#second of all these things are in no way mutually exclusive

[completely-real-and-normal-human]

twisted pathetic men yaoi got me feeling out of sorts

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch7. if u wanna get groceries

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 7/x

ᰔ words. 10.3k

a/n. hiii my ihm darlings!! i don't have much to say in this beginning author's note haha but i have some author's notes at the end if you want to read them. but anywho hope you enjoy this chapterrr :)

nav. masterlist

Ovulation is a very scary thing.

You can imagine many great women have had their lives greatly affected by this phenomenon. 

This biological release of an egg into the fallopian tubes, simply desiring to be fertilized.

Women who have had their hearts set on their dreams, aspirations, full speed ahead towards the finish line on the other end,

Only to be dragged back by–

You shudder to even mention.

Attraction to a man. 

So horrible.

So insane.

So humiliating.

And yet so–...

So natural.

Unfortunately.

You’re pretty sure Sabrina Carpenter has a song about it.

This is what you think of as you lean over the kitchen island, perched up on your elbows as you eat a peach, staring straight ahead at a certain fake husband who is seated on the couch. 

He’s looking at the TV, watching some SNL skit he didn’t get to finish last weekend, tilting his head side to side with his grey sweatpant clad legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He’s got a can of Celsius he’s swirling around with a loose grip, his elbow up on the cushion for a more lax resting state (which unfortunately also flexes his bicep very sexily from the positioning), and he doesn’t really seem particularly amused by what he was watching. And for some reason, it was hot.

You tilt your head to the right, watching him like a predator from across the hall, chewing down on a particularly juicy piece of peach that bursts its juice in your mouth, and you curse the fact that all you can think about right now is sex.

Sex.

When was the last time you had sex?

You postulated a little over a month ago when you and Choso were still together.

Granted, you’ve been too busy and overwhelmed and overstimulated with all the recent happenings of late to provide your own self with any sort of relief.

And God, it was showing.

Showing in the way that, no matter what, you can’t seem to shake the idea of wanting to sit in Gojo’s lap and be the second reason he never gets to finish watching that SNL skit. 

Maybe it will help.

Maybe sitting in a man’s lap right now would heal you.

You set the now naked seed of peach down on the counter before straightening yourself up and walking around the kitchen island towards the living room. Gojo’s eyes don’t flicker to you until you’re well in his periphery, and when he looks up at you, he straightens himself up on the couch with curious wide eyes and drags his feet off the coffee table to plant his feet on the rug.

You pull your grandma nightgown up to your knees so that you can sit in his lap, surprise evident on his face as he watches your every movement before you’re comfortably seated on him with your hands on his shoulders.

“Fuck me,” you tell him.

“Wh–” he stutters, “I’m sorry, I could’ve sworn you just told me to fuck you.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” The heels of your hands press into his chest further to the point where it has to hurt. 

“Is this a prank,” he asks as his hands fall to hold your hips on reflex.

You sigh, shifting around on his thighs. “Can you just do it already before I change my mind?”

“Wow. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright. I’ve changed my mind.”

You push off of his shoulders and stand up on one leg, ready to get up and away from him to find some other way to satisfy your desperate desire for a penis, but he reaches out to grab your wrist.

“Heyyy wait wait wait,” he says, pulling you back into a seat on his lap. “Why do you want to have sex all of a sudden?”

You exhale slowly, twiddling with your thumbs as you look at him. “You said it yourself the other day,” you say, “good way to relieve stress.”

“And you’re not gonna kill me afterwards?”

“Umm no promises?”

“Look, as much as I’d like to take you up on the offer, a part of me thinks you’re making a…rash decision here.”

“Oh my fucking god who cares if I am?? Maybe I just wanna fuck for the sake of fucking?? What’s the big fucking deal??”

“The big deal is that, knowing you, you’re not going to speak to me or look me in the eye for three weeks if I let you go through with something you’re not a hundred percent on.”

Your shoulders sulk a little. You thought this would be an easy yes, where he tears your nightgown off and then ravishes you whole on this couch with every primal caveman instinct that’s encoded in his XY chromosome DNA. This was supposed to be spontaneous and sexy…not a candid conversation.

The thought flashes through your head that maybe he thinks that you’re just trying to use him.

“I want to have sex with you,” you clarify. And then a pause. “I think.” You pause for a moment again. “I’m, like, pretty sure.”

He slides you back to where you’re sitting closer to his knees than to his groin, and then fully leans back onto the couch before tucking his hands behind his head like he was physically putting himself in cuffs to prevent himself from touching you any further. “Tell you what. Let’s circle back in an hour, and if you still want to, then sure.”

“I cannot believe how diplomatic you’re being about this.”

“Well isn’t this whole thing between us a diplomatic agreement? That’s what you said to me when we got fake engaged.”

“That–” you blink at him, not expecting those words to eventually be used against you, “...whatever.”

“Also, what happened to the no sex rule?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He grins and leans forward, both of his elbows settling onto the top of the cushion behind him, and you’re proud of yourself for only staring at his biceps for 0.000034 seconds before meeting his line of sight again. 

“Are those rules just suggestions?” he asks with a stupidly teasing look on his face. 

You purse your lips together, skin feeling warm suddenly as you try to push him away by a palm to his sternum. But then you realized something. A fundamental rule of biology. The woman never chases. 

You smile at him, cheeky in a deceptive way that’s meant to scare him, and it does seem to alarm him when you push him back onto the couch rather forcefully. His hands fall to hold your hips again as he looks at you with round eyes, and you scoot forward on his lap, to where you’re almost sitting right above his groin. 

“Hey–” he says, like a warning. 

Like some awful romantic comedy, you’re drawing the tip of your nail down the front of his chest seductively, leaning forward so he catches the faint scent of the perfume you spritzed onto your skin in the morning, and you can tell it’s working from the way he tips his chin up in interest. You innocently “shift” in his lap to get comfortable, and see his throat bob when he swallows hard from the feeling. The finger that’s been running down the soft linen of his shirt trails up until it runs through the hair at the back of his neck, and he’s pulling you closer to him now by a rough grip on your hips. His breathing picks up, eyes somehow wild yet calm as he looks at you with a set jaw, and you try your best to maintain a sultry expression as you tilt your head down at him while strongly fisting at the longer strands of his hair that fall short at the nape of his neck. He shifts underneath you, sinking further into the couch, his breathing fast enough to where you can see the rise and fall of his chest, his gaze finally dropping to your lips as he parts his own, and he briefly runs his tongue over his bottom lip before–

Before the doorbell rings. 

You both blink at each other.

You don’t even realize how close you two were to making out until you realize you can’t even see the tip of his nose anymore. 

“My, uh,” he starts, voice sounding gruff so he has to clear his throat, “my wood just came.”

“Y–” you glance down at his lap, “your wood just what?!”

He leans away from you, sinking his back into the cushion and pointing over his shoulder with a thumb towards the door. “The cedar planks I ordered to finish my woodworking project. Pretty sure they just got dropped off.”

You blink at him, releasing the grip you still had on the hair at the back of his head, your arms moving to weakly rest on his shoulders instead. “Oh.”

“I’ve gotta go sign the delivery.

“Okay.”

“Sometime today, preferably.”

“Alright.”

“Can…can I head to the door? Is that allowed?”

“...I suppose.”

His fingers that were still resting under your butt in a strong grip push up gently on the flesh to prod you off of him, and you (reluctantly) swing your legs off of his lap then slump down onto the couch indignantly beside him, twiddling with your thumbs as you watch him get up off the cushions with a small grunt from the push of his palms on his knees. And then he heads to the door.

Continuing to assess your cuticles with the tuck of your chin towards your collarbone, you hear Gojo talk to whoever was at the door. Another masculine voice. Sounds younger, probably younger than you. Delivery boy. Gojo makes easy conversation with him, some buddy-buddy diction that’s entirely lost on you, and you hear the other man laugh. And the fact that you feel equally as possessed to want to fuck the delivery man makes you realize you need to put yourself in a cage the next time you feel like this.

You hear the door close along with the metallic click of the lock, and you peak your head up over the top of the couch to look at Gojo, who is leaning a giant cardboard box that looks really heavy against the wall. He then exhales, dusting his hands off and he’s stretching his neck from side to side again.

He glances over his shoulder to find you still looking at him.

“You woodwork?” you ask him.

“Yes.”

“Wait. Is that the noisy thing you do at six in the morning while I’m trying to sleep after a night shift?!?!”

“It’s not that noisy,” he says, leaning back onto the wall and crossing his arms. Then he grins. “Want to see what I’m working on?”

“No.”

“Oh come on.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen leading out to the screen door of the backyard. And then he’s shuffling his feet off into that direction. “Humor me for once.”

You slide off the couch onto the floor, grumbling something to yourself before you stand up onto your feet and shuffle your feet across the hardwood floor to follow him, the hem of your nightgown sliding across the surface.

Gojo pulls the screen door back and you step out into the pleasant afternoon. It’s sunny, with crisp air that settles on your senses, the casted shadows of clouds that slowly pass over the grass reminding you of your childhood, or perhaps of simpler times.

You step into the flip flops you see near the shoe mat, and they are nearly twice the size of your feet. Gojo opts for the dustier pair located behind the grill and then he walks across the grass of his backyard towards the shed tucked away near the side of the house. You’ve always been able to briefly see this shed from one of the windows in your house, but you could never see what went on inside. 

He unclasps the metal lock on the wooden door of the shed and pulls it open with a creak. You peer inside, the smell of wood shavings and some other rather comforting chemicals hitting you almost instantly. You also sneeze. And then sneeze again.

“Bless you,” he says, and when you glance at him, he’s smiling at you before he takes a step inside. You cross your arms and rub your elbows, feeling feeble in your ditsy nightgown as you step into a space that looks far too industrial for you. 

“See?” Gojo says once you’re fully inside the shed with him, drawing your gaze from the dusty ceilings towards the covered structure in the center of the workspace. He pulls the blue tarp back, revealing something square-looking. “It’s a coffee table.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you tilt your head to assess it. “Oh. It’s–...it’s actually quite nice.”

“Yeah.” He knocks on the surface with his knuckles. “It’s pretty sturdy. I’ve been looking to replace what I’ve got in the house for a while now. And–” he straightens himself up again, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “That wood I just got delivered is black walnut. Stunning stuff. I’m going to use it to finish the corners and the cabinets.”

“Ahhh,” you say, expressing interest. I mean, you were intrigued by his many strange hobbies. How can you explain this…you suppose after many years of working, sleeping, eating, and taking care of your mom, it's somewhat pleasantly disorienting to find yourself in the middle of a normal person’s life. Someone who has time to woodwork in his free time. Endearing. It was kind of endearing. 

“I’ve gotta flip it over though,” he says with a sigh, “I fucked up and forgot to build the base first.”

You lean back on one of the cabinets behind you that was level with your hip, and you watch Gojo for a moment as he bends down to assess all angles of the table before he grips the underside of it with his hands, the strength of his grip evident in the strain of the veins running up his arms and disappearing into the short sleeve cotton of his shirt. 

But he glances up at you before moving it. “Can you stand over there?”

“Huh?” You blink at him.

“Don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh,” you say, and realize you were standing in quite literally the exact zone of potential danger. You make a mental note to work on your survival instincts. 

You lean off of the cabinet and step off to the side. 

You watch as he begins to lift up on the table, his biceps flexing with the movement, oh and that grunt that leaves his lips once he’s got it at the angle he wants hits you somewhere you wish it didn’t. The sight of him leaning over, letting out a slow exhale as he slowly sets the table down on its side over the cushioning mat had you in a trance. 

Once he’s satisfied with wherever it’s at, he steps away from it and dusts his hands off. “Alright.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Got an hour to work on this.”

You nod at him.

He glances over at you. 

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

“Did–...did you wanna watch?”

“Nope,” you say, shuffling your slippers to the other side of the door. Because you fear that catching the sight of him all sweaty and disheveled from woodworking would get you into serious trouble today. At least you know when to call it quits.

In the hour that Gojo spends doing god knows what sort of manly sorcery in that shed, you get dressed into something that wasn’t a cozy nightgown much to your dismay, and head over to your house next door. You figure you could use this time to clean up the place a little so that you can take pictures for the house on Zillow. 

When you step inside the house, the nauseating smell of medication hits you. It’s a smell that you can only know if you’ve lived with it for years. Something artificial, something that smells–...well, sick. It’s a scent you associate with sickness. It hits you randomly sometimes with the patients that you treat at the hospital. Patients that smell just like your mom does. Something akin to a pill closet. You’ve always cursed the human tendency to assort semantics to certain senses, because then it only takes away all the healing you thought you had gotten through.

You walk down the hall towards your mother’s bedroom. You figured you’d start here first, since it would be the most difficult to clean for you. Her bed is set up neatly, exactly as you left it before she left for hospice three weeks ago. 

Her well-worn rocking chair sits near the window with the old knit blanket she made over twenty years ago draped over it. It faces the window instead of the inside of the house, which was a habit she always had throughout her life. Maybe as an art teacher, she always felt that whatever was outside was more intriguing than within. 

You run a hand by the sturdy wooden dresser covered in dust and scattered medications, along with all of your mother’s draped headscarves. She liked to change them every day, the pattern of each of them aggressively absurd and somewhat hypnotizing, but it fits for her age–that sort of clothing. Your mother used to have beautiful hair. It was something all her friends had always been jealous of. She made the decision to shave it all off rather than watch as it slowly detangled from her hair from chemo, and she claims to have stashed it away somewhere, but you know that she likely donated it instead.

When you make it to her desk, you see paint splattered over it with a rusted easel holding up a blank canvas. But there were swipes of paint across the palette, as though she were trying to find the perfect blend of colors, but failed before she could put brush to canvas. Beside her little art setup, you see a little sticky note with scribblings on it.

Morning tea

Medications- Gabapentin 600 300

Today is Thursday. Oct 16th

800 432 5555 call Dr Johnson 

Turn off the stove

At the very bottom:

- daughter. Nurse. She loves you

You suck a deep breath in, releasing it slowly.

This was an impossible task.

To stuff all of this away into boxes. 

All of this life.

You slowly peel the sticky note off the desk, folding it neatly before placing it into your pocket. Then you start with the canvas, the easel, the paint. Exactly as is, without cleaning anything at all, you stache them away into boxes. You wanted to preserve what you could, even if it was all for show.

By the time you finish cleaning out her desk, you feel winded from emotions. You decide to take a break and try to clean whatever was upstairs instead. Before you leave the room, you see another sticky note written behind the door.

remember ! wear your sweater, it’s cold today

And that’s when you start crying. 

.

.

.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

”Hey,” you say as you walk back into Gojo’s house in the early afternoon, holding up a digital camera that you found in the attic in your hand. “The upstairs of my house is cleaned out now, and I’m almost done with the downstairs part…just waiting on finishing one room. Can we start taking photos to put the listing up online?”

Gojo glances up at you from where he’s stood in the kitchen, tugging at his sleeves, and you just now notice he’s dressed up in a dark navy suit with a white shirt underneath. No tie. “Uhh yeah I can help you with it, I’ve just gotta go run a few errands and then we can do it when I get back?” He ruffles his hair a bit and you see that it’s slightly damp like he just took a shower.

“What errands?”

“Gas, amazon return, Costco. Maybe get a donut if I’m feeling like being a bad boy.”

“Ew. Also, why don’t you get gas at Costco?”

“It’s a little cheaper at Sam’s Club.”

You gasp. “You have a Sam’s Club membership??”

“Yes.”

“You’re a traitor.”

He rolls his eyes as he pushes his shoulders back to get better settled into his suit jacket. “I have a Costco membership too.” 

“Can I come?”

“What? For–...for the errands?”

“Yes.”

He blinks at you from the other side of the island, brow furrowing slightly. “Uh. Sure?”

You know it sounds silly to say, but not having to take care of someone twenty-four-seven has left you with little to no sense of purpose, and an even more intense feeling of loneliness. And as much as Gojo gets on your nerves from time to time, you’ve noticed that you’ve been…craving his presence lately. Or maybe a presence might be more accurate than any one specific person, but you can comfortably admit it to yourself that you’re a somewhat codependent person that enjoys being largely implemented into someone’s life. You’ve even started borderline nesting in his home. You bought two new fluffy throw blankets for his couch, set up a bowl of fruits at the center of the kitchen island, and stocked up on laundry detergent, even though he already had two backup boxes. It was driving you crazy. This feeling of having too much free time and personal space than what you knew what to do with.

And it had been a while since you went to Costco. The holy land for all adults. 

“Can I get this? Ohhhh what about this? Can we get this too? Wait. Wait. Brown sugar boba mochi?!” You hold the packet up into the air as if it were baby Simba in the Lion King, and then you turn to Gojo, clutching the bag to your chest. “Please?”

He exhales, leaning over the handle of the shopping cart and levels his gaze with you. “...no.”

You sulk your shoulders and sigh as you put it back.

He begins to push the cart down the aisle again. “You do realize that you have disposable income too, right?”

You trail after him. “No. I don’t. I’m in six figures of debt.”

He nods. “Fair.” And then he grabs a stray bag of brown sugar boba abandoned on top of the instant rice boxes then places it into the cart. 

You watch as Gojo makes his rounds around Costco, very diligently aligning all the items in his shopping cart and assessing the quality of each thing he crosses off his list before deeming it worthy of purchase. Much different than your usual Costco run, which involves a lot of chaos and sweat. And he feels very husband material like this. Breaking no sweat to put the garden fertilizer in the cart shelf meanwhile you would’ve pulled your back out trying to do the same if you were on your own.

As you two make your way through the store, you get stopped by the post-office man, and then the local judge, and then the elderly couple that runs the church's weekly Bingo nights. All greeting you politely with a quick exchange of words and usually a sweet regard for your mother’s health before passing on by. You keep having to introduce Gojo as your husband, and many of them already know who he is, despite the fact that he’s only lived here for a year, which royally pisses you off to great extents, but he’s a social whore so it makes sense. And then all of them coo sweet things like wow, what a beautiful couple and you’re so lucky to have each other and my oh my he’s very handsome and at this point you would pay someone twenty bucks to say something like well she’s a looker! good for you! to Gojo because you’re sick of him always getting the ego boosts. When asked where you guys went for your honeymoon, you both say “Greece–” “Maldives–” at the same time in typical unrehearsed fashion. One of the town locals even asks when the two of you are going to have a baby, and you almost snort your free sample of San Pellegrino out your nose.

Perhaps the only thing that keeps a little pep in your step is the fact that everyone greets you first before they catch the familiar sight of Gojo too. It’s a small thing to celebrate, but when you’ve lived in the same town your whole life, it becomes somewhat of a prideful and wholesome thing when the town librarian, local mechanic, and farmer’s market lady all stop you in your lovely little Costco stroll. It was all in a day’s work.

“Jeez, you’re hella famous, y/n,” Gojo says as he continues to push the cart down the aisle after you just got done catching up with the volunteer Fire Chief.

You toss your hair over your shoulder at him. “Yes. I am somewhat of a princess in this town.”

“Does that make me your prince?”

“No. You’re my filthy peasant.”

“Alright…I like where this is going…”

“Get your nasty degradation kink away from me, you perv. This is Costco. It’s the holy house of God.”

Once you two make it to the wine section, you stare at bottles of dessert wines and hear Gojo talking on the phone off to the side.

“Hey, Sana. I’m at Costco right now. Do you guys need anything? I already got Juno’s muffins,” he says into his phone as he places two containers of blueberry muffins into the cart. You eye the raspberry cream cheese strudels. “Huh? Cornstarch?....If I tried to look for cornstarch at Costco, I’d be here for three hours.”

“Satoru,” you say to him once he gets off the call, tugging at his sleeve, “could we get those Haagen Daz ice cream bars? They’re so good.”

“No,” he says, pushing the cart down the chip aisle before he grabs a bag of tortilla chips. “We can’t get anything that needs to be frozen or refrigerated. I’ve gotta go prep a house that’s in the area since we’re out this far. I’ve got an evening showing.”

“What?!” you exasperate, “I thought we were just going home after this!”

“I never said that.”

“I can’t believe this. I had been dreaming of grabbing those ice cream bars since you mentioned the word Costco back at home. You could’ve brought your little cooler thing that you keep in the garage.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you wanted to come with me,” he says. “My original grocery list had seven non-perishable items on it.” You both glance at the cart, which was almost entirely full of things that you put in there. Things that nobody ever needs. Like a bladeless desk fan and an electric wine opener.

“Ah,” you say.

He smiles, leaning over the cart handle again and pushing it forward again away from the chilly air of the cooler section. “Retail therapy?”

You pout a little. “I haven’t had the chance in years.” You glance at the cart as he pushes it. “I should probably take it all out now.”

“It’s fine,” he says, “I’ll get you your bladeless fan. And whatever the fuck those other things are.”

You stop walking, blinking blankly at his back as he continues to wordlessly push the cart forward. There’s about a five second delay before you finally start trailing after him.

By the time Gojo finishes loading everything into the trunk of his car as you merely stand by for emotional support, and then he comes back from the long trek of returning the cart, you’re absolutely winded. You’re not sure why, because again, you haven’t really done much all day. But God damn, you forgot how exhausting it is to be a regular functioning member of society that contributes to the economy on the weekends (you didn’t pay for anything).

