heartier fill, tasting a bit of everything they had to offer. You enjoyed watching him pile his plate, delightfully surprised as he managed to get at least one of everything from the food pyramid. You made sure to tease him a little, to which he defended himself by saying he worked up an appetite with the swimming, and you didn’t prod him after that, just happy he’s enjoying himself. By the time dinner ended, all the guests’ stomachs were filled with bountiful amounts of food, leaving no one behind to starve. For Jin and Eunbi, the overly enthusiastic party hosts, that meant one thing: it was time for the games to commence.

Jin twinkled his fingers together menacingly, gathering everyone in a circle. “Truth, Dare, or Drink?”

“May I remind everyone we are in damn near our thirties,” Mark, tired and old, brought up again.

“Then sit out grandpa, damn!”

Seungcheol put his lips close to your ear, “What kind of game is this?”

“I’m not so sure. Hey Jin? Eunbi? What the hell is this? Truth or dare?”

Eunbi spoke up to answer, “Truth, dare, or Drink: Couples edition! A couple chooses between truth or dare, and if they can’t answer their truth or do the dare, they take a drink.”

“More drinking,” Seungcheol said, eyes squinting as if war flashbacks actively played throughout his head.

“We'll try the game. I’m sure it won’t be so bad.”

And it wasn’t so bad, for the other couples that is. For the most part it was a simple, truth or dare card game they found in an aisle of any Target or Walmart, but the contents included truths from “craziest place they had sex” to dares where they “switched underwear for the rest of the game.” Some couples passed on the card and took a couple shots, and then your time finally arrived, the new duo in the mix: the two everyone is expecting the most from.

“Truth. No. Dare. Fuck, wait, truth—“

“Damnit,” Seungcheol pulled a truth card out of the deck on the table and presented it in front of you both, letting you read it out loud. “What is your partner’s… ahem… sexiest… body part?”

Seungcheol had looked at the card for himself to see if you read that right, and everyone that circled around you cheered you on, wolf-whistling or howling as they all encouraged the both of you to answer.

“You’re starting off strong, huh?” Mingyu teased.

Chaeyoung was grinning, thinking this kind of game right up her alley, “So, what is it? Who wants to go first?”

“Guys—“ before you could even finish your thought, Seungcheol was already pouring shots, throwing one back like nothing and ‘boo’s took up the space.

“Lame…”

“Can’t even announce to the world what you find sexy about your girlfriend, new guy? Are you really dating then?”

As Seungcheol poured another shot facing it towards you, he looked at you with determination and empowerment. “I think of it as respect to my significant other, and it's best I don’t divulge in saying her most attractive trait if it makes her uncomfortable, so I’ll drink my shot,” he threw back the drink he held in front of you, “and hers.”

While others still found it a little cowardly, his gesture earned him a few pats on the back, thinking he made a safe choice. “Well, alright, good man.”

“You’re safe for now.”

You stared at him, knowing this lunatic did not just do that. After the shit he pulled at the company party, drinking should’ve been the last thing he thought to do. And he would attempt another try when they played another round, this time when a dare was picked.

“Give your partner a blindfolded lap dance.”

Seungcheol sighed, already pouring the shot. “As respect to my partner and her dignity, I—hey!”

The shot disappeared as soon as it was full, being tossed back in your throat as you stole his heroic speech as well, or the paraphrased version of it. “His dignity, respect and honor, yada, yada, yada. His shot too.” The second shot burned slightly more bitter as it went down, and you just hoped the rest of the cards weren’t as intense as the two you’ve received so far.

“Why the hell—“

“You guys are really private, huh,” Jin grinned, “Aw, that’s cute. I’ll let it go, cuties. Let’s keep going!”

That went on for several more rounds, and of course, the cards didn’t get any easier. So to avoid truths or dares, you and Seungcheol drank a lot. Not only that, you had kept stealing the shots back and forth from one another, trying to prevent the other from getting too drunk, but to quote a smart man that was balls deep in several bottles of soju, that numbskull plan was ‘horrendously flawed.’

“Ugh, these fuckers just wanted to drink! Fuck, they’re drunk.”

“If they just wanted to drink, they could’ve done that.” 

“Let’s put them on the couch.”

“Man, he’s huge, where did she find this guy?”

There wasn’t much movement that could be made by either you or the man you brought, so sleeping felt like a natural course of action. The colors and lights of the room faded in and out whilst the music muffled in your ears. In a way, it soothed you, like white noise, and the voices that seeped through would only sometimes jolt you awake, until finally, slumber hit you, and you couldn’t detect anything or anyone at all.

The second you were conscious again, you found yourself on the couch where you last remembered being before completely blacking out. There was a dulling ache you noticed in your head as you got up to scan the room, seeing that you were completely alone with no sign or your fake boyfriend anywhere in sight.

“Cheol?” 

You picked yourself up, holding on to the foundation on the couch and still feeling the lingering effects of the alcohol before going off to find the missing office manager. “Seungcheol!”

You face planted against the transparent glass window, seeing various familiar faces, but none of them being your plus one. Taking your journey to the first floor rooms, you attempted to see if he stumbled upon any of the game rooms or lounging areas conveniently available. It was unsuccessful when you just saw more familiar faces—albeit, friendly ones that were glad to see you alive and well—but no Seungcheol.

In midst of the chaos, your shoulder grazed an oncoming body, having been caught before you took a hard tumble, “Shit, oh, Eunbi. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Hey, babes, you’re awake.”

You got on your feet, grasping the back of your head. “Yeah, I woke up a little while ago. Have you seen my boyfriend anywhere?”

She briefly spun to scan the room to check, “Um, not sure. Last I saw, he was on the couch next to you.”

You sighed, “Shit, okay. I gotta find him before he drowns or something.”

But before you left, you felt her hand on your shoulder to get your attention, “Hey, can we talk for a little bit, catch up?”

“Sure.” 

Eunbi pulled you away to a tucked corner of the house with a convenient little window that popped open from the top. It was late, the moon high up in the sky, and you had no damn clue what time it was. You remembered that you left your phone in the room, knowing you’d lose it somewhere if you took it with you, and you were right, because instead, you lost a whole human tonight. 

“Smoke?”

You snorted. “I still don’t do that shit, you know me.”

“Yeah, Jin doesn’t either,” Eunbi chuckled, lighting up her cigarette and blowing a puff out the window. “I’m really happy you came by the way. I was hoping you would—not that I don’t think you wouldn’t come to your own best friends’ Bach party but—“

You chuckled, “Where is this going, Eunbi?”

She was quietly, remorseful, leaning against the window and looking at you with a million words on her mind, but the only ones she could muster were, “I’m sorry for not being around.”

You lightly punched her shoulder, leaning on the window beside her. “Don’t be sorry you’re hanging around your fiancé and planning a whole wedding.”

“But I’m not making time to see you.”

“You’re being fucking happy. You’re getting married, shut up. If you were spending time with me, I would be legitimately concerned.”

A small smile formed on her face, taking another puff, before managing to say anything more. “But…I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend. Had to find out from someone who went to the brunch I couldn’t make because I had to deal with catering. I feel like a shitty friend.”

“You’re not, okay? You’ve just been so happy, and you deserve all the fucking happiness in the world. I didn’t want to distract you by making a special period in your life about me, or by taking all your time away from you.”

She flung the cigarette out the window to grab hold of your shoulder, shaking some sense into you. “You wouldn’t be. I will be married to that loser for probably ever but you’re my best friend, I want to make time for you too while I can before this guy steals all your time away from me.”

You shook your head reassuringly, putting your hand over hers. “He won’t. I promise.”

Your fingers interlocked, resting your heads on each other's shoulders as you looked back up at the sky. “You really like him, huh?”

“He’s all right,” you shrugged, a hint of a smile on your face.

“So he checks all the boxes?”

“I’m looking into it.”

You saw her grin from your peripheral, “And that last box?”

“Nosy!” you exclaimed, bumping her hip.

“Come on! Like I don’t know your sex history like the back of my hand!”

You fell silent, suddenly reserved at the topic of sex—specifically at the lack of—and for some reason you can’t find the heart in you to lie about that tidbit. “We’re not…”

Her head pivoted to you dubiously, narrowing her eyes, “Wait. No way…”

“It just needs to be the right moment.”

“Girl, the moment has passed. Look at him and tell me you don’t wanna climb him like a tree.”

Smiling, you exaggeratedly groaned, “Shut up, you're so annoying.”

“He is hot in like this super ripped accountant sort of way and honestly funny as fuck, your type to a tee. What do you mean you’re not in his pants right now?”

“Stop!” You shoved, laughing together like you used to when there was all the time in the world, “When we’re good and ready, we will.”

“Alright. You must really like the guy.”

“Yeah, well,” you began pulling away, being reminded he’s out there somewhere waiting to be found. “I won’t be sure until I find him dead or alive.”

She grinned, waving you off. “Good luck!”

Your search continued through the rest of the house, coming up short on the rest of the first floor after double checking the pool side before heading up stairs. Hushed voices and restless movements could be heard from nearby and behind doors, giving you a clear idea of the kind of things happening on this floor, and you pray to all the gods that you don’t come across something you’ll regret seeing.

“No naked bodies, no naked bodies, no naked bodies.” 

You ran that mantra over and over, warding off the potential of seeing someone’s parts you haven’t seen before or already seen too many times, neither option being a desirable one.

And just as you were about to make it to the end of the hall, just where your room was and the likeliest place he’d be, your wrist was snatched from behind, spinning you around, and your person of interest stood before you with a goofy grin on his face.

“There you were,” you said, sighing a breath of relief.

“Here I am,” he announced, giggles seeping out of him.

“Where did you go? I was looking all over for you.”

He tilted his head to the side, and instead of answering, he just interlocked your fingers and tugged you in his direction, where you aimlessly followed. You were taken outside, somewhere you haven't thoroughly explored yet—but already lightly scoured by a handful a people already there, and now, you and Seungcheol as he claimed an outdoor nook in the very corner draped by vines and branches, as pillows and blankets were threw on to be cushions or stowed away in the corner for extra comfort. The coziest place you’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck? This is gorgeous.”

