#take the angst and feelings with them in the film

[massiv3tr33p3rsona]

Sweet | Terry Richmond X Toni (Black Fem OC)

Part I.

Sweet II You (Part II)

Pairing: Terry Richmond (Rebel Ridge) X Stonia ‘Toni’/‘Sweet Tooth’ Vikes/Gillian Scott (Woman In GIF: Gina Torres)

Summary: After one of her dealers was wearing a wire, the feds came and shut down Toni’s million dollar drug empire she worked hard on. After taking a plea deal to avoid prison, she is enrolled into the Witness Protection Program, where Terry is assigned to protect her.

Warnings: sexual tension, age gap (older woman, younger man), mastrubating, titty playing, slight subToni!, slight domTerry!, spanking, slight worshipping, slight BDSM, angst, emotional feelings, daydreaming, mentions of death, cursing, drinking

Dividers Made By: @thecutestgrotto

A/N I: When I had my old account, this was called something else and Nicole Beharie was originally the headcannon, but it was never published as I deactivated, but now, I’m happy I got to publish it. Lowkey, I do wanna see Aaron and Gina work together in an age gap film, specifically erotic thriller or erotic drama because the tension between them is how they about to make the most money ever in their lives (delusional about the last sentence, BUT Y’ALL GET IT!!).

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT.

Stonia ‘Toni’ Vikes was the biggest drug queenpin in the country, known to many under the name, ‘Sweet Tooth’. Earned the nickname off her main source of selling whatever she had well, she was also a good talker, managed to avoid being caught for so many years.

Capitalizing a yearly profit of $4 million, she lived a very lavish lifestyle: acquiring cars, houses, clothes, jewelry, and even investing into some companies under alias.

All of that came crashing down as ChiChi, one of her top dealers that she came up with in the business, was working with the feds to avoid going to jail for a long time, having her fall into their trap, effectively ending her run.

Following all the delays which led to a long trial, she was about to be convicted on all charges until they offered her a plea deal of walking away free in exchange to revealing her distributor.

She agreed, throwing them under the bus, and she received her ‘get out of jail’ card.

Now a target over what she did, she is enrolled into the witness protection program, where she is now to be accompanied by a bodyguard everywhere for the rest of her life.

She’s assigned a new name: Gillian Scott, has dyed her hair to a dark brown color, back to natural curls instead of straightening her hair, and now has thin brows. She is truly unrecognizable from afar, shedding her queenpin image.

Now here she is, riding in the back of an escort with two FBI agents, beginning a new life as a normal woman in loss of her luxury lifestyle.

Well, not most of it.

While she had to give up the cars and the houses, she was allowed to keep her clothes and jewelry, except for a few watches and necklaces.

And she was allowed to keep one of her savings accounts, but that had to get moved to a new one + a 10% fee to avoid being spotted.

But only one person can access it if she needed something and that person is whoever they assigned as her bodyguard that’s waiting at the house. Curiosity lingers as she thinks of ideas of what the bodyguard looks like.

Is it an older man with tattoos? A woman with a strict sense, but a softie? Maybe someone a bit younger than her?

Or worse: an ex law enforcement officer. She can’t do that due to the long standing history between them and drug dealers.

Her mind is interrupted when the car pulls into a driveway of a big house that sits on a lake.

Parking the car, the agents get out, with the male one walking to the entrance with a briefcase and the female one opening her door, help her out of the car.

“This way, Scott.” she said, ushering her to walk.

Toni grabs her purse and walks ahead, looking at front of the house.

Brick architecture, a double garage, a porch with a net and chairs, and there’s a grey truck parked in the street? This is a little low for her standards, but this is her new life now.

Standing at the front door, the female agent knocks on it, patiently waiting for them to be let in. The door opens, with the male agent standing there, moving to the side as the women walk in.

“Bates and Pearson are their way with your stuff. They’re just stuck in traffic.” he said, adjusting his tie.

Toni nods, walking into the house, with the female agent following.

Inside this three story house, it has white walls covered in many frames of artwork, family pictures, and some Marine Corps stuff.

Walking past the brown themed dining room, she enters the living room, standing in the middle. Black furniture surrounds as a flatscreen tv sits on a stands, with sliding doors to access the back porch, the lake, and backyard accompanying it.

“Whoever owns this place has an interesting taste in the design of it.” said Toni, now standing in the living room.

“Glad you took notice.” said an unfamiliar deep voice, making Toni turn around.

Standing in the kitchen stood a 6’3, chiseled man, wearing a sleeveless grey hoodie, which showed some arm tattoos, and some light grey shorts, holding a bottle of water. His skin had a slight brown tone to it, which definitely came from being in the sun, as his slightly baggy eyes were a mixture of a blueish-green, staring at her with an intense gaze. His lips are a very dark pink color, a curve to the bottom one as he took a sip of his water.

He had to be no older than 32, but no younger than 23. Damn, I’m old enough to be his mother or aunt, Toni said in her head, looking away.

“I see you guys assigned a baby to me.” she said, looking at both agents.

The man chuckles, walking over as he takes in her looks, arms crossed.

“Not used to being around people you can easily manipulate?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Toni cuts her eyes to him, not saying anything before going back to the agents, making him nod at the no response.

“We figured he would be a better fit since he’s in the area we chose to put you in.” said the female agent.

“And he’s actually really good. Has a great resume and experience while in the Marines.” the male agent added.

“Anyone who only worked the grounds by doing the laundry, feeding everyone, or organizing whatever they were assigned probably had the same good experience.” said Toni, placing her bag on the couch.

“Not very sweet, I see.” the man said, making her laugh.

“I am. Just not wowed easily, that’s all.” she replied, looking back at the agents.

“Of course. You lived an upscale, illegal lifestyle after all.” he responded, drinking some of his water.

Toni rolled her eyes, ignoring the last part he uttered.

“You’re gonna introduce him or do I have to figure it out myself?” she asked, watching him move closer to the agents.

“This is Terry Richmond. One of our finest veterans who has great skills of defense and leadership, so he’ll protect you very well.” said the female agent, making Terry nod.

“I see.” said Toni, leaning against the couch.

“And this is Stonia Vikes. Also known as Toni, previously ‘Sweet Tooth’, and now her new name, Gillian Scott. One of the best cocaine traffickers we fought hard to track, not knowing what she looked like for years or was it a man we were looking for.” said the male agent.

“Poor management.” she replied, looking at Terry.

“Which is why she was so good at getting herself out of things or selling: just by talking. Lived the best life for a good time. Now she has to hide in the dark to live out the rest of her new life cause her once allies-turned-enemies wants her dead.” said the female agent, walking to the kitchen.

Toni looks away as Terry stepped a little closer, examining her features.

“Doesn’t seem like she’s fearful.” he said, backing up a bit.

“Nothing scares me. Not even a skilled Marine.” she said, looking at him.

Terry smiles, walking away to sit on the couch as the female agent walks back into the room with water bottles, handing one to the male agent.

“The men are almost here with your things, so we might as well go over the rules.” said the female agent.

“Have a seat.” said the male agent, pointing at the couch.

Toni turns and walks to sit on the couch, a few feet away from Terry as the agents sit in the lounge chairs.

The male agent opens the briefcase, takes out a file folder and handing it to Terry, who takes it.

“You probably were given a quick rundown of Vikes, but that includes a lot of things about her.” he says, feeling her eyes burning into him.

“Noted.” said Terry, reading the file.

“First rule: Using the new name we gave you while in public. You are Toni in here, but when you two out, you are Gillian Scott and Gillian Scott only. We don’t know if they have people out there blending in to take out, so it’s best to keep your true self hidden.” said the female agent.

“So….the same thing I been hearing since I took the deal.” said Toni.

“Second rule: daily inspections.” said the male agent, which made her roll her eyes.

“Shocker.” she mumbled.

As they continued discussing the rest of it, Toni looks at Terry reading, noting his calm demeanor as his finger traces over each word he reads.

Veiny, smooth hands. Etched calves. Thick thighs. Toned arms to match that big chest of his.

“Mr. Richmond, as you read through, you will notice that she has a….alcohol problem. Has ways of sneaking it, so make sure she doesn’t have any of it throughout her time in the program.” the female agent stated.

Toni scoffs, annoyed that they would include that part in her files, which she felt like its unnecessary.

“Fine with me. I don’t drink at all.” he replied.

“Could’ve added a detox program if you’re gonna do this.” said Toni, rubbing her head.

“So you can relapse immediately after finishing?” asked the male agent, eyebrows raised.

Toni looks away, not wanting to say anything. Even though, that comment hurt her a bit, which Terry took notice of.

“Last part was very unnecessary, O’Blac.” he said, eyeing him down.

O’Blac looks at him, caught off guard by his defense, but doesn’t say anything back.

“Apologies, Ms. Vikes.” he said, looking at her.

Toni ignores him, focusing mostly on the female agent.

“Twice a day: morning and night. Just make sure she has no weapons, drugs, unless it’s medication, or whatever you have prohibited from being in here.” said the female agent, continuing on.

Terry nods, going back to reading her file.

“Third rule: no contacting to anyone you’re prohibited from contacting. You’re not allowed to have a phone or any other device in your possession. No access to your bank account unless you go to Terry and ask him to take out some money that only be used for personal use, with some restrictions.” she added.

“Anything I’m allowed to do?” Toni asked, adjusting herself into her seat.

“You don’t have to wear an ankle monitor, so you’re allowed to walk around the property.” said O’Blac.

“But if you’re planning on walking around the neighborhood, I have to be present.” said Terry, looking at her.

“I don’t have a curfew?” she asks in a sly tone.

“Nahh. A little too young for that.” he replied.

Toni looks away, wanting to laugh but is not gonna fold in front of him.

“Violate any of these will get you sent to prison. So be cautious with how you’re living around here.” said the female agent.

“And treat Mr. Richmond well. You may think he’s mean on the outside, but he’s actually really nice.” said O’Blac.

Toni looks over again, seeing him smile a bit as he concentrates very hard at reading her file before closing it, placing it next to him.

“Understood, Vikes?” asked O’Blac.

Toni looks at both agents, nodding with amusement on her face.

“Good.”

The doorbell rings, making both agents get up.

“That’s Bates and Pearson. We’re gonna go talk to them as they bring in your things. Terry, why don’t you tell her more about what the property has while we’re gone.” said the female agent.

Terry nods at them as they walk out, leaving him with Toni.

Silence fills the room as Terry stands up, grabbing the folder with him.

“There’s a home gym downstairs if you don’t like waking outside. Has a treadmill and a few other equipment. There’s a garden on the left side of the house as well. I plant flowers mostly, but if you want to use it for something else, I’ll move to give you some space.” he said as he walked into the kitchen.

Toni nods, watching him move around the space.

“You from around here?” she asks, which makes him look at her.

“Lafayette is where I’m originally from. Was temporarily in Shelby Springs before I moved back.” he replied.

“How come?”

“I, uh…had a little situation with the police department out there that involved family.” as he leaned against the counter.

“Won a huge lawsuit.” he added.

“Must be nice.” she replied, rubbing her leg.

“How about you?”

“I do have an answer, but I don’t think I’m legally allowed to say.” she replied, making the both of them laugh.

“Right, right…” he mumbled.

“This your first time doing this?”

“Yeah. Protected people before. But never like this.”

“Hm.” she said, standing up.

“What do you think of me?” she asks, walking to him.

“Excuse me?” he replied, confused by her question.

“I mean, you’re a vet….working with FBI to protect a ex-queenpin who should be sitting in a cell.”

She turns around the corner of the island, feeling his eyes following her every move.

“And is notorious for getting things her way.” as she stands in front of him.

“Yeah? You’re nothing different from what I read on your file.”

“And that doesn’t make you feel….a little inexperienced?”

Terry laughs and nods, realizing what’s she’s getting.

“I see. I’m the young unaware ex-Marine who can’t handle the more feisty mature drug goddess’ standards after her fall from grace in your eyes. Right?” as he smirks, leaning up to stand, towering over her.

Toni smiles a bit, keeping her gaze on him as he looks down.

“Glad you see it.” she replied.

“But that’s not true. What I believe is what stands in front of me is a gorgeous older woman” as he examines her features, taking in her smile.

“Pretty eyes. Perfect cheekbones. A smile to die for. A physique I can’t describe or else, I feel like I’m overstepping.” as he pushes her hair back, seeing more of her face.

“…..who lacks discipline, dignity, and self awareness. Her charmed looks and usage of certain words always worked on a lot of people she fucked over, hence why she was able to run for so long.” as his smile fades a bit.

Toni stares at him, a bit of anxiety coming through her while keeping eye contact.

“That part of your life is over. As long as you’re in my presence, you’re not running things. And don’t even attempt to run over me.”

“And if I did?” she asked, folding in her arms.

Terry moves closer, backing her into the counter, cornering her. He leans in, putting his hand against the cabinet behind her, which makes her turn her head away.

“Trust me….you will regret it. So keep it short and sweet, Stonia.” he whispered, very close to her ear.

Toni snaps her eyes on him as the latter backs up, winking at her and smiling.

“I’m not afraid of you, Richmond.” she said.

Terry sucks his teeth, looking her up and down.

“Should be. I’m not one to attempt a leash on. Especially from you.”

Toni glares at him, astounded by that comment.

“You’ll learn.” he whispered, walking out.

What did he mean by that, she said to herself, watching him.

The door opens again, with footsteps being heard.

“Ms. Vikes, can you come to the stairs, please?” said O’Blac.

Toni listened, walk to where everyone was, grabbing her bag in the midst of it.

Getting to the staircase, she sees Terry, O’Blac, the female agent, and the two extra male agents, Bates and Pearson, standing there, holding her bags.

“May you show her where she’ll be sleeping, Terry?” asked the female agent.

He nods, walking up the stairs.

“This way.” he said, motioning her to follow him.

Toni obliges, following after him as the agents follow behind them.

Unlocking the door, Terry steps aside, letting Toni walk in first.

Examining it, she takes note that it’s a master bedroom: a big king size bed, a ceiling fan hanging over it, a three sided window that gives her a view of the lake with curtains, two nightstands, a vanity perfect to place her jewelry and makeup, a tv hanging on the wall, and a bathroom with a connected closet.

“Taken you like it?” he asked, a smile on his face.

“I do. Hopefully you’re not crowded in yours.” she replied, placing her bag on the bed.

Terry shakes his head. as he walks in, with the two men carrying Toni’s bags following, placing them on the floor carefully before walking out.

“Thought the diva needed the bigger space. Mines is spacious though.” he replied, making her squint her eyes at him.

“How generous.” she replied.

O’Blac and the female agent walk in, handing him a closed envelope.

“That’s includes the card to her bank account, medical reports, tax documents, and other things.” said O’Blac.

He takes it, holding it in front of him as they continued talking.

Toni didn’t hear the rest, walking up to the windows as she watches the sun reflect over the gorgeous water, slowly setting.

She imagines how nice it would be to sit on a boat, tanning and drinking in the cool breeze, as she discusses the next steps for sales and distributing to her crew.

“We’ll be going now, Ms. Vikes.” said the female agent, snapping her out of her daydream.

She looks back, nodding her head as if she everything they were saying.

“Let this be the last time you see us. Cause next time, we’ll be back with cuffs to take you away.” said O’Blac, sending her a warning look.

“Understood, agents. I’ll be on my best behavior.” she said in a smart tone.

They nod before looking at Terry and bidding farewell, leaving immediately afterwards.

Hearing the door close, Terry places the envelope on the vanity before turning to Toni, who patiently waits for his next move.

“Which bag did you want me start with?” he asked, looking at them.

“Up to you. You’re in charge.” she replied, sitting on the cushion lying on the window ledge.

Terry nods, kneeling in front of the first bag. Turning it on its back, he unzips it and lifts the flap, revealing a variety of shoes packed nicely in there.

“You got a lot of shoes in here.” he said, moving them around to see if anything is hidden.

“That’s the first bag of them.” she replied, making him look up.

“They let you keep all of them?”

“Can’t really smuggle anything in things that is sewed thinly.” as she crossed her legs.

Terry lets out a soft chuckle, continuing his inspection.

“First one’s clean.” he replied, zipping it back up.

He moves it to the side before grabbing the second bag, unzipping it.

“Wow. *More.” he said as he sees more shoes in the bag.

After looking through that one, he zips it up and moves it to the side, grabbing the next one.

He continues doing this for the rest of her bags as she watches, entertained by his objective of completing his first task with her here.

He looks adorable doing that, she said, smiling a bit.

Finally, he stands up, brush off any lint around his knees before walking to her bed, about to grab her bag, which makes her get up and snatch it.

“Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her eyebrow slightly raised.

Terry looked at her confused, stepping closer to her.

“The inspection includes your purse.” as he wraps his hand around it, making her look down.

“Come on now.” he mumbled in a deep tone.

“I think you’ve done enough.” she said, pulling back a bit.

Terry exhales, getting closer as he stares at Toni, watching her boldness go down a bit. A pleading expression comes across her face as he wraps his other hand around hers, feeling her flinch a bit.

“I’m not gonna ask you again.” he utters, gently removing her hand, pulling the bag away from her.

She was about to protest, but stopped herself, remembering that she is not only being protected, but following his rules or go to prison.

She turns away as he dumps the contents of the bag on her bed, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Oh.” he said, holding back his laugh.

What’s inside? Bras. Panties. Her gummies that help with iron, hair, and energy. And her personal favorites: her five vibrators, each being the color of the rainbow.

“My bad for assuming the worst. Turns out, you might be the best.” he said in a joking tone, which makes her angry.

“Get out.” she said.

Terry looks at her in confused way, wondering if she was serious or not.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Get out of my room.” as she turns to look at him, arms folded.

“I think your little inspection is done.” she added.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be rude about it.” he replied.

“I do what I please when my privacy is being violated in front of me.”

“Privacy?” as he laughed.

“You’re a criminal who’s whole career was selling something to people for them to feel a different high that they couldn’t rest from. Probably sold a lot of personal items, ruined relationships, even OD’d just so you can live it large and continue distributing it.” he added, watching her mouth clench.

“You don’t know that.” she said, feeling his scowl.

“You don’t think their privacy got violated? Considering most probably bought it in public or you sold it to them around others that watched?”

“You would know, huh?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Toni smirks, watching him slowly get mad as she leaned closer, more to his ear.

“How brutal was the training for the Marines? Did you have to get waterboarded? Random drills in the middle of the night? Spanked with a plank board on your ass?” she whispered as she traces over his arm.

“Or was it easy because you did favors? Got praises for being a good boy? Cause you seem like the type to receive that.” she added, a coy smile coming across her face.

Terry nods, an unreadable expression on his face. She hears him growl a bit before brushing past her, grabbing the envelope off the vanity.

“Strike 1.” he said.

“What?!” she exclaimed.

“I don’t tolerate disrespect or negative comments about my Marines background. Don’t let your mouth get you trouble around me again, Vikes.” as he walks to the entrance.

“No way you’re that sensitive.” she mumbled, rubbing her head.

“What was that?!” he asked, marching fast towards her.

She stood still, taken aback that he heard her. He stops in front, anger now all over his face.

“What did you say?” he asked. “I wanna hear it.”

Toni looks at him with no hesitation, not giving in. He nods, a stiff laugh coming out, creeping her out a bit on the inside.

“Thought so.” as he leans forward.

“Know your place.” he utters, patting her on her arm before walking out, closing the door.

Toni sighs loud, annoyed at what just happened as she began putting her stuff in the closet and drawers.

“This is going to be long road for me, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.

As much as she hated it…..she was very enthralled by how easily irritated he gets when she does something he doesn’t like.

Maybe if she continues pushing his buttons….

Wait.

No.

It would get her sent away. She’s a little weary because she wants to, but she also knows what consequences come if she goes too far.

After finishing filling her last drawer with her bras, underwear, and vibrators, she lays on her bed, slowly drifting to sleep.

For the next few weeks, she tries to find something worth caring for.

Her and Terry have gone shopping for not just groceries, but for her to buy things that she thinks it’s worth trying to entertain her and grow a huge likeness for.

She tried knitting. Found it boring and she’s only in her 60s.

She tried crocheting. Found it complicating.

She even tried puzzles and building sets. Found it too hardworking.

Reading, cooking, and journaling seems to be the only things she’s enjoying, but even that gets stale after a while.

Now here she is, lying on a lounge folding chair, tanning as the cool Louisiana air blows around her.

Wearing a black sheer kimono, sunglasses, and a white two piece bikini, it is a very nice day to be outside and do nothing, just watch time pass by.

A slow R&B song is playing on the speaker near her as Terry is kneeling in the garden, pulling weeds out from his section of flowers.

Wearing a sun hat, grey tank top, capri pants, and boots, he focused very hard as Toni watches, making sure he doesn’t accidentally touch her side, which contains herbs.

Cooking herbs, by the way.

“Having fun over there?” she asked in a cocky tone.

Terry looks at her, sending her a small smile as he stands up, looking out towards the lake.

“What a view.” he said, taking it in. “Gorgeous shine to it.”

“Thank you.” she said happily, making him look at her narrowly.

“Now, you know I’m not talking about you.”

Toni says ugh! as she looks at him, disbelief that he ruined the moment.

“Whatever you say, Richmond!” she said, adjusting her kimono.

“Would be nice if I had some help!” he replied, removing his gloves.

“You the one who decided to take on that, not I!” she responded, hearing him laugh.

“Because it’s relaxing. Always wanted a garden too.”

“Really?” she asked in an amusing tone.

“Yeah.”

“Well, make sure you’re not messing up my herbs, flower boy.” she said, looking forward.

He nods his head before removing his soaked shirt, tossing it somewhere before he resumed his yard work.

Toni looked over, taking in the body of a man who is also her bodyguard.

“My God….” she whispered, amazed by how etched his abs were, how sculpted his back was, along with how veiny the lower half of his body is.

“Like what you see?” he asked, interrupting her dazed look.

She squeals before turning away from him, hearing him laugh a bit.

“Ain’t nobody’s paying attention to you!” she replied.

“Right….” he said in a sly tone.

Terry left to go grab some tools from the garage, leaving Toni in the backyard.

As she was readjusting her spot, a suspicious boat passes by, nearly close to the land. An unidentifiable man that was driving it stares her down, mapping out her face.

She felt uncomfortable and was about to call Terry, but he was already on the move, walking up quickly and hiding something behind him.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked loudly, which made Toni get up and stand next to him.

The man looks at him. before turning away driving off fast.

Terry shakes his head, before locking the gun he was hiding and putting it in his pocket.

“Did he look familiar to you?” he asked, looking at her.

“Never seen him in my life.” she replied, shaking her head.

“Anything look off?”

“Just dark.”

He nods, turning to the garden.

“For now on, tan on the second level of the house.” he said, walking off.

Toni watches him resume his work as she lays back down, thoughts racing about who the hell that was on the boat.

Eventually, the man returned at random times over the next few days, which made Terry get the feds involved and Toni having to stay inside most of the time to avoid seeing the man reappear.

They did their best with finding solutions, from suggesting a new location, which will take up to three years to happen or going out in disguise, which she found pointless.

This caused her to develop a lot of anxiety, not knowing where else is she gonna see him since he had good memory of identifying her.

The only way she could cure this feeling was by drinking.

Whether it was hot or cold, it helped calmed her. But, it does get a bit out of control if she sips too much, which was why it developed into an addiction later on.

But now, she has no access to getting it. Unless she steals it and sneaks it in while they’re out shopping and he isn’t looking.

Which worked.

She managed to steal a peach-mango wine cooler from their recent grocery store trip, hiding it in random places she knows he won’t look when he does his daily inspection.

Wearing a red nightgown that stopped just above her knees and a matching robe, she watches him look between the mattresses of her bed for the last time before he stood up, wiping his hands.

“Clean.” he said, looking at her.

Toni smiled, satisfied with his report as she stood up from the ledge.

“Anything else you need from me, Terry?” she asked, batting her eyes.

He shook his head, walking to the door.

“Just be up by 10 tomorrow. We’re going grocery shopping again. So think of something you want. Or restock.” he replied, standing in the entrance.

“Alright.” she replied, walking towards her vanity.

He watches her sit down, putting her hair up before grabbing an anti-aging face cream, opening it.

“You don’t need that.” he said.

She looks at him through the mirror, his eyes giving her an admiring look.

“Well, I can’t afford Botox in the moment, so this shall do.”

“Don’t need that either.” he replied.

“How else am I suppose to keep my youthful looks then?” she asked, turning around to face him.

“By being you. Not to mention, you don’t look your age, which is a good sign that you don’t need it.”

Toni smiles faintly, closing the cream before putting it back on the counter.

“You tell this to the women you see?” she asked, leaning back a bit.

“You’re the fifth one.” he replied, making both of them laugh.

“Ahh. You have requirements when it comes to you.” as she nods her head, turning back to her vanity.

Terry steps up, moving a bit closer to stand behind her, a little smile on his face.

“Don’t we all?” he asked, watching her cut her eyes to him.

“I’m open minded. As long as you have something I like, I’ll follow whatever you want me to do.” she replied, grabbing her moisturizer.

“Even if you haven’t tried it?” he asked in a sultry tone.

She stops, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Terry laughs quietly as he walked back to the entrance, leaving her confused.

“You been good these past few weeks, Vikes.” as he stops his movement.

“Following and obeying my rules. That’s what I like in a woman. Older or younger. Keep it up.” he replied, grabbing the doorknob.

“…..obeying, huh? Like you in control?” she uttered, watching his mouth twitch.

“I am. That’s why you here.” he replied.

She scoffs, looking away to begin her skincare.

“And you a good listener too. That’s another thing I like in a woman who knows her place.” he replied with a smirk.

Toni snapped her head at him, shocked at what he just said.

“Good night, Toni.” he added as he shut the door, turning off the lights.

With the vanity bulbs shinning on her, Toni closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down as she feels her body getting a little hot from that exchange.

No way I’m turned on by that, she utters, fanning herself.

She resumed her skin routine, finishing with a lock-in oil to hydrate her skin, looking at herself in the mirror.

Noticing a few wrinkles, some puffiness, and slightly baggy eyes, she took in what he said. He was right: she really doesn’t look her age. Maybe she should lay off the….

Wait.

Is she really following his orders? Oh my god, he was really seeing everything she does!

She shook her head as she got up, heading into her closet.

She walks to where her many pairs of shoes were, move some to each side until she found what she was looking for.

Hidden behind them was the wine cooler, standing tall against the wall.

She grabs it and walks back to her vanity, sitting down.

She opened it, which made a loud POP! sound, making her look at the door to see if he might bust through.

He didn’t, which meant the coast was clear.

She begins sipping the cooler, which felt real nice as it spilled down her throat, leaving a nice sting that made her moan a bit.