Gojo wordlessly takes off from the Costco parking lot and just when you think he’s going to get back onto the freeway to get to this house of his that he needs to prep, he jumps into the parking lot of a small shopping area before he parks his car in front of a smaller grocery store. 

You give him a puzzled look.

“Hold on,” he says before clicking his seatbelt off, “gotta go get that cornstarch.”

“Wait—” you say, reaching out to grab him by the sleeve of his suit jacket as the most intense sensation of FOMO you’ve ever felt in your life overtakes all of your senses. “I’ll come with.”

He quirks a brow at you. You’re not surprised at his confusion. After all, you’ve been acting like some drug addict in withdrawal of social proximity to him all day long. But you’re at least glad he doesn’t express any further bewilderment and allows you to follow him inside the store like a duckling.

As Gojo veers off in the direction of likely corn starchiness, in a confident manner that would suggest he’s been to this store many times before, you meander about the aisles at your leisure. You get lost in the bustling colors of produce stacked neatly on top of one another, such that they could rival the great pyramids of Egypt. Not to mention, processed foods lining the wall right next to it. This was what suburban life is all about. Matter of fact, this is what dreams are made of. 

“y/n?”

Oh, fuck. That voice is definitely not what dreams are made of.

The opposite, actually.

Nightmares.

You hear that voice in your nightmares.

You turn on your heel to find none other than your ex boyfriend, he who shall not be named (Choso Kamo), standing right behind you as he holds a grapefruit in his hand, blinking at you dumbly with surprise apparent on his face. 

“Wh—” you briefly stutter before the automatic scowl settles onto your face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m buying fruit.”

“For what?”

“What do you mean, for what? To eat, obviously.”

“I don’t know. I’m not convinced you wouldn’t try to fuck that grapefruit. Given you have low standards for what you stick your dick inside of.”

“Uh?…I’ve stuck my dick inside of you plenty of t—”

“Shut it!!!” you yell at him, then turn away with a wince on your face. “I didn’t think it through before I said it.”

“As usual?”

“You’re being a jerk. You know who I meant when I said that.”

“Okay. So, you don’t think things through before you say them. And I continue to deflect said things. Let me know when anything’s changed between us, y/n.”

You cross your arms at him menacingly and unwaveringly glare at him as a meek mother pushes her young son by the shoulders away from the two simmering adults having their savory conversation within the produce aisle. You’re about the snark out another comment but then the automatic water sprayers interrupt your flow. And also a scrawny employee drops a giant box of eggplant onto the ground before placing them onto the produce shelf.

“What are you doing on this side of town? You’re never out here,” Choso says as he sets the grapefruit back onto the stack.

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?”

“This is my new go-to grocery store.”

“Why not go to the Trader Joe’s that we always used to go to? It’s way closer to you.”

His shoulders sulk slightly at that.

Oh.

Oh.

So, he’s been driving an extra thirty minutes each weekend to go grocery shopping on the other end of town,

Just so he doesn’t have to run into you anymore.

“Look…y/n,” he starts, “it’s not that I don’t want to see you—”

“Choso—”

“It’s just that you accuse me of fucking inanimate objects everytime I do see you.”

“I literally do not care if you do or don’t want to see me.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his gaze flitting downwards to your crossed arms, something catching his eye.

You glance down at yourself, and you catch the glimmer of diamond underneath bright fluorescent light.

“Oh come on,” Choso grumbles, “don’t tell me you actually wear that thing twenty-four-seven.”

“I’m a married woman, Choso. It’s what married women do.”

He clenches his jaw at that, tense enough to cause a vein strain in his neck, his brows narrowing into contempt, but just before he can say anything else, an arm wraps around your waist and you’re being pulled back into a broad chest.

“She’s pretty, huh?” you hear Gojo say and you blink up at him with your chin tilted towards the ceiling, and you yelp as he possessively pulls you in closer to him as he establishes jarring eye contact with Choso with that same old easy grin on his face. “Thank god I’m the one married to her.”

Choso almost blows a fuse at that. “I know she’s pretty,” he says through gritted teeth, “for six years, I was the one that got to f—”

“Ahh!!! Sale on tomatoes!!!” you interrupt the crass and ridiculously toxic masculine energy in the air as you wiggle out of Gojo’s grip then run over to the pristinely stacked romano tomatoes, picking some of them up and holding them like precious commodities. “Maybe we can make some tomato soup with grilled cheese tonight, honey???” you say with a forced smile towards Gojo as you now hold fifteen tomatoes in your arms, a couple of them falling to the floor with a bounce as they roll away.

“HEY!! LADY!!” the scrawny eggplant stacking employee from earlier yells out at you. Some late teens kid with acne speckled across his face and shaggy brown hair scattered over his forehead, somewhat slick with either gel or grease. “I just set those up!!! YOU SQUASH ‘EM, YOU BUY ‘EM.”

“Sorry,” you squeak out, putting the tomatoes back onto the display somewhat haphazardly before grabbing Gojo’s arm and tugging him towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here, please.”

“Huh? I’ve still gotta pay for the cornstarch though,” Gojo says, hardly budging despite your best efforts to womanhandle him.

“No time for that, we leave now. They don’t have cameras here, anyway. I already checked.” You continue to tug on his arm, your body leaning at an almost forty-five degree angle towards the exit as you struggle to get some drag to his feet, but again, he doesn’t budge.

You don’t know exactly why you so adamantly want to restrict Gojo from interacting with Choso, but maybe a part of it was embarrassment. You didn’t want Gojo to find out what Choso did to you and what an absolute fool he had made out of you. It would hurt your pride.

“Isn’t this guy a cop?” Gojo asks as he points his thumb towards Choso. “And you’re telling me to shoplift in front of him?”

“Can you just be on my fucking side for one second?” you grit at him, yanking on his sleeve so hard you almost tear the cuffs out of the holes, and he finally sighs before relenting into a gait towards your general direction.

As you hug Gojo’s arm tightly to keep his momentum towards you, you walk backwards and send Choso a nasty glare. His eyes are wide, studying you and Gojo together as you get further and further away from him. And for a brief, brief, brief, ever-so-slight fleeting moment of love and familiarity and the sight of his dark hair curling at the nape of his neck and the memory of warmth when he used to hold you in his arms in bed on cold winter mornings, you find that you miss him a little. But only a little. You swear that it’s only a little.

Gojo still makes a pit stop at the register much to your pleading dismay, but as always he has zero regard or interest for your melodramatic outbursts, but at least he shoves the extra change from the purchase into his pocket in a somewhat timely fashion so that you two can head out the door in your artificial haste.

In the car, you quickly click your seatbelt on and then have to watch Gojo as he takes his time clicking his back into place and enter some address into his car. You see the ETA on the GPS, and how it shows that this address is roughly thirty-four minutes away.

Once he gets onto the freeway, your mind begins to wander back to seeing Choso at the grocery store and how the sight of him rattled you. You twiddle with your thumbs in your lap nervously, shift around in your seat, chew at the edge of your nail, and Gojo seems to notice this.

“You know, having lived in this town your whole life, I would think you’d be used to the discomfort of running into people you don’t want to see,” he says.

You sigh. “Yes. In theory. But with Choso, it’s–…it’s different.” You hesitate.  “It’s just that—” you try again before worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, “it’s just that, sometimes I don’t get him.”

Gojo is silent for a few seconds as he stares straight towards the road before he responds with, “What do you mean?”

“Like, he avoids me like the plague, and then begs me to go back to him, and then he pretends like I’m just a nuisance to him, and then when he sees me with you, he acts all—…I don’t know…all—”

“Jealous?”

You sink into your seat. “Something like that.”

“Hm. Yeah, to be honest, I don’t know. But you’re not wrong to find it strange.”

Feeling strangely validated in your feelings, you sit there twiddling with your thumbs and then glance out the window. There’s a silence that lasts maybe ten seconds before you say,

“Thanks for interrupting back there. Although, you don’t have to try to deliberately make him jealous anymore. Even though I know I literally asked you to do that. Which makes me a woman of severe psychiatric ailment. Of which I am slightly embarrassed about at the moment.”

“Nah,” he says as he turns the right onto the freeway entrance. When you look over at him, he has a smile on his face. “I like it. It’s never boring with you.”

Unsure if that’s a compliment or some shade of insult, you say, “and that’s a good thing?”

He shrugs, releasing one hand from the wheel and curling the other in a tight knuckled grip at the top of it as the car drives steady down the freeway. He rests his right elbow on the storage console. “Well, it’s different from what I’m used to.”

What are you used to? You so badly want to ask him.

But a flashback to his childhood bedroom at his parent’s house comes back to you.

Yearbook signatures, trophies, and photos abandoned underneath a bed.

You almost don’t even want to acknowledge that he has lived a life before you.

Was that self centered? Or perhaps childish? Or perhaps all in human nature?

You decide not to respond, instead directing your attention to the world outside the car window. The blades of grass dance across the shoulder of the road, all greenery following suit in the same swift motion. You watch as the land slowly turns from developed to more and more remote, yet still cozy and charming. Fields of green, vineyard arrangements, a wooden sign for a winery, a picturesque red barn house, a small cattle farm, an old town church with a bronze bell, hills of empty acres that are just begging to be touched by some great idea or civilization.

You’re privy to change in texture underneath the wheels as Gojo makes a turn onto gravel road about two miles after getting off the freeway. He drives up a hill, maybe a forty-five degree angle, with the crunch of rocks rubbing against the tread of the tires and you see a more distinct, purposeful arrangement of short decorative trees that line the properties of this narrow gravel road. They were large houses, sitting on slightly slanted hills that were all a part of a bumpy landscape that extends for miles. Some had formal fences, some had chain links, but all had expansive yards with no clear distinction of boundary, where the backyard could be the front yard too if only you had the imagination for it.

One house in particular catches your eye. It’s a pretty two story house with a detached garage or perhaps shed, painted in a dusky auburn with dark wooden paneling and structure. It sat near the top of this hill, the front yard being a steep upwards slope of grassy terrain that stretched for the full length of the property, about a hundred yards. The backyard dips behind the back of the hill, downwards into some territory you cannot set eyes on. But it’s stunning. It was gorgeous. Serene. With views of lush green surrounding its every corner. Intimately located, yet open enough to fresh air in which you almost feel one with the world. And in the early evening light, it looked like heaven.

You let out a slow exhale as you take in the sight that looks like a painting to you. There was something so romantic about a home. For as long as time, humans have enjoyed personifying objects, such as boats or planes or cars or  trains. But what could feel more of a living thing than a home?

You hear Gojo click his seatbelt off beside you and you glance over at him. You click off your own seat belt and open your door, stepping out onto the gravel road.

Gojo comes around the car and approaches you, holding a folder in his hand with papers you can only assume have information on the property listing. You also hear the jingle of keys in his pocket as he pushes his hand into it. 

“Got about,” he glances at his watch, “twenty minutes to prep. Oh, and if my clients ask, I’ll just introduce you as my assistant. And we’ll pretend that we have some sort of inappropriate workplace relationship. Just to intrigue them. It’ll make the house more memorable. Sound like a plan?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever gets food on your table.”

You watch as he pushes a copper key into the rusted lock that was clipped onto the chains holding the fence together, guarding the property. He yanks it down once he’s unlocked it and then pulls the fence apart, opening the way to head up the house. It borders on a feeling of trespassing, but you trail closely behind Gojo as he makes his way up the grassy hill, reminding yourself that he has the clearance as a realtor.

You glance around the property a bit more. There’s a small pond in the dip of one of the smaller hills, fuzzy with moss and some small fish you can see snapping at the surface of the water. Off to the right of it, there are similarly moss covered stone benches, small and antique. Perfect to sit there and watch the sun set behind the house. And towards the left, a small gondola with arranged stained glass stepping stones. 

“Charming, huh?” Gojo says over his shoulder at you, and you realize he’s caught you staring at everything in awe.

Gojo makes it to the veranda after lengthy strides across the broad concrete steps that lead to the most stunning hardwood door you’ve ever seen in your life. He turns around to glance at you when he realizes you’re still stuck at the bottom of the steps, digging your heels into the ground underneath you.

“It’s–” you start, looking across the landscape while melancholy washes over you, “...I just can’t believe that someone gets to live here someday.”

He pushes his hands inside of his pant pockets, silent for a few moments. “Is everything alright?”

You look up at him, the question threatening to make the rawness in your throat burn even more. “Yes, I just–” you scoff at yourself a little before turning back to face the little pond, now further in the distance, “I just realized that I’ll probably never be able to afford a house in my life, so I’ll never really know what it’s like to have a realtor show me around a home I could potentially one day call my own. It’s something that sounds so surreal to me.”

There’s a silence that lasts for three seconds, and when you look up at him, his gaze is soft.

“Alright,” he says, jerking his head towards the direction of the door with his hands still lax in his pockets, “let’s take you on a tour of this one, then.”

You blink up at him, heart beating a little faster. “O-...Okay.” And you hop up the stairs to meet him at the top. The fragrance of wild roses and lavender brush past your senses as the leaves sway with the breeze. 

The moment you enter inside, you’re greeted by a faint trace of vanilla lingering in the air. The foyer is warm, inviting, with soft oak floors that creak ever so slightly with each step you two take forward into it, proving the life that it’s lived. To your left, there’s a spacious living room that glows with the golden light of the early evening sun that has started to gently make its descent from high up in the sky. Filtering through sheer curtains, touching your skin from afar, you glance down at your arm and the glow of heaven that’s been imprinted on it. 

Gojo walks further into the living room, pulling the curtains back a bit and then opens one of the windows by pushing up on it. A small draft reaches you as you walk towards him. Off to the right in a corner is a fireplace, the mantle adorned with wilting candles and creased old books.

“Is it wood-burning?” you ask Gojo.

He nods his head. “Can easily convert it to gas if that’s something you’d like better.”

There’s a sense of joy in your chest at the way he continues to play along, pretending as if your opinion truly matters–as if, just for now, you were a serious contender to make this place your home. 

“No,” you say, tracing a finger over the dark wood of the mantle, collecting withered dust. “I like it better like this.”

As he leads you into the kitchen, set your eyes on the marble countertops that meet soft sage cabinetry, the window behind the sink overlooking the rolling landscape of the backyard. You stand on your tiptoes to get a better view of what’s down the hill, and you see a small trickling creek that flows down the valley. Your gaze diverts towards the countertops and you see an elegant collection of mismatched china.

Spinning on your heel, you find Gojo leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you inspect every inch. “When were these appliances last updated?” you ask, running your hand across the oven handle.

“About fourteen years ago.”

“Ah, they’re a little old.”

He smiles at you. “So the tolerance for vintage charm ends with kitchen appliances?”

“Charm is cute,” you say, a little cheekily as you move on without him towards the staircase, “but not when the house burns down because of an oven gas leak.”

He hums from behind you as he follows you, and you can hear the smile on his face through the sound alone. “You’re looking out for the right things.”

The staircase, with its dark wood railing and white balusters, curves gently upwards into the second floor. Just like your own home, the third and first steps creak beneath your feet. You always loved the sound, although you know most people attempt to fix such things in a house. For you, it felt like each step had a story, and some were very vocal about never being forgotten. 

The upstairs hallway is lined with more windows, filling the space with the same golden glow that now dances across the soft, tapering wallpaper that has begun to peel around the edges slightly. Your feet wander on their own with a sense of grace that seems to have taken hold of you. 

The first bedroom you stumble across is small, but still enchanting. The bay window has a small reading nook with cushions piled up on the surface, inviting the image of lazy afternoons spent lost in books as the world beyond the glass panes flutters in the wind. The queen-sized bed in the center of the room is minimally dressed and faces an oak dresser that was leaning slightly away from the wall in a crooked fashion. 

The room across from the first bedroom appears to be a study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are bolted to the walls and a vintage writing desk sits by another window where the changing light of day turns the room into a living painting. Your mother crosses your mind. And how much she would’ve loved this window. You could picture her setting up her easel and canvas here, painting away with strokes that could threaten even the beauty of the view outside the window. You think about how much joy that would’ve brought to her. 

In that same trance, you walk down the hall to the end with Gojo following behind you. You push through the set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom. It was spacious, yet intimate, with vaulted ceilings and a four-poster bed draped in airy linen curtains. Sitting across from it is another fireplace surrounded by two picturesque little chairs. One with a square backrest colored a dark burgundy, and the other with an oval backrest colored a pinkish opal. Between the two was a small table that had a stack of a few books. 

The attached en-suite bathroom appears timeless, with a clawfoot tub resting beneath a wide, arched window that offers the view of the rolling hills in their entire glory. The marble vanity has vintage brass fixtures that reflect the soft glow of the chandelier that hangs from the ceiling, one that takes the shape of the roof of the house. 

You hear tapping on the window to your right, and when you glance over there, you see a tree branch bothering the surface due to the wind. 

Your eyes also catch the faint bordering corner of wood beyond the frame of the window.

With wide eyes, you turn to Gojo and point in that general direction. “Is that…?”

“The balcony,” he says, then nods, “it’s connected to this room.”

He leads you out onto the wooden platform, the floorboards warm under your feet from the early evening sun. It stretches out about ten feet and wraps around the entire back end of the house, with easily the most breathtaking vantage point you’ve seen thus far. An entire view of the creek that disappears into the valley, the image of dancing wildflowers on distant rolling hills, the sun that continues to glow in the distance, and a gentle breeze with the faintest hint of salt, as though from a distant ocean. It felt like its own quiet little world. A place where time slows, and you can just be as you are. It was difficult to put into words, but you had never felt more at peace in your entire life.

Gojo leans over the sturdy yet worn railing as he glances down at the grass near the foundation of the house. You come up beside him, loosely curling your hands into a grip around the rusted metal.

You see him turn his face to you in your periphery, but you continue to stay staring ahead.

“So…what do you think? Can you picture yourself living here?” he asks you as a soft brush of breeze passes by. 

“Well–” you start, but then a sobering thought flashes through you, “wait, Satoru, what happened to your clients?”

“Oh, yeah,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at it, “they texted me about ten minutes ago that they weren’t going to make it.”

“You should’ve told me. We could’ve left.”

“Well, you seemed like you were in some sort of trance while you were looking around. I was scared to interrupt it.”

You breathe in deep and then let out a slow sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly. “Mhm. The house is beautiful. And, yes, I could picture myself living here.” 

More than just that. It was like a dream house. The one that a person would see in fleeting memories right before they pass, as it holds all of their most beloved ones. That ethereal, it was. 

He hums softly. You look over at him and find him blinking slowly. The wind brushes through his hair, ruffling it up gently, to where you could see the blueness in his eyes a little more clearly. That, too, was ethereal. 

“Satoru,” you say.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He continues to stare at the horizon. “Sure.”

“Where did you live before you moved here?”

“New york city,” he easily tells you.

But the answer surprises you. “R-Really?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Really long.”

“Mm. You don’t seem like it.”

“Like what? An asshole from the city?”

“Mhm. Just a regular asshole.”

He laughs. You feel the rumble of it from the way your shoulder was pressed up against his arm. 

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask him. But the question was not one that you had thought to say. Rather, it felt as though it was placed on your tongue by someone else.

You feel his shoulders rise slightly with the deep breath he draws in as he leans over the railing a bit more. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I still own a place there in downtown Manhattan,” he says, “but I don’t really plan on moving back there ever. So I was thinking of selling it and getting something out here instead.”

“Oh?” you say, “like what? Where?”

“This,” he says, pointing to the wooden panels you two were standing on, “this house.”

You blink, caught between surprise and something deeper. “This house?” you echo, your voice quiet. 

He nods, his fingers tapping lightly against the railing. “Yeah. Although, I still show it to people if they’re interested. It’s been on the market for over three years though.”

You let your gaze drift over the balcony, the way the light softens against the weathered wood, and suddenly, the house doesn’t feel the same. Like it carries more weight somehow. Like it feels more real, more alive. And maybe that’s what makes a house a home–the intent to belong in it. 

"You see that greenery over there?" he asks, his arm stretching out as he highlights an area in the distance with his hand, "aaaaall the way down there?" Now pointing at the creak.

"Mm," you squint, "uh-huh!"

"Believe it or not, those are all avocado trees."

Your eyes widen and then you look at him. "No way."

He smiles. "Yeahhh. Three-point-four acres of 'em. And they're all a part of this lot."

Your smile matches his equally as nerdy one. "Wow I bet you loooove that.”

"I do," he grins, and then gratuitously sighs, "all I can eat guacamole 'til the day I die."

You snort.

"Yeah, anyways, that's why no one wants to buy this house," he says, "guess how much it costs to water them per month.”

"Mm, per month?" you look up to the golden sky, "a few thousand?"

"Try a hundred-and-fifty thousand."

"What–...I beg your finest fucking PARDON?!?!"

He laughs. "Yeah that's usually the reaction I get when I end a tour of this house on that note."

“That’s so insane…what’s the point of buying the house, then?”