“Great nap spot. Come.” He tugged you with him, occupying a space that would normally fit two average adults or one Seungcheol, but he was determined to include you, somehow resulting in you mounting yourself on his lap in the open public for anyone around to see. Your eyes flew open, slapping him against his chest as he pulled you near, your knee jerking as you jolted in fear of others noticing. “Are you crazy?”

“They’re watching…” he sang, eyes glazing over off in the distance.

You slightly turned your head to watch his view, seeing a few of your friends off in the distance, coming from the beach or slightly in view from the poolside, that could easily catch you in whatever act you and Seungcheol looked like you were up to. However, at this point, everyone seemed to be in their own world, talking, laughing, minding their own businesses. You weren’t sure if it mattered. 

You snickered, resting your hands on his shoulders and readjusting your knees as they dug into the seat cushions. “You’re gonna go this far?”

“Yep. I have to look like a good boyfriend.”

You squinted at him suspiciously. “You had a lot to drink, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know?” he mumbled dumbly, his dimple indented extra deep.

You shook your head in disbelief, dipping your head forward and momentarily colliding with his in a headbutt. You reacted as expected, rubbing your forehead at the slight ache you caused, but from the lack of tact of the receiver, your assumptions were true. “You're so drunk right now.”

His hand rose to your hair, patting it down before finding your ear. As he thumbed over the curve of the helix, he could feel the heat bloom between his fingers. “You look so pretty right now.”

“Cheol,” you tried getting up, but he sat you back down, gripping you by your hips until they met his.

“Stay,” he quietly pleaded, his eyes glistening under the moonlight staring back at you with utter need that you have no choice but just melt right back in his touch. 

You couldn’t believe the situation happening right now, and neither could your heart in your chest as it started beating at twice its usual rate. All you could focus on was his hands as they traveled up your body, skimming through the thin fabric of your shirt, following up your spine as he let out soft, ragged breaths.

You pressed the pads of your fingers a little deeper into the meat of his shoulders, “S-Seungcheol–” 

“Do you know what will really convince them?” His voice was unrecognizable, deep and indulgent.

You made the ghost of a whimper as a finger travelled back down your body as you responded earnestly. “I don’t think we have to do much more convincing. I think they believe us when we say we’re a couple.”

“But you know what will really convince them, though?”

You were scared to even ask, thinking a single word would burst this bubble you have no idea how you got caught in. “What?” you asked softly.

Your breath caught in your throat as you didn’t even dare blink, following his eyes as his hands made waves up your body. He pushed you against him, reclaiming your hips before puppeting them to roll against the definition of his thigh. Your stomach seized and your shoulders tensed, the sensation bringing you to shock as you beckoned forward at his will, his face being brought closer to yours in the process.

“W-what are you…mmh…” Your thoughts to fend him off ran hollow pulling your gaze up to sink into the titillation, mewls buzzing on your tongue.

The chills that once ran up your body evolved into fire, its heat steadily burning a path from your chest to far below your torso, and your hips developed a rhythm to match his. Not one word was exchanged, unlike the usual berating and bickering that was constant whenever you were within touching distance of each other, the only language that was spoken here were bodies in that tiny space. And that night, Seungcheol looked determined to become fluent in yours.

Seungcheol’s lips parted slightly as he peered at you through his long lashes, his grip growing possessive as his fingers spread, pressing the fullness of his palms into your back. Growing under you was his size, stretching the groin of his linen pants and making it harder to avoid clashing the closer and fiercer you rolled your hips against him.

“Am I doing too much?” he softly murmured, breathing the words into your clavicle.

“N-no,” you answered, finding his eyes and not minding getting lost in them. “Not at all.”

“Then,” Holding your gaze, his hands moved lower and crept under shirt, itching to feel even the hairs that stood on your back, “Can I?”

You nodded frantically, choking back a garbled, “Yes,” before both palms welcomed themselves underneath, clutching you against him to the point his length was wedged between your torsos. 

You heard him bite back a moan from the depth of his throat before his hands trailed up your body, pricking the skin where he ran, his thumbs hooked underneath your bra. He smoothed the pads of his digits from underneath the band, memorizing it from its lace to the silicone that kept it in place, and stopping at your side where the cups of the underwear began.

He finally blinked, the entirety of the act not once having broken eye contact as he touched you, ensuring that every second he was looking at you and you looked at him, as if looking away for even a second meant that all of it would disappear. You showed no signs of protest, and he teased you with his thumb, sliding underneath and over the curve of your breast, watching the quiver of your lips as he inched closer to your stiff peak.

You sucked in a sharp breath, a soft twitch to your leg broke out when his thumb grazed and then circled the nipple, the tension in your stomach tightening more. “S-Seungcheol,” you called out in a weak breath before you rolled your hips again, seeing that he felt every bit of your heat through your ruined shorts.

Pressing his plush bottom lip between his teeth, he shoved his hand underneath the cups, the warmth of his hands fumbling their shape and weight before he gave them both the same fate he let you sample before. He thumbed your nipples with a heady need, leading up to the speed you found yourself grinding on him.

If someone had told you twenty years ago–fuck, a few days ago, that you’d willing sit on Choi Seungcheol lap—let alone dry hump—in the open public, you would’ve told them ‘quite literally to choke on rocks’ for putting that idea into the universe. Yet, at that very moment, you were seeing–experiencing every single second of it, and drowning in the rhapsody that he was leaving you in.

Besides that, you got to feel it as much as you saw it through Seungcheol, who looked more expressive than he’s ever been. You saw it every furrow of his thick dark eyebrows; every sound that passed through full, cherry red lips; every gulp from his thick and biteable neck. Everything from start to finish was embedded in every wrinkle in your brain, and by the look of the flushed and dazed expression of your conspirer, he wouldn’t either.

“I’m close…” you rasped, your hands crawling up in his hair and threading through his locks.

He panted against you, nodded, his fingers wrapping against your sides as his thumbs pushed against your now sensitive buds, scooting you both deeper inside the nook. “Whatever you want…fast, slow…I’ll try to help.”

You softly pouted, the urge to kiss the man you’ve spent months with relearning about, falling and lusting for, burning a hole in your chest. Still, you persisted, desperate to see that gorgeous face and every wrinkle crease the second he’s overcome with his own climax.

“Fuck,” you whimpered before maneuvering your position so he’d lean against the pillows behind him. Restarting your pace–your close race to bliss just out of reach–you pushed your weight deeper, undulating with every grind as the shape of his cock, sat between your bottoms swallowed up by your folds. “Just sit tight.”

He visibly gulped, staring at your clothed pussy within reach before looking back at you. “You just said you were close.”

You leaned in, faces just inches away from each other, chests heaving against one another. “And I can get there again. Just keep your eyes on me, and don’t stop touching me either.”

His eyes briefly drifted, settling on the lower half over your face before coming right back up, leaving you with an, “Okay,” before moving his hands up your shirt again.

It didn't take long for you to regain your momentum, Seungcheol being a helping hand as he teased your nipples raw and made your breasts feel tender to the touch. Your core clenched around the familiar exultation you were seconds from encountering before. “I’m close, I’m close, I’m so fucking close–fuck, fuck!”

“You’re doing well. Don’t stop now, you—ah…” Seungcheol swallowed his thought, clasping his hands around you, thumbs pushing your nipples inversely as something possessed you both, leaving just raw primal movement in its wake.

Drool pooled in your mouth, before dripping down your chin and the cotton of his shirt. The reckless, final moments of your extemporaneous, lewd events near its end as the sounds of your voices fused in a single unit. The only things left to do was clutch on together, riding the last wave, savoring every second of the high.

Sweat was clamming your thighs as you stared at one another, listening to nothing but the sound of each other's pants. A smile broke out on your face as you finally shielded your eyes, covering your timid expression under a confident grin. You lightly scanned the area behind you, seeing it sparse of people with exception of a few still by the pool, trying to distract from the reservation you felt being intimate, and the swirling hectic thoughts they were leaving you in after. “God, I wonder if anyone saw that. I don’t see anyone around.”

“I just ruined a perfectly good pair of pants.”

You snickered, turning to see the stoicism back on Seungcheol’s face as usual. “Look who’s all sober.”

He slightly turned his head, cheeks painted a subtle pink.

“Good job, Virgin,” you backhandedly compliment with a kiss on the cheek.

Seungcheol had a lot on his mind, especially a lot he wanted to say to you and how fucking amazing every inch of you was against him, but nothing could come out, even when you were just positively radiant above him like you were right now, right after the moment you shared. If alcohol did anything useful, it made things easy to spill from his lips, but the words currently on the tip of his tongue were being swallowed by his sobriety, his logic and reasoning that held him back. He knew couldn't deal with these kinds of emotions right now. Not at the moment.

So instead, he decided to carry you, and you emitted a yelp at the volume of a chihuahua in response. You threw your arms over his shoulders on instinct, pressing firmly to the toned build of his body, as he wrapped your legs around his torso, bouncing you to readjust you in his grip and securing you before setting off wherever without a word. You gazed back at him, feeling warm and protected in his arms; it was something you could get used to.

You made yourself comfortable, looping your arms tighter around his neck, “Where are we going? And why are you carrying me?”

“The room. You are my Trojan horse after the shit you pulled out there.”

“That you started, excuse you. And Trojan, hmm? You definitely referenced that on purpose.”

He trotted off a smirk before walking back in the house, ignoring everyone else that hooted and hollered at you both in the compromising position as he carried you off the stairs.

“Shower, please,” he pleaded, dropping you the second you entered the room as he split off to the other side.

“Tch, you’re the one who ruined your pants.”

“I can smell you from over here.”

You held your hands over your body in shame. “Why the hell would you say that to me?!”

He gazed over at you apologetically, “I didn’t say it was a bad smell, just please get decent. You have a lot more self control than I do right now.”

“I do?”

Suddenly, he moved in long strides, reaching you until your faces were inches apart, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. His lips parted temptingly as his gaze migrated over your being as though he devoured you where you stood and did not care who’d watched. “Yes. A fuck ton more.”

You backed away, slowly on the verge of jumping him yourself, while your heart was on the verge of exploding out of your chest. “F-fine, I’ll go shower.”