“Godly, have I missed tasting you.” she whispered, enjoying the taste.

She took a few more sips, feeling herself getting a little more hazy as she begins tracing over her legs, her heat growing hotter and hotter.

She looks at herself in the mirror, enjoying this new hunger that’s coming out as she closes her eyes, throwing her head back as the heat grows, yearning to be touched.

She feels a hand tracing over her chest, which made her look up, seeing Terry looking down at her, a glowing gaze from his eyes. He lowers his head as he gently wraps his hand around her throat, pulling her up from her seat.

“You know what I said about alcohol in the house.” he whispered in a tensive tone, hearing her whimper.

“What are you gonna do about it?” she replied, feeling his grip tighten a bit.

He leans in, inhaling her scent before crashing his lips onto hers, with the latter succumbing to it. He tastes the peach, mango, and wine on her tongue as she slides her hand over his bulge, squeezing it.

She closes her eyes, hearing him moan as he pushes her against the counter, not breaking the kiss.

When she opens them again, she’s back into her seat position, with no sign of Terry around her. She realized that she was hallucinating that, making her laugh in embarrassment.

“No wonder they don’t want me drinking.” she said, picking up the cooler, examining the ingredients.

“But you’re not listening to that rule for your own needs.” said a familiar male voice, making her jump.

She turns around and sees Terry standing there, his arms crossed as he has a disappointing look on his face.

“Terry…it’s not what it looks lik—“ she begins to ramble, but he cuts her off.

“I just told you that you were being good with following everything I tell you to do.” he said, beginning to walk up.

She attempts to stand up, but he stops her, motioning her to stay where she’s at.

“They are depending on you to not relapse and do away with drinking because they actually believe in you.” as he stops in front of her.

Toni becomes a little bit scared of him, not used to seeing this side of Terry.

He snatches the cooler out of her hand, startling her with how quick he was.

“And you decide to throw all that away just to taste…..this?” he asked, a disgust look on his face.

“A shame that you would do that.” he added, watching her look down.

Toni stands up, nodding her head as a remorseful look overcomes her.

“I know, I know. I gave in a little too easily with choosing…..that.” as she looks at the cooler.

“It won’t happen again. I promise. Hell, I can pour it down the drain if you want just to show that I can follow the rules so I don’t go back to prison.” as her robe slides down her arm, exposing her shoulder a bit.

She traces over his arms as she steps a little closer, distancing the space between them as he watches her, a small smile coming on her face.

“Even better: I’ll do whatever you want for now on. I’ll commit to trying out the cold turkey method. Just please…..please don’t tell them about this.” she said, a little pity in her tone.

Terry looks her up and down, leaning in a bit as he wraps his arm around her waist, turning them so her back is to her bed. She gasps, weary on what he’s gonna do next as he steps back, looking at her.

“Turn around.” he said, a commanding presence taking over his body.

Toni does what he said, turning around.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.

“What?” is what she replied with instantly, but immediately regrets it.

You would say that while in an awful position, she said to herself, very flustered.

Terry sighed, trying to not crack as he steps forward a bit.

“I said are you wearing underwear. And I want an actual answer, Stonia.” he replied, her name coming out in a thicker tone.

Toni breathed harshly, caught off guard by this new side of Terry. She doesn’t know if she should fear him…..or actually want him.

“….y-yes.” she replied, a bit pitchy.

“Why the stutter?”

“….youre making a woman a bit nervous here.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be that if she followed the rules. Especially if she has history of not following them.”

Toni clenched at his authoritative stance right now, wanting to see his face, but refuses to get herself into even more heat.

She hears him move around, opening some drawers, wondering what he’s doing behind her.

“Bend over.” he said.

She looks back at him with a muzzled expression, but turns around immediately as he walks to her.

“That was an order that you didn’t follow.” he said, standing behind her.

Then, she felt a hard slap come across her left cheek, forcing her to hold back a moan, shocked by this.

“Now. Bend over.” he repeated, waiting for her.

Toni obliges, bending over until her face is lying on the bed, arching her back to keep herself from falling forward.

“Hm. You were telling the truth.” he said, tracing over the underwear as he gently rubs the sting away, feeling her relax a bit.

Toni fights back to the urge to moan, not wanting to show that she was enjoying this as he places a few kisses over it, filling his hot lips tickling in her skin.

“Alright. Do apologize for going a bit too far.” he said, removing his hand as he stepped into her view.

“However….. that strike two for you.”

She lifts her head up, appalled that she did all that just for him to not let it go.

“And you better not anything unless you wanna go to strike three right now.” he said, watching her close her mouth quickly.

He nods, impressed with the way she immediately obeyed him. He walks over to her vanity, grabbing the cooler before walking to the door.

She watches him, noticing a bouncing bulge in his pants as he stood in the entrance, grabbing the doorknob.

“Another thing: don’t touch me against my will unless I say so.” he uttered, looking back at her.

He takes in her flustered look, waking at her before closing the door behind him, walking to his room.

Toni grabs one of her pillows and puts her face in it, screaming into it.

She was so close to getting a taste of him under those clothes and yet, she still got bamboozled in the end, leaving her hot and bothered.

She realized that she has met her match in Terry Richmond.

Inside the busy grocery store contained many different shoppers, looking for different things they need for their place or somewhere they’re going.

Toni and Terry are walking down the grocery aisle that contained pasta and its ingredients, looking at each type of noodle in front of them.

Wearing sunglasses, a striped top, black jeans, and black latex boots, with him matching to blend in, she’s a little distant, but not too far from Terry, the thrilling feeling from last night still reeling over her body.

“How about a Louisiana Creole Chicken Rigatoni this week?” she asked, looking at him.

“What the hell is in Creole chicken?” he replies, his eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know, you the expert since you’re from here.” she replied, watching him chuckle.

“Real funny, Gillian. You should be a comedian.”

“You gonna come be my bodyguard if I do?”

Terry shakes his head in a laughing way as he grabs two of the rigatoni pasta boxes, placing them in the cart.

“If the Feds let you do that.” he replied, grabbing some spaghetti pasta as well.

Toni rolls her eyes as she walks forward, examining the pasta sauces.

“You feeling tomato, garlic, and onion or just tomato?” she asked.

“That goes into the rigatoni?” he replied, eyebrows raised.

“No, we have to get ingredients for that in produce. This is for spaghetti.”

“Ohhh. The first one, then.”

She grabs two jars, placing them in the cart. She grabs a bottle of olive oil, placing it next to them.

“We’e out of that too.” she utters.

“You sure it isn’t because it looks like a wine bottle?”

Toni looks at him, annoyance on her face.

“Don’t piss me off, Terrance.” she said, walking forward.

“Don’t call me by my real name then.”

“Or what? You’re gonna drag me to the bathroom and tease me again, leaving me all hot and bothered?”

Terry pauses, looking at her with shock. He walks up slowly, greeting the worker passing by with a smile before going back to his stoneface demeanor, scaring Toni a bit.

“Don’t say that again. Unless you want me to get you to regret it. Understood?” he asked, whispering low.

Toni smirks, turning away as she walks forward, watching people past them.

“What’s next on the list?”

“Kidney beans. We used the last of it for last week’s chili.” he replied, reading the list.

Toni nods, walking to the aisle next door as Terry followed behind with the cart.

They continued like this for the next few aisles, picking up simple things like water, seasonings, chips, cookies, paper plates, and napkins to newer things like garlic chili crunch oil, rosemary loaf bread, and horchata infused protein powder.

Well, the latter was for Terry since he said he wanted to try a new flavor.

During this, Toni always notices him staring at her for a while, from her face to her hair and even her ass. When she turns, he looks away immediately, pretending he was occupied with an item in the aisle.

After finishing finding what they needed in the aisles, they head to produce, picking up fruits and vegetables they need.

“Onion, green pepper, garlic, and petite tomatoes is what we need.” she said, looking at him.

He nods, walking over to get a few plastic bags as Toni waited with the cart. She watches him walk to where the items were, looking around before picking it up.

“And make sure you get good ones!” she said, making him look back at her.

“Don’t want a bad one messing up the dish.” she said, smiling.

Terry squints his eyes at her, resuming what he was doing before coming to her, placing the bags in the cart. She picks them up, examining each one as he watches, shaking his head.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked.

“That’s how I always made sure the product was good to go out or I get a complaint from one of my distributors.” she replied, putting the green pepper down.

“Natural instincts.” she added, watching him nod.

“Right….” he said.

“What’s next?” she asked, looking at the list in his hand.

“…Deli.” as he read it.

She nods, grabbing the cart as she walks to it, with him following her.

He watches her place the order of a half pound of provolone cheese, half pound of honey smoked turkey, half pound of white cheddar, and half pound of roast beef, noting to slice it sort of thin so it’s not too thick to eat.

The worker nodded before walking off to do the order, with her turning around, walking to the cart.

“You place an order in such a precise way, I’m impressed.” he said, crossing his arms.

“That’s how I was taught. Place an order very clear and directive, unless you want to get a terrible one.” she said, applying lip balm.

“Hm. So how did a woman like you get involved with the drug world and got away with it for a while?”

Toni looks at him, walking closer so she can lean in his ear so no one can hear her.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question to ask in public?” she whispered.

“It’s not like anyone is paying attention to us.” he replied.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Richmond.”

“And you like it.” he said in a sultry tone.

Toni gasps quietly as he traces his hand over her waist as he pulls her close, making sure no one is staring.

“You gonna answer the question or do I have to make you?” he asked, moving his hands up her back.

Toni pushes him back, a quaint look on her face as he smiles, turning to face the counter.

“Grew up as the youngest of three in a little city outside of Phoenix. Was the only daughter in the house. Eventually became the only girl as my mother passed when I was 11.” she began, looking around her surroundings.

“They were all very protective of me, especially my dad. So I couldn’t live a fun and normal life most girls do as I wasn’t allowed to hang with friends, going out to places I wanted to see, not even spend the night. I was always smart, the one who manages to get herself out of her trouble, and even coming up with quick solutions to problems. Which my brothers hated. So, they did everything they could to make sure I don’t go off on my own when it came to applying for college. And it worked.”

“It did?” asked Terry, which she nodded.

“I got accepted to a lot of schools outside of Arizona and full ride scholarships, planning to go to Rutgers. My dad was against it and said I shouldn’t go to school after I graduate because he needs someone to take care of him. My brothers convinced him to choose me because he needed his “heirs” to continue running his landscape business is or one of them is going to be stuck doing with all the hard work he does while I have nothing much going on. Mind you, I wanted to work in medicine.”

“That explains a lot.” he said, smiling a bit.

“I don’t mean a pharmacy either. Like actual making the medicine. Pills, liquids, powder, you name it. I knew how to measure, label, and packaged stuff correctly, so I knew this job would be worth it. But no. He just couldn’t see it and it just made our relationship even worse. So what did he do? He went behind my back and rejected all of my offers, lying to them by saying “she’s not interested anymore” and I didn’t find out until three months before my graduation. We got into a huge argument, with him saying “you’re staying here, whether you like it or not” and barred me from going out. So what did I do? Packed everything I owned, including my personal documents, and left, vowing to never come back.”

“Here’s your cheeses and turkey, ma’am.” said the worker, making Toni look up.

She nods, walking up and taking it before going back to the cart.

“One of my girlfriends got me a bus ticket to San Diego, using some of the money from her job to buy it for me. She said het older cousin, Chino or ChiChi, will be waiting for me in a 1984 gold Hyundai Accent, having a job opportunity in hand. I was a bit skeptical, but she promised me it wasn’t nothing weird as he’s not into that type of work.” she continued, shrugging a bit.

“So, I woke up, bid farewell, and got on that bus to San Diego. Took 7 hours, so when I woke up, we were about an hour out. We arrived, got my things, and got off, walking around to see if I could find him. Which turned out to be very easy. He was about your height, just two inches taller, heavily tatted, a bit thick and muscular. Wasn’t in style back in the 80s, but he was definitely trendy before it happened.”

“And here’s the roast beef.” said the worker, holding it out.

Toni was about to go get, but Terry moved before her, grabbing it before heading back to the cart.

“That’s all?” he asked.

She looked at the list, reading over and seeing they got everything they needed.

“Yeah.” she replied, showing his the list.

“Alright. Let’s go to self-checkout. You can continue your story.” as he begins pushing the the cart.

She follows behind, standing close as she turns around, no noticing an unfamiliar man staring at the both of them, particularly her.

She ignored as she continued walking, getting in line with him while looking back to make sure the man isn’t behind.

“I got into his car, identified myself as the person he was waiting for, and he began driving, stopping to get us McDonald’s. He asked how old I was, I said I’ll be 18 in the summer. Have I ever worked, do I have a rap sheet aka a lengthy record, associated with the Feds, and do I owe debt to anyone? I said no to all them, and he said “Perfect. Boss might like you.” We came to this really dark, but tall house in Grant Hill, where you can see the bridge. The decor was very much like Scarface, but once again, it was the 80s. ChiChi was getting mad because one of the guards ordered me to take off my clothes to make sure I’m not wearing a wire and he immediately was like “I checked her already, why do you want to see a naked teenager?”, almost fighting him. It ended when the boss came out, asking why y’all fighting in his house this late?” as he’s wearing this silk robe.”

“What was the obsession with silk back then?” asked Terry.

“Luxury. Very soft. Shining. Easy to clean. Was also cheap back then. If you owned anything that had that, you were looked upon as someone who has money.” as she makes the money gesture.

“And in this instance, Angél Keita was very rich. Or El Padrino Negro y Marrón: Black Brown Godfather. One of the most well known drug lords that managed to never get caught nor charged in his lifetime. A whole Afro-Mexican running his own business and allegedly a hothead, but he seemed normal to me. He came down and cursed everyone out, until he got to me. Asked me who I was, with ChiChi telling him I was the new worker that was coming in. He ordered me and ChiChi into his office, closing the door behind him. Asked me the same questions ChiChi did, hand over my documents, explain what he’s expecting in someone who’s a packer, since that’s what I started out as.” as she sees the line moving, making her step forward.

She watches Terry move the cart up as the man she doesn’t recognize gets in line, just a few customers behind.

“Can we switch?” she asked, looking at Terry.

“Something wrong?” he replied, a concerned look on his face.

She leans forward, making sure the man doesn’t see her talking to him.

“There’s a tall, brownish black man, about 4 customers behind, that keeps staring at me. Wearing an olive green polo shirt, black sweats, and Adidas stripes sneakers. I think he’s been following us the whole time, but I’m not sure.” she whispered, looking back a bit.

Terry nods as he switches with her, him now standing on the side and Toni standing behind the cart.

She notices his grip tightening on the basket, his veins slightly popping out around his hand as he looks at the man, who then looks away.

“I’ll call O’Blac when we get home.” he said, exhaling loudly.

Toni traces over his veins, hearing his breath skip as he looks down, seeing her face looking mesmerized.

“His hands looked exactly like yours. Angél’s hands, by the way. Much older, but seemed to still have his youth spirit in him. He wanted me to follow his demonstration of how to properly identify, weight, fill, and pack the product. Which I did. Did it so effortlessly. Then, he told me to do it myself to determine where he’ll put me since he has four different groups of packers. Group 1 was the experts, meaning he can rely on them for most of the product. Group 2 was great, but timing is what holds them back and that’s where ChiChi was. Group 3 was decent, but 50/50. Meaning you’re good at two of the four, but suck in the other two. And Group 4 was bad, meaning you only excel at one of the four or suck in all of them.” she said, removing her hand.

“So you wanted to avoid being in the last two groups.” he said, intrigued.

“Correct.” she nodded, moving up a bit as the line moved again.

“So I did my test, with one minute as my time. Identify the product as MDMA since it was circular and had his initials on it, had to be under 5 oz, which I poured the correct amount. Didn’t overfill or it would be the one to mess up the weight scale as he was strict about that. And put the correct label on it. Finished with 42.1 seconds left, which impressed ChiChi but wasn’t sure if Angél was agreeing since it’s hard to map out his expressions. He looked at everything, thought about it, and said after a few more minutes of waiting: Group 1.” she said, smiling a bit.

“He was impressed with how fast I identified the drug, how careful I filled it into its container, and how accurately I placed the label. Said I beat someone’’s time by 8 seconds and he’ll keep a close eye on me. Spent about…4, maybe 5 months as a packer before I got moved up to seller with ChiChi. He said selling was gonna be hard as I had to make sure I wasn’t selling to a customer who was working with the Feds, on a rival’s territory, and in a way that is gonna make the customer either come back or refer me to some other people. So I went out, roaming around the area to figure out a good strategy to sell without getting caught.”

“You two can go to the one on far end right.” said the cashier, pointing at it.

They listened, going down to the right, parking the cart in front of the scanner. Terry grabs the first item and begins scanning, carefully placing it in the bag.

“What did you do?” he asked, placing the first two bags in the cart.

“There was this strip club him and ChiChi frequented. It was called Tastee’s. I went in there, watching how the girls interacted with their customers, seeing some managed to take them into a private room. I came there a lot, a popular one noticed me on my next trip. Her name was *Honey. Gorgeous, sun kissed brown skin, sculpted like a goddess, an Afro so big and poofy, wore 70s styled makeup, and she always had gold glitter on her body and hair. Smelled very sweet, fruity, and floral. I can see why she was popular: she owned it. She thought I was interested in being a stripper, but I told her no as I’m just trying to figure out a way to sell drugs without getting caught or having people come to me to buy. I was expecting her to tell me to go, but she offered to help.”

Terry stopped, astound by that as he scanned the water underneath.

“A stripper helped you become Sweet Tooth?”

“Yes. She told me that his rival’s sales were becoming stiff because he raised the price on all his stuff, hence why they never see any of the sellers around here anymore. She was also cool with Angél and ChiChi, which is why I think she wanted to help me. She noted that since it’s most likely gonna be men as the customers, you have to dress, wear a scent, and act in a way to get them to buy. They loved short dresses, anything sugary and spicy, and when the woman is being sweet. Put all of that together and a smile: Sweet Tooth.” she said as she hands him the sugar.

He takes it and scans it, placing it in the bag as he sees the man in line, being second up.

“My first sale was there. I saw this guy Honey just took money from who definitely takes ecstasy since he was a frequent customer. I got up, fix myself, and pretending I accidentally bumped into him to get his attention, which worked. He was interested, indulged with my charm and the way I complimented him. I showed him the product and he rejected it at first, saying “I ain’t pay $7 for that.” and pushed it away. Told him that’s not who I work for and we sell ours for $4, which got him even more interested. Bought three off me before Honey came to get him. Left and dropped off how much I made to Angél, which I told him it wasn’t a lot but he said it was fine since it was your first day. Went back the next day…..made $5,000.”

“Damn. You went up that fast overnight.” he said, scanning the last few items.” he said, watching her nod.

“Had a good experience taking that, he told his friends and other customers about me. Went from $5,000 a night to $8,000 when he allowed me to go to other places around the areas. “Look for this Sweet Tooth woman!” “Sweet Tooth is who you need to go see!” “Hey, Sweet Tooth! You got some white girl and skunk on you? How much?” “Lend me some of that magic, Sweet Tooth.” Went from being on the bottom of the barrel to the top of pyramid less than a year working for him. Then I was able to travel to different cities across California to sell. Then to other neighboring states. Eventually, he chose me to run his Ensenada, Mexico section by ‘88. Made the most money I have ever seen out there. Met some nice guys too.”

Terry watches her lower her head as she closes her eyes, with her seeing the memory of Angél on his deathbed showing.

“Was his best seller for 12 years. We didn’t see it coming at all when they told us to come back to San Diego for an emergency meeting. I told ChiChi that doesn’t sound good, but he reassured that it was probably them opening a new spot. Instead, when we got there, he was laid out on bed in the middle of the floor, hooked to a machine. He told us that he had been secretly battling lung cancer for the last years, with the last few months increasing it from stage 2 to stage 4 and he knew he didn’t have much time left. So he told us that we will find out who’ll take over the business after the funeral, but he wants to say his goodbyes to each one of us privately so he can leave with everyone he cared about on a good note.”

She opened her eyes, seeing him watching with somberness in his eyes.

“When it was my turn, I went in. Telling myself to hold it together…..but I knew I wouldn’t by the end. He thanked me for giving him the most sales he has ever made in his life, saying I came at the perfect time when he thought he was about to go under like his rivals did. Said after his wife of an amazing 45 years, their three girls who he loved to pieces, I was the third most important woman in his life. I asked “Over your mother?” and he told me she been dead for a while, she’ll live.” she said, making the both of them laugh.

“Always saw me as his fourth daughter and was very protective, but not to the extreme. Truth is, I thought he was a better father to me than my own. Which says a lot. He said he hopes what I do continues on after his death, kissed my hand, and told me to get home safe. Left there with tears falling. About an hour later, he was gone.”

Terry paid the bill, grabbing the receipt as he motioned Toni to come, pulling the cart. She sniffles, taking out a tissue to wipe her tears as they walk out.

“Funeral came and the next day was the read of his will. Had everything divided between the people he wanted to leave something for. Gave his wife the house they stayed in, a lot of the older cars, a lot of money, and a lifetime warranty of going to the Bahamas for the rest of her life. His daughters got most of his jewelry, condos, money, and most of the newer cars he just bought. ChiChi was assigned as second in command of the business, gifted the big mansion in Miami, and the rest of his massive cigar collection. Lastly, it was my turn. He left me the house in The Hamptons, the house in Jamaica, the house in Puerto Rico, two Cadillac Fleetwoods, and a big diamond necklace he didn’t get to wear.” as she blows her nose.

“We thought that was the end of the reading until his lawyer said “And the person who will taking over the Keita Enterprises business will be….‘Sweet Tooth’ Stonia Vikes. Effectively immediately.” I was shocked, couldn’t believe he didn’t go with any of his longtime business partners, but with me. I cried about it for a few days, being afraid to be running something he was so good at. But ChiChi boosted me up, saying I’ll be a good transition from him and the business will go up.”

They stop at the car as Terry opens the trunk, beginning to place the bags in as she helped him, watching their surroundings.

“He was right. I ended up having the greatest run I never thought I had. Enjoyed that lifestyle. But I always wondered if my growing addiction to drinking contributed to losing everything……or maybe I just thought I was invincible.”

She finished placing the last bag in, closing the trunk as she looks Terry, who was leaning against the cart.

“Oh well. Life doesn’t turn out how you wanted. Tough pill for me to swallow.”

“……do you hate him? For what he did?” he asked.

Toni shrugs, not sure how to answer that.

“Ask me again in a few months.” she replied, walking to the passenger side of the car.

Terry watches her get in before pushing the cart to a holding station, placing it in there. He sees the man walk out of the store, heading in the opposite direction.

He takes out his phone and takes a few pictures of him, zoomed in and all before walking back to the car, getting in.

Toni finishes wiping her face as Terry starts the car, looking over.

“Craving anything? I know you hungry after all that crying.” he said, watching her smile a bit.

“….a spicy chicken sandwich. And some fries.” she replied, looking at him.

“Think I know a place that has that.”

“Well, hurry before the frozen food defrosts.”

Terry nods as he looks both ways before pulling out, driving to the fast food place he has in mind.

Few Months Later

Toni is sitting outside, looking out to the lake, scanning for details with her binoculars.

Wearing a white lace cut out sundress, hair in beach curls, and no shoes, she enjoys the breeze against her skin as the sun beams down.

She sees two swans floating on the water, both having a bright orange-pink gradient beaks, forming a cute little heart.

Perfect, she said, seeing them float away, cuddled up.

She smiles before dipping her dry paint brush into the cup of water, dipping it in white paint, and begins the outline of the swans on her canvas.

Toni finally found something she enjoyed doing as a hobby: painting.

She picked it up when her and Terry were walking downtown, exercising as Agent O’Blac and his FBI team investigate the stalker a little more at the house. They haven’t seen him anywhere since that day, wondering if he’s hiding or he ran off because Terry saw him.

They ran past an arts store, which caught Toni’s eye, making them stop.

She saw a wheeled paint brush set being on clearance for $100 displayed on the window front, containing different brushes, 150 colors (50 each for water, oil, and acrylic), 20 glitter colors, a easel, a pack of 20 canvas (five for each size), a palette, sponges, and five different sized paint knife.

She convinced him to let her buy it, in which he did. And now here she is, on her third painting.

This time, the lake is her muse. She detailed the water perfectly with its green-slight blue tone, capturing its reflecting with some white and silver lines.

The trees that stretch to the shore that’s not far from the house are encrypted on the edges in black to draw out the bark and branches.

Some brown tones are used as lines to bring it out more, and colorful leaves of different shades accompanies it.

The pink-orange sky sets the mood, with cotton candy like clouds floating, used with the sponges to create.

She’s in her element that she was looking for. peace and sober. She hears movement, which makes her turn around.

Seeing the living room sliding doors open, she watches Terry wheel out a cart with different foods on there: marinated ribs, marinated steak, chopped onions and peppers, burger patties, hot dogs, both hot dog and burger buns, cheese, and corn tortillas, heading to the grill.

“Need some help?” she asked loudly, watching him look in her direction.

“I ain’t know you was out here.” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Better yet, why are you not on the second level like I told you to be on?” he asked, crossing his arms.

He’s wearing a white wife beater, blue flared jeans, and a pair of black boots. Dressed like a cowboy working on his farm.

This is also the fourth time they have worn the same color, different outfit styles.

“Thought it was safe since we haven’t seen the man.” she replied, looking back at her canvas.

“Also wanted to get a closer look for my painting.” as she continued painting the swans.

Terry smiles a bit, coming down slowly to see her work.

“I’ll let you slide this time. Next time, stay on the second level.” he replied, getting closer.

Toni nodded, hearing his footsteps behind as he stops, leaning over a bit.

He’s impressed with how fast she accustomed to painting, her style matching her real well as she dips the brush in the water, cleaning it off.

He looks at her right shoulder, noticing a small bird rest on a flower tattoo on it, examining it.

“You have a back tattoo?” he asked, making her look back.

“Mmhm.” she nodded. “Got it during year 2 of working for Angél.”

“What’s the meaning?”

“Our state bird and state flower: a cactus wren and a saguaro cactus blossom.”

“May I?”

She nods, feeling him move her head to the side as he traces over it, feeling his soft fingers gliding against her skin.

“Why it feels like I’m learning something new about you every week?”

“Cause you’re slacking on your job maybe.”

“Trust me…I’m not.” as he leaned into her ear.

She looks up, seeing his eyes glaring at her in a ferocious way, making her wanting to touch him. But she doesn’t, slightly brushing her shoulder past his leg, making him laugh a bit.

“You know what you can do to make the water pop out more?” he asked, leaning in closer as he looks at the water detailing.

Toni looks at him, watching him pick up the glitter watercolor palette.