"Avocados are hard to grow, they can be finicky, but all the land on this lot is extremely fertile," he says, "and if you can import the produce, it actually ends up being pretty lucrative." He points across to the dip in the hill behind the creak. "You could turn that place over there into some kind of ranch, too. Or a wedding venue, and rent it out. I don't know. The property has a lot of investment value. But the house itself is a bit dated. Would need some work."

"Like a fixer-upper on HGTV,” you offer for the conversation.

"Yeahhh. Something like that."

"Mm," you hum.

"Y’know, I was on HGTV once."

"What?! There's no way."

"Yup. House hunters."

"Bullshit. I would've known. I have seen every single episode since I graduated college."

"Oh, well, this was back when they still had Design Star on. I was like twenty-four or something. Fresh new realtor."

"Oh right. I was still in college then. I forgot that you're ancient."

He gives you an irritated side eye.

"So...will you be fixing up this house?" you ask him. His hobby of woodworking starts to make a little bit more sense.

"Maybe. I don't know if I'm too young to be thinking about retirement yet...but that's kind of what I was thinking of turning it into. A dream retirement home."

"You're definitely not young. Don't worry about that."

He gives you another irritated side eye.

"What happens to your other house, then?" you say. "The one next door."

“Hmm," he muses, "I'll probably stay there another year or so and then rent it out eventually."

"You don't want to settle down there? Raise your kids there?" you blurt out. You immediately wince a little at the forward question, but wasn't that something people thought about when thinking of a house? Do they not imagine filling it with their own hopes and dreams? Do they not picture their spouse sitting on the porch outside, swinging with the wind? Do they not picture their children's laughter down the hallway? 

A shiver runs down your spine. You glance over at Gojo, who continues to stare forward towards the horizon, His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he's deep in thought staring out into the landscape as the golden sun begins to turn purple in the sky, casting a dimming glow on his face.

And you wonder. You briefly wonder what a home must mean to him, after having to witness his parents perish in the flames of the one that housed his childhood. 

"It's a nice house," he finally responds to you, "but a part of me wants to live faaaaar away from everyone and everything someday." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he can already tell how contradictory you find that sentiment to be. Mr Grew Up In New York City wants to live in a quaint little cape-cod-esque agriculture farmland property miles away from major civilization? what was it about the city that changed him so much? “Just be at peace, you know. Plant a million more avocado trees out here in the middle of nowhere, and not have to worry about their devilish spawns dropping all over my cute neighbor's herb garden.”

You flutter your eyelids, the comment catching you off guard, before your entire posture softens. "Satoru...it's ok. I'll move my herb garden."

"Oh, you thought I meant you? I was talking about seventy-four year old Barbara to my right."

You sulk your shoulders and roll your eyes, turning away from him to face forward towards the landscape again.

He laughs. "I'm just teasing."

You glance over at him again, and there's that same distant stare he casts over the greenery in the distance. 

"I can't believe your dream in life is to become a farmer," you say.

"Ehhh. It's honest work." he exhales slowly. The sun is now sitting on the hilltop. "It's just a dream, anyways. Just a dream. I'm still allowed to have those, right?" It was asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Why are you asking me for permission?"

His eyes hood ever so slightly, a dip in his expression you can't quite discern. but it's evident in the way his gaze off across the horizon dampens. "Hm. I don't know."

You shiver a little as the evening wind brushes past, and Gojo catches sight of the movement. you mentally curse yourself, because you know that you've just cut this moment short.

"It's cold," he says, "let's get inside."

You try to think of ways to stay here. Ways to lengthen this moment. Ask him for his jacket and make some teasing comment about how he's not a gentleman. Or lie and say that you're not cold at all, that you run warm when you know all your life you've always had cold hands and feet. Or just tell him that you don't want this moment to end. Tell him you want to see the sun through its sunset. Tell him how you never want to step foot off of this house ever again.

"Okay," you whisper. 

And he leads you back inside, down the stairs, and as you stand out on the veranda, at the grassy hills towards his car, you implant this memory in your head, this feeling of standing on this home and dreaming as if it were yours. Before all it becomes is exactly that, 

Only a dream. 

.

.

.

.

.

[end of ch.7, ‘if u wanna get groceries’]

songs of the chapter:  groceries by mallrat  margaret by lana del rey

a/n. thanks so much for reading! this was a fun chapter to write, especially the house sequence. i think it’s mentioned in the chapter somewhere, but yeah…i just think there’s something so romantic and melancholic about a home :’’) i guess that’s a recurring theme in ihm, with reader’s childhood home holding the memories that her mother has lost of her, and then ihm gojo losing his parents to a destructive house fire, and also him being a realtor, and also reader planning to sell her house, and then the dream house in this chapter. it’s been fun breathing a bit of life into these different settings themselves. ah i also decided i want to include little “song(s) of the chapter” to the end of these! just as something kinda fun to do. i’d say these are songs that inspired me to write certain scenes within the chapter, or songs that i listened to a lot while writing the chapter, or songs i could picture playing during the ending credits if this were a tv show xd. but yeahhh!! also just a way to share music bc i love music lol. 

i was asked by an anon to provide some reference photos for the dream house at the end and i shared some here big thank you to my beta readers mirl, leni, and ayelin for helping me out w parts of this chapter n giving me motivation to write it <33 i appreciate you guys sososo much!! i really attribute a lot of my writing motivation towards them, as i’ve been really busy but been able to write these lengthy chapters bc of their support.  i did kinda rush parts of this chapter just because i wanted to get it out on the weekend, so i apologize if there are errors or mistakes of if anything’s a little confusing or sudden. tbh i did want to spend a tiny bit more time on it but, that’s ok. fuck it we ball also! i just wanted to say a quick thank you to all of my readers and those that have stuck around for so long with me or maybe newer readers who have interacted or become invested w my works recently… i know that i am so slow w updates and sometimes inconsistent w it as well, life just gets so crazy for me and it’s a struggle to find proper time to sit down and write, and i wish soooo badly to put out chapters faster, but yea easier said than done haha. but all of my readers who continue to engage with lil ol’ me even despite all of that really means a lot to me, more than i can say :”) i still face self doubts so often w my writing, i’m halfway convinced i’ll never be satisfied w my craft, but the little interactions i have w everyone really make my day and push me forward to write even when it’s hard and i realized i haven’t really said a proper thank u to u guys for that as of late. plus i know jjk manga has ended and also i took a hiatus n also tumblr has lowkey been fuckin me over on the algorithm too lol etc etc i definitely have noticed i’ve lost some readers n engagement along the way, which i understand is natural n just a part of being a long fic author however daunting that may be, but i just really wanted to say a thank you to those who continue to be here irrespective of all of that. i appreciate everyone who sees value in my works enough to read them, follow up w them, interact w them, share them, like them etc. especially w ihm bc sometimes i feel so bad for the slow burn and the yap haha i’m sure some of you may be privy to the fact by now that this story will be very long and also so much more than just the romance. but…i find confidence from you all to follow my vision and i’m really grateful for that.  very likely that the next chapter is in ihm gojo’s pov :0 very exciting and makes me a lil nervous. for some reason i find his pov somewhat intimidating to write for loool. but hopefully i’ll pull it off.

much love!! there will be a delay in getting this chapter up on ao3 and also adding it to the masterlist etc bc i'll be away from keyboard when this posts from my queue, but everything should be updated by the time i'm back home tonight :) see you all in the next one <3 -ellie

➸ you're all caught up!

🏷️: @samistars @pickuptruck01 @mtsyik @imasexy-buffalo @sashisuslover

@thegreatandlvable @tw0fvced @um-no-ok @fiftyfeetstrawberryparfait @gojodickbig

@tofumiao @coolwitchtree @joemama-2 @anonymity-222 @sxnkuna

@xd3pr3ss3dx @readerg77 @tvdumarvelhpsimp @thotwiththoughts @4y3sh4

@bloopsstuff @jaegersity @toffeebrat @cactisjuice @mya1112

@shasaaa15 @astrokenny @tenjikusstuff4 @anujah9 @ariasnoodles

@heiejdhdh @lvrellie @satorugirlie @ducky1232 @suguruslovedoll

@electrckchild @lavender-hvze @crematedstar @sxnkuna @celestialforce

@mrswanggae @readerg77 @sexys-archives @zelzablues @kristinering-actress

@erencvlt @blueberry19000 @angelicscribe @nappingmoon @starmapz

note. i'd recommend subscribing to the fic on my ao3 so you can get email notifs :) tumblr taglist is based on interacts; please do not ask me for updates or ask me when i am going to next update (read rules)

taglist is closed

[niningtori]

cruel intentions | part one

part two out now!

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you live your life (un)comfortably in the shadow of your bright and beautiful best friend, chaeyoung. when campus heartthrob, beomgyu, takes an interest in you, you can't help but feel like it's just a way for him to get closer to your beloved best friend. in reality, his intentions are far crueler than that. or, beomgyu agrees to get with the campus' resident dark cloud in order to win a bet with his friend.

genre: romance, angst, campus life, clichés and melodrama (as per uje)

warnings: brief mentions of reader's abusive household, reader has almost comically low self esteem

word count: 7.8k

notes: hi... r u mad at me? i know i've been gone for a month or so and definitely have other projects i've promised to work on, but i've had a lot of personal stuff going on and couldn't focus on anything. i love this trope so much tho and couldn't stop myself from wanting to try my hand at it. i'm not expecting much from this seeing as how it's devoid of any suggestive content, but i figured it'd be better to post it so you all know i'm alive. if people want a part two, i will gladly make one since i really like this trope, but i do want to know if that's the case before i write anything. anyway, i think that's it. enjoy, my lovely friends :^)

you’re okay. you really, really are. you wouldn’t say you’re happy, per se, but things are alright as they are. there are worse things than living in the shadow of your bright and beautiful best friend, whom you love very, very much. chaeyoung is nothing if not dazzling, so much so that everyone falls flatly at her feet in the wake of one of her smiles. you are, as a matter of fact, no exception. chaeyoung has been like a savior from your unstable home life ever since middle school. she has stood up for you when you were too afraid to stand up for yourself and has become more like your family than your family ever was. even so, are you envious of the way that everything seems to go her way? you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t bother you at times, but it becomes more and more bearable every day. besides, you can’t blame her for it; she has no idea that you’re considered as little more than her sidekick and, for lack of a better term, a mob character in the colorful campus life you’ve grown to accept as not your cup of tea. 

being chaeyoung’s best friend comes with “perks” such as invites to what would otherwise be completely exclusive parties you wouldn't even dream of being considered for, but you can’t count how many times you’ve been approached with the intent of getting closer to her, so you refrain from any such affairs and opt to focus on your studies and fulltime job. in the beginning, your feelings would be hurt when men you were interested in feigned mutual attraction in hopes that they’d get closer to chaeyoung, but you’ve come to accept things as they are and you’re now known for your flatout rejection of anyone who attempts to woo you. 

these past few years, what with your heavy coursework, demanding job, and feelings of inferiority, have been grueling, to be sure, but you’re finally in your last semester and closing act of this entire charade you’ve come to call your college career. in a few months, you'll be a free woman and you’ll be able to begin your life as a fully fledged adult. chaeyoung will remain as your best friend, you know, but you won’t have to be compared to her every second since you two are set on very, very different career paths. life, as it is, feels so small and unvaried to the point of suffocation, but all of that will be over once you’ve entered the post-college workforce. or, at least, you hope it will. 

-

heeseung is lovesick, to put things in the simplest of terms. 

“i just don’t see why chaeyoung won’t give me a chance! i really, really like her,” he whines.

“i know,” beomgyu says with a roll of his eyes. 

“so why can’t you help me out?” he pouts.

“what the hell am i supposed to do about it?” beomgyu asks with a hint of irritation.

“gyu, you sit next to her and her friend in class! put in a good word for me!” he pleads.

“she’s always talking to that girl, so it’s hard to even say two words to her. you know that.” 

heeseung is, again, pouting, but the machinations in his head are firing in overtime as he searches for a solution. suddenly, his face alights as if he’s found the perfect plot. beomgyu’s wariness increases tenfold as he waits to hear whatever fucked up plan heeseung has put together.

“i know! what if you distract her friend so i can actually talk to her? and you can find out what type of guy chaeyoung likes.” he looks so earnest in this moment, but beomgyu cringes at the idea.

“dude, no. that’s fucked up,” he says.

“c’mon, i know you can do it!”

“well, yeah,” beomgyu nods in agreement, “but i’m not pretending to be interested in somebody just so you can fuck her friend. that’s wrong.”

“oh, please, gyu. we all know you’ve done worse.” he’s right. still, beomgyu vehemently disagrees. heeseung, in his desperation, can only think of one way to force him to give in: attack his pride.

“what, are you scared she won’t fall for it?” heeseung teases. “well, i can’t blame you. i heard people calling her the ‘iron maiden’ and that she won’t let anybody near her. why would she fall for you of all people?” beomgyu scoffs at his insolence.

“i could get her if i really wanted to,” he replies. “i just don’t feel like it.” 

“sure, whatever. i know you’re just scared she’ll reject the ‘great beomgyu’ and you won’t be able to keep saying you’re the hottest guy on campus.” beomgyu actually rolls his eyes at this.

“i bet you i could get her to fall in love with me by the end of the semester if i really wanted her to,” beomgyu argues petulantly. 

“prove it,” heeseung challenges with a raise of his eyebrows. now he’s got him.

“not for free,” beomgyu says with a smirk.

“... fine. what do you want?” 

“i want you to pay my half of the rent for the rest of the school year.” heeseung whines in response, but he quickly makes the calculations in his head and decides it’s worth it when he takes into consideration how fucking hot chaeyoung is. 

“deal.” 

“deal.”

and so it begins.

-

beomgyu, like most people, hasn’t really paid much attention to you before now. he barely even has an idea of what you look like, to be perfectly honest, but he can immediately figure out who you are just by looking to chaeyoung’s side as she's walking through the classroom door and seeing who’s sticking there. he takes in your features as if he’s seeing you for the first time, and he kind of is, frankly speaking. you’re not nearly as pretty as chaeyoung, and you definitely lack the aura she has, but you’re not bad by any means. your clothes are ill-fitting and your entire demeanor is soaked with an air of exhaustion, but if he looks carefully, it’s not like you’re an eyesore or anything. still, he’s considerably better looking than you are. this should be easy.

“hey,” he says softly in his baritone voice when you slide into your usual seat next to his, chaeyoung sliding in on the other side of you. to his surprise, you say nothing in response.

“hey,” he tries again, a little louder, thinking you just didn’t hear him or something.

“oh. hey,” you say confusedly before turning back to look at chaeyoung and continuing your conversation with her. well, that’s not nothing, he guesses, but heeseung sends him a knowing, goading glance from his seat and beomgyu feels himself growing irritated. 

when the professor enters, you turn to face her with a focused face and immediately pull out your pen to begin copying whatever she says down with solemnity. 

beomgyu is staring so intently, he’s surprised you don’t feel his eyes boring into the side of your face, but you don’t seem to notice a thing. before long, your professor announces that there will be a final project that will require a partner. chaeyoung excitedly grabs your arm with a grin, to which you answer her with a soft smile of your own. 

unluckily for the two of you, your giddiness is short-lived when she pairs chaeyoung with the person sitting on the other side of her, and you are stuck with the boy who randomly greeted you earlier. 

“i’m glad we’re partners,” beomgyu says with a smile as soon as the professor is finished relaying the details of the project with the class. 

“why?” you blink in confusion. 

“‘cause you’re really smart, right? and cute, too,” he chuckles. 

“oh, i guess,” you say flatly after a short pause. “when do you want to work on the project?” there is no wavering in your voice when you speak to him, and you look directly in his eyes, which is a far cry from the sweet, trembling voices and shy glances he’s used to. do you not find him attractive or something? no, that can’t be it. he’s everybody’s type. 

“i’m free tomorrow after 5. do you want to come to my place?” you tense up, but he keeps pushing. “you know, so there are no distractions?” you’re wary, of course, but you see no hint of sinister ulterior motives. besides, he can’t possibly see you in an impure way, so you agree with a low hum. 

“great. i’ll see you then.”

-

you arrive at his doorstep with your usual exhausted, haphazard look. some part of him thought you might try to doll yourself up to some extent, seeing as how you’re coming to the apartment of the hottest guy on campus and all, but he can sniff out no such effort. your hair is carelessly thrown up and your face is devoid of anything but the barest amount of makeup. your eyes are tired and there’s a permanent crease in your brows. still, he figures that complimenting you is worth a shot.

“hey, you look pretty today,” he says warmly. you do nothing but stare with a withering glance, but the grin never leaves his face.

“hi. where did you want to start?” you ask while following him to his living room and setting your bag on his couch. if he feels slighted by you ignoring his compliment, he doesn’t show it. 

“i thought we could review the rubric first and go from there,” he shrugs.

“okay.”

he makes several attempts at small talk, but they go nowhere. you are laser focused on the project and don’t even hesitate to reject any and all advances from him to the point where he’s beginning to grow frustrated. maybe you aren’t called the iron maiden for nothing, but the prospect of having his rent paid for the rest of the year is enough to keep him from giving up. he decides he’ll try a different approach.

“do you want some coffee? you look tired,” he says gently. you’re actually surprised at his observation, and he can tell. 

“yes, actually. thank you.” 

when he finishes making your coffee, he hands you a mug and you thank him while sporting a shy, grateful smile. momentarily, he’s stunned. he’s never cared enough to look for your smiles, and even if he had, he’d never see them unless you were with chaeyoung, but he realizes you look infinitely prettier while wearing one. 

“of course. if you don’t mind me asking, is there something wrong? you look really tired lately.”

“i-i’m just working overtime these days. th-thank you for noticing,” you sputter nervously. seriously? his feigned consideration of your personal circumstances is what makes you flustered? well, whatever. he can work with this.

“work is important, but your health is more important. don’t spread yourself too thin.” if your cheeks felt hot before, they’re scorching to the touch now. 

“i… i’ll keep that in mind. thanks.”

he doesn't probe much more deeply than that for fear of scaring you away, but you seem to have opened up just a bit in light of his thoughtful words. when you two decide to wrap up for the night, he walks you to his doorway.

“thank you for tonight,” you mumble with another one of your rare smiles. 

“you’re welcome,” he replies with a grin. 

you’re about to walk through his doorway when you turn back suddenly. before he can ask about it, your next words come tumbling out.

“chaeyoung likes confident men, but not to the point where they’re obnoxious. she hates movie dates because she wants to talk too much during them, but she likes stargazing, preferably with a picnic, too. she won’t text first, but she’ll respond quickly if she likes you back.” he’s stunned into silence and tries to stutter out something to the effect of “i wasn't trying to get you to tell me about her”, but all you do is give a knowing stare and he realizes he’s been caught. you leave his apartment and he’s left reeling. so much for being discreet.

-

the next time he sees you, he knows he has to apologize, but it isn’t until you meet again for the project that he decides the timing is finally right. 

you’re sitting on his couch, scrolling through your laptop as you proofread what you two have written so far when he musters up the courage to say something.

“listen,” he begins cautiously. you lazily look up at him and he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“i… i think i owe you an apology and an explanation. i’m sorry for making you feel like i was just being nice to you so you could tell me about chaeyoung, but i really have no interest in her, i swear.” well, he’s half lying and half telling the truth, but he means it when he says he couldn’t give less of a shit about her. he can’t say he wasn’t just being nice to you in order to get his rent paid, though.

you look confused for a moment, as if you don’t even know what he’s referencing, but realization dawns on your face as you finally remember what he’s talking about.

“oh, it’s okay. it doesn’t bother me, anyway,” you reply with a shrug. 

“i’m serious,” he says firmly. “i really have no interest in her. to be honest, i’m interested in someone else at the moment.”

“oh,” you respond flatly, and you turn back to your laptop as if you’re bored and couldn’t care less about the most popular guy on campus actually having feelings for someone, for once. he snaps your laptop shut and you look up at him in surprise.

“i mean it. the person i actually want to get to know more about is you.”

your jaw drops in pure shock. 

“m-me? why?” you say, as if you can’t possibly believe that anyone could take a genuine interest in you. for some reason, he feels a pang in his heart at your sheer incredulity. sure, you’re no chaeyoung, but it's not like someone liking you is so rare of an affair as to throw you off kilter like this, right? 

“what’s wrong with me wanting to get to know a pretty girl like you?” you scoff and roll your eyes. you know you’re no trophy by any stretch of the imagination, so you have a hard time believing he means a single word.

“yeah, right,” you snort derisively. “the cutest guy on campus has a crush on me. you can’t honestly think i’d fall for that, can you? if you’re trying to flatter me to get me to do this entire project by myself, keep dreaming.” he’s surprised at your insistence. well, you’re not entirely incorrect. his intentions are impure if nothing else, but for some reason, he’s determined to prove you wrong. 

“oh, so you think i’m the cutest guy on campus?” he teases with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. as if you didn’t realize you said those words yourself, you look more flustered than you’d care to admit.

“w-well, i —” 

“i’ll take it. and no, i’m not trying to get you to carry our grade on this. i genuinely just want to get to know you better.” and he doesn't know how much of that sentiment he really means, but he does know it means more than it should.