“Thank you.”

Gathering your things, you thought to check the time on your phone. “Wow, it’s only 1AM.”

“1AM?! No, no, I need to sleep soon,” he ushered you out, “go, go, be quick.”

“Alright, geez.”

You had only hoped the only witnesses to your little exhibitionist act were you two and the shower head that was washing the evidence away. Maybe it was weird, but you didn’t expect to mourn it. You’ve lost the only physical proof of what transpired tonight, but then smiled to yourself knowing that it happened at all. Something about it brought you bliss, knowing he’s there in the other room, waiting for his shower, and then waiting to jump into bed with you.

By the time you got in bed, all you could think about was him coming back, patiently waiting for his arrival as you laid peacefully in bed. It had been a while since you cuddled up with someone, and that someone being Seungcheol made you curious about the type of person he’d be in bed. Did he snore, take up the sheets, have night terrors? Before expanding on more ideas, you heard the faint turn of the door knob, and you quickly closed your eyes. The soft rustle clothes followed while the flat foot steps trotted closer to bed. Finally, you felt a weight dip into the mattress, and you pressed a hand to your heart, feeling how fast it started to race, anticipation trickling inside you and setting until…nothing.

One minute passed, and then two, confusion setting in. You fully swivel your head to see his side of the bed to see him with his eyes closed, fast asleep, soft snores as his chest rose and fell.

“He actually fell asleep,” you whispered to yourself, waving a hand over his face for good measure. “Dammit.”

You slumped flat on the bed, letting out a deep exhale, before looking back at him again, subconsciously tracing over his features that were pretty even while asleep in the darkest of nights. “I’ll be mad at him in the morning.”

When morning arrived, everyone was just about ready to leave, but not after Jin insisted on each and every guest grab some fresh breakfast before hitting the road, ending the trip the bittersweetest of goodbyes. You glanced through your peripheral vision at Seungcheol as you forked at your waffles topped with syrup and freshly picked strawberries, seeing him enjoy his expected lean and clean breakfast without a care in the world. 

“Everyone had a good night,” Jin inquired, nudging the people around him, unfortunately that being Mingyu and Wonwoo.

“Someone had a lot of fun. Too much maybe,” Nayeon emphasized with a grin, not looking up, and everyone decided to randomly pick a victim, ultimately landing on poor Jungkook, the man with his mouth full. 

“Wha’ I do?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not him.” Her gaze flickered in front of her, meeting your eyes, busting out a wide grin when your eyes launched at her.

“Me?!”

“Oh yeah,” Baekho agreed with his girlfriend, “her and boyfie were both drinking a lot that night, fucking blacked out before it was even 10pm. You guys could’ve just drank if you wanted to, you didn’t have to play.”

Nayeon rolled her eyes again, nudging her boyfriend, who pouted back at her confused. “Not what I’m talking about, dummy.”

“Okay,” you interjected, “I think we all had a little fun, mmkay? Let’s leave it at that while our friendships are still intact.”

“Why, hon?” Eunbi was the one to join, catching Nayeon’s drift. “You got something to share with the class?”

“On your guys’ weekend! Pff! No!” You shook your head with a smile that pleaded ‘please end it all for my sake, so help me, God.’

“How thoughtful,” Eunbi chuckled before continuing her meal.

Seungcheol’s foot slid next to yours under the table, catching your attention. “How loud were we last night?” he whispered, keeping a straight face, but his eyes were riddled with fear.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, leaning up to answer. “You really wanted to convince them.”

And from that, his face could no longer be held together, the pink spreading over his cheeks just before he tightly shut his eyes, embracing the impact of reality as it shattered over him like a glass ceiling. He was an animal. He could not touch another alcoholic beverage again. Even isopropyl was too risky.

The girl in front of you witnessed the entire encounter, grinning a smile of pure joy before kicking your foot on the table to your attention. “Hey.”

“Yes, Nayeon,” you said, glazing over your friend’s intrusion.

“Congratulations. I think this is the best one.”

“Please don’t rank my boyfriends like show dogs.”

“But this one has a nice coat and makes you happy, like really happy.”

“Don’t make me climb over there.”

With the back and forth teasing and the final moments of byes and hugs, everyone was off and back on the road to drive at least another three hours back to the city. You slumped against the leather of the car seat, watching as he steered his wheel and safely guided you both back home. A smile stretched over your face just at the sight of him, until you remembered you were supposed to be mad at him. Then you turned away, forcing a frown as you looked at a window.

Yet, minutes would pass by, and not a word would be exchanged. Complete and utter silence. It drove you insane. Did he not notice you at all, or was he that focused on driving? Or was he being the lunatic he always is pretending not to notice?

For emphasis, you crossed your arms, making a show of internal frustration outwardly so he’d somehow get the hint, hoping he'd at least ask you if something was wrong. Still, the silence would stretch forever and that alone was pissing you off. As if you could feel your brain cells slowly die off in this agonizingly, quiet void.

Your eternal inferno is brought to an end when you're brought home, your home, the place you’re hardly at these days when you’re visiting and making time for Seungcheol to play pretend girlfriend except to sleep.

“We’re here. You can leave the clothes behind. I’ll have them washed by the time you come to my place next weekend for the event.”

“Next weekend? You don’t want to see me this week?”

He shook his head without a second to think, your worlds crashing all at once. “Not this week. Lunch also will be forgoed for the time being just until we have the situation at work under control.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s what?”

“You—this weekend—you know what? Okay. Good luck with work.” You unfastened your seat belt, and opened the door, seeing yourself out.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” was the last thing you heard before you slammed the door shut and the car drove off onto the street, leaving you behind in disbelief.

Your arms dropped limp against your sides, entering your apartment, a weight dropped on your chest, and you fell face first onto bed.

Saturday was like something that fell out of pages of a book, torn and pasted on the vision board of a lovesick young girl about the kind of nights they dream of having once they’re older. Something silly, something fun, spontaneous, reckless. Maybe something they’d regret one day but felt right at the moment. It looked colorful as much as it felt colorful. Just pure desire and lost inhibitions, as you connected those many people or that one person.

Sunday was shit. It wasn’t something you wanted to live through, because of free will, you chose not to, spending the rest of the hours of your afternoon and evening feeling bad about yourself thinking about Saturday. It was easy to sleep through, you didn’t need to do anything else.

Then it was Monday. And you had a reason to be mad again, even when your dream flashed back to that wonderful night in that private little nook. You were reminded that he told you to not come over for lunch, so you did the next best thing.

“Hello, everyone!”

“Oh, hi! We were told you wouldn’t come today?” Chan greeted.

“Well, nope, tah-dah! I’m here! So I’m just gonna make the quick lunch drop off, and I’ll be out of all your hair soon!”

“Okay, but, Mr. Choi is a bit on edge today. Just a fair warning.”

“I think I can handle my own boyfriend, buddy. Thank you.” You politely knocked on the door of the office, took a beat, and then entered, seeing that he didn’t even look up from his desk to see the intrusion.

“If it’s not the revisions I asked for, I don’t want it,” Seungcheol warned.

“No revisions, but I brought beef. Protein pack just the way you like it.”

He lifted his head, standing up and sighing. “I told you we couldn’t do lunch this week.”

“You did say that,” you began to retort, dropping the food at an end table, “but, I wanted to see you. After that weekend, we didn’t really get to talking, and I missed you.”

Taking a big risk, you began unzipping your jacket, slowly revealing what little you had underneath, parting to see the red lace that stood out against your skin. His face shot up, urging out of his chair and had him zipping up your jacket for you. “We are in the workplace. Not here,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“Then when, Cheol?” Your frustration bleeding through your voice. “You’re not giving me much to work with.”

He just needed to come right out and say it. There was nothing he could do except tell the truth. “Nothing can or will happen until the event happens next weekend.”

“You’re making me wait?”

“I need to focus,” he reiterated, “in addition to the lunches. I can’t have disruptions right now. I have no focus right now with you here.”

“Like I can? After all of that? I’m seeing that night in my dreams, Choi.”

He exhaled, seeing his words go through one ear and out the other for you. “There’s a really important project that came up, and we just need all hands and eyes on it right now.”

You whined. “But—“

“But nothing. End of discussion.” He left it at that and returned to his desk, hoping to get back to work.

“End of discussion?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

You stormed off to behind his desk, standing right at his shoulder, licking your molars and wondering where he got the nerve to say something like that to you of all people. 

“You don’t get to silence me, I am not one of your subordinates, Choi Seungcheol. Whatever goes on around here is not my business, but what happened between us is entirely something else, starting with what happened that weekend.”

He got up from his chair a slam, causing you to jump, and the pen in his grip was crushed, denting the wood beneath his palm. He stared you down, his glare so venomous and cold you would have felt safer in the arctic wearing a bikini.

“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think about how you preoccupy my thoughts every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day?” He leaned forward, his arms fencing you at your side as his hand gripped the edge of the desk, fingernails clawing into the paint. “If I had my way, I’d fucking throw all this shit out the window and spread you on my desk before making every wish and command that comes out of your mouth a reality until you’re begging me to stop.”

Fortunately for him, you didn’t have a rebuttal, wondering now if silence was still an option.

“Now get out, unless you want me to lose it on a stack of an 80 year old lady’s insurance papers.”

He got back in his seat, not looking as you swiftly made your exit out the office, not turning back, concerning eyes that heard the louder parts of the altercation regretfully watch as you left. Once you made it out of the building, your feet speedwalked for the cafe that you were all too familiar with, the one you’ve become a regular at, the one that knew you by name at this point as much as they knew Seungcheol. 

Getting to the front of the line, you grabbed a clean, empty cup from behind the counter, startling the cashier who was seconds away from serving you. Before a single word was uttered from their end, with your whole chest and soul you started screaming into the cup, “FUCK, HE’S SO HOT. I NEED TO FUCK HIM SO BAD.”

You expelled a deep breath, letting the sinful demons escape your body and mind, and then turned to the barista with the same cup, handing it to them saying with the straightest face you could muster asking, “I’ll have an iced americano, please.”

“Sure, I’ll get you a new cup. You can keep that one.”