“Maybe add a bit of glitter to it. So whenever a source of light shines, it brings out a reflective effect. Just like how the actual lake looks right now.” he said, a brightness coming out of him.

“Hm. What color do you suggest?” she asked, putting her paint brush in the cup.

“Silver might be a little too clunky. But, if you mix a bit of this teal and orange, you might have a pretty gradient to it.” as he points at both colors.

Toni reaches over to grab two clean brushes: one for the teal and one for the orange. She picks them up, dips them in the cup to wet them before swiping over and adding the colors to the canvas, seeing it bring out the water a little more like he said.

“Wow….it looks prettier now.” she said smiling, adding more to the rest.

“Glad you liked it.”

“Thank you.” as she looks at him. “I appreciate the suggestion.

He nods as he watches her turn forward and resume painting. She becomes more intrigued, adding some of her flair as he walks back to the grill, leaving her to be.

She finished most of the painting by the time he was done grilling.

Finished the swans, the water, added some bugs and birds to the trees, and add an unfinished black circle to bring out some of the fireflies when it’s night out after it dries down.

The two are in the kitchen, putting the leftovers away and washing the dishes. She finishes the last one, placing it in the rack before washing her hands.

Drying them off with a towel, she turns around and sees Terry watching at her, leaning against the refrigerator.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, tossing the towel onto the counter.

“No.” as he shooked his head.

“White looks great on you.” he added as he walks up.

“Thanks.” she said, eyeing him down.

He stops just a few feet away, watching her move a bit.

“What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Dodge my hit.” he said, backing up a bit.

“What do you m—“ she began to ask.

She’s cut off when she saw his arm swing at her, ducking just in time.

“Good. At least someone uses their survival skills.” he said, helping her back into position.

“What was that for?!” she said, pushing him back.

“Just a test. In case something happens when I’m not around.” as he put his hands into his pockets.

“….and that’s all?”

“Yeah. Unless you don’t know how to defend yourself from being put into a hold.”

Toni looks away, not responding to that, which Terry took an immediate note of.

“You don’t know how to defend yourself….” he said in a shocked way.

“That’s a job my men did to protect me. And only defense I knew was how to use a gun.” she replied.

He nodded, still in disbelief as he grabs her hand, pulling her gently with him.

“What are you doing?” as she tries to snatch her arm, but his grip tightens.

“I’m gonna show you what to do in case someone tries to put you in a hold so you can’t move or run.” he replied, walking them to the living room.

He lets her go before moving the table back a bit, giving them space. He turns his attention back to her, who’s waiting with annoyance.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

She shrugs as he claps his hands together.

“See this distance between us? That’s the good amount of space you should have when you come across an intruder or an attacker. However, if they run up like *this.”

Suddenly, Terry was just a few feet away from Toni, dashing in a blink of an eye.

“Be prepare to fight. That was the main thing my instructor wanted us to remember whether we were gonna be on the field or see a potential threat somewhere in the streets.”

“So if they grab you like this…” as he grabs her arm.

“What’s the first thing you do?”

“Slap them.” she replied quickly, which made him laugh.

“Yeah, that’s usually the first move. But that’s also a move you want to avoid as they can potentially grab your other arm after you pull your hand back.”

“Oh.” she uttered.

“So. When they get attached of your arm, try to use your free hand to push their hand off by poking their socket and that will loosen the grip fully or a bit.” as he demonstrates, bringing her free hand to his socket.

“If you got sharp nails, fake or not, you might have to claw as well. Some people got a grip you can’t get out of.” he added, watching her laugh.

“Okay. What’s next?” she asked.

“You have to be very fast with the next move or you get trapped. As you feel or see that the grip is loose or gone, grab his arm tightly. Duck underneath it, but don’t let go. Bring it to their back, keeping it in a holding lock until you’re able to either put them in a hold or pin them to the ground or to a wall until help arrives.”

She nodded, trying to take all the instructions. He just laid out into our mind. Which seems like a lot.

“Wanna give it a try?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she said softly, watching him step back a bit.

She watches his whole demeanor as he walks up, stopping at a certain spot. He grabs her arm quickly and she tries to loosen the grip, but was a few seconds late as he turned her around fast, having her arm against her, bringing her into a hold.

“Too slow.” he said, feeling her pant hard against his body.

“You’re too fast.” she replied, feeling him let her go.

“Let’s try again. Go slow, but not too fast.” he said. repositioning himself.

She nods as she fixes her dress, repositioning herself.

The scenario starts over again, with him walking up and stopping in the same spot he was in.

He grabs her arm, having a tight grip.

She moves at a good pace, poking his socket, which loosen a bit. But she didn’t move fast enough and once again, he got her into a hold.

“Fuck.” she whispered, feeling him smiling a bit.

“You didn’t push deep enough into the socket.”

“This is not going to work, is it?”

“Don’t say that.” as he leans down, resting his head on her shoulder.

“You’re almost there. Just move fast when the grip is loose or gone, Toni.” as he rubs her other shoulder.

He lets go of her, and they get back into the positions.

“One more time.” he said, clearly his throat.

She readjusts her hair, now having a determined expression on her face.

It begins again as he walks up, in his same spot.

He grabs her arm, having a much tighter grip.

Toni pokes his socket very hard, which loosens up his hold as he groans, ducking under his arm immediately while grabbing it.

She pulls his arm behind and holds it, trying to wrap the other one, which he’s trying to fight against. He looses his footing, making the both of them tumble to the floor, with her landing on top of him.

Toni lifts her head up, laughing as Terry follows behind, laughing too.

“I got you this time, just you didn’t want me to grab the other arm!” she said, tapping his chest.

“Mmhm. I’ll let you win this time, but next time, act like you want them out.” he replied, tracing over her leg.

She nods as she sits up, was about to stand up until she felt a pair of hands hooking under her thighs, lifting her up.

She looks down and sees Terry standing up, holding her until he was off the ground, putting her down on her feet.

The two stared at each other for a few minutes, gently tracing over each other’s bodies as Toni looks down, nearly jumping back.

Down around his lower half, poking through the fabric was the most thickest and slight curve dick she has ever seen, jumping through.

“Oh.” he said quietly, pulling away and hiding it with his hand, which covers most of it.

Damn, he got some big hands, she uttered, watching him back away slowly with a slightly flustered face.

“Didn’t know that happened. And sorry if you may have felt…” he begins, but he’s cut off by her hand.

“Stop. Its okay. I um….have that effect on men.” she said, watching him smile.

“Well, still. Especially from a respectful stance.”

She nods, understanding where he’s coming from. He turns away, heading towards the stairs.

“Have a good night, Toni.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna check my room?” she asked, but he waves it off.

“I’ll skip for the night. I’ll just resume it in the morning.” he said, walking up the stairs.

“Ok. Good night, Terry.” she added, watching him walking to his room.

He opens and closes the door very fast, locking it before moving more.

“I could’ve helped, you know.” she said, walking out.

Toni giggles as she walks to where her shoes were, sliding them on before heading to the living room doors.

Sliding one of the doors open, she steps out, leaving one open, so she can come back in.

Tiptoeing quietly, she heads over to the garden, looking up to where Terry’s room is, making sure he’s asleep. His light wasn’t on, signaling that he wasn’t up.

Kneeling down, she feels around the willow bushes, searching for something she hid that she needed it right now.

“Come on. I know you’re in here because he didn’t even check today.” she said, making sure she wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.

Finally, she felt something cold, picking it up.

“There you are.” she said, bring it to her face.

It was a bottle of Rochioli Chardonnay, her favorite white white that she took from their recent store trip a few days ago without him or them noticing.

She smiles as she begins opening it, quietly uncorking the bottle before taking a big sip, feeling it burn a little.

“Damn. You still taste so good even after hiding for a while.” she said, laughing a bit.

She walks to one of the side chairs, taking a seat as she begins drinking more of it while checking to see if he’s not awake.

Although she was happy with being sober, she just wanted to scratch the itch of tasting alcohol one more time before committing to a sober life for good.

She never done anything stupid besides act a bit flirtatious and loud, but she can also see how it starts to affect the way she ran things, which is why she stopped for a while before resuming again.

And this time, she’s gonna stop. After she finishes this bottle.

After drinking for the next hour, she shook the bottle hard. Feeling that it had nothing left in it, she tossed it into the lake, hearing it PLOP!

“Alright……le-let’s go to bed!” she utters, getting up.

Off a buzzy and kindled feeling , she nearly fell a few times as she walked, but kept her balance, closing and locking the doors quietly.

She noticed the lights were off, but can’t remember if she turned them off before she went outside or not.

Didn’t matter to her because she was in the house at least.

Heading up the stairs, she damn near struggled with it as she almost fell a few times, which made her laugh obnoxiously. She finally made it to the top, walking to her door.

Opening the door, she walks in, closing the door and taking off her shoes in a stumbling way, giggling.

After doing that, she looks up and sees a shadowy figure sitting on her bed, making her jump back, hitting the door.

“Stay back!” she yells, holding up her hands.

The figure gets up, slowly walking to her, which makes her even more uncomfortable.

“Don’t….don’t make me get my bodyguard to fuck y…you up!” she yells, hiccuping a bit.

The figure steps into the light coming from the moon, revealing itself as Terry, making Toni drops her hands and her fear skyrocket.

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right, Stonia.” he said, a livid look on his face.

She tries to open the door, but gives up as he blocks it, locking the door before dragging her away, tossing her on the bed, making her scream.

“Where were you?” he asked, standing on the bedside.

She looked at him, not sure if she should defy or tell him the truth.

Or should she have fun with him.

A/N II: Had to divide this into two as I got hit with a limited characters message. However, this means part two is on the way very soon. Didn’t realize O’Blac sounds like O Block. Promise that was not on purpose. But hoped y’all liked this! Part II is coming though!

🏷️ : @iloveekeiarah @childishgambinaax @ziayamikaelson @ssamm1984 @turbulentvoids @fadingcherryblossompeach @angryflowerwitch @amethyst09 @motheroffae @cerya @thatitbitch @darkfairymoon @j0ysyndr0m3 @blaqueberryk @theogbadbitch @megamindsecretlair @zillasvilla

[sevsevteen]

Is there anyway you could write about the 14 th members struggle with sleep during comeback season? Maybe also they have a tight grip on caffeine which had been surprising their apatite, making filming more difficult ? The amount of nausea I’ve been having cause of this recently is mental

OMG get well soon girl 😭 this is so relatable, but please remember to take care of yourself too!!🤞 i hope this will make you feel a little better - i made it a little joshua-focused by accident BAHAHA prepare for the angst

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The waiting room was colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just you.

Sat curled up on the floor between takes, your knees were drawn to your chest as the chatter of the staff and members buzzed distantly in the background. Your head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that echoed behind your eyes - not painful enough to cry out, but sharp enough to disorient.

“Five minutes till next cue!” someone called.

You didn’t move.

For the past three weeks, your body had been running on caffeine and fumes. The combination of pre-dawn call times, demanding choreo and practice days, interviews, and rehearsals hadn’t let up - and as always during comeback season, your chronic insomnia decided to rear its head again. Every night, you’d lie awake for hours on end, scrolling endlessly or staring at the ceiling, unable to get a wink of sleep.

Three weeks. Barely any sleep. And now, barely any food either.

Breakfast was skipped because you didn't have any appetite after lying awake all night. Lunch was missed because the group had a last-minute schedule. Dinner…you couldn’t even remember the last time you ate a full one.

Only iced Americanos, hot Lattes, anything that contained at least two shots of espresso in them. Bottles of water. An energy bar once, maybe.

And now, your body was starting to turn against you.

Your vision swam for a second as you leaned your head against the wall behind. Your limbs felt unusually cold, stomach hollow and churning. There was a faint buzzing in your ears, like a warning siren your body was trying to sound.

You tried to breathe. Focus.

Just one more segment.

Smile for the fans. Laugh a little. Hold it together.

"You okay?"

You blinked, startled by Seungkwan’s voice. He had crouched in front of you without you noticing, brows furrowed.

“You look really pale.”

You forced a smile. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.

“You sure? You’ve been quiet all morning…”

Before you could answer, staff called for positions again. The members moved instinctively, stretching and walking toward the filming area.

You stood up on legs that immediately protested - the moment you pushed yourself off the wall, your balance tilted, and you nearly stumbled into the makeup table. Your vision whited out for a second as nausea surged from your empty stomach.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, heart pounding.

No. Not now. Just one more scene.

Someone gently touched her elbow.

“Hey.”

It was Joshua, his voice softer than usual, his eyes scanning your expression. You hadn’t even realized you were swaying on your feet.

“You okay?”

“I-” you opened your mouth, then froze.

Because the world tilted again.

And this time, it didn’t stop.

Your knees buckled as you felt your body give way, but before you could hit the floor, arms caught you - firm and warm. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, only to feel the panic in Joshua’s hold as he pulled you to sit down again.

“Someone get water—quick!”

The others were gathering fast, voices overlapping. The set blurred behind the haze in your eyes, sounds muffled.

You hated this.

Hated that it took this for someone to notice.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly, “I just - I skipped breakfast.”

Joshua crouched in front of you again, worry laced in his usually calm expression. “You skipped all your meals yesterday too,” he said quietly. “You think we don’t notice when you’re only running on coffee?”

Your eyes widened slightly, guilt catching in your throat.

Wonwoo had already come with a bottle of water, pressing it gently into your hand. Jihoon stood nearby, frowning deeply as he talked to one of the managers in low, serious tones.

“We’re delaying the shoot,” he said firmly. “She’s not continuing like this.”

“No, I can-”

“No.” His tone was final. “We can always film it later. You’re more important than a damn shoot.”

You bit your lip hard, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes - not from pain, but frustration. Embarrassment. Relief.

So many things you couldn’t name.

Joshua took the bottle from your trembling fingers and opened it himself, holding it up gently. “Just sip for now, okay?”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

And when the bottle touched her lips, you let yourself accept it.

Your lips parted, and you took the water, letting the cool liquid trickle into your dry mouth. At first, it felt like relief.

But then-

Your stomach twisted. Violently.

It was too much.

The taste of metal rose in your throat, and your body jerked with a sudden, nauseating reflex.

“I-!” you gagged, hand shooting up to push Joshua away, water splashing onto your knees. You scrambled up on unsteady legs and stumbled toward the corner of the room where a trash bin stood, knocking over a stool.

The next moment, you were on your knees, bent over the bin as your body gave in.

The sound of you retching cut through the backstage chatter. The room fell into a shocked silence.

Behind you, Joshua immediately knelt to help but paused, respecting the space as you gripped the edge of the bin, gasping between each wave. Everyone's chest tightened helplessly at the sight of your shoulders shaking - not just from nausea, but shame.

No idol ever wanted to be seen like this.

Seungcheol muttered something curt to staff before walking over, immediately motioning to a manager to assist. “Get her jacket. And another water bottle,” he ordered lowly.

Seungkwan hovered near Joshua, jaw tight. “She’s really not okay,” he said under his breath, chest rising with stress. “She’s been running herself to the ground.”

When you finally stopped, you stayed hunched over, breathing in shallow, shaking breaths. Your throat burned, tears had spilled down your cheeks without noticing.

You didn’t dare look back.

You hated crying in front of them. Hated the worry it sparked in their eyes - eyes that saw you as strong, independent, unshakeable.

But right now, you were none of that.

A soft touch broke through on your back.

It was Joshua again, closer now, a tissue in his hand and worry etched so deeply into his features it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, wiping at your mouth with a trembling hand, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I didn’t mean to- I just-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, crouching in front of you now. “Not for this. Not for any of it.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his.

And for once, you didn’t hide the exhaustion in them.

Just behind him, Seungcheol nodded once. “You have nothing to prove.”

You could only muster a small grateful smile as your eyes burned.

Because this time, someone caught you before you could fall.

--

[tttt06]

Bad Fight

Black Reader x Enhypen

Requests are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here

Synopsis~ Enhypen getting into bad fights with S/O

Part 2

Warning~ No smut, angst, arguments, stress, depression, yelling

Word Count~ 2.5k

Heeseung

Fights with Heeseung were often. He has a habit of getting busy and never talking to you about it. He likes to bottle things up.

It was a day you had been practicing all day. Being the leader of your own group was taking a toll on you. Heeseung was coming home late, and you knew that, but you really needed him.

You weren't surprised that he was gone until 1 AM. You were already asleep in your bed by the time he came home. You had a schedule at 4 AM tomorrow. Filming your next comeback MV.

You felt your bed dip, and you stirred awake. The rush of rapid thoughts came flying to your head. You pushed them aside, "Hi, baby."

Heeseung grunted and cuddled you close. Your body relaxed in his embrace. You tried to talk to him. "Today was hard."

Heeseung mumbled, "Yeah?"

"Mhm. The girls got into an argument, and it made practice so much harder."

Heeseung softly hummed. You could tell he wasn't listening. "Hey, you listening?"

There was silence and a long sigh from his nose. "No, not really, Y/N. I'm tired." You asked, "Do you wanna rant about it?"

Heeseung turned his back to you and said, "Maybe another time."

You sat there, feeling shut out. "Hee?"

He didn't answer. 

You huffed while getting out of bed. You were gonna sleep on Sunoo's floor. You didn't want to sleep next to Heeseung. As he watched you grab your things, Heeseung asked, "Where are you going?"

You sharply said, "I'm going to Sunoo's room. At least he'd actually listen to me."

Heeseung was at his feet in a second, "What? No, you're not."

You nodded in a matter-of-fact tone. "Uh, yes. I am."

Heeseung grabbed your wrist, "You're not sleeping with another guy. I'm right here."

You laughed, "Heeseung. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've been ignoring my texts and me, not coming over, and blowing off my problems. You treat me like shit. When I'm stressed, I don't do that shit to you."

Heeseung said with a rough tone, "I'm busy."

You smiled with disbelief, "Too busy for me?"

When he didn't answer, you were about to storm out. Heeseung reached, "Wait."

You shook your head, "I think we should break up."

Heeseung stuttered, his eyes widening. "What?" You nodded, "You heard me. I don't have time for this shit. I'm going home."

Heeseung ran to the door and locked it. He said, "Let's talk this out." You laughed, "Now you wanna fucking talk? I talked to you earlier, and you blew me off!"

Heeseung said, "You need space to think, and we can talk when we're both relaxed."

You shouted, "WE'RE OVER!"

You slammed his apartment door.

Jay

Jay was probably the biggest crashout you've ever met. His patience for people is at zero. 

As much as he's confrontational and argumentative, you two seem to have slipped past your problems.

One significant problem was that you felt lonely in the relationship. Jay was nurturing and careful in the beginning, but now he treats you like you're not there.

It led to a fight at his guitar practice. 

He was in the music room for practice, and you were stopping by to drop Jungwon's dance shoes off. He said he'd forgotten them at the dorm and asked if you could bring them on your way to work.

You wanted to see what your boyfriend was doing on the way.

You opened the door to see him strumming a four-chord. "Jay bear?"

He looked up to see your cute face, "Oh. Hi, honey."

He sounded so... far. Like he was mentally checked out when he saw you. NO excitement, no, 'HEY! I MISSED YOU!'

Nothing.

You sat down, and Jay asked, "What're you doing here?"

The tension was thick. You said, "I wanted to see you. It's been a couple days."

Jay said, "A couple days? You getting clingy now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"What?"

Jay laughed, "I was kidding." You stared at him for over a minute. Jay asked, "Why are you looking at me like I just hurt you."

You took a deep breath, "You are hurting me. Where have you been? What have you been doing? Are you avoiding me?"

Jay just stares at you like you're crazy. "What the hell? Y/N? You interrupt my time and start coming at me. I don't really wanna talk to you right now."

You huffed and threw the bag at him. "Fucking fine. Don't come over, don't call me, don't text me, I don't wanna see your face."

You stormed out of the room, half expecting Jay to chase you. He didn't.

Jake

Ou, Jake had some explaining to do. He was on tour, and you were at home missing him. Only to see a viral edit of him kissing a fan. 

Not even a peck. Full make out.

Your heart was pounding as you dialed his number.

The call went through on the second ring. "Hey, baby."

His raspy Australian voice came through the phone. It only heightened your anger. "Why are you making out with fans?"

His side went silent. You said, "Answer me?! I get you have to act single, but to this extent? How do I know you didn't have sex with someone to 'seem single.' At this rate, I should be getting checked for anything. I can't trust you."

Jake said, "Baby."

You shook your head, "No. Don't baby me. I'm seriously pissed off. I don't want to be with you anymore. This is the shit you pulled on me. It's disgusting."

Jake whimpered, "Let me explain."

You said, "I don't really wanna hear how your tongue ended up down her throat."

You were about to hang up, but Jake yelled, "So what?! You're just gonna break up with me?! Over some video, you won't let me explain?! This is why it fucking sucks to be with you. You're cold-hearted."

You said, "Cold hearted?! YOU KISSED ANOTHER GIRL! THERE'S NO FORGIVING FOR THAT."

Jake said, "Just drop it. I don't give a shit anymore."

You laughed as tears streamed down your face, "You don't care about us? Not surprising. Obviously, you didn't care about us when you kissed her."

Jake took a deep breath, "Y/N, I'll talk to you when we get home. I do agree we shouldn't talk for a few days."

You yelled, "Why? So you can cheat some more. I'd rather let you be free to..."

You couldn't even let the words out. You were sobbing now. Jake was your first everything. It felt like a different kind of betrayal.

"How could you think I'd have sex with anyone else."

You said, "You were kissing her!"

Jake said, "I wasn't!"

You hung up on him. 

If he was going to cheat, at least be honest about it.

Sunghoon

He's the worst. When it comes to what he says, he has no filter.

He embarrassed you in front of your co-workers. He told them you weren't fit to be his wife. Everyone stared at you for something to say.

You had nothing to say.

You were in so much shock. How could Sunghoon ever say that about you?

After the DEAD quiet drive home, you walked straight into the shower. You wanted to avoid Hoon at all costs. You locked the bathroom door and showered in peace.

You started crying because you think this is your last straw.

He wasn't thinking about marrying you? Then what was he here for? Was he taking your relationship seriously? You don't even know anymore.

You opened the door, eyes red and puffy. Your shower cap was over your eyebrows.

You said, "Sunghoon, I really hated what you said today."

He looked at you, confused about why you were crying and why you weren't wearing your shower cap properly. 

When it fell over your eyes, you threw it on the ground. Hoon's lip twitched as he asked, "What did I say?"

You said, "How could you not know!? Am I not fit for marriage? What? You never planning on marrying me?"

Sunghoon was stern, "Seriously? You're crying over that? Geez, sometimes I really hate how sensitive you are."

You froze. That actually hit a nerve. You've expressed in the past that you are insecure about how often you show your emotions. You told Sunghoon to never judge you for it.

He's saying shit without thinking.

"Sunghoon. Get out."

He stood up instantly. He's never heard you talk like that before.

He was walking out when he realized that he might've pissed you off for real. 

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, "No. Just go away."

You slammed the door after him.

Sunoo

You've had a stressful work week. Sunoo knew it was because when he'd come over, you were sleeping. He woke you up when the door opened. You had a pile of work documents surrounding you.

"Hi, baby." You said while rubbing your eyes. He smiled, "Have you eaten? Showered? relaxed?"

You scooted on the couch to check the coffee table full of more documents. Sunoo sat next to you and rubbed your back. You said, "Not right now."

You reached for a page and started reading. Sunoo said, "I love you, but you really need to take care of yourself."

You shook your head, "I don't have time. I'm the team leader, and they're relying on me."

Sunoo furrowed his eyebrows, "You can't always think of your team. You need to put yourself first sometimes."

You cut him off, "I am taking care of myself. Doing my job leads to my bills paying for another month."

Sunoo said, "You know I'm always open to helping with your bills if it's that serious."

You furrowed your eyebrows and shot up, "No, Sunoo."

You caught yourself about to start yelling, but you rubbed your nose bridge. Sunoo grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you closer, "I'll run you a shower, and we're gonna have a serious talk."

That's what you did. Sunoo showered with you. You two sat on the bed, and Sunoo took a deep breath.

"I think we need a break from each other."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What?"

Sunoo smiled, "Just a week or so. You're stressed out right now, and every time I talk to you, I seem to piss you off. I don't really wanna be around you anymore."

You started to tear up. Sunoo words cut through your heart.

"You don't wanna be around me?" Your voice cracked, and Sunoo gently pressed his hand to your cheek.

Your face was hot.

"Don't cry, please. It's only a week. You need to figure yourself out."

You said, "What if we have the break, and it doesn't work."

Sunoo said sadly, "We'd have to break up. I-... If I don't crash out on you when I get stressed, I expect the same back."

And with that, Sunoo stood up. "I'm sorry to drop this on you like this. I wanted to avoid this conversation, but after today, I don't think we can stay like this. You're not even taking care of yourself."

You cried, "Because I'm stressed! I can't just give up. This job is my livelihood!"

Sunoo looked at you as you got riled up, "So is mine, and I handle it peacefully."

Jungwon

What could an argument possibly be about? Commitment issues. It wasn't on Jungwon's end. It was yours. You weren't cheating, HELL NO. It was his patterns.

Jungwon was loyal, kept his promises, and treated you like a queen.

That was the problem. You weren't used to that. You were in unhealthy relationships. It was better to detach and not really commit because you always knew they wouldn't change.

If you told Jungwon something you didn't like about him, he'd change it.

It was a problem.

It was a date. You were eating at this expensive restaurant. The steak was huge, and you both shared it. Jungwon was joking around, "My girl-best friend is pregnant already. It's crazy to think I'll be an uncle."

You smiled as you played with your food. You knew what was coming, and you tried to brace yourself. After three attempts to change the subject, you were still talking about pregnancy.

Jungwon asked the bomb, "When we have kids, how many do you want?"

You looked up at him, and the world froze.

"Huh?"

Jungwon asked again, "How many kids do you want?"

You avoided, "I'd never thought that far." Jungwon tilted his head, "You want kids, right?"

The silence was loud, "A kid sounds scary."

He quirked his eyebrow and asked, "Okay, what about marriage?"

You laughed, "Let's not talk about all of this now."

Jungwon said, "I think we should talk about this. We're clearly not on the same page."

You said, "Wonnie, I don't wanna talk about this."

Jungwon said, "You don't wanna get married to me...? Is that it?"

Your eyes widened, "I don't wanna get married in general... it's too much to think about."

Jungwon looked at you like you were stupid, "When were you planning on telling me that?"

You said, "I'd figure we wouldn't be together by now."

Jungwon froze. He nodded slowly as he turned to the waiter and asked for the check.

Jungwon drove you home, and he didn't text you back.

Something about him leaving you hurt more than usual. You cried that night. You're not usually the type to cry over a guy. Jungwon felt like someone special.