-

after a few more meetups, you’re pretty much convinced that beomgyu truly has no interest in chaeyoung. he never asks about her, and even when you offhandedly comment on her, he never pushes to know more. he just hums in recognition or perfunctorily answers. as for believing that he sincerely has interest in you? you’re not sure you believe that, but when the project is finished within a week and he asks you out on a date, you can’t help but seriously consider this previously inconceivable thought. 

“what did you say?!” chaeyoung asks excitedly once you relay that beomgyu, of all people, has asked you to go to dinner with him. 

“i said i’d think about it,” you sigh.

“you should go! text him right now and tell him you’re going!” 

“i don’t know, chae. you’ve heard the rumors about him. he’s a player…” 

“who cares about the past?! i haven’t heard anything like that in a while. plus, it’s worth taking a chance, right? you haven’t been on a date in god knows how long. if you don’t text him, i will!” she exclaims. “gimme your phone, i’ll do it right the fuck now!”

“no!” you counter, clutching your phone to your chest protectively. “i… i’ll do it myself,” you mutter.

“that’s my girl,” she says with a sweet grin.

-

“i feel stupid,” you mumble as chaeyoung applies the finishing touches to your hair. 

“well, you don’t look stupid, i’ll tell you that much. you’re absolutely gorgeous,” she boasts. 

“as if,” you mutter, but you know she truly believes it. chaeyoung has always argued that you’re beautiful, even though you know that the rest of the world, including you, doesn’t think so.

“i’m being serious!” she says with a playful smack to your shoulder. “you look hot! i bet he’s gonna drool when he sees you.” 

“alright, you’re going too far,” you say with a shy smile.

“go! you’re going to be late,” she chastises. you check the time and realize she’s right. you hurriedly grab your things and scramble out the door. 

beomgyu offered to pick you up, but you vehemently denied this on account of the restaurant being a 5 minute walk from your apartment. you need the walk to calm your nerves, anyway.

when you enter the restaurant, all bright-eyed and beautiful, beomgyu looks up from his phone in sheer shock. he knew you were actually pretty cute under the exhausted veneer you have permanently placed over you, but he never knew just how stunning you are when you don’t look like life has run you over. you’re actually wearing form-fitting clothes for once, too, and he likes what he sees.

when you lock eyes with him, you actually smile, which you have been doing a lot more lately, and he can’t help but return it with a smile of his own. it’s a little more eager and sincere than he realizes.

“you look gorgeous,” he remarks when you sit down in front of him. 

“you’re exaggerating…” you mumble embarrassedly. 

“i’m not. you’re stunning.” and he means it.

“th-thank you,” you say, and the air is thick with tension before you clear your throat and ask him if he's already ordered drinks.

the date goes surprisingly smoothly, all filled with laughter and banter. he already knew you were smart, but he realizes how funny you actually are when you’re not so tense. you match his mischievousness with your own and it feels so much like a real date that he forgets why he’s doing this in the first place. 

he’s surprised to hear that you’re actually quite interested in music. you share a mutual interest in a lot of bands and you even offer up some recommendations of your own, which he earnestly writes down in his notes app. when he mentions that he actually plays the guitar, your eyes light up in interest. 

“will you play for me, someday?” you ask excitedly. 

“of course,” he smiles softly. a lot of girls have asked him to play for them, and he has always happily obliged in order to get in their pants, but this time feels… different somehow. like he really just wants to show you how much he loves music and creating his own.

as you leave the restaurant, he grabs your hand and laces it with his. to both of your surprise, you don’t pull away and even let him gently swing your hand back and forth. you actually look like a real couple. you feel like one, too.

-

dates with beomgyu become a happy, regular occurrence. you’re not necessarily together as of now, but it’s been about a month and you’re genuinely considering something serious with him. he seems to eagerly reciprocate this sentiment if his constant invitations are of any indication. 

he suggests walking to the nearest park to sightsee, and you agree before you can even fully consider it. as you walk through the trail and take a seat on a bench in front of the pretty, sparkling pond, he locks eyes with you. you look so beautiful like this, eyes devoid of their usual exhaustion and wariness, replaced by a sense of peace. he can’t help but try his luck and lean down to, hopefully, join your lips with his for the first time. usually, he’d have tried this a lot sooner, but for reasons unknown to him, he’s treated you with a lot more care and reverence than he’s ever treated anyone before. a sudden ringing interrupts the moment, though. you casually take out your phone and all the aforementioned contentment in your eyes flushes out as you see the contact information. 

“h-hello?” you say unsteadily as you unlace your hand with his and walk away. 

he can’t quite hear what you’re saying from the distance you’re at, but he can see how wound up you are. he tries to be considerate and tune out your conversation, but when he hears you yelling and the person on the other end of the line yelling back, he can’t help but be engrossed. you’re borderline screaming now about something related to money. something about a sibling of yours, maybe. something about how you’re tired of being taken advantage of and how the other person is being unfair. you’re angry, he can tell. indignant, even, but all of that leaves your demeanor when you deflate with insincere apologies and a sense of relenting out of sheer defeat. after the explosive call ends, you walk back to him with the same exhaustion permeating through your bones that he’s become so familiar with. even though you’re dressed and primped so beautifully, nothing can cover the tiredness of your entire person.

“i’m sorry you had to hear that,” you say in a monotone voice. 

“o-oh. it’s alright. is… is everything okay?” he tries tentatively.

“yeah,” you say with the most forced smile he’s ever seen. 

“do you… do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

you sigh. normally, you would not. normally, you’d brush it off and just call chaeyoung to blow off some steam, but for some reason, you’re so frustrated that you can’t help but want to tell somebody other than chaeyoung because you know you rely too much on her for comfort. as for that somebody being beomgyu, you, for some reason, somewhat trust that he won’t go around telling everyone about your family troubles. you also vaguely feel that he won’t judge you, either.

for his part, beomgyu genuinely seems concerned. he seems like he wants to listen. he’s shown you, in the past month that you’ve known him, that he really does notice when you’re tired and cares enough to ask about you. he tries to cheer you up with coffee and snacks even though you have refused to divulge any of the details of your personal life thus far. what’s the harm in trying to trust him? you feel like you can tell him about this, so you do. and once you do, it’s like you can’t stop.

you tell him all the dirty details of your home life and just how fucked up it is. you tell him about how you’re forced to work a full time job on top of being a full time student to help with your family back at home. it’s not that you mind helping out, but they show you no consideration or care and you’re always left feeling like you’re just there to be their workhorse no matter how many times you tell them that you’re tired. the only time they ever contact you is to try to wring every last penny out of you. your sibling, of course, is the exception, and is the only reason why you keep doing it aside from your unfettered guilt that you were practically born feeling. your need for validation has not sprung from nothing, and it seems like your money is the only way to get it from the people you reluctantly call your family. you don’t delve into details about the abuse you’ve endured, either, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. still, you can't help but love them. you just wish they loved you, too.

when you’re finished speaking, you don’t even realize that you’re crying until beomgyu gingerly wipes your tears away. oh no, you think. you’ve said too much. he’s going to be scared off just like every other guy you’ve told about your emotional baggage. who would want somebody whose life is in shambles? your self esteem is low, your financial circumstances are almost as equally dire, and you have no redeeming qualities you can think of. what have you done?

you hurriedly apologize for your outburst and wipe your tears away in a frenzy. 

“s-sorry. just ignore me,” you say with a shaky breath and he can see you folding into yourself. 

“why would i ignore you?” he asks, cupping your face. “you haven't done anything wrong. i’m so sorry that you’re being treated this way, and i’m even more sorry that you feel the way you do. you don’t deserve this, you know?” 

your eyes snap up to his at his words. does he really mean them? his eyebrows are knitted in concern and he seems like he really does care. 

“it’s… it’s okay. i’m fine. i should be used to it by now, but i’m just so, so tired all of the time. i feel like everybody on this planet just wants to use me,” you sob. “everybody besides chaeyoung a-and now, maybe, you,” you admit, grabbing one of the hands that holds your cheek. he feels like he’s been electrocuted as your words resonate in his heart. he is using you. he is planning on throwing you away at his earliest convenience once he’s done with you. 

but he’s increasingly unsure if he wants to do that, anymore. with every day that you spend together, he finds himself wanting to soak up every part of you. he wants to know everything about you. your likes and dislikes, what makes you tick and what makes you smile, and, now, what makes you feel so sad all of the time. he wants to be the one who takes away all of your exhaustion. he wants to be the shoulder you can cry on. he realizes that he never wants to see you sad ever again, and, more than that, he realizes that he’s felt this way for a while. when he began to genuinely care about you, he doesn’t know for sure, but it may have been the moment you told him how to win chaeyoung over as if you never expected anyone to be kind to you for good reasons. he realizes that he’s wanted to prove you wrong and that you’re worth giving a fuck about ever since then. 

“sorry if that’s too much,” you say in lieu of his pensive silence, pulling away from his touch, but he pulls you into a tight hug before you can fully separate yourself from him. 

“don’t be sorry. i want to hear about these things, if it makes you feel better. i want my girlfriend to trust me,” he says softly. 

“your girlfriend?” you ask incredulously. 

“well, yeah? i mean, if you want to be, of course,” he says sheepishly. 

“of course i do!” you say excitedly. you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a sweet kiss. your lips are soft and so, so warm. warmer than anything he’s ever felt before.

-

it’s a mere month before graduation, and you and beomgyu have been together for a few months now. every day is blissful. he convinces you to relax, and his mere presence is enough to soothe your nerves. the exhaustion that previously hung around you like a curse is pretty much gone and a spark of life has finally entered your countenance. he feels proud when he thinks that he helped put it there.

every time you’re overwhelmed at work, he seems to notice before you do, and he always stops by with a meal because he already knows you forget to eat when you’re stressed. by the same token, you reciprocate this sentiment by showing up to his apartment and helping him through some of his harder coursework with no complaint, even though your workload is considerably heavier. he resists, at first, but you insist on helping as much as you can and you tell him it makes you happy just to help him a fraction of how he’s helped you. 

you don’t realize that you’ve helped him just as much. you’ve made him into a better person, unconsciously or not. you’re so considerate of his feelings and always make him feel important no matter how busy you are. he’s never felt this way about anyone or anything before, but he’s so grateful you’ve shown him how much love has to offer. love. he never expected to find it in such an unconventional way, but he knows it when he feels it. 

-

heeseung, for his part, is pretty satisfied. after months of chasing, chaeyoung has finally agreed to go on a date with him. he has promised her a picnic and a night of stargazing, which she happily agreed to. when she tells you about her upcoming date with heeseung, you’re a little surprised. what are the chances that beomgyu’s friend knew what you had suggested to beomgyu when you thought he was interested in chaeyoung? but they’re friends. best friends, even. it’s not shocking to think that if heeseung expressed interest in dating chaeyoung, that beomgyu would share what he knows. you snuff the light of suspicion out with a vengeance. hasn’t beomgyu shown you how much he really cares about you? how could you doubt him like that? you’re a bad girlfriend for even entertaining that thought.

-

it’s another dreary day in the library for beomgyu. he just wishes you weren’t working so you could hang at his apartment and make out, but he knows you’re swamped with work these days, so it’s all just a fantasy. that doesn’t keep him from indulging in it, though. when heeseung pulls up a chair next to him, he audibly groans.

“what’s with the attitude?” heeseung playfully chastises. beomgyu doesn’t need to rely on his almost preternatural intuition to know that heeseung is over the moon right now.

“oh, i know. you’re thinking about your little girlfriend, aren’t you?” he teases. 

“so what if i am?” beomgyu snaps, a little too defensively.

“hey, man, i’m just kidding. you’ve done a great job on bagging her for me. my date with chaeyoung went great, by the way. thanks for asking.” beomgyu just rolls his eyes at heeseung’s obnoxiousness, which, if he recalls correctly, was one of chaeyoung’s turn-offs. 

“i’m glad it went well,” beomgyu says sarcastically, devoid of any sincerity.

“for paying your half of the rent for months, it better have! it was worth it, though. so, so worth it.” 

“what the fuck are you talking about?” a sudden voice cuts in from out of the blue. chaeyoung. oh no. 

“n-nothing,” heeseung says hastily, looking like a deer in headlights. beomgyu can only stare with widened eyes — too shocked to do anything else.

“bullshit. you said you paid his rent because he ‘bagged her’ for you. were you talking about who i think you’re talking about?” heeseung rushes to deny it, but she turns her hardened gaze to beomgyu.

“were you fucking talking about who i think you’re talking about?” chaeyoung repeats through gritted teeth. beomgyu feels his heart sinking to his stomach. his whole world has come crashing down around him and he feels like he could just die from the shame. he wishes he could deny it, but her eyes are teeming with a sense of knowing. 

“y-yes,” he says softly while breaking eye contact with her and looking at his hands, which he didn’t even know he was wringing. a sudden burst of pain on his cheek tears his gaze away from them, though, as chaeyoung slaps him square across the face.

“you’re a piece of shit, you know that? she trusted you, and you know how hard it is for her to do that. you’re fucking filthy,” she says in rage and disgust. the librarian has now come to investigate the disturbance, but chaeyoung quickly says she’s already on her way out. before she goes, though, she sends one last damning look at beomgyu and leaves her parting words. 

“just you fucking wait until i tell her about this, you son of a bitch.” 

-

beomgyu is anxious beyond words. he doesn’t know if he should call you, text you, or show up to your apartment groveling on his knees. he doesn’t have the time to do any of it, however, before he sees a text from you saying that you’re coming over. 

when you arrive, that same old tired look you always had before meeting him is there, and it has increased exponentially. gone is the vigor you two had fought so hard to restore. oh no.

he tries to greet you, but you just hold a hand up to stop him in his tracks. you take a seat on the couch and look so tense you could explode at any moment.

���chae already told me, but i want… i need to hear it from you. is it true?” you ask shakily. 

“baby, listen, i was—” 

“is. it. true?” you repeat impatiently. 

“... yes, but i—” 

“i see,” you say with a solemn nod and a tight-lipped smile. his mouth feels dry as he waits for you to elaborate, but after a long, long silence, he realizes that’s all you have to say in the face of his deceit. he wishes you would cry, or be angry and yell at him for lying to you. it’s infinitely worse, somehow, to see you accepting it as if it was a matter of course. and, to you, it is. of course he wouldn’t like you — let alone love you. of course it was all a sick, cosmic joke. that’s what you are. this is what you deserve, and you’re an idiot for expecting anything different from him or anyone else.

“well, i guess you’ve won the bet,” you sigh, rising from your seat and smoothing down your skirt. “congratulations.” 

his eyes are watery now, but you perceive it as the reaction of a child getting caught doing something he knew was wrong in the first place. you have accepted things with the type of resignation only a truly defeated person would have, and it breaks him more than he ever supposed anything could.

“don’t be sad,” you can’t help but add when you notice his upper lip trembling. “you can smile; i know you want to. now you won’t have to deal with me anymore. i’m sorry for wasting your time.” your words snatch him out of his entranced state and he’s rushing to get his next thoughts out with a desperation he can only describe as primal. 

“n-no, that’s not it at all! and don't be sorry! i… i’m the one who’s sorry. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean —” 

“it’s okay,” you cut in with a knowing smile, which shatters the last remnants of his heart. “i understand. i really, really do. i know you’re not a bad person. it’s my fault for taking this whole thing too seriously.” your smile is still there, but it has twisted into something truly ironic and teeming with disgust. not toward him, he realizes, but toward yourself. “i should’ve known better.” 

he’s rendered speechless once again, but you don’t give him a chance to collect his thoughts before walking away, closing the door lightly behind you. what words can he say to you to undo what he’s done? he wishes he could dig out his heart so you’d understand his true intentions. they were ill at first, yes, but they’ve evolved into something different entirely. something so sincere and pure he doesn’t dare to show it to anyone other than you. and you’re so calm about this entire situation, it’s driving him mad. how could you think so lowly of yourself as to see this coming? how could you think his actions were anything less than appalling and cruel? and, oh god, what has he done?

-

you’re okay. you really, really are. living in the aftermath of what you had foolishly believed was love is painful, to say the very least, but there are worse things, after all. what those things could be, you can’t seem to think of at the moment, but you know they exist even if you don’t have the energy to ponder them at present. chaeyoung, as expected, is more loving than ever. she rarely leaves your side these days. she’s always been clingy, but there is a level of doting and care she reaches without complaint on her part. beomgyu, to his credit, has seemingly taken the hint and fucked off. he doesn’t show up to your shared class and you took the liberty of blocking him on everything you could possibly think of. even it he hadn’t gotten the memo, chaeyoung is by your side like a rabid dog and she will gladly bite if he approaches. you’re grateful for that, you guess. him essentially cutting himself out of your life has made pretending like he never existed much easier. there are still traces of him, though, and they haunt you viciously. 

-

there’s a party celebrating your impending graduation, and you would rather die than go, to be honest, but chaeyoung makes such a convincing argument that you can’t help but relent after hearing her drone on and on about how you deserve to have fun and let loose since your college years are ending and you have yet to fully put yourself out there in terms of student life. you will, in all likelihood (and with any hope), never see most of these people again, so will it kill you to just let go for once? on top of that, it will be a welcome distraction from your downward spiral that inevitably comes when you think of beomgyu. 

you don’t really know what you’re doing when it comes to dressing up besides the basics, but chaeyoung knows more than her fair share and is all too willing to doll you up in a way you previously thought was impossible. after her flitting hands while doing your makeup and careful choices in wardrobe, you barely recognize yourself. for once, you feel good. you feel confident. you even almost feel worthy of standing alongside a drop-dead gorgeous girl such as your best friend, so when you enter the door of the house party, you don’t feel as small as can be under the scrutinizing gazes of all the usual party goers. one familiar pair of eyes watches you in awe, though, even if you don’t notice. you’re much too engrossed in the atmosphere of pure fun to recognize anything else.

you’re not really one for dancing — far too awkward and uncoordinated to really try it — so you sit as comfortably as you can on the decidedly uncomfortable couch and sip on what must be your third drink this evening. you’re smiling in contentment at the sight of chaeyoung dancing with her new crush. if you can't be happy, you’ll be satisfied with her happiness, instead. this is how it should be, you think. this is how it always should’ve been. 

you’re so stuck in your thoughts you don’t even turn your head at the feeling of the couch sinking as a boy sits next to you. that is, until he clears his throat and you’re snapping your eyes up to meet his.

“i’m taehyun. i’ve never seen you around before,” he casually remarks. he’s really beautiful, like, fresh off the runway beautiful. you almost wonder if he’s talking to somebody else for a second, but his expectant eye contact with you tells you otherwise. you shyly introduce yourself and mumble something about parties not particularly being your scene.

“really?” he smiles. “that’s a shame. i wish i’d seen you before tonight.” you can’t help but blush. “i’d like to get to know you, if that’s alright.” you’re not so stupid as to fall for a man with honeyed words, at least not again, but you find yourself caring less and less about the repercussions as your head feels foggier and foggier. so what if this is a sick joke? you’re almost out of this hellish purgatory you call school life, anyway. even if taehyun doesn’t end up liking you, what’s the harm in indulging in a little fun while you can? you’re not going to put your heart on the line again — you’re too jaded for that — but maybe you can enjoy his company for what it is, no matter how fleeting it may be. so before you can think any better of it, you agree. 

or, at least, you try to, but your sentiment is cut short with a sharp tugging of your arm.

“beomgyu, what are you doing?” you hiss as he leads you to an unfortunate-smelling bathroom.

“i-i need to talk to you,” he replies sheepishly. 

“what’s there to talk about?” you ask with a sigh. “i’m not mad at you. i forgive you. so what else do you want from me?” you actually seem a little annoyed, which he has never seen before from you. it causes him to sputter and almost lose his train of thought.

“you know what i want to talk about…” he says meekly. 

“oh? the fact that you dated me and said you loved me because of a bet?” you can't help the bitterness that laces its way around the edges of your words.

“yes, it was for a bet, but then it wasn’t about that,  anymore. i really did fall for you. i… i love you.” 

“i don't believe you.”

“b-but i mean it! how can i make you trust me?” his voice is overrun with desperation, but you quirk your eyebrow at his words.

“you can't make me do anything. i don't know what you're getting out of this, maybe some sick satisfaction that you can pick me back up again at your leisure? maybe you just feel bad for me? whatever it is, i don't care anymore.”

“no! listen to me, i really do care about you! i know i hurt you, but let me be there for you. i… i'll prove to you how much i care. how much i love you.” you're quiet for a long, long time. an excruciatingly long time. you seem to consider every syllable he just uttered, but you don’t seem fazed by his sincere words at all, and he worries he's losing you for good. before he can stop himself, he gently cups your face in his hands and tenderly runs the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks. you don't push him away and, for that, he’s grateful.

“alright. alright, i do believe you. i believe you love and care about me,” you admit with a sigh. he lets out a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding in before he presses his forehead against yours. thank god you believe him. maybe you don’t trust him yet, but he’ll do everything in his power to earn it back.

