#otherwise it would have been in February | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loquaciousferret · 2 years ago

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Seasons

Summary: One scene for each season of the year of your relationship as you fall in love with Joel Miller, single dad and sweet southern heartthrob.

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ explicit smut MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT. Discussion of religion, virginity, christian!reader, virgin!reader, old-fashioned values and gender roles/views of women. marriage, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.5k (whoops)

A/N: If you love a slowburn then this is the fic for you, filled with adorable flirting and so-sweet-he-gives-you-toothache Joel. This idea came to me so randomly but it’s been a WIP for so long so I hope you like it!!

Spring

You let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak as Joel and Tommy both picked up their cutlery ready to shovel the Sunday roast into their mouths. They hesitated at the sound and you spoke up, “I’m sorry, just, you don’t mind if I say grace, do you?”

A wide smirk spreads across Joel’s face and he raises his eyebrows at you, but puts his cutlery back down immediately. Tommy, who was frozen in place still clutching his fork which was loaded with roast chicken and gravy, received a harsh glare from Joel, leading him to put his down too.

“I’m sorry,” You said again, embarrassed that you had interrupted them.

Joel’s expression remained bemused but he responded kindly, “Hey, don’t apologise, sweetheart. You’re just always full of surprises, that’s all. Go ahead.” He gives you a reassuring smile.

You reached for Tommy’s hand with your left and Joel’s with your right and looked down towards the table, closing your eyes.

“Lord, please bless this food to our bodies and let us hold you in our hearts. We thank you for the meal and the company in which we will share it. Through christ our lord we praise you, amen.”

“Amen to that.” Tommy copied excitedly, wasting no time in getting stuck into his meal.

Joel didn’t respond to the prayer but gave you a reassuring nod, his smile still glowing. “That was lovely, darlin’.” He said, making you smile back shyly.

You got started on your own meal. You and Joel had spent the afternoon cooking together, and by together, that meant you did the cooking and he stood by and offered words of encouragement, assuring you that if he got involved he would only find some way to ruin it.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah, was out at a friend’s house all day, giving you ample time with him. He was yet to introduce you to her, given it hadn’t been long since you had met him, but you spent plenty of time with him and sometimes Tommy, too, when Sarah was otherwise occupied. Luckily for you, she was a social butterfly, and you usually got to see Joel at least one evening a week, and when you were lucky, for a full day at the weekend, like today.

It was your first Sunday with him, and it had taken quite the story to explain to your parents, grandparents, and siblings as to why you would be missing their Sunday dinner in favour of a new friend. They would most definitely be clucking like hens at their own dinner table, speculating about who might have enticed you away. In truth it had been your idea, you had been excited to do this with Joel.

You had met him in a hardware store just at the beginning of February, an old-fashioned meet-cute in which you struggled with deciphering what kind of faucet you needed to pick up for the kitchen sink in your new apartment.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sweetheart, you seem to be having some trouble there, can I lend you any knowledge?” The handsome stranger had asked politely.

His friendly demeanour as well as his expertise had led you to pick his brain in numerous aisles of the store and eventually, you bravely asked for his number. Strictly for DIY-related enquiries, of course.

But now here you were, gazing at him as he savoured the food you had cooked, and you quietly laughed along at his and his brother’s back-and-forth wit, chest bursting with affection for this gentle man whom you were growing fond of.

Summer

You fanned yourself with your magazine, sipping on a cool lemonade. Nothing was helping you to beat the suffocating Texas heat.

You watched on in amusement, perched at the edge of the lawn in Joel’s backyard as him, Tommy, and Sarah grappled with each other in a game of soccer gone wrong.

“Y’know, I don’t think soccer is supposed to be this violent.” You called out to them.

Sarah looked up at you and laughed. “These two idiots will wrestle over a game of monopoly, it doesn’t take much.”

You smiled back at her. You were so grateful at how quickly she had accepted you as Joel’s “lady friend”. You frequently caught her and Tommy wiggling their eyebrows and communicating about you and Joel behind your backs. Neither of them bought the idea that you and Joel were still just friends, but it was true.

In some ways, you had been surprised too. Joel was incredibly patient with you. Lots of guys you had dated got bored fairly quickly but Joel never rushed you and seemed happy going at your pace. You would go to dinner, take walks together, hang out with his family, but nothing more. And he respected it. As time went on, your respect for his patience grew along with your feelings for him.

Later, with Sarah in bed and Tommy having excused himself, the two of you relaxed together in the now relatively cool evening air on a wicker bench in his backyard. He nursed a beer in one hand, his other arm slung around you, and you were cuddled into his chest slightly, comfortable in his embrace.

He was pointing out constellations, but you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his face to look to where he was trying to guide your attention.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” He said, smiling as he looked down at you and caught your gaze transfixed on him instead of the night sky.

You blushed and made to move away but he held you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You reached up to cup his jaw and looked up at him once more, connecting your lips to his. He leaned down to put his beer on the ground without breaking the kiss, the hand that was around your shoulder reaching up to become entangled in your hair, the other one holding your knee.

You continued to kiss and he deepened it gently with his tongue. At the same time, his hand drifted up your leg until it met the hem of your sundress. You jumped back as he slid his fingertips under your dress and onto your upper thigh.

“Joel, I-“

He straightened up, looking away with a heavy sigh. But when he looked back at you, he wasn’t angry. There was something else hiding in those brown eyes, you just weren’t quite sure what.

“Look, sweetheart..." He sighed. “We’ve been seeing for five months now. I just need to know, I mean…” He sighed again, he seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I just need to know, baby. Don’t you see me like that? Don’t you want me like that?”

Your heart twinged with guilt as you met his eye again. They were filled with sadness. He thought you were rejecting him.

“Oh, Joel.” You reached out to stroke his cheek with one of your hands. “Joel, please don’t think that. I just-" You screwed your face up with embarrassment. Obviously, this moment would come. He had been so patient up to this point. You couldn’t fault him in the slightest for how respectful he was of your boundaries, never pushing you for more. And you were wracked with guilt at the thought that he had been considering this was down to him and how you felt about him.

“Oh, Joel, I- It’s.” You couldn’t help but stumble over your words. “Of course I do Joel, I do want you, more than anything, but I- I- I’m waiting, you see?”

“You’re-“ He scowled until the realisation hit and he raised his eyebrows. “Oh. You’re waiting waiting.”

“Yes.” You let out an apprehensive breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart.” He said, putting a hand under your chin and tilting it up so you met his eye once again, his face having softened once more.

“Just means I’ll have to be the one to marry you.” There was a glint in his eye and that paralysing smirk he wore so often.

“Joel!” You scoffed, playfully hitting his chest. You wished your heart hadn’t fluttered the way it did at his joke.

Autumn Sarah skipped ahead of you excitedly, you and Joel followed, walking hand in hand down the meadow path.

You had all piled into the truck that afternoon and you had directed Joel to this location, somewhere you had visited ever since childhood to pick apples during harvest season.

“Look! I’ve found them!” Sarah was quite literally jumping with joy, pointing up at the first tree you had come across which was bearing fruit.

“Good job, honey.” Joel said as you both caught up to her.

She was hopping up but failing to reach the fruit even on the lowest boughs of the tree. Joel stepped in at that point. “Here, let me get you a leg up.” He offered.

He held out both his hands for her to stand on as a platform, grunting with exertion as he hoisted her up. She then clung to his shoulders tightly with one arm around his neck, stretching out with her other hand to reach out for the fruit.

She picked them successfully and dropped them into the basket you held out for her.

After gathering nearly a dozen, she leaped down and inspected her findings, picking out each one individually to admire them and compare their sizes.

“Have you ever had real apple pie before? Like this? With the fresh apples and everything?” You asked her.

“Nope, first time!” She responded excitedly. “I’m so hungry for it already. I hope it doesn’t take long to bake.”

“Well, it does take a while, honey. Baking is a labour of love,” You explained to her kindly as you walked back to the truck alongside each other, Joel a few paces behind. “The more time and patience you put into things, the better the end pay-off.”

Joel chuckled lightly behind you and you whipped round to look at him over your shoulder.

“What?” You laughed.

“Nothin’.” He said, smiling back at you. “Very wise life philosophy you got there, that’s all.”

You screwed your face up at him playfully. Trust Joel to turn your simple lesson into a different one entirely.

Back at Joel’s home, you taught Sarah how to soften the apples in butter, sugar, and cinnamon, filling the kitchen and most of the downstairs with that delicious combination of scents.

Next, you made the pastry by hand, patiently guiding her on how to knead the dough, and how to tell when to stop at the right consistency and not spoil it by over-kneading. She listened carefully and copied you, she was a quick learner.

Joel watched you both, filled with adoration at the scene in front of him. Your patience and kindness towards Sarah was a huge factor in how hard he was falling for you. You were only a little more than a decade older than her, but your maternal behaviours towards her seemed to come totally natural to you.

You were exactly the presence Sarah needed in her life. You were an absolute blessing for the pair of them.

He smiled and shook his head at his own thoughts. A blessing. Your way of thinking was rubbing off on him.

Sarah left to bathe and get ready for bed while you finished constructing the pie, the oven preheating. Joel continued to watch from his seat at the breakfast bar.

“You do so well with her.” He remarked.

“Oh.” You responded, slightly surprised. You had nearly forgotten he was there with how quietly he had observed the activity.

You didn’t turn to face him, not wanting him to notice the blush creeping into your cheeks.

“Thank you, Joel.” You said sincerely after having gathered your thoughts. “I’ve always loved kids. I think it just comes naturally to me.”

“Yeah?” He said, pleased with your response.

“It’s like I was born to be a mother.” You chuckled a little. It was something you had been told throughout your life. You had always enjoyed being with your aunts, helping with the babies, moreso than playing outside or doing things with your cousins and friends of your own age.

He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. This happened all the time, you took the thoughts right out of his head and spoke them into reality. You were perfect for him in every sense, he had known this for a while now but you strengthened his belief in the fact every single day. Joel knew he was madly in love with you, a deep connection he had never felt towards anyone else. And he had your morals to thank. The lack of physical relationship meant that you had spent months building on a genuine friendship and emotional connection, one that stood on its own without the need for sexual attraction. Not that he didn’t have that for you in spades.

All his previous relationships had been built on something physical, an initial attraction that was acted on and developed into more. Not you. His fondness of you was not based on that. That’s not to say he didn’t constantly want more as you kissed him, not that he didn’t think of you in his intimate moments, or sometimes needed to excuse himself when he got a glimpse of your upper thighs or even a panty line under your sundress if you reached up on tiptoe to grab something or climbed up the steps ahead of him. You had him like a touch-starved schoolboy, every single glimpse of your flesh was like a jolt of electricity inside him.

It had been nearly 8 months since you met and you had changed his and Sarah’s lives already, bringing laughter and sunshine back into their home. He had even met your family, too, at a barbecue towards the end of summer. He had had to hold in a laugh at their old-fashioned ways when they referred to him as the man you were 'courting'. But they accepted him, approved of him despite him being 10 years your senior, a divorced single dad. They didn’t judge him and they could see how happy you made each other.

The other day, he had lied about needing to head to the store and you stayed and watched Sarah. It had been a relief when he had went to your father’s house, and he had said yes so quickly to Joel’s request for your hand in marriage.

Winter

Austin saw it’s first measurable snowfall in a couple of years. You three, Tommy, and the new dog you and Sarah had convinced Joel to adopt for Christmas, were out walking near a cabin you had rented together for some of the holidays.

You all had red cheeks and your breaths were visible, coming out as mist in the cold air. It was the one of the coldest winters in a while, with the temperature barely hitting the 40s each day.

When you got back to the cabin, you, Sarah, and Tommy fought over who would get to shower first for warmth. You ended up placing second in the queue, behind her and before him, which you were satisfied with. There were 3 bedrooms but only one bathroom in the cabin, leading to almost daily arguments between the brothers and Sarah, most of which you simply observed in amusement.

“Come ‘ere.” Joel said, beckoning you to join him in the lounge. “Fire’s just gettin’ started. I’ll keep you warm until it’s your turn.”

You smiled and joined him, shedding a few layers of clothing to dry off and warm up by the fire.

He rubbed your arms and legs roughly, generating heat from the friction. It tickled and you pushed him away. He lost his balance and fell backwards.

“You tryna kill me?” He laughs. “There’s a fire behind me.”

You smiled at him. He was mesmerised by you, with your rosy cheeks and your eyes illuminated, reflecting the flickering of the log fire.

He had wanted to wait for the perfect moment, and propose to you like a scene out of those terrible romance movies you love so much. But it was times like this that moved his heart, the simple every day moments you shared that reminded him why he was so madly in love with you.

And so he couldn’t help himself, he shifted so he was on one knee between your legs.

“What are you doin’?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity.

“Quiet, alright, let me focus.” There was nothing impatient in how he responded, if anything, he only sounded nervous. That intrigued you more.

You smile at him and he loses all train of thought again taking in your expression.

“Sweetheart.” He starts, his voice cracking slightly. You had rarely seen Joel nervous or flustered but this had to be it. “I wanted to make this more special but I… I can’t wait any longer.”

You have to physically stop your jaw dropping in shock as Joel pulls a small box out of the pocket of his large winter jacket, his hands trembling slightly. Your heart races as you realise what is happening.

“Sweetheart, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I ask myself every day what I did to deserve you to come into me and Sarah’s life. You make me so happy every single day. I- I know we’ve not been together long but I know already I can’t see a future without you by my side. I- We- We want you to join our family. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Tears well in your eyes as you look down at Joel, waiting nervously for your answer. You had only been together 9 months but he was everything you had dreamed in a partner, kind, caring, supportive, always making you laugh. He was the most important person in your life despite the short time you had shared.

“Yes, Joel.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He exhaled deeply in relief.

“Yes, I want nothing more than to marry you.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you laughed, pushing him away, “Aren’t you gonna put that on my finger first?”

He pulled back, blushing, taking your outstretched hand and sliding the elegant ring onto your finger. “Yes, darlin’ I’m sorry- I-“ He cut himself off, pulling you close to him and pressing a kiss to your head.

This was the happiest moment of your life.

Neither of you knew Tommy was in the hallway and had listened to the whole thing. “Finally.” He muttered with a wide smile on his face.

Spring

You married exactly a year to the day that you met (Joel’s idea) in your parish church with your close friends and family watching. Your sister, your childhood best friend, and of course Sarah made up your bridesmaids. Tommy was Joel’s best man.

You wore a simple white dress with a lace bodice and sleeves, complimenting your figure, cinching at the waist and stretching around your hips.

The wedding was simple, as was the dinner and reception. Flashy wasn’t you and Joel’s style.

As the night wore on and the guests mingled, you finally felt yourself relax. You weren’t a big drinker but today was your wedding day and you had been constantly plied with champagne by your friends and family.

“Hey Mrs Miller!” Tommy approached you from the side. “Will you give me a dance?”

You look to Joel, who squeezed your hand and smiled. “Off you go.” He said.

You laughed and took Tommy’s outstretched hand as he led you to the dance floor. The music was relatively upbeat and he was twirling you, you giggled, trying not to trip up on your dress or your heels.

“I would say welcome to the family, but it feels like you became an important part of it a long time ago.” He says when the music calms down and he takes you closer to him for a slower dance. “Joel is one lucky man, and I’m lucky to have you for a sister-in-law now too.”

You didn’t respond, taking in his sincere words. You were absolutely grateful for the extended family Joel had brought into your life. And Tommy was right, they had welcomed you with open arms and made you feel like you belonged from the very beginning.

“He’s never been happier. Sarah too. Thank you for that.” He goes on.

“They’re everything to me.” You say simply.

He nods in understanding. As the song draws to a close he pulls you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“No getting rid of me now.” You say back cheekily, and he laughs as he guides you back to where Joel is mingling with guests.

Joel sees the two of you approaching and smiles warmly, reaching out to pull you close to him and planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Having fun, Mrs Miller?” He says, his eyes twinkling. He hasn’t called you by your name all day. He likes this new one.

“Certainly. Tommy’s keeping me entertained.”

“Yeah he’s good at that, ain’t he?” Joel teases, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Tommy holds his hands up in defence, “Hey! That’s your wife.”

“Damn right it is.” He responds, squeezing your hip. You blush as he holds you close to him. He is always affectionate, but today you have felt more loved and cherished than any day of your life.

You catch Sarah’s eye. She is watching you fondly from a nearby table where she sits with a small group of her friends and some of your cousins who are about her age.

You smile warmly and offer her a thumbs up. She smiles back. You are grateful for the bond you have with her and the support you have both shown each other throughout your relationship with Joel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of happiness, laughter, and love. More champagne is consumed, and some cake. Sarah was involved in baking it for you with help from a professional. As the night draws to a close, you begin to feel nervous, knowing what is to come when you and Joel retire to your honeymoon suite shortly.

“I can’t believe we’re married.” He whispers into your hair.

“Me too. But it feels like everything I ever imagined.”

Joel nodded, rubbing circles into your back with his large palm. “More than I ever imagined.” He responds.

He kept you in a tight embrace. You can hardly believe that a year ago you didn’t know this wonderful man existed, and now you are a married couple. He pulls back from you, a tender expression on his features. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

You know this question is loaded with the implication of another. Although you feel nerves rising in your chest, there’s another part of you that is thrilled and excited to experience this entirely new element of your relationship with Joel.

You nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to take your hand and lead you out of the hall. Many guests have left and you bid farewell to the others on the way out.

He leads you hand in hand to your hotel suite. The room is dimly lit, with soft music playing. There is another bottle of champagne on the dressing table- not that you need any more.

You turn to Joel, feeling nervous, which he can sense easily. He approaches you carefully, removing his suit jacket and tossing it over an armchair in the corner, loosening his tie and removing the top button of his shirt.

He looks so incredibly handsome and you think that it is intensified by the knowledge that you are looking at your husband.

He cups your face in his hands, “I love you, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re my wife.”

He leans in and kisses you. It leaves you breathless and exhilarated, knowing that for the first time, this kiss will lead to more. Your body melts into his, you wrap your hands around his neck and lose yourself in the moment, his warmth and his rich scent enveloping you and making you feel safe and comfortable.

He pulls away eventually and rests his hands on your hips. “I know we’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time- Well, I certainly have.” His voice is laced with emotion. “But we don’t have to rush anything. We’ll take it slow, enjoy every moment of getting to know each other like this.”

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You were nervous about messing things up or disappointing Joel, but he was patient and understanding as always.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

Joel leans in for another kiss and you melt into his embrace once again. He restrains his lust and passion and tries to make every touch a demonstration of his love and commitment to you.

He begins to unlace the delicate back of your dress and pulls it from your shoulders. Your neck is exposed, then your collarbones, then your chest, clad in your special bridal lingerie.

He lets out a sigh as he takes in the sight of you. He had seen your body before, at the beach, but now when he looked at you it was accompanied by an entirely different feeling. You were going to be his for the rest of your lives, all of you, all of this, was his. Forever. It was nearly overwhelming.

He leans down, pressing a trail of soft open-mouthed kisses to your neck and down your exposed chest. He continues to pull down your dress gently as he goes, until it has slipped off of you entirely. He retreats to carefully lay it out on the sofa in the corner. He approaches the bed again and begins to remove his own clothing, unbuttoning his shirt painstakingly slowly as you watched him in anticipation. You take him in, admiring the way his muscles ripple as he moves, his honey skin, and the dark hair scattered over his stomach and chest. He was the image of beauty to you. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you feel as though you were the only woman in the world, the only one he had ever wanted.

He steps towards you and climbs onto the bed, holding himself up with one strong forearm and kissing you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent waves of desire through your body.

His hands explored you, softly roaming over every curve and contour of your figure, giving every inch of you attention with his lips or hands. As he does so, you feel your body responding to his touch. Your skin grows more and more sensitive to his every movement. You moan softly as his hands glide over the thin fabric of your bra, your nipples hardening in reaction to his teasingly light touch.

He whispers in your ear, a low and husky tone to his voice that you haven’t heard before, “I want you, I want to make you mine forever.”

You shiver at his words, a rush of desire shooting through you. You pull him tighter to you in an embrace and you feel the hard length of him pressing into your stomach. It adds to your excitement.

He kisses you once more on the lips, his tongue exploring your mouth. You taste whiskey and wedding cake frosting. A combination of strong and sweet, like Joel. Then he lifts your back from the bed slightly, his attention on your bra clasp which he removes with practiced ease and tosses it aside. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and licking and sucking gently. You gasp at the sensation and feel yourself clenching your thighs involuntarily, desire coursing through you.

He moves down your body, one hand continues to touch your breasts and he trails kisses down your stomach. When he reaches the waistband of your panties, he looks up at you, questioningly. You nod at him, nervousness and excitement fighting for priority in your body and mind.

He pulls them off slowly, savouring the moment. You feel exposed and vulnerable, but the sight of his hungry gaze as he takes in your naked form turns you on.

You feel his hard length pressing into you again and you are silently grateful that he keeps his promise, taking you through this slowly, even though you know he wants you desperately.

“You trust me, darlin’?” He says, breathlessly.

“Yes, Joel.” You respond, anticipating what might be coming.

“Let me take care of you, alright?” He says, his fingers massaging at your inner thighs.

You just nod, and with that he slides his hands higher and his fingers enter your folds, which are already wet with your want for him. You gasp at the sensation, shocked at how his large rough hands are even capable of such gentle touches.

He rubs at you softly, circular motions around your clit snd then down to your hole, barely dipping in a fingertip before withdrawing it again and dragging wetness back up to your clit. You adjust to the sensation quickly and crave more, to intensify the feeling he is giving you.

You buck your hips upwards, letting your thoughts be known to him. He laughs lightly. “Be patient.”

You whine.

He inserts a finger all the way inside you and you gasp at the feeling. Of course you have done this alone but the feeling of his large masculine hands with long, thick, fingers, is a new sensation entirely.

He moves it inside you, slowly, his other hand holding you at your hip. His touches are gentle and restrained yet firm and deliberate. Small moans of pleasure escape you.

His finger then curls inside of you and hits a spot that makes you arch in pleasure, moaning more loudly. Your hands reach out to grab him by the shoulders. He grins and curls his finger again, pressing against that spot faster and with more intensity. You feel your body start to tighten, your limbs tensing up instinctively. The pleasure builds inside of you until it is almost too much to bear.