The weekend couldn't come any sooner, and you were growing irritated with every second of waiting. You tried busying yourself with work, considering you had put it off for the recent events as of late, but even when you started finding the momentum and get your groove back, you’d randomly have his flushed face pop in your head. The sounds of his bliss that left his lips as his hands touched your body.

Fuck.

You hadn’t gone this long without seeing, talking, or even hearing from him. The messages about the forged dates now dried up. As if fake dating felt more fulfilling than the real thing, if you could even consider it that.

You banged your head against a pillow, begging for the week to come by a little faster. And as a sign of good faith, your personal phone went off for the first time in weeks. You picked up, checking your notifications before lighting up, seeing that he's the one to message you last.

The message swiped up immediately, and you clutched your phone to see what he had sent you.

Cheol:🫰

“That’s it?” You threw your phone against your bed, gnashing your teeth before you started pouting alone by yourself, throwing a pillow over your face as you squealed into it, conflicted feelings for comfort and frustration battling it out within you as you knew you deserved more than a mere emoji but were happy that he thought to send you anything at all.

It was then the phone went off again and you quickly picked it up, seeing he sent another message.

Cheol: That was an accident. Sorry.

And your world was destroyed all over again. You squinted at the message, eye twitching, hands shaking. As far as you knew, Seungcheol was dead to you.

Then another message popped up immediately.

Cheol: It’s only one more day. You can wait that long and I know you’re going to ask how I know. I get your read receipts. I’ll see you soon. Good Night.

You frowned, holding the phone to your chest and falling back into bed, reading his last message over and over until your eyes were too tired to keep up.

You hate him for it, but sure, you’ll wait one more day.

The day officially arrived, and you woke up before your alarm clock went off. You leaped off the bed and checked your phone for any new messages, huffing to your dismay, but nonetheless, went off to start your day.

You had gotten some of your things ready to change, grabbing the makeup products you’ve selected from having used the previous free time you had to yourself to perfect the makeup routine, and now all you needed was your date. 

A knock on the door had you rise to your feet and place a hand around a bat you kept for emergencies, being a single person household you never could be too careful. You approached carefully, the other hand holding your phone with speed dial ready, you looked through the peephole, and immediately melted at what you saw on the other end.

The bat and phone fell to the ground while the door swung open, and you stared back at the face of Seungcheol with a bouquet of flowers held to his chest. “It was my department’s idea. They thought you were mad at me for yelling the last time you were around and scolded me to get you something…though I had already planned on that from the beginning—”

You tugged him forward in a hug, the flowers held up to the side in order not to be squished upon impact, but he reciprocated, stroking your back with his full palm as he smiled into your hair.

“Were you going to assault me with a bat?”

“Not important right now.”

The flowers were left in a vase filled with water before you took the stuff you needed and left with him to his place, spending the day together to do whatever you wanted before getting ready.

But apparently, whatever you wanted came with limits.

“Careful, now,” Seungcheol warned, your body in his hands as he rested his back against his couch.

You grinned, combing through his dark hair in his rare form of misshapen and soft without product, smelling of soap and spice. “What’s one little quickie?”

“You want me to lose my virginity to a quickie?”

You jutted your bottom lip in a fuller pout, slotting your hands through a little rougher, “I’m surprised you care that much. I would think you’d ravish me by now.”

He softly chuckled, dropping the smile to intently stare at you looming over him, caressing your chin between his thumb and index. “I very well could, but with the time constraint we have, I can’t risk that.”

You scoffed, “The event is in 3 hours. You think you can outlast 3 hours? You sure are cocky.”

“I want to make it last a whole night, if I can. And who said I’m the one that has to outlast you?”

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek, arousal pooling between your legs at the thought alone. You cried in anguish, feeling the burn of his smile as he gazed back at you tauntingly. “You’re such a tease. Why do you keep riling me up?”

“I’m just giving you a fair warning.”

You shook his shoulders frustratingly, “Stop, it’s hot…”

“I’m not the one in someone's lap right now.”

“You’re the one that pulled me on here! You want me so bad right now, admit it.”

“Of course, I want you, but you could’ve left anytime you wanted to. Your impetuosity will be your downfall one day. ”

You leaned in, pushing a long strand of hair behind his ear, “Fine, at least kiss me a little bit. How have we come this far and not even kissed?”

He thumbed over your lips, “Kissing is too tempting for you.”

“Are you sure you’re not projecting?” You grinned cheekily.

He grinned, letting his fingers fall on the pulse on your neck, accelerating at an alarming rate, “Maybe I am, but tell me right now you can kiss me without thinking about wanting to fuck me.”

“…Fuck!” You shoved yourself off his lap, his hands loosening his reins on your body before you stormed into the restroom with your things. “I hate you, I’m getting ready early!”

Since getting there, you’ve pretty much used every opportunity to infiltrate your—still to be determined—partner’s personal space, and for the most part, he’s welcomed it. He’s even encouraged it by initiating hugs from behind or welcoming you to the warmth of his lap on the couch, despite the fact that there were plenty of other places to sit. You both found that you enjoyed this game of cat and mouse, perhaps built over from the time apart, but you knew eventually tonight, you’d see the end of that tail because that mouse tonight would be yours.

However, for now, Seungcheol kept his healthy distance, while you kept yours. Besides the playful glances in the mirror, or the snarky remarks thrown behind a door or wall, you have seemed to have settled on a momentary truce for the sake of time management. He allowed you the privilege to hog the full-body mirror in his bedroom, which you could only assume was to check his body’s progress given the large tub of protein powder on the dresser beside it. And before either of you knew it, the minutes were ticking by, getting closer to the time of the charity event. 

Seungcheol was just about finished, ready to set out for the evening. His suit was tailored to fit, his cufflinks were properly fastened, and his hair was properly waxed. Now all that was left was his date, hopefully finished getting ready in the neighboring bedroom. 

“Time check. We have ten minutes and counting on the clock until we have to leave. Please...” 

Hearing his voice beckoning from the bathroom, you readily spun from the mirror, standing before him with the reason why the remaining words that were meant to pass his lips were lodged down his throat. With the exception of sleeves draping past your shoulders, every inch of your body was wrapped in a rich plum that reached the floor, hugging your frame in a way the office manager couldn’t even imagine. The smug smile on your face reached your ears as you made your way to him in strides, glimpses of your legs peeking through the slit of the fabric before you stopped just a few feet away, covering the rest of you once again.

“I’m just about done. What do you think?” You asked curiously, hoping your efforts were well received.

He approached you in caution, intently circling you like a vulture until a final decision was made. “Denied.”

Your eyes shot back at him, spinning a bewildered 360 of the dress, not thinking rejection was possible with this appearance. “What?"

“You can’t wear that.”

“Why? At least give me a reason.”

He sighed. “You look good, that’s the problem.”

The ends of your mouth curled, crossing over your chest bashfully as you posed from the side playfully. “Are you worried people will look at me all night?”

Holding you by your shoulders, he led you towards the mirror, forcing yourself to face your own reflection as his shadowed behind yours. “People are gonna look at you regardless…The problem is that I will be looking at you all night.”

You let out pleased laughter before meeting eyes back in the mirror, seeing his hunger festering in his eyes as he gazed at you through the mirrored image. The digits of his hands pressed into your bare shoulders, releasing a chill down your spine. “What was that? About you saying that I’d ravish you?”

Your smile melted right off your face, recognizing that face immediately, but for the first time, he had it on entirely sober. His hands ran down your arms to settle on your hips. His lips beckoned closer the nape of your neck, hair standing as his warm breath ghosted your skin. “D-did I say that?” You asked anxiously, feeling the sensation migrate to the tip of your ears. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes, because you know very well I would, and I am just about three seconds away from exhibiting evidence that supports your hypothesis.”

Giving your waist one last squeeze, he slid his hands, palming over your breasts through your dress and locating your nipples as he ran his touch over them, catching your subtle jolt through the reflection. Catching them between his middle knuckles, he wedged them in a tight pinch, perking up as he cradled your breasts tauntingly in his hands.

“T-the risk, Cheol,” you managed to choke out through your gasps, throwing his words back at him, but your efforts were in vain. His smile briefly graced his face before pressing his gaping mouth on the side of your neck. His dark chuckles hummed against your neck as his half-lidded gaze stared back at you in the mirror intoxicatingly. You had never felt more glued to the ground.

“One…”

He gently kneaded them in his grasp, earning a soft gasp as he pressed his body against yours. The thick lining not doing justice to the body you knew he had underneath and that you craved to see just as much. Meanwhile, his enamel grazed the exposed skin on your neck before full lips pressed down, tasting your skin for the first time. The action caused his bulge to move on its own, twitching against your back, and had him so close to swallowing down his inhibitions to do whatever the hell he wanted.

“D-didn’t you say we’d be leaving soon?” You asked, whimpering. You nervously watched as one of his hands moved south to finger over the slit of your dress, subtly hinting what’s next on his mind.

“You weren't the only one between the two of us that struggled this past week. Maybe I should just forgo everything we have on our agenda tonight and stay here with you…two…”

His hand slid beneath the fabric finally and cupped over your heat. His middle finger tracing over your slit with your panties in the way as he sighed into your neck. He inhaled your perfume as he dragged his tongue across your skin, the slick sensation making you clench around nothing.

“Seungcheol, please…”

“Should I? Should I drop everything and better utilize my time tonight to ravish and fuck you like the monster you make me out to be?”

He pushed his digit lengthwise, wedging between your folds as he rubbed, pulling moans out of your throat. He pressed open mouth kissed on your neck as pressure was placed on your clit, his eyes following how you writhed under his touch, but showed no sign of protest. Even when you verbally conveyed doubt, your hand hovered over his that claimed your core and pushed him closer. Your pleading eyes begged for satisfaction as they stared at him through the mirror, the bottom lip caught between your teeth refusing to reveal your mutual lust, so he took action.

“...Three.”

His tongue landed a thick stripe before diving deeper into the crook of your neck whilst his digits reached past your panties, your moan echoing as it bounced off the walls in response, and he felt your pussy in its rawness as its juices coated him. He gasped into your skin, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip before attacking the opposite side of your neck. The hand that held your breast pinching you between his knuckles, teasing the shape in his hands and shallowly groaning in your neck.