“i believe you, but it’s not enough,” you say resolutely, grabbing his hands and prying them off of you. his heart sinks and he can’t help but feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

“i forgive you, i really, really do, but you can't treat people however you want and expect things to go back to the way they were just because you’re sorry. i can’t… i won’t accept that.” he winces and he makes no move to stop his tears from falling now, but he bites his lip to stop the whimpers.

“you know me. you know how hard it is for me to… to believe that i’m worth loving.” he flinches at your self-deprecating words and he wishes he could kiss your face and erase any doubts of your worthiness. you are the most lovable person in the world to him. he wants to shake you and demand that you see it, but what right does he have to do so? instead, all he can do is shake his head furiously in denial of your sentiments.

“and everything you said, everything you did, just makes me believe that i’m right about myself. even if you mean it now, i can't get over the fact that it was all a lie from the start. if you love and care about me like you say you do, don’t you think i deserve better than that? better than having to be reminded that the person i love the most in this world only chose me because he wanted to get his rent paid?”

“i’m… i’m so sorry,” he repeats with a whine. “i wish i could go back in time and redo everything.”

“but you can’t,” you say softly, and he whines again, like an animal. 

“i promise… i promise that i really love you, okay? and i’ll wait for as long as i have to for you to see that,” he says between sobs. you can’t help but feel sorry for him. you’ve seen beomgyu cry from stress, but never from the pure, unadulterated amount of pain he’s feeling as of now. you almost want to acquiesce and let him have his way, but you can’t do that. you don’t have much dignity to speak of, but even you can’t tolerate a betrayal this sizable. maybe, before you met him, you would have, but ironically enough, his presence has taught you that you should never compromise yourself like that for anyone. not even for the one you love the most.

“thank you, beomie,” you say softly, “but i don’t want you to wait for me. i want you to be happy, okay?” you ask as you stand on your tiptoes and press a goodbye kiss to his forehead. “and i’ll try to be happy, too.” without waiting for an answer, you leave the bathroom and shut the door behind you. 

“i don’t want to be happy if it’s not with you,” he mumbles bitterly, but you’re too far away to hear it.

notes pt. 2: is this cheesy? YES. do i care? ONLY A LITTLE BIT. anyway like i said lmk if u want a part two <3

taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @zzhyuu @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @defnotleee @midwinterblizzard

*if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist or my taglist for the (maybe) upcoming next part, lmk!

[happiest-hotch]

The Brink of Collapse

Summary: Aaron and reader have been on the brink of divorce for a long time. And then suddenly he's there, and feelings come to a head.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: very angsty, talk of divorce, mentions of strippers

It's been an odd month.

Surreal, in some ways.

You and Aaron have been on the brink of divorce for a while, but once you finally said the word, everything changed. It opened up a new world of feelings and even more hurt.

It didn't seem possible to feel more hurt, but here you are, sitting on the couch, feet tucked beside you, and a glass of wine on the coffee table. You need it for your nighttime reading, the first draft of a separation agreement, your and Aaron's full names on the top.

It feels like physical proof that you and Aaron have failed. Every sacrifice that was made in the decade you had been together wasn't enough. All the love in the world wasn't enough.

It hits you in a deeper place in your chest than you knew existed, and it makes breathing difficult.

Those papers are a taunt you've been putting off confronting, but it's time. It's something you have to do.

Your eyes gloss over the words, but you catch yourself slipping into a defense strategy where your name is removed from you, and it's a draft divorce settlement of detached clients.

"Late-night reading?" His voice makes you jump, startled by his appearance in front of you.

You had spaced out, thought he escaped through the front door to avoid whatever this awkward situation could be categorized as. You find yourself wishing that he did as he looks at you, trying to profile your thoughts. Dick.

You're both trying to keep life somewhat normal for the children, not wanting them to be caught up in your mess which means when he's in DC, he picks them up for the day and drops them back home. You just thought he'd leave out the front door rather than come across the house to talk to you.

"It's not that late." You reply. "Do you actually want to do this?" You're not sure why you ask, not when it's going to hurt.

"Do what, Ms. L/n?" Aaron asks, but he knows. He walks behind the couch and into the kitchen, taking the open bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass without invitation.

"Get divorced." You answer before adding something you probably shouldn't since there's no need. "I'm still technically Mrs. Hotchner."

He doesn't chuckle at your quip, but he looks close. "You wouldn't be holding that if we didn't." Carefully chosen words, as expected. "I've always loved that part of your name."

You scoff, shaking your head. "That's a conflicting message."

Aaron shrugs, sitting down on the couch next to you. You kind of wish he hadn't. He could have just gone back to wherever he's staying and you wouldn't have to do this metaphorical dance.

"They're not mutually exclusive." He explains. You try to keep a neutral expression, but it's hard to hear that your soon-to-be ex-husband likes that you have the same surname. "I love the name, doesn't mean we can't get divorced."

"I won't be Mrs. Hotchner then." You remind him, but you keep it lighthearted in tone.

The air is getting too grave and when things get too grave, you both say too much. It's painful conversation, of late. No more 'I love you's and bleeding heart promises of fixing it. You both know you're beyond repair so you talk about that, and it's getting depressing.

He shrugs. "Not necessarily. Plenty of women keep the name after divorce."

Divorce.

That dirty word that's become your reality.

"I've not considered it." You confess. It seems easier to be honest about something little. "Would it bother you? If I kept it?"

He waits a beat, staring into the semi-opaque wine. "No. Not in the slightest."

"I feel it could get real awkward." You admit and he frowns, not understanding what you mean. "When someone says, 'Oh, are you related to Aaron Hotchner' and I have to say, 'Yeah, he's my ex-husband.' I mean, you know half this town."

Aaron considers it for a second, that thoughtful frown on his brows. "I hadn't considered it." Obviously. "You have my blessing if you keep it."

You chuckle humorlessly. "Thanks."

"This whole thing doesn't have to be adversarial." He reminds you, but it's not condescending. He's almost smiling, lips tugging up at the corners.

Your eyes narrow at him. "Have I done something to make this feel adversarial?"

It's snider than it needs to be, but he comes back professionally. "No. But I've seen couples in our situation start arguing, even yelling, at every step."

You snort out a laugh. "The life of divorce attorneys, right?" He's telling it like you don't know like you're not still in the job he left for the FBI. You bite your bottom lip, considering whether to drive the conversation in a different direction, and come to the conclusion that it might make the conversation lighter and with it, stop the clenching feeling of your heart. "Do you still remember the Beamounts?"

He laughs louder than you've heard in a while. That does the trick and gives you a quick breath of relief, but it's gone as soon as it's there. "I couldn't forget it." He assures you. "Do you still have her little card? The one you kept in your wallet?"

You're almost giddy listening to him laugh, and it makes you giggle as you recall it. "Yes! She ran those exotic dance clubs, I remember. I'm still not sure if I'm offended she gave me the card… like, I can't work out if she thought I might be interested and would want to come watch, or if she thought I'd like to leave seven years of school and a law career behind to strip."

"Do you want me to take care of that card? It's been in there for what? Twelve years?"

His offer throws you a little, but your reaction comes out as teasing. "Oh, do you need her card? Now that we're about to be divorced?"

"I certainly don't." Unsurprising, he has no trouble with women. "But I do want to preserve your wallet's purity."

"I think she gave me the non-explicit version." You explain to him. "I'm sure there are some racy ones out there for guys that are into that stuff..." Something prompts you to push it further. "Like you."

Aaron laughs again, and you get another breath. "Very occasionally." He assures you.

"There's photographic evidence, Aaron." You remind him, smiling softly at the photos Morgan showed you of some BAU boys' nights out. Aaron looked so uncomfortable, and you're sure he spent the entire evening refusing to look at any woman's assets. It makes your stomach churn knowing that, if the situation arises again, he won't act the same way. "Unfortunately, good old Mrs. Beamount is spoken for these days, so I guess the card has no use to you."

He hits you with something you don't expect, although maybe you should have since it's in line with your mutual reminiscing. "That was the first time we met. Just baby lawyers thrown into the craziest case."

"I remember laughing with you about how ridiculous it was." The first time you laughed together about that, you breathed deeper than you ever have before. "Do you remember the thing with the dog?"

He snorts with laughter. It's probably not meant to be as attractive a sound as it is. "That damn chihuahua he insisted was possessed? I remember being so annoyed because I knew the dog couldn't be possessed. I kept asking myself what I'd done so wrong in my life that I had a client expecting me to argue it." Hearing his thoughts now is different than just laughing about back then. "Then when we got there, the damn animal was barking and growling in a demonic way. That was the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life. It was possessed."

The passion with how he talks about a damn dog makes you smile. "Now imagine everyone seeing that and having to argue it wasn't demonic." You remind him of what your position was as his opposing counsel. "I felt so ridiculous arguing it. And she wanted the divorce settlement to include him taking it to the groomer." You shake your head disapprovingly at the memory. "It creeped me out that she kept it in her purse. That was the ugliest dog I'd ever seen."

It's odd to be laughing with him, considering your precarious relationship circumstances, and even odder that it's about the first case. Surely it should be about what Eden said today, bonding over your kids seems less intimate than talking about when you met.

"I remember she even tried to make herself look more motherly and nurturing in court, by taking care of it during the proceedings." He continues.

It's like you're watching the whole thing again, but you know how it ends. "I was just praying she wouldn't start breastfeeding it." You say. "Her boobs were so plastic that I think if she put that rabid dog near them, he'd chew them."

Aaron loses it laughing, clearly seeing the mental image that worried you 12 years ago. "Okay, okay, that's enough." He finally manages to get out.

You finish off the laughter, letting it die down rather than continuing the conversation.

"What did you think of me?" He asks, a surprising tangent. "When we first met?"

You know he knows since it had been discussed it a few times between dating and marriage, wanting to reminisce. Why he's asking now, you're not sure, and why you're answering, you're even less sure.

"I thought you were a jerk." You admit.

He laughs, but he's thinking about whether you think that again now. "Yeah?" He prompts you to go on.

"That's what happens when you arrive at a mediation meeting five minutes late with Ferrari keys." You remind him with the same disapproving frown.

You can still remember when he walked into the big boardroom, dressed in a perfectly fitted dark blue suit with his hair longer than it is now and parted down the middle. Compared to now, he looked so young, just 25 and straight out of law school, not having seen the most awful parts of the world. He's different now. His shoulder bag switched out for a briefcase being the most minor change.

When he walked into the room that first day, you were equally as pissed off by and attracted to him. It's full circle that you feel that way again.

"I had to find parking." He reasons.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "You didn't valet your car?"

"After the Ferrari, things were tight," Aaron says, but it's a joke. You both know he has money, the separation agreement dividing your assets wouldn't be so long if neither of you had money. "What about after that?" He asks. Sadistic or masochistic, you're not sure. It hurts you to relieve it in your memory, but is it hurting him?

"I was leaving that meeting. As fast as I could, of course." You pause for his laughter. "And you were already in the elevator." It hurts to recall, just like you expected. "I wondered if I should join you."

You still wonder now, if you made the right decision that day. On one hand, you'd have none of the good memories, but on the other, you wouldn't feel like your chest was clenching and your heart was threatening to shatter with each breath.

You decide to keep telling the story. "And I did. And you made me laugh, right off the bat, both of us giggling about the ridiculousness of our clients."

"Not very professional." He notes with a smirk. "Opposing counsel gossiping about their clients."

Your eyebrows pull together in a frown. "Why'd you make the first joke then?"

He wants to tell you it's because he needed to make you laugh, just to hear it and see you smile. His fear takes over and he settles for a quip. "I mean, you looked uptight, but I could tell you weren't."

Your scoff is accompanied by you hitting his shoulder, both of you laughing and it suddenly hits you that you're flirting with him.

It must hit him too because what he says is out of left field. "Part of me wonders if the reason you're only just looking at that is because, on some level, you're hoping we'll fix things and get back together." Fuck! Aaron has always been a straight shooter, but that was far too much honesty.

You gulp, the saliva in your mouth drying up. "Hey, let's just not go there, okay?" You offer. It's not a conversation you want to be having. Your mixed emotions coupled with his ability to push you, it's not a good combination.

"Sure." He admits, but his tone suggests he's unhappy, and so does his sigh. You're begging him with your eyes not to push it, to leave the house and the conversation, and not make it awkward and hurtful. "I never wanted this to be an argument. Do you know that? I know I've never been great at communicating and all this, but I've always tried to do the best for you, always tried to... I mean, I've never gotten divorced before, so I'm still feeling out the right way to do it."

You're not impressed he's lying through his teeth. Both of you know he didn't "always" do his best at communicating. Those last few months, he barely spoke to you. In fact, this conversation might contain more words than an entire few months.

And is there a "right way" to get divorced? You don't know, but you wish you could stop picking apart everything he's saying, overanalyzing.

You're caught on the first statement. "This isn't an argument, is it?"

"I guess not, but there's a vibe." He points out. "Maybe I'm being hypersensitive. Listen, I know this is hard. I think we both knew this probably wasn't going to be the easiest thing, right?"

You avert your gaze from him, a few tears welling in your eyes. "Yeah, we knew that."

"Hey, look at me." He implores.

You tilt your head to the ceiling, trying to stop crying before you start.

"If you're not ready to do this, then please just talk to me." He says- begs. "Please talk to me."

It's ironic really, him sitting there begging you to talk to him when formerly, it's been you doing the begging for him to share his feelings with you. An embarrassing amount of begging, really.

"Please don't do this." You beg back. "I'm not interested in the idea of being vulnerable in front of you, okay?"

He sighs a bit, hands falling to his side. The look on his face you can read. He's upset about not being able to comfort you, and he's begging himself not to show it. What the fuck does that mean?

"Fine." He agrees. "It's... I don't think I ever fully realized how much this whole thing would hurt, but I'm seeing it now."

You don't thank him sarcastically for being obvious. It's twisted that he's spilling his emotions now, and it's hard not to be resentful about it. If he had just fucking talked to you when you begged him to every night in your last month together, you wouldn't be here. It's too little, too late.

"I guess." You agree. "We'll just get it over with."

It stings his heart, so he stings you back. Whether it's intentional or on reaction, you can't tell. "Maybe you're right and we should get it drafted and signed so we can be finished as soon as possible." But, most surprisingly, he flip-flops. "I miss you, Y/n."

It's the same rollercoaster of emotions that your brain is riding in your head, but at least you're not saying it out loud and confusing the shit out of him. "Don't say that, Aaron." You warn him.

He has the nerve to be surprised by your harsh tone. "...what? It's just a fact. I miss you. Why is that bad to say?"

"Because I missed you for four months while you had one foot out the door of this marriage." You finally snap.

Aaron looks stunned and it only makes you angrier and more upset. "I know," He tells you.

He knows, but he'd never do anything about it. You try to act casual, taking a deep breath. "Okay." You attempt to leave it at that.

He won't let the conversation go. "I should have fought for us."

"You still can." You're not sure why you say it, but you do. Maybe you give him one last chance because you'll regret it forever if you don't.

"I am more in love with you than I have ever been." He bursts out, unable to help himself given the chance.

It makes your heart soar and your eyes water. You sit there silently, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly like it might protect you.

"I never should have put you in a position where you felt like something was wrong with us." Aaron looks at you so sincerely that you can't help the tears running down your cheeks. "It got to a point where I felt like I couldn't fix it so I didn't try, and I'm aware that was the wrong choice every day."

"I don't know what to say." You tell him. "Why bother coming to this conclusion, and telling me about it, when it's too late?" Maybe you're protecting yourself more than you need to be.

Aaron shakes his head. "Because it isn't."

"Aaron." You shake your head, holding up the literal divorce papers that exist to remind him. "So much has happened in the last four months."

"Not too much, though." He emphasizes.

He's pushing a button that makes your emotions boil over. "I don't even know where you're sleeping." You remind him firmly.

"Holy shit, Y/n!" Aaron's quick to assure you of what might have been going on in your head. "No." He pauses. "I'm sleeping at my office." You can't say that doesn't relieve you. "You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on. Since the day I met you, I've never looked at anyone the same."

His strong assurances make you cry more. "I don't know if we can fix this." You admit, disappointed in yourself.

"We absolutely can." He pleads to you. "You said we should get a divorce because love isn't enough to make this better, but there is more than love here. I am committed to you and I want to fix this."

You continue your tears and he reaches out to touch your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb. You lean into his soft touch. "I do too." You admit, the realization alleviating some of the aching in your chest.

"You mean the world to me," Aaron tells you firmly. "I will do anything to get us back on track. I wasn't before and I know I was stupid for it, but I'm listening, Y/n. To everything you need and want."

"I think we need help." You confess. "Like professional help."

He can't nod fast enough. "I agree. We can get that."

You stop him before he can pull out his phone. "Tomorrow." You request. "I just want a hug."

He hasn't had you in his arms in far too long, and he reaches out for you. You lay on his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"Wow, I've missed you." He hums, breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

You sniffle your tears, nodding in agreement. "Me too."

"Y/n, I will never let it get this far again," Aaron assures you. "I was stupid and I can't lose you. I love you."

You're sure you feel the same way. Everything definitely wasn't fixed and there was a lot to do, but one thing you're sure about is being married to Aaron Hotchner. "I love you too."

[xclowniex]

Okay talking about the pagers and walkie-talkies seriously now.

I have seen quite a lot of misinformation going about and I just wanted to correct a few things.

The devices were not given to civilians

We know this as whilst civilians have bought their own pagers of the same brand, they did not explode. Only hezbollah ones exploded. This was done by a shipment meant for hezbollah being targeted, not all pagers going to Lebanon.

Hezbollah isn't also going to just give their communication devices to random ass civilians unless they're no longer in use. The pagers were a somewhat recent investment, not something which is old and no longer of use. It's just military basics 101. Don't give civilians equipment you are still using and still need

Most of the casualties were children and innocent citizens

The casualties were mainly adults. Whilst some children were harmed, the majority affect were adults. We also do not know how many hezbollah vs non hezbollah were affected, but considering to be seriously injured or killed, a person would need to be holding one of the affected devices or be close to someone with one, it's safe to assume that the majority of people affected were hezbollah members. Hezbollah are trying to keep their communication away from Israel's prying eyes. This was literally the reason why they switched from cellphones to walkie-talkies and pagers. They are not going to hand their devices to random ass civilians as there is a non zero chance that an undercover Israeli agent is that civilian.

Israel knew that lots of civilians were going to be harmed

Israel did as targeted of an attack as they could. To have one joke in this, Israel casted "fire ball but only if you're a terrorist" it is impossible for Israel to know exactly where every hezbollah member is at any given second. They cannot make sure that there are no civilians near all hezbollah members. The only way an attack could have been more targeted is if Israeli agents confirmed that someone is 100% a hezbollah member and shot each confirmed person square in the head. That is literally impossible to do on a mass scale, especially since any Israeli agent who entered Lebanon would get killed by hezbollah if they are found out.

You can (and should) mourn innocent civilians who lost their lives or were injured due to the attack whilst also recognizing the attack was a targeted attack at hezbollah. Those two things are not mutually exclusive.

[mystra-midnight]

Too Drunk to Fuck

summary: he'd never been the type of man to wait. if he had an itch, it needed to be scratched. jax doubted anyone would even notice if he pounded your cunt until you were screaming and creaming on his cock.

warnings: 18+ only. thigh riding. pet names; (princess, baby). brief name calling; (slut). public setting. female orgasm. it's not a samcro party without alcohol and getting high. also if there isn't someone getting fucked on a pool table.

words: 1k

notes: welcome to week one of kinktober! i'm not the best at sticking the day-to-day tasks so i'm following along with lazy ghoul's weekly promptsif you want to see more thigh riding with jax, or something else entirely, send me an ask!

"C'mere."

This was the only warning you had before Jax's strong fingers curled around your wrist and tugged you away from the crow eater you were in the middle of a conversation with. You gave him no resistance, as you've always enjoyed the way he manhandled you and how bossy he got when he was in a mood. You allowed him to tow you along behind him, giggling and stumbling in your high heels, before he turned to face you, his mouth immediately crashing against yours.

Jax kissed exactly how he fucked: roughly, with teeth and tongue, and hot breaths.

You moaned into his mouth as he perched atop a stool at the unoccupied end of the bar, his hands on your hips pulling you forward until you were straddling him. He had half a mind to fuck you right then and there—to shove his jeans down to his knees, hike up your pretty dress, and sink deep into your cunt with one sure stroke.

He'd never been the type of man to wait. If he had an itch, it needed to be scratched. Jax doubted anyone would even notice if he pounded your cunt until you were screaming and creaming on his cock. If they did, he doubted anyone would actually care. Most of them were plastered or higher than a kite, or both; Bobby Elvis was on the pool table going down with some pretty blue-eyed thing, while Tig was leaning back in one of the armchairs, a hand in the hair of some blonde-haired woman, who was sucking his cock like she simultaneously loved and hated it.

Not a single one of them would care, but even though the two of you had only been mutually exclusive for a few months, Jax knew you; he knew that you weren't into public sex. The club life was still new; it was as exciting as it was frightening, and you weren't ready to be vulnerable in front of all these people.