Just when you think you couldn’t take it anymore, he removes the finger. It is trailed by a large amount of your wetness. He does something unexpected then, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking on it. The sight feels inappropriate and you look away from him, blushing.

He takes the finger, now wet with saliva and inserts it inside you again, this time accompanied by another. The stretch is numbed by the pleasure he gives you. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, curling and scissoring inside of you. He plays a game of attempting to elicit the sweetest sounds from you.

He brings his thumb to your clit simultaneously and gently rubs it. It makes you bite your lip to stop you from crying out.

“Let it out, sweetheart.” He instructs. “Don’t hold back from me.”

“Joell-“ You whine. “Ah!”

Your volume encourages him and he continues, a steady rhythmic pace applied to both the fingers working you from the inside and the one giving attention to your clit.

You feel the same knot of pleasure from before building.

You find confidence and become more vocal, “Please don’t stop Joel!” You plead.

“Are you gonna come, baby?” He asks in a deep tone.

“I think so.” You squeak. “Fee- Feels so good J-Joel, plea-“ You cut yourself off with a moan.

Heat gathers in every corner of your body and as Joel maintains his consistent pace, you reach closer and closer to a release of this tension inside you.

Finally it snaps, and you cry out. The pleasure is overwhelming, your heart races and you pant, breathless, as the feeling courses through every inch of you. You feel yourself collapse further into the bed, weakened by the experience.

He removes his fingers from inside you but keeps gently rubbing your clit as you twitch and shiver underneath him. Eventually he stops that too, and kisses you deeply. You come back down from your high slowly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, barely pulling away from you. His lips tickle yours as he speaks.

You feel a rush of affection towards him, still dazed from your orgasm. Your already flushed cheeks seem to grow even more warm under the weight of his intense gaze and his compliments. As you catch your breath, he continues to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, words of adoration spilling from his whiskey-loosened tongue.

“My girl forever aren’t you?” He whispers. You nod, keening towards his touch as he brings his hand to your core once again, the sensitivity of your orgasm finally worn off.

“My beautiful girl.”

You think he is talking to himself more so than you.

He shifts his weight, lowering himself further down the bed and positioning himself between your legs. You watch him, unsure what he is going to do next. He parts your thighs widely and lowers himself between them. He kisses and licks at your inner thighs, his hot breathe on your skin piques your arousal.

His mouth moves higher and higher, until his tongue licks a wide stripe through your folds. You immediately gasp.

He continues licking and sucking, his stubble grazing at your inner thighs, a sensation that burns, but not unpleasantly. He is bringing the peak of your pleasure quickly, and you feel the hot tension gathering within you. Your hands reach down to tangle in his curls, which are slightly dishevelled from the busy day. You tug on his hair lightly and he groans against your pussy, a sensation that sends shivers through you.

He continues to work you with his mouth, sucking at your clit and then moving all the way down to penetrate your entrance with his tongue, then dragging it back up and starting again. It is messy and raw and more intensely pleasurable than you could have ever imagined. Your wave of pleasure is about to crash down, and you cry out in warning.

“Joel I’m going to- Ah!” He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, cutting you off into a moan as he increases the pressure of the suction on your clit, alternating with flicking his tongue against it rapidly, pushing you over the edge.

You cry out his name and unravel beneath him, your body shaking with an orgasm far more intense than the first. He continues to lick and suck gently, tasting all of your juices. Not quite taking you into overstimulation, just easing you through as the waves of pleasure subside before pulling away. He slowly makes his way back up your body. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, and his tongue tastes of your essence.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips. “You’re perfect.”

Finally, he straightens up, pulling away and removing his boxers. Your eyes widen as you take in the size of his erection.

He notices your reaction. “This ok, darlin’?” He asks calmly.

You nod, still nervous, which he can see from how you bite your lip. He crawls back onto the bed and positions himself between your legs.

“I’ll go as slow as I can baby, if it hurts you tell me, ok?”

You nod.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“I’ll tell you Joel, I promise.”

“Good.” He says.

He leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. One hand holds him up, the other is guiding his hard length to your entrance. You take a deep breath, trying to relax, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. He slowly begins to push himself into you. You both gasp at that first sensation.

You feel a painful stretch, but it quickly fades as he stops with just the tip inserted in you, giving you time to adjust. He plants kisses all over your face and whispers words of praise and reassurance as he continues to edge into you again.

Finally, he is fully inside of you, and he stops, looking down at you with a caring expression. “This OK, sweetheart?” He asks softly, stroking your hair with his free hand.

You nod.

He begins to move slowly, in and out in a gentle rhythm. You moan softly every time he is fully deep inside you, hitting pleasure spots inside your walls. As time goes on he picks up the pace gradually and thrusts slightly harder, analysing every sound and expression of yours to ensure you remain comfortable.

You feel an urge to wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him even deeper. He grunts in pleasure as you do so. Your connection to him is intense and overwhelming, physically full of him and giving yourself to him in every way.

Next he brings a hand to your clit and his thumb rubs at it gently like before. You feel that this makes your pussy clench around him. He grunts every time it does so.

“Oh, Joel.” You gasp.

He takes your gasp as a cue to increase the pace, and soon he is pounding into you with a steady, rhythmic force. You feel that knot of pleasure building in your core, and you know you won't be able to hold back a release much longer.

Joel's movements become more urgent, and his hand on your clit works faster. Your moans and gasps grow louder, and you feel like you're about to come apart at the seams.

"Come for me, baby," Joel growls, his breath hot against your neck. "I want to feel you come around me."

His words are all you need, and with a cry, you fall over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over you, and you clench around him tightly as you ride out your orgasm.

As you come down from your high, Joel’s pace is faltering, and with a grunt of your name, you feel him tense up and a hot release spills into you. He collapses a little on top of you and you can’t help but laugh as he knocks the air out of your lungs, crushing you, his body shaking with exertion. He slides his hands under you and squeezes you into him.

You both lay there in silence, trying to catch your breath and ground yourselves from the pleasure you had both experienced. The gentle music continues to play in the background and other than that the only sounds that can be heard are the rise and fall of your breath and an occasional contented sigh from Joel.

Eventually he pulls out from inside you and rolls off of you, pulling you close to his side. You snuggle into his chest, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

“Was I as good as you imagined? Didn't let you down?” He teases gently.

“Even better than I could have imagined.” You admit. “Can we do it again?” You say.

He laughs and kisses your head. “Of course, Mrs Miller. As much as you like.” He says, running his hand through your hair.

You both lay there, enjoying the peaceful afterglow of your lovemaking. You drift to sleep, ready to wake up for the first day of the rest of your life as Joel’s wife.

Read more pre-outbreak Joel smut in Country Lovin’

Find my entire masterlist of Pedro Pascal characters here

Pedro Taglist @tightjeansjavi @lovers-liability @cutesyscreenname @serenaxpedro @hrtsforpascal @queerponcho @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @kdogreads @drewharrisonwriter @therealmabelpinez

Story Taglist @carlyreneeinthemoon @anat2507 @soph55 @annagraceevanss @vanillen @hummusxx @still-wanna-be-corrupted @prettyangelsthings @luvtheoldmen @theelishad @afterglowsb-tch13 @moonlightdivine @dilfsaremyfavourite @midgetpottermills @skysmiller @gaypoetsblog @jadeees-posts @rosey1981 @alyhull @decaffeinatedweirdo @prwttp @hesjustken @luamarieta

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be on a Joel taglist, or permanent Pedro taglist <3

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller one shot #tlou fanfic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader smut

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jikooklove9795 · 16 days ago

Note

I do believe they’ve been in a long term romantic relationship for a long time. One point that us jikookers tend to avoid (with good reasons, it’s filmed by a saeseng) is the clip of what looks like JK holding a woman seen through a window? What do you think that was about?

Hi arundhati94-blog!

First of all let me make it clear that I'm not going to ignore any of your or others asks regarding Jikook. The only condition to all those sending in the asks is to be polite and respectful towards Jimin, Jungkook or any other members. Otherwise I'm very open to discussions regarding Jikook and will try my best to respond to you guys.

Now let's get into the discussion, shall we? So, do I think that its Jungkook in that video?

NO. I don't.

Why I think its not Jungkook and the video is not of his apartment?

There are many reasons. The first one being the crap quality of the video with the faces of the man and woman in it completely wiped out thus making them unrecognizable. All the phones out there offer a much better quality. So, how come we get a video of this poor quality? How come in other photos which they leaked of him alone in his house the quality is better and the angle is completely different? The second reason is regarding the apartment in the video. The apartment rented by BH is in the ground floor, has a courtyard and is surrounded by a high fence. In the video the wall panel seems to be in different places and the windows are different too. Another difference is the apartment in the video has a vase while Jungkook's apartment has a lamp in that same area but not a vase.

Another thing which is highly suspicious is the timing of the video and the length of it. I have heard the narrative that its a video from Feb 2023 cause the man in the video had bangs and long hair similar to Jungkook during the early months of 2023. So, why keep it in the wraps for almost 7 months if it was originally captured in February? Why not release it straight away? Whatever damage, the people behind this video intended to do to Jungkook will be the same irrespective of the time of its release. Be it in Feb 2023 or before the release of Seven or before 3D or his album. And they only managed to capture a 14s or 15s long video? Where's the before and after clips? Very hard to believe they couldn't capture more.

This video was done intentionally to make the audience believe that it was Jungkook. Hence, the similar but not the exact apartment, the video being so grainy that its impossible to identify the people in it however make it look like the man has a silhouette similar to Jungkook, a doberman. The open curtains get me every time. Cause this was around the time Jungkook complained about being stalked, had a video of him taken at the gym. So, they want us to believe that Jungkook would have his curtains open if there was a "supposed gf" at his apartment??!!

So, that video is either of another couple or intentionally set up by other people to sabotage him. I'm leaning more into the latter option.

I highly doubt its a sasaeng video cause of why they didnt release it immediately after it was captured in Feb 2023 (since they claim its a video from Feb) and cause of how they posted this video and then vanished. There was a tweet on X a few days before the weibo video was released warning the fans about a fake video to sabotage Jungkook and not to believe in it.

We need to remember that they work in an industry which has a dark side ruled by people who are capable of such deeds. I don't wanna share much about this but its not impossible. So, always trust the artist you stan rather than questionable sources.

Now let's talk about Jungkook denying the gf rumors.

He was on Station head when he was getting repetitive messages asking him if he has a gf and this was how he answered them:

Now to those that'll say "but he didnt deny the video, would've been a fling, would've broken up". He already knew what storm was going on and chose to address it. He could have chosen not to. And the Jungkook I have seen so far would have clearly admitted if he had a gf. Cause don't you remember the AHL Jungkook guys??!! He was just starting his career at that time. But he didnt hide that he had a gf before. I still remember that conversation cause of the words he used.

Do you think this Jungkook who was just starting his career who openly talked about his dating experience and how he wanted to get tattoos even though Yoongi asked him not to cause it'll be frowned upon by the fans, will be afraid of admitting he had a gf? I don't think so.

But the crowd was quick to spin more narratives when he denied having a gf. They accused him of being a f**kboy going around sleeping with women. He saw all this and decided to show up a few hours later after denying of having a gf. This time he went head on denying the allegations and even exposing himself to an extent (I was shocked) by posting this TikTok trend:

youtube

He captioned it:

So, he chose to do a Tiktok trend which was pretty old by that time and captioned it as "I go the other way".

Those who are gonna say "He just did the trend in the opposite way hence the caption". STOP. Cause we all know its obvious what he meant when he captioned it like that when the singer was mentioning names of girls. He could have done it the opposite way without the caption. And he deleted it after a few minutes after he was sure that those that cared about him got the meaning behind it.

Now he has done something similar like this in 2019 when he was wrongly accused of dating Mijoo.

This was the first time he appeared on a live after the whole circus. It looked like he came there to make that exact statement. It was out of the blue. And the choice of his words were more specific to be exact. Even Hoseok was confused. You can take it however way you want. Either simply like Jungkook complimenting Hoseok or just try to connect the time he opted to say it. A time when he was rumored to be dating a girl. After Jungkook has shown us all where his interest lies in, which is obviously not with a girl but with a boy for whom he wears his heart on his sleeve. I choose to believe the latter option.

You can watch the live here. Jungkook appears at the 24 min mark. Just notice his face and expression when he says "I never thought I would fall for a man". He's letting us know through these small moments. Just read it with the bigger picture taking timing into the context.

youtube

Also, let's not forget how he answered this question:

Q: How would you describe yourself in five words?

🐰: I'm still me

This was in Festa 2019. "I'm still me" is a famous line from the gay movie Love, Simon released in 2018. He posted the "I'm still me" artwork too. And the name of his documentary:

Read it along with how he has used songs in his GCFs which are all either gender neutral or with the "he" pronoun.

Named his flower bouquet "Various Loves"

He chose to work with CK. Apart from being a fan of the brand the partnership is special to him cause CK's values resonates with him.

And CK is very LGBTQ+ friendly using LGBTQ+ models. They have partnered with various NGOs in support of LGBTQ+ advocacy, equality and safety.

And the day Jungkook broke the Internet with this:

So, let's listen to what Jungkook says and trust him instead of a blurry video. Cause he has been honest and transparent with us as much as possible. Let's give so much love and support to this boy

Have a nice day arundhati94-blog!

Credits to the owner of the video

#jikook #kookmin #jungkook #jimin #ask

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mononijikayu · 11 days ago

Text

red wine supernova — ieiri shoko.

“Hey, Shoko.” you began, your voice low, deliberately smooth. “Can I say something?” She glanced over, one eyebrow quivering in mild curiosity. “Hmm? About what?” “I like you. Wanna make out?” “Huh?”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!;

WARNING/S: afab reader, fluff, romance, nsfw, r-18, making out, kissing, love, humor, domestic, light-hearted, slice of life, love at first sight, falling in love, cuddling and snuggling, sensual acts, slight jealousy, lesbian romance, pining, lgbtqia themes, underage smoking, depiction of making out, misogyny, harrassment, depiction of under age smoking, depiction of sensual acts, depiction of canon related violence, mention of making out, mention of implied sensual acts, usage of they/them pronouns for reader, sorcerer! shoko, geto's sister! reader ;

WORD COUNT: 10k words

NOTE: i know i said there would be geto's younger sister, but i realized i think its more interesting if they are one year older. shoko was born november 1989, geto's older sister was born february 14, 1989 and suguru was born february 3rd, 1990. he's formal about his elder sister too, despite one year distance. but he's also very playful with them. they were recruited a year earlier than suguru and went to kyoto because they wanted to explore the culture. there's stuff i thought about them, so this might end up being a series. but we shall see!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

IEIRI SHOKO DOESN’T THINK SHE’S KNOWN LOVE BEFORE. But she likes to think that it all changed when she met you for the first time. It was almost like fate, it was almost like there was no avoiding it. But she was happy about that. No, she was grateful that it was the case. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had the pleasure of knowing life for the first time.

The first time Ieiri Shoko met you, it was entirely by accident. Nothing about it was designed to her liking. Or her wishes. But she was glad it happened. Because she met you. That's why it was worth it to her.

She had been wandering through Tokyo’s vibrant streets, relishing her rare day off from the usual chaos. She found herself near a cozy outdoor café, its quaint tables scattered under the shade of trees. From the corner of her eye, she spotted you: sitting alone, sipping iced coffee and nibbling on a croissant.

The scene was peaceful, the kind she usually ignored, but for some reason, she lingered, her gaze flitting back to you now and then. Then she noticed the disturbance.

A man had approached you—a smug, overbearing presence that seemed out of place in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere. His voice carried over the quiet hum of the café, his tone laced with a sickening blend of arrogance and entitlement.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just give me a chance. You don’t have to sit here all alone.” he drawled, leaning closer to you than was polite.

Your response was calm at first, measured. You weren’t even looking at him. “I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.”

But he didn’t listen. He leaned in further, his grin widening as if he thrived on the discomfort he was causing. Shoko hated men like that. Well, she hated men in general. That was just how it was.

But perhaps a slight difference when it came to Gojo and Geto. But that’s besides the point. She didn’t like men. And she didn’t like this man in front of her most, at least in that moment.

But she promised herself that she was going to take a break, dealing with men. She earned it after dealing with those two. But she kept staring. And staring. The man would not stop talking.

Shoko sighed, annoyance bubbling under her skin. It wasn’t her business, she told herself. She had no reason to get involved. She kept repeating that to herself, almost like a mantra.

But the way you stiffened under his presence, the look of frustration mixed with unease on your beautiful face. No one was moving about to tell of the creep. Not a single one. And that sparked something in her. A bit of annoyance, a dash of anger and a hefty amount of disgust.

She told herself she wouldn’t do much today. But she didn’t know how to do that. Not with men like these around. Not when you looked like you were ready to cry out against this creep. Without even realizing it, she readily stood up, abandoning her little cafe treats and her matcha before she started walking toward you, her fingers curling into fists.

“Hey, jackass—” she began, her voice sharp and dripping with venom. But before she could finish her sentence, your fist connected with the man’s jaw in a blur of movement.

The crack of impact echoed through the café as the man stumbled backward, careening into a nearby tree with a satisfying thud. Shoko froze mid-step, her eyes wide as she processed what just happened.

Everyone in the cafe now paid attention, when they didn’t earlier. They looked at you, face stone cold with disgust and anger. And your fist, brutishly brushed with redness with how hard you had hit him.

You shook your hand out casually, muttering under your breath. “Persistent types like you are the worst, you know that? Ugh, this is why I can’t stand men.”

Shoko blinked, her annoyance at the man replaced by a mix of admiration and surprise. But then, she felt it. It was quite easy to feel, even if it was just a faint pulse of cursed energy rippling from you, subtle but unmistakable. Her brow furrowed briefly, but it wasn’t the cursed energy that captivated her. It was you. And you were good at controlling your cursed energy. Too good.

“You better leave me alone, got it? Actually, for the matter of fact, leave every woman alone!” You retorted back to the man, getting nearer to him. He cowers, like the actual coward he is. “Now scram! Don’t ever come back here, you creep!”

The man started to cry wolf as he scrambled to his feet and started to leave. You snicker, looking at your red fists. You pout for a moment. You had fresh nails put on, Shoko saw. You must have chipped them. Shaking your head, you move to leave for your table once more. She walked the rest of the way over, stopping beside you as you calmly picked up your croissant like nothing had happened.

“That was quite impressive.” Shoko drawled, her tone laced with amusement. “Didn’t even need me to step in.”

You looked up at her, slightly startled but composed. “Step in? Were you planning to? Also….who are you? I’ve never met you in my life…..but I suppose, thank you.”

You seemed to be quite adorable to her, with the way you seemed to look at her with this clueless gaze. Your purple eyes were beautiful, brighter than anything she’d ever seen. Shoko thinks she could get lost in them quite often, if she continued to stare at you. But she quickly cleared her throat, slightly flustered.

“Maybe. I was just there.” she said, shrugging. “But I think you handled it just fine. That punch was... something.”

You smirked faintly, tilting your head. “I appreciate the thought, stranger. But I’ve dealt with worse.”

Shoko chuckled softly, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Stranger? That’s a first. But clearly. Still, you might’ve gone a bit overboard. He might’ve cracked a rib or two on that tree.”

“Good.” you said simply, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “The more, the better. That way, he won’t have to cause more trouble for women.”

Shoko’s lips curled upward despite herself. There was something about your nonchalance, your quiet strength, that made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. You were a breath of fresh air in her rather nonchalant, dull everyday. And she had just met you.

She shook her head, more at herself than anything else. “Name’s Shoko, by the way. Ieiri Shoko.”

You raised an eyebrow but offered a polite nod. “Nice to meet you, Shoko. And thanks... I guess.”

“For what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“For caring enough to try.”

And just like that, Ieiri Shoko knew she was in trouble. Because in the space of a few, genuinely, tender sentences and one well-placed cursed energy punch, she was done for.

Ieiri Shoko thnks that she had fallen for you—completely and irrevocably, right then and there. And there was no going back. That moment, fate had decided that you both were made for each other.

══════════════════

SHE KNEW SHE MISSED SOMETHING. God, that was frustrating. God, Shoko hated it. Absolutely hated it. Not the idiot who got himself punched into a tree—that part was satisfying. That part was great. And hearing you talk and seeing you smile as you both conversed after that, everything about that was just phenomenal.

But, everything after that, she hated. She hated how she’d been so utterly struck by Cupid’s arrow that she forgot to ask for your name. Or where you were from. Or what your phone number is.

Or anything that could’ve prevented her from obsessing over you like some lovesick teenager. She had all the chances and she blew it. She absolutely made it a mess even before she met you.

Now, here she was, groaning into her coffee at Jujutsu High’s cafeteria, replaying the scene for the hundredth time in her head. Everything was so vivid and bright and yet she was distracted by the entire time.

Nothing was entering her head when she listened to you speak. But in her defense, you were just….you were just everything. And she breathed and lived you for a moment. She couldn’t help it.

It was like the sun had come out for the first time. The clouds had parted. The birds were singing a melody to life once more. And it was because of you. You, sipping iced coffee like a goddess, croissant crumbs on your lips, while she just stood there gawking. She might’ve drooled. She wasn’t proud. But she couldn’t help it. Not when it was you.

Across the table, Shoko hadn’t noticed the tall white haired man before her. Gojo Satoru was staring at her with a growing grin, like a cat that had just found a mouse to toy with. This is the first time, he was certain, that Ieiri Shoko had been fazed in the entire time he’s ever known her. And it was all too interesting, all too fun. But also all too curious.

“You good there, Shoko?” he asked, poking her cheek with his finger. “You’ve been sighing like a drama queen all morning. Let me guess. Hungover?”

“Yo, Satoru.” Geto interjected behind him, his voice calm but firm. “Leave her alone. She must be exhausted from her healing courses with Ami–sensei.”

“Ha? She also drank a lot of the contraband we brought in—” Suguru rolls his deep purple eyes at him. Gojo Satoru frowned. “Yah, don’t ignore me like that, Suguru!”