Ni-ki

Another day of wanting your boyfriend, another day of him playing video games. 

Ni-ki was yelling, "You suck literal ASS! God, I hope you drown!"

He was usually the type to say crazy shit like that in the game. The problem was his girlfriend was sitting on his bed, without panties on, and watching YouTube on his phone.

He didn't bat an eye.

Ni-ki was too busy shooting people.

He didn't stop, either. He'd play until 4 AM. He was crazy like that.

You huffed and stomped over to him. He turned around and said, "Lemme finish this battle."

You said, "Yeah, fine. Go ahead."

He heard your tone. The sarcasm and anger. He said in the mic, "I'll catch you guys later. I've got trouble with the wife."

He exited the game and asked, "What did I do wrong? Did I forget to take the trash out?"

You stepped back, "Look at me."

He started at your plush brown thighs. His eyes trailed to your face, and he asked, "What's the matter."

You said, "I've been sitting on your bed with no underwear on for the past 2 hours! Here, you are playing the game. Do you think the game is sexy?! That game ain't giving you kids and oral!"

Ni-ki's eyes widened, "Baby, be quiet."

You started grabbing your things in a huff, "Don't tell me to be quiet! I'm going home!"

You pulled on his pants and grabbed your purse. You stomped out of his room, and Ni-ki followed closely. "Fuck you, Ni-ki."

You stormed out as Ni-ki was left with himself, and Heeseung walked out of his dorm room. "Kids and oral? Ni-ki?"

Ni-ki turned around, and his eyes were red, "What the hell, hyung?!"

Heeseung reluctantly hugged him. 

[mono-red-goblin-party]

What You Can't Have: Part Two

Part One | AO3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to save your floundering music career, you accept the lead role in Mr. Right, a reality TV show with a massive following. All you have to do is fall in love with one of twenty perfect guys, and you'll have everything you've ever wanted. There's only one problem, and his name is Joel Miller. Your cameraman is infuriating, unfriendly, and entirely off-limits. So why can't you stop fantasizing about him?

Tags: AU, smut, medium angst, slow ish burn, no use of y/n, jealous!joel, dad!joel, extremely inaccurate production details because I want them to fuck

Chapter-specific content warnings: Smut :), masturbation, mentions of oral sex

Word count: ~3.5K

A/N: This is my first published fanfic, so please let me know what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter Two~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I thought that pleasing you would save me, Was the perfect girl you made me, Watched as you grew jealous Of the palace where you caged me”

--“Wishing Tree”, Glass Slipper, Track No. 8. Music and Lyrics by You

You wake the next day in mid-afternoon, your body heavy from the sleepless night. Light filters in around the edges of the hotel room’s blackout curtains. You would love to roll over and get more rest – filming doesn’t start again until tomorrow – but there’s a meeting with the production team in an hour. Dream Girls don’t sleep through “story development” meetings, so you pull off your covers and head to the bathroom to shower.

You turn up the heat to near-scalding and step under the water. You take a deep breath and try to sort through your feelings about last night.

You had the chance to talk to a little more than half of the Suitors during the cocktail party, and you realize that you genuinely enjoyed yourself. Casting did a great job this season, you think. You already feel at ease around Henry, and Lucas – the soap bubbles guy – has an un-self-conscious charm that you know will translate well on screen. Plenty of the Suitors are just the type of guy that Mr. Right fans – who go en-masse by the title of Righteous Nation – will adore.

You wonder if any of the guys are interested in you, or if they all just want to be on TV. It’s not like you can begrudge them for wanting the same things you do, but the thought stirs up a pang of loneliness all the same.

Focus. You’re not here for a boyfriend. You close your eyes and angle your face to catch the spray of hot water.

It’s impossible to sift through your conversations from last night without thinking of Joel. He’s the opposite of the Suitors, you think, wholly uninterested in playing nice. But he’s honest.

And he’s so very good at what he does, even if it unsettles you to be studied so completely.  You feel exposed to him. You think of Joel’s steady gaze panning over your body, registering the effect he has on you. His voice, slow and deep, always entirely unaffected.

Heat pools inside you.

Joel is shuttered up so tight. What would it feel like to lay him bare?

The image comes to you at once. Joel’s body beneath your hands. The broad swell of his chest. His hot skin against your own.

Your nipples stiffen under rivulets of water. You feel a twist of shame – you shouldn’t be thinking of him like this – and then, coursing inside you like a river un-dammed, a great rush of desire. You close your eyes, surrender to the fantasy, and oh, it feels good to just let yourself want him.

Joel’s tongue lathing over your nipple.His cock, fuck, your hand stroking his cock. Feeling him harden for you.

You picture Joel’s dark gaze on you, his eyes lidded with pleasure as you lower your mouth to him, hard and leaking for you. You want to run your tongue over him, to know what it sounds like when he moans from want. Joel impatient, thrusting up into your mouth when you finally wrap your lips around him.

You moan, fingers finding your clit. You feel yourself slick with need, so sensitive already at the thought of him.

Fuck, you want him. You want him stretching out your throat. Coming down it.

It’s the thought of him emptying into you that brings you off, your orgasm claiming you all at once. The sharp release sweeps through you, leaves you slumped against the shower wall, dizzy with pleasure.

You reach for the faucet and still the rush of water. The ragged sound of your breathing fills the silent room as cool air settles on your skin.

Slowly, your mind clears. You pause for a moment to lock the fantasy deep inside you. Then you turn the water back on and lather shampoo into your hair. You have a meeting to get to, and Dream Girls show up on time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You learn several key pieces of information from the story development meeting. First, that Joel Miller gets a cinematography credit for Mr. Right. This means he has to sit in on the story meetings so he can… cinematograph? to the best of his abilities. Eliza explains this to you in a whisper when Joel arrives ten minutes late, curls damp from the shower, looking sinful in a flannel with the top few buttons loose. You’re only half listening, the rest of your attention lost in the hint of Joel’s bare collarbone. Your attraction to him feels different now that you’ve let it taste control. Greedy.

Given the deranged state of your inner monologue, it’s probably for the best that Joel doesn’t acknowledge you as he enters. He claims a seat near the back of the room and scowls as Tess Servopoulos, executive producer of Mr. Right, levels a death glare in his direction.

Your second takeaway from the meeting is that Tess Servopoulos is terrifying. And a little hot. She shakes off Joel’s interruption, steering the conversation back to the issue at hand, and your final learning point of the day: production is extremely displeased that you didn’t kiss anyone last night.

Tess dims the lights and has an editor project a clip from the cocktail party. Your stomach leaps as you recognize Joel’s work. You’re in the terraced garden behind the Mr. Right Villa, sitting with Mike, the paramedic who had you listen to his heartbeat, at the bottom of a set of stone steps. Joel made you change positions twice for this shot, and now you understand why. Above you, the staircase ends in a floral archway, almost like a wedding arbor. You are yet to say a word, but the message is clear. This is the start of something.

You watch yourself hand Mike back his stethoscope. It’s his turn to listen to your heart. This piece of flirtation was Eliza’s idea. The video cuts to a close-up of Mike’s hand on the chestpiece of his stethoscope. He holds the instrument to your bare skin, right at the edge of your neckline. You watch as his pinky slides ever-so-slightly beneath the strap of your gown.

Your face heats up. You don’t even remember Mike touching you, but the footage is deliberate, thick with tension. You steal a glance and Joel. He’s watching you, expression unreadable in the dark room. Your eyes connect for a moment, and he shifts his gaze back to the footage.

On screen, Mike takes off the stethoscope.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” he says.

You give him a soft smile. Your Dream Girl smile.

“Well, I’m really happy that you’re here.”

Another suggestion from Eliza. You watch yourself reach off camera to pick up a small, heart-shaped love letter.

In the world of Mr. Right, love letters are the currency of survival. Every week you’ll give out less and less of them, eliminating the Suitors who don’t receive one. The Love at First Sight Letter – the one your onscreen self is currently pinning to Mike’s blazer – is the first of the season.

Giving the letter to Mike was Eliza’s call. Mr. Right is at its best when the Dream Girl is torn between Suitors, she explained, and your scenes with Henry have enough “fangirl worthy” chemistry that Righteous Nation will love him no matter what. By offering the letter to Mike, you set up someone else to root for.

Mike accepts, of course. You watch as he pulls you in for a hug, then takes your hand to lead you back to the party. The video ends. Tess flips on the light. Deliberately, she shifts her attention to a stocky, red-haired producer in the front row.

“Jacob,” she says. “This guy is one of your Suitors, right? Is he morally opposed to kissing beautiful women?”

The producer – Jacob – swallows. “Yeah,” he says, “I mean, yes, he’s my Suitor, but no, he likes kissing. I think.” Jacob pauses to collect himself. “Mike is on the shy side,” he continues. “I think he wanted to make a move, but didn’t want to presume anything.”

Tess is having none of it. “Shy is what gives us bad TV,” she says. “For all Mike knows, he might be proposing to her – ” Tess gestures your way “– in six weeks. Is he planning to kiss her before then? You need to get it through this guy’s head that the Dream Girl pinned Mr. Right’s most competitive love letter to his chest last night. He’s not presuming anything.”

Jacob nods. “I’ll fix it.”

“Good.” Tess says, turning her attention from him. “Now you.”

It takes you a second to realize it’s youshe’s focused on.

“No one in Righteous Nation is going to watch your season if they don’t think you’re into the Suitors,” she says, “and there’s no way they’ll believe you’re too shy to kiss someone on camera. All they have to do is one Google search, and they can see you half-naked.”

Her tone is matter of fact. She’s trying to make you understand, not humiliate you.

“Next time,” she continues, “just make the first move. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nod.

Tess turns away, satisfied, and the team transitions to a discussion about which Suitor should get the first solo date with you, a topic which involves a surprisingly small amount of your input.

You turn your thoughts back to Mike. Why didn’t you kiss him last night? Sure, you barely know him, but he’s objectively a very hot man. Is Tess right, are you camera shy? You can’t let this mess you up again.