"Jax," your voice was impossibly soft as he tugged on your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his wondering mouth. If the rough drag of his lips against your skin hadn't distracted you from your utter desperation, you would have flushed with embarrassment. He followed a droplet of sweat down the column of your throat before finding the pulse point beating wildly at the junction of your shoulder.

His fingers tightened around your hips, the tips of them kneading the doughy flesh until it felt like you were bruised. Your own hips moved in response, grinding against him with anticipation and impatience. Jax had a room out the back; you knew that. You'd spent the night once or twice. With your arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, you bucked against him, your clothed cunt catching on the crotch of his jeans, the zipper sending a zing of pleasure through your core.

You chased that feeling desperately, despite the soft groans coming from the leather-bound man. His hand curling around your throat brought you back into the moment, your eyes snapping over to stare into his own pretty blue ones. You noticed they were dark with desire, his pupils blowing wide while you continued to move against him, chasing friction of any kind, whining softly at him. "Jesus," he muttered before kissing you again, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing your moans. "Gimme a second to get my shit together."

Both of you were drunk and not yet sober enough for a romp between the sheets, but you still needed each other. His hands slid to your waist, shifting you so that you were straddling one leg instead of his waist. "Like this," he said softly, his hands returning to your hips to pull you back and forth across his thigh. "Just until I can take care of you, babe."

Your breath hitched as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against your clothed cunt. Your panties were already soaked, but he didn't mind. Jax liked that he could excite you with a few quick kisses and dirty words; he liked the wet spots you'd leave on his jeans. You buried your face against his neck to muffle the sounds of the whimpers and moans he was pulling from you. Your hands burrowed into the thicket of tresses at the back of his neck, drawing him in deeper, and you were lost in him—the smell of his sweat-slicked skin, the taste of tobacco on his tongue, the feel of his finger bruising into your skin—utterly and hopelessly lost.

He gave you a few minutes to enjoy yourself. The feeling of him manhandling your body was exquisite; it never ceased to amaze you that something so simple, such as thigh riding, could send you sky-rocketing so suddenly. Jax pressed a kiss against the side of your head as you continued to roll your hips back and forth along his thigh. "Open your eyes, princess. I want to watch when you're cumming for me."

You whined in response. You wanted to carve your way beneath his skin and never leave the shelter of his body, but one of his hands snaked beneath your dress. He toyed with the band of your panties, his blunt nails plucking at the stitching before he pulled on them roughly, making the opposite side dig into your doughy flesh. With a chuckle, he let it snap back into place, causing your body jolt in his arms.

"There she is," he cooed mockingly when you finally raised your head. Your eyes were blurred and glossy as you rutted against him, your pace sloppy and frantic. His hands were everywhere and nowhere, all at once. "Y'look so pretty like this baby, like a desperate slut." His words were accentuated when he lifted his knee, changing the angle at which you rubbed against him.

Your teeth gnashed wildly at your lower lip to stifle the sound that ripped up from your chest. Jax slid his hand into your panties and grabbed a fistful of your ass, the tips of his fingers going a little bit south to find the wetness between your thighs, so that he could make your ride at a gruelling pace. A searing heat was starting to simmer in the pit of your stomach, making your blood boil until you were sweating and burning from the inside out.

Your mouth found his when you couldn't keep quiet. He felt the vibrations and your moans, and he swallowed each of the pretty noises you made. "Jax, s'close. Please, please, baby." You babbled against his lips, your fingers tightening around his hair and pulling roughly, making him growl. He bounced his knee once, the rough fabric catching against your clit through the barrier of clothing. Your cunt clenched around nothing, and you suddenly felt so horribly empty.

Jax kissed you hard; his tongue bullied its way past your lips while the tension in your stomach became too much and snapped. It was immediate and intense, leaving you shaking in his arms. A fire-storm trail-blazed through your body, igniting the blood in your veins. Static settled behind your ears, blocking out the world as you rode each shock-wave of euphoria as though it were your last. Your orgasm was intense and loud, leaving you moaning against his mouth, his name a symphony falling repeatedly from your lips as he kept your hips moving, drawing out the moment for as long as possible.

At long last, the tension escaped from your body, and you sagged against him, your vision finally clearing as he kissed you softly and lazily, waiting for you to come down from the clouds. When you realise what just happened, where it just happened, you hide your face against his neck again, although this time your tongue swiped wetly against his skin. Jax hummed when you nibbled at a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear. He pressed his mouth against your hair to hide the smirk that found his lips. The smell of your shampoo invaded his lungs as you shifted against him, the cold air hitting the wet patch your orgasm had left on his jeans.

"Ready for me to take care of you properly, princess?"

[neechees]

I am putting out a warning for the blog @/blktransdyke for very likely being a scammer, and is/was the same person behind the now deactivated blog @/raisedeyebrowemojii (who is also very likely a scammer) for the following reasons:

Usage of a very common story one particular scammer constantly reuses across multiple blogs (which i've talked about here before)

Several typical scammer red flags: Their blog has only existed since April 2023, and they started asking for money immediately. The blog only posted for the month of April and then did not post for months only to come back in January 2024, and start asking for money again

Their blog is sparse of anything denoting a personality, personal interests, friendly interactions with mutuals or followers, aesthetic choices and/or blog customization, and the only thing they reblog is also mentioned in their bio, thus indicating a falsified persona for a scam blog. (Ex: they say they are a lesbian, and so have a few posts about lesbianism, and the rest of the posts are almost exclusively fundraising posts)

Inconsistent information

Suspicious behavior on twitter, which was also noted and called out on twitter

Claiming to be homeless, but apparently rejected the non-monetary aid from another user who offered to house them

Claims to be "Indigenous" but then misuses the terminology of their alleged tribe (thus likely indicating racefaking for a scam persona)

No proof of their claims

Posting the same personal information as two other suspicious accounts while call three claim to be different people (& this is connected to the raisedeyebrowemojii blog)

& you know me, I always come with screenshots and proof. Image descriptions will be available in Alt text. (& please bear with me, some screenshots lead to imgur due to tumblr limiting images to 10).

First off, the suspicious story that is often reused by one particular scammer:

There's a scammer on here that ALWAYS uses the same story of:

Claiming to be trans,

claiming to be homeless,

Says they are homeless because they were/are being kicked out by a bigoted/homophobic/transphobic parent

Shows a screenshot of a IM or text message correspondence between them, and their alleged parent, where the parent is being abusive, and the messages always very concisely, very conveniently mention what is happening

Usually says they are disabled in some way (though before they would usually claim to be autistic)

The blktransdyke blog has all five of these things.

Im putting the rest under the cut because this is gunna get long, buckle in.

Secondly, inconsistent information, rejecting non-monetary aid, & suspicious Twitter activity (& this is also connected to the creation date of their tumblr account, which you'll see in a moment):

The blog blktransdyke uses two methods of recieving money, gofundme, which is linked on their main page and is run by someone named "Avalon Smith" (& we can assume this is the name they prefer to go by, because they have the tag "avalon speaks" on their blog), and this gofundme account says its based in York, Ontario. And the second is paypal, which uses a different name, which is "Ashton Jones" & the paypal url of "/ashtonjonesy". Below, the first screenshot on the very left, is a screenshot of the first post they made asking for money on April 14th 2023 while linking to the gofundme account, and then the second screenshot to the right is the blktransdyke's more recent donation post asking for money to be sent to the ashtonjonesy paypal account, and then here is a link to a screenshot of the gfm run by "Avalon Smith".

The consistencies are odd: and while one might think that "Ashton Jones" is an older name or a dead name, but if you search up "ashtonjonesy" in a search engine, you get two results: one leads to a post made by a now deleted twitter/X account with the url "blktransdyke" while using that same paypal (so we can assume this is the same person from twitter/X) and the second is ANOTHER twitter account, still up, that is completely different, also using the twitter url that is the same as the paypal username (/ashtonjonesy) who also claims to be homeless & kicked out by a transphobic parent, but says they have different pronouns than blktransdyke & seems to be transmasc, not a binary trans lesbian that blktransdyke claims to be. Below is screenshots of that.

But what's more troubling: the second twitter account @/ashtonjonesy on twitter/X says that they were 24 years old as of July 2021, while blktransdyke claims that they are 21 as of January 2024. So this can't be the same person using different names and twitter accounts, and yet curiously both are using the exact same story (both claim they are trans, homeless, and disabled & using a wheelchair), and both use the exact same paypals, while are apparently two completely different people. And again, we know that there is a scammer who repeatedly reuses the exact same story details across various accounts

And then, more concerning, that if you search up "blktransdyke" on twitter, while the original posts by the account are gone due to the account being deleted, you get results of various Twitter/X users retweeting the account blktransdyke's post, which was them asking for money. The bottom screenshots are related to the next point: highlighted in yellow you can see someone offering blktransdyke a place to stay, and they live in the same province, and the second screenshot, highlighted in blue you can see that on April 12th 2023, a twitter user accused them of being a scam. We can assume the blktransdyke account wasn't taken down yet that day due to this user encouraging other users to report them.

Recent tumblr creation date:

The oldest and first post made by the blog blktransdyke on tumblr was posted on April 14th, 2023. And as you can see, that was two days after the blktransdyke twitter/X account was accused of scamming. So the blktransdyke twitter account was accused of scamming, then was either deleted or self deactivated, and then the blktransdyke tumblr account showed up immediately after that while using the exact same paypal and story. Which brings us to the other half, which is

Rejecting aid

On this screenshot we can see in a retweet of what the original blktransdyke twitted/X account originally said in the post, and that on August 22nd 2022, they claimed they were still homeless, so apparently they didn't take up the person in Toronto who was literally offering them a place to stay on September 2nd, 2022 (which you can see in the screenshot above, on the second last tweet result to the right).

Claims of Indigeneity & inaccurate terminology:

This one is more minor compared to the other evidence listed here, but in blktransdyke's bio, they claim to be "Inuit" & "Afro-Indigenous": the problem here is that "Inuit" is the plural form, its uncommon that Inuit refer to themselves as this in the singular pronoun because it is grammatically incorrect and an actual Inuk would know that, and instead will use "Inuk" to refer to themselves, but blktransdyke says they are "Inuit". So this terminology is inaccurate coming from a person claiming to be "Indigenous". & just in case they change it, here is a screenshot if their current profile description. Moving on,

Posting the same information as another blog

This is where things get more wild. I have reason to believe that the now deleted blog @/raisedeyebrowemojii ("Jay") is and was a scammer who befriended multiple people to gain trust, and that blktransdyke is the same person as them due to the information that both blogs posted. A couple things to note here is that 1. Raisedeyebrowemojii claimed that they were suffering due to a terminal kidney disease, 2. ALSO stated that she was escaping an abusive situation, was a lesbian, was homeless, and was victimized by a homophobic/transphobic parent, and 3. Had not posted anything since June 2023, before eventually being deactivated. Some of the users "Jay" befriended worried that she may have died due to this apparent kidney disease (which you can find in the tumblr search if you look up that tumblr username). Now, I can't find any paypal that "Jay" posted, but they DID post several other links allegedly that were being used for their donation posts

In this post, graciously saved on webarchive for your viewing pleasure, on May 16th 2023, @/raisedeyebrowemojii claimed that they needed a mattress, and also linked a patreon for allegedly their "best friends'" and "caregiver's" cat, named Trouble 📌. Put a pin in that, we'll come back to it. Below is a screenshot of that post where they linked the patreon. Notice that it's a brown, striped tabby cat. And here is the patreon link (which is still up) that the @/raisedeyebrowemojii blog linked for their "best friend's cat" that was apparently meant to be used to fundraise for their day to day life bills. It doesn't have a lot of patrons or followers. Below is a screenshot of the link I gave for webarchive talking about fundraising for the mattress, and the cat patreon.

Also note, that neither this post by raisedeyebrowemojii nor in the patreon does it link to any other site for content on "Trouble the cat". It vaguely mentions a private Facebook page, but doesn't give any links.

And the blog @/blktransdyke posted this video as well as THIS video, and in both videos, they claim that this brown, striped, tabby cat is their "best friend's cat" 📌. Below are screenshots showing its the same cat, including the same black and yellow blanket.

So both the blogs @/raisedeyebrowemojii AND @/blktransdyke posted a cat that looks very similar: it's brown, a tabby, and striped, and both said that this cat was their "best friend's", and raisedeyebrowemojii said that this cat's name was "Trouble" & referred to them as "Trouble the Cat" in the linked Patreon allegedly belonging to their "best friend". Except here's the bigger problem.

Trouble the Cat is already an existing open, publicly available facebook page with 27K likes and 42K+ followers, and it has its own YouTube page, tiktok account, and Instagram. And if you look at the far top right video on the second screenshot showing the youtube channel, it's the exact same video that appears on the blktransdyke tumblr page. It's the exact same brown, striped tabby cat, in the exact same grooming position, on the same black and yellow blanket, with the same thumbnail, and the exact same caption.

So both Raisedeyebrowemojii AND blktransdyke posted the exact same cat that allegedly belongs to their "best friend", and both of them claim to be homeless, trans, disabled, and being kicked out by a transphobic parent.

& if you go to the links, the official trouble the cat's first instagram post was made on December 23rd 2022, its oldest youtube video was posted on December 23rd 2022, and the facebook says it was made on March 30th, 2021, HOWEVER, the account says they've been active since 2008, but made a post on November 15th, 2023 that said they'd been hacked and made a NEW account, and furthermore, on November 7th 2023, they ALSO made a post saying that multiple other accounts were trying to impersonate them. So, side note, this account could have been hacked by the scammer.

The raisedeyebrowemojii linked that cat patreon on May 17th, 2023, and the oldest video that the blktransdyke posts of that cat is on January 6th, 2024. Both therefore, could have plausibly and likely did, steal these cat videos because all accounts of the troublethecat social media accounts existed BEFORE either raisedeyebrowemoji OR blktransdyke posted them. I find it highly unlikely that both of these blogs had the exact same "best friend".

And if this was true and that this really WAS raisedeyebrowemojii's "best friend" and their cat, then why didn't raisedeyebrowemojii blog link to the other official troublethecat social media accounts, especially since they were so popular, and they claimed they were using this patreon for fundraising for bills? And why didn't the official social media accounts ever say anything about raisedeyebrowemojii's patreon if they were "best friends" trying to fundraise? Surely, an account with 42K followers would have more than a few willing patrons that could have helped their alleged situation.

Therefore, neither raisedeyebrowemojii OR blktransdyke are actually affiliated with this highly popular social media account of "Trouble the Cat" and BOTH of them stole from this account to scam, and both accounts wrre/are run by the same person.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

A Taste of Honey

Pairing: Rick Hatchett x AgeGap!Reader

Summary: At first, Rick Hatchet was just another rich man willing to pay for your company. It wasn’t personal—it was a business arrangement that bought you designer bags, first-class flights, and a seat at the most exclusive tables. He didn’t expect more from you, and you certainly didn’t expect more from him. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. Rick Hatchet has everything. So why does he seem so lost? And why do you suddenly care enough to try to fix him?

You were never ashamed of what you were.

If rich men wanted to throw their money at you, you let them. And Rick Hatchet? He was no different.

The first time you met, it was at an intimate rooftop dinner in Manhattan, hosted by one of his business partners. You’d been brought along by a mutual acquaintance—just one of many beautiful women meant to fill the empty seats and flatter the egos of men too powerful for their own good.

Rick noticed you immediately. Not in the leering, indulgent way most men did, but with a curious, measured gaze—like he was trying to figure out if you were worth his time.

You didn’t expect him to pursue you. Not really.

But the next day, a black Amex card arrived at your apartment with a note written in smooth, deliberate handwriting:

"I’d like to keep you around. Indulge yourself. - Rick"

And that was how it began.

The White Lotus resort in Thailand was just another perk of being with Rick. You were here because he wanted you here—because he liked having something beautiful at his side, something effortless to parade in front of his business partners.

But the longer you were around him, the more you started noticing things you shouldn’t.

The way he stared at his untouched drink for minutes at a time, as if trying to remember why he even ordered it.

The way he let conversations pass over him, nodding at the right moments but never really engaging.

The way he disappeared for hours at a time, only to return looking ten years older than when he left.

Rick Hatchet was tired. Not just physically, but deep in his bones, in a way that made you ache for him.

You weren’t supposed to care. That wasn’t part of the deal.

And yet, one night, after a long dinner filled with empty smiles and meaningless small talk, you found yourself saying, “You’re miserable here, aren’t you?”

He blinked at you, genuinely caught off guard. “What?”

“You don’t actually like any of these people.” You tilted your head, studying him the way he had once studied you. “You’re just playing along because you don’t know how to stop.”

Something flickered in his gaze—just for a second. But then he chuckled, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I pay you to look pretty, not to analyze me.”

You didn’t smile. “You pay me to be here. Doesn’t mean I don’t see things.”

For the first time in your arrangement, he didn’t have a quick response.

The next morning, you found him by the edge of the resort’s infinity pool, staring out at the horizon.

“You didn’t come to bed last night,” you murmured, sitting beside him.

He let out a low breath, rubbing his temple. “Didn’t feel like sleeping.”

A beat of silence. Then, for reasons you couldn’t explain, you reached for his wrist, fingers brushing over his pulse. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He turned to you, amusement flickering in his tired eyes. “Do what?”

“Pretend.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That you’re fine. That you actually enjoy all this.”

Rick exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “And what would you have me do instead?”

“I don’t know.” You squeezed his wrist gently. “Something real. Something that doesn’t feel like running in circles.”

Rick was silent for a long time. Then, in a voice so soft it almost didn’t sound like him, he admitted:

“I don’t remember the last time anything felt real.”

From that moment on, things changed.

Rick still spoiled you—he didn’t know how to show affection any other way—but the way he looked at you was different. Less detached. Less like you were just another ornament in his collection.

You started catching glimpses of the real him in small, unexpected moments:

When you made him laugh—a real, unfiltered laugh, not the practiced one he used in public.

When he reached for your hand absentmindedly, like he just wanted to feel something warm.

When he watched you sleep, something wistful in his gaze, as if wondering how you could rest so easily while he never could.

And somewhere along the way, you stopped seeing him as just a paycheck.

He was still complicated. Still guarded. Still drowning in whatever demons he refused to talk about.

But you couldn’t ignore the fact that you wanted to save him.

One night, after a dinner that was somehow less suffocating than usual, he pulled you onto the balcony of your suite, away from the noise.

"You know," he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek, "this wasn’t supposed to happen."

You tilted your head. "What wasn’t?"

"This." His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting your face up toward his. "Me caring about you."

Your breath hitched.

"Do you?" you asked softly.

Rick exhaled, resting his forehead against yours.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I think I do."

And for the first time in a long time, it felt real.

[theotherpacman]

got s1 is really a very faithful adaptation of agot, with only minor divergences. sometimes I really love the little details in the book that the show doesn't have room for, but sometimes I like the decisions the show made differently.

things I appreciate about the book:

the fact that jon is 14 makes his naivete regarding the wall hit so much harder. he's just a little boy and he's willing to sign his whole life away bc he believes he can be a part of something noble... neither his father nor his uncle nor anyone else tells him that to take the black is a grim sentence steeped in shame

ned hearing that bran's direwolf saved his life and being like "holy shit I killed one of them... what the fuck did I do"

sandor just whole ass traumadumping on 11-year-old sansa completely unprompted and then when he realizes he's just made himself vulnerable for literally no reason he goes "if you tell anyone about this I'll fucking kill you"

mormont thinks jon will be disappointed that bran is now a cripple but jon is so ecstatic bran's alive that he picks up tyrion lannister and spins him around (tyrion is startled by this) and then proceeds to cheerfully make friends with a guy who hates his guts bc jon kicked his absolute ass in training

tyrion and bronn starting to become friends on the way to the vale <3

THAT SINGER BITCH i love him

"whatever you may believe of me, lady stark, I promise you this -- I never bet against my family" screaming crying throwing up

jon going to maester aemon and convincing him to let sam take his vows!!!! using the metaphor of the maester's chain to make his point about how just bc sam is different that doesn't mean he's useless!!!!!!!

TYRION FIGHTING IN THE BATTLE AGAINST ROBB'S MEN!!!!! THE SHOW DID HIM SO FUCKING DIRTY i get that they didn't have as big a budget back then but come on man ToT

"when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. when the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. when your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. then he will return, and not before." LET THE BARRENNESS BE PART OF THE CURSE why did they cut that

when tywin says "because you are my son" tyrion fucking Hates him for that bc he knows that if jaime were he tywin wouldn't spare him a second glance, he's only Tywin's Son now that jaime is prisoner and might die at the hands of the starks

things I appreciate about the show:

arya shooting a bullseye from behind bran. queen

jaime being a dick to everyone all the time for no reason. just going around starting shit. also that scene outside robert's bedroom where he talks to jory. jaime in general

ROS!!!!! MY GIRL ROS MY ABSOLUTE QUEEN ROS

"she's our guest." "she's our prisoner." "do you find the two to be mutually exclusive in your experience, my lord?" lmaooooo get his ass maester luwin

"sometimes possession,,,,, is an abstract concept"

THE DRINKING GAME!!!! first of all it gives us more insight into shae as a person who is so different from tyrion's established worldviews, secondly tyrion is always going around saying offensive shit and he thinks nothing of it bc a) people say offensive shit to him all the time and that's one of the ways he deals with it and b) he's usually right BUT when he makes all those assumptions about shae he's totally wrong and she stands up for herself, but my favorite part of that scene is that tyrion is hesitant to share this traumatic story from his past but he's just made bronn and shae confront their traumas so now he has to share too. and I think that's beautiful

all of varys and petyr's bitchy conversations when they're alone in the throne room

this only covers the first book/season I might make more of these as I keep reading

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER THREE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, late-night facetime calls, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

The second you walked into the suite, you knew something was up.