Geto Suguru, did in fact, ignore him like that despite his protests. Suguru turned to Shoko, his dark purple eyes full of genuine concern. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird.”

Shoko groaned louder and slumped further into her seat, refusing to meet their eyes. “It’s nothing. I just… I messed up, okay?”

Satoru’s eyebrows shot up, his smirk widening. “Oh-ho, Ieiri Shoko messed up? This I gotta hear. Did you botch a surgery? Or maybe—”

“Shut up, you stupid Gojo.” she muttered, glaring at him. “It’s not like that.”

Suguru shushed Satoru, who rolled his eyes back at him. Suguru looked back at Shoko once again and raised a brow. “Then what’s it about, Shoko? Any trouble? You know you can tell us anything. We’ll help you out.”

Shoko hesitated, her face flushing red slightly—a rare sight that immediately caught both of their attention. Suguru looked at Satoru, who looked back at him, just as curious. She sighed, realizing there was no escape, and finally confessed.

“I met someone the other day, during my day off.” she mumbled, barely audible.

“What? Who?” Satoru leaned closer with a sly grin on his lips, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. “What was that? Didn’t catch it.”

“I met someone!” Shoko snapped, sitting up straight and glaring at him. “Happy now?”

“Ohhh, Shoko’s got a crush!” Gojo Satoru crowed, clapping his hands. “This is gold! Who’s the lucky person? Wait, don’t tell me….it’s the nurse intern in the infirmary, isn’t it? She’s cute, I’ll admit. But she’s no Waka Inoue—”

“It’s not the nurse, you idiot.” Shoko groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s… someone I ran into in Tokyo. Literally perfect in all the ways I can think of. Strong, gorgeous, punched a guy into a tree—”

“Wait, wait, what?” Suguru cut in, his eyebrows furrowing. “They punched someone into a tree?”

“Yeah, and it was beautiful, Geto. You have no idea.” Shoko sighed, her bright hazel brown eyes glazing over as she got lost in the memory. “I think I blacked out for a while, but she was drop dead gorgeous!”

“So what’s the problem?” Suguru hummed as he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“The problem is I was too stunned to function.” Shoko admitted, groaning again. “I didn’t ask for their name, their number—nothing! I just stood there like an idiot, making heart eyes at them.”

Geto Suguru looked away. Gojo Satoru stared at her for a moment. Shoko sighed, leaning back against her chair. Suguru bit his lower lip. But almost too happy to not keep it in, Gojo Satoru bursted out laughing, clutching his stomach.

“Oh my god, this is amazing! The mighty Ieiri Shoko, reduced to a lovesick fool! This might be the best day of my life.” He nearly fell off a chair, trying to balance himself.

“Shut up, Gojo. It’s not funny.” Shoko grumbled, throwing a napkin at his face. But he kept laughing.

Geto Suguru cleared his throat and looked back at her. The threat of laughter disappeared, at least for now. “Okay, let’s think this through. Did they say anything that could help us figure out who they are? Maybe they frequent that café?”

“Maybe……” Shoko admitted, her face lighting up with a sliver of hope.

Satoru grinned wickedly. “I’ll help you track your future wife down. But only if I get to witness round two of you turning into a blushing mess. Like, a little met cute and I get to watch you both fall in love.”

Shoko groaned again, louder this time. “Why do I even talk to you two?”

“Because you love us, Shoko.” Satoru said, flashing a cheeky smile. “We’re your best friends, aren’t we? You loooooveeeee us!”

Shoko feels like she regrets even being alive. She groans lowly. “You’re making yourself not be my best friend right now.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t you think this is great? We’re your support group!”

“I’d rather not have that right now, thank you.”

Suguru grinned. Sometimes, Shoko forgets that he’s Satoru in a different font. “As if you aren’t glad we’re here for you right now. Your dear best friends are helping you get a girlfriend!”

“I’d rather not get that from you both, thanks. You’d ruin it.” Shoko retorts back, with a pointed glare.

“But isn’t that only because we’re the only ones who’ll put up with your nonsense, don’t you think?” Suguru quipped, adding a smirk for good measure. “Actually, that should be for Satoru more than Shoko.”

“Excuse me? My nonsense is what makes life fun!” Satoru shot back, feigning offense. “Besides, Shoko’s nonsense is way worse than mine. She just hides it better.”

Shoko crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “And yet, I’m still the sane one here.”

“Which is why you need us, don’t you think?” Suguru teased, leaning back with a knowing grin. “To balance things out. Otherwise, you’d be too sane. Boring even.”

Satoru clapped his hands together dramatically. “Exactly! We’re the chaos to your calm, the sprinkles to your plain vanilla. Without us, you’d just... exist!”

Shoko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And here I was, thinking I’d have a peaceful day. Big mistake.”

“But that would be sooooo boring.” Gojo Satoru scowled, almost like a five year old not being given candy. “The peace and quiet should be fun and booming!”

Suguru grinned, crossing his arms. “Just like Shoko’s love life soon enough!”

Satoru and Suguru shared a small high five and laughed. Ieiri Shoko scowled at both of them but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

Maybe they were annoying, but she knew they’d have her back—even if it meant enduring Gojo’s relentless teasing along the way.

══════════════════

SHOKO THINKS SHE’S DREAMING. But no matter how she pinched herself, she knew this was reality. You were real. This was real. Everything about this was real. This next time Ieiri Shoko saw you, it felt like fate had finally decided to stop playing with her heart. It happened rather fast, faster than any prepared for.

Only two months later, the yearly Sister School Exchange Event between Tokyo Jujutsu High and Kyoto Jujutsu High happened. And if Shoko was being honest, she wasn’t expecting much.

She wasn’t even going to participate in the way that Satoru or Suguru were going to. Everything about the two day event was just the usual chaos of students beating each other up under the guise of “training.”

But Shoko was still required to attend. Thus far, she was the only student with the appropriate knowledge to heal wounds and treat damages. With her cursed technique, she was the only one who could help out the school’s physician and nurse with the amount of damages that may come between the students. No matter how bored she’ll get, she’ll still have to be here.

That’s what Ieiri Shoko expected for her experience this year. That she’ll be stuck watching kids like her with freakishly strong abilities fight each other to win. And she didn’t like that.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru would give her much trouble with how they could end up defeating all of the representatives from Kyoto if they wanted to. All those unnecessary patients she didn’t need or want to heal at this moment.

And then, you were there.

Just among the people in the front.

You were there, right in front of her.

Her mouth went agape with shock.

You stood among the Kyoto students, your uniform pristine, your posture confident. The moment Shoko’s eyes landed on you, it was like falling in love all over again—only this time, it hit harder. She froze, her heart doing that ridiculous thing where it skipped a beat, and she thought, Oh no. It’s her. It’s actually her.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up, and your face lit up with recognition. A bright, radiant smile spread across your lips, and for a moment, Shoko could have sworn that the world stopped spinning, with all of that. But then, your gaze shifted.

“Suguru!” you called out, waving enthusiastically as you jogged over to him. “Suguuuuu!”

Ieiri Shoko’s smile faltered. Her brain screeched to a halt.

Oh, no. Oh, god. Are you straight?

Her stomach twisted. Were you... interested in Suguru?

Oh my god, you were already calling him Sugu?

Before she could spiral any further, Gojo Satoru —ever the opportunist—sidled up next to her, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Hey, Shoko. What’s with the face? You look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Kill me now, Gojo.”

“Oh, this is rich coming from you.” he said, cackling. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that Kyoto girl? The same Kyoto girl who’s now ogling Suguru? Shoko, you know we can’t trust them, let alone fall for them! What if they cry if we win?”

“I hate you. So much.” Shoko muttered, her voice muffled.

“Aw, come on, Shoko. You gotta admit, it’s funny—”

“Shut up, Gojo. Please!” she snapped, glaring at him. “I’m having a crisis here!”

Satoru snickered lowly, clearly enjoying her misery. “So, what’s the plan? Are you gonna confess your undying love before they elopes with Suguru? Or—wait—” He gasped dramatically. “Are you gonna challenge Suguru to a duel for their hand? I have to see this.”

Shoko was about to tell him off when she heard you laugh, your voice light and familiar. She glanced over and saw you standing next to Suguru, chatting animatedly. Then she caught Suguru’s expression: a rare, soft smile that he reserved for a select few.

Something clicked.

Wait. That smile wasn’t flirty. It was fond. Familiar.

…..One could say even familial in nature.

Then Suguru said, “You’ve grown, nee–chan! When was the last time we saw each other? Two years?”

And just like that, it hit her.

“Oh my god.” Shoko muttered, staring at you in horror. “They’re Suguru’s sister. Suguru’s older sister!”

Gojo doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. “This just keeps getting better! Shoko, you absolute idiot! All this time, and you didn’t realize they're Suguru’s sister?!”

“Shut up!” she hissed, her face burning as the pieces fell into place.

Satoru blinked, “They even have the same eyes with different color palettes! One look and it’s obvious—”

“Gojo, not the time!”

Satoru started to lose it once again. “Oh shit, you fell for his sister!”

“Gojo—”

Meanwhile, you had turned toward Shoko, your smile as bright as ever. You waved, your joy uncontainable as you called out, “Hey, Shoko! Long time no see!”

Her brain short-circuited again. But this time, it wasn’t because of panic—it was because she realized she had an in. And Gojo? He just kept laughing. Oh, this was something new to him. He’d never seen Ieiri Shoko be this down bad, or at all be defeated in such a way someone smiled or greeted her. This was incredible.

Shoko froze like a deer caught in headlights. You were walking toward her now, that same radiant smile plastered across your face. Her heart raced as a thousand thoughts flew through her mind, but one screamed the loudest: Play it cool, Shoko. For the love of cursed energy, play it cool.

But then, right behind her, Gojo Satoru wasn’t helping. “Oh no, Shoko.” he snickered innocently. “Please don’t faint now. You’ll ruin the moment. Should I start humming the wedding march?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve dropped a special grade curse. “Gojo, I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

Before she could finish, you were standing in front of her, looking just as beautiful…no, even more beautiful than the last time she saw you. Your bright purple eyes sparkled with recognition as you clasped your hands together, grinning.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” you said, your tone light and genuinely excited. “I’ve been wanting to get a hold of you. But I didn’t know your contact info! I also forgot about asking Suguru here. That one was my fault!”

“Nee–san took too many missions this time around again.” Suguru retorted with a slight frown as you rolled your eyes, playfully. “You know you get forgetful when you get too exhausted! Take less work load! Mom already tells me to tell you! I can’t keep telling you, nee–san!”

Your younger brother was cute like this, you thought. He was always concerned about you, and even though you were the one older by one year—your little brother was the one between the two of you who was always more protective and caring. Perhaps that’s why you love your little brother a lot. You smiled at him, waving him off.

“Don’t worry too much, Sugu! I get to rest too!”

He frowned. “How many coffees did you drink today?”

“.....Just a little bit!”

“Nee–san!”

“Anyway, Shoko. Thank you again!” You ignore your younger brother’s lectures once more, giggling. “I was grateful for having you there.”

“Oh, uh...it’s fine, by the way. What happened.” Shoko cleared her throat as she once more stammered, her usual cool demeanor crumbling under your gaze. “It was nothing. You handled it yourself, readily. Brilliantly. Properly—”

“You’re talkative!” You say to Shoko, causing her to blink.

She stops herself. “I’m sorry.”

You giggle. Oh, that was music to her ears. “No, no. It was just an observation. You have such a way of speaking, it’s rather nice to hear.”

Shoko could feel her cheeks turn red, brighter than before. She lowers her head. “A–ah…that’s fine. You…you still did much of the work, as I said.”

“Well, yeah….” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “But I saw you coming over, and it meant a lot. It’s not everyday someone is willing to back you up like that.”

Shoko’s brain screamed: THEY REMEMBERED ME. THEY WERE THINKING ABOUT ME.

But before she could say anything remotely coherent, Geto Suguru once more joined the conversation, completely oblivious to the tension with a smile. You know that smile too well. You think you’ll get another lecture about this later. You sighed, you really should be more careful with yourself. You didn’t want to worry your little brother too much.”

“Since you know nee–san, we might as well make it more formal.” he said with a fond smile, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Shoko, this is my elder sister. They’re in their second year at Kyoto Jujutsu High. Nee-san, this is Ieiri Shoko. She’s one of the only healers who can do RCT properly.”

You beamed at her again, extending your hand. “Nice to formally meet you, Ieiri Shoko. My little brother talks about you all the time. You’re his…more sane friend, he tells me.”

Oh no, Shoko thought, panic setting in. She’s polite. She’s sweet. And she likes Suguru enough to listen to his rambling. I’m doomed.

Meanwhile, Gojo Satoru because of course, Satoru leaned into Shoko’s ear and whispered just loud enough for you to hear, “Shoko, do you realize?”

“Realize what, Gojo?”

He grins at her, his glasses falling slightly from his eyes. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not!” she snapped, swatting at him.

You tilted your head, curious but amused. “Blushing?”

“She’s totally blushing, nee–san!” Satoru teased, now openly grinning. “Rare sighting, don’t you think?”

Shoko groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “Please go on and ignore him. He’s an idiot.”

Satoru started to frown. “Shoko, not fair!”

“Then stop being so annoying!”

“I’m not being annoying, take it back!”

“No!”

You laughed again, the sound warm and genuine. You started to realize how animated they were the more you saw them argue. Suguru was right about them. They were fun. Perhaps especially to you – Shoko. Well, at least to you.

The doe eyed young woman pursed her lip onto a tight line as she felt the warmth of her cheeks deepen. She started to feel it in her ears and her neck. This was so bad. Right in front of you too. Ieiri Shoko felt like she could die right there and it would be fine. But then you said something that nearly killed her on the spot.

“So, Shoko......” you began, your voice tinged with curiosity. “How do you feel about dinner after the event? Maybe you can tell me more about how you and my brother became friends.”

Shoko blinked. “Dinner?”

“Dinner.” you repeated with a smile that made her knees weak. “Unless you’re busy, of course.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, butting in once more. “Is this a date? Oh my god, Shoko, you’re getting asked out—”

Suguru frowned, hitting Satoru’s arm. “Satoru, shut up.”

“But, Suguboo, our kid’s all grown up already! Flying out of the nest and spreading her wings out there in the wild, to find a mate—”

“Shut up, Gojo!” she barked, her voice cracking slightly She turned back to you, her cheeks burning. “I—I’m not busy. Not tonight…..Dinner sounds great, if you’d like it.”

“That sounds lovely!” You clapped your hands. “I don’t know many restaurants here in Tokyo, well the great ones. I’ll leave myself in your care!”

“Y–yeah….”

Geto Suguru arched an eyebrow at the interaction, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Looks like you two are getting along already. Nee–san, I’m sure you’ll get along really well.”

You smiled at him. “That makes me happy, very much happy!”

Satoru couldn’t help but cackle. “Oh, they’re getting along great! Better than I ever imagined.”

As you laughed at their antics, Ieiri Shoko continued to think that all she could ever want in this moment was to go on and sink into the ground. And yet, all at once, she felt the enjoyment of these warm feelings inside of her.

At the same time, she couldn’t help the tiny, shy smile tugging at her lips. Because you were here. And you were with her. Shoko couldn’t help but think that maybe fate wasn’t so cruel after all.

══════════════════

EVERYTHING FROM THAT DAY WAS ONE OF THE BEST OF SHOKO’S LIFE. That dinner turned out to be a game-changer. Well, at least that’s what she thinks. Ieiri Shoko, despite her usual aloofness, found herself opening up to you in a way that surprised even her. Perhaps in more deeper ways than he’s ever found himself honest with Geto and Gojo.

But perhaps it was because you were easy to talk to. You just knew what to say to people. You just knew how to make them laugh. You were everything in one. You were funny, sharp, and undeniably kind. And Shoko was quite sure that all her feelings quickly realized themselves as more than what she thought it was.

Initially, she knew it was a crush and that had only been scratching the surface. That she knew all too well. But by the end of the night, she was right. There was more than what she felt on the surface.

She was utterly, quite honestly down to the depths of the earth smitten with you. But with the way you were looking at her, smiling ever so widely, even more than her — the stage was set for Ieiri Shoko. It was clear you felt the same way for her too.

Geto Suguru, sitting across from you two, watched with quiet amusement. He was pleased, almost proud, even. Seeing his best friend and his sister getting along so well warmed his heart. Seeing both of them happy and falling in love? He likes to think that could make his entire year. He liked seeing his nee–san happy, after all.

“It’s nice to see you laughing like that, Shoko.” he teased lightly as the three of you wrapped up the meal. “I’ll have to thank nee–san for pulling it out of you.”

Shoko rolled her eyes, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “Shut up, Geto.”

The Sister School Exchange Event ended with Tokyo’s team taking the win. Kyoto’s students were graceful in defeat—well, only mostly—but the sting of competition was softened by the relationships that were fostered during the event. Still, when the time came for you to return to Kyoto, Ieiri Shoko found herself uncharacteristically reluctant to say goodbye.

“Take care, Shoko.” you said with a soft smile as you stood by the school gates. “And don’t be a stranger, okay? Call me!”

Shoko gave a lazy wave, trying to mask the twinge of sadness in her chest. “Yeah, yeah. You too. You have my number, no?”

“I do, I do.” You grinned, showing her your contacts. Shoko leaned forward and saw her name saved rather nicely on your contacts. “Is it the right number?”

Shoko smiled. “It’s correct. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” You smiled back at her too, putting your phone away. “I’ll call you. I’ll text you too.”

Shoko smiles at you. “You better, okay?”

You grinned back at her. “I promise you, I’ll set it all up!”

As you boarded the car, you gave her one last fond look and grinned at her waving. Shoko waves back at you. Soon enough, Shoko watched the cars move and drive off towards the train station. Shoko was about to return to her dorms when she heard her flip phone ring. Shoko took it out and smiled.

You: Hey, just checking in. Did Suguru manage to keep Satoru out of trouble after we left?

Shoko couldn’t help but laugh as she began to reply. That first text turned into a conversation that lasted hours. Then another the next day. And the next. Soon, it became a daily thing.

Shoko tried to keep it casual at first, but she was uncharacteristically shy about texting you. She’d stare at your messages, overthinking every word before typing a response.

Still, despite her hesitations, she found herself looking forward to your texts. And when you started sending little snapshots of your day—a picture of a training session, a particularly stubborn curse you had to exercise, or just the Kyoto campus in full bloom. She couldn’t help but smile. She was learning so much about you. And vice versa too. But most of all, it was making Shoko’s heart flutter like a little butterfly in flight.

But it didn’t take long for Satoru and Suguru to notice. It was easy to do that. Shoko hadn’t realized how distracted she had truly been until those two came by her dorm. Shoko lounged in her bed for a moment, her phone buzzed with another message from you. She picked it up immediately, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she read your latest story about Kyoto’s high’s antics.

Satoru, who had been watching her from across the room practically pounced. “Ohhh, there it is again! That look on your face, Shoko!"

Shoko glared at him. “What look? Also why are you both here? Isn’t this the girl’s dorm? You can’t just go here without telling me!”

Suguru laughed, leaning against the wall. “Oh now you suddenly care for the rules, Shoko? We came by to check on you.”

She glared back at him, sighing. “I don’t need you to check on me.”

“That look really goes with the one from earlier. You know, the ‘I’m hopelessly in love and can’t stop texting them.'" Satoru teased, grinning like a maniac.

“Leave her alone, Satoru.” Suguru said, but even he was smirking. “Although, you’re not wrong. She’s been on her phone more than usual lately. Nee–san must have kept you up with their stories, no?”

Shoko groaned, slamming her phone face-down on the table. “I hate both of you.”

“No, you don’t.” Satoru said, leaning over to peek at her phone. “So, what did they say? Are they confessing their undying love yet?”

Shoko shoved him away, her cheeks flushing. “None of your business.”

Suguru chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “You know, I’m happy for you, Shoko. Nee–san deserves someone good, and so do you. So, if my sister ends up with someone, I’d be happy if it was you. You’re good when you want to be, after.”

Shoko blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Shoko really hadn’t expected that from her friend. He was overprotective over his elder sister. So, she had expected to. But Suguru only smiled and wished her the best.

“Thanks, Suguru.” she muttered, her voice softer than usual. “That means a lot.”

Gojo Satoru clapped his hands together dramatically. “Oh, this is too sweet! I’m gonna cry. Someone hand me a tissue.”

Shoko threw a pen at him. “Shut up before I exorcize you.”

But despite her protests, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips as her phone buzzed again. She’d never admit it out loud, but Gojo and Suguru were right—she was falling for you more every day.

══════════════════

SHE HADN’T EXPECTED THIS. The news hit Ieiri Shoko like a thunderbolt. It wasn’t just shocking; it was disorienting, cutting through the quiet rhythm of her evening like an unexpected slap. She stood frozen, her fingers slack, causing the glowing ember of her cigarette to slip through her grasp and sizzle faintly against the wet, dark pavement.

Her usually composed face betrayed her emotions for once—eyes wide with disbelief, her brows knitting together in a rare show of genuine confusion. The faint glow of a nearby streetlamp caught the slight tremor in her lips as she spoke, her voice low and disbelieving.

"What do you mean they’ve been expelled from Kyoto Jujutsu High?" she repeated, as though saying it aloud would make the statement less surreal.

The words hung heavily in the air between you both. Shoko's thoughts were already racing. There were too many questions blooming as quickly as they were silenced by her instinctive understanding that there was more to this story than she knew. Kyoto Jujutsu High wasn’t known for rash decisions, especially not ones involving someone like you.

“What?” she exclaimed, with such a concern on her face. “Geto, this can’t be real!”

Suguru sighed, rubbing his temples as he delivered the news. He looked just as concerned. “Apparently, nee–san got into a fight with a higher-up.”

Gojo Satoru didn’t look too bothered. He was lounging casually in a chair grinning like a mischievous cat. “Not just any fight—they decked the guy. Apparently, he was being rude to one of their upperclassmen. Because their senpai's refusing to send out one of the injured underclassmen to the field again. And they didn’t take it well.”

Shoko’s heart dropped. “They... what? They’re going to be a civilian now?”