He bent you forward, forcing your hands against the mirror as his fingers explored you deeper. From that point, you didn’t see a point in denying it, his fingers inside you meant that you were that much closer to the real thing. Your mewls flooded his ears, his impatience wearing thin, and it worsened as he learned how it felt when you clenched around him. He let out a guttural groan, digging his backside into you as your shared breaths fogged on the glass in the mirror, consuming you both with an insatiable appetite you could only satisfy together.

Meanwhile, you were doing mental gymnastics, knowing the charity event tonight in the back of your mind as the man worshipping you was at the forefront. You had responsibility as his date for tonight to make his appearance happen for the sake of his reputation, for the approval of his superior and because they would be expecting him. But it wasn’t until you stared into his eyes—the ones that fell in a haze of lust and desire for you that you realized succumbing to weakness was a lot more gratifying.

Then a loud alarm went off, vibrating in Seungcheol’s back pocket. All movement stopped, just as did your pleasure, and he removed his lips from your neck while using the hand once fondling your breast to retrieve his phone, sighing at the screen. He pulled away, much to your dismay, and there was not hiding the perplexity on your face as he reverted back to his default state. “I knew this would happen.”

“You set an alarm on your phone?!”

His hand once inside you glistened in your arousal was cleaned up in the matter seconds as he sucked them off clean, smiling back at you with his eyes before getting a quick wash in the sink. Hardly two seconds were spared to give you the time to be shocked that he ate you off his fingers. “There was a risk. I had to be equipped for every possible situation.”

“...You set an alarm on our foreplay knowing it would happen?!”

Instead of answering, he escorted you out of the house and into the car, despite your distress. He chuckled, helping you buckle your seat while you crossed your arms, kissing your cheek before honing his focus on the road. And thereafter, he felt your eyes burning a hole into the side of his head as your horny rumblings became his music throughout the drive. Most of it was incoherent with the exception of few ‘fuck’s or ‘mean tease,’ but as he took your hand in his, you both enveloped in a warmth silence, letting that moment set the mood for the rest of the evening. 

Leading up to the steps of the building of the venue, you expected some level of extravagance, but the venue was to the level neither of you expected, impressing you both upon arrival. Entering, you’re welcomed with the smell of decadent food, old architecture, and wealth. Everywhere you looked, there was something new that’d catch your eye, leaving you in a state of perpetual fascination. Meanwhile, Seungcheol, with his elbow safely linked with yours, had only subtly skimmed the room, trying to find familiar faces and the host of this event.

They looked no further as the hosts themselves, Mr. Lee along with his beautiful wife, came from the sides to greet you both gregariously, welcoming you to enjoy the food, the live entertainment, and what else that was being offered while the night was young. You both thanked them, complimenting them on the choice in venue and told them you were looking forward to the rest of the night.

They bidded you a farewell as of then and continued to greet other guests, letting you pass through the threshold into the ballroom area, the heart of the entire building. It bustled with soft jazz and well dressed guests, all speaking to one another with a drink in one hand and passed appetizers in the other.

Before you could breathe another word, a tray of champagne flutes was shoved in your faces. “Champagne?” The waiter asked.

You plucked the flute right out of Seungcheol’s hands the moment he selected one and placed it back on the tray. “No, not tonight. Dry night,” you politely smiled at the waiter before they moved on to the next poor sap within distance.

You looked at your date, staring at him with a stern expression as he raised an eyebrow. “I did you a favor. Drinking will only impede on your efforts to abstain,” You said, mocking his tone of voice.

He gave you a smug grin. “Although you’re mocking me, I’m proud of you. Especially for knowing the word impede.”

In playful irritation, you licked the back of your molars before roughly tugging him along to the refreshment spread and with his dimpled grin hugging his cheeks as he trailed after you.

Throughout the night, Seungcheol saw faces new and old, getting as many names and business cards as he possibly could. Though he knew he was ready to leave as soon as he arrived, prepared with objectives and set of goals that would better him business wise. Nevertheless, he found himself enjoying other people’s company, but the reason for that was you. 

You lit up the room, like you’ve lit up the last couple months you’ve seen each other. He pretended he didn’t notice it before and realized it’s something he wouldn’t be able to deny now. He hadn’t intended on gaining a new fear, he had no choice in the matter. Losing you was something he couldn’t put himself through again.

As a kid, Seungcheol had no control over his life. His parents had found out he had been getting distracted. Somehow, they learned he spent time outside of practice, in addition to skipping them, and with a girl nonetheless. They decided to nip the problem in the bud.

At some point, all of the competitions, all the pressure to please his parents and fit their mold, had made him believe that you–the person he had gotten the closest to–wanted to sabotage him and his accomplishments. He was told you were someone that would weaken him, that would dull his senses. An obstacle in the way of his true potential. He didn’t want to believe it, and initially he didn’t, until he took notice of the friendships you created outside taekwondo classes, how warm and familiar they looked, as if the one you two had wasn’t anything special. It made him angry, and he grew this animosity towards you. Suddenly, the words that were being shouted at him were starting to feel as if they had some truth.

At eleven years old, at the peak of hormones, when young Seungcheol saw you, he saw red and didn’t even want to speak with you. You tried your best to see his frustration and get through to him, but he had already gotten too far, or at least you thought he had. One day at practice, you found rocks in your shoes, rocks sharp enough to cut through skin. You screamed at what felt like an indescribable pain, forced to get stitches on the soles of your feet and avoid the ground for about a few weeks.

With the events that happened recently, all evidence pointed to Seungcheol, and although you didn’t want to believe it, who else could it have been? He was worried. Of course, he wouldn’t have done that, but then he heard you start pointing fingers. Now, he thought this was one of your tricks. One of those things you had set up to ruin him. Just like your presence fucked with his mind and caused him to be the weakest version himself to ever exist. And yet, he still cried for you, hoping that you were still okay.

But it turned out his parents just needed a little money and some help from a third party to accidentally drop a few loose rocks and spread some middle school gossip. 

Eventually it all became too much. You were forced apart. Seungcheol’s parents moved him away, and your parents never let you do taekwondo again. And nothing ever tied you back together. Until a couple months ago.

He hadn’t learned that until years later until adulthood, just before he cut contact with his family. The anger he once had for you had evolved to guilt, and since forging the contract to fake date, he made a commitment to himself to keep you at arm’s length. He couldn't do that any more. Obviously. But not because he had an affinity for you.

You made him come to realize that everything goes according to plan, but not always on his plan. Whatever he had scheduled in his agenda, or was on his long lists of tasks, it didn’t matter. Timing had a way of steering your boat, often off course, and sometimes you just had to be along for the ride. 

“We can’t leave yet!” You whispered, your giggles softly echoing from the walls.

“We’re not trying to leave,” Seungcheol softly retorted, dragging you in the darkness of a dark corridor, deprived of guests and warm lighting.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, “Then, what are we doing?”

“I…wanted to get some privacy with my girlfriend.”

You melted, taking his hands in yours and swaying them gently in the air. “You’ve never called me that before. Not even when…you know.”

His hand brushed over your waist, pulling you towards him, gazing at you with tenderness in his eyes you couldn’t even fathom for words. “Amongst the lies, I didn’t want that to be one of them.”

You softly sighed, burying your head into his chest until he gently pulled you back by your cheeks, cupping to feel the heat of his palms fuse with the heat of your face. You were putty in his grasp, malleable to his touch, following his hands as he swayed you to the muted sounds of the music seeping out of the doors leading through the ballroom. Nothing could take you away from him. Part of you envied the fact that he was experiencing all these feelings, knowing it was his first, but you wondered if you had truly ever felt this way for anyone else.

“What are you doing to me, Choi Seungcheol?” You uttered in awe.

He let out a wistful sigh, a soft chuckle making past his lips. “I’ve been wanting to ask you that same question.”

He thumbed the side of your face, parting his mouth as you radiated back at him with anticipation, and slotting your lips between his. He held you with a gentle hand, holding you as if you were delicate enough to break if he wasn’t careful, languidly moving to your comfort, and warmth bloomed in his chest feeling you kiss him back. You threw your arms around his neck, deepening your lip lock as your heart tightened in your chest, the once ache and longing you’ve felt when reuniting with this man finally resolved by a chaste kiss. 

As you reluctantly parted, you were overcome with tears, staring back at him with flushed cheeks and quickly his thumbs were placed under your tear ducts. His rounded eyes ran over you in concern, while holding your face for a clear inspection. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head reassuringly, gripping the lapels of his suit. “I liked it…I like you. I like you so, so much.”

He smiled relieved, kissing your forehead with his. “I like you,” he softly confessed, “yesterday, today, tomorrow, and always.”

Your smile broke out, and now you met him halfway, holding his body against you as you cherished his lips longer than the first and savored how they melted together effortlessly. Holding you by the waist and feeling you tangible under the heat of his palms, Seungcheol was in bliss knowing that every ounce of your entire being was his. He deepened his impression on you remembering that, and you returned the gesture. Gradually, the warm tenderness transitioned into a feverish rush, moving as if you were in a race with time.

The once sweet kiss festered to the extent of muffling moans when you suddenly tugged on his bottom lip with your mouth, tension coiling in an already aroused man’s stomach. That caused you to be backed against a wall, his torso pinning you down with his body flushed against yours as his tongue learned to trace the inside of your mouth. You held him by the back of his neck, carding your fingers impulsively through his styled hair, growing reckless and ignorant to your surroundings with only sex on your mind. And like minded, your boyfriend got bold sliding a hand through the slit and hooking a leg to his side. He took a full stroke down its length before it reached up your thigh and finally the curve of your ass, squeezing the flesh in a tight grip and unearthing a whimper that was too late to suppress.

Your lips parted for a moment, giving him an accusatory glance before he quickly offered his snap rebuttal of, “I told you this dress would be a problem,” before closing the distance once again.