Dream Girls kiss their Suitors, you tell yourself. No matter who it is that’s watching.

~~~~~~

Your sneakers brush against the fifty-yard line. You’re on the field in SoFi stadium, an arena reserved for the fiercest of competitors: the L.A. Rams and, today only, the Suitors who’ve been chosen for your first group date. A dozen feet in front of you, Joel crouches down on one knee. His brow furrows as he concentrates on a wide-angle sweep of you, framed by the stadium. You’re sure it’s going to be breathtaking.

Joel’s attempting to maintain an unimpressed attitude today, but the t-shirt he’s wearing is royal blue. L.A. Rams blue. When you pointed this out to him on the drive over, he grumbled something about laundry day, but he’s been fighting off a tiny smile since you got here, which you suspect to be the Joel Miller version of weeping with joy.

Joel nods at you to signal he’s done with the shot, then rises to his feet. A few plastic strands of turf stick to his jeans when he stands, and you smile to yourself when you see him tuck them in his pocket. 

Joel Miller loves football. You shouldn’t care. It’s not like you particularly enjoy football yourself. But it’s the only personal fact you know about him.

Across the field, the stadium tunnel opens, and your Suitors run out to greet you. There are fourteen of them in total, everyone who made it past the opening night elimination, except the guy going on a solo date tomorrow. Henry leads the pack with his long legs, the cameras panning to follow him, and sweeps you into a long hug when he reaches the center of the field. He pulls back, hands lingering around your waist.

“I missed you,” he confesses, barely loud enough for the cameras. 

Have you missed him? You’re spared answering when the rest of the Suitors catch up. You take a few minutes to greet them all.

All the Mr. Right dates are split in two parts: a casual daytime activity, and a formal evening one. Today’s daytime portion is a sort of glorified football practice for the men, led by two Rams players. For once, you’re not the main affair. Maybe it’s the lack of pressure, or maybe it’s the athleisure you get to wear – a black sports bra and bike shorts – but you decide you like this date.

Eliza has you film a quick interview about your very authentic love of football, then relegates you to the stands. Joel comes along. He trails his hand over the front-row, VIP seats, a relaxed smile playing across his face. He catches you watching him and scowls.

“Can’t believe these are the same damn chairs as the rest of the stadium,” he says, sinking into the one beside yours.

“Come on,” you say, “I promise I won’t tell anyone you have emotions. You can be excited about the best seat in the house.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “I ain’t that eager to be sitting next to you, Cinderella.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, Miller.”

You prop your feet up on the railing in front of you and shift your attention to the field, where your Suitors are practicing snapping the football. When it’s Lucas’s turn, he bends over and backs up until he’s grinding on one of the Rams players. Producer Jacob sprints on the field to intervene.

Joel shakes his head as Lucas is dragged away for an interview.

“Reckon I just saw Aaron Donald die inside.”

“Is that Ram Number One?” 

 “He’s number 99.”

You shrug. “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like he has his jersey on. Seems like a missed opportunity for him and Ram Number Two – ”

“Quintez Cephus.”

“ – yeah, I knew that – to get their names out there.”

“Sure, you did,” Joel grumbles.

You grin. “So, what number is Quintez Cephus?”

Joel hesitates. “Two.”

You let out a delighted laugh. “Really?”

Joel turns his head to glower at you. “You’re worse than the humper.”

“Watch your tone, Miller. That humper might just be my future husband.”

Joel snorts. “You deserve each other. Can’t wait for the wedding.”

“Oh, are you under the assumption we’re inviting you?”

“That’s low, Cinderella.” Joel shakes his head solemnly. “Use a man to film your proposal, then ice him out.”

 You shift to face him. “I’m hardly usingyou to film me.” 

“Oh yeah?” Joel’s eyes flash dark when they meets yours. His voice burns smooth like a shot of whiskey. “You using me for something else?”

Joel’s lidded eyes on yours. Your tongue, sliding over the head of him. Your slick fingers on your clit.

You flush automatically. Joel studies your reaction.

On the armrest, his littlest finger grazes along the bare skin of your wrist. A shiver of desire runs through you.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. He drags his gaze over your exposed body.

You part your legs ever so slightly, and his breath hitches. His eyes are molten when they return to yours.

Then Joel freezes. A second later, you hear it.

Someone is calling your name.

You’re in public. In front of half the Mr. Right crew. On a date with your fourteen non-Joel boyfriends.

You tear your eyes from Joel’s and get to your feet, leaning over the railing, putting space between the two of you. Your heart pounds in your ears.

Mike is jogging over from the field. He raises a hand to you in greeting. You scramble out of the stands to meet him. You can’t make yourself look at Joel, but you hear him jump up to follow you, his soft cursing as he fumbles to switch on the camera.

You get to the bottom of the stairs just as Mike arrives, and you have to brace your palms on his chest to keep from crashing into him. He beams at you for a moment.

“Hi,” he finally says.

You return his smile. “Hi, back.”

You drop your hands from his chest. You see something flit across his expression – a familiar uncertainty for him, you realize.

No one in Righteous Nation is going to watch your season if they don’t think you’re into the Suitors.

Tess’s warning pierces through the heady cloud of your desire.You reach out and take one of Mike’ hands.

“Don’t think I’m not happy about this,” you say, ignoring Joel’s presence with everything you have, “but shouldn’t you be out there tackling the other Suitors?”

Mike laughs. He tells you the men have been paired up to practice receiving, but Jasper – his partner – got pulled away for an interview. Convenient, you think, recognizing Eliza’s work. Now Mike is here to recruit you as a substitute. 

The two of you jog back to the field, trailed silently by Joel, and Mike tosses you a ball. You catch it – you’re okay at that part – but it quickly becomes clear that Mike will be getting no receiving practice, because you’re terrible at throwing the football. Eventually he breaks into a laugh, coming close to help you. 

“Stay back,” you warn him, holding up your non-football-bearing hand. “My aim is probably contagious. You risk defiling the legacy of SoFi stadium by approaching.”

Mike doesn’t stay back. Instead, he laces his hand with the one you’ve extended and tugs you close to him.

“I’ll take my chances,” he says.

He’s so close to you now. His skin is glowing from the training exercises, blue eyes scanning your face.

Joel is watching somewhere behind you. You’re so aware of him, your body screaming with it. 

“I was thinking,” Mike says softly, “that we’re not getting too much practice in, are we?”

You shake your head slowly. “Not at all.”

In your periphery, Joel circles into view, finding a better angle. You force yourself to ignore him.

“So,” Mike continues, “I hope you won’t mind if I distract you.” He lets go of your hand, reaches up to cup your face, and pulls your lips to his.

He smells of sweat and laundry detergent. His mouth is gentle on yours. The kiss is brief. It feels like an introduction. 

Mike is smiling when he pulls back. He raises his fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ve been kicking myself for not doing that earlier,” he murmurs. His eyes find yours, seeking reassurance.

You stand on your toes and lean in to kiss him again. When you part, he gives you a silly grin.

“Hi,” you say.

His smile widens. “Hi, back,” he replies.

You let yourself spare a glance over his shoulder to check your sightlines. Joel watches you, expressionless, through the screen of his camera. When he lifts his eyes to yours, his gaze is indifferent.

You drop your eyes. You’re still holding the football. Mike follows your gaze. 

“I can teach you how to throw that,” he offers. “If you’re interested. Your arm is pretty good, and aim is easy to fix.”

You let him. He’s working on your body positioning when Jacob interrupts, taking Mike off the field for his interview, dodging Lucas and Solomon tackling each other on the way back.

Joel lowers his camera as the two of them walk off. He stands apart from you, watching Solomon moaning on the ground for the cameras.

“So,” you ask him, “what do you think? Am I Rams material?”

Joel doesn’t turn to look at you. His thumb taps the handle of the camera. When he responds, his voice is flat.

“Save it for the Suitors, Cinderella.”

Whatever intensity had a hold on him in the stands, it’s long gone now. Maybe you imagined the whole thing.

Joel spends the rest of the football date treating you with clinical detachment, watching blankly through his camera as you shake hands with Rams One and Two, as you cheer on the sidelines of the annual Suitor Scrimmage, as Lucas wraps his hands around your thighs and hoists you on his shoulders for a victory lap. You don’t know what else you expected of him, so it’s silly that you still feel a sting of disappointment.

During the evening date, Henry pulls you aside to re-do the limo exit he messed up on night one. He’s brought two vials of sand with him, each attached to a leather cord. One is from San Diego, the other from Santa Cruz. A piece of his home and a piece of yours.

“I want us to have a reminder of our outside selves,” he explains. His dark eyes are earnest, tan skin glowing against the soft linen of his button-up.  “We’re meeting each other in this crazy way, but it’s the real world me that has a crush on you. I want you to remember that.”

He lowers the San Diego necklace over your head. You place the Santa Cruz over his.

You regard him for a moment, and suddenly Mr. Right feels so simple. Henry has always been up front with his feelings. He’s not some fantasy – he’s exactly the guy you came here to meet. You tug on the leather cord of his necklace and pull him close for a slow first kiss. You don’t let yourself care who is watching.

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

Angst of Dandy x wife reader? Before gardenview closed, they were filming an episode with Dandy and Reader, and then Reader dies on set. (maybe being crushed by a heavy set piece or something)

(Are you okay? I hope you are getting plenty of rest and hydrating well. Self-care is important!)

Dandy With A Wife! Reader Who Dies While Recording An Episode!

I think it's REEALLLLYYY fucking funny how you are asking me if I'm okay after dropping one of the most angsty scenarios I have ever written so far BAHAHAHAHA but yes yes, I'm surviving, I drew so much today and I really enjoyed it, hehe. Here you go, dear anon! I hope you are doing okay, thank you for requesting! <3

Obviously a warning here for death stuff skskss please take care of yourselves, readers! Don't force yourself to read if you feel uncomfortable, even a little bit!!

-Anna

-Recording episodes would be something all the toons would try and do with the help of staff. It would be for the children to watch and learn many things from it, after all. They needed to do this a lot so the staff would gather footage and everything they could to turn it into an educational show while also making it fun for the little kids. A cast of colorful characters going on adventures or teaching lessons to everyone who happened to watch the show. A simple show that even a parent could sit back and relax watching it.

-The whole thing would be quite impressive too, a lot of cameras and staff making sure everything goes smoothly. They tried setting up the scenes and background behind so the vibe was definitely there. It could be drawings or even actually outside or somewhere in Gardenview. Sometimes they even recorded episodes in places the toons felt most comfortable with as well. Arthur did say to the staff that they don't want unhappy toons in here. Delilah didn't care as long as work was getting done smoothly, even watching from the sides as the toons she created said lines and jumped around happily.

-Even if the episodes were never in 3D, they did this to capture the voice of the toons clearly and have a whole video to use for reference when animating the show. To also capture how each toon moves or changes expression to make it accurately. It worked wonders, actually, the many cameras would capture the toons in their glory, in many angles and especially their expressions clearly. Even the way their expressions would change or how they stood or even what they did when it wasn't their turn to speak, they captured all of it for the animators. The toons could act however they felt like as long as they followed the script.

-You and Dandy would obviously be picked for almost every single episode, you would often accompany him in his little adventures and were eager to say your lines together as you interacted happily. It even got the staff smiling as they recorded and did their job, some scenes would need to be recorded again as sometimes the staff would get distracted. Honestly, could you really blame them? The toons looked so alive and everything, especially you two, who happened to also be married, it really got them feeling amazed a lot.

-Everything was fine, of course, it wasn't like they were any actual serious problems. Yes, Shrimpo would be grumpy here and there or a toon would forget lines often or something but it wouldn't cause much of a problem. They could take a quick break or a staff can go in and help a toon rehearse their lines quickly. Thankfully video wasn't always needed, just the staff capturing the toon saying it perfectly. With the amount of staff in such a huge place in there, things got to work fast, Delilah made sure of it as well.

-It wasn't until one sunny day, no one really seemed to notice that a specific piece seemed.. a little off. You really had to look hard at it to understand that it would fall out eventually though the staff seemed to brush it aside, thinking nothing of it, going along with their day. Little did they know that this mistake would cause something horrible. It was their job to make sure everything was okay, so if something went wrong, it would be on them. Who knows what exactly made them feel a bit lazy to check this time, was it Delilah and her being a bit pushy about everything being perfect? They just thought it looked fine? Who knew, really.

-Nothing seemed wrong at first, of course. The recording went just fine, you were saying your lines perfectly, even doing your signature poses or smiles as you and Dandy were talking about the situation in front of you two. The last thing you could see was Dandy flinching, frowning suddenly as he looked at something behind you. You felt confused before the heavy piece hit you, crushing your poor body instantly, ichor spilling around immediately. Dandy took slow steps back as he breathed heavily, watching how staff surrounded you immediately as he gripped his arms shakily.

-Dandy was trembling as he just watched all the staff trying to take off the heavy piece off of your body, ichor messing everything up and spreading on the floor. Delilah picked you up in her arms with a thin line on her lips before covering you with something she found nearby so no one else would see your uhh.. let's say ending. Dandy tried to desperately follow her before Arthur placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back. It worked since Dandy was feeling very unwell at the moment, his eyes watching your hand that was sticking out, with the same ring he proposed to you with long ago. He just stood still as quiet tears fell out of his eyes as he shook, his hands becoming tight fists.

-It was safe to say that he didn't cope well after your passing, your shared room felt so.. empty. Nothing felt the same anymore. No one would ever thought of this situation happening in such a safe place like Gardenview, especially with so many staff making sure the place run well. Arthur would check on him and made sure he ate still as he felt very worried for Dandy while Delilah was basically nonexistent for a good while now. Only few other toons knew what happened to you because if everyone heard what happened, it would truly cause panic in this place. Arthur would try coming up with any excuse he could and told every staff not to say a word to the poor toons.

-He didn't know if you could ever be back but he hoped.. silently. He knew toons were made by Delilah so maybe something could be done. He just hoped.. you still had all your memories, if you ever happened to come back. He didn't know how he would actually handle it if you actually forgot about him, about everything here. All he could do right now is hug Pebble close to him as he stroked his little head. They both silently cried as they rested in the room after that traumatic event. Dandy longed for you and focused on taking care of Pebble now. He would have to ask for Astro's help to get even a wink at night, because he felt absolutely restless when he couldn't hold you close to him anymore and drift to sleep easily.

Thank you for reading! <3

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!?

Warnings- This has a LOT going on, heed the warnings - filming porn, oral (f receiving) spit kink, creampie, cum swallowing, multiple rounds, biting, back shots, SO MUCH jealousy especially from Satoru, honestly this situation is toxic be warned, say hi to Nanami and maybe kiss him? Obsessed whipped ass Gojo, he's becoming a little yandere, this chap is ANGSTY asf, mutual pining, idiots clearly in love but stupid asf, MESSY WC this chap- 13.8k (Monster chap my god)

A/N- Taglist closed- Happy Mother's day to me and all the moms have some smut and angst lol - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Three - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Five>>>

Chapter Four

How could you get it off your mind?

Sitting at your desk in a lull at work, your fingertips trail down the side of your neck, lashes fluttering as you remember Satoru planting firm kisses across it, the memory itself makes your tummy clench with hot desire, goosebumps rising as your fingers dance along it. Remembering his teeth sinking in as he shoved his thick cock so deep, burying it inside you.

Remembering how he cleaned you up, kissing your breasts where he’d sucked and bitten like little apologies, his boyish smile as he whispered his little ‘sorry’ murmurs along your skin. The thorough way he’d lavished your body in his shower that night, how he washed and conditioned your hair, rinsing it until it was as silky as your hair has ever been with whatever fancy products he had.

He’d made sure you had breakfast, taken you down the elevator and made sure you got in the car okay - fuck he called and texted later that night just to check on you. There was no mistaking Satoru was perfect when it came to fucking, but also above and beyond with the aftercare, but that made it all even worse for you.

Cumming with him was intoxicating, it was fucking insane, but moreso the sweetness of him, the thoughtfulness, that’s what sunk deep into your veins, in an unmistakable rhythm just whispering over and over in your mind. The days without him have only shoved the reality further down your throat - that you think you’re falling in love with him.

Are you just foolish?

You’re always led by these deep fucking feelings, you don’t think before you plunge or follow them, either. Yet, there was no other explanation for it, for what you feel when you’re under him, from what you feel when he kisses you, far beyond your cunt drooling - god, it squirted - down his cock, or his mouth, or his fingers. Far beyond being appreciative of his aftercare.

It was all too much.

So much, you’ve turned down coming back over for days, as you’re still so fucking disoriented and confused, you can’t separate sex like Satoru does, like Jenna does. You wish you had the ability, to let go and have fun - and not full of a fucking inner turmoil while your cervix is being kissed by the prettiest pink tip. You wish you could take it for what it is, and not crave more.

Selfish, maybe you were selfish?

Foolish and selfish for carrying on knowing better.

You hadn’t texted him back yet today, you don’t know how to be casual in your messages, not when you remember his arms around you in your sleep, not when you crave their warmth. You have a life and a career to focus on, you can’t let him consume all your waking thoughts, fantasies of him wanting more, of him asking you to be with him flitting like day dreams. 

“Miss…” Your attention is drawn as a colleague says your name, knocking on your open door then. “A potential client is here, are you available?”

“Oh, yes. Sure!” You shake yourself out of it, smiling and then faltering as you see him, right in your office, and the secretary walks off, whispering about the handsome, tall white haired man to her friend, earning giggles as Satoru stands there, drop dead fucking gorgeous in front of you.

“No greeting, kinda rude pookie.” He says with a little playful smile, stepping further inside your office now, as you try to gather any of your wits.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?” You ask softly, curious how he knows exactly where you work, aside from maybe seeing it on your socials.

Satoru Gojo is standing right in front of your desk with a grin on his face, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, white dress shirt unbuttoned just two little rows, revealing some of his well muscled chest, where that necklace he always wears lays flat. He’s got on black, round shades, blue eyes glinting as the floor to ceiling window shines light in your office, filtering around his frame.

The man looks unfairly good.

“Well, sweets, I really need a good OF banner and some promo pictures all done for me, thought I’d come here. Support your hustle, since you support mine.” He smirks a bit as he speaks, sauntering closer, hands now resting on either side of your desk, the veins popping out of his forearms and drawing your attention. “You’re the best at it, aren’t you?”

“Oh I doubt all that, but I can definitely help you.” You stand up now too, and Satoru sees your cute little work outfit, a pretty blouse he’d like to rip off you, a pencil skirt that he’s aching to see from the back, and a little belt to cinch it. Your glasses match your blouse today, he has to wonder how many pairs you have, these have this cute little cat eye shape to them.

You bend over in front of him, giving his eyes just the view he was dying for, before pulling one of the gray office chairs over next to you, patting it with a soft smile at him. “I get to see it in action?”

“You do, come on.” He sits next to you, arms resting casually, while you cross one leg over the other and start typing away on your keyboard, clicking that mouse and pulling up your program, trying to ignore how good he smells, his cologne so familiar and intoxicating, filling your little office then.

“Look at you, so professional. So cute.” He teases softly, a hand brushing against your bare thigh then, making you clench them together and shift, biting on that lower lip at the sensations.

It’s been a few days since you were under him, but the thoughts wrack through your fucking mind every night before bed, several times throughout the day, cunt responding right along with your nipples pressing against your bra. Just one brush of his fingers and you come undone, you can’t stand how deeply little things affect you from him.

You have to focus.

“What all were you thinking?” You murmur softly, he hums to himself a bit, looking at his phone now, still not removing his hand, burning your skin casually while he scrolls, leaning back in the seat.

“You did the one for Jenna, right?” You nod, and he pulls it up, it’s all brightly lit with a neon glow, Jenna’s in the sexiest little outfit, little kisses covering around her body. “It’s really cute.”

“Thanks, I loved doing that one. So we will need a somewhat safe photo, they do have banner guidelines.”

“Yeah, I think I have some, help me pick?” You nod, leaning close as he scrolls, your shoulders brushing together, he can feel your heat even mid thigh, thumb running in tantalizing little circles as he scrolls through his photos.

You blush furiously at some of them, some are his cock, covered in cum, some are of him fully nude, others he’s precariously got something barely covering his cock. “You have a lot of photos, Satoru.”

“Part of the job I guess.” You sigh, as he keeps scrolling, pulling up a couple photos where he’s laying on the bed.

“Those are really good, email a couple to me?” You hand him the business card with your personal email, he types it in, removing his hand and allowing you a breath, as you pull up your email on one of your monitors, you catch Nanami talking to one of your coworkers and eyeing you with a smile, which you return with a wave.

Satoru glares at you as you do, he’s showing you him half naked and you wanna wave your cute little fingers at the boring business guy? Who is smirking at you again, and boy does Satoru wanna wipe that smirk off his face. He clears his throat then, earning your attention finally, you look at him curiously, blinking a bit, letting your hand fall.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, and he goes to just say it - he wants all your attention, just like he can’t help but give you all of his - but that’s fucking nuts.

You’re friends.

You’re his friend, a friend he wants to bend over this desk right now and fuck your insides up, have your pussy only know his shape and no one else’s. A friend who he jerks off too rather than focus on his career, who he has to picture to do anything, a friend he just had his cock deep inside the other day. A friend he wanted to bust inside and fill up till she couldn’t walk.

Maybe if he filled you with cum now, you wouldn’t giggle and smile at the blond dude giving Satoru a fucking side eye across your office, maybe you’d be so fucked out you wouldn’t give him the time of day. He throbs behind his boxers thinking of it, of cum drooling from your pretty little hole, all while you blink at him curiously, so fucking innocent and not knowing how you’re killing him.

“Satoru, you good?” You tease, as his jaw clenches, a thin blue vein popping out under his thin pale skin.

“Great, sweets, sorry. Want any of these?” He scrolls through the rest slowly, until you see pictures of Satoru with women, making you tense as he casually moves through. “They’re from a while ago,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t make you feel any better, seeing videos unplayed of certain shoots he’s done. “I usually post clips for the paid members and then charge them for the full vid.”

“Right, no that makes sense.” You look away now, the sight of Satoru with someone makes you far too uncomfortable, and it shouldn’t. “Um, these in the email will do great.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you, feeling how tense you are next to him. “I’m sorry, did that make you… uncomfortable?”

“What!? No way. It’s so cool with me.” You smile brightly, but it doesn’t hit your eyes, even behind the glass where he can see his own reflection. “You know I’m still a little um… shy about that stuff. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He repeats softly, and you give a quick nod.

“I’ll get more used to it helping you out, plus Suguru’s um… I think she’s his friend or co-star? She asked me to do a shoot and a design too.”

“Oh shit, look at you.” You smile again, relaxing a little. “You’re just diving into the industry.”

“I wouldn’t say all that,” you start expanding the photo on the computer, flustered at just how sexy he was, shirtless and glistening with sweat, vivid images smacking you of the other night. “I guess I am getting a little involved, though.”

“Yeah you are, oh, we made more money by the way.” He transfers it to your app then, and your eyes widen.

“That much!?”

He leans close, too fucking close, lips right against your ear, which are pounding with the rate your pulse is racing. “I told you, that pretty body is made for porn.”

You tremble just a bit, trying to focus, pulling away and taking a breath - you are at work. You can’t just be soaking wet next to a pornstar you have stupid feelings for, who’s eyeing you like you’re already naked, the way only he can ever. You try to gather yourself, clearing your throat and swiping away the screen, to think you made more in ten minutes with Satoru than a month at your job was ridiculous.

“I see why you enjoy the perks I guess of your business.” You say softly, still remembering those girls on his phone and hating how you feel. “Any shoots coming up for you?”

His jaw tenses once more, eyes bright as they study you. “You wanna do another shoot?”

“What!? No… I mean, no. I just meant… with someone else.” You stare at the screen, clacking away on your mouse as you start to add colors and overlays to the pretty banner.

“I got my manager to calm down a bit finally, so none currently, but… of course I will have shoots coming up eventually.” You hate how the thoughts rush, and he eyes you carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation while I do this.” You’re lying, through your fucking teeth, but you don’t want to fuck it up, being around him, being near him, with your feelings.

Your whole life is that - feeling so much, too much, for friends, family, strangers even. You were prone to donate even when you were broke because someone got your feelings, some people took advantage over the years of that kindness, but you never could guard yourself properly, not when it was a core part of who you were. Not when there was no other option for you but to care, and care deeply.

Does Satoru Gojo care?

Were you just a co-star to him now? A co-star and a friend?

What did you expect from this?

Too much.

“You’re very quiet, sweetheart, what’s on that smart mind of yours?” You look back over, his hand is back on your knee, he’s tilting his head just a bit, a heartbreakingly handsome face watching you.

“Sorry just a lot of thoughts in my head today, also I am a pretty quiet person at work especially,” you put a hand on his, squeezing gently and earning a quirk of his pouty lips. “With you I’m a little more open than usual.”

“I like that, you opening for me,” his murmur is too fucking seductive, and you’re sure he knows it as he studies the color dancing across your cheeks. “You open up so good for me too.”

“Do I?” His words are met with fingers slipping up between your thighs, you bite back a gasp as he touches you over the already damp cotton of your panties, thighs trapping his hand there involuntarily.

“Mmhmm, you’re a good girl, look at you,” his words are like silky, snowy lashes low over dilated eyes as he sighs just a bit, feeling your slick coat his fingertips. “Did she miss me already?”

“Did you miss me?” Your counter question makes him pause because fuck he missed you - but it terrifies him that it’s not just the sexual need, the desire, it’s so much more than that.

He did miss you in just a few days, your smile and your scent, your sweet little giggle and the way you pressed your glasses up your nose. The very energy near him that emanates from you, the way you look up at him like that, the way he feels near you. He craves it like no drug he’s ever tried, your taste and the way your skin feels, the cute little sighs you make.

He’s fighting the inevitable fact that you’ve already sunk deep, that he’s becoming obsessed with you, and he’s not sure you feel the same. Clearly you enjoy him too, but you’re no where near his level, you’re not looking his workplace up and finding him like he just did, no Satoru doesn’t even know what the fuck in possessing him lately.

All he knows is he needs you around him, near him, on him…

Wants to bury inside you but that’s not even enough.

A quiet knock sounds on the door as Nanami walks in with a silver tablet, smiling as he walks inside, barely acknowledging Satoru then. “Hey darling,"- Hey Darling - he's gonna hey darling his fucking face - "Could you check this one for me, I’d love your opinion.”

“Of course I can.” Satoru’s hand falls and his fists clench at his sides, as you lean over the desk, and your breasts spill just a bit from your neckline, he sees the hazel eyes darting down and up quickly, wanting to smack him for even looking at you. “Oh Kento, it's so good!”

“Kento?” Satoru asks softly, and Nanami clears his throat, smiling over at him like an annoyance.

“That’s my first name,” he says, Satoru glares over at you now, and you tilt your head curiously. “Something wrong?”

You call him Kento.

He does not like it.

“No, no, sorry, go ahead sweetheart, I’ll wait.” He purrs those words, winking up at you, scrolling back through his phone, zooming right in on the picture he took, his favorite, where you have cum painted all over your ass and pussy.

Kento would never fucking have that from his darling.

“Your designs are so good,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you now as the two of you peer at some of your work. “You need to give me a little advice.”

“What, no you’re so good at everything! You’re just being sweet,” your teasing giggle infuriates him, he wants to snatch you up and show who the fuck you are under, who gets to be inside you - but he holds it in.

It’s absurd.

He’s being so stupid and the worst part is he knows, but when Nanami’s big hand brushes against your back, leaning closer and murmuring something, it takes everything in him not to crash the fuck out. He tries to remember what you two are - but what the fuck even are you both?

You’d probably want someone like this Kento dude, wouldn’t you? You’d want someone with a career like yours, who clearly wants something serious, some ‘gentleman’ or so he seems. Even though Satoru is pretty fucking sure dude is not a gentleman, judging by the way his fingertips slip down your spine before his hand falls finally.

That’s when Satoru realizes he’s been holding his fucking breath.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He asks then, and Satoru’s stomach twists in knots as he watches you, shifting a bit, your weight on one foot, you look at him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

Say something, Satoru.

You want him to, fuck you want him to, but you wonder if you’re delusional when his lips turn up at the corners, and you turn back to Kento now, clearing your throat. “Um of course, dinner at eight right?”

“Mmhmm, also thought maybe go grab drinks somewhere after? If you’re still up for that.”

“We’ll see, I do get sleepy.”

You weren’t sleepy at four in the morning riding his cock the other night.

“No worries love, sounds good.” He presses a little kiss on your knuckles, walking out now and shutting the door behind him with a resounding click, leaving you both in the now quiet of your office, no noise but the shuffling of seats as you sit back down next to him.

“Where ya going?” Satoru asks, feigning ease and putting down his phone, you tense a bit, flustered.

It feels wrong to go on a date with Nanami when you just were getting Satoru’s cum spurted all over your body, doesn’t it?

But you and Satoru are not together, and he’s made it fairly clear when he has turned down two opportunities to stop you from it, that perhaps he doesn’t care. You still plan to be open with Nanami about this, because you don’t think it’s right not to share that sort of thing, but to close yourself off completely to a potential match in life for just sex wasn’t something you think was good to do either.

It’s a mess. Your mind, your feelings, your heart.

“I don’t know where we’re going, he is picking me up.” Your answer makes Satoru’s jaw tense, eyes flashing for just a moment over the sunglasses that have slipped down his nose just a bit.

“Oh?” His question just lingers in the air between you both, while you bite on your lip, clicking a little more.

“Yes, somewhere nice he said but I guess it’s a surprise. Do you have any plans tonight?”

“We’re all supposed to go to a party, maybe you should swing by after your date with Kento.”

“I guess I could.” You wonder if you’re imagining the inflection in his voice and in his tone. “Does he rub you the wrong way or something?”

“Just… no, I just…” Satoru never stutters, he never falters, but he can’t think of any good fucking reason he is so upset, so angry about it. He clears his throat and settles back in the chair a bit. “Be careful, though, you know?”

“Are you so worried about me?” You peek at him, hair falling across your face, Satoru brushes it back for a moment, lips parting, aching to say it.

Don’t go.

But he has no right to do that to you, to ask you to come with him instead, to have you so weak and fucked out you wouldn’t make it to your stupid date. In fact he’d love to have cum pouring from your pretty pussy, just in case Nanami touched you at all, which he very much doubts. But if he did, the thought of him just fingering Satoru’s cum gives him a sick and possessive thrill.