Suguru nodded, his expression weary. “That’s the official line from the higher ups. Nee–san’s being expelled and cut off from jujutsu society entirely. Honestly, I get it, but—”

“Get it?!” Shoko snapped, standing up. “That’s insane. They didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Technically, nee–san broke the rules.” Suguru said, his tone placating. “But I’ll admit, it’s harsh. Nee-san’s not the first student to lose their temper over something like this. The kid’s going to die if nee–san didn’t step in.”

“Harsh? It’s ridiculous!” Shoko ran a hand through her hair, trying to process what this meant. If you were expelled, you’d go back to civilian life. No more cursed energy training, no more missions. And worst of all—no more being together.

“I can’t believe this. This is so stupid.” she muttered, sitting down heavily. “They’re going to disappear.”

“Disappear?” Satoru interrupted, his grin widening. “Who said anything about disappearing?”

Shoko blinked. “What are you talking about, Gojo?”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, his signature smirk firmly in place. “Let’s just say I pulled a few strings. Do you really think I’d let Suguru’s nee-san—and your big fat crush, soon to be lover—get kicked to the curb? Please. You should never underestimate who I am.”

“What did you do, Satoru?” Suguru asked, narrowing his dark purple eyes. “Please tell me it’s nothing stupid.”

Satoru waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing major. Just convinced a few people that expelling your nee–san was a waste of talent. They’ll be transferring here instead.”

“Satoru, you did what?”

“What? I did nothing wrong!” Satoru argues, a pout on his lips. “It’s not my fault they cower and listen to my words really fast!”

Shoko’s jaw dropped. “Wait…..This means then…..they’re coming here?”

Gojo winked. “That’s right. Tokyo Jujutsu High just got itself a new student. Although, they’ll demote them to the first year. So, the newbies will be working with them. But the best news is that Suguru’s nee–san stays with us!”

Hearing the news was like a weight lifting off Shoko’s chest. Relief flooded her, followed by an uncharacteristic wave of excitement. You’d be coming to Tokyo. You’d be closer. And you wouldn’t have to give up your life as a jujutsu sorcerer.

Suguru, on the other hand, looked less impressed. If anything, he looked more stressed out than ever before. “So, what’s the catch? You don’t do favors without an ulterior motive, Satoru.”

“Catch?” Satoru said, feigning innocence. “No catch. Just being my usual amazing self. Though...” He leaned in with a grin. “Maybe now Shoko won’t be moping around all day texting her new Kyoto girlfriend.”

“Shut up, Gojo. Oh my god.” Shoko muttered, though her blush betrayed her.

“Hey, Suguru gave you his approval! Take the step, they like you too!”

The next morning came with a mixture of dread and resignation. As you trudged towards Tokyo Jujutsu High, your mind oscillated between embarrassment and a faint flicker of relief. At least this mess had one upside: you’d get to see your brother Suguru more often—and Shoko too.

When you finally arrived at the gates, the sight awaiting you almost made you turn around and head home. There they were, your welcoming committee: Ieiri Shoko, casually leaning against the gatepost with a cigarette dangling from her lips.

Your brother Suguru, arms crossed, looking amused and intrigued all at once; and, of course, Gojo Satoru, sunglasses perched on his nose, holding a handmade sign that read: “Welcome Back, Loser!” in bright glittery letters.

"Finally!" Gojo called out dramatically, waving the sign like a flag. "I was starting to think you got expelled again just walking here."

Shoko rolled her eyes and exhaled a cloud of smoke, but you caught the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Took you long enough. Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

Suguru’s expression was softer—teasing, but warm. "So, how does it feel being demoted? Does it sting less knowing you’ll be stuck with us now?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Please, can we not call it 'demoted'?”

“Oh, but it’s perfect, isn't it?” Gojo interjected, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “A whole extra year of us tormenting you! And by ‘us,’ I mean mostly me.”

"Speak for yourself, Gojo." Shoko quipped, flicking her cigarette into a nearby ashtray. “I’m just here to enjoy the show. And maybe your suffering... a little.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, but the corners of her mouth softened, betraying a hint of fondness. Despite their teasing, there was an undeniable warmth in their presence. This wasn’t just punishment—it was a chance to start fresh, closer to the people who mattered most. You straightened up, brushing off the weight of your earlier shame.

"Okay, okay. I get it. Laugh it up. But let’s see who’s laughing when I outscore all of you this year.”

Gojo threw his head back in mock laughter. “Oh, they’ve already got jokes! This is gonna be fun.”

As you all started walking toward the school, Suguru nudged your shoulder. “Welcome to Tokyo, nee–san. Try not to enjoy being around Satoru too much, okay? You’ll end up with a bad lifestyle!”

“Hey! I am not a bad influence!” Satoru glared at Suguru, who couldn’t stop smirking anyway. “I’m the best one!”

Shoko, walking beside you, added with a sly grin. “But if you do, at least make it entertaining. I’ve got high expectations.”

“Well…I do know one or two.” You grinned back at Shoko.

“Nee–san, please don’t! I’m a good boy!” Satoru retorted, pouting like a child.

“Suguru, is he always like this?” You pointed at Satoru.

Suguru sighed. “Unfortunately, nee–san.”

“HAH!? What do you mean unfortunately? Suguru!”

“Now, now.” He continues to smile at her, ignoring Satoru’s tirade before he turns to Shoko. “Okay, let nee–san go and settle everything. Shoko, show my nee–san around!”

“Alright, come with me.” She smiled back at her.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“That’s nothing. Welcome to Tokyo!” she said, her tone casual, though the corners of her lips twitched into a small smile.

You grinned back at her, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Good to see you again, Shoko.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she played it cool. “You’re stuck here now, so don’t make me regret letting Gojo pull those strings for you.”

“Letting him?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t need your permission.”

“Don’t push it now.” she replied, but her smile softened.

You smile back at her. “Oh, what a challenge.”

The female dorms were on the other side of the main gate. So, Shoko took her time introducing you to the whole building. It’s a bit more modern than Kyoto Jujutsu High, and perhaps even more breathable than most.

You should have joined Tokyo from the beginning, you like to think. At least there, no one would have been breathing down your neck about everything and anything.

The rest of the school was cloaked in quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of grasshoppers and the occasional distant laughter of upperclassmen still lingering outside. They must be going on a mission, watching them gather supplies at one of the weapon stores.

You both walked a bit more before you both reached the dorms. Shoko guided you to the female dorms, her steps unhurried, her cigarette faintly glowing in the dim light. She handed you your key and you thanked her. For once, she wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t deflecting. She was just… here. Enjoying your company.

"You’ll be in this room. Just next to mine." she said, pushing open the door with a faint creak. The space was modest but clean, the faint scent of freshly polished wood lingering in the air. “It’s not exactly luxury, but it beats Kyoto’s dorms, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, setting down your bag with a relieved sigh. “Honestly, I don’t care where I sleep right now. I just want to survive tomorrow’s lectures and the scrutiny of it all.”

Shoko chuckled softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Gojo doesn’t derail everything. Well, I’ll try—no promises.”

But as she watched you unpack a few essentials, she felt something shift inside her. It was subtle, like the way dawn crept into the night—quiet, yet unmistakable. She hadn’t realized how heavy the silence around her had been until now.

With you here, it felt lighter, less suffocating. Shoko had always been fine being alone, or so she thought. But this? This felt better. Her thoughts were interrupted later when she returned to the common area, only to find Satoru and Suguru waiting for her like mischievous foxes who’d just sniffed out a secret.

She glares. “Why the hell are you guys here again? It’s the female dorm building!”

“Just wanted to go and help nee–san clean up.” Suguru says in his defense. “My nee–san’s a germaphobe.”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. You become flustered. “Sugu, I would have called you about it.”

“I know, I know. But it would get done quicker. And I know how you like it.” He smiles at his elder sister and then at Shoko, who seems to be annoyed that her time with you was broken. “Sorry if we came by this quickly.”

“It’s fine.” You smiled at your brother and then at Satoru. “Come in.”

“Hey, Shoko.” Satoru started, leaning casually against the arm of the couch. His grin was far too smug to mean anything good. “You’ve been awfully chipper today. Something you wanna share with the class?”

Suguru smirked, arms crossed as he added, “It’s almost like you’re… happy or something. Suspiciously happy.”

Shoko didn’t even flinch. She calmly lit another cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke with an almost zen-like air. “Wow, groundbreaking observation. Maybe I’m just relieved the dorms didn’t burn down while you two were around.”

“Uh-huh.” Satoru pressed, leaning in closer, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Or maybe you’re just glad someone else is here to put up with us.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quivering upward. “You’ve been downright pleasant, Shoko. What’s the occasion?”

Normally, she’d roll her eyes, deliver a sarcastic retort, and walk away, but this time, she surprised herself. She looked at you, but you had your back turned to check on your bathroom. She grinned at the two of them.

“Maybe I am.” she said simply, her voice soft but firm.

The boys blinked, clearly expecting more resistance.

Satoru recovered first, his grin widening. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. She does have feelings!”

Suguru chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t push your luck, Satoru.”

Shoko just took another drag from her cigarette, smirking faintly. Their teasing didn’t bother her tonight, not when it came from a place of familiarity and care. Because for the first time in a long while, Ieiri Shoko didn’t feel so alone. And even if she’d never admit it aloud, she knew it was because of you.

You came out of the bathroom. “You know, I think we should get some dinner. So on the way, we can go and get cleaning supplies.”

“Alright, alright. I know the best place!” Satoru says, taking out his phone. “Let me get a driver here.”

You looked at Suguru, confused. “Do we need a car?”

Suguru smiled at you. “Let him be, nee-san. He likes small pleasures of us commoners.”

Ieiri Shoko sighed.

It’s going to be a long night.

But at least, she'll be with you.

══════════════════

DAYS WERE PASSING BY WAY TOO QUICKLY. Adjusting to life at Tokyo Jujutsu High wasn’t without its challenges—for both you and Shoko. You were repeating your first year, waiting for the other incoming students to arrive, which left you with a lot of free time around the dorms. And as much as Shoko tried to focus on her responsibilities, your presence made it nearly impossible.

You were, in Shoko’s mind, too beautiful for her own sanity. Every morning, you’d greet her in the dorm hallway, always looking effortlessly stunning. A white oversized shirt seemed to be your go-to, and Shoko could never help but notice the lack of a bra beneath it. Your long hair, still slightly messy from sleep, flowed freely, catching the soft morning light.

“Morning, Shoko!” you’d say brightly, your voice warm and cheerful as you padded barefoot past her toward the kitchen.

Shoko, leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee, would nod, trying desperately to maintain her composure. “Morning, morning.” she’d reply, her voice as nonchalant as she could make it. But inside, her thoughts were anything but calm.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Then there were the days you decided to dress up a little more, usually when you ventured outside or had meetings with Yaga to discuss your uniform adjustments. You’d toss on a cute mini-skirt paired with some casual top, and Shoko had to fight the urge to openly gawk. The skirts suited you far too well, and she found herself glancing a little too long when you weren’t looking.

“You’re staring at them too much, Shoko.” Satoru teased one day, catching her mid-gaze as you walked across the courtyard in your mini-skirt and go-go boots.

“Shut up.” Shoko muttered, sipping her coffee with a forced air of indifference.

“Can’t blame you, though.” Satoru said with a smirk. “They do look good.”

Shoko shot him a death glare, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t argue with him.

“Hey, hey….can you not talk about my nee–san like that in front of me?” Suguru frowns as he downs his coffee. “Too early for this.”

And that, Ieiri Shoko can agree with him too.

But she can’t help it either way too, her eyes rising back up.

You looked too good, ever so good that she wants to eat you whole.

That wasn’t the only time. If anything, it was only the beginning. One lazy afternoon, you strolled into the common area wearing yet another oversized shirt—this time paired with short shorts that barely peeked out beneath the hem. You flopped onto the couch next to Shoko, your long legs stretching out as you scrolled absentmindedly on your phone.

Shoko glanced at you briefly, trying not to focus on how close you were. “Waiting for Yaga–sensei to get back to you about the uniform again?” she asked, keeping her tone casual.

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah. I just want something comfortable, you know? But also cute. I’m tired of the basic uniforms.”

Shoko smirked slightly. “Cute, huh? Isn’t the point of a uniform that it’s... uniform?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, come on, Shoko. Life’s too short to not look good while fighting curses.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, and Shoko allowed herself to relax. But then you turned to her, resting your chin on your hand. “You’ve been really kind to me, you know.” you said softly, your eyes meeting hers. “I’m glad I ended up here.”

Shoko’s breath caught for just a second. “It’s nothing,” she replied, a little too quickly. “You’re family to Suguru. That makes you family to me.”

You smiled at her, warm and sincere. “Still, thanks.”

As you returned to your phone, Shoko leaned back, trying to suppress the fluttering in her chest. Every day with you felt like a dream—one she never wanted to wake up from.

Ah, she thinks to herself. I really am in love with you.

══════════════════

SHE CAN’T HELP BUT FEEL THIS WAY. Lately, Shoko had been feeling... off. She’d always been good at brushing things aside, compartmentalizing, and moving on.

But this was different. You weren’t around as much anymore, and it wasn’t even your fault. It was just the life of a Jujutsu sorcerer.

Between missions with Nanami and Haibara—your new classmates who Shoko grudgingly admitted seemed like good people and the way Suguru and Satoru always managed to monopolize your time, there wasn’t much left for the quiet moments she had come to treasure.

At first, she told herself it didn’t matter. You were busy. That was life at Jujutsu High. Everyone had their own path, their own responsibilities. But that logical voice in her head was steadily drowned out by the gnawing feeling in her chest.

Jealousy wasn’t something Shoko indulged in often, but here it was, creeping in and making her unreasonably annoyed at things that shouldn’t matter.

She missed the late-night chats, the way you’d flop onto the dorm couch after a long day and fill the silence with stories, complaints, or even just your presence. And now? Now it felt like you were slipping through her fingers.

That’s why, when she caught sight of you one evening by the dorm entrance, her heart skipped a beat. Who would have thought that fate would surmise that both of you were going to smoke here today. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest faster as she approached you.

You looked exhausted, your uniform slightly wrinkled, a faint smudge of dirt on your cheek. Yet somehow, you still looked radiant, your hair catching the faint light from the hallway. Shoko froze for a moment, torn between her usual nonchalance and the strange surge of emotion threatening to bubble over.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” she said casually as she stepped outside, lighting her own.

You turned to her with a small smile, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Don’t tell Suguru. He worries too much about me.”

Shoko chuckled. “My lips are sealed.” She reached into her pocket but frowned. “Forgot my lighter.”

You held up your empty hands. “Didn’t bring mine either. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the soft sounds of the night filling the silence. The silence somehow felt awkward. And that was the first time this ever happened. But well, there was a first time for everything. But Shoko didn’t like it. And neither did you.

You take a moment to look at her, as though to study her face. There was disappointment in the corner of Shoko’s eyes. She must have been just as stressed out too. And a smoke was her release.

You purse your lips into a flat line, tightening your lips against the smoke. You closed your eyes, as though to gather courage. Then, without a word, you stepped closer to her. Shoko froze as you closed the distance, your movements slow and deliberate.

“Come here.” you murmured, your cigarette still against your lips.

Before she could react, you leaned in, pressing your body gently against hers to steady yourself. The faint warmth of your skin seeped through your shirt, and Shoko’s breath hitched.

Your eyes, calm and unreadable, locked onto hers as you tilted your head slightly to angle the glowing tip of your cigarette towards her own, locked against her lips.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. Shoko’s bright brown eyes widened slightly, her usual composure slipping as she focused on the heat between you.

The warmth of your cigarette lighting hers, the closeness of your body, and the intensity of your gaze. Everything about it was something Shoko wasn’t prepared for.

“There, it’s lit.” you said softly, pulling back just enough to blow out a trail of smoke.

Shoko exhaled slowly, both to test her lit cigarette and to steady her suddenly racing heart. Her face is redder than before. Shoko did not expect it at all. How could she? You acted rather meek and different.

Even if you meet her cheekiness, she never expected that you would be so straigh forward and cool about it. You smiled at her, continuing to smoke soon after, the smoke blowing through the cold winter air. She clears her throat, trying to stay calm.

“Thank you.” she manages, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

“No problem.” you said with a small smile, stepping back to your spot. You leaned against the railing, the cool night breeze rustling your hair.

Shoko took a long drag from her cigarette, her eyes lingering on you as you stared out into the night. For someone so effortlessly chaotic during the day, you had a calmness about you in moments like this, a stillness that drew her in like a magnet.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Shoko.” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Shoko nearly choked. “What?”

You smirked, glancing over at her. “You’ve been avoiding me lately. I figured you were mad about something.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “I’m not mad. Just busy.”

“Busy, huh?” you teased, your tone light but knowing.

Shoko rolled her eyes, taking another drag to mask her growing flustered state. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the truth was, she was jealous. Jealous of the time you spent with everyone else, jealous of how effortlessly you seemed to fit in everywhere. And after that moment, so close she could feel your breath—Ieiri Shoko realized something else.

She wasn’t just jealous about it all.

She was falling even faster, even harder.

And you noticed every bit of it from her.

The night was quiet, the cicadas the only witnesses to the two of you standing outside the dorms. Shoko leaned against the wall, exhaling a slow, practiced plume of smoke, her usual unbothered air firmly in place.

You, on the other hand, had been gearing up for this moment all day. The cigarette between your fingers was barely lit now, more for show than anything else. Taking one last drag, because it felt dramatic, you plucked it from your lips and turned to her with an almost too-casual smirk.

“Hey, Shoko.” you began, your voice low, deliberately smooth. “Can I say something?”

She glanced over, one eyebrow quivering in mild curiosity. “Hmm? About what?”

“I like you. Wanna make out?”

“Huh?”

For a second, Ieiri Shoko froze. And then it happened: she sucked in sharply at the wrong moment, and her cigarette turned traitor. She coughed—no, she hacked—doubling over as smoke puffed out like she was a malfunctioning chimney.

“WHAT?” she rasped, her voice half an octave higher than usual, her face rapidly turning the color of a ripe tomato.

You, far too pleased with yourself, stepped closer, arms crossed and smirking like you’d just won the lottery. “You heard me. I said, I like you. Wanna make out? Need me to repeat it slower?”

“Don’t,” she wheezed, holding up a hand as she fought to regain her composure. “I heard you the first time, you idiot!”

But her reaction was gold. For all her usual coolness, Shoko looked genuinely flustered, her cigarette forgotten as she glared at you with wide eyes. The sight alone was enough to make you laugh—not mockingly, but with genuine affection.

“C’mon, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you teased, leaning just a little closer.

She recovered quickly, though, because of course she did. Shoko straightened up, tossing her cigarette to the ground with a flick of her wrist and stepping into your space.

“You’re lucky I don’t deck you for that.” she said, her voice a little rough but her lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.

“Uh-huh.” you replied, meeting her gaze without backing down. “But you don’t want to, do you?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a second, you thought she might actually slap you. But instead, Shoko surprised you. She grabbed you by the collar, pulling you down to her level in one quick motion. You slyly smiled at her, almost like a fox. Your purple eyes meeting her own.

“You’re insufferable.” she muttered—and then she kissed you.

The kiss was warm, soft, and a little fierce, like she was trying to prove a point. You blinked, momentarily stunned, but quickly melted into it, your hands finding her waist as you kissed her back with equal enthusiasm.

You pushed even harder, your palms pulling her face closer as your tongue pierced through. She moans against your lips, meeting your challenge as you both end up resting against the wall of the dorms.

Both of you didn’t care about what happened next or if people caught you both. It felt good to make out like this. It’s good to have desires about each other like this. When you finally broke apart, her cheeks were still flushed, but her signature smirk was back in full force.

“There. Happy now?”

You grinned, your confidence bolstered by the way she was still holding onto your collar. “Very. Wanna do it again?”

Shoko rolled her eyes, the very picture of exasperation, but the slight tug on your collar betrayed her. Her fingers lingered there, warm and steady, as though letting go wasn’t even a consideration. She wants to taste more of you too. She wasn’t done with you, not just yet.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” she muttered, but there was no bite to her words—just the faintest waver that gave her away. “Just like your brother.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.” you teased, your grin growing wider than before. "More than my brother."

“Don’t push it.” she shot back, but her smirk was impossible to hide.

And before you could come up with another witty retort, she silenced you with another kiss, this one slower, deeper, and entirely deliberate. The world around you seemed to fade, the distant hum of cicadas blending into the background like a symphony meant just for the two of you.

Her hands slid from your collar to your shoulders, her touch grounding yet electrifying. You didn’t know how long you stood there, tangled up in each other, but time didn’t seem to matter. Nothing else matters when it comes to loving you well with everything she can.

The world around you seemed to blur, the cicadas fading into the background, the soft hum of the night becoming a distant melody. Her hair smelled faintly of smoke and something floral.

And her hands, usually so clinical and precise, were surprisingly tender as they brushed against your neck. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, just... real. Like the two of you had been waiting for this moment far longer than you’d realized.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing a little heavier than before. You smiled at her. Shoko’s face was still flushed, her usual cool composure thoroughly unraveled.

“Well…..” you said, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with satisfaction. “I’d say this went better than expected.”

She huffed a laugh, swatting your shoulder lightly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“No promises, Shoko.” you quipped, leaning in again, only for her to place a hand on your chest, stopping you with a mock-serious glare.

“Okay, but if we’re doing this….” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You better not tell Gojo or your brother.”

You snorted. “Oh, sure. Like they won’t figure it out the second they see us together. We’ve been obvious with the will they won’t they, don’t you think?”

Shoko groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Ugh, they’re going to be unbearable.”

“Probably. They’ll always be annoying.” you agreed with a grin. “But worth it, don’t you think?”

Her eyes softened, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah.” she said quietly, almost like she didn’t mean for you to hear it. “Yeah, it’s worth it.”

“Hey, I’ve got to ask.” you began, your tone deliberately playful. “You know, back in my dorm…. I got a new bed. California king. Wanna try how soft it is while making out?”

Ieiri Shoko blinked, and for a split second, she looked genuinely caught off guard. Then, she threw her head back in laughter, the sound light and unrestrained, echoing through the quiet courtyard.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” she said finally, shaking her head, though the smile tugging at her lips softened the words. “I can’t believe I love such a sly fox.”