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi were practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on the couch like kids on too much sugar. No-Eul was smiling—small, but definitely there—and Sae-Byeok was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, smirking like she knew something you didn’t.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow, setting your bag down. "What’s going on?"

Se-Mi practically launched herself at you, grabbing your shoulders. "We got it."

You blinked. "Got what?"

Ji-Yeong grinned so wide you thought her face might split. "Coachella."

Your brain short-circuited. "What?"

No-Eul nodded, her voice calm but her eyes shining. "We’re playing at Coachella."

Your mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"

Sae-Byeok finally spoke, her smirk widening. "Dead serious. Official invite. Main stage."

A rush of adrenaline shot through you. Coachella was huge—one of the biggest music festivals in the world. This was the kind of gig that solidified a band’s place in the industry.

You stared at them in disbelief. "You guys are playing Coachella."

Ji-Yeong grabbed your hands, shaking them wildly. "We’re playing Coachella! And you can finally come with us!"

And that was when it really hit you.

For so long, you had been stuck watching from the sidelines—handling their schedules, organizing their travel, making sure they were taken care of while they toured. But whenever they went overseas, you had to stay behind, thanks to never having your passport.

But now?

Now, you could go with them.

A grin spread across your face. "Holy shit."

Se-Mi laughed, pulling you into a tight hug. "It’s about time, sweetheart. You think we’d leave you behind for this?"

No-Eul chuckled. "We probably would’ve smuggled you in if your passport wasn’t ready."

You laughed, overwhelmed by the sheer excitement radiating from all of them. This was huge—not just for them, but for you, too.

Sae-Byeok, still leaning against the counter, watched you with that unreadable expression of hers. Then, with the smallest tilt of her head, she said, "Guess you’ll get to see what all the chaos is like up close."

You met her gaze, something warm settling in your chest. "Yeah," you said softly. "Guess I will."

And for the first time in a long time, it finally felt like you weren’t just managing their dreams.

You were living them with them.

The moment you stepped off the plane, reality hit you all over again.

You were here. In the U.S. With them.

The air buzzed with excitement as you and the girls made your way through the airport, dodging paparazzi flashes and excited fans who had already caught wind of their arrival. Security kept things moving smoothly, but even with all the chaos, you could tell—this was big.

Coachella was days away, and HOT DIVISION had officially arrived.

After settling into the luxury hotel that the festival organizers had arranged for the band, you were all given an invitation from one of the event’s biggest sponsors.

It was an exclusive, pre-festival dinner at one of LA’s fanciest restaurants—an opportunity to meet other artists, network, and, most importantly, eat really good food.

The only catch?

It was formal attire only.

Ji-Yeong had groaned upon hearing the words dress code, while Se-Mi had immediately started planning her outfit like it was a life-or-death situation. No-Eul, as always, had been effortlessly cool about it, claiming she had something “decent enough” to wear.

And you?

You had been waiting for an excuse to pull out the cutest dress you owned.

When the time finally came to get ready, the suite was filled with the usual pre-event chaos. Ji-Yeong was styling her hair last-minute, Se-Mi was debating between two different pairs of heels, and No-Eul was calmly fixing her tie in the mirror.

You, however, were putting the finishing touches on your outfit.

The dress you had chosen was perfect—elegant but playful, hugging your figure in all the right places without being too much. It was a soft, silky material that moved effortlessly with you, and you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the mirror.

"This is so unfair," Se-Mi groaned from across the room.

You turned, confused. "What is?"

She gestured at you dramatically. "How the hell do you look that good? We’re all out here struggling, and you just—pull that out like it’s nothing?"

Ji-Yeong, now fully dressed and leaning against the doorframe, smirked. "Yeah, seriously. Who are you trying to impress?"

You rolled your eyes. "I just wanted to look nice!"

No-Eul hummed in agreement as she grabbed her blazer. "Well, mission accomplished."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Alright, are we ready to go?"

"Almost," Se-Mi muttered, still fussing over her accessories.

It was then that you noticed the one person who hadn’t said anything.

Sae-Byeok.

She had gone quiet the moment you stepped out of your room, and now—now she was staring.

Not the usual, subtle glances she sometimes threw your way.

No, this was different.

Her dark eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch of how the dress fit you, how it accentuated your curves, how effortlessly beautiful you looked.

And there, in her gaze, was something new.

Something heated.

Something hungry.

Your breath hitched slightly under her intense stare, and when your eyes met hers, she didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to hide the way she was devouring you with her gaze.

For a moment, it felt like the entire room had disappeared.

Like it was just the two of you.

Like she was imagining things she shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Then, as if snapping out of it, she cleared her throat and looked away, shoving her hands into the pockets of her suit pants.

"You—" she started, voice slightly rougher than usual. She swallowed, then tried again. "You look nice."

Nice.

Nice?

That was all she was going to say after looking at you like that?

Before you could question it, Ji-Yeong wiggled her eyebrows. "Just nice?"

Sae-Byeok shot her a sharp look. "Don’t."

Se-Mi smirked. "Oh, I’m gonna enjoy tonight."

You, on the other hand, were still trying to process the fact that Kang Sae-Byeok—the Kang Sae-Byeok—had just undressed you with her eyes and then played it off like it was nothing.

This dinner was going to be interesting.

The restaurant was the kind of upscale that made you second-guess whether you belonged there. Dim lighting, sleek decor, and a sea of well-dressed artists, producers, and industry elites filled the space, all sipping expensive wine and discussing upcoming performances.

But the second HOT DIVISION walked in, heads turned.

And for good reason.

Se-Mi and Ji-Yeong had decided to match, both donning sharp, tailored suits—Se-Mi in a deep burgundy and Ji-Yeong in navy blue, looking like a chaotic yet stylish power couple despite not actually being together. No-Eul, ever the picture of effortless cool, wore a sleek black pantsuit, minimal yet elegant.

And then there was Sae-Byeok.

Dressed in an all-black suit, the fit perfectly tailored to her frame, she looked absolutely lethal. The black-on-black combination, the crisp lines, the way the jacket hugged her shoulders—it was unfair, really.

And yet, despite how breathtaking she looked, her attention wasn’t on anyone else in the room.

It was on you.

You couldn’t count the number of times you’d caught her staring since you left the hotel. That same heated, lingering gaze from earlier, dark eyes following your every move like she was keeping track of you.

But you weren’t about to let yourself get lost in that right now.

This was an opportunity for the band, after all. Networking was part of the game.

Even if a certain someone was making it very hard to focus.

The Socializing (and the Stealing Back)

You had just gotten into a conversation with a few industry people—some festival coordinators, a couple of fellow artist managers—when you felt it.

The presence.

Sae-Byeok had been across the room a few minutes ago, talking with No-Eul and some producers, but now?

Now, she was right behind you.

You barely had a second to react before she smoothly slid into the conversation, standing close—too close.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, casual. “Can I steal you for a second?”

You blinked up at her, slightly startled. “Oh—I was just—”

“She’ll be right back,” Sae-Byeok said, offering the group a polite but firm nod before gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you away.

You barely managed to throw an apologetic smile over your shoulder before she led you toward a quieter corner of the venue.

“Sae-Byeok,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “What was that?”

She let go of your wrist, shoving her hands in her pockets, expression unreadable. “What?”

You crossed your arms. “You just pulled me away from an important conversation.”

She exhaled through her nose, looking slightly irritated—but not at you. More like at the situation itself.

“You’ve been talking to them for twenty minutes,” she muttered.

You frowned. “Yeah? That’s kind of the point of this dinner?”

Her jaw tensed for a second, eyes flickering over you before she finally sighed.

“…You’re finally here,” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

Your breath caught slightly.

She wasn’t looking at you now, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, but the weight of her words settled deep in your chest.

You were here.

For the first time, you weren’t sitting back in some office, waiting for updates, managing details from afar.

You were with them. With her.

And now that she had you here, it was like she wasn’t willing to share you.

Something warm bloomed in your stomach.

Slowly, you softened. “Sae-Byeok…”

She finally looked at you again, and for the first time tonight, she wasn’t trying to mask anything.

There was something raw in her expression—something possessive, something wanting.

Something that made your pulse spike.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she still was.

“…You could’ve just asked for my attention, you know,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, even as your heart pounded.

Sae-Byeok smirked, but there was something dangerous underneath it.

“Yeah?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “Would you have given it to me?”

Your breath hitched.

Because yes.

Yes, you would have.

And she knew it.

Before you could respond, Ji-Yeong’s voice suddenly rang out from across the room.

“Hey! Lovebirds! They’re bringing out dessert, let’s go.”

You both snapped out of whatever moment that was, stepping apart quickly. But the heat in Sae-Byeok’s eyes didn’t fade.

And neither did the way your skin still burned where she had touched you.

This trip was going to be dangerous.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns

[maiiuelle]

˚❀˚

when you and jj first get together, he really makes an effort to impress you. the boy doesn’t have much to give, having grown up with the shirt on his back and not much else, but he’s eager to make you feel special. he’s no stranger to women, being a pretty hot commodity for pogue girls and tourists but he never sticks around long enough for anything to be considered serious. he’s a free spirit at heart, and before he took interest in you, that boy couldn’t be tied down. your first date was one to remember, the only warning beforehand being a cryptic text saying: “meet me at the dock at 6?”

you’re ecstatic, even though he didn’t explicitly say it’s a date, you’re hoping it will be. you’re something of a hopeless romantic, and your growing crush on maybank was driving you crazy. you put on a pretty sundress, curl your hair into messy coils and pack one of your crocheted shoulder bag with your wallet and emergency lip gloss.

you get there right on time, the sun just starting to set over the marsh. you shuffle nervously to the end of the dock, where you find jj leaning over the wooden railing.

“jayj?” your voice is soft, trying not to startle him. he turns his head and his body follows, but before he can greet you he’s taken in by your dress, his blue eyes transfixed on it’s short frilly skirt. he’s in his usual garb, a white tee and cargo shorts, which you still find very charming. you blink up at him shyly, not knowing why you’re so nervous, after all it’s just jj.

“uh—hey!” he lifts his baseball cap, running his hand through his hair as he tries to keep his eyes on yours. “whatcha all dressed up for?”

“oh, i dunno. was just excited to get out of the house, i guess.” your cheeks heat up, suddenly concerned that you misread the situation entirely.

he nods. “i’m glad you did. y’look very nice.” he lets his eyes linger on your dress a second longer before he clears his throat and reaches for your hand. “would you.. be interested in an exclusive boat tour of this here marsh on the hms pogue?”

you slip your hand into his, tilting your head curiously. “ooo — i’d be honored.” he starts to lead you down the wooden ramp to where the boat is floating against the dock, and once it comes into view your sweet smile turns into surprise.

he spread out a picnic blanket over the front of the boat, and a big bowl of fruit, two subs from haywards, and an empty beer can stuffed with wildflowers sits in the center. you just feel warm, relieved that clearly your feelings are mutual, and this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. “oh — jj!” you jump into his arms, hugging him tight. “this is beautiful, you planned all of this?”

as you pull away to admire the boat again, his touch lingers on your waist, still holding you close. “‘course i did, cupcake. you like it?”

you huddle close to his side again, looking up at him with anticipation. “do i like it? i love it! this is amazing.”

“well, i’m glad.” jj smiles down at you before clearing his throat, getting flustered already. “c’mere, we should get out there while the sun’s still setting.” he takes hold of your hand, adjusting his hat again in an attempt to hide his rosy face. he helps you onto the boat, where you sit atop the blanket to admire the flowers he picked while he drives you out into the marsh.

the two of you fill the hot summer air with giggles over the roaring motor, but eventually the boat sputters to a stop at a nice clearing. the yellow and orange clouds paint over the still water beautifully, and singsonging birds chirp in the distance. the scene before you looks like something out of your favorite romance movies. jj makes his way to the bow, making sure the anchor is set.

“dig in, you don’t gotta wait on me.” he laughs and finally settles down next to you, popping a strawberry into his mouth casually. he gestures to the sandwiches, eyebrows creased in slight concern. “said you like italian, right?”

“oh yeah — who doesn’t?” you smile, helping yourself to some of the fruit too. “this is all so sweet, jayj. really.”

he waves a hand in the air, brushing it off. “well shucks, you’re sweet, cupcake.” he can’t keep his eyes off of you, between how your skin is glowing in the low sunlight, your dress, hair, lips — he can barely handle it. “y’deserve it, a girl like you’s once in a lifetime.”

you blink at him, his compliments going right to your burning cheeks. “you really think that?”

“you kidding? of course i do.” he rubs his jaw, shrugging like it’s obvious as he leans forward. “m’just lucky enough to be here with you.”

“jayj.” you lean on your arm, tilting your head as you stare back at him. you lick your glossy lips, and he feels like you can read his mind. your mind is spinning, heart racing as he moves closer, reaching gently to tuck your hair behind your ear. you lean into his palm, letting him guide you into a soft first kiss.

˚❀˚

[secretficblogs]

"First Date Jitters" Divorced David "Deacon" Kay x School Counselor! Reader

Summary: Your date with Deacon gets derailed but you still find a way to make the most of it.

What to expect: 4K words, Light mention of divorce, Canon warnings (hostage situation, robbery, light mention of gore/guns), drinking, descriptions of being cut, flirting, fluff, comfort

A/N: I blushed so hard when yall asked for a part 2, I didn't really proofread btw

You could feel the seconds ticking away as you sat at your meeting. Why did school counselors need to sit in on district meetings, anyway? You glanced at the clock on the wall, 4:47.  Your leg was bouncing underneath the table, a representation of your nervousness. It was your first date in god knows how long. You still needed to run home, change, and meet your date, but you were stuck with what could've been an email. You looked again, 4:48, oh my god.

“Would you be for or against this change, (Y/N)?” Your boss shook you from your thoughts, leaving you to look at the schedule change in front of you. 

“I-I think this looks… great. I don’t have any suggestions.” You slide the paper to the center of the table, glancing back up at the clock. 4:52. 

“Alright well, if that concludes things… I'll let you guys get going. Thanks for hanging back for a bit.” The staff began to stand and file out of the room. The English teacher, you knew her as Jane pulled you aside.

“So, spill! What are you so keen on leaving for?” She rubbed her hands together, leaving you to roll your eyes.

“I’m going out on a date.” You answered, throwing on your cardigan. Jane danced around you and let her noises of excitement draw attention to the two of you. 

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. “I don't even know if it will go anywhere. Just nice to get back out there, I guess.” You rubbed your arm, as you made your way out of the conference room. 

“I'm just so happy for you! It's about time. You have the best time tonight, okay? Stay safe, and call me if you need a lifeline!” She shouted your way as you both made your way towards your respective cars. You thanked her before closing your door.  You made quick work of the dinner rush and ran up the stairs to your apartment. Quickly locking yourself inside, you immediately started changing into the semi-formal dress you had set out last night. You glanced up at yourself in the mirror, deciding a touch-up would do you good. You grabbed out a darker lipstick, one you wouldn't wear to the school. You looked at your phone, 5:19. You rushed to get your heels on and grab your purse, taking one final look at yourself in the mirror. 

“Okay, (Y/N), let's get back in the game.” You ruffled your hair and made your way back down to your car. You peeled out of the parking garage. Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel praying for the light to change. The drive felt longer than it was, and the counselor in you told you to breathe before you left your car. 

David sat in his car rubbing his hands on his thighs, nervously. He recognized you in the car that pulled up across the parking lot. He watched you fix your hair in the rearview, and step out of your car to straighten your dress. David’s nerves were calmed once he noticed you were anxious too. He stepped out and made his way to the door, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed.

You walked towards the door and saw him waiting in the lobby. He met you with a smile and you immediately felt your knees weaken. Together you walked up to the host station and told the young girl the name of your reservation. She quickly led the two of you to your table and took your drink order. You both ordered wine and began making small talk about the restaurant you chose. 

“So did your interest in international food lead to your love for travel, or was it the other way around?” He asked, watching you take a sip of your drink.

“They are not mutually exclusive. My mom’s a professional chef, so I grew up trying all of her experiments. That's how I ended up in LA. She found better business here than Oregon.” You rambled. You couldn't tell where the feeling came from but you wanted him to know everything about you. 

“How old were you when you moved here?” David questioned. He seemed genuinely interested, which you liked. 

“I was 12. I wasn't too happy to leave the humidity. It took a while for my asthma to get somewhat used to the lack of moisture.” You folded your hands in your lap, smiling back at him. He nodded and you could see him commit the fact that you have asthma to memory. 

“How about you, did you grow up here?” You felt he was at an unfair advantage, knowing so much about you from your office.

“Yeah, born and raised.” He nodded.

“Nice, do you travel much?” 

“Not as much now, with the kids, but occasionally I'll find myself in neat places for work.” David felt his heart race a bit at the mention of his kids. He knew the entire reason they met was because of his kids,  but he knew many single parents’ kids scare partners off. 

That feeling quickly dissolved when he looked up from his glass to see your smile. He went to say something but your waitress came over. You both chuckled, realizing you hadn't looked over the menu much. Fortunately, you were both able to make a quick decision and get your food ordered. Your waitress refilled your glasses and left you to continue talking. 

“You said you had a meeting today, right? That go well?” He broke the silence. 

“Oh, yeah, it wasn't too bad. I really didn't need to be there. I was just excited to go home and get ready.” You looked away, shy to admit you were looking forward to your date.

“I’m glad. This is all I’ve talked about all day,” You looked up at him, shocked. “My team was so sick of me that they sent me home early.” David chuckled, leaving you to smile dumbfoundedly. 

“That makes me feel better, I wondered if you'd get bored tonight…” You sheepishly mutter.

“Why would you think that?” David's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“...Well, I don't have the most interesting life. I mean, you're a SWAT sergeant. I'm sure you get invitations for dates all the time.” You trailed off, taking a sip of your wine to stop your rambling. 

“I don't usually entertain that. I don't really enjoy being hit on. Most people just like the uniform anyway.” He tried to make you feel a bit better. “Also, you're insanely cool. I mean your office is decorated with so many interesting things. I gotta know more about that.” He folded his hands on the table.

“Well, ask away.” You grinned feeling warm from his words.

“The paintings on the walls didn't look like prints. Did you paint them?” David questioned. You began to answer, but your waitress brought out your dishes, set them down, and asked if you needed anything. You both ordered another drink and turned back to each other.

“The portraits are mine, but there are a couple of landscape paintings, sculptures, and trinkets that I got from friends and vendors.” You took a bite of your dish after speaking.

“Your paintings are amazing. Did you consider going into art before counseling?” 

“No, no. It's always just been something I did on my own time.” You gently shook your head. “There have been times where I've illustrated for friends and small startups, but not enough to go full time with it. Moreso just to help out small businesses.” You explained.

The two of you continued asking each other questions and eating in between. Time seemed to stop for the night. The only thing you and David were concerned about was each other. As the sunset turned into a dark sky, you sat across from David, captivated by him. You could tell he knew it, too. He would hold your eye contact for slightly longer than normal, and whenever your hands were on the table, he would make it his mission to rest his hand atop yours. 

The drinks didn't help either. Neither of you wanted to get drunk on your first date, but you definitely felt tipsy. The alcohol made both of you more brave, light touches turned to hand-holding, and your conversations became more personal. You both talked about your parents and how they felt about your jobs. You talked about your time as a therapist and he talked about some of his more significant cases. 

“I tried to be a therapist for the elderly because I thought it would be less pressure. David, I was so wrong.” You laughed, shaking your head. He chuckled as you recalled getting harassed by old men and women for 40 hours a week.

“Deacon.” He interjected.

“What was that?” You tilted your head to the side, confused.

“Call me Deacon. That’s what my team calls me.” He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Well, alright. Deacon.” You smiled, feeling your cheeks begin to hurt. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. You stared at each other, enjoying just being together. Your romantic staring contest was broken by your waitress dropping off your check. You reached for it, but Deacon was too quick.

“Deacon. Come on.” You reached your hand out, silently asking for the receipt. 

“No, no. I asked you out. And, I'm honored you accepted, despite not knowing me.” He nestled his card in the tin and set it aside, turning his attention back to you.

“I get the feeling you're not going to budge on this, so thank you.” You folded your arms across each other and set them down in front of you. 

“It was nice getting out, it's been a while since I did the whole ‘first date’ thing” Deacon allowed himself to be honest.

“I completely agree. It's more awkward than I remember.” You laughed. 