“Maybe I do worry a bit.” But you should be most worried about him, he’s the one that is truly not good for you, and he knows it. But how the fuck does he stay away when you’re pulling him in like gravity?

“He seems to be a gentleman. I think I’ll be perfectly safe, but it’s nice to know you care a little.” Your soft voice breaks off, he glares now at you.

“Think I don’t at all?”

“I don’t know your feelings, Satoru. You don’t… say anything really about them.” He looks away again, because before all of this, Satoru was once ‘in love’ and that girl destroyed him.

She was a pornstar herself.

It’s why he got in the industry, but her games and lies had left their mark, he knew then he didn’t wanna feel that way - to be hurt like that. But what he feels for you is different, it’s too much to explain, the obsessive nature of his thoughts were just burning up his brain. But he doesn’t need to spill it all, to explain it all - especially when he doesn’t even know what to say.

You just sigh a bit at his silence, tilting your head this way and that, fingers clicking the mouse as you adjust everything, trying to avoid the tension. “Look, what do you think so far?”

“It looks great, sweetheart.”

“Yay!” Your cute little smile and how you push up those glasses almost end him then and there. “I’ll make a couple different so you can alternate them. Want me to send them to your email later?”

“That would be amazing, how much?”

“Oh please, don’t ask me that. It’s nothing.” He frowns a bit at you.

“It’s your job.”

“Still, you’re my…” You trail off, the tension so palpable in the room as he stares at you it’s difficult to breathe. “Friend. Um, friend and family rate applies.”

“I’ll pay full price, sweets.” He pats your head affectionately, standing then and sending you far too much money.

“Satoru!”

“What? I looked up your rates online.” You roll your eyes at him, then frown as you stand as well, and his hand drifts down your arm slowly, achingly slow, in a ‘friendly gesture if anyone could see, but it felt far more than friendly.

“How did you find my work by the way?”

“Socials showed the company, I figured it was the one closest to where you said you lived.” He shrugs, as if he didn’t do a deep dive into you, and found that fucking Kento guy on the company site too, he was apparently your ‘superior’ so it’s odd he’s asking you for help, too.

He can’t reveal just how much he cares, how upset you haven’t come back over, how your replies were a little too short, even if they were sweet. Because if he said all of that he’d look like a whole fucking idiot, if he said casually ‘hey, think I’m absolutely obsessed with you and my dick is otherwise broken’ what would your response be, to a guy you still barely knew?

He needed to try to keep some of his obsession shoved down.

“Oh of course, you are probably on IG huh?” You peek then, looking him up, eyes popping out. “Oh damn, you’re IG famous too.”

“They’re thirsty is all.” You smile a bit, scrolling and seeing his sexy photos with millions of fucking hearts and thousands of comments.

“I’ll follow you, I don’t know why I didn’t think of looking you up. I’m social media clueless I’m afraid. I have like three selfies, the rest is just all the things I bake.”

Your three pictures at awkward angles are the prettiest things Satoru has ever fucking seen.

Your manager walks in then, smiling over at you. “Meeting in thirty.”

“Oh, thanks!” Satoru sighs now, realizing he needed to leave, and you put a hand on his shoulder softly. “Thank you for coming in, I’ll have the rest of these done later.”

“No rush, and of course,” he leans down, pressing a kiss on your cheek, feeling it heat under his lips, sighing as his hand presses against the small of your back, where Nanami had touched, splaying the expanse of it and hearing your catch of breath. “If you want, come to the party after, hmm?”

“I might be too tired,” tired from what!? Satoru pulls you so tightly you wince, and he loosens his hold when he realizes. “But if not I’ll for sure come.”

“Be careful tonight, though will you… just tell me when you get home?” You pull back curiously, looking up into his unreadable blue gaze, nodding then, earning a more casual smile that seems forced. “Good. Have a good… day then.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You press a kiss of your own on his cheek, on your tiptoes, that contact alone sends him, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he pulls back, slipping his sunglasses back up.

“Bye sweetheart.” He walks out, glaring as Nanami clacks away at his own keyboard, pressing his dark green shades down and smirking over at Satoru again, and he is even more firm in his opinion  - he thinks he hates that man, even if he doesn’t know shit about him.

Just having touched you is too much. When he’s in the back seat of the black car and his driver closes the partition, he can’t help but suck on his thumb, which has just the hint of your taste. He brushes it along his lower lip like a gloss, sighing at how good you taste. It takes him moments to try to calm his racing heart, palming his hardness and wincing.

All he can think of is you, constantly. It’s not getting any better since he had you cumming on his cock - it’s just gotten worse, the thoughts maddening, making anything else impossible to focus on. He peers at your photo in his phone, not just the one where he’s coated you in his cum, no it’s the one that’s just your pretty face when you’d been knocked out that morning.

He’s now a creep who takes photos of sleeping girls.

But you were so precious and peaceful, he had to capture it, craving you in his arms every night was even more palpable, as his thumb brushes down the cool glass of his phone, as if to trace that cheek. He can’t picture not having you again, but he also can’t picture how the fuck to be selfish enough to ruin your life with him.

******

The date with Nanami is perfect, as dates go.

He’s surprisingly so funny, he’s an avid listener, the two of you get along so well it’s easy being out together, taking nibbles of each other’s plates and sips of each other’s glasses of wine. His hand is on your thigh under the table cloth, he murmurs sweet little things in your ear, the two of you tease and gossip about the crazy people at your job.

It’s perfect, really. Nanami Kento is perfect, handsome and sweet, gentlemanly but he’s also not too gentlemanly, hazel eyes darting across your collarbones, where a pretty glittery necklace decorates it. His fingers brush up high on your inner thigh, his lips press against the shell of your ear, he’s too perfect. It’s too easy, the time just flies as you two spend time together.

Satoru texts you as Nanami goes to the bathroom, and you curse him internally, since he’s been in the back of your mind the whole fucking date. He’s texted you three times during the date, one is just a selfie, one is a little meme, and one is asking how it was going. You assumed he’d be busy with women all over him at the party, not texting you.

You get another asking for you to tell him when you’re home safe.

You like it too much, the attention, the messages, the fact that he thinks about you - but then you hate it, because all it was doing was forcing the obsession you so clearly have. Jenna told you not to lose yourself, she warned you, but you’re fearing you’re far, far past it all.

All you can think of is kissing him again.

His teases in the office left their mark, you found yourself aching in your shower after work, caving in and touching your puffy clit and sensitive cunt, whining out and leaning against those tiles, picturing his fingers instead. You’d been more frustrated than anything, unable to capture whatever it was he does to you.

You were never like this before you met him.

Satoru awakened a part of you, but if it was just a part of you and nothing else, then why weren’t you turned on by Nanami? He’s made you comfortable, you enjoy him, all the reasons you asked Satoru are right here, yet the thoughts don’t cross your mind, the feverish ones that consume you with Satoru - the filthy ones that make you blush as they dance across your mind.

You don’t write him back, you can’t focus if you do and it’s not fair to give Nanami a chance if you have that white-haired sex demon blurring your mind.

When the dinner is done, Nanami is driving you back home, a hand over yours, it’s nice and warm, as the two of you drive through the night, your hand grips his right back, entwining your fingers together. “Nanami, that was so fun!”

“I had a lot of fun too, doesn’t hurt you’re looking that gorgeous.” You giggle a bit, flustered now, as he pulls into your driveway and parks the car, still gently humming in the night.

“You look handsome too,” your little whisper is met with him unsnapping your seat belt for you, his cologne in your senses, musky and heady, you can’t help but inhale it. “And you smell so good.”

“Do I now?” You nod and he chuckles, cupping your face with his warm palm, a huge hand taking over the entirety of your face, your heart quickens at the contact as his hazel eyes dart to your lips.

You’d explained it all, the ‘friends with benefits’ thing that you suppose Satoru and you were. Nanami also has a similar situation, which instantly eased any sense of guilt, and his open mind surprised you, a lot of him surprised you, just how open he is when he seemed so ‘straight laced’ along with his touches, bold yet respectful.

You should be open to this.

What was the future with Satoru? More shoots in secret? Sneaking around and fucking in his penthouse and getting pampered after? Where was more - where were the dates where you weren’t ‘friends’ where you were his date. Where if a co star came up he ignored her politely, and if a man came up to you he firmly said ‘she is mine’.

It’s all a fucking fantasy is what it was.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning forward and feeling Nanami’s exhale, as he presses his lips to yours, and it feels good, they’re firm and delicate in how they move across yours. Your lips part and his tongue sweeps inside, while your fingers grip his suit jacket, earning him dragging you closer against him, so big and overpowering yet so gentle.

It does feel good, tongues dancing against each other, his hand wrapping to your nape, entangling softly under where your hair is elegantly done up, drinking up your little sighs as you kiss. You feel delicate butterflies arise at it, but what you don’t feel is the insanity, the ridiculous need, the obsession you felt when Satoru had kissed you, touched you, fuck just that night when he blew smoke into your mouth.

You keep trying to explain it away, so you’re not hurt, so you won’t be so fucking hurt when he gets tired of you, but how can you get over this? When he was just at your office, fucking your mind up, making you soaked from his touch? How can you keep denying it, the irrevocable truth that you wish was not true.

Nanami’s hand trails down your waist now, and you moan softly, it feels good, when you’re overheated already, when the man clearly knows what he’s doing, breaking apart a bit to sigh, looking at you, his hand trailing down your thigh. “You taste so sweet, darling,” he whispers, making you flush even more. “And you’re so cute, you know that?”

“Oh, stop,” Yyu giggle again, gasping as he kisses down your neck, his hand slipping between your thighs. “Nanami…”

“You’re so hot there, fuck,” he’s moaning now, thumb toying with the elastic of your panties, making your thighs tense.

“Um, this is too fast, I’m sorry.” You whisper, easing back, seeing his lidded gaze now.

“I wasn’t going to… I was just going to please you.” He murmurs softly, sexy handsome face even sexier when he bites his lip. “I wasn’t going to do more than make you cum.”

“Oh… oh… I…” you trail off now, gently taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, he tenses a bit, clearing his throat.

“I was way too forward, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You ease his hand down, leaning forward and kissing the cleft on his chin.

If it was Satoru you’d have spread wide for him.

The frustration builds at this, your heart is hammering in your chest, it wasn’t just being comfortable with Satoru, it wasn’t just being his friend - there was no fucking way that was it. Now you have the proof in front of you, your body is reacting to Nanami, your nipples are pressing hard against your dress, your cunt is clenching at his touch, it wasn’t physically you wouldn’t enjoy it.

It was the case you’d always had - without more you couldn’t go through with it.

Nothing’s changed in how you feel or think of sex, like you thought, the only thing was the fucking feelings for Satoru.

Deep feelings.

You can’t even think of it right now, smiling and cupping Nanami’s face now, as your lips dance across his. “I loved tonight.”

“Thank god, I was worried I just ruined it.” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“Not at all.”

It wasn’t his fault you’re obsessed with a goddamn pornstar.

******

Parties aren’t fun when the girl you can’t get off your mind is with some boring ass business guy named Kento.

Satoru can hardly focus, sipping on his drink and sighing while Suguru kisses all over his favorite co-star. Sartoru is pretty sure at this point they’re together, considering the only time she’s not over at the penthouse is when Suguru is at her house, and she’s all Suguru talks about. He’s envious of the way the two freely do just that, be together, do shoots together more than not.

His other co-stars and friends are drinking, smoking, Sukuna is over there snorting a line off his favorite girl, leaving Satoru…

Alone.

He ignores anyone who comes up to him, how can he pay anyone attention when he knows you exist? When he wants you on his lap, your lips against his for everyone to fucking see, he wouldn’t even care if rumors went flying, he’s dealt with them before for lesser things, for little flings and favorite costars.

He just wants you here.

He checks his phone for the millionth time when Toji comes up, smirking over at him. “What do you want?” Satoru asks, pouting and looking at his phone.

“Saw that co-star of yours going viral, shit, why are you keeping her a secret?” Satoru’s jaw locks at Toji’s question, and Sukuna strolls up with his girl in tow, throwing back a drink.

“Wonder if she got your dick to work though, or you still need the viagra?” Sukuna asks, his girl gasps, smacking at him.

“That’s so mean!”

“What, he couldn’t get hard for you? That’s a problem,” Sukuna’s murmuring, and Satoru sighs, throwing back the rest of his drink.

“That why you’re just eating her out, then, but fuck that pussy is pretty,” Satoru almost punches Toji in the face as the black haired man grins. “I’m way older than you and don’t need viagra.”

“You are old as fuck.” Satoru says, standing and shoving at Toji then, who just chuckles, people are all looking, Suguru comes over, putting a hand on Satoru’s shoulder now.

“What’s going on, you all are always running your mouths.” Suguru glares over at Toji and Sukuna now, who snort in laughter.

“Well, well, it’s your girlfriend.” Sukuna earns Suguru raising a brow, cracking his knuckles. “Girlfriend is angry.”

“I’m about over you two running it.”

“We were just talking about his mysterious co-star.” Suguru frowns a bit, he’d seen the stream and put two and two together, and hasn’t spoken about it. “Wondering if his dick will work.”

“You’re really obsessed with my dick, Toji, you want it that bad?” Satoru’s blue eyes are glinting when Toji scowls and Suguru chuckles.

“It’s the ongoing joke of the industry- the biggest star and his broken dick. We should thank you though, making room for us to take the spot.” Sukuna says, Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you wish.”

“I’d say that title would go to me, anyway.” Suguru’s co-star comes over, and he wraps an arm around her, looking over at Satoru. “Wanna go home with us?”

Satoru pauses, staring at his phone again and sighing in relief when he sees you typing, three dots moving. “Um… wait a sec…”

Sukuna and Toji finally leave, and Suguru is watching Satoru curiously. “Is she coming to the party?”

“No, guess she’s tired.” Satoru’s face falls, he catches his best friend’s all too knowing gaze. “She had a date.”

“Why don’t you ask her on one?” Suguru’s co-star asks curiously, Satoru frowns again.

“How could I?”

“We can still date, Gojo. Can’t we, Suguru?” She asks, and Satoru looks to see his friend’s blush then, eyeing the two of them, blue gaze narrowing with his white lashes lowering.

“It’s easier when you’re both in the industry I guess.” Suguru admits, sighing. “I was fully against it, but we still deserve to be happy, even if our career is a little out of the norm.”

“That’s a quick change.” Satoru says, Suguru shrugs a bit.

“I know it is. Satoru, nothing's changing in our friendship because of it.” Satoru’s seething with jealousy, now. Suguru and him began this together, and something about him having a girl and them looking so happy makes him long for you.

Toji’s comment made Satoru want to kill him.

In fact he doesn’t even want to know what anyone thinks, all the comments had gotten to him as he scrolled through - the men in there, saying how badly they wanted to lick your pretty pussy. But he’s the one who did this, who put you in that position, who the fuck was he to get upset that people commented? That’s what porn was, but at the same time, it was you.

Was he changing you? The shy, sweet girl he feels such a pull toward, was Satoru Gojo changing that? The thoughts make him dizzy, suddenly the entire party just feels like the worst place to be, people he used to enjoy and have fun with, now he wants to disappear, he doesn’t want to see them, hear them. He swallows down the nausea as he peers around yet another mansion.

What was the point of it all?

“Satoru, let’s go. You look like you’ve had too much.” Suguru murmurs, a hand on his shoulder, he finally looks at your messages.

Good Girl🫦 - Sorry Satoru, I am really tired and don’t think I have any more social battery for a party. I hope you’re having fun though! I am home and safe. 

Satoru hovers over the screen now, contemplating.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Do you want me to come over to your place?

You nervously look at the phone then, finishing slipping off your heels and hanging up your purse.

Satoru at your place?

Good Girl🫦 - You probably want to stay there I’m sure. Maybe we can do lunch or something tomorrow? I don’t want to ruin your party.

🌽🌟 Satoru - You don’t ruin anything. Ever.

He feels sick even typing it, being vulnerable, fuck he wants to see you, just you, not in an office or at a party or even with a friend. He just wants to see you.

Are you not alone, he wonders then, sicker and sicker, thinking of that man around you, he knows you’re a good girl, but did you invite him back for a drink? The thoughts won’t stop, he can clearly see him kissing you, touching you, maybe he’d make love to you where Satoru fucked you, maybe that’s what you deserved over him, but he’s too selfish to admit it.

Satoru wants to just worship you.

Maybe he should show you.

Maybe you’re already over him.

Maybe-

“Satoru, you’re just standing there, dude. Are you good?” He blinks into realization that he’s having an entire existential crisis mid party, blinking a bit as he waits for your response.

Good Girl🫦 - I don’t mind if you want to come over, if you’re not too far away you’re more than welcome to.

You send it after deleting three messages.

Satoru, will you ever… want more than sex?

I want you to come over so bad, I do, but I’m afraid of my feelings…

Are you sure you want to come over to see me or just have…

You had deleted them immediately, you can’t fucking say all that. You sit down now on your living room couch, tucking your feet under yourself and sighing, hair falling softly as you unclip it, setting the pretty gold butterfly pins attached on your little black table. What would Satoru think of your place?

It’s tiny, it’s neat and homey surely, but it’s nothing like his luxurious penthouse, LA was expensive and you were doing good enough to afford it. You frown a bit, wondering what he’s going to say.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Shoot me your address.

You nervously nibble on your thumb, doing just that, when Nanami texts you, the feelings of guilt come clawing. Though you were very open with Nanami about the situation, you’re not sure you can even be open to anything with Satoru fucking up your brain and heart.

Nanami - Thank you again for such a good night, I hope you had fun.

You smile at that, touching your lips carefully, remembering his kiss, passionate and surprising in its intensity. He is handsome, funny, he’s sweet, and the kisses felt nice, you were comfortable with him, all the things you tried to explain why you were so open being intimate with Satoru. It was just that, right?

Wrong.

If it was, then what was stopping you from letting Nanami please you earlier, when if Satoru touched you, you melted, you let him do anything he wanted. You’d let him do whatever, you’re not even sure he himself knows the power he has. How can you explain it all, how can you tie it in a neat bow, knowing the underlying reason is brimming to the surface?

Knowing the pain that was soon to come from it, from being in love with someone that will never see you as more than a friend or someone to fuck. To him, this is some physical connection - surely it’s enough that he only wants to sleep with you, but would that really be enough, when you can’t stop remembering how it felt to wake up in his embrace, to watch him asleep?

You- I had so much fun, thank you for tonight. I would love to spend time again with you.

It was the truth, you couldn’t completely close yourself off, that was what Jenna was warning you about. You had to still keep your ideas and options open, to learn from Satoru and enjoy him, this was ultimately your idea, and to have more expectations of Satoru, or to change him? It wasn’t fair to ask or want, you have to shove it all deep, deep inside instead.

Nanami - Good night then, I can’t say I won’t think about that kiss tonight.

You feel your cheeks heat up at that, giggling alone in your quiet townhome, sighing now.

You - Good night.

The doorbell rings, it’s far too fast from anywhere in LA to be Satoru, you tense a bit as you walk over barefoot to your door, over your soft carpet onto the little tile of the entryway, hand on the knob. You unlock it and swing it open, to see a serious Satoru right in your doorway, bathed in moonlight, his eyes looking right at yours, like he’s looking for something, anything.

“Satoru, that was stupidly quick, how?” His eyes flit down your pretty silver dress, glittering like the stars themselves, looking far too fucking pretty on you, clinging to your curves.

“Fuck you look beautiful,” you heat up, looking down nervously, you don’t have your glasses on, you are wearing some pretty silver eyeshadow too, glittering as the light reflects along your skin.

“Thank you, Satoru, you’re always being too sweet to me,” he wants to laugh at that, how is he sweet to you? He’s probably not shit, if he’s being honest, his hands sweating just slightly at the rush job he’d done to get here. “Come in.”

“That okay?” He looks around a bit, and you smile, nodding, shutting the door behind him and clicking the lock, when you feel him right against you, his hands sliding down your bare arms, making you tremble. Just a touch and you fall apart, you wish you weren’t so pathetic for him. “Your skin, it’s so soft,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder now.

“Is it?” You look back, he cups your chin, a thumb brushing against where your pulse races for him.

“Very, it always is. The softest, like your lips.” You swallow nervously as he speaks, as his thumb rushes across it, and you can’t hold back your fears.

“Did you come to fuck me?” He exhales at that, blinking then, the words feel so foreign from your lips. “I want you to, so you don’t have to… act like you want to hang out. We can just do it.”

“What?” His word cuts through the air, and you reach around, tugging on the little bow around your dress, letting it fall, looking up at him under your lashes.

“Unzip me, Satoru. If you want to.” This was what he ‘wanted’ right? To fuck you, to be inside you, but to hear you say it…

Like that…

He…

“You think I don’t enjoy spending time with you?” He turns you around instead, huge hands on your delicate shoulders, pressing tightly. You look away, shaking your head. “You just said that.”

“It’s clear you wanted to fuck me at work, so… I just figured you came over to do that. It’s what we do, and I enjoy it, I’m not complaining.” He doesn’t like a single fucking word from your mouth, especially the next ones. “Or did you want to do another shoot? I do have a ring light.”

Is that all you think he wants?

He’s sputtering now, when your hands slip down his front, over his soft black shirt, his strong abdomen tenses as you do, as one slips under, fingers touching his hot skin. “I will do another one if you want to.”

“Yeah, why?” He’s leaning so low, lips hovering. “Are you all horned up from the date?”

“Would you care if I was?” Your whisper almost ends him, he’s pressing you against the hard, cool wood of your door, his soft white hair falling over a brow, jaw so tense you can see it. “Don’t you get excited from your co-stars?”

No he sure the fuck doesn’t.

“How’d that date go?” His whisper dances across your lips, hands slipping to your waist now, thumbs pressing against the swell of your breasts over satin. “Have fun huh?”

“I did have fun,” you look right at him as you whisper. “He was sweet.”

“Was he?” He presses his forehead against yours, breaths mingling as they come out in little exhales. “Did he kiss you?”

“Yes, he did.” He glares now, leaning back up, a hand slipping up your back and entangling in your hair, making it fall back.

He has no right to be jealous, his job was to fuck women.

He has no right to be jealous, you’re not his.

He has no right to feel this way.

“Did you like it, his kisses?” Satoru’s words are met with him tugging harder at the nape of your neck, and your heart hammers in your chest, body aching for him, but it’s more, and you can’t let it be more.

“He was a good kisser, yes.”

“Oh, that so?” You nod, and he traces your lips with his thumb, seeing they’re soft and glossy. “Huh, when we kiss, they get swollen, red, they look so perfect.”

“Do they?” You raise a brow, acting like you’re not dying for him, like you don’t need him, with a longing that is frightening. He is so close you can taste the mints on his breath, mixed with the faint taste of liquor. “Need a drink, Satoru?”

“I do, I’m thirsty.” You go to move when he shoves you back against the door once more, sinking to his knees, you gasp at the action, when he shoves up your dress and glares at you. “Hold it up, now.”

You do just that, with shaky hands, when he looks at your white lace panties, moaning at the dark wet spot forming before his eyes, fingers brushing across it. “Satoru…”

“Need a drink, you’ll be a good host to your guest, won’t you?” His whisper is met with his tongue lapping over lace and silk, and your hands drop the dress, clinging to him instead. “I said hold up the dress.”

“Satoru, we- ah!” He grips your hands, shoving up the silver dress again, then slowly slipping those panties down your thighs, blue eyes almost black with desire, while you can hardly function or form a thought.

It’s all need, deep and hot.

Satoru bares your pretty cunt to his face, groaning at the sight, breath hitting your clit as he spreads your plump lips, eyeing your twitchy little clit and flicking his finger across it in slow circles, making you pour out of your little hole. “Is all this wetness from that hot date, sweetheart?” He asks, knowing it’s toxic, petty, stupid, but he can’t stop himself from it.

What the fuck do you do to him?

“No, it’s not.” Your answer is what he needed, latching his mouth on your clit and sucking it into his mouth, humming on it and sending vibrations of pleasure, you scream out at it, head thwacking the door while he hoists a thigh over his shoulder, one hand gripping your ass while the other holds your hood up. “Satoru!”

He moans as you cry out his name, slurping you up as you go boneless in his fucking hold, hips bucking up as the pleasure is blinding, you’re gasping out as the dress is bunched up in one hand, the other clinging to his other shoulder. You’re rolling your eyes back in your skull, pleasure so fucking exquisite you can hardly stand, can hardly see, while Satoru worships you on his knees.

It’s what it felt like.

How he looks at you, how he drinks you, tongue lapping at the juices that pour down his face, and you can’t form a word or a thought, just how much you love it, how much you love-

Fuck.

You tried, you tried to pull back, to make it just sex, but how the fuck can you when you’re lost in those blue and black storms of eyes, when he’s got you in a bruising grip, working your body like he’s always known it? You’re cursing internally as you rock against his face, earning his moan of pleasure as he works you into an orgasm, hitting you so hard your head smacks the door hard.

“Fuck, fuck! Mnh!”

“You’re a good girl, where’s that mouth coming from?” He yanks you down then, you almost fall on him as you lose balance, cunt pulsing from aftershocks as his eyes are unreadable, and he’s gripping your face tightly.

“Satoru…” Your words are cut off with his kiss, his deep, brutal kiss, not teasing and playful, or passionate and intense, no he’s bruising your lips with his, flipping you on your back right onto your carpet, now hovering on top of you. “We… I have a bed, Satoru!”

“We’ll get there,” his voice is hoarse as you sink into the carpet under him, and he’s yanking down your top, seeing where his marks still litter your pretty breasts, making him fucking feral as he sucks one peak into his mouth. Your hands entangle in his hair, hips arching up for more. “Look, sweetheart, your tits are so bruised, I’m sorry I left so many…”

“You’re… I…” He’s sinking his teeth into your nipple, the pain making you cry out, cunt gushing wetter and wetter when his fingers find you, two sinking right in down to the knuckle, and your cunt greedily sucks him in, despite the stretch, the burn. “Mnh!”

He presses sloppy kisses to your other breast, before biting and sucking in more places, knowing what the fuck he’s doing, the thoughts of if that man got to see your breasts, they’d be marked by him, filling his addled mind. The thoughts of marking you fucking everywhere driving him insane while he slots his fingers in your gummy, drenched walls, hearing the squishing in the room.

“Kiss me, please,” your sweet plea ends him, he’s kissing lips he wished didn’t kiss anyone else, tongue slipping into your mouth in a mess, knowing you need it, fuck he just knows you, all of you, where to curl those fingers so you cum again, as he’s curling them against your spot. “Ah! Satoru!”

“Fuck,” the way you say his name, your moans, your cries, he’s lost in them all, in your scent in his nostrils, in the taste coating his lips and tongue. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, use your words.”

“Ngh!” How do you find the words, desperately shoving up his shirt, knowing you’re falling deeper for him, all him, he’s all you can fucking think about.

You’re going to get hurt.

Worse if you fuck him again.

He pulls his fingers out, sucking you off him and making you weak, before pulling the shirt off, his necklaces brushing against your collarbones as he leans over you, grinding his clothed cock against your heated cunt. “Please!”

“Please what, baby?” Satoru is calling you baby, and your thighs are shaking as he presses again, making you grind desperately for friction. “Use your words.”

“In me, please, in me.” You manage to spit those words out, in between gasps and moans, he has his heavy cock against you in moments with quick, precise tugs on his buttons and belt, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his cock against your inner thigh. “P-please…”

“I’ll give you anything when you ask like that,” his vulnerability spills out before he can swallow it, looking at your heartbreakingly beautiful face, at the way the soft lights overhead glitter on your skin, while his cock presses on your entrance. “Want all of me, baby?”

“All of it - f-fuck!” He’s slid in one stroke to the fucking hilt, stuffing you so full you’re twitching under him, gasping for breath as he moans at the feeling, of your cervix kissing his tip that’s already leaking pre, watching the way your eyes go black from desire, how your nostrils flare, how you bite that lip.

“Can you even take me? Tiny little cunt, is she able to?” He’s taunting you, but all you can do is nod weakly, when he slides out, then fully back in with a loud, squelching smack of his hips, your screams are hoarse and weak after three thrusts, nails digging into his back and making him hiss as you mark him yourself.

A petty fucking part of you hopes if he does a shoot a girl will see them.

See your nails that press again, into his biceps this time, and you just urge him on, fucking into your cunt harder, faster, leaning up on a hand while his other grips your chin. “Look at me when I fuck your perfect little pussy, huh?”

You barely find the ability to open your eyes, knowing your done for, knowing when you look into those pretty eyes you’re fucked worse. But you obey, earning his moan, his plump lips parted as he slams hard, now releasing your face and holding a thigh up, slamming even harder, while you fall apart under him, cunt spasming around his length as he works you.

“Fucking feel you, god you’re perfect,” he loses his control then, how can he keep any semblance of it up when he feels you, when he looks into your pretty eyes, glittering with tears as he presses so deep and rolls, and he brings you to another orgasm, one so intense you grip him like a vise, crying out as it works over you. “Good girl, god you’re so good for me huh?”

You weakly acknowledge him, but you’re already fucked out, he drags his canines along your collarbone, leaving imprints of his teeth, all while you’re helpless under him, shattering with every stroke of his huge cock stretching you. “Mnh, S-Satoru… fuck…”

“She’s taking me so well, she’s already learned my shape, hasn't she?” His whisper confuses your overheated mind, but your nod makes him go harder, faster, leaning up to watch what the silver dress has done, scrunched and wrinkled, giving him a sick satisfaction.

Nanami shouldn’t have seen you like that.

He is furious he kissed your perfect lips, but he can’t say it out loud, he can just make sure you forget that kiss, replacing his lips with yours as he lays over you, hands now on your ass, shoving in and bottoming out as much as he can. “Satoru!”

God, the way you moan his name.

“Cum again, for me, you can again baby, huh?” You answer by convulsing, all while he holds back from busting inside your cunt, images flitting through his mind, when he finally pulls back, jerking his cock slick from your drooling cunt and cumming all over your pretty pussy. “Oh f-fuck… oh my god…”

You watch Satoru fall apart, trying to collect your breaths, as you watch his cum shoot all over, hot messy white ropes, even some on your pretty dress, while he’s all pink cheeked, his lips pursed as he whimpers and looks down at you. The way he looks at you, before kissing you again, letting you drink in his breathy whines, it all feels too intimate, too much.

This can’t fucking be normal.

You can’t let it go, though.

He’s kissing you desperately, pinning your wrists to the soft carpet, as he takes lips hostage, they’re sore, tingling and swollen, just making you want more, as his cum dries sticky on your slick cunt. “Fuck you’re perfect, god, every part of you, so perfect for me,” he’s whispering, kissing you in between insane fucking words. “So perfect.”

“No,” you shake your head and he laughs, without humor, cupping your face with one hand, swiping tears that fell from pleasure. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you fucking are, it’s all I can think about, looking at that pretty face like this again.” You shake your head and he kisses you again, luring you to lose yourself, it’s all you can do to stay tethered. “I don’t just want to fuck you, I love spending time with you, and we never have to do another shoot.”

“Don’t say all of that.” You whisper, he sighs now, shaking his head.

“Say what, you’re the best I’ve had?”

“There’s no fucking way, you’ve had how many women?”

He blinks then, hearing the tone of your voice. “That makes me know even more.”

“It’s just… maybe different because… it’s not business.” Your insecurities scream out without you wanting them too, and he frowns, looking down and cursing then. “What’s wrong?”

“Your dress, this material, fuck…” He curses at how inconsiderate he’s already been, this is clearly expensive and he’s bunched it up and came all over it. “I need to clean it now or it’ll be ruined.”

“Oh… it’s fine I’ll toss it in a washer.”

“You dry clean this material, sweetheart.” He helps you up carefully, you get whiplash from him then, all sweet and caring like he didn’t just fuck your insides up, like he didn’t fuck your brains out. “Let me try?”