In the darkest part of that corridor, you shared an unforgettable moment, brimming it with as many kisses and intimate caresses as possible until it had to be cut short when Seungcheol quickly realized this vicinity was also on the way to one of the bathrooms if the other happened to be unavailable. Soon after, you both enjoyed the rest of the evening the best you could in the ballroom, doing your share of participating in charity bids and eating desserts that would later come out. The night went as smoothly as it could’ve and lasted a little longer into the night until guests were starting to leave, giving the strategic office manager an opening to make an exit as well. Then that's when the real festivities began.

You practically raced him to his front door, feeling him crash into you from behind with his lips against your neck as you barely passed through, put in the code, and let the automatic lock fulfill its purpose. Shoes were kicked off to who knows where as teeth clumsily clicked together, impatience setting you both ablaze. Seungcheol, hurling his jacket on the ground, claimed your face in one hand, squeezing the meat of your ass in the other through the slit of your dress and hiking it up to your waist.

“Fuck, this dress,” he grumbled, meeting your hips with his to feel the build up swelling in the crotch of his pants, emitting a moan from your lips as you clawed over his torso.

You fiddled over his buttons, undoing them and tossing the dress shirt aside and leaning against a wall and getting into the habit of swirling his tongue with yours as he crushed himself against your lips.

“You really had nothing to drink?” You joked, tracing over his abdomen to feel his tense under your palms.

“I wanted to be sober for this. Now how the fuck do you take this damn thing off?”

You gave a wide grin. “Zipper on the back.”

He flipped you over in an instant, your palms instantly pressed on the wall as he tried to find the zipper so seamlessly hidden in the garment work.

“Finally.” As he pulled it down, he left with another big surprise, one that he should’ve realized from the beginning if he hadn’t been so blind in lust. “I thought I felt something different when I touched you today, but the entire time, you had no bra.”

“You can’t wear one with this dress,” you justified. “And I saved you the rookie mistake of having to struggle with taking off the bra for the first time.”

“What makes you think it’s the first time?”

You snapped your head at him. “Did you—“

He chuckled, kissing you along your spine, “Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I’m entirely clueless. I think I’ve proven that more than enough.”

He reached underneath the dress to follow up your chest, feeling your breasts in both his hands as his index fingers stimulate your buds enough to perk. Landing a final kiss to the small of your back, he straightened back up, lips reaching your ear. “But don’t worry, I’ve never had to do that for anyone. I was just really excited to do it on you.”

His tongue flicked at your ear before biting, grinding himself against your ass that backed into his touch, earning him a mewl from the depths of your throat. 

“I really can’t get you out of my head sometimes,” he admitted, letting the straps of the dress fall along with the weight of the rest of it. He let out a guttural groan at the reveal, teeth sinking into your shoulder to contain himself. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and coaxed him to flip you back over, leaving him to face your erect buds pointing back at him, the soft curves of your breasts, and almost every flushed, naked inch—with the small exception of your clothed, drenched heat—of your body. 

“And now I never fucking will,” he griped, breathlessly.

“Cheol, please, I’m already so fucking wet,” you cried.

He held up a shaking hand and ran the other repeatedly through his hair in anguish, catching his breath as eyes running over you in clear bafflement. “I’m really trying to process everything I’m looking at right now, wow—fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

You sighed, feeling hotter the longer his eyes lingered on your body, but growing equally as agitated. “If you don’t do something right now—so help me, god—”

And right at that second, he was on his knees, fingertips at the top hem of your panties before pulling them down to your ankles as his eyes never left yours. His lips puckered, parting anxiously kissed up your shins, leaving a trail of migrating goosebumps. “Tell me what I should do, I’m not above being taught right from wrong.”

You covered your face with the back of your hand, hiding your diffidence, “F-from down there, are you crazy?”

His lips continued their worship, hands grasping at your thighs to spread them apart, leading up to your inner skin lightly covered in film of your overflowing arousal. To earn a wanton moan, his tongue ran a long stripe, dragging his bottom lip with him, before sucking the rest of you off clean. As the squelching reached your ears, tingling sensations dispersed throughout your hands and toes, furling your digits as your heels dug into the floor.

Your shallow gasps exited your body as pleasure entered, feeling him delve between your folds. Albeit, it reflected on the extent of his experience, but it showed promise, and as soon as he learned to follow directions, he proved just how much he was committed to learning the craft.

“Mmh, move a little higher.”

“Higher,” He raised his finger, “there?”

You chuckled, “Too high now, a smidge lower.”

“There?”

“Now it’s too low, again.” You grabbed him by the back of his head, stared back down at his pretty rounded eyes, before aligning his lips correctly in the smack middle, his mouth curling up at his target in relief. “Bingo.”

You’re scoffing at him, thinking he’s reacting as if he’s the one who uncovered the clit, until you felt him suck, striking you down with a ripples of shock as fire pooled and then exploded in your abdomen. The suction tensed your body before he reintroduced his tongue in sharp flicks, and you can’t help the strength you put into roughly yanking his hair, only for this manic laughter to vibrate up and your blooming core.

“Laughing?” You asked between clenched teeth, “while you’re driving me–ah–nuts?”

“Just happy this is a particular skill you can teach me,” He responded cheekily.

“You’re such a smartass.”

He raised a thick eyebrow before penetrating his tongue through your folds while his top lip grinded on your bud. Endlessly, his jaw hungrily worked into your pussy to the sound of your voice, noting how you would clench around his tongue, until he was tasting cum—your cum—in his mouth for the first time. Somehow, just the taste fueled the greed already instilled in him, his eyes blazed with a childish sense of mischief.

Now you were really wondering whether teaching him was a good idea if he was to learn this well that quickly.

Seungcheol tried making it upstairs, but with the way you were bruising his lips made him antsy, impatient, and plain fucking horny. He dropped you at the top of the steps, your bare ass kissing the cool laminated wood. “I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

“Cheol!” Your tits found his mouth, sucking and drawing circles with tongue as he single handedly tried unbuckling his pants kneeling on the steps. “The room—ah—it’s just right there!”

When the belt buckle broke free, he unlooped from his pants and threw it behind him, the clang of the metal and slap of leather descending down the steps. “I feel like I might explode if I’m not inside you right now,” he rasped.

You cupped his cheeks—seeing lust starting to cloud voice of reason—and tried to ease him in with a sweet smile. Soothing him with a calming voice, you reined in his attention. “Look at me. Do you have protection on you right now?”

He shook his head frantically, “It’s in the room.”

“As hot as it would be to do it right here, right now, we need that, okay? We just have to take a few more steps, and then you can do anything you want with me. Can you be a good boy and do that for me?”

Seungcheol froze, mouth agape, visibly absorbing the words that just left your lips, and you wondered if you had just killed the mood—or worse, his boner. You gulped, parting your lips to retract your statement if you needed to before he crashed his lips on yours. He pulled you between his teeth, sucking and devouring at your lips as the tent between his legs prodding at your thigh twitch incessantly. Swiftly, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his torso and arms around his neck.

“I can be a good boy…I can be a real good boy…” he went and started bolting into the bedroom.

He dropped you on the bed, climbing on top of you and reclaiming your lips with ravenous need. As well an incline of sharp breaths, you heard him struggle getting his pants off, feeling the sweat of his skin adhere to the fabric as they chafed his thick thighs. “Gotta be fucking kidding–”

“Hey,” You softly whispered, caressing his cheeks hot to the touch. “Let me help you.”

You pushed him off the bed to land on his feet, sinking your knees into the mattress, and patiently pulled the leg of the pants off his thigh to his ankles one at a time. He loomed over you anxiously, his thighs tingling as your nails brushed against him, roaming up and breaching the fabric of his briefs. His breath hitched in his throat, his teeth clenched and jaw locked in place, as your eyes slowly met, sultry with the soft pout of your lips and gentle batting of your eyes.

You fingered at his waistband, stretching the elastic. “Do you want me to help with these too?”

His mind went blank, fuck. This is why he drank. He swallowed the confirmation that burned and died on his tongue before finally nodding, stroking the back of your head encouragingly. He pushed his bottom lip in his mouth to bite down, watching as you advanced towards him when suddenly your teeth made contact with his torso.

Eyes shooting at you to see the heady look in your eyes as your enamel scraped down his abdomen, letting goosebumps take real estate up his arms and legs, and bite down on the hem before you took a cheeky pull. You let out a soft laugh, the breath that came with it producing a violent lurch that joined you both a tad more closer, and your lips now found themselves kissing his abdomen as his size nuzzled under your chin. His mouth dropped, his groan melting into moans as his eyes stayed lecherously glued to you, managing to choke out, “Sorry.”

You softly hummed before continuing. Gradually you pulled back by the waistband, teeth inevitably grazing skin, lips lightly brushing over the shaft, until you finally unraveled him as he landed on your face with a flop.

The image could’ve put him in cardiac arrest; he wasn’t even sure if he was alive now.

“Oh gosh,” you cooed, watching the pink on his face turn a bright red. “No wonder you can’t control yourself. You’re huge. I’d be horny all the time too with this log in my pants.”

“I can make that happen.”

You narrowed your eyes at his sudden change in tune. “We’re calling your manufacturer to get rid of your humor setting.”

“So you think I’m funny?”

You took a beat. “What are you doing?”

“…I don’t know. My cock on your face is making me sound stupid. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism.”

With an airy laugh, you let his briefs fall to his ankles as the head of his cock ghosted over your mouth. Licking your lips, your tongue flicked at tip before leaving a small peck, leaving a titillating shiver run down his spine. “Then why don’t you close that pretty mouth and let mine take care of that for you?”

Without getting his answer, you descended to the base, tongue licking the underside of his shaft before you wrapped your lips and sucked on the head, and all with no hands. His nails dug into his thigh, deep white crescents forming as you bobbed deeper, your cheeks hugging tighter around his girth. A distraught sigh slipped past his firmly pressed lips as the sensation of your tongue swirling against his veins to taste his musk and engulf him in a slick, sweltering heat.

“You…you’re really…damn it,” he grunted, his hand claiming the back of your head as you’ve already reached half his length. “You’re…you’re really gonna take all of it?”