That made you pause, your grin morphing into something softer, more genuine. You raised a brow, leaning in just a little closer. “Oh, you love me now? That’s quite the upgrade.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her fingers lingered on your arm betrayed her. “Of course I do.”

For a moment, you just looked at her, your heart doing a little flip at the way her usual cool exterior had melted away tonight. Then, with a sly smile of your own, you reached for her hand.

“Well then, Shoko....” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “Let’s go see if that California king lives up to the hype.”

This time, she didn’t roll her eyes. Instead, her fingers slipped easily into yours, warm and steady, as if this was where they were always meant to be. The sound of her laughter, rich and unrestrained, danced through the night air as you led her back to your dorm.

The walk wasn’t long, but the teasing was relentless. “I can’t believe you’re this smug,” she said, though her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes bright with amusement.

“Oh, I’ve earned it,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder with a grin. “And wait until you see the bed. You’ll be impressed. Trust me.”

By the time you reached the door, Shoko was already laughing again, her free hand pressing against her mouth to stifle the sound. But the moment you unlocked the door and stepped inside, all pretense of restraint was gone.

The second the door clicked shut, you pulled her in, her laughter bubbling up again as you stumbled backward together. You both giggle against each other warmly.

“You’re really not wasting any time, huh?” she teased, but her arms looped easily around your neck, her body leaning into yours.

“Not when it’s you, baby.” you murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before capturing her lips in a kiss.

Her laugh melted into a soft sigh as her hands slid down your back, and from there, the rest of the night became a blur of warmth and closeness. You kissed her until your lips ached, your hands tracing lazy, teasing patterns along her arms, her back, anywhere you could reach.

And Shoko? She was louder than you’d ever imagined—not just her voice but her reactions, the way she laughed against your mouth when you tickled her side, the way she gasped when your fingers grazed the sensitive spots she hadn’t realized were there.

“Quiet, huh?” you teased at one point, grinning as she smacked your shoulder lightly.

“Shut up. You’re too sly with this.” she muttered, her voice breathless but full of humor. “You’re the one making me like this.”

“All me, huh?”

“Don’t get used to it.” she shot back, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her.

The California king bed, as promised, lived up to the hype—spacious and comfortable, it became a playground for stolen kisses and tangled limbs. The two of you didn’t bother pretending this was anything but indulgence, letting the hours slip by as you explored the newfound closeness between you.

For once, there was no need for pretense or restraint. There was just her, and you, and the quiet freedom of the empty dorm building. By the time the early hours of morning began to creep in, it was still pretty dark. Ieiri Shoko was sprawled across the bed, her hair a mess, her lips swollen from too many kisses. Of course, a lot of love bites.

You were no better, shirt slightly open as you lay on the side of the bed. Sweat was still permeating throughout your body, your dark hair in a tangled mess. It was as long as Suguru’s own hair, but perhaps darker than his own hair. You wanted to tie it up, but you were a bit more exhausted.

You run your hands through her hair as you lean forward to kiss her once again. She moaned as she kissed you back again. She surrendered rather quickly about that too. And that had made your grin more smug than before. Both of you part away from one another, but still remain close, skin to skin.

“Remind me to thank everyone for being out all throughout, okay?” you said, your voice low and playful, breaking the comfortable quiet of the room. Shoko, sprawled lazily against your chest, let out a soft, tired laugh, her breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll buy gift packs for them.” you added with a grin, the thought clearly ridiculous but fully committed to your usual dramatic flair.

“You’re ridiculous about this.” she replied, shaking her head, though the warmth in her tone made it clear she didn’t mean it. Her fingers idly traced circles on your arm, and her lips curved into a soft smile as she glanced up at you.

“You don’t have to do it.” she said, her voice quieter now, like the intimacy of the moment had softened the sharp edges of her usual sarcasm.

“Hmm?” You tilted your head, raising a brow. “Why not?”

She rolled her eyes, that familiar exasperation laced with fondness, but before she could reply, you leaned in closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I liked being able to make you feel good without people complaining.” you said, your tone surprisingly earnest beneath the teasing grin.

Her face flushed again, a faint pink dusting her cheeks as she looked away, her lips twitching as though trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Maybe, maybe.” you said, letting your grin soften into something more genuine. “But you didn’t seem to mind.”

Shoko let out a breathy laugh, burying her face against your chest for a moment. “I hate that you’re right about that.” she muttered, though the way her arms tightened around you betrayed just how much she didn’t mean it.

“I’m always right.” you teased, earning a playful shove from her.

“Don’t push your luck.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, her hand still lazily tracing patterns on your arm, your own fingers gently brushing through her hair. The warmth between you was palpable, the kind of connection that didn’t need words to fill the spaces.

Eventually, she spoke again, her voice softer this time. “You’re ridiculous. But... thanks.”

“For what?”

“For this, all of it.” she murmured, gesturing vaguely at the two of you tangled together. “For making me feel... cared for and loved.”

Your grin widened, your chest swelling just a little at her words. “Anytime, Shoko. Anytime. You’re my girl now, aren’t you? I’ll always make you feel good and cared for, okay?”

Shoko smiled back at you, her cheeks turning warm scarlet. “Okay. Look forward to the same from me, okay? Since you’re mine now.”

“Then I’ll leave myself in your care.” You giggled, happily. Shoko adored that.

And for the first time that night, you both fell into a quiet, peaceful stillness, her smile lingering long after her eyes closed, content in a way neither of you had felt in a long time. Ieiri Shoko will let this live in her mind for a long, long time.

She rolled over, resting her head on your shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your chest. No complaints. No awkwardness.

Just the two of you, lucky in the quiet glow of the darkness, enjoying each other in every way you could. Both of you were just happy.

222 notes · View notes

sunboki · 9 months ago

Text

— KEEP IT BUSINESS. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss? au (hehe), domestic/soft minho, fluff

WARNINGS. cursing, making-out, inexperienced kissing, annoying coworkers

WORD COUNT. 6.9k words

AUG'S NOTES. so glad to have finally completed this!! it’s been rotting in my drafts for weeks and i just had to write a happy ending for these two grandparents 🫶🏼

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.

or alternatively :

If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.

Four years.

It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.

The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.

Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.

Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.

Then the loneliness set in.

It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.

So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.

And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.

Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.

Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.

At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.

You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.

“Looking forward to it?”

Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.

“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.

The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.

You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.

Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.

“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.

Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.

“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.

Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.

Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.

8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.

Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.

Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.

Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.

Back at it, again.

Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.

Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.

Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.

Except, it seems he had the same idea.

Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.

Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.

“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”

“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”

Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.

Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.

Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.

In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.

“Drinks at my place?”

Your grown loudly in agreement.

Minho : Okay, I’m leaving, follow me in thirty minutes

Glancing up, you watch your counterpart lift his brows your way and call out his departure, sifting through the doorway, cross body bag thumping against jeans.

Hyeongmi was downstairs, which, as awful as it sounded, was great not having to endure her nosiness.

This was how you stayed unbothered. He’d leave, and thirty minutes later you would too in order to (for now) avoid Mrs. Song (and Hyeongmi’s) pestering.

It couldn’t have taken the clock longer to reach 4:30PM. So by the time the beloved minute hand struck 4:29 you practically lurched from your seat, almost tasting sweet freedom before a face showed up right before you slipped through the exit.

Hyeongmi’s face.

What she’s talking about you can’t seem to understand, mind trained on escaping and escaping alone.

“C’mon now, you two are the only two in this building without a date. It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!” Hyeongmi emphasizes, dizzying your head the longer she shakes your shoulders.

“You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right? I’m telling you, it’s a sign—“

“Sorry Hyeongmi, I really have to go-“

Fastening your bag tigher across your body, you make a mad-dash as far away as possible, pretending to ignore the “use protection!” she shouted before the crisp evening breeze nipped your nose.

Use protection my butt, you grovel, ushering the scarf further above your chin as if to secure as much warmth possible.

She doesn’t know anything, not about how you took him under your wing as your apprentice the first year he joined, not about how much Minho loves cats, or how the keychain on that crossbody bag of his is a keychain you bought for him.

Simply placing it, she’s a person lead by the assumptions of others and adopting them as her own.

It irritates you.

Veering to your right, you thank his decision to house nearby, arriving at the foot of his porch after a mere ten-minute walk.

Delivering a few knocks on the townhome’s doorway, you note the paint chipping, colorful exterior worn from the sun’s rays.

Everything from the few cracks in the sidewalk to the relatively invisible stain of coffee on his doorknob lay memorized by frequency—his property second nature to you.

“Never have I hated being single this much,” You whine, slumping onto his couch after hurling your bag atop a hook in the foyer.

And despite the lack of response, you can tell Minho heard you. The faint, breathy chuckle enough evidence of his presence.

Perched on a chair he’d likely dragged from the kitchen, a feline companion occupies his lap, both comfortably relaxing on the patio, wine glass in hand.

Accordingly arranged on the countertop is another glass (you presume as yours), that you pour the vinegar-tinged substance into.

“I mean.” Slightly struggling to haul a neighboring chair to his side and simultaneously avoid splashing wine everywhere, you eventually find an equilibrium.

“It’s not like I asked to be single, I’m just too busy to consider a relationship, y’know?”

Minho absentmindedly hums, urging you to take a much-needed sip of the orchid-colored liquid.

Finally, you sigh out the last of your evening’s thoughts.

“..Hyeongmi caught me on the way out.”

Nor does this occasion need a reply either, the man’s suppressed giggle suitable enough.

“Mm.. I’ve got an idea.”

Carefully allowing the elongated glass to clink atop a translucent table, you cross and uncross your legs, welcoming the rustle of life around you into your eardrums, easing the cluttered space of your brain.

“Shoot.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze flitting to the emerging moon overhead.

“If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.“

Making a surprised sound to yourself, you break into unadulterated laughter, about to call him hilarious before taking into account this is Minho you’re referring to, and the likelihood he’s joking on any matter is unlikely.

Sure it sounds cliché, but it’s Minho, why not?

…And perhaps that decision was made with a few glasses of wine in play.

“I’m in.” You grin, returning his outstretched hand by bumping your glasses before downing the remaining gulp, cheeks aglow, alcohol ridding your breath a distasteful stench.

Tipsy. Minho is charming normally, but especially when he’s tipsy.

He’s got this way of speaking that could get any unsuspecting girl reaching to unzip his pants in a second, sultry, half-lidded eyes drinking the person in front of him, talking like he has sugar lining his lips.

When Minho is tipsy, he’s tempting. You didn’t need four years to teach you that.

That, and the spare pajama set folded in his top drawer reserved solely for you on nights like this—too gone to go home.

Although, as you rise to your feet and head to the bathroom, pulling said silk pajama shirt over your head, Hyeongmi’s words reverberate again.

You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right?

Hm. Minho was always a recluse though. And with your history, obviously he’d have some liking for you.

It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!

Turning to stare at yourself in the mirror, you sulk, head hanging low.

What if you did something tonight? Something risky, something testing the limits this friendship borderlines. You’re both drunk, likely willing.

Then again, does Minho want this too? Did he ever intend to “let loose”?

Anxiety plagues you, hurriedly scurrying your pants over your legs and exiting to find Minho still seated in the same spot, appearing all the more tempting without having to do a thing.

You blame the alcohol.

Stamping forward as if you prepared a speech, you stop just behind his chair, mustering any ounce of liquid courage manageable.

“Minho.”

He grunts.

“You’re really pretty.”

Let loose. This is letting loose when it comes to Minho.

What, you thought you were gonna fuck? Yeah, that’s a funny one.

Winding himself around to see you, his lips wind into a sweet smile, urging you closer with a mere look before he reaches forward and taps your nose, dark eyes roaming your face.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty too.”

And perhaps, caught in a trance from his glittering stare, something did happen those four years you’ve been together after all.

You blame the alcohol.

The impulsive part about this “date at twenty-five” pact you had forgotten to consider was the fact both of you were twenty-four, meaning in less than a year whatever plan Lee Minho had stirred up after plenty glasses of wine would oil it’s gears into motion.

Thankfully Valentines comes and goes, and Summer creeps dangerously close, the longer hours of daylight and lingering sunshine enough to make every work-day feel extra laborious.

First day of summer, Minho texts you, asking if you want to join him on a walk.

Mind you, it’s 10AM in the morning, an hour you couldn’t fathom waking up at on the first day of summer.

You groan and flop back down, shutting off your phone and slamming the pillow over your head in a pitiful attempt at falling back asleep.

Only for your doorbell to ring twenty minutes later.

Over.

And over.

The urge to screech compels your barely-awake form, legs wobbling out of bed to feebly reach the doorway in a sleep-ridden haze.

Of course, lo and behold, Minho lies responsible, clad in running shoes, a pair of shorts, and a black nike zip-up.

He’s evidently pleased—whether from how disheveled you appear—or that he actually got you out of bed in the first place by the lingering smile tugging at his lips.

You hate to say it, but he’s annoyingly attractive, there’s no denying.

“Caught you at a bad time, hm?” He tips his head down to make eye-contact, peering through wild hair and lidded eyes at your half-alive self.

All you can manage out is a minuscule grunt, about to close the door before Minho jars his hand in, inviting himself inside much to your dismay.

Like instinct, he heads straight to your closet, surveying the chaos his insistent door-bell ringing caused before fetching a sweatshirt to pull over your head and a pair of socks from your drawer.

Though, as you wake up a tad bit more, you hurriedly keep him from putting your socks on for you as he bends down, shying away with an irritated whine.

“If this is what dating you is like I’m calling off the pact,” You mumble, stomping toward the door with Minho pushing you forwards without chance of escape.

He giggles, seeming to contain utmost glee witnessing your temper tantrum.

“Oh trust me sweetheart, the fun never ends.”

He’s hopeless too, apparently.

Lucky for you, your friend’s visits occurred sporadically, meaning the 10AM wake up calls weren’t a daily routine of headaches.

In contrast, summer passed by in a flash, and you were shoved head-first into a packed schedule for a second time as the autumn leaves shriveled into crisp browns and oranges.

Autumn was always welcomed. It meant the chilling cold was approaching, yes, but it also signified apple cider being added to the downstairs café menu and—on those especially chilly mornings—bundling your neck in the scarf Minho bought you last christmas.

As for him, he frequents pointed shoes and straight-legged pants, his fudge-colored hair perfectly complimented by pumpkin scented fragrances and dusky red backdrops.

Brisk mornings call for thinking. And as you walk, you come to the indefinite conclusion apple cider fits Minho. Sweet, but not saccharine. Warm to the touch, reminiscent with a charming aftertaste. A silhouette that comes and goes as it pleases, leaving soon enough for you to crave it back again.

Regarding summer, he was sort of like a beach day. A vacation in the midst of roaring deadlines, the comfortable lull of waves buzzing your mind into a hazy, salty escapade.

Although as December plucks each oak of its splendor, a call on Sunday morning truly marks the season of winter.

“..Y/n?” Minho murmurs, his voice groggy, hoarse. You make a sound of acknowledgment in response.

“I think I’m sick, can you drop off some meds at the door?”

Pressing your phone close to your ear, you debate on your desire to scold him, remind him each time he gets a winter cold he should dress warmer.

Of course, your lips stay shut (just like they always have for the past few years), and you reply with a “Be there soon, hang tight” before ending the call and gathering your belongings.

At the supermarket you check out seaweed soup, multivitamins, and allergy relief—things of which you hope will alleviate some of his symptoms.

Eternally grateful for the spare key you’d been given a while back, you enter the home, calling his name until an exasperated sign of life was heard (more like coughed) from the bedroom.

Inside lay Minho, a distressing array of tissues scattered in all directions, clustered beyond belief. His nose is soured pink from incessant stuffiness, lips cracked and dry. Dark circles sag beneath tired eyes, worn disposition evidence of his condition.

Quick on your feet, you scour the bathroom for a thermometer, the device’s loud beep signifying a blaring fever as you hover by his bedside.

Watching the bowl of instant soup spin aimless circles in the microwave, Minho’s call knocks you out of your daydream, worriedly padding to where he lays.

“Come here.”

You oblige, arriving to his right, about to ask the matter until his fingers link with your own, bringing the back of your hand to his jaw, resting there.

If you had been warm before, an entirely new definition to sweating has been reached at this point.

“You’re warm,” He whispers, rubbing his face against your hand like a needy cat wanting attention.

How unfair a human can be this round.

Practically bounding from the inside, you use the excuse of the microwave beeping to race off, hurriedly disappearing into the kitchen while remaining ignorant to the way Minho’s gaze follows you.

Returning with a soup platter meticulously carried between your tight grip, you sigh with relief upon sitting the steaming concoction down. Oh so slowly, a frown grows at your face upon noticing the expectant stare boring into your head.

“Yes?”

He juts out his bottom lip like a kicked puppy from your nonplussed tone, nudging the covers over himself till only those calculating eyes peek out.

“I’m not feeding you.”

Minho all but whimpers, and you suppress the urge to smother him with a pillow right then and there, hating how easily he sends goosebumps prickling the back of your neck, heat scalding your ears.

“No.”

“Y/n.”

You quite literally feel like the cruelest person in existence because why is he looking at you with that face, saying your name like that.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you begrudgingly collect a spoonful, bringing the utensil to his already pursed lips.

Spoonful by spoonful do you feed him as if he’s a dependent toddler, his satisfied hums earning a stern glare in return.

Only when he finishes eating do you get up, reprimanding him on taking his meds without much bite to your words.

“And don’t take too many of these, alright? If it gets really bad, call me again. Otherwise, try getting sleep.”

“Yes ma’am.”

And of course he has to be endearing.

Such a pain.

You’ll stop by tomorrow.

If Minho was the apple cider in autumn and beach days in the summer, he’s the prettiest of snowflakes in the midst of winter.

Memorable, fleeting. Melting in your touch.

The annual Christmas party the company hosts steadily approaches, your coworkers ringing your phone insistently with noticeable anticipation.

Though just like autumns chill, December soars past idly, reigning in a new year and a new digit added to twenty when asked your age.

Your winter premise only heightened the anxiety compiling in your gut, a feeling you hadn’t recognized until the following day—the first day back to work in January—dawned.

January 1st’s introduction means you’re both officially twenty-five, and you’re not sure if it’s the fact Minho hasn’t texted you yet or the valentines pact in itself setting you on edge.

What would it be like to date Minho? Would he kiss you, the same way male leads in K-dramas did? Hold you as you sleep, wish you goodbye with a kiss to your cheek?

The mere thought sends rivets of electricity blazing your fingertips, feeling like an utter fool for imagining such scenarios.

Now you’ve haunted yourself for worse, leaving only dread in tow.

Arriving at the office the first day back, you attempt at making yourself look as collected as possible, definitely not bothered.

Worse, the root of your troubles walks in unbothered as you’ve been trying to do for the past few hours, the room working in deplorable silence before a note wedges itself behind your keyboard, Minho slipping past in its wake.

It takes all your will-power to ignore the crumpled piece of paper as best as possible, your index itching to unravel whatever lay inside.

Noon is when you finally give in, lungs failing to produce air upon reading the contents, practically choking on nothing.

Come over to my place after work.

What is this, his way of declaring your pact officially in action? What if he calls it off, saying it was only a joke glasses of wine granted?

As Hyeongmi said before, everyone has the hots for him, so why don’t you? Why does the thought of him calling it off put you on edge?

Or maybe you do. Maybe you do have feelings for—

Woah. Stop there.

Luckily, your internal chess match went unnoticed, leaving only the buzzing of your ears and the ticking of the clock loud.

A certain fondness sat between either of you from the start, since becoming acquainted you’ve instantly clicked—sly remarks and playful teasing merely one more thing keeping you alive (minus coffee).

So when something crossing the border between friends and lovers arose, a sort of nervousness bubbled in your gut.

Minho was a shoulder to cry on for you, but was it like that?

You could rely and depend on each other whenever, but could those feelings ever turn into love?

Of course they could, and they likely would’ve if it weren’t for either of you being so work-oriented—making you even more worried.

Although, you can’t simply flee. You’re an adult.

..And Minho will find you in a heartbeat if you decide to run.

Never had you been hesitant to leave office until now, and trodding one foot in front of the other causes your legs to turn into jelly.

Minho probably isn’t this nervous. He’s probably in a great mood, treating the occasion like it’s just another casual day.

Never before was it difficult, whether difficult is referred to as placing a key in a doorway or walking inside, everything seems so.. eminent.

Like when you walk through this door, an entirely new side of Minho will show face. A romantic side of Minho.

Yet, there’s no rose petals lining the hallway, nor scented candles scattered here and there.

What is there to expect with dating in your twenties anyway?

Plus, Minho’s well, Minho. If he wanted to, he likely would’ve flat-out asked already.

Something you’re surprised about, however, is the triangular string decor swooping from the ceiling, the party hats by the sink, a single birthday candle placed in the center of a cupcake. Simple, perfect.

Although, the perfect factor came with the man responsible, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bracing himself on the countertop with a particular glow in his irises—whether it be from the lit candle you aren’t sure—that sets your stomach into a garden of butterflies.

A surprise party. He threw you a surprise birthday party.

And it’s then as enter the kitchen, brain barely recognizing each advance forward, you realize it.

You really, really want to date him.

And you really, really don’t want to screw this up.

Staring at each other, you rise up on your toes to place a careful, feather-light peck on the smooth, flushed skin of his cheek.

Slowly, he turns his head, a conniving smirk revealing the outline of his teeth whilst investigating your breathlessness.

“Someone’s daring,” He mumured, cocking a brow amusedly.

You poke his side, groaning that he shouldn’t look too far into it before he nudges you, your frown returned with a subtle nod—directed at the forgotten cupcake.

“Well you already gave me a kiss, so wish for something else.”

“Choke,” You respond, but there’s still no bite to it. Some things never change.

Minho gently holds your hair back for you, allowing you to lean over and blow out the candle. No bite.

Your wish?

Let Minho and I go well. I like us.

Every bit of it was the truth.

Hopefully this wish of yours can come true.

Maybe.

Seated on the living room floor do you finally relax, your shoulders slumping down after hours of monstrous tension. Seems you’d forgotten he was your best friend before anything else.