“Sure… just help me…” You turn around, and he eases that zipper down, fingers touching the marks left from it carefully.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asks hoarsely, seeing the marks from the door and carpet indented in your skin.

“No, I… loved it.” Your answer earns an exhale of relief, but you curse softly in your mind, knowing what you were about to say.

“You’re inexperienced, and I was really...”

“I’m good, Satoru.” You turn, dress slipping down your body, leaving him to eye you naked, and his cock damn near gets hard again under the hastily half zipped pants. “You can be rougher with me.”

“Rougher?” His brow raises, as he takes your dress, pressing little kisses across your thighs as he picks up the material. “You like it rough, sweetheart?”

“I like anything you do,” you curse then, shaking your head. “I need a drink. Here, I’ll show you over to the sink to rinse this out.” He blinks as he follows you, sighing now, and you show him the neat stainless steel sink. “It’s not a big deal, it was a dress I bought forever ago.”

“It’s still really beautiful, I bet he was dumb from how pretty you looked.” His words are hoarse, your eyes meet again. “You looked beautiful when we went out too, fuck you always do.”

“Thank you, Satoru. You always look… gorgeous too.” You expect a playful agreement, a smirk, but he’s quiet now, cleaning the white cum while you realize you’re still naked, so comfortable it was like you hardly noticed. “I’ll grab some pajamas real quick. I have nothing that would fit you I’m afraid.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?” Your eyes lock again across the kitchen.

“It’s late, you should stay. If you want.”

“Yeah?” You just nod again, so much left unspoken, both of you aching to say things, both of you unsure of your worlds anymore.

“I meant it, about a shoot, if you want.” You say then, and he exhales, looking back at the wet silver material in his hands.

“Don’t do it just for me, don’t just… change for me. I’ll be fine if we don’t do one, okay?” You hate the feeling then - he’ll be fine.

With other girls. His career. His job, his life.

How would it ever include you?

“I didn’t do it just for you, it was hot, okay? It was sexy when we watched it together…” You trail off again, and he turns off the sink, gripping your naked body with wet hands, making you squeak as he does, when he slowly walks you back, until your back is against the counter.

“You didn’t hate doing it?” His words confuse you now.

“What, no. I wouldn’t have if I hated it.”

“Would you have… for anyone else?” His next question is met with a shake of your head as your answer, eyes darting to his lips. “No one else?”

“No one else. It was for you. But I enjoyed it all. I promise you didn’t pressure me into it, okay?” He sighs in relief, kissing you again, hands all over your body until he picks you up, and you cling to his neck, thighs around his waist while your dress hangs across the sink.

“Know how bad I wanna cum inside your pussy?” He says softly, you swallow as he pulls back to look at you, your breaths coming faster.

“Do you do that?”

“No.”

You bite your lip again, taking a breath for courage.

You want him, any of him, all of him, until you can’t have him.

“Thinking of cum pouring from your pussy? God you know how much we’d make, baby? But it’s… that’s a lot to ask…”

“You want to cum inside me?” He moans, nodding desperately, and you cup his face, pressing a kiss where his cheek is burning. “I’m on the pill, if you want to.”

“Are you… sure?” You nod, letting him carry you to the bed, he’s cleaning you all up with his tongue, lapping all his cum off you, off your tummy, thorough as he feels you shaking under him.

“Favorite co-star then, huh?” You tease softly, he nods weakly, words stuck in his throat when you sit up. “What position, Satoru?”

Fuck… he doesn’t deserve to have you like this, bent over as he adjusts his phone on your light, hitting record. He’s got it angled just so it’s your ass and pussy showing, the arch just so, your face buried into your pillows, which he’s covered up with a black sheet so nothing personal shows.

“You sure, baby?”

“Yes,” is your soft whisper when he’s leaned over you, your eyes meet his, away from the camera’s view, locking. “I want to do this for you.”

“Fuck, baby…” He kisses you before he pulls back, tip brushing between your folds, before sinking in, hearing your gasp, feeling your grip. “God, you’re so tight, so pretty, look at you…”

You wonder how much is for camera, but the way he fucks you is desperate, his rhythm is off as his fingers press into the dimples on your back, as his hands slap and grip your ass, and he rocks inside you. You’re gripping the black sheet and arching for more, his balls slapping your clit with wet smacks that echo, mingling with his husky breaths and moans.

“Gonna fill you up, you want that, huh baby?” Satoru forgets he is on camera then, he forgets he’s just fucking, he can’t help but whisper how good your cunt is, how you’re the best he’s fucking had, just hoping those whispers don’t get caught, that they’re drowned out by your screams of pleasure.

He’s pulsing inside your walls, as you bury your face further, getting pumped full of his thick cock over and over in a maddening pace, the way his tip drags then ends you, your orgasm leaving you weak and breathless, and he pauses at it, whining out, something he did not do on camera. He’s hesitating, he’s never cum in someone, and he’s not sure he’s deserving of it.

Not of you at all.

You’re so perfect, so fucking pretty, so tight - and he doesn’t deserve it, any of it, having you bend over for him, spread wide, taking back shots like you were fucking made for it, for him. He’s lost as he presses your head down with one hand, muffling your breathy cries while you arch more, taking his mean strokes as he falls apart, his other hand trembling as he clings to your hip tightly.

Satoru has never felt this, losing himself, uncaring how the fuck he looked on the camera or even that there was a camera, all he can think of is filling your perfect pussy with him, of doing the one thing he has avoided all these years, but that he can’t imagine not doing. Undeserving or not, he’s closer and closer, when you’re pulsing around him from another orgasm, and your cunt is dripping more and more.

He takes a breath, feeling his cock thickening inside you, leaning back over you again, mouth whispering in your ear as he delicately brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead. “Sweetheart, are you still sure?” His soft question just sinks it further, when he looks at you like that, and you feel his cock thickening more.

You’d do anything for him.

Plus you want him to.

“I want you to cum inside me, Satoru,” your whisper ends him, he kisses your cheek, your temple, nodding as his snowy lashes lower. “Please.”

Your plea destroys Satoru, as he pulls back and grips your ass, fucking into you hard for just a few more strokes before moaning so loud, his head falling forward as he cums inside your perfect cunt. He’s never felt anything like it, like your gummy walls fluttering and milking his cock, like cumming inside you, fuck he knows then he couldn’t ever do this with anyone.

Creampies on set were notorious, but he never felt okay with it, but now he fills you so fucking much, while you’re cumming from that, the warmth of his white hot cum coating your walls, shooting against your sore, bruised cervix. You’re sobbing into the pillow, pussy pulsing as if she’s sucking up all he’s got, hearing his whine, so sexy as he slows his strokes.

“God, you took it all too, you’re such a good girl, pussy so hungry for all my fucking cum, huh?” You nod desperately, thighs shivering as he pulls out, squelching sound so filthy as his cock pulls out, swirled with your gossamer slick and his white ropes spilling already. “Oh fuck, let’s see how much you took, hmm?”

“Mnh…” you’re delirious, unable to even focus, as you feel his cum start oozing out of your hole when he spreads it, you’re sure to get the shot. You can’t even feel embarrassed, not when he has you feeling so desired, so full of him, all you can do is arch that ass more for him, lost in your high. “Y-yes,” your soft words only hit his ears just barely.

He spreads your puffy lips, groaning at the sight of his own cum pouring slowly in drips from your tiny hole. “Look how much she took, she’s so full of all my cum,” Satoru angles the camera now, catching the sight of your perfect cunt leaking his white seed slowly, his fingers drifting down to collect some of it, shoving it back inside and watching your greedy cunt suck his fingers up. “Keep it in there, sweetheart.”

“Ngh…” Your thighs shake as he shuts off the camera, flipping you now, cupping your face delicately, eyes drifting across your face, sighing as he looks at you, the imprints of the sheets against your cheek. He gently touches it.

“You sure about sharing this? I want you to make sure you know, none of this is for the fucking camera,” his words are husky, devoted, as he hands you the phone, hands you the control, all while he’s slowly leaking from your cunt.

You look at the video then, blushing as you watch it, hips shifting as you see the sight of him pounding your cunt from the back, hearing your cries and the smacks, but mostly when you see the look on his face, it halts you. The lost, mad fucking look written all over his handsome face, the way he whimpers for you, the trembling of his hands you didn’t notice.

Satoru looks as lost in you as you were in him, and you’re addicted to it.

He’s pressing kisses delicately along your breasts, your tummy, where he’d left marks along your ribs, he kisses your hips where his fingers already have left bruises from your grip. He’s spreading your thighs, eyeing your face, as your thighs shake from his kisses getting higher, he worships you, every inch like he’s wanted to, wondering what you’ll say.

A part of him wants you to say no, to say it’s just for you two.

But a part of him wants to show you how perfect you are, how sexy you are, let you fucking see it.

He’s so torn, so lost in you, in the sight of that cum still leaking from your hole.

“Creampie, that’s what you titled it? What is that?”

He chuckles now, shaking his head at you as he leans up a but, and your fucked out eyes glance at him. “It means I came inside you, sweetheart. You’re cute. You really don’t know what that means?”

“No… I didn’t.” You’re all blushing again, leaning up on your elbows now as his grin is white and brilliant, again all sweet like he didn’t just fuck you twice, and bust inside you. “Is it popular?”

“Very, very popular. Just never… something I wanted to do, until you.” The more words are left unspoken, while he presses a kiss on your soft tummy, fingers dancing across your thighs. “What do you think?”

“It’s… really hot. You look so good, it’s crazy to see this angle,” he nods a little, kissing your inner thigh, as you brush a hand along his hair. “You think it’ll please your manager?”

“Oh god, baby that is the best shot I’ve done,” you bite that lip now, before pressing share, and covering your face with a breathless giggle. “Fuck, look at you, gonna be a pro.”

“Oh god,” your hands are gently pulled off your face now, while he leans over you, kissing your lips softly. “Am I like a whole pornstar now?” You ask nervously, he sighs then, he gently brushes your hair back.

“Baby you’re a star already, didn’t you know?” Your lips are taken over, while the video goes insane on the bed next to the two of you, and Satoru’s fingers are shoved in your cunt again, already so sore, but you’re fucked up off it, the pain and pleasure, the need for him in every fucking way.

He’s sucking the mix of the two of you off his fingers, he’s sharing that cum and spit in your open mouth, moaning and eyeing the comments.

“I wish I was cumming inside her… excuse me?” You giggle a bit at his glare.

“What do you care about the comments, haven’t you read yours?”

“Yes but… bet her pussy is so tight - yeah it is but…” he’s pausing, scowling at the numerous comments, and you’re blinking at him, a bit confused. “I don’t want to read them, actually.”

The dollar signs wrack up, insane amounts - way more than before, as he shakes his head, back between your thighs, tongue hitting your overstimulated cunt, making you cry out for him, when his phone rings. “You know, Satoru, I hate your phone.”

“I hate my phone.” He picks it up, while still lapping at your cunt, drinking up the taste of his cum and yours like an insane man as he answers the phone casually on speaker. “What?”

“Gojo, that girl… she’s made for porn, what the fuck? Where have you been hiding her!?”

He glares at the phone, as you cover your mouth, hiding a giggle, his blue eyes narrow when he flicks his tongue up your milky slit again, grinning as you can’t hold back your moan. “She’s my secret star.”

His words bring out too much pleasure, the way his hands grip you, the possessive way he fucking speaks. “Well, if she wants a manager, please tell her about me. You two could make so much money on a real set.”

“She wants to keep a low profile, and she’ll only do it with me.” Satoru says, the thought of you on set with a camera crew makes him unreasonably annoyed.

“All right, that works for now, but talk to her about it.”

“Sure, whatever.” He hangs up then, and eyes you carefully, lapping more of you up as he does, you’re hissing at the sensation, whining out softly. “Don’t worry or listen to him, mmkay?”

“Would I um… not be ideal on set?” He scowls now, pulling back, strings of his cum and yours falling off his lips.

“What?”

“I’m not LA hot.”

“You’re right, you’re fucking beautiful, hot doesn’t describe you.” He is kissing you again, cupping your face as he does. “You want to be anonymous.”

“I do.” But what if he still was with other girls?

The thoughts eat at you.

“Baby we could never do another shoot, and I’ll cum inside you any hour of the fucking day, yeah?” His words mean too much, you nod shyly, before gasping as he’s back at your entrance. “I’m always hard for you, you’re always soaked for me, pussy she’s made to take me, say it.”

“Satoru…”

“Say it,” he desperately pleas, and you nod, knowing it’s fucking foolish. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Made for you, ah!” He’s back inside you, gentle and slow, knowing you’re sore, and it’s all making the lines blur more and more, his kisses, his slow fucks into your cunt, the way he looks at you, all while the money racks up.

But he couldn’t care less about it.

He wants to make sure you’re so sore and full of him that man has no chance of touching you, he wants to tell every commenter he gets to cum inside you, he’s selfish, he’s stupid. He doesn’t deserve you, he knows he doesn’t, yet he wants to drink up every moment before you realize he’s not good enough.

Meanwhile your heart breaks, as you’re in his arms later, wondering how long until he will realize you’re not enough for his career, how long until he’s inside another woman, and you know you won’t be able to take it. Kissing him softly as he tugs you closer, too intimate, too much.

You’ve fallen too deep.

*****

Jenna frowns as she studies you the next afternoon, you’re disheveled and your hair is a wreck, you’re covered in marks, and she just saw Satoru leaving in the back of his limo. You’re nervously trying to fix yourself, and avoid her knowing gaze, when she peeks at her phone, with a stream of Satoru, and puts it all together, shaking her head now.

“Jenna…”

“You’re letting him change you, for what?” You blink back tears at her harsh words, glaring now.

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not baby, fuck I’m worried!? This isn’t who you are, and I don’t want you to lose yourself because of him. What’s he giving you, besides backshots?”

“You know what, you can go.” You blink more tears now, and she sighs, coming up to you and cupping your face.

“I’m sorry, I just have known you since we were kids. Is this what you want to be, a… pornstar? Like me?”

“No, I don’t want to be that. I just… want to be enough for him.” She blinks back her own tears now, swiping at yours.

“That’s my worry, you are enough for anyone. The way you are… the way you were, more than enough!”

“Jenna I need to be with him, however I can be.” She sighs now, as you tug your hair into a hasty ponytail, grabbing a drink from the fridge and throwing the coolness down your throat. “I know you just care.”

“I do. Can I ask, has he changed one bit for you?” You pause, shutting the fridge and looking at your best friend, who has her arms crossed.

“Why should he? It was my idea to… join his world. I can’t ask him to change, how is that fair?”

“But you change yourself, lose yourself, for him?” You hate how the words sink in, how you grip your glass and lean against the counter, feeling every word she’s saying, but knowing you’re too far gone. “Men like him don’t change.”

“You don’t know him, Jenna. You don’t.”

“Don’t I? Baby that’s all I know. You’re… you’re still a good girl, okay? I’m not gonna continue, I don’t want our friendship strained. But please just think for a moment, is he going to change, commit, anything?” You sigh now, you have been so obsessed with him, with how you feel, you can’t think of anything else.

“I don’t know.” Is your answer, when she pulls you into her arms, and you feel the tears falling. “I’m in love with him, Jenna. I am so in love and it hurts.”

“Shit,” she holds you as you sob against her, letting the words finally fall from your lips. “Honey…”

“I’m fine losing myself if it means I’m with him.”

“You can’t lose yourself for anyone.” You know she’s right, deep down, you know her words are dead on, but there’s no hope for it, there’s no denying it.

You’re in love with Satoru Gojo, the pornstar, the unattainable bachelor, and you’re losing yourself in him.

And the angst is actually more ahead as these two dummies make my hands hurt with how much they force me to write :') I can't believe in 4 parts I'm already at 46k and they're as dumb as before. More mess to ensue, I am glad you all love this one and look forward as ALWAYS to your comments!!!

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[minastras]

him, revisited (how much i believed in the future) // jake

You didn’t realise your ex-boyfriend Jake Sim was still your emergency contact. Or that he’d show up when you needed him.

at a glance: exes to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, jake best boy

words: 2.6k

warnings: hospital setting, y/n has an unspecified medical condition, mentions of iv drips and blood (very mild), swearing

@k-films

——————————

The light above you is too white, too sharp, a blinding fluorescent harshness that forces your eyelids shut the second you open them. A steady beep in the background. The sharp smell of antiseptic. A sting in the back of your hand.

You open your eyes again, slower this time, and feel around you. Your palm glides across the thin, crinkly surface of a hospital bed, only to be pulled back by something attached to your hand. An IV drip, tangled in a mass of wires and cords you can just barely make out through your blurred vision.

“You’re awake.”

Even from deep within your haze, you recognise his voice immediately.

“Jake?”

Out of focus, a figure makes its way to the side of your bed.

“Hey,” he says softly, as if afraid his breath will knock you over. “How do you feel?”

You push yourself up on shaky elbows and a bolt of pain instantly shoots up your spine, sending you falling back down onto the bed.

Jake catches you, his hands on your back to cushion your fall. “Careful.”

In his strong grip, your weak form seems to turn to clay. He gently sits you upright and inclines your bed with the crank of a handle and props your pillows up for you to lean against.

It takes a few seconds for your vision to stop spinning, for the pain in your head to ease slightly, before your eyes focus enough for you to actually see him.

“Jake? Why are you… what’s going on?”

He looks the same as when you last saw him — six months ago, in his kitchen, breaking up with you. When he told you he couldn’t be what you needed, couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved. Even though he was the only man you’ve ever wanted to follow to the end of the world, to the peak of a mountain, anywhere he wished.

“I don’t know. They called me,” Jake says, adjusting one of your pillows. “I came as fast as I could.”

A throbbing ache sits just behind your eye sockets, making it supremely difficult to register anything he says. And the constant beeping of your heart monitor only makes it worse. You glance around the room, at him, at the chair beside your bed with his black bomber jacket thrown over the back of it. The one he used to wrap around your shoulders on cold nights.

How long has he been waiting for you to wake up?

“They called you?” you ask, your mind still lagging about ten steps behind his.

Jake breathes in slowly, like he doesn’t want to give you an answer, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was your emergency contact,” he says. “Or I still am, to be exact.”

“…Oh, I’m sorry. That’s embarrassing,” you mumble. Another lash of pain radiates up the back of your neck, a tongue of fire searing your vertebrae.

Six months. Six whole months have gone by, and you haven’t changed your emergency contact.

Noticing you wince from craning your neck to look up at him, Jake pulls the chair closer and sits down right beside your bed, fingers curling around the metal bed rail.

“No, it’s not,” he says. Kind, quiet.

It’s a strange feeling, seeing him again after half a year — this person who’d been the centre of your world for so long before vanishing into the ether all at once — and learning you still remember every contour of his face. The angles of his brows, his nose, his chin, the warm brown hue of his eyes that crackle like firewood, the delicate slant of the corners of his lips.

“You could’ve just called Siah,” you say, face flushed, “but thank you for coming.”

Jake smiles. “Of course. It’s good to see you.”

You pull at your scratchy hospital gown and attempt in vain to tidy your hair, wondering which mythical forest gremlin you look like the most. “It’s good to see you, too.”

You probably weren’t ready back then for that serious a relationship, too eager to throw yourself head first into the lake that was Jake Sim. And neither was he. He seemed almost frustratingly well-adjusted compared to you, maybe everyone did — but you needed him and he needed to feel needed. You like to think you’re more sensible now. More self-sufficient. Less difficult to love.

“So…” Jake begins, scratching the back of his neck, “are you okay?”

The IV in your hand shifts, stings, makes you flinch. Beneath the clear adhesive dressing holding it in place, your skin prickles. You lift your hand and squint to see swelling around the site and a small amount of blood flowing back up into the line.

“I think so. I don’t remember what happened,” you admit, scratching around the edges of the dressing. “This thing is so fucking itchy.”

Jake pushes your other hand away and presses the call button by your bed. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice is weak. “I just…”

His hand circles gently around your left wrist, holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. His touch is grounding, soothing, in a way only he can manage.

“Let me help you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a plea than an offer.

Your love for him has faded somewhat. It’s become a sort of dull ache that sweeps across your heart whenever you think of him, which is often, and whenever you miss him, which is always. But the ache is bearable. You’re used to it, the scars of first love.

Except maybe it isn’t bearable, because as you watch him examining your IV site, eyes brimming with worry, gentle fingertips brushing across the back of your hand, the ache returns — stronger than you remembered.

“It’s swollen. And a little red,” he says, calm. Forever the steady anchor to your chaotic ship. “Do you think it’s the same thing that happened last summer? When you fainted and got all that bloodwork done, and that heart tracing.”

“…You remembered,” you breathe. He’s still holding your hand.

“Of course I remembered.”

It’s such a soft phrase that you almost can’t tolerate it. What are you meant to do with it, with the knowledge that someone has carved out a space in their heart just to hold on to the things you’d said and done and gone through?

That summer, Jake spent many a date carrying you home on his back when you were too weak to walk, staying awake with you when you were curled up in bed with excruciating migraines and stroking your hair, singing quietly to you when waves of nausea struck you down and incapacitated you.

If you were Jake, you might have broken up with yourself much earlier. Not because you were sick, but because you were a mess — neglecting your health and throwing yourself head first into your work to (pathetically try to) convince everyone you were fine. Insecure and utterly incapable of believing him when he told you he loved you.

Jake brushes his thumb over your knuckles, a sickeningly familiar action that makes you look up at him in a flash. There had to be a last time he did that, just like there was a last time he held you in his arms and a last time he tied your shoelaces. Before you became strangers, strangers who knew everything about each other. He always brushed his thumb over your knuckles when he had your hand in his, to soothe you when you were nervous or remind you he was right by your side.

Catching you staring, he bites his lip and lets go of your hand as a nurse walks through the door.

“Hello, dear, you’re awake,” she greets with a smile. She’s neither old nor young, perhaps slightly older than your parents, with kind eyes and a soft voice.

“Hi,” you say, your mouth dry.

“I think there’s something wrong with their IV,” Jake says. Protective, worried, because he knows you won’t say it yourself. The thought almost makes you want to pull away from how sweet it is.

The nurse looks at your hand. “It’s just a little bit of inflammation in your vein and some backflow,” she tells you, clearly unconcerned. “I’ll flush the line for you now. You’re booked in for a CT scan, so I’ll hook you back up after.”

She detaches the IV port from the line and pushes a syringe of isotonic saline into your vein, the pressure of the cold fluid under your skin making you wince. Jake takes your hand in his again, runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it comforts you anyway. You remember this feeling; your skin does, a return to form of sorts.

“How long have you been married?” the nurse asks casually, a clear attempt to distract you from the pain.

“Oh, we’re not-”

“I’m their boyfriend,” Jake answers with a sweet smile, cutting you off. He squeezes your hand gently, like it’s easy. Like he does this all the time. Like your hand belongs in his. It had, once.

And with three words he brings it all rushing back. Boyfriend. A title he held with great pride — until he didn’t.

“Don’t ever let this sweetheart go, dear. You should’ve seen him when he came. I’ve never met someone more worried,” the nurse says.

She doesn’t notice the confused glance you cast in Jake’s direction, or the way he looks back at you with nothing but cautious lovelights in his eyes.

“I’ll come back in a minute to take you up to CT.” The nurse begins to leave, turning back only briefly to tell Jake, “You can wait here.”

Jake nods. “Sure, thanks.”

As the door to your room slides shut, slow enough to be just slightly awkward, you prod at the back of your hand.

“Jake…” you trail off, his name leaving your lips before you even know what you want to say next. “You don’t have to stay.”

“But I want to.”

It’s a simple statement, one you instinctively feel compelled to assume is a lie — even though it almost certainly isn’t. He still has those big brown doe eyes, blinking at you from beside your bed. And they still work on you.

Jake, who dropped everything to race to the hospital when they called. Jake, who knew you needed him to be there for you because you wouldn’t let anyone else be. Jake, who reaches over the side rail of your bed to work out the knots in your hair.

Loving, reassuring, dependable Jake. The perfect complement to your neuroses, your high-strung nature, your impatience.

The room is quiet now — the nurse gone, the door closed, your IV line disconnected and no longer beeping every ten seconds. You shift around in the bed, trying to sit up straighter, look more presentable. For him.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jake asks. A question braced with uncertainty, hope, even.

Your heart races, which is embarrassingly displayed right onto the giant heart monitor screen right beside you.

Which one of these stupid sticker things is doing that? Maybe the- it probably isn’t wise to start pulling random wires and electrodes off your skin and/or out of your body, so you stop.

“No,” you reply, embarrassed, knowing he’s far too polite to point out the spike in your heart rate. But he surely notices it. “Are you?”

“No,” he answers, instantly. He pauses. Waits. Pushes his fingers through his shiny, magazine-ready hair. When your eyes meet his, he looks away. “I- uh- haven’t gotten over you, I guess.”

“You broke up with me,” you say, the pointed reminder flowing out of you before you even have a chance to process what he’s revealed.

That’s the reason Jake has always been too good for you. You’re petty, you hold grudges, you assume the worst of people. He forgives and forgives and forgives.

Jake coughs, touches his hair again; it’s a habit of his. “Yeah, I know. It’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

His voice is gentle and quiet, one of those voices without a single sharp edge, sounding like warm honey even on the exceedingly rare occasions he raises it. But it’s even softer and quieter now, almost confessorial in its vulnerability. It disarms you, completely.

Once it becomes clear your silence has dragged on for far too long, reducing the poor Jake to staring straight down at the floor like his shoes have just transformed into the most interesting things in the world, you tap the back of his hand.

“Can you come here?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to the foot of your bed, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart when he looks at you. “My neck hurts turning to see you.”

An invitation. Your way of telling him it’s okay. That you’re reaching for him, too, in your own guarded manner.

Jake smiles, only slightly — but it’s so often the nuance that matters with him — and sits down at the end of your bed. He folds one leg under him, shifting as best he can to face you. His lip is red from biting it.

“So, yeah. The door’s still open, if you feel the same way. You-” he hesitates, adjusting your sheets to occupy his restless hands, “You haven’t let my mind since we broke up. Since we met, actually.”

His gaze is trained on you, oddly intimate. You sit up straighter in your hospital bed, eyes glinting. “Neither have you.”

“You don’t have to answer me right away,” he adds, carefully laying his hand on the expanse of your bed between you and him. If you want to hold it, you can, he seems to imply. He smiles again. “I know you have bigger things to worry about. Your health. How itchy your hand is.”

“It’s quite pressing, that itchiness,” you say, trying to sound funny, not painfully earnest. “Once I get out of here…”

And when I look less ugly, you think. Dressed in your Sunday best, not in a hospital gown. With colour returned to your lifeless lips and cheeks. Sallowness gone from the dark crescents under your eyes.

“I’ll take you out,” Jake finishes. It’s effortless, the way you fall back in sync. “It’ll be our second first date.”

He took you ice-skating on your actual first date. He brought an extra pair of gloves for you to protect your fingers from the cold, an extra pair of thick socks to protect your feet from blistering in your rented skates. You laughed at him every time he fell, gave him a kiss on the cheek when he pouted. Kissed him for real when he walked you home.

“I’d like that,” you say, giddy as a fool.

Jake smiles, the same familiar, soft smile he used to give you when you were younger and dumber and wildly in love.

Had either of you actually fallen out of love? The way he looks at you, with his entire heart in his eyes, suggests the answer is no. And all your favourite things about him are still there — and he’s still the only person you’ve ever loved.

You don’t believe in soulmates, divine intervention, destiny. You despise the notion of being a cosmic plaything, your fate all set out in the stars for you to execute. No, whatever you do, you do it deliberately. You fall in love deliberately. You choose deliberately. You would’ve found your way back to Jake eventually.

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thanks for reading!

-minastras <3

[gimmethatagustd]

paint me naked | jjk

After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he’s not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (past Taehyung)

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: College AU, friends to lovers, fluff, smut, light angst

Word Count: 17,025

Content Warning: Self-esteem issues, alcohol, marijuana (of course, it's a jai fic), brief mention of drug dealing, it's very "hehe I have a crush" y'know, kinda YA of me jshdfks rip, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, can you tell I was a depressed poetry student in college??

A/N: This ended up being my most popular fic back in the day (lol like a year ago). I'm ngl, I don't think of it as highly as I do the other fics I've written, but this was I think the second fic I ever wrote?? Back in 2022. Crazy times. So y'know, growth and whateva. The funniest part is that probs 85% of this fic literally happened to me sjdfks. Except the "Jungkook" was only my friend and we just got stoned and vibed, and instead of painting a naked woman, one time during our studio sessions he painted an abstract rendition of my "soul" but it really just looked like a thumb I'm ngl. All my friends said he was in love with me cuz who paints portraits of someone's soul??

Soundtrack: Paint Me Naked - Ten

“Jungkook, I don’t think this is gonna work.”

“Let me try.” 

Your eyes strained to see the boy standing in front of you, but the room was pitch black. It was good, though. You’d purposefully blocked out as much light as you possibly could. It had been a surprisingly difficult feat, mostly because the two of you hadn’t thought this through very well. A rolled up towel was shoved against the bottom of the bedroom door to keep the light from the hallway out. Blackout curtains had already been drawn over the windows when you got there, so that made the window problem easier. Luckily, you’d remembered to unplug the digital clock sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, the last piece of light you could have some control over putting out. 

To make things weirder, you were in Jungkook’s parents’ room. 

“It’s the darkest room in the house!” he’d insisted and you hadn’t objected because, well, it seemed on brand for the way the entire night was going. 

With arms stretched out, your fingers pressed into something bumpy and hard. You could hear Jungkook’s breathing beside you and a light laugh alerted to you that he was much closer than you’d initially thought. After a quick prod, fingers gliding slightly upward, you realized you were grabbing his abdomen. The hard ripples you’d felt were his toned abs beneath his thin t-shirt. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, though there was no need to be quiet. Jungkook’s hands wrapped around yours and took the objects you had clutched between them: scissors and an undeveloped film roll. 

Drawing your hands back to your side, you waited in silence. The sound of metal scraping against plastic was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet rustle of wind blowing through leaves outside. You don’t think you’d ever felt silence before until that moment. It was electric, a pulsing sizzle that sparked up your fingertips and jolted into your heart as you stood beside Jungkook. The harmony your breathing had fallen into made the moment feel far more intimate than you’d expected. Why was standing in the dark with someone so intimate? 

“Fuck,” Jungkook muttered, and you heard what you imagined was him stabbing the scissors into the film. 

“Oh my god, please don’t cut yourself, okay? I don’t know where the hospital is from here.”

His only response was another quiet laugh and you knew from the sound that his nose was doing that scrunched up thing that it always did when he was making fun of you. After only a few months of knowing Jungkook he was certainly very comfortable teasing you. He was pretty comfortable with you in general, you were beginning to realize. 

And why were you here? Standing in the dark with a boy you barely knew from a shared university class, one who towered over you in height as well as being much larger than you physically. Trying to pop open film because Jungkook somehow thought you could actually develop this film without having access to a real darkroom. Sure, all throughout high school you’d taken film photography classes. You had the development process memorized by heart, from the length of time the film needed to soak to the different types of chemicals needed and what order you were supposed to submerge the prints in. You’d even emailed your old high school teacher to double check. 