Enthralled with a sense of challenge, you batted your lashes and inhaled a sharp breath before your mouth sank down. Your cheeks hollowed, letting the pressure rub against the perimeter, gripping him in your mouth as the saliva that pooled eased him inside, and gradually got closer to his groin as you swallowed more. In turn, his grip grew tighter, gathering more of your hair to hold it high and out of way, your pretty face and swollen lips in clear view. 

“Fuck…I’m…Why are you so good at this?” He softly whined before you’re just about over an inch away to reach his base, feel him hit the back of your throat.

You moaned with him inside your mouth, drool dripping along your chin, undulating him at an unforeseeable pace that he could only watch as he dipped deeper inside you. Your hand flattened against his abdomen, caressing and tracing over his form before clasping over his sides, digging your fingers in his torso to grip him before your lips reached the groin. You tightly shut your eyes, letting the cock squeeze down your throat, and you held him in place as tears collected in your eyes.

Seungcheol carried out a heavy groan, softly rocking his hips in your mouth when he felt himself twitch, bursting with arousal, and he couldn’t handle the pressure seeing the anguish on your face. As gently as he could, he pulled you right off him, ensuing them coughing, gagging, and gasping for air as his hands fell off your hair, cradling your cheeks in his hands as your makeup visibly streaked down your face. “Why would you hurt yourself like that?” he growled.

And despite the look of suffering, you smiled, kissing into his palm. “Because I wanted to feel you down my throat,” you answer plainly, as if it was the normal response in the world.

His cock softly perked, quickly shielded it in his hands before you took them away and held the cock up to your face once more. Your lips curved to the sides in a soft kiss, thumbing over a vein. “You never thought of me deep throating you before? I have.”

“I…I never considered the possibility, honestly,” he quietly admitted.

“Well, this time watch, and don’t stop me.”

You fisted him at his base, spitting on him and dropping a long translucent ribbon stretching from your lips before you welcomed him back in your mouth. He tried refraining his hands from seizing your efforts, unsure what to do with them until you took one and let it fall back on your hair, guiding him to push your head down to take control.

This was such foreign territory, he didn’t know what was good for him. He just found out sex—or the theory of it—felt good about a week ago. Before that, he’s only had about a handful of masturbation sessions, none of which were exceedingly successful and mediocre at best, and not without your help. Besides, he’s only ever thought about what would make you feel good, not himself, so it didn’t really matter. He just knew he didn’t think he could find the raw emotional and animalistic feelings he’s had for you in anyone else even if he tried. You put his head somewhere out of his own body and now, he needed to trust you, like you were trusting him.

He took your hair in his grip and watched you stretch his cock between your lips, getting closer to getting pulled over his entirety and hitting the back of your throat, only this time, he’d let you. As you inched closer to his groin, he found himself observing with bated breath, jaw fallen slack as his hips slowly rolled into your mouth, teetering to the edge of conquest.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He muffled his moans in his fists as you ran him in your mouth, gagging on him as you reached the final destination and let him plug your airways. The squelching and moisture burned his ears as you built tension in his cock, slobbering and making every second of suction worth the loss of oxygen. You dragged his torso, pulling him down until he had you lying flat on your back, wantonly sucking with sheer hunger and desperation like you’ve been wanting the past week since that Bach party until you had a Seungcheol cock shaped mold for a throat.

He couldn’t even hold himself back, towering over you as hands balled into the sheets and knees dug into the mattress. He buried his head into his duvet as his stomach clenched, letting the waves of his orgasm follow through his hips and shake as they took the form of thrusts into your mouth, combusting inside you helplessly and every ounce of ivory white squeezed down your throat, lumpy pumps visibly rolling beneath the skin of your neck.

“Fuck!”

He rolled off you, throwing a hand over his eyes and overcome in embarrassment as the red covered every inch of his body while white flooded your mouth and seeped past your impish smile.

“Why would you fucking do that? That's the last thing I wanted to do? Shit.” Seungcheol whined, burning his face in a pillow.

You crawled over him, chest to chest as you rested your forearms over his clavicle. “A little revenge for what you fucking did a little before we left for that event.”

“This was way worse. And I apologized.”

“No you didn’t!”

“Me getting on my knees was the apology.”

“You thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“A win-win,” he brought your head down to taste your lips, surprisingly not repulsed by the fact that his own organ and release has been inside you, even licking the bit of it from the corner of your lips. “So…in two minutes, can you let me put my dick inside you already—between your legs so we’re being clear?”

You laughed so hard, before pressing your cheek against his. “Yes. God, yes.”

“Nevermind, I can’t wait.”

He toppled over you, pressing his weight over you, nipping your ear before reaching into his bedside, grabbing something just out of view that you barely make out in the corner of your eye.

“The party favors from last week? You still have those? I thought we lost them.”

“Did you ever look at them?”

You shook your head, unsure. “Maybe a quick look before I threw it in the bag.”

He uncovered something shiny in colorful packaging and waved it over your face. Your eyes shot open in pleasant surprise. “Condoms. Flavored condoms. This has Eunbi written all over it.”

“There’s also flavored lube, sex dice, and a full can of whip cream for some reason. Everything else seemed normal,” he added with a question mark.

“Unfortunately, flavored condoms would’ve only been useful about a minute ago before you exploded inside my throat.”

He cleared his throat, tossing the colorful wrapping before holding on to something else shiny and familiar. “No worries. They also included unflavored. Trojan, your favorite.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you softly scoffed, before his mouth stole your voice, mingling your breaths. 

“No,” he refuted in a breathy tone, “you are.”

His upper thigh nudged against your molten heat and let your wetness coat his lower body. He ripped open the wrapping out of view, carefully looking down to lift his torso and roll rubber over the length before smiling when you helped him secure it in place. Your eyes met, exacerbating that heat that felt as tangible as your intertwined bodies, as the key to putting it out laid stiff and snug in between. 

Your hand combed through his hair, the fusion of sweat and spice wafting over you as your legs hooked against his sides. “Put it in me…”

His fingers caressed over your slit, feeling you soak his fingers. “You’re really wet,” he breathed, swooningly.

“And I can’t wait any longer.”

“Me neither.”

The curve of the head prodded at your entrance, rubbing against your slick folds before easing through your entrance and exhaling a deep breath of relief. You quelled a moan threatening to spill from your lips, clasping your hands over your neck as he cushioned the pressure with his mouth on yours. He felt your stiff peaks and the curves of your breasts softly rub against his chest, pressing his hand to your waist as your back arched closer to his touch.

Seungcheol’s soft groans heated your cheeks as his hips dipped deeper between your legs, pulsing in soft angled thrusts. The way you fluttered around his fingers earlier that day was what you were doing now around his cock, driving him up a wall, putting him through a fit of shakes, and he peppered frenzied kisses on your face in response. 

“You drive me crazy,” he achingly whispered.

You moaned as his lips buried in your neck, mouthing over your throat as his teeth lightly grazed skin, feeling him fill you deeper with the submerge of every inch. “Cheol,” you quietly murmured, your eyes fluttered in and out of focus, “Fast, slow…whatever you want, I can take it.”

He moved sweaty strands of hair out of your way, “I want you to enjoy it too.”

“It’s you. You know I will,” you reassured before propping your legs on him and clamping down, slamming him against you to get the full taste of his arousal and hitting the hilt deep within you, earning a guttural groan unearthed from the depths of his throat. He thought he was starting to get used to your body, and sometimes not at all. Not when you do this.

“You’re…you’re so fucking impatient,” he hissed, clinging to you against in contrary to his tone.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, grinding up hungrily to grow friction between your clit on his groin, muffled whines being pulled out of you as Seungcheol dragged himself out to only plunge himself back in. Your teeth sunk into his shoulder, nails dug into his back. You held onto that sensation until he duplicated it again and again, leaving you slack-jawed as he turned one-two-three thrusts to an endless cycle.

“Cheol, oh my god,” you moaned, throwing your head back into the sheets, your digits furling and tension in your stomach coiling.

“Yes,” he managed to muster, clearing the messy hair away from your face, endeared by the way your legs twitched around his torso and how your eyes glisten with adoration that made him feel loved and made him never want his eyes to stray. “Tell me.”

“You’re making me feel so good,” you delicately cooed.

“Yeah?” He sweetly cupped your face, rolling his hips before taking a sharp thrust. “I feel good inside you?”

You nodded, your hand ran in his hair, wistfully staring back as you licked your lips. “In me so deep,” needy hips snapping back into him. “Fucking me so good.”

“Shit,” he moaned, clenching his abdomen in pride before his thrusts hastened. Eyes ripping open, you threw your head forward, your nails penetrated his forearms, you bellowed a carnal roar, startling him but not stopping him.

“That hurt?”

“No…More…” you growled in anguish, your appetite far from vanquished. 

Your eyes rolled back as skin collided like cymbals, crashing and burning against one another loudly and hard. Everything around you started to fade out of view until it was just Seungcheol, who would stop at nothing to please you. And please you he did when your lips slotted together, tracing the shape of our mouth with tongues before you felt it peeking, teetering on the edge of its arrival, clawing at your door.

“I’m close,” you harshly whispered, “Fuck, I’m so close.”

He was smart, he took the hint. “Keep going? Or go faster?”

“…faster?”

“Okay.”

“Wai—ah-ahh—“

You squeezed around him, tightening every limb as it clung to every part of him as he rammed into you, somehow still rock hard, and with energy left to give it to you harder. You felt every inch of him in that moment of ecstasy. His girth stretched your walls, his length hollowing you out until you’re nothing without him and you might as well be, and your tongue sinfully on stuck his name as it branded you. 

“I’m cumming, Seungcheol! I'm cumming!”

Your stomach would tense, his name coming out as a sound of anguish, plead, elation. You latched on to him, holding on as your release may adhere to him, spilling on him and only him as you shook, trembling before he reclaimed your lips, his distraction soothing and easing your mind.

“Hey,” he softly muttered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “You okay?”

“More than that,” you quietly answered, with a growing grin.

“You…kinda lost it there.”

You rolled your eyes, swiveling your head away from him. “Oh, shut up.”

He grinned before landing on his back beside, quickly disposing of the condom just out of view.

“You’re way worse than me,” he pointed out, making you slap him on the chest.

“Enough.”

But he didn’t seem to think so. “So, that’s what nymphomania is like firsthand.”