You and your date continued talking long after your drinks ran out. You felt so warm with him, and the wine didn't encourage you to leave him either. You continued flirting and getting to know each other before a commotion was heard a couple of tables behind you. You took your eyes off Deacon to turn around finding a group of people dressed in dark informal clothing. One of them held his hand underneath his jacket which made you whip your head back to Deacon. His once soft expression was replaced with a look of concern. 

“Um- Deac? I- Do you think somethings wrong?” Your hand made its way to the back of your neck in an attempt to rub away the rising tension. He didn't respond, looking down into his lap. You worked at a school, so it wasn't hard to tell he was texting someone. Your heart raced. It was obvious Deacon agreed that there was a problem.

You were going off sound alone, as the group of people were behind you. You managed to twist your head and spare a glance their way, only to find them talking very quietly with the now frightened host. Whatever they were telling her was scaring her shitless. You felt so bad for her, wondering what she was thinking.

With Deacon clearing his throat you looked back at him, and he gave you a forced smile. He rested his hand on the table, a silent request for you to grab it. You interlocked your fingers and squeezed, letting him know you were anxious.

“Be honest, how likely is it they're here for a table?” You met his eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation. You didn't need to though because he sighed and gave up on trying to hide his feelings from you.

“Unlikely. They look familiar, probably wanted for something. We can't do anything about it right now, so just relax. It'll be alright.” He soothed as he looked past you to see the host leave the group. The group of people looked around, one in particular made eye contact with a woman nearby. The older lady was decked out in diamonds and a fancy bag. The man must have been feeling bold because he walked up to her and held his jacket slightly ajar. Deacon couldn't see what he was concealing but it was pretty obvious it had to be a gun. 

The woman's face fell and the man she was with stood up clearly offended. Deacon's worst fears were confirmed when the man pulled out a gun and pistol-whipped the older man. Other patrons in the restaurant screamed and moved away from the man. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and turned to see Deacon beside you. He pulled you around the table and pulled you down to the ground. He told you to stay there before turning back towards the commotion.

You peered around the table to find the woman was forced to take off her jewelry and pass over her bag. Deacon raised his gun and announced he was LAPD. You were shocked. He was outnumbered and you had no idea if anyone else carried. You turned your attention to the other group members. One ran out once the hostility started, and two others looked at each other in a mix of disbelief and anger. You took this as a sign this wasn't planned. It also seemed like the group wasn't willing to kill. The man aimed his pistol at Deacon but refrained from firing, resorting to yelling instead. This scared all of the now hostages but only made Deacon feel better. If talking meant not shooting, he was okay with it.

It was hard for you to make out what he was saying, but you could tell he was scared. He likely acted on impulse and was struggling to de-escalate the situation. It's unlikely they knew a cop would be there, especially since your name was on the reservation. A couple of people tried to weasel their way out of their booths and sneak away but that only made the man more upset. His audience was leaving. He aimed his pistol and the nearby chandelier and fired, leaving you to scramble from your hiding spot as glass debris fell around you and nicked at your skin.

 You tried not to think about the blood pooling on your arms and face and just focused on finding cover elsewhere. Deacon had to trust the best way he could help was by keeping his gun raised, and trying to talk the man down. The other guys noticed the situation getting progressively worse and tried pulling him back towards the door, but it only angered the man more. He whipped around to yell at them, giving Deacon an opening to run and tackle the man. 

You were shocked because there was no telling what the other guys would do. Fortunately, the man's accomplices took the lowered guns as a sign to run. Your eyes followed them through to windows as they ran across the street. They didn't get far before police cars cut them off, and they were forced to surrender. 

Hearing shouting, you looked back to your date pulling the man up from the ground, his hands held behind his back. The gun was kicked away, and before long people wearing SWAT uniforms arrived, putting handcuffs on the gunman, and taking him away. Deacon didn't waste any time running over to you and looking at your various cuts. 

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N).” He grabbed the black napkin from the table to press it against your forehead, making you wince. 

“Y-... You didn't shoot the chandelier,” You looked around at the chaos surrounding you. EMT’s loaded the old man onto the gurney. Patrons hugged and made their way to their tables, unsure of what happens next. “Everyone’s okay thanks to you. You called the police?” you asked as he held your hand over the napkin, a silent request for you to hold pressure. 

“I texted a coworker. They took care of getting a team here. I don't think they called the patrol cars though. Maybe the host called.” He looked over your other scrapes, gauging how much medical attention you needed. “I think some of these need stitches…” Deacon looked over to see the EMTs occupied with the elderly man, and some other people complaining of heart rates.

“I still think I’m too shaken up to drive-” You were interrupted.

“I'll take you.” Deacon placed his hands on top of yours.

“Okay.” You sheepishly responded. You let him pull you up and with a hand on the small of your back he led you to his car. Deacon was helping you into the passenger seat when an officer ran over.

“Deac! You okay, man?” The man rested his hand on the open door looking at the two of you.

“Yeah, Yeah. Thanks for coming so quickly, Hondo.” He nodded looking towards the restaurant and the guests funneling out. Another two teammates ran over to you, and the idea that you were meeting his squad set in. You felt yourself sink into the seat, as you looked at the ground.

“Hey! Is this your date?” One of the other teammates asked.

“Are you okay?” Another member asked.

When you hesitated to respond Deacon spoke up on your behalf. “Luca, I knew it was wrong to hope I’d get through this date without you crazies. This is (Y/N). She got cut up by the chandelier, so I was going to take her to the hospital to get patched up.”

“You know you gotta meet the squad family early! I’m Luca, this is Chris, and that is Hondo.” The man explained. You tried to nod along, but the shock and the blood loss made you dizzy. 

“Uhh, yeah yall need to get going. We can do introductions later.” Hondo said, taping his teammate's shoulders. You have him a smile, before waving at them. Deacon shut your door and jogged around to the other side. Once he was inside he sped off, quickly navigating the Friday night traffic.  You occasionally zoned out, putting gaps in your memory. Deacon tried to keep a hand on you at all times to help ground you. He helped you check in, and stayed by your side as you got stitched up. He stepped out a couple of times to take phone calls. He profusely apologized every time, even with you explaining it was okay.

The nurse finished with your bandages and instructed you to keep your injuries clean and dry. He left, giving you and Deacon time alone before you had to head out. You sat in silence for a while, his hand in yours. You felt yourself zoning out again, and Deacon must have noticed too because he spoke quietly, drawing you back to the present.

“How are you feeling?” He rubbed the back of your hand, a concerned expression on his face.

“... I'm hurting, but I’m alive. This is what you experience every day?” You kept your eyes on the floor.

“I usually have a lot more warning, and protection, but yeah. It can be hard to digest and process emotions when things like this happen. Your wounds are large enough to raise some concern for infection too. Don't think you can't reach out… okay?”

“Thank you, Deacon. Know that I'll take you up on that.” Your worries dissolved, finally being safe and patched up.

“Are you ready to head out? I can just take you home.” Deacon suggested.

“And leave my car at the restaurant? I don't have a way to get it back to my apartment.” 

“I'll pick you up to grab it tomorrow morning. Or I’m sure I can have Hondo drive it back for you if you're worried about it being at the restaurant that was just robbed.” He was happy to make any accommodation if it meant you wouldn't worry as much. 

“That’s… really nice. I’d like that- you can just take me home though. My car should be fine.” You blushed, excited to extend the date longer. With a plan in place, Deacon led you to the lobby, and out of the clinic. He, once again, helped you into your seat before letting you direct him to your house. The ride was relatively quiet. The only thing on your mind was working up the courage to invite him in. You worried he would take it the wrong way, or think you were just expecting sex. Deacon pulled into your spot in the parking garage, slowly turning to you. 

“This place is… sketchy.” He mumbled.

“Most apartments in the heart of LA are…” You smiled. Deacon watched as your smile faded, watching the gears turn in your brain. “...Would you want to come in? I mean- like, just to talk. I don’t want this date to end.” He smiled back, making you comfortable by adding, “If you don't have a bedtime tonight, that is.”

“I would like that,” He laughed before continuing. “Annie has the kids this weekend.” You smiled and reached for your door handle. He put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. You couldn't help but laugh and gently shake your head as he ran around to help you out of the car.

You led him to your apartment, his hand never leaving your waist. You wouldn't have guessed his love language was touch, but it was comforting regardless. You tried to think about the state of your apartment, deciding it was probably fine. You unlocked your door, and let him inside.

Deacon took in your apartment, just as cozy as your office. He could tell you took pride in your space and enjoyed just being in it. The overhead lights were off, and lamps and soft warm light made the living room very inviting. He looked for more pictures on the walls, finding more from hikes and parties. You asked him if he wanted something to drink, and he quietly said he'd have whatever you were having. Deacon was focused on the walls of your home. He heard two beers clink against the coffee table. He soon after felt your arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“You do this with all your first dates?” He asked laying his hands on top of yours. 

“This date wasn't a normal one, and you know that.” You laughed into his back. You retracted your hands and led him over to your couch, where your drinks were. He sat down and grabbed his beer, putting his arm over the back of the couch and urging you to sit by him. 

You obliged, cuddling up close to him. A brief silence settled between the two of you until you thought back to how you met. 

“Did you and Mathew talk more about his writing?” You ran your finger over the ridges in the bottle.

“I did. I think it brought us closer together. He decided to show Annie, too. I think it's helping us understand what he's going through and helps him know he can still rely on both of his parents.” He paused to gauge your reaction at the mention of Annie, but the reaction on your face was happiness—happiness for his son and his family. “It’s all thanks to you, you know…” He took a sip of his drink.

“Ah, it's my job, Deacon. Those kids are important to me, and they all need support from their school. It takes a village, or whatever the saying is.” You furrowed your eyebrows thinking about the countless visits kids have had with you, and how many students crashed your office during their lunch to discuss their feelings. The students who you let nap on your chairs, the lunch program you helped run, and so many more small moments that added up to big changes for students. 

“Well, whatever you're doing it's working. Lila thinks you're great too. Over the past few weeks, they haven't stopped talking about you.” He mentioned.

“Thank you.” You felt uncertain about how the kids gushed about you up around Annie, so kept the response short. Deacon must have noticed because he grabbed your hand. You looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m glad you asked me out.” You said quietly.

“I’m glad you didn't think it was weird.” Deacon earned a laugh from you. “So, does that mean you'll go on a second one with me?” He asked.

“It does, but you gotta pick the restaurant this time.”

The end :P

Taglist? Thanks for the support!

@pear-1206

[feministmetalgreymon]

Trans women and otokonoko characters are not the same thing

Senpai is an otokonoko recently came out and already there is discourse about it. Most of this discourse is based in two common misconceptions. The first misconception is that there are no trans women in anime and manga. And the second is that otokonoko characters exist because Japanese people either can't tell the difference between a cross dresser and a trans woman, or they are hiding trans characters by calling them otokonoko. The reality is more complex.

First what is a otokonoko? Otokonoko is a term used by both trans femmes and cross dressing men to describe a cute feminine amab person. Being a otokonoko and trans isn't mutually exclusive, but neither are they synonymous. In Japan you have quite a few celebrities that identify as otokonoko.

On the left is Michelle a trans woman otokonoko and on the right is Kaoru Oshima a cis gender male otokonoko. The term otokonoko does not refer to someone's gender but their presentation. Otokonoko like to present as cute and feminine regardless of whether they identify as men, women, or nonbinary.

In the context of manga both trans women and cross dressing male characters appear. And unfortunately there has been tons of confusion over which characters are meant to be trans women and which ones are meant to be crossdressing men.

So in this post I am going to explain the differences in how they are portrayed in anime and manga.

First we have to take into consideration target audience. Manga is divided based on age and gender of the intended audience.

These are romance manga aimed at a adult female audience. The one on the left is about a trans woman. While the one on the right features a cross dressing man as a love interest.

The first and most obvious difference is the story about a trans woman features her as the protagonist. These are both het josei romance. And within the context of het josei romance female protagonists are often written as a audience surrogate for women readers. So naturally when depicting a romance about a trans woman the story is written from her perspective as a woman. Otokonoko and other cross dressing characters on the other hand or more likely to be depicted as a romantic interest.

Another way they are differentiated is in how they are drawn. Adult trans women are depicted with obvious signs of using hrt. The woman on the left has breasts while the cross dresser does not. In Japan up until recently medical transition was necessary in order to change the gender on someones id or birth certificate. This is no longer the case. But regardless there is a strong association between being trans and medical transitioning in Japan.

Manga about trans people also delve deeply into the issues and experiences real life trans people might face. There trans identity isn't a mere superficial gimmick for the story but informs the narrative.

Some manga depict both trans women and otokonoko/crossdressers in the same story. In these works the differences between trans characters and cross dressing characters is even more obvious.

This image provides a helpful explanation on how manga differentiates cross dressing characters from trans characters.

So now let's talk about Senpai is an otokonoko.

Now I have already explained how manga portrays cross dressers in comparison to trans people. So lets ask the question, is Makato trans or a cross dresser. Well the manga tells us.

Makato is clearly written as a boy that likes cute things. His cross dressing isn't about gender so much as it's about his love for cuteness.

Unlike trans characters, cross dressing characters motivations for cross dressing aren't all that deep, it's a hobby or a aesthetic for them. They aren't motivated by a internal sense of gender. On the other hand trans character motivations for transitioning are deeply connected to their sense of self and who they are.

Hopefully this will help fans looking for manga featuring trans or otokonoko/crossdressing characters. In the world of manga trans and otokonoko characters are not portrayed as interchangeable rather. They written with clear and distinct differences in how they look, think and behave.

[demilypyro]

Simplest way to put it is this. There are 3 pillars of Furries, with plenty of overlap between them. Imagine a Venn Diagram. The attraction aspect, aesthetic appeal, and creating Fursona/ furry characters. Aesthetic appeal is the most surface level, and most common. “Liking donald duck” as you put it. Creating a furry OC is the second most common aspect. If you imbue that OC with aspects of yourself, that is a Fursona. The third pillar is attraction to furry characters. This is self explanatory. And once again, all of these have heavy overlap with each other. Some people are mutually exclusive with what pillar they fall into, but a good amount also fall into all 3.

Otherkins are a whole different topic that has overlap with the furry community, if you know about those.

Hmmm.... But won't calling yourself a furry mean people assume you have all three of those aspects? Like, people will assume it's a sexual thing?

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - There's 3 Good Shows Holding a Ton of BL Cr*p on their Shoulders

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Jan 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Your Sky (Sun iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - So darn adorable1 I love the whole shopping trip thing: Mom out with the gay boys is great.

GIVE ME MOAR OF LEE AND HIS PHI. Pretty please?

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 7 of 12 - I love the way Thame is basically like, in my head we are totally dating and acts that way with Po. Yet he hasn't actually discussed it with the poor man. Thame is such a pouty babygirl. Jun is a little shit. All in all, this installment was a little slow but I remain charmed. 

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - I’m actually quite enjoying this. I really do just wanna spend most of my time with this pair watching them kiss (please don't make Noeul act mmm'kay?). So I’m really glad we’re on episode three and the show seems invested in supplying us with kisses already. Thank goodness.  

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 9 of 12 - mostly I just feel sorry for Fadel. boy is so tired of everybody else’s gay drama queening. 

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 13 of 24 - I actually like how they are portraying Yotha’s character in this (with relation to his mother). It’s pretty authentic to that kind of situation and personality type, I enjoy that. I also like that Wa dumped Klao for being too jealous. good healthy decision, should have stayed that way.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - it just keeps moving through absurdist and ridiculous to gratuitously sexual to mind numbingly dull. I never know where I am with this show. At least it’s not boring... until it so much is. Also my cancer danger signaling is going off hard core. Beware.

I'm like one of those dogs that can sense and epileptic fit, only for death in BL.

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 1 or 10 - Star hunter is back this time with terrible facial hair. I’m putting it on the no fly list right up there with wigs. Apparently Thailand and fake hair are mutually exclusive. The lead ingenue looks a little bit like Yim, and I think they mean to give him a similar personality to Yim’s usual characters, but frankly I found him insipid, dim, and boring. Literally every other surrounding character and couple-to-be is more interesting than the mains. The linguistic bit was cute tho. 

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - heavy sigh.

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 17 end? - supposedly still coming

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 2-3 of 10 - I’m enjoying these second 2 eps a lot better than the first ep. It’s leaning into the premise and I like a quazi Cyrano de Bergerac thing. It’s got that chewy Japanese “who knows where this is going?” seasoning. But one thing we can be sure of is Japan can always veer sideways given the right pothole. Or should I say plothole? Anygay, I like the way they’re different with each other via text than in person, I like that we’ve already had some language discussion and negotiation, I like the cool banter between these men. And they are men. I like how very adult this is. I’m interested to see where it’s going. Color me suitably intrigued, in a refined manner.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 7 of 12 - Ooo I love the side couple!!!! They are soooooo cute. Kissing to seal a debt? Adorable. Also, yes please keep Ever 4 shirtless forever. I applaud his design, functionality, ans aesthetic choice. Rah rah rah. More manual labor in BL! Pun intended.

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 3 of 9 - I like the secondary couple a lot more than the primary. Shocker.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 16 of ?? - I bit the bullet and finally watched the 2 parts. It really did not need to occupy that much of my time. I did watch it on 1.5, which is not normally what I do with foreign language shows, but I’ve lost patience with this damn thing. I didn’t actually mind the student teacher side pairing, I didn’t like it either. I thought this was the final episode, and then I saw that there was an 2 part ep 17 announced. So i guess not. Have mercy.

Oh yeah and trigger warning all round.

It's airing but......

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - It’s Chinese, no idea if it will end well or not. But it’s the stepbrothers trope. Still, I’m not gonna watch it until it’s done.

Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai) - It's done. Did anyway watch it? Thoughts?

In Case You Missed it

End of year wraps are here!

2024 Trend Report

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Next Week Looks Like This:

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Love a lift and kiss. Show me your muscles by picking another boy up and smooching him silly. (Your Sky)

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[serpentface]

You said that the Ulelilwa people are the only group fully permissive of intersophont relationships, in this case between Qilik and Elowey. But since the Elowey are mammals and the Qilik are avian and would thus have very different "equipment", I wonder how that would work.

It could involve pretty much any of the litany of non penetrative sex acts out there (with some limitations to oral and digital due to Teeth and Claws)

Elowey have the same basic anatomy as humans and the mechanical act of reproductive sex is basically the same. Their mouths are a little more intimidating than those of humans, but not really any More dangerous to have near your genitals and have similarly flexible lips and muscular tongues, so they would be capable of performing all forms of oral sex. Their hands are the biggest difference- their fingernails are much thicker (though can be filed down to the base) and their fingers are furred, so receiving penetrative digital sex from that might be uncomfortable. But other than that, any sex act performed by humans from Real Life could be accomplished by elowey in the same or similar ways, so there's a lot of possibilities on that end.

Qilik mate via cloaca contact and have no penis, so the external parts of the cloaca is where pleasurable stimulation occurs and their reproductive tract is not predisposed to receive penetration. VERY shallow insertion of a digit or tongue might feel good for the average person but that’s the full extent of it. There’s probably people who like putting things up their cloaca, it’s just not going to be a Common desire (and a qilik cloaca doesn’t have any internal structures like the prostate that are directly pleasurable to stimulate), and the difference in size wrt elowey would likely make penetration painful and potentially dangerous in most cases (it could Probably be safely accomplished for some people with practice/carefulness/substantial lubricant because elowey penises are pretty small and thin, but this isn't going to be all that common).

There are also obvious limitations to performing oral on the part of qilik, they don’t have mobile lips and their jaws are full of small, sharp teeth. You cannot put a penis in there in any way that will benefit you, and their tongues are long and thin and can't lick with that much pressure or finesse. A lot of qilik are more likely to perform oral-adjacent sex with the bare skinned tips and sides of their snouts, which is a notably sensitive area of the body (not in the Fetish World IF YOU TOUCH IT I WILL CUM way, just tactile and good for physical affection of all kinds).

Like Humans, sexual pleasure is not solely derived from the mechanical reproductive act, but this is PARTICULARLY pronounced in qilik. Exclusively reproductive sex is very rapid- the entire act with full sperm transfer takes about 5-10 seconds. Their pre-sophont ancestors would breed over a period of a few hours, cycling through periods of male display, mutual preening, and mounting with sperm transfer. Bonded same sex drake pairs/throuples cooperatively rearing young would also intersperse their greeting allogrooming with mounting and full cloaca contact, as an affiliative sexual behavior that strengthened social bonds. This translates substantially into how behaviorally modern qilik tend to enjoy recreational sex, for most the act is 95% about intimate grooming and physical affection While Aroused and 5% direct genital stimulation.

This would actually be a fairly agreeable circumstance for a qilik/elowey pair, as both species have allogrooming as a basic behavioral drive (with layers of cultural convention tacked on top of it). Allogrooming feels nice in general and can be enjoyed in a sexual context.

So like bottom line for what would commonly be on the table:

Horny allogrooming

Other physical affection (licking, nuzzling, cuddling, etc)

Non or lightly penetrative oral/digital sex

Non-penetrative genital contact

Charged allogrooming moment between Ulelilwa men. Guysrule, beautiful romance, etc