“So.. how does this work?”

‘Work’ as in, the dating deadline’s here, what’s next?

He purses his lips—a habit of his—blinking rapidly.

“Like friends? Except we get the kissing and sex pass in between, right?”

You smack his shoulder. He smiles, childishly extending his pinky out to you.

Linking yours, you press the pad of your thumb against his. An unspoken gesture.

“Together?”

Through thick and thin. Your way, as it always was, always had been.

He has stars in his tawny-globes for eyes.

“Together.”

Minho’s hands are warm in the midst of frigid temperatures.

Spring isn’t too far off, but the bitter winds remain ceaseless and unrelenting, whipping your hair every which way, scattering a plethora of goosebumps along your skin.

Never had you held hands like this with someone before, nonetheless Minho, and yet, a connection lies inside the initial awkwardness. The silent assurance, whether it’s his thumb smoothing your palm or occasional squeezes, telling you he understands, that you’re not alone, or how he patiently waited by the door the entire time you were getting ready, claiming he didn’t want to dirty your place with his shoes.

It’s sort of revitalizing. Curious and inquisitive in his lingering touches, additional notes—reminders on your coffee cup, questions asking whether you want to stay over afterward, if he can give you a kiss on the cheek.

One in particular you recall:

I miss you. Scribbled in bleeding ink.

Your introduction as lovers had been a field day of trials and questions for the two of you, though when it came down to the public’s knowledge, you began debating on the “curiosity killed the cat” theory.

This morning, catching a glimpse of the company’s logo in the distance, you assign yourself as the cat. Too interested, now suffering the consequences.

Granted, you wouldn’t take back moving to relationship status, but it was a lot easier to brush off comments if you were Minho.

Hyeongmi being the main one responsible for said comments.

Morning passed by seamlessly, prioritizing work above all else, too busy typing away to for any interruptions.

..Until a midday conference.

Seated right next to each other, his fingers slowly thread with yours beneath the table, sending the man a perplexed (and slightly nervous) expression in response.

More so, the comforting casualness caused you to barely recognize Mrs. Song reaching below to fetch her fallen pen, a gasp of surprise stilling the conversation at her realization.

“Are you- Are you two holding—?”

Panicked, you smack his hand away, stomach plummeting.

Not expecting him to stubbornly grab your hand again, a miniature frown draws across his perfectly rose lips.

Pouting.

Lee Minho is pouting because you’re not letting him hold your hand.

Unbelievable.

If the situation could escalate further, the she-devil herself (Hyeongmi) throws her head down to spare a glimpse, allowing you to fully accept your demise. A demise that, one way or another, needed to happen.

This was simply an early death.

“You’re kidding! No way you guys are a thing?” The eccentric girl mouths the last words, eyebrows drawn to her hairline.

And just like that, your relationship with Minho ventured out of your pocket and into a brand new wilderness.

“So…what’s it like living everybody’s dream?”

Headed to the bathroom, Hyeongmi stops you, leaned over the mirror, carefully inspecting her plum-colored lipstick.

“What?” You pique, confusedly glancing between her and the empty stall you’re trying to nonchalantly slip into.

“I mean, the entire company’s talking about it. Tell me, are you guys actually official? Or is this all just for the attention? No offense, but-“

“I...”

Want to punch you in the face.

You keep it to yourself.

“I’m gonna go.”

Synonymously, both your bladder and your appetite completely disappeared.

Although, she doesn’t leave you alone.

You’re frantically searching for excuse after excuse, speed-walking and taking the stairs any chance available.

Unfortunately for you, she’s everywhere. At some point you’re certain a tracking device is hidden somewhere on your clothes.

Almost there. From silently pleading help with your eyes to legitimately hiding in your workplace, today couldn’t have been more of a joke.

Or so you thought.

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Hyeongmi?”

“With Minho,” She nervously fiddles with her earrings. “You don’t have to tell me but.. how’s the bedroom?”

Apparently, it can go lower.

Before you can respond to her shamelessness, a grip fastens on your shoulders, cologne distinct enough you can tell exactly who it is.

Your beach day.

“Hyeongmi, you do realize that’s rude, yeah? Let’s not cross boundaries we shouldn’t cross, got it?”

All the while Minho smiles, this cloying, “I dare you” sort of attitude no one can argue with.

Averting her attention, she speedily raises up, humorlessly laughing off the tension while excusing herself from the room.

“You okay?” He whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, pressing a chaste kiss there.

Yeah, there’s no getting used to this.

“Yep,” You say, though there isn’t much sincerity it.

He knows.

“Wait for me here, let’s walk home together.”

Ah. You want to kiss him.

“Minho.”

He turns on his heel.

Kiss me.

You’re holding his collar now, the option on the tip of your tongue, his lips a hairbreadth from yours.

Close, closer.

No. Not yet.

Either way, what do you know about kissing? What if you screw up?

Not yet.

“..Okay.”

Your gaze flits down to his lips if only for a second. A small, cheeky grin adorning his face as he follows your movements.

It’s hard to focus when he leaves, because all you can think about is the possibilities. What if you had kissed him? Would he have kissed you back?

By the way looked at you, the logical response would be: yes. Most people don’t stare at someone like that without the intent to kiss them, right?

Though somehow, you can’t help but feel unprepared, a complete novice in this battlefield of love.

Where Minho took you afterward was a mystery, merely happy to be away from the confines of your desk—letting his eager hand guide you wherever he pleased.

Shielded beneath the shade of two trees, your destination, Yeouido Park, is a spectacle during the transition period of winter to spring. You’d oftentimes spend hours here, basking in the relief a break grants. A spectacle where you two first truly met.

“Alright, be honest with me.”

He spins you around till you’re face to face, carefully analyzing your facial expression.

“Are you really okay? After Hyeongmi said that, I couldn’t stop thinking..”

Oh. That careful crease in his eyebrows, sympathetic.

He’s breaking your heart.

You realize now why everyone falls in love with him.

“Of me?”

The words come out involuntarily, a step forward in the newness, paving light through the darkened abyss.

“Yeah..” He says, a little winded while doing so.

Minho cares, he always had, yet, it’s your first time hearing it aloud.

“Y/n.”

Blinking yourself back into reality, your face grows warm, not intending to deliberately space out right in front of him.

He leans forward, causing you to shrink back into your skin as a kiss is planted right atop your nose, the man wearing a satisfied grin.

“Hey- You can’t- It’s not Valentines yet—“

“And why would I wait until Valentine’s day?”

Another deeper red burns your cheeks, and you scorn the way he gets under your skin—a way that makes every insult dissolve like powder on your tongue.

He notices, but decides not to prod further, lightly bumping your hip with his own as a signal to follow.

“Tomorrow is the day, y’know,” You mumble, kicking rocks with the tip of your shoe.

“Are we gonna turn into those couples?” He asks, pretentiously puckering his lips, eyes squinted shut.

You burst out laughing.

“I would break up with you first, sorry Minho.” Said puckered lips transform into a playful scowl.

“What? No treat for valentines?”

Blinking babydoll eyes up at you, you wrinkle your nose, coming to recognize what “treat” he was implying.

Earlier you would’ve kissed instantly, but an inkling of stubbornness kept you from giving into him this time.

Sneaking behind you, he ducks down, voice low enough for only your ears to hear.

“Didn’t seem you were too against it earlier.”

And with that, he races off, entirely too happy with himself and not likely to live down your reaction. Because you can’t disagree.

Since when were Lee Minho’s lips so kissable?

Knock.

Your attention strays from the mirror at the sound, wondering if it was simply a figment of your imagination only for the sound to ensue.

Knock. Knock.

Who would be at your door at this hour in the middle of the week?

There’s a name on your tongue, but you don’t contemplate any longer, tiptoeing to the doorway to peer through the peephole.

And the sight before you makes every ounce of suspicion worthwhile.

Minho, holding a bouquet of roses and things unknown behind his back, is reciting.

He’s staring at his shoes, bouncing back and forth on his heels nervously.

Lee Minho is nervous.

Wanting just to stand there and watch him rehearse, you finally give in after a third knock scares you out of your wits—hesitantly opening the door and trying to placate the most surprised expression possible.

His eyes round as saucers, you literally watch the gears in his head turn in real time, extending the flowers out to you.

“Happy valentines. These are uh, for you.”

And his ears are red.

You’re going to implode from how cute this is.

Attempting to stave down the alarming amount of happiness you’re experiencing, you hold the flowers in one hand, awaiting whatever lie behind his back.

Although, as the outline of a box of chocolates appears, so does… a shampoo bottle.

What.

Bathing in a long silence, you can’t help but wonder you’re genuinely hallucinating. Glancing from his face to the literal shampoo in hand, he mirrors you, confused for a reason you’re trying to figure out as well.

“Is that… a shampoo bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you were running low the last time I came here.”

…

You’ve never received a valentine before, but this automatically took the cake.

Is it possible to fall in love after you’re given a shampoo bottle as a gift on valentines? Apparently so.

Nonetheless, work flashed past, barely able to register a thing between the many congratulations you received and the absence of Hyeongmi (assumed to be due to the brown-haired charmer beside you).

For now, you savor the freedom of the day, finally able to escape the pains of before and wallow in a new kind of excitement. Love.

Love delivered by Minho himself in the form of mini scraps he’s folded into hearts, slipping heart after heart onto your desk at any opportunity to the point you bump his leg beneath the table in warning.

He cheekily smirks in return, stupidly innocent face scheming with malice.

He’s getting an absolute kick out of this, and you hate to admit you enjoy it just as much.

As usual, you wait behind for him to catch up on your daily commute home—an activity you did long before any romantic feelings became involved.

That’s it. Minho’s pinpoint of romance.

Shampoo bottle, walks home, extra coffee, notes.

Minho doesn’t openly express his love, not unless he feels either adventurous or obligated. Instead, he studies. Your habits, the things you enjoy, your actions, preferences. That particular coffee order you liked, how you had ran out of shampoo.

Oh how you love him.

Though, rounding the sidewalk to your place, Minho grabs ahold of your wrist. In response, as soon as you turn your head, you’re mere centimeters from his face, simply standing there, proximity willing either of you not to move.

Initial words dying out, he slightly edges to the side, cocked in a way that has your mind racing.

Nose, cheek, but never lips.

No.

Your hands act before any other part of you, blocking his lips from yours.

“We-“

The look he’s giving you, shock.

You feel a hundred degrees hotter.

“We need to go inside,” You excuse yourself fast, the man tailing behind, grip still loosely attached to your wrist.

Quickly shutting the door behind you, it’s an immediate embarrassment flooding your frame that allows you to speak, words bursting outward in an uncontrollable cacophony.

“Minho I’m so sorry I have no idea what I was doing, I shouldn’t have done that, it was a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything-“

“Hey, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

His tone serves as the much needed breeze fanning your face, cooling you down enough to articulate sentences properly.

“I’m sorry, we’ve just never kissed on the lips and I feel like I’m gonna be horrible and kill the mood. This is stupid, I know, just.. bear with me please?”

His eyebrows furrow, forming together the equation piece by piece.

“You’ve.. You’ve never had your first kis—?”

You hush him furiously, slumping onto the couch dejectedly.

Yet, Minho doesn’t laugh nor pick fun regardless of how hilariously idiotic the occasion is. He’s quiet, concerned almost.

You add that to your long list of things you love about him.

Inhaling gradually, your focus flits to the window, collecting yourself, easing the frantic rush-hour traffic rampaging in your skull.

If you were one of those paper hearts he made, he’s pulling apart each careful fold in this very moment. Unraveling the layers till your bare self is exposed in all its anxiousness.

“I hate it. It feels like a part of that teenage youth everyone talks about is something I’ll never get to experience. I was too busy caring about school, and now I feel like I’ve missed out.”

Soaking in a quietness, you jump when he places a hand over yours, softly tracing the skin of your knuckles, glossy as he watches, carving each perfect aspect of you into memory.

“Well you may not be seventeen, but you’re never too old to learn to kiss.”

One hand cupping your jaw to garner your attention, you’re met with a glass-like visage.

Gentle.

“And I can teach you how.”

It’s always been business, you’ve always been business. Which is why, now confronting what feels to be the highest peak in your love life, you’re left a completely blank canvas. No rules, no instructions.

It’s terrifying.

“Min- Minho, I really haven’t done this before.”

You hastily pique, scooting backward in the cushions.

Curse the shakiness of your voice.

“If you don’t want to do this, tell me. We won’t.”

You quickly shake your head.

No, you want this, you’ve wanted this too badly to back out now.

“Then let’s take it slow, okay?”

It’s horrifically awkward at first, a tiny peck, then a bit longer till your arms creep over his shoulders, his fingers once holding your jaw steady now resting on your neck.

Best word to describe it? Messy.

“Breathe through your nose.”

“Minho— I’m suffocating here—“

You sputter back, quite literally heaving for breath.

Yes, it was otherworldly kissing him, and he was an insanely good kisser, but did this really require your lungs to practically burst?

“Are you teaching me how to give a blowjob or kiss?”

His smile transforms mischievously, a sneering laugh slipping past. You already know he’ll make a sly comment.

Minho winks. “We’ll get to that later.”

“I lost my urge to date you. Bye.”

“Noooo Y/n~” He whines profusely, warm hold on your waist beckoning another kiss filled with hushed giggles and incessant jeers from either party—ensuing a halfway unbuttoned shirt and quite possibly the most greedy ten minutes known to man.

Out of breath, he pulls back from your stomach, the ticklish feather-light kisses planted there earning a stifled giggle from you while he blinks upward, seeming to be focused on something.

“Minho?” You question, ignorant to how unbelievably obsessed with you he is, more than ever in this moment.

From your damp, sweaty skin to the few hairs stuck to your forehead. Your swollen lips, the way you laugh, your stomach dipping with the action. He doubts he’ll ever get tired of this.

Reaching forward as if caught in a trance, he tenderly tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, voice barely audible upon pressing his forehead against yours.

And in the seclusion of your living room, tangled up together on the sofa, it’s just the two of you existing in this world.

“I hope you know I really meant it when I said I thought you were pretty too.”

Ah. He remembers. All that time ago.

Of course he does.

Kissing you for a time you can’t remember, you begin to wonder if that birthday wish of yours had came true after all.

Your feelings for Minho had always existed somewhere inside of you. Your head, your heart. A tiny inkling into something more, a could be. Two individuals wishing, waiting to make a move.

It seems the Valentines Pact sealed the deal.

FIC TAGLIST. @gimmeurtmi @jisuperboard @porang-poranglinos @palindrome969 @stayceebs97 @inniescandy-01 @idklin0

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daddyfordaeddy · 9 months ago

Text

Pairing: San x f! Reader

Word Count: 2269

Warnings: cursing, talks of insecurity about your nether regions, too much league of legends talk, none otherwise (smut warnings under cut)

Genre: smut, fluff, rated M for mature, established relationship au

Summary: You lost a bet to San, and now he gets to do whatever he wants

Smut warnings: fingering, oral (male & female receiving, fem focused), blindfold, dirty talk, spit play, light bondage (yn's tied to a chair), multiple orgasms

I’m only doing a couple of the February Filth Fest, and this is day/track 25! free use/spit play, and i chose the latter (once more)! i know almost nothing about spit play so i hope its good!

And if you want to know what other days I’m doing? You’ll just have to wait and see ;) This is the second to last one!

“Baby, can you come here for a minute?” Your boyfriend, San, calls for you and your head pops up from the book you were reading. It wasn’t very interesting anyway, something you had to read for class, so you have no qualms about putting it down and seeing what San needs. He’s currently in the computer room, waiting for you with a large and mischievous grin on his face.

“What’s that look for,” you laugh, approaching him and leaning down to peck his lips. “You look like a cat who swallowed a bird.” San pouts at the analogy but he can’t really fight it.

San sighs, his eyes crinkling with a smile and you can’t help but kiss him again at the adorable sight. “I just had an idea. Hear me out, okay?”

You laugh but plop into your chair next to him. “Shoot.”

“So.” San seems almost embarrassed but the smile on your face doesn’t waver and he squares his shoulders. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to bet with me. You know how you’ve been playing league pretty competitively lately?”

You nod. Your friends roped you into playing ranked games with them and you’ve somehow made your way as a platinum player. Every so often, San would join you and your friends in playing games and every time he does, you’re reminded of how he used to be a diamond level. “Yeah, why? You wanna play again?”

San chuckles. “Kind of. I don’t want to go the competitive route again, but I want to play one game with you.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. You may be good now, but you’re pretty sure San has been practising behind your back. “What do I get if I win?”

San’s smile grows wider. “You can do whatever you want with me in bed. But the same goes for me if I win. Deal?”

You hum. “Sure, but we get to pick each other’s champions.”

Without another word, San holds out his hand and you give it a firm shake. “I’ll have you play Neeko.”

You snort. “Well, you picked so nicely you can play Akali. I’d let you be Graves but I’ve never played against one.” San leans over to smack your leg but you dodge it with a giggle.

San sighs but his eyes are full of fondness. “Of course, so kind. Now, I hope you’re ready to get your ass beat.” His words are tender but he’s not playing around. He’s both competitive and horny and he’ll do whatever to win. And you won’t lie, you’re enjoying the idea of it too.

“I think you might be talking to yourself, Sannie,” you wink. “I hope you like getting pegged.”

The beginning of the match was fairly easy. The bots, of course, were evenly matched and you and San were fairly even. Although you tend to scale more late-game and San does best in mid-game, you were playing it safe.

“Ah, fuck!” You squawk when the opposing top just shows up, stunning you and San lands his first kill. “That was so mean,” you complain and San chuckles, leaning past his computer screen to pat your knee.

“Sorry, baby, that’s the game,” he hums before narrowing his eyes to reconcentrate. You find it hotter than you should. Unfortunately, after your death, San got a leg up and it’s hard to pick up the slack. And with how close the two of you were in skill, that small difference turned into a big difference. In no time whatsoever, your nexus is already on the brink of death and no matter how hard you try, you end up losing.

“Fuck,” you whine, pulling off your headphones and slinging them around your neck. “That was so close I could almost imagine my victory.”

San snickers, rolling his chair over to practically flop onto your body. “Sorry, baby, but it looks like I’m the winner here.”

You pout playfully, carding your fingers through his soft hair. “Fine, fine. What do you wanna do,” you concede, bending down to kiss his temple.

San hums but you know he’s not really thinking about it. You’ve known him long enough that you can tell that he had been planning this for a while. “I wanna eat you out.”

His words cause you to stiffen and turn your eyes away. You’ve always disliked the idea of you receiving oral. Not because you find it gross, of course. You like sucking dick, what difference is there? Your past boyfriends offered before, you just didn’t take them up on it and they didn’t press the issue. It just stems from your insecurities about your vagina, you suppose.

In your eyes, it’s too weird-looking. And you know San is just happy to do whatever but you can’t get over your mental block. But as San stares up at you, you sigh. You’re too prideful to back out. It’s not like it’s the worst thing San could’ve chosen. You just don’t like it. It’d be like if you won and wanted to peg him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t–” San tries to help you when it takes you a tad too long to respond but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You can.”

San’s eyes brighten and his lips twitch but he sits up, a little more serious. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want to make you feel like you had to.” And your heart blooms with appreciation for his words. And it only makes you want to trust him more.

“I am.”

—

Your body is stiff in the chair you’re tied loosely to as you anticipate what's to come. A blindfold rests over your eyes and it's almost barely see-through so you can see the shadows moving around you but not what it is. You're not quite sure what you expect but the unsurety of it all makes your thighs clench.

“You're so tense,” San's voice floats towards you and you can almost feel his presence as he comes to stand in front of you. “Are you ready?”

At your nod, his hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, nothing covering your lower half except the hem of your shirt. “Don't worry, I'll make you feel good, baby.”

Before you can even respond, his breath ghosts over your cunt and your breath stops in your throat. He giggles at how stiff you're holding yourself before he presses a soft kiss to the junction of your inner thigh. And another. And another.

“Hurry up already,” you groan. “Can't get this over with if you take five years–” Your words are cut off as soon as San places a kiss to your clit, pleasure shooting up your spine. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your hips jerk at the sensation.

“Come on, don’t be shy. I want to hear all your pretty moans,” San hums, pressing another kiss to your clit as his tongue darts out to flick at it. “Taste so good baby, can’t believe I finally get to do this. Been dreaming about eating you for dessert and now I finally get to. So perfect for me.”

Your thighs are so tense, both from your nerves and from the feeling of his tongue pressing against your folds. “San–” you groan, clenching so hard you feel you may get a cramp in your hip, but San’s having none of that. His thumbs press into the junction connecting your thighs and torso, and you hiss at the pressure. “Fuck,” you groan.

You can hear the slick sounds of San lapping at your pussy, his nose pressing into your clit so perfectly you fear you may come already. His fingers are pressing slowly into you as he licks around them. “Fuck, you’re squeezing around me so well,” he groans. “So needy, look at you.”

Without warning, he spits on your pussy, and you gasp at the sensation of his saliva dripping down your heated skin. “San!” You don’t know how to react and your boyfriend chuckles at your astonishment. He bends down, licking at the mixture of your slick and his spit, kissing your clit again as he bites at the flesh.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his teeth scrape against your folds and your hips kick up as you reach your high, coming with a groan. It feels like you’re about to pee, just so much more intense, and your core clenches as your head is thrown back in bliss. San’s tongue leaves your folds although his fingers are still pumping inside of you.

“Fuck, babe, I didn’t know you could squirt,” he says, voice filled with awe. “Fuck.” He spits again on your pussy, flattening his tongue to lick a long stripe up it and your breath catches at the feeling.

“Oh God,” you groan, eyes fluttering shut as your teeth work into your spit-covered lower lip. “Fuck, it’s so much, Sannie.”

San hums, mouth still pressed against your sopping cunt and if you think hard enough, you can just imagine how shiny his face must be after eating you out for what seems like hours. “You’re just so perfect, how could I stop?” he groans, the vibrations in your cunt making you twitch. “Colour?”