“Okay, you wanna have a go? I have energy for a fight, I can still fight, you know,” he pulled you towards him, holding your arms in place and feeling you writhe in his grip.

“That's alright. I don’t mind, as long as I’m on the other end of it.”

For a while, it’s silence and just each other's presence. You both laid side by side, your sweat and fatigue just hanging in the air for you both to bask in. You nuzzled up to him closer, feeling him turn to his side to face you, and your eyes lock as they always do: with a strike of electricity right through them. 

“You’re so pretty,” he complimented softly, gently touching your face, the heat blooming rapidly between his fingers.

“And you’re so…hot. Shit.” You laid back down flat, your cheeks and ears burning in clarity.

He looked over you, eyebrow ascending in puzzlement before chuckling and retrieving you. “Is my sexual appeal frustrating to you?”

You groaned. “You’re so annoying. Had to be you of all people, oh my god,” you exasperatedly grumbled.

He spun you back to face him, his smile the most annoyingly handsome thing about him. “I would hope it’s me, because for me it’s only you. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to look. I know you’re who I want.”

“…Fuck!” You shouted from the top of your lungs before crashing your lips onto his, revving your engines and reigniting the fire kindling in your stomach that had only been briefly subdued.

Even at all hours of the night, when you lost track of time,  you never got tired of that face. Flushed, elated as he faced you, swollen mouths meeting harmoniously, as your bodies fit together and you claimed his lap. His length plunged inside as you sank down on him, colliding against the muscles of his thigh as your walls fluttered around his cock to the rhythm of his thrusts. Your arms looped securely around his neck as one of his arms tucked over your back closed and teased a bouncing, lively breast with the other.

“Like that please,” you pleaded, breathlessly.

“That good?” He asked, moving his hand to the meat of your ass, undulating you towards him. “Do you like that?”

You nodded, every nerve in your body restless as he stimulated every possible sense you had, making you reel with pleasure. “Fuck yes, like that, shit.”

He whimpered as your thighs squeezed around him, bowing his head to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling until you squealed uncontrollably, dragging your hips with the force of his hands for better control.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he gritted before planting his shins on the mattress, lifting his ass and groin up before thrusting up into with accelerated strength and speed.

You let out a large gasp before that familiar growl, clinging to him before your nails pierced and clawed his back muscle, feeling him reach there depths that have only led to happy endings. “Fuck, cheol!”

“Shit, what I wouldn’t do for you…for your pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty voice, pretty hair—fuck, it makes me want to put my cum in you!” Tension rising in his legs as he thrusted harder, anything you once saw in front of you was gone when your vision had disappeared to the back of your mind.

“Mmmh, that’s so good, don’t fucking stop!” You raggedly cried.

His hands splayed over the curve of your ass, squeezed and bounced you on him deeper while sucking and running his tongue over your tits as if he was starved. Nothing could pry either of you off each other, and the noises that culminated and bleed through the walls of Seungcheol’s home were enough loud deafening proof of that. 

Each stroke, each thrust, each mind numbing orgasm–if a round led to one at all and most of the time it did–seemed as if it was better than the last. Seungcheol was right to assumed he’d make it last the whole night, because by the time they had been too tired to continue, birds were chirping out the window, but at least you both had finally gotten some rest. 

“So what now?”

He chuckled at the sudden question in the middle of your morning snuggle, feeling your warm embrace after an estimated four to five hours of sleep. Not ideal in terms of recommended amount of sleep for a healthy adult, but enough. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, we’ve been ‘dating’ in the eyes of everyone for the last 2 to 3 months, but some things are gonna look a little different now, I’m guessing. So what now?”

He pulled you closer, kissing your forehead with his. “People mind their business, and we enjoy it.”

“We enjoy it,” you repeated, rather liking the sound of that.

And he nodded, and you smiled knowing the answer was perfect just as is and anyone who questioned had their own problems to deal with.

“Can I still visit your office sometimes?”

He softly scoffed, parting your hair tenderly. “You can do whatever you want. They obviously love you a lot more than they like me.”

You smiled mischievously, climbing on top of his lap, and kissing the top of his nose. “Good, I get to keep you all to myself.”

He raised a playful brow, letting out a sigh of realization. “So, you’re that kind of girlfriend.” 

You lightly punched him in the arm, but he caught your fist in his hand, unfurling your fingers to interlock with his, flustering you with his touch as he scooted closer, straightening your joined bodies against the bed frame.

“I like it. I won’t have anything to worry about. Except. Maybe, what I'll have to worry about is how I’ll get anything done when I’m kissing you,” he said with a kiss, “Touching you,” he said with a caress to your backside and pebbling your skin, drowning you in a mellow and decadent voice, “and making sweet, sweet love to you.”

And there went the little rest you had and the rest of your weekend. 

Eventually, weekends had to end and Mondays came around again. Seungcheol started to understand why people hated them so much. Workdays and long hours at work meant he had less time for you and making up for time they’ve lost in the week they’ve lost with the stress of the project. However, that was over now. He could go back to his regularly scheduled programming. And now, he knew not to take a good thing like you for granted and with a lighter workload, his work and life balance seemed more manageable. 

“Mr. Choi isn’t back yet?” Minghao asked, seeing an empty office.

Chan perked up from behind his cubicle, shaking his head. “He's still out on his lunch date with his girlfriend. Somewhere special, I heard.”

Jeonghan winced in disagreement, smirking, “Are they really out? I could’ve sworn I saw his car still in the parking garage in his spot.”

Chan shrugged, walking around with an imaginary question mark above his head as he launched his crumbled up take out bag into a disposal bin and missing before hurrying along to properly throw it away. “Maybe they took a cab.”

Joshua pretended to ponder, swiveling his chair to the center of the office floor, “Or…”

They flocked to him, ear in first, eyes all rounded in interest as they anticipated the words that would come next out of their colleague’s mouths. Joshua rubbed his fingers curiously, conspiracy on his mind as he closed his hands around his mouth in secrecy, a hushed tone coming out the other end. “Maybe, they’re doing something not safe for work on the company's dime. Right. Now.”

“Ey,” Seokmin scolded, “It’s Mr. Choi, we're talking about Choi Seungcheol. As loving as a partner I’m sure he is, he’s responsible enough to avoid those kinds of situations. It’s probably traffic or something.”

Mumbling in agreement, everyone fell closer in line with Seokmin’s theory and resumed work. Meanwhile, Jeonghan nudged Joshua, who had been his cubicle neighbor and work friend for the better half of three years. “I don’t think you’re far off, but the chances of him doing something that scandalous are slim to none. Before his current girlfriend, I hadn’t even seen him speak to a woman.”

“I guess so,” Joshua sighed, unsure of his theory now. “I wonder what they’re really doing then.”

As the working men of VENTE Co. consumed their hours with gossip and the usual run of the mill office antics that would help keep them awake, a certain office manager was consumed with something else in the darkness of the VENTE Co. parking garage. As his hands lost themselves in the heat of the weight toppling on top of him, at the same time they were persistent in pushing him off, failing as the slickness of their previous ventures on the front seat of his sport sedan.

He’d mumble the same three words without fail, etching them into your skin, deeply inhaling your lingering matter in the midst of your blended breaths. “Five more minutes.”

Suffocated in the compartmentalized space of the vehicle, you gently shoved the hands off of your boyfriend, sweat beading down your forehead and chest as he tried to undo the buttons you had redone with his lips latched on your neck. “You have work!” You moaned in a mix of frustration and residual arousal. 

“You don’t,” he whined softly. 

You groaned, “Yes, I do. With projects, clients, meetings, just like you.”

“Then what do you do?” He started to argue, irritability singeing on his tongue, “All this time you’ve said you worked when I have no idea what.”

You sighed and rested your hand on his shoulders. You met eyes and tried to focus with his hair disheveled, his dress shirt half done, a massive tent in his pants, and a sliver of firm pectoral muscle lightly layered in perspiration calling out to you like a siren to a sailor at sea. Finally, a resigned expression graced your face, at last willing to tell him your job that had to be the most lucrative, but boring quality about yourself, that you’ve always had to explain to your dates, twice, what exactly it is you did. Then again, this was Seungcheol. If anyone understood what you did for work, it’d be him. 

“I’m a freelance Business Management Consultant overseeing a few startups. Some you’ve maybe have heard before and one maybe…that recently entered in the Fortune 500.”

“…That is so fucking sexy and makes so much sense.” He hurriedly started unbuttoning your shirt again, burying his face in the valley of your tits, “Ten minutes!”

“Cheol, please!”

“Ok, 5 minutes.” You rolled your eyes as you pushed his back, and pinning him against his seat as he frowned and lightly flailed his arms, lips puffing to swell in a frustrated pout before whining, “Come on!”

“Are you…pouting?”

He blinked, taken aback by your question until he glanced himself in the front view mirror before pointing at his face. “Is that what it’s called?”

You squished his cheeks, feeling the warmth of his face burn your palms and between your fingers as it spread throughout your body. Suddenly, you’ve been thrown into a proprietary state of being, clinging on to him and the image of this rare distortion of his features until you can make him do an expression like it again. “You do that for no one but me.”

Despite the confusion that passed through him, he nodded, only puffing his lip bigger as a result as his hands crept slyly around your bare frame, feeling the goosebumps that he raised in his trail.

“Five more minutes,” you agreed, before crashing lips with him again, making his lunch break even longer than expected.

That was the first of a handful of incidents, but the most memorable of the bunch, at least for everyone below Seungcheol. To this day, the office commemorates it as “The day no one knew why Mr. Choi was taking his lunch break for so long.” That had started a flurry of new rumors going around the building, and honestly, Seungcheol liked these ones better.

Post Author's Note: i put so much time and love into this and it's one of the first things I'm posting this year but so far it's my favorite thing I'm posting this year?? It definitely isn't the last don't worry there's plenty more, idk if it's up to this caliber but it'll always be written with love. So, feedback is much appreciated and I want to thank you guys, the readers, for taking the time to read this monstrosity that took me the moon, a pot of gold, and my sanity to write. Anyone that's been here throughout this journey with me on this site, I give you my whole heart, seriously.

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