“Fuck– green,” you cry, trying to grind down on the chair, and San chuckles, puffing his warm breath onto your nether regions. “Sannie, please–”

Without another word, he spits onto his free hand, pressing his palm onto your clit and rubbing it in small circles. You can’t help but arch your back, whimpers and gasps leaving your lips like you’re getting paid for every sound you make. The light filtering through your blindfold is suddenly covered, and before you can even register what’s happening, San’s lips press against yours and you eagerly accept his kiss.

You can taste yourself in his mouth as you lick into it, mouth falling open as San spits in it. “Swallow,” he commands, and you rush to do so, eyes rolling back in your head as his fingers pump inside of you and the hand that was rubbing your clit moves up to pinch and knead your breast.

“Nng, San, I’m close again,” you warn, and San laughs, kissing down your neck and biting at your shoulder.

“Ah, again? So needy, begging for me,” he hums, mouth travelling down to suck at your other boob, his teeth scraping over your nipple. “You’re so pretty, (Y/N), taste so good, I could eat you up for hours.”

And, true to his word, he presses his tongue against your flushed skin, dragging it down to taste the mixture of sweat and come until it reaches your clit again. With a groan, he slurps at your sensitive bud, nipping at it.

“Shit–” you cry out, legs jerking. San laughs, drawing his fingers out of your cunt and away from your chest as he pins your legs down to have uninterrupted access. The hot muscle of his tongue slowly presses into you, flicking at your convulsing flesh so perfectly. With so many sensations overcoming your body, you feel like you might die as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

It washes over you wave after wave, and San’s tongue won’t stop pushing in and out of you at a slowing speed. “So perfect for me,” he repeats himself as he sighs against your quivering pussy. “You’re dripping so much for me. Eat you so well you can’t stop, hmm?”

“Fuck off,” you gasp, although there’s not much bite to your words. Not when San spreads your lower lips and presses his tongue impossibly further into your wet heat. “Ah, shit.”

As much as he likes to tease you, San doesn’t want to overwhelm you and he slows down, letting you come down from your high without too much overstimulation. Your body feels limp on the chair, your legs jello. You feel San’s breath on your temple right before he kisses it as he unties your wrists and pulls off your blindfold.

You blink blearily up at him, a smile forming at the sight of how wrecked he looks just as much as you. His hair is a mess and his crooked grin is shining with his spit and your slick. You grab his collar, unable to resist pulling him for another kiss as your hand wanders down to press against the obvious bulge in his slacks.

“Ah–” San sighs at the pressure, just letting you unzip his pants and pull out his thick cock, your thumb rubbing the head of it. “You don’t have–”

You interrupt him by leaning down and pressing your lips against the tip, letting your spit dribble down the length of it before enveloping half of it in your mouth. As you reach down to fondle his balls, you keep his dick resting in your mouth, spit pooling and sliding down the veins.

San looks ready to blow already, his eyes squeezed shut and his hand gripping your hair. It makes your heart and cunt throb at how beautiful he looks and you scrape your teeth gently against him. With an almost pained groan, he comes into your mouth and you swallow the bitter taste with a sigh and hum.

The hold he has on your hair loosens and his hand falls to cup your face to bring you back up to him for another long kiss. “Thanks for letting me do this,” San smiles against your lips and you tug him closer by his belt loops.

“Thanks for doing this,” you smile right back. “Next time, I’ll win.”

#cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #pirateeznet #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #ateez x reader #san fanfiction #ateez san #san x reader #san smut #san fanfic #joongfryefff24 #smut

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months ago

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When I was in high school, I fell in with a bad crowd. It's probably happened to you or someone you love, too. Those government PSA commercials that are supposed to keep you away from the habit just tell you about all the fun the so-called "addicts" are having. At first, you start doing it at parties, to impress the older kids. Before you know it, totally hooked, doing it four or five times a day.

Yeah. I was lumberjacking, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Now, I've been clean for many years. Haven't felled a tree in ages. Got the medallion to prove it. Do I still feel that familiar pang when I walk by the novelty chainsaw aisle in Home Depot? You bet your ass I do. Support makes all the difference, and if you're similarly afflicted and want to get out, we can get you help, too.

Couple of years ago, I went with a few of the other sponsors to a lumber-carving competition. It's sick how these dealers rope otherwise decent people in by calling this perverted addiction "art," as if any right-thinking artist would be up to their eyeballs in wood shavings on a February ski weekend trying to carve a cartoon beaver out of a chunk of elm. Until the government and the cops – who are both in the pockets of Big Lumber, I've seen what built their houses – do something about it, the next best thing is to be there when one of their victims wants to end the cycle.

If you're one of those people, you need to reach out. We're here and we understand exactly why your house is full of weird chisels, and why you hide the fence mallet from your kids out of shame. When you're ready to stop smelling like someone set a gas station pine-tree air freshener on fire with approximately $1700 in flannel clothing, call us. We'll do whatever it takes to get you out from under the foot of the national forestry reserve and their onerous permits.

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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Headline by: Ryan Burns. “Ground Has Been Broken on Klamath River Restoration, the World’s Largest-Ever Dam-Removal Project.” Lost Coast Outpost. 23 March 2023.

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The world’s largest dam removal in history is slated for 2023. Led by Indigenous tribes in partnership with organizations, lawyers, scientists and activists, the project will remove four dams, clearing the way for the lower Klamath River to flow freely for the first time in more than a century.

Headline and italicized text excerpt by: Malia Russ. “The Science of Saving Salmon as Klamath Dams Come Down.” UC Davis - Blogs - Climate. 24 February 2023.

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Headline by: Jackson Guilfoil. “Klamath dam removals, habitat restoration, begins.” The Mercury News. 25 March 2023.

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Headline by: Kale Williams. “‘The salmon are coming home’: Work begins on Klamath River dam removal.” KGW8. 27 March 2023.

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Iron Gate is a sinuous, skinny reservoir tucked into the folds of the Siskiyou Mountains. Draining it will expose about 900 acres of wet mud. “It’s our job to make sure it’s revegetated. We want that to be revegetated with a healthy native plant ecosystem,” says Joshua Chenoweth, Senior Riparian Ecologist for the Yurok Tribe who is leading the replanting effort. [...] Last fall, they seeded the strip with a mix of native grasses and flowering plants; now, they’re installing young shrubs and trees: buckbrush, serviceberry, and Oregon ash, along with the Klamath plum. Collectively, these plants will create a “wall of green,” taking up space that would have otherwise been overrun by non-native plants [...]. The revegetation of the Klamath River has been called the largest river restoration project in American history. Collecting, propagating, and growing enough seeds and plants to populate the reservoir footprints -- approximately 2,200 acres in all -- is a staggering task. [...] Their planting design includes 96 different species: culturally significant plants like yampah and lomatium, important pollinator species like milkweed, and tens of thousands of oak trees. [...] What will a restored, wild Klamath River look like? Imagine it. Stand at the Wanaka Springs boat launch and picture Iron Gate reservoir drained. The river has found its channel at the base of its original canyon. Willows flank the banks. Much of the reservoir footprint is flush with upland vegetation -- oak copses; thickets of buckbrush and Klamath plum; blooming rose and lupine.

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Headline, images, captions, screenshot, and italicized text excerpt from: Juliet Grable. “After the dams: Restoring the Klamath River will take billions of native seeds.” Jefferson Public Radio. 13 March 2023.

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reaveries · 2 years ago

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▬ 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲

gif credit to @robpattinsongifs (much higher resolution on their account)

summary: late-night visits from your definitely human boyfriend

pairings: edward cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (approximately 7 minutes reading time)

a/n: I’ve had this baby marinating in my drafts since January, when I was going through my bi-annual Twilight Renaissance. I was actually in the middle of writing a RE2R Leon Kennedy fic today and decided to put on a twilight playlist, and then I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my first *published* non-RDR fic heehee (I have so much in my drafts, it’s insane). Anyways, enjoy (pardners)!

masterlist archive of our own

It’s that dreadful time of year again.

The sun is making its curtain call as students from the nearby elementary school trip over themselves running home. Little girls and boys have sticky remnants of lunch peeking from the corners of their mouths and the grass is still slick from morning showers. But dusk is impatient in February, and its eagerness is encouraged in a town hidden beneath perpetual overcast nine months out of the year.

The school children ran past her window minutes ago when the sky had been painted brilliant indigo. Now, when she looks up the only thing left to see is her own dark reflection and the warm orange glow from a candle on the sill. Its tall flame stutters, collapsing and rising with the damp breeze.

A page turns, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise that can be heard is a soft pitter of water dripping onto the floorboards from a coat hanging off the closet door.

She reaches for a mug sitting on the corner of her nightstand and promptly sets it back down upon finding it empty. It returns to its spot atop crumpled receipts and library hold slips belonging to the growing stack of books accumulating dust at her bedside. These books tower over the permanent nightstand residents: lazily discarded beaded necklaces, a sample bottle of floral perfume from Christmas, two little ceramic bunnies purchased from an antique mall in Port Angeles last summer, car keys, and drugstore chapstick. It might be worth convincing her to let go of some of these post-object permanence discoveries, but that is a matter for another time.

In a desperate attempt to comprehend the words she’s reading, she rolls onto her back and extends her arms straight in the air so the book hovers a foot from her face—a change of perspective to freshen the mind.

It does not help.

No matter how much she shifts or squints, the antiquated prose remains stubbornly uninviting. She can’t fathom why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so archaic and convoluted and furthermore, recommend it as one of their favorite novels.

With a huff, she adjusts the headphones at her ears, hoping the music will clear her mind. But despite her best efforts, the book slowly drifts closer to her chest and her eyelids grow heavier as the music lulls her into a dreamless sleep.

When she wakes to cold fingers grazing her jaw it’s impossible to tell whether she’d fallen asleep or if she just blinked. The weight of the headphones gently disappears as they’re pulled off and set down on the nightstand. She grumbles incoherently and stretches out her legs, not unlike a cat after a long, difficult day of lounging around. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open and immediately find him only inches away. He’s watching her, peering down with a twinkle in his amber-colored eyes.

“Edward…” she whispers.

“Dracula,” he says, eyebrows raised as he makes the observation. “I thought you didn’t like Gothics.”

She reaches a finger into the book on her chest and folds the page over before tossing it carelessly into the sea of knitted and quilted blankets at the foot of the bed. With the haze of sleep still clouding her eyes, she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“I’m trying.”

He chuckles lightly and brings his hand to her hair again, brushing stray strands off her forehead and tucking them behind her ears before leaning down to place a chaste kiss above her eyes. Though his lips are soft, the icy touch of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. He’s always cold; a result of his anemia, he says. However, the downpour that's dampened his hair and clothes to his skin has chilled him even more so.

In an effort to sit up, she raises herself onto her elbows and catches a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers on her bedside clock.

“You’re late, you know,” she chides, watching him settle uncomfortably at the head of the bed. He sinks down among the pillows, their plushness contrasting humorously with the stiffness of his demeanor. He reaches behind his back and tugs free a stuffed rabbit lodged between him and the headboard, then sets it down softly beside himself.

“I had to make a quick stop. I hope you can forgive me,” he says in a hushed voice, so as not to make too much noise in the resting house. His eyes flit towards the nightstand and she follows them to see a new item sitting amongst the disorder. A tall styrofoam cup with steam rising thinly from the lid. Coffee.

The mug she just finished sits right beside it. She’d considered brewing more but that was before being rendered unconscious by Bram Stoker nearly an hour ago. Her heart swells at his thoughtfulness, but a more pressing question comes to mind before she can voice her gratitude.

“How did you even climb up here with that?” She asks, reaching for the cup with both hands.

“I’m very…agile.” There’s a look in his eyes that tells her there’s more to it, but she chooses to ignore it for now with a shake of her head.

The taste is immediately harsh, significantly more bitter than how she makes it herself. Any trace of a smile dissipates and is replaced with a pronounced look of disgust.

“Good God, Edward,” she exclaims. “Decaf? What did I ever do to you?”

He laughs and takes it from her hands, leaving her still reeling from the unexpected taste. “As much as I love staying up with you, you need sleep,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You didn’t get any last night and you don’t hide it well.”

He says the last part sweetly, tilting his head to the side and following her motions with his eyes, watching her pick up the stuffed rabbit by its cotton paw.

“Don’t hide it well?” She repeats, the indignation in her voice contrasting with the softness of the toy as she raises it high into the air and brings it down against his chest with a soft thud. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you—weren’t—keeping—me—up—all—night!”

With every word, the rabbit hits his forearms poorly attempting to shield himself from the blows. Edward grins as she attacks him, the soft toy barely making a sound against his arms. He watches as her hair falls across her face in the midst of the unrelenting attack, the warm glow of the candle casting a soft halo around her.

But then, his amusement fades as he sees the exhaustion in her eyes.

He gently takes the rabbit from her and sets it aside before grabbing her arm mid-swing and pulling her into his chest. She sighs heavily and surrenders, relaxing against him. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll let you rest tonight.”

Despite his tender words, a residual half-baked frustration lingers inside her. “How did you manage to stay awake in class?” she mumbles into his sweater, the words muffled. “I mean, you didn’t get any sleep either.”

He chuckles, as if privy to some inside joke.

“Well, someone had to take your notes for you,” he says, his fingers trailing through her hair in a soothing motion. “And besides, you looked so peaceful drooling away.”

She looks up at him, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I did not drool,” she insists.

He grins down at her, his eyes alight with fondness. “Of course not.”

She groans and buries her head into his chest, to which he responds by encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“I’m never falling asleep in front of you again,” she grumbles.

His chest rumbles beneath her cheek as he laughs. “Alright, angel.”

He shifts his hand from the crown of her head to the curve of her back, tracing languid circles over the fabric of her t-shirt as the room fills with a comfortable silence. The rain outside grows heavier, tapping against the glass with a more insistent force. Her body is warm against his and he can feel the steady thumping of her heartbeat as if it's his own. A few minutes slip by, and he senses her breathing even out and deepen. Without disturbing her, he reaches for a nearby blanket and drapes it over her, then turns his gaze to the candle on the windowsill.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, as the dwindling flame fades out of focus.

This is his favorite part of the day.

Vague arrays of soft, muted hues and shapes swirl around in his vision, overtaking the warm surroundings of her bedroom. They morph into recognizable figures after some time, and he can hear them speaking when he focuses. For the most part, they sound as if he’s underwater and they’re conversing on the shore. But every now and then, a clear phrase emerges.

Suddenly, the floating shapes assimilate into a figure resembling him and he realizes what this dream is. It’s a recurring one he’s particularly fond of. He settles in and pulls her closer as the scene ebbs between reality and distortions of the unconscious mind.

He can’t remember how he used to pass the night hours before he met her. Books, records, films--looking back, they feel hollow compared to nights spent like this. Part of him hopes he’ll never know what it's like to want for this. But these dreams, and her thoughts in the waking hours, assure him he won’t ever have to find out.

#twilight #twilight fanfic #edward cullen #edward cullen x y/n #edward cullen x reader #the twilight saga #twilight 2008

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elvenbeard · 1 year ago

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The Charter Hill Matter

It's finally done ;__; I've been working on this on and off for the better part of half a year now I think. It was one of the first bigger ideas I sketched out one afternoon shortly after finishing my first Cyberpunk playthrough in February '23 xD

The little background story tha inspired it, that I've definitely told before, goes as follows:

During "Gimme Danger", when talking with Takemura about their childhood, Corpo!V will talk about their childhood growing up in Charter Hill. And me, a sucker for details like that, in the middle of building a background story for my V at the time, immediately drove to Charter Hill then to figure out where a good place to live might be.

I chose a random apartment building on Grant Avenue, cause it had metro access, lots of shops, and all the bright neon lights and ads everyhwere that V mentions. Good enough, I thought, it's settled. He grew up there.

Flashforward about 20 hours of gameplay, I finally meet Kerry, and he invites V to Dark Matter. And I don't think I even initially realized it (bc, you know, I was slightly... preoccupied otherwise during that convo) but then it dawned on me... You can actually see the building I chose as V's childhood home quite well from up there. And he would obviously realize it, too. Since Vince doesn't have good memories of the place though he never brings it up, until Kerry eventually, during one of their many dates they end up having up there, notices he's been staring off into the distance a little more than usual.

And yeah... this is that scene and I really wanted to do it as a little comic ;__;

All backgrounds are ingame screenshots, the map of Charter Hill is a heavily edited screenshot of the interactive Cyberpunk Map (https://maps.piggyback.com/cyberpunk-2077/maps/night-city) and the street names I referenced from this map someone on Reddit put together by hand from going around and reading all the ingame street signs (https://www.reddit.com/r/LowSodiumCyberpunk/comments/msyg79/i_couldnt_find_a_map_of_night_city_with_street/). Both super duper useful resources for writing, can highly recommend, I use them all the time XD

Anyway, I hope you like my sappy, self-indulgent lil' comic, I sure as hell had a lot of fun working on it and I'm so proud to finally have it finsihed x3

#cyberpunk 2077 #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk kerry #cyberpunk v #corpo v #cyberpunk 2077 fanart #cp2077 #cp77 #cp2077 fanart #cp77 fanart #kerry eurodyne x v #male v cyberpunk #vincent ezaki #otp: to bad decisions #art by me #long post #love is stored in the forehead boops ;______;

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oliviawebsite · 10 months ago

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disabled trans woman in need of help with rent this month

sorry to make another begpost, but i think the last one i made has started to die out visibility-wise and im down to the last 12 dollars to my name until next week. i will probably need some extra help to meet my rent cost for february because i have been ill and in a bad flare up of a chronic condition and have missed a fair amount of work over the last month as a result. im anticipating a deficit of about $200 when the time comes and i just want to maybe have a little bit so i can feed and take care of myself otherwise. im sorry for doing this so much. i am unwell but im trying to come back. i just need some help right now with. basically everything. if you are able to share even the slightest amount it would go a long way. thank you <3

paypal

venmo

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 2: Hera, Goddess Of Childbirth]

A/N: Enjoy Chapter 2 a little early! See you on Sunday for Chapter 3 🥰

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You are buzzed at a private party in the Rainbow Room of Rockefeller Center, Midtown, February 1966, chandeliers and candlelight, pink and red hearts made of paper hanging from shimmering strings and littering the floor. Your roommate Barbara Nassau Astor—yes those Astors, Astor Avenue in the Bronx, Astoria in Queens, “the landlords of New York”—brought you along tonight, and the chance to be swept up into her glittering existence is precisely why your father sent you to a school like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart. Barb knows people who know people who know other people and every single individual in that grand design is wealthy and worldly and could possibly lead you into the generous arms of your future husband. You are from Tarpon Springs, Florida, heiress to a sea sponge fortune, and your father nurses powerful ambitions of intermingling his blood with the Northeastern elite.

You scan the selection as you sip your Pink Squirrel. You could marry a doctor and sit in the living room waiting for him to come home at 9 or 10 or 11 p.m., fix him a Whiskey Sour or a Sazerac, listen to him bemoan the complexities of nerves and veins before accompanying him to bed and repeating the whole process the next day. You could marry a lawyer or an advertising executive, and your fate would be much the same. Your own parents are partners in life and business, but you have seen enough to know how rare this is. These men of the Rainbow Room, 65 floors above icy streets radiant with headlights, want a wife whose hands will stay manicured and idle: nannies will tend to the children, maids will clean the house, mistresses will massage the knots out of the muscles of his back. And you—a relative upstart, new money among ancient bloodlines—will have no right to demand otherwise.

A man interrupts your reverie. He wants to know about the pendant you wear around your neck. You sigh before you turn to him; you resist the instinct to roll your eyes. And then you see him. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a curious intensity and a teasing little smirk, an Old Fashioned in his grasp like molten gold. You don’t know it yet, but he is a senator from New Jersey, very recently elected, victorious yet still hungry. He steals the oxygen out of your lungs. He drowns you in the amber-musk warmth of his cologne.

“It’s Athena,” you say, touching your fingertips to the silver medallion self-consciously; and you are rarely self-conscious. The black polish has been scrubbed from your nails and replaced with a soft, shimmering champagne. You spent two hours this afternoon having your hair painfully teased and arranged into a Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo.

“Goddess of wisdom.”

“And war and peace. And math.”

“Math?” He is intrigued.

“That’s what I’m studying at school. Math.”

“And yet you are not disinterested in the humanities. You know Greek mythology.”

“Well, Tarpon Springs has a lot of Greeks, and that’s where I’m from, so.”

“Studies math. From Tarpon Springs, Florida. I’m learning everything about you.” He smiles, this magnetic stranger who has captured you like a moon lured into a planet’s gravity. He swallows a mouthful of his Old Fashioned, moisture glistening on his lips. “Do you like Greek food?”

You can’t seem to follow his words. Blood is rushing into your face, hot and dizzying. “What?”

“Greek food. Have you tried it? Hummus, tzatziki, gyros, spanakopita, horiatiki, baklava.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had it. It’s great.”

“My family owns a house on Long Beach Island,” he says casually. “We eat a lot of Greek food there. You should join us for dinner sometime soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon. Maybe this weekend. Are you free?”

No, you’re not; but you’ll cancel plans until you are. “Um, okay. Sure. And who…sorry, I might have missed it, but…who are you…?”

“Aemond Targaryen.” And he shakes your hand like you’re someone who matters. “I’m a senator. I’m trying to end the war.”

With him, you could be a part of something magnificent. With him, you could help save the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Asteria is the goddess of falling stars, but the home of rising ones. On the north end of Long Beach Island, New Jersey—only 100 miles south of the sleek bladelike skyscrapers of Manhattan—lies the sprawling Targaryen estate. The nine-acre property features one main house and another three for guests, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a ten-car garage, a boathouse, a pier, and an ample stretch of beach that abuts the Atlantic Ocean, open water with nothing interrupting the infinite, miles-deep blue from the East Coast to the Iberian Peninsula. It is the first week of July, 1968, and your 23rd birthday. You are lazing in a lounge chair on the emerald green lawn and eating your third slice of melopita, a cheesecake-like dessert made with honey and ricotta. It originates from the Greek island of Sifnos.

“You two can’t murder each other while I’m gone,” Aemond says. He’s sitting between you and Aegon. His stitches have healed, the worst of his pain has subsided, his poll numbers have only improved since the assassination attempt. He has a glass eye that he can insert for public appearances, but he dislikes it; at home he wears a leather eyepatch that still unnerves the children. Tomorrow, Aemond is flying to Tacoma to campaign ahead of the Washington State Convention on the 13th. Most of the family will be joining him, with only three Targaryens remaining at Asteria: ailing Viserys, useless Aegon, and you, officially too pregnant to travel by plane. You are wearing a floral, flowing, two-piece swimsuit. The sun is blazing in a clear sky. The record player is piping out Time Of The Season by the Zombies.

Aegon waves a hand flippantly, then adjusts his preposterously large blue-tinted plastic sunglasses; he is shirtless, flabby, very sunburned. “I’ll barely be here.”

Aemond looks over at him, amused. “Oh yeah? And what pressing engagements do you have to attend to? I’d love to know.”

You take a bite of your melopita and scatter crumbs across the swell of your belly: seven and a half months along. “I’m sure the prostitutes miss him.”

“They do,” Aegon snaps. “I’m their favorite customer.”

“Well you’re a reprieve for them. It’s always over so quickly.”

Aemond is snickering. Aegon says to him: “23, huh? A 13-year age difference. She could almost be your daughter.”

“And 17 years younger than you. She could definitely be yours.”

“That’s how Aegon likes his girls,” you say. “Too inexperienced to recognize end-stage degeneracy. Still stumbling their way through Shakespeare for English class.”

“Why can’t she stay at the brownstone?” Aegon asks irritably. Aemond owns a historic townhouse in Georgetown for when Congress is in session, though he’s rarely been there since he announced that he was running for president.

“Because Doxie is here to make sure she’s taken care of,” Aemond replies. Eudoxia has been the head housekeeper of Asteria for decades, a formidable battleaxe of a woman who speaks very little English and has a seemingly endless supply of patterned scarves to wrap around her ink black dyed hair. There currently aren’t any permanent staff stationed at the brownstone, and Aemond does not trust strangers. “And because my future first lady is hosting a tea party on the 10th.”

“A tea party!” Aegon gasps, mocking you. “Surely that will patch the wounds of our troubled nation. She’s an inspiration. She’s motherfucking Gloria Steinem.”

“She’s Aphrodite,” Aemond says, beaming with pride, his remaining eye fixed on your belly. He’s lost one piece of himself, but in a month and a half he’ll gain another. “Goddess of love.”

“There must be a more appropriate mythological character. Medusa, perhaps. Lyssa was the goddess of rabies, Epiales was the goddess of nightmares.”

“Aegon, I had no idea you were so…” You search for the right word. “Literate.”

“Io was turned into a cow.” He grins at you, toothy, malicious.

“She’s also one of Jupiter’s moons,” Aemond muses. He draws invisible orbits in the air with his long, graceful fingers. “Beautiful, celestial, pristine…”

“A satellite,” Aegon says. “Mindless. Aimless. Going wherever she’s told.”

Aemond insists as he twists the bracelet around your right wrist, a delicate gold chain he bought during your honeymoon in Hawaii: “Aphrodite.”

“Didn’t she fuck around with, like, everyone?”

“Maybe you should be Aphrodite,” you tell Aegon.

Mimi appears, tottering across the lawn with the straps of her sundress sliding off her shoulders and her Gimlet sloshing precariously in its glass. The children are playing in the surf with the nannies and Fosco, who is entertaining them by diving for seashells and delivering his treasures into their tiny, grasping palms. Criston is supervising from the sand, though he steals frequent glimpses of Alicent as she feeds a wheelchair-bound Viserys—much diminished after a number of strokes—his own slice of melopita, one careful, patient spoonful at a time. “Can we…” Mimi bursts out laughing and almost falls over. She claws her way upright again using the back of Aegon’s chair. “Um…I was thinking…”

“What?” Aegon asks, annoyed, avoidant. If they’ve ever been happy, it was a transient epoch that came and went long before you joined the family. It was before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

“We should go back to Mykonos. We had such a nice time in Mykonos. Didn’t we? Didn’t we just adore Mykonos?”

Aegon sighs, glowering out over the ocean. “Yeah, we sure did. Ten years ago.”

“Exactly!” Mimi gushes, oblivious. “When can we go? Next week? Let’s go next week.”

“Mimi, you and the kids will be in Washington, remember?” Aemond says. Alicent will have to be her handler; usually it’s your job to make sure Mimi is ready for photos, eats enough to stay conscious, doesn’t trip over her own feet, doesn’t talk too much to the press.

“Washington?” Like she’s never heard of it.

“The state. Not the city. For the convention.”

“Oh right. Right.” She gulps her Gimlet. You could set your watch by Mimi’s drinking. Tipsy by lunch, drunk at dinner, crawling on the floor chasing the dogs around by 8 p.m. The Targaryens keep a drove of Alopekis, small and white and foxlike. “Well…maybe some other time.”

“After the election,” Aemond says with an abiding, encouraging smile. He tolerates Mimi because he needs her: happy wholesome family, American Dream. Down at the water’s edge, the nannies are giving towels to Fosco and the children as they scamper out of the frothing waves, Mimi’s five and Helaena’s three: Daphne, Neaera—no one can ever seem to spell her name correctly, least of all the six-year-old girl herself—and Evangelos.

Mimi departs, on the hunt for a fresh Gimlet. Aegon reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks—Hawaiian print, royal blue—and pulls out a joint and a Zippo. He sticks the joint between his teeth and goes to light it.

“No,” Aemond says immediately, yanking the joint out of Aegon’s mouth and stomping it into the earth. Then he points down the beach towards the sand dunes. “You know journalists will sneak around trying to get photos. You know we’re never truly alone out here.”

“They can’t tell what I’m smoking!”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You know there are teenagers getting their limbs blown off in Vietnam right now? I think society has bigger problems than me smoking grass.”

“And yet to solve those bigger problems, I have to win in November. And the suburban housewives will not vote for me if they think I support legalizing marijuana. Trust me, I know. I’ve met them.”

“I wouldn’t want those people’s votes,” Aegon says derisively.

“You’d rather Nixon get them?”

Aegon doesn’t have a speedy rebuttal this time. He contemplates the Atlantic Ocean, the wind tearing at his hair.

“It’s hot as hell,” Aemond says to you, gathering up the newspapers he’s been leafing through, never not thinking about the election, never not strategizing. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

As you accompany Aemond towards the main house—and of course you follow him, always, anywhere—Alicent waves you over to where she and Viserys are sitting to wish you a happy birthday again. From this vantage point, you can just barely spot Otto and Helaena strolling through her garden, a jungle of butterfly bushes and herbs. The stricken Targaryen patriarch beams at the swell of your belly. Viserys likes you, you are his favorite daughter-in-law, though perhaps this is not so lofty an achievement. Moreover, he likes that you are carrying the child of his decent son. Aemond has already decided on the baby’s name: Aristos Apollo. If it is in fact a boy, you suppose you’ll call him Ari, but he doesn’t feel real to you yet. He belongs to Aemond, to the Targaryens, to the nation, but not quite to you. He is more myth than flesh.

“Nothing is more precious than children,” Viserys tells Aemond, raspy and frail. “I would have had at least five more if I could.” Alicent bows her head, an acknowledgement of her failure in this regard. Viserys expects it. You and Aemond politely avert your gazes.

“Thank God for this baby,” Alicent says. “After the year we’ve had? That the whole world has had? We all need something to be grateful for.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, smiling. It must be the promise of a son that has made his maiming go down smoother, and maybe it is his soaring poll numbers too, and maybe it is gratitude that he escaped with his life, and maybe it is even the fact that he has you.

But long after dusk when you’re getting ready for bed—slathering yourself in Jergens, stepping into your chiffon nightgown—as you pass through the sliver of light pouring out of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of something that stops you. Aemond is standing in front of the mirror with his hands on the rim of the sink, his eyepatch slung over the towel rack, his voided eye socket exposed and gory and irreparably wounded. There’s something in his scarred face that you can’t recall ever seeing before. There is a seething, secret, animal rage. There is fury for everyone who has ever denied him anything.

You remember who you were before you met Aemond at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at a party you were almost not illustrious enough to attend. You wore your hair long and loose, you downed shots, you smoked, you swore, you slept through class almost every Monday; and then you packed all of this away in your allegorical attic and became someone who could stand beside a senator, and then a candidate, and then a president, someone who could tip the scales of fate.

And you think as you lurk unnoticed in the doorway: Maybe he’s been hiding parts of himself too.

~~~~~~~~~~

July 10th, 10 a.m. He’s snoring on a couch in the living room, the one patterned with sailboats. He’s hugging his acoustic guitar like a child clinging to a teddy bear. Sometimes he plays it for the kids: Get Rhythm, Twist And Shout, Stand By Me, You Can’t Hurry Love. That’s about the extent of his involvement in their lives. He has a law degree from Columbia that his father bought for him. Aside from a brief and disastrous stint as the mayor of Trenton, he has never been gainfully employed. You pour the cupful of ice cubes you collected from the freezer all over his bare chest.

“What the fuck!” Aegon screams as he startles awake. “What is wrong with you?!”

“The guests are arriving in two hours. And you’re going to help me host.”

“I’m not slobbering at the feet of those manicured elitists.”

“It’s easy to say ‘vive la révolution’ from your family’s mansion that you reside in as a professional failure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m so worthless. If only I spent more time hosting tea parties.”

“I can’t small talk with governors and congressmen, so I have to charm their wives instead. That’s how it works, you idiot.”

Aegon rolls off the couch and rubs his forehead, wincing, hungover. In the dining room, Eudoxia is readying cups and plates, polishing silverware, folding napkins. The caterers will be here soon, and there are also three dishes that you made yourself: stafidopsomo, a bread with raisins and cinnamon; rizogalo, Greek-style rice pudding; and baklava you spent hours chopping walnuts for. At least one show of domestic prowess is an expectation, two is impressive, three is above and beyond, something for the other political wives to chatter about. You know the importance of making a good impression on them. They are as much a part of their husbands’ careers as the speech writers, communication directors, fundraisers. “I need a Bloody Mary,” Aegon groans.

“You need to pull your goddamn weight. Everyone else is working to get Aemond elected. Your five-year-old kid is out on the campaign trail and you can’t walk around with a tray of hummus and mini spanakopitas? Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, standing with some difficulty and then shoving by you. “Fuck off, Miss America.”

“Aegon!”

But he’s padding off towards the kitchen with his bare feet, tiki print boxer shorts, bedraggled hair. You follow after him in your spotless white heels and sundress patterned with common blue violets. Your earrings are pearls. You’ve wrangled your hair into a tidy French twist. Aegon is getting a pitcher of tomato juice out of the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka from a cardboard Apple Jacks box. He keeps booze and pills hidden everywhere; you’re always stumbling across his caches.

You open your mouth to unleash something hurtful, something hateful, but then you feel the cold flare of liquid on your thighs as the ocean breeze gusts in through the windows. My dress, you think, alarmed. What did I spill on it? One of the ice cubes you threw at Aegon must have caught on the skirt somehow and melted. That’s your first guess, and it is welcome; water doesn’t stain, and you aren’t sure if you have another outfit that is both formal enough and will still fit you. But when you reach down to touch your leg—now the liquid reaches your knees—your hand comes away red.

You look up at Aegon. He’s staring back at you, thunderstruck, horrified. His Bloody Mary ingredients are now forgotten on the countertop. He shouts for the housekeeper: “Doxie?!”

There is indistinct, cantankerous Greek grumbling in return.

“Doxie! Call an ambulance!”

“I don’t understand,” you say to Aegon, bright clotless blood dyeing the whirls of your fingerprints. I ruined my dress, you think nonsensically. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Don’t move, don’t do anything, just wait for the paramedics.”

But the edges of your vision are going dark and hazy, and the room spins like a flipped coin. Your knees and ankles fold, bones turned to paper. As you drop, Aegon dives for you. You clutch at him, but there’s nothing to grab onto, no suit jacket, no tie, only skin that glows with sunburn. “If I don’t wake up, tell Aemond—”

“You’re not dying, bitch. My luck’s not that good.”

But his eyes are panicked; and they are the last thing you see before you black out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arteries of cement, bones like lead, heavy eyelids opening to reveal strange white walls.

Am I dead?

But no: you hurt all over. Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt. There are needles pierced through the backs of your hands, a splitting rawness in your throat.

Was I intubated? Did I have surgery…?

You try to sit up. The pain is blinding; the severed and sutured latticework of your abdominal muscles is a pit of glass. You gasp, moan plaintively, fumble for the nurse call button on the wooden nightstand.

“Will you stop moving?” Aegon says as he walks into the room. He’s slurping on a straw that pokes out from a Dairy Queen cup. The fluid inside is clumpy and red. Instantly, you think of blood, and a wave of nausea punches through the shredded gore that was once your belly. Aegon flops down into the salmon pink armchair beside the bed and props his combat boots up on the ottoman. “They sliced you up like the Black Dahlia. You’re gonna rip your stitches.”

“They did a c-section…?”

“Yeah, you had some kind of uterus…thing. I don’t remember.”

The baby?? Is the baby alright?? “An abruption?”

More slurping. “No…I think it started with a P.”

“Previa?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You remember waking up a few times: on the kitchen floor as men were lifting you, in an ambulance as the siren shrieked. Someone said you were being taken to Mount Sinai in Manhattan. And that makes sense, that would have been Criston’s plan. Mount Sinai is one of the best hospitals in the country. You look around the room for a bassinet or a crib. Instead you see a wheelchair and a myriad of flower bouquets; word has already gotten out, and so the customary well wishes are pouring in. Lady Bird Johnson sent bluebonnets, the state flower of Texas; Abigail McCarthy sent lilies of the valley; Muriel Humphrey sent roses, traditional, safe, uninspiring; Pat Nixon sent blood orange gladioli. Mrs. Wallace, newly deceased, neglected to call a florist. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s fine. He’s downstairs in an incubator.”

Ari, you think, though he still doesn’t seem real yet. “What…?”

“His lungs are underdeveloped. But the doctors think he’ll be alright. You want a Mr. Misty? There’s a Dairy Queen like two blocks from here.”

“No, I don’t want a Mr. Misty,” you say, incredulous. “I want to see the baby.”

“Well they can’t move him and they can’t move you, so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m going to see him—” You swing your feet off the bed and feel daggers, fire, a splintering like someone has taken a hammer to your bones. You almost scream; it takes everything in you to choke it down and only gasp as your flesh becomes an inferno. I want a joint, you think randomly, an urge you’d believed you had exorcised from yourself, an archaic relic of a past life.

“Told you,” Aegon says smugly.

You lie panting, helpless, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. “Aemond knows?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve called everyone. He knows.”

“Good. So he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perhaps a tad noncommittally.

“Okay.” You’re still trying to catch your breath. Tacoma is a six hour flight away. Even if Aemond doesn’t leave until morning, he’ll be here by sundown tomorrow. “You can go now.”

“Go?!” Aegon exclaims, then laughs, one of his reckless, taunting cackles. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You definitely are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, grinning. “For once in my life, I’m the person who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I’m the honorable one. The sacred heir of the favorite son has just been born, and the blessed mother has been sawed in half like Saint Simon the Zealot, and where is Aemond? Where is literally everyone else? Across the continent shaking hands and forcing smiles to win him the great state of Washington. I’m not going home. I’m collecting every second I spend here like coins from a slot machine. I won the jackpot, babe. No one is ever going to be able to call me the family fuckup after this.”

The pain is horrible, insurmountable; you can’t think through it. You close your eyes and try not to sob, to wail, to split yourself open in body and soul. I can’t let him see me break down.

“What’s up?” Aegon asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I want a Mr. Misty. Go get me a Mr. Misty.”

“Okay,” Aegon says doubtfully. “What flavor?”

“I don’t care. Not red.”

“They have orange, lemon-lime, grape—”

“Just pick one!” you shout, tears brimming in your eyes. Get out, get out, get out.

“Calm down, psycho!” he yells back, heading for the door.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you snatch the call button off the nightstand and press it frantically until a nurse arrives. You get more morphine and sink into a stillness like deep water, down, down, down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s dark outside, stars and a crescent moon. On the television is grainy footage from the Battle of Khe Sanh. American soldiers younger than you are dragging their wounded brethren to a Chinook helicopter for evacuation: bandages, burns, missing limbs and faces. Aegon had dozed off in his chair—assisted by an ample amount of Vicodin, surely—but is stirring awake now. He blinks groggily at the screen.

“It’s so fucking awful,” you say, and Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the first time you’ve ever sworn in front of him. You trained yourself to stop when you met Aemond. “30,000 Americans dead, God knows how many Vietnamese peasants, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire, and for what? So we can say we did everything we could to stop communism? So we can humiliate the Russians? There is no liberation of Vietnam. All we’re doing is making those people hate us. And we’re destroying ourselves too.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the war.”

You look at him, mystified. “Everything I do is about the war.”

“But you never really talk about it.” Aegon yawns and stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling. “You talk about Chanel dresses and tea parties.”

“Well yeah, because it’s…it’s unseemly, I guess. For me to speak on the war. Me specifically.”

He snorts. “Because you’re a woman? Who told you that? Aemond?”

You hesitate, watching the television again. Now there are napalm bombs incinerating villages and rice paddies. “I had a boyfriend before Aemond, you know.”

“What, in kindergarten? Chasing each other around the playground? Illicit snuggles beneath the slide?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “A real boyfriend.”

“No way. You did not.”

“I did,” you insist, smiling a little. “We met at a party my freshman year of college. He was at NYU studying…oh, I always forgot, that was one of our jokes. It was either archaeology or anthropology. I actually thought I was going to marry him for a minute there.”

“Scandalous.” Aegon is gazing at you with his murky blue eyes, grinning, playful. “What happened?”

“He had a moral crisis about poor kids getting shipped off to Vietnam to be slaughtered while he was tucked safely away in his ivory tower. So he enlisted, and honestly it was shocking how quickly I started to forget about him. We exchanged a few letters, it didn’t last long, I think he was forgetting about me too. But he ended up getting killed in action in October, 1965. His old roommate told me.”

Now Aegon is thoughtful. His crooked grin dies. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his parents I feel bad for. He was an only child. I heard his father drank himself to death.”

“You’ve been carrying a story like that around with you and you never used it? Not in an interview or an article, not at one of your asinine little tea parties?”

“I can’t,” you confess. “Aemond doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t like to be reminded about…you know. That there was someone else before.”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles, combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “As if Aemond was a virgin when you met him.”

But it’s not the same. It isn’t to Aemond, and it wouldn’t be to the rest of the world either. It is your eternal disgrace. It is something you will be expected to atone for until you’re in the grave. “Give me a joint.”

Aegon is amazed. “What?”

“I know you have some, you always do. I want one. Give it to me.”

“You smoke grass?”

“I used to. Then I gave it up. But I’m making an exception.”

He gawks at you for a while, then slips a joint out of one of the front pockets of his green army jacket. He places it between his lips, lights it with his little chrome Zippo, and inhales deep and slow. Then he offers it to you.

“I don’t want herpes.”

Aegon laughs. “I don’t have herpes. I swear.”

“Not yet, maybe. Give it time.”

“Are you gonna smoke or not?”

You take the joint and fill your lungs with earth, floral notes, a tinge of spice. It’s been years, but it comes rushing back in an instant as the high hits your bloodstream: calm quiet weightlessness, a sense of wellbeing that fills the honeycomb hollows of your bones. “I need to see the baby.”

Aegon stalls. “The doctors were really insistent that you stay here.”

“And all the sudden you care about rules.”

He considers this, drumming his palms on his thighs. His jeans are ripped; he’s biting his lower lip. Then abruptly, he stands. “Alright.” He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it up against the bed. “Let’s go.”

You take another drag and then discard the joint in your empty Dairy Queen cup. You throw off your blanket and try to touch your bare feet to the cool linoleum floor. It hurts, it feels like razor blades, but you keep going. Then you remember you still have one IV in the back of your left hand. “Wait, how am I going to…?”

“You’re in luck. I am well-versed in needles.” Aegon holds out a palm. Nervously, you give him your hand. He peels off the medical tape, takes a moment to examine the vein, then slides out the needle so smoothly you don’t feel it at all; it barely even bleeds. He balls up a Kleenex from the box on your nightstand and secures it to the wound with the same strip of tape. “You’re welcome.”

“Junkie.” You try to lower yourself into the wheelchair and a yelp rips from your throat.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Aegon says, but not quite unkindly. “Here.” He leans down in front of you. Too desperate to be prideful, you link your arms around the back of his neck. Aegon’s shaggy blonde hair tickles your cheek; his hands skim gingerly to settle on your waist, steadying you without too much pressure. He helps you into the wheelchair, where you collapse gasping and sweating bullets.

“If you ever mention this again, I will guillotine you.”

He winks. “Relax, little Io. I never kiss and tell.”

“I’d assume you’re usually too plastered to remember the details.”

“Be nice. I could roll you down a staircase.” But he doesn’t; he rolls you into the hallway instead.

The lights in the corridor are dim for night, for dreams. You see a few nurses shuttling in and out of other rooms from a distance, but none seem to notice you and Aegon. He steers the wheelchair into the elevator and you ride it down two floors, then cross another hallway and pass through a set of doors. There must be a dozen incubators, half of them occupied. The nurse on duty—currently cradling a tiny infant in her arms, a girl judging by the pink hat, and feeding her from a bottle of formula—gapes at you.

“Ma’am? You aren’t supposed to be—”

“Shut up,” Aegon tells her, and the nurse doesn’t say another word.

Aegon pushes the wheelchair down the line of incubators until you reach the one with a name card labelled Targaryen, Aristos Apollo. And there he is: unmistakably fragile, impossibly small, blue veins like a roadmap beneath translucent skin, tangled in tubes and wires. In his sleeping face you don’t see Aemond or even yourself, but rather an inexplicable familiarity. You feel like you’ve met him before. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You press your hand to the clear, domed wall of the incubator; shadows in the shape of your outstretched fingers fall over Ari’s face. “He’s real.”

“Of course he is.” Aegon is watching you; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, a blur of blonde hair and high cheekbones. When you turn to him, he immediately looks away.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” But his voice is distracted, bewildered, like someone fumbling for a light switch in a dark room.

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