But doing all of that in Jungkook’s parents’ house? You knew it wasn’t going to work, but the guy had insisted on you helping him. Was it concerning that he had all these chemicals stored in a plastic tub in his closet? Maybe. And was it the safest decision to use scissors to pop open the film instead of the proper tool (which Jungkook had forgotten to order off of Amazon in advance)? Absolutely not. 

On top of that, no one knew where you were; you’d simply told your roommates that you were going to hang out with the guy from your university poetry class. 

“Jungkook? The weird one with all the tattoos and piercings?” Your roommate, Amiriah, had asked.  

“He’s not that weird.” 

“Y/N, he wrote a poem about eating pussy for a class assignment. You said so yourself. Please tell me how that’s a normal thing to do.” 

“And didn’t he have to read it outloud to the class because he turned it in late?” Now it was time for Courtney to pipe in from her position lounging on the couch, an episode of Love Connection paused on the TV screen. 

“Okay, yes, he did do both those things. But I swear he’s actually really sweet. He’s just misunderstood.” 

Courtney had launched a pillow at you, though the object zoomed past your head and landed against the refrigerator, knocking down multiple of Amiriah’s magnets. Much to her dismay. 

“Maybe we should take a break.” 

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to reality, or at least some semblance of it. You couldn’t understand how someone could have such a soft voice. Listening to Jungkook speak was like floating on a cloud. His cadence was a gentle caress against your skin, a sound that could easily flutter your eyes and lull you to sleep. It didn’t matter what he was saying; everything sounded better coming from Jungkook’s mouth. 

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you. A few moments and a bit of shuffling later, the lights sprung on. Your eyes instantly shut and slowly pried open again from the blaring brightness. 

The poor film looked like it had been mauled by a bear, but it was still somehow intact. Jungkook slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping and turned to look at you. He had this thing about eye contact that really made you uncomfortable. When he met your gaze, he looked straight into your eyes, as if he was looking into you rather than at you. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

His question caught you off guard, but he was already picking up the towel from the floor to open the bedroom door. Without answering, you followed him through the house and into the kitchen. You stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of you, eyes following his large frame navigating the kitchen cabinets. 

“All my parents have is rosé, is that okay?” 

He uncorked the chilled bottle and poured each of you a glass. Then he did something that your roommates could add to the list of weird things they’d developed for him. 

He sat on the floor. 

You stared at him with your lips slightly parted, unsure if you were supposed to follow him. There was an entire kitchen table with multiple chairs. Why was he sitting on the floor with his back leaned against the doorframe? Bottle of rosé sitting on the tile next to him. He looked up at you with impossibly soft doe eyes and you couldn’t just stand there with your glass. So, you slowly sank to the floor, your shoulders brushing against each other as you sat next to him. 

“Y’know, I just realized the film you have is color film.” You spoke slowly, hating that you were about to burst his bubble. “You wouldn’t be able to develop it at home, anyway. The chemicals you bought are for black and white film, and color film has to be developed using heat.” 

“Damn.” Jungkook tipped his head back to take a very deep drink of his wine. 

“We gave a valiant effort, though.” You flashed him a small smile and the grin you got in return made your face grow hot. 

Your roommates weren’t really wrong. Jungkook didn’t have the best reputation on your university campus. There were rumors that he sold drugs (marijuana and acid, specifically) and had gang affiliations. He was quiet, kept to himself, and didn’t seem to have a whole lot of friends aside from a few guys who were equally just as questionable. Yes, you knew he’d gotten arrested the day before spring break started for getting into a fight with a guy on campus, but based on what your friends had told you, it was definitely the other guy’s fault. 

You’d also heard he had great head game, but that was a whole other thing. You just had a really hard time believing all the bad things people said about him, even when he’d admitted to a lot of the rumors being true. 

“A gang tried to recruit me when I was fresh outta high school, but I like selling on my own. Can’t trust people for shit.” 

He’d said it so casually, and you wondered what was wrong with you for finding a conversation about dealing drugs attractive. 

The thing your roommates, and a lot of other people, didn’t understand was that there was more to Jungkook than whatever dumb rumors got spread around (real or not). He was an exceptional writer. His poetry weaved in elements of hip hop, almost sounding like eloquent and lyrical rap lyrics rather than your typical stuffy poem that other students in your class tried to pass off as profound. He didn’t shy away from writing about mental health, sex, relationships, and loss. Everything he put down was raw, and you liked that it made other people in the class uncomfortable. Jungkook wasn’t afraid to be himself. Wasn’t that what art was supposed to be all about? 

And he was artistic in every way. Not only did he write well, but he was obviously into photography, and he also dabbled in multimedia sculpture. But the most impressive was probably his paintings. You’d seen the work he’d posted on Instagram, and during one of your hangouts he’d told you about how he’d been commissioned by the city to work on a public mural with another local artist. 

Very few people knew these things about Jungkook. They saw the tattoos, the piercings, the occasional blunt wedged between his lips, and they painted him in a way that was so distorted it annoyed you. 

“Thanks for helping me, though. I appreciate you.” 

You bit your bottom lip into your mouth to suppress another smile, instead opting to simply nod your head and cover up any expression by taking a drink. 

At this point, the two of you had been hanging out at least once a week. Usually you just sat outside on his parents’ front porch and smoked and talked about life. His parents seemed to always be out of town, and although Jungkook lived across the hall from you in the university dorms, he stayed at his parents’ house a lot to take care of their dog. 

It felt weird, though, hanging out with Jungkook. It was like all your interactions could only happen during those moments; otherwise, he didn’t talk to you when you saw him around campus. Even in your advanced poetry class, he would lock eyes with you across the room, but he never said a word. 

And it didn’t help that he was best friends and roommates with Kim Taehyung, the campus casanova who’d fucked you like you were the only girl in the world for an entire semester until you saw him cuddled up at a party with some other girl who didn’t even go to your university. The next day he was standing at your dorm asking for his skateboard back, weaving some lie about how summer break was the time to be single and have fun, but that he would “never forget” the fun times you’d had. 

Then Taehyung got a girlfriend. 

So maybe you were a little bit bitter over how things ended with Taehyung (and maybe you’d spent the entire summer crying yourself to sleep at night and aimlessly scrolling through Tinder, looking for anyone who might replace him and finding nothing). But the worst part was knowing that Taehyung had probably talked to Jungkook about you, and you had no idea what he might have said. 

“Hopefully the film is still okay,” you said after a moment, trying to pull yourself out of the cyclical negative thoughts you were often consumed by. 

You finished your glass, shaking your head at Jungkook’s offer for more rosé. He nodded, pushing himself up to stand and reached out to take your empty glass. 

You watched him from the floor as he washed the glasses in the sink. Your eyes lingered just a bit too long on the way his forearm muscles flexed while he cleaned, a few veins popping out along the back of his hands and the inside of his arm. Tattoos and piercings hadn’t ever been your thing, not that you didn’t appreciate the allure of body modifications. You’d just found yourself going after boys who looked polished, good boys to take home to mom. Jungkook had been the one to initiate your friendship, asking to hang out while you worked on your poems or read the many poetry collections due for class. You’d be a liar if you said his sudden interest in you hadn’t sparked your own interest in him.

Just one glass of wine was enough to make you a bit lightheaded, and Jungkook was a heavy pourer, apparently. 

“You good?” 

You blinked and stared into Jungkook’s face. He was drying off his hands now, watching you with an amused look on his face. 

“Umm, yeah. Just a lightweight,” you said with a breathy laugh that sounded a little too forced for your liking. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice. 

“You wanna go to my studio with me? The one on campus?” 

You looked down at your phone, a few text messages popping up from your roommates demanding to know where you were. Swiping to clear the notifications, you looked up at Jungkook and gave him a small smile. 

“Sure.” 

-

“That thing so fire baby, no propane. Got good pussy, girl, can I be frank? To keep it 100, girl, I ain’t no saint.” 

Music came blaring out of the car’s speakers at an alarmingly high volume, causing you to exhale a startled shout. Jungkook quickly lunged to turn down the volume and accidentally honked the car’s horn when his shoulder leaned against the steering wheel. 

“Shit, sorry.” 

“Talk about fucking sensory overload, fuck,” you mumbled, heart still dazed in your chest. 

“It was actually nice outside for once. I was whippin’ with the windows down, so the music’s gotta be louder.” 

All he was getting from you was rolled eyes and the sound of your seatbelt clicking into place. 

Jungkook turned around to look over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway. He grabbed onto the back of your seat to position himself; once again, you found yourself eyeing his arms, exploring the exposed tattoos. It kind of pissed you off how hot it was when guys drove backwards. What was evolutionarily advantageous about that attraction? 

“If you wanna change it, I got a couple CDs.” 

Jungkook motioned to the middle console. You flipped through them, finding the album that was currently playing. You’d recognize it anywhere; he was one of your favorite musicians. 

“Bryson Tiller?” You turned the CD case over in your hand, eyes scanning the tracklist on the back. “You listen to sex music while you drive? And off a CD instead of Bluetooth, no less?”

Jungkook barked out a laugh, all teeth and crinkled eyes that you could just barely make out as the streetlights streaked over his face. 

“Yeah, I guess I do. You got a problem with Bryson?” His fingers lazily tapped against the steering wheel to the relaxed beat of Don’t - which happened to be your favorite song on the album. “This car is twenty-one years old. You’re lucky we’re not sitting here listening to cassettes.” 

“Who doesn’t like Bryson Tiller? That’s the baby-making music of our generation,” you said with a laugh. “Honestly, I can’t believe this song came out in fuckin’ 2015. Why does that feel like such a long time ago?” 

Jungkook sat in the driver’s seat with his legs spread as much as possible; this position was what had made you realize just how thick and nice his thighs really were. Plus, he drove with one hand on top of the steering wheel, left elbow bent slightly. He usually let his right hand rest against his thigh, though sometimes he held onto the gear shift in between the two of you. 

There was rarely any traffic in your college town, and especially not at 10pm on a Tuesday night. The two of you fell silent, Bryson Tiller’s soulful lyrics swirling through the car in the absence of conversation. Jungkook was typically a man of few words. You’d grown accustomed to carrying the conversation. With most people, that would have bothered you, but with Jungkook it was different. You knew he was paying attention when you talked; you could see it in the way the corners of his mouth twitched when you said something dorky (which was, apparently, all the time). 

And when he did have something to say, it was always worth the wait. 

“You’ve got good taste,” Jungkook said after driving a few blocks. “Guess I should probably add him to my sex playlist.”

Before you had time to process his comment Jungkook was pulling into the east parking lot of your university, the part of campus that was off to the side and only held art-related facilities. 

He led you to an unmarked backdoor of the building closest to the parking lot. Pushing the door open, he held it for you with a sweep of his hand. 

“Ladies first, noona.” 

Scowling at the honorific, you still obliged, entering a long hallway. The walls were bare, just an eggshell white, a few black scuff marks here and there, as if someone had been carrying something large and struggled to fit it through the narrow space. Jungkook maneuvered past you to lead the way to another unmarked door. 

The studio was a lot larger than you expected. One side of the room had a large rack of painted canvases to dry. You turned to inspect the left side of the room, finding multiple easels with additional canvases of varying sizes, most blank or seemingly half-finished. A rather worn-looking couch was placed in the middle of the room. Beside it was a coffee table and a Bluetooth speaker. (So Jungkook did know about modern technology.) Paint-covered tarps protected much of the concrete floor, and there were paint buckets and other supplies scattered in every corner. The entire room was pure chaos, but it seemed like there was an organization to it that only Jungkook knew. 

“So… yeah. This is my studio.” Jungkook closed the door behind you and locked it. 

Your heart skipped a beat at his action, but you swallowed down the spike of fear that had threatened to bubble up inside of you. You’d spent plenty of alone time with Jungkook. There was nothing to worry about. 

“I had to practically beg the school to let me have my own space since I’m not an art major, but they eventually let up,” Jungkook continued with a shrug. 

You were impressed, honestly. Jungkook wasn’t known for being the most reliable student academically; it was surprising they’d given him such privileges. 

“I like it,” you said simply, eyes still roaming the space. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do now. Studio art wasn’t really your thing, poetry was. 

Luckily, Jungkook had a knack for reading your mind. 

“You can sit on the couch if you want. I got a project due tomorrow morning, so I’m gonna work on it. But if you wanna paint, just lemme know.” He scrolled through his phone as he spoke, and eventually more R&B music started playing from the speaker. 

“Tomorrow morning? JK, it’s fucking 10:30.” 

You stared at him with your head tilted to the side in disbelief, but you were only met with another shrug and a grin. Living on the edge. King of Procrastination, Jeon Jungkook. You were already getting secondhand stress. 

With a quiet hum to himself as the music took over, it was clear to you that Jungkook had switched to his serious side. He began prepping one of his easels with various paint brushes and paints. Dragging a heavy-looking but small filing cabinet next to the easel, he used the surface to store his supplies while he worked. 

You flopped onto the couch, adjusting so you could have a clear view of Jungkook. He looked cute in his jeans and black hoodie, a blunt pencil tucked behind his ear. His lips pouted slightly as he planned what he was going to do with his painting. Occasionally the pencil would be plucked from his ear and a few sketches appeared on the canvas, too light for you to see what they were from your position on the couch. 

The vibration of your phone tore your eyes away from Jungkook’s figure. It was no surprise that your roommate group text was blowing up. 

Courtnayyy 😘 [10:00] BITCH WHERE ARE YOU A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:01] pls tell me the weirdo didn’t murder u Courtnayyy 😘 [10:04] If he did can I have your Mac Miller poster?  A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:15] court how tf would she approve of that if she’s dead? she ain’t gonna see this shit Courtnayyy 😘 [10:18] Ouija board A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:25] stfu 🔫 A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:25] Y/N you better answer ur fucking phone right now A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:40] hellooooooooooooooooooo

You let out a sigh loud enough for Jungkook to look over at you, eyebrows furrowed. 

“My roommates think you killed me.”

Jungkook grinned and turned back to his easel with a shake of his head. You’d expected him to say something, but then the reminder that Jungkook was… unconventional slithered into your mind. 

[10:45] I’m alive. Can you pls stop blowing up my phone now? 💀 Courtnayyy 😘 [10:46] FUCKING FINALLY  A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:47] what are you doing?? [10:50] We’re just hanging out at his studio. I’ll probably leave soon

You tossed your phone next to you on the couch and lifted your arms into the air to stretch. It was rather warm in the studio and the smooth music of whatever playlist Jungkook had on was making you feel sleepy. What kind of lame college student were you? 

“I was serious about what I said.” Jungkook didn’t look at you while he painted, too focused on mixing the right shade of brown. 

“About what?”

“You can paint if you want. All the paint and brushes are in the cabinet.” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyes flitting from the filing cabinet next to Jungkook to the easel off to the side with a blank canvas. What if whatever you painted looked like shit? You had no idea what you were doing. 

But when did you ever get to paint in your adult life?

Pushing yourself off the couch you approached Jungkook to start rummaging in the drawers for supplies. You were stopped in your tracks, however, the moment your eyes landed on his painting. Considering that much time hadn’t passed, Jungkook was far along in his work. You came face to face with a woman, or at least the naked body of a woman. She was painted in soft earthy tones, curves accentuated by what looked like a gold silk ribbon that wrapped around her. The painting was certainly abstract because she was missing a head and her limbs weren’t finished, but just having her strong torso and thighs, and a long regal neck, somehow made her feel complete. 

“That’s beautiful, JK. She looks so realistic… How can you do all those little details so quickly?” You spoke quietly, desperately wishing you could touch the canvas. 

“Painting nudity is easy.” Another classic Jungkook shrug. “That’s why it’s so overdone. There’s nothing more beautiful than humans in their purest state, right? We’re the original art.” 

You would have never considered nudity to be pure, but you liked Jungkook’s analysis. Society saw nudity as all about sex. Despite his depiction of breasts and genitalia, Jungkook’s painting was a reflection and appreciation of a body. 

You wondered if it was anyone’s body in particular. 

The thought soured your mood a bit, and you quickly returned your focus to finding the supplies you needed. Satisfied, you took up the easel beside Jungkook. What the fuck were you going to paint? Especially now that you had this beautiful work blooming next to you. 

“Don’t think about it so much. Just go for it.” 

There was Jungkook reading your mind again. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed with the two of you working silently. At first you’d considered doing something abstract, but eventually you felt compelled to do something a bit more realistic. You’d retrieved your phone (ignoring your roommates’ texts again) to pull up a photo for reference as you painted. 

After a while Jungkook lifted his finished painting and carried it to the rack to dry. By the time he had completed his painting, you were putting your final touches on yours - one that was far more simplistic. You found it entertaining, though. 

“Who is that?” 

You’d been so absorbed in getting those final details perfected that you hadn’t noticed Jungkook standing right behind you. You jumped slightly and that elicited a chuckle from the boy. 

“It’s a portrait of Bad Bunny.” Your greatest celebrity crush. 

“He’s cute. You did a good job considering you looked so scared to start.” His comment left your cheeks burning. You’d hoped it hadn’t been so obvious, but Jungkook was too observant for his own good (and for yours, too). “Maybe I should hire you as my assistant.”

“Thanks. It’s not as good as yours, though.” 

Jungkook waved you off and the action made him realize he had a good amount of paint on his hands. Rather than find a towel, he simply rubbed his hands against his thighs. You watched him, eyes lingering on the way his thighs stretched the tight material of his jeans. Looking up to return to his face you were met with a smirk. You were doing a real shitty job at being subtle, apparently. 

You chose not to say anything and focused your attention on finishing your painting, not wanting Jungkook to be waiting for you longer than he needed to. He sat down on the couch, now distracted by his phone. 

“So,” you spoke as you lifted up your finished painting, following Jungkook’s instructions to put it on the drying rack. “What was the inspiration for your painting?” 

Was it a bold question? You were trying to play it off like you weren’t going to cling to whatever his answer was. 

Jungkook patted the space next to him to encourage you to sit down. Once you were sitting next to him, your body turned slightly to face him, Jungkook leaned forward. His face was mere inches from yours and you could feel his breath tickle your cheek. He watched you with those brown doe eyes, such an innocent feature on an otherwise devious-looking face. The smirk that formed on his lips strongly contrasted the sweetness of his eyes. 

Jungkook’s tongue poked out to play with his lip ring before he answered your question. It was impossible to look away from his lips, and you thought you felt your heart stop. 

“The deadline.” 

The smirk grew deeper as he pulled away, running a hand through his hair. You were more than disappointed, feeling yourself deflate and finally realizing you’d been holding your breath. Your shoulders slumped slightly, but you managed to mask the reason for your disappointment by pretending you were disappointed in him. 

“Boy, you need to work on your assignments earlier so you can come up with something good,” you huffed, crossing your arms against your chest. 

“Was it not good?” He grinned, a cocky twinkle in his eyes, no longer doe-shaped but narrowed in mirth. “Come on, let me drop you off. It’s almost 2.” 

“Fuck, I have an 8am.” 

With a quick check on your phone you saw that it was indeed almost 2am. How had you spent almost four hours in the studio without realizing it? Nevermind the fact that you’d spent another three or four hanging out with Jungkook before you’d even gotten to the studio. 

“I’d skip if I was you.” 

Jungkook led you through the art building and to his car, making sure that the music didn’t startle you half to death when he started the car this time. 

“Unlike you, I’m a good student, thanks.” 

It wasn’t a terrible dig because you knew Jungkook enough to know he didn’t give a shit. All he’d do was give you a small smile and melt your heart with the confusion of how it was possible for someone to look both so soft and so dangerous. 

Your dorm was on the other side of campus, so the drive over was quick. But rather than drop you off at the sidewalk, Jungkook pulled into the parking lot, much to your surprise. 

“I thought you were staying over at your parents’?” 

Jungkook kept the car running, but he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back in his chair.

“Me and Tae are gonna go smoke. I got this new strain of indica we wanna try.”

He didn’t look at you when he spoke, instead facing forward to peer out the window. Once he brought up weed, you realized you could smell the remnants of weed smoke in Jungkook’s car, partially masked by air freshener. 

At the mention of Jungkook’s roommate you felt your stomach drop. The feeling was only intensified when you followed Jungkook’s gaze to see a figure with long legs and broad shoulders make their way down the sidewalk, heading right in your direction. You felt ice shoot through your veins and panic settle into your chest. 

“Oh,” you squeaked out. You needed to escape, but you couldn’t force your hands to unbuckle yourself and open the door. 

“Do you wanna come with us?” Jungkook took your lack of movement as a desire to get high. 

You looked at Jungkook with an open mouth, but nothing came out. And even if you could speak, Taehyung was already flinging the car door open. 

“Oh, shit, Y/N. I didn’t even see you there.” Taehyung leaned against the car door, eyes sweeping over your small figure as you attempted to look as relaxed as possible. 

Did he lick his lips or were you just imagining that? 

“Want me to sit in the back?” 

Taehyung leaned down so he could poke his head into the car and talk to Jungkook right over you. The position gave you a perfect view of his neck and his collarbones peeking out from beneath the silk button-up shirt he was wearing, the first few buttons undone as usual. His cologne smelled like cedar and you could faintly smell something fruity, likely the strawberry-flavored vape he smoked. 

All of that was enough to send you mentally screaming into the void. 

“ThanksJungkookIgottago,” you sputtered, doing your best not to touch Taehyung as you moved around him to get out.

“Y/N!” 

You ignored Jungkook’s call, not daring to look back. Despite your exhaustion you took the stairs two at a time until you made it to your dorm, nearly dropping your keys as you unlocked the door. The kitchen and living room were dark, so you knew your roommates were asleep - or at least in their own rooms. You didn’t even bother to do your nighttime routine, opting to strip down to your underwear and collapse into your bed face-first. 

Darkness and silence brought you no solitude; quite honestly, they had the opposite effect. All you had in your head was Taehyung’s face… in your ears, his voice… in your nostrils, his smell. 

Groaning, you flipped onto your back and grabbed your phone to put on your favorite thunderstorm white noise playlist. In the middle of picking the perfect sound, your phone buzzed with a text. 

Jungkook (Poetry) [2:15] you good?

You bit your lip, not wanting to leave him hanging so late, but also knowing if you went down this rabbithole you’d never fall asleep. 

[2:16] I’m fine

Your phone vibrated almost immediately, but you forced yourself to put it away. Whatever Jungkook had to say could wait until the morning. Or until never, because right now you never wanted to speak to another human ever again.

-

Jungkook (Poetry) [2:16] you don’t have to lie to me Jungkook (Poetry) [3:02] lying destroys our intrinsic value as human beings by corrupting our ability to make rational choices and have free will Jungkook (Poetry) [3:03] immanuel kant said that

You didn’t realize you’d be hit with a philosophical lecture the moment you woke up, but then you remembered that Jungkook had gone smoking with Taehyung. The two of them got all philosophical when they were high, as if they really could achieve some kind of superior knowledge. 

They were idiots. 

“Oh my god, when the fuck did you get home last night?” 

Anyone speaking that loud and harshly so early in the morning was an assailant. You glared at Courtney, brushing past her to get to the bathroom. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the girl stayed outside the bathroom door as she waited for you to finish. 

“It was definitely after 1am ‘cause that’s when we went to bed,” she kept on talking even when you turned the shower on. “What could you guys have possibly been doing that whole time? Did you hook up?” 

“No.”

“What?” Courtney strained to hear you over the sound of the high-pressure water. 

“I said, no!” 

It was ridiculous that you were standing there, rubbing your naked body down with lavender exfoliating soap, while you discussed your alleged hook up with a guy you barely knew. 

You thanked the Lord Almighty that your schedule didn’t line up with your roommates on Wednesdays, or else you would have had to suffer Courtney and Amiriah’s interrogations the whole day. 

Instead you sleepily dragged yourself through two morning classes and a work shift at the university library before you’d eventually have to face Jungkook head-on. 

-

Your Advanced Poetry class was small enough that all the students could sit around a large table together. The small, intimate class size made it easier for collaboration and made workshops feel a bit less ruthless. You’d gotten to the point that you could read anonymous poems from each of your classmates and know exactly who wrote what. You were like a little family who met every Wednesday evening for two hours and poured your thoughts, dreams, fears, and goals into each other with every written piece. This class was going to be what broke your heart when the semester was over; you could already feel yourself missing it. 

“Alright, y’all, we’re going to workshop the imitation poems from the exercise last week.”

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. Whatever else Professor Mendez was saying didn’t compute; she sounded like she was speaking underwater and all you could do was shift your eyes to look at Jungkook across the table from you. You hadn’t expected him to be already looking at you nor for him to hold your gaze until you quickly looked away. 

The poem you’d written for the exercise was about Taehyung. 

You’d thought only your professor was ever going to see it. And now she was calling on you to read yours aloud first. No one else would know who it was about, but you knew Jungkook would know. 

“Y/N?” 

Professor Mendez looked at you, her star pupil, with an encouraging smile. You swallowed, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze though you felt him staring. If you kept the piece of paper on the table in front of you, you wouldn’t risk showing everyone that your hands were slightly trembling. And then you opened your mouth. 

I SAW YOU ONCE IN A FEVER DREAM  (After Kaveh Akbar) I saw you once in a fever dream shirtless  swaddling me in a hammock hanging from cedar trees   When you smoke it gets stuck   in your hair Save it for later The smell of marijuana   and strawberry vapes     lingered in my clothes     In another fever   dream you were my mother The doctor asked if I am  allergic to any medications and I should   have said yes but it is only you   I have felt love flow through me I have never felt   it given My friend once told me  there is only so much you can do   At what point am I the problem   Sometimes I stare at the wall and peel the nails  off of my fingers for every time you broke me  Somehow it feels better this way  

It was depressing, pathetic even. Sure, you’d imitated Kaveh Akbar’s unique writing style to a T, but now you looked stupid for writing about a man you’d never even dated, who had unofficially “dumped” you last spring semester. Jungkook had to know. Unless he was completely oblivious (which was honestly likely, when you really thought about it). And maybe you were being too cocky, assuming some guy who you meant nothing to would care or even pay attention to the fact that his friend had fucked you into a broken heart. 

You sat with tight lips as the class discussed your poem, a few people put off by your use of space on the page, others praising your unique way of formatting the stanzas. Jungkook never spoke, but he never did until the end of class when Professor Mendez called him out for being silent. Then he would provide feedback for whoever had gone before him, his opinion usually directly contradicting whatever your professor said. She knew he wasn’t being defiant, and she welcomed his creative challenge of the status quo. But sometimes he was a bit much. 

“Well, Mr. Jungkook. Let’s hear yours.” 

You could feel the entire room both tense and lean forward, as if scared but also unimaginably eager for whatever it was they were about to receive. 

“I didn’t finish, but I can read what I have. It’s a prose poem.” 

UNTITLED I met her in the evaporated residue of a midnight bong rip. Among glimmers of artificially-simulated worlds, of over-saturated hues. Hurried hues of a purple-pink bruise, bloom, slippery between thighs. Tongue flicks. Slide. These things only happen behind closed doors. An eternity of almosts, she likes to wear my hand as a choker. Drag me whole into desire, into pink folds and broken promises. Drip slick slow stroke glide and move inside, eat feast thrive. Beat it up every time. Pulsate. Pulsate. Own it. My hands on your hips. Blindfold over your eyes. Selfish fuck. I am a decomposing mind; her body whispers otherwise. 

Jungkook could have written a poem about dog shit and the way he recited it would have been breathtaking. It didn’t matter that his lines were verging on pornographic for an academic setting; simply the way the alliteration flowed like honey from his mouth was enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine. The words came out like a gentle lullaby of filth, a smooth mantra, a promise of sin. It was no wonder the classroom fell silent. Even Professor Mendez stared at Jungkook with an unreadable expression on her face. 

“Thank you, Jungkook,” she said after a moment. 

He nodded politely and slouched into his seat again. 

Professor Mendez looked around the room for the first volunteer to take a stab at critiquing Jungkook’s poem. Only a brave soul could manage, and you were determined to keep your mouth shut. You could already visualize the way your classmates were going to gossip about this once class was over. You wondered how long it would take for Courtney and Amiriah to find out. 

“Who would like to go first?” 

It appeared the class had very few critiques, likely because no one wanted to dive too deeply into the abstract and overtly-sexual writing that had been. 

Professor Mendez went on a mini rant about the importance of knowing how to keep the flow of a prose poem that somehow derailed into a story about her new puppy. Perhaps someone had gotten her going to kill the last few minutes of class until it was 8pm and she was forced to let the group of you go into the night. 

You always managed to be the last person leaving the classroom every Wednesday night. Usually it was due to your prolonged conversations with Professor Mendez, the two of you gushing over a new poetry collection or the latest episode of a TV show. Jungkook, on the other hand, was typically the first to leave. Likely to go find his little crew of delinquents to do drugs with or whatever else they got themselves into. 

Except apparently not today. 

As you waved a goodbye to Professor Mendez, you headed down the empty hallway fully aware of the second pair of shoes echoing in the silence along with yours. Your insides were still scrambled from the series of exceptionally unfortunate events that had involved Kim Taehyung in the past twenty-four hours. You had no desire to entertain Jungkook, especially not after him staring you down all of class. And reading that fucking poem. 

“Are you really gonna ignore me?” 

You squeezed the straps of your backpack and stopped in front of the door to leave the academic building. If you acted bothered it would make you more suspicious. And it would let Kim Taehyung continue to rule your mind. You were better than this… 

So you turned around to face the doe-eyed boy and tried not to imagine his hand squeezing your throat. 

“I’m not ignoring you.” You cocked your head to one side in feigned confusion. Jungkook met your look with a small pout. 

“I’m sorry if I did something to upset you yesterday.” 

So, he didn’t know. Either that, or he was lying. But didn’t Immanuel Kant say lying is bad? You did everything in your power not to scowl to yourself. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. I swear.” You let out an irritated sigh, casting a glance behind your shoulder as you heard thunder ripple through the air outside. You’d obviously forgotten to check the weather that morning, looking down at your t-shirt and shorts. 

“Okay…” He eyed you skeptically, but he didn’t want to push you further and threaten pushing you away completely. “Can I walk with you?” 

“Of course.” He lived literally across the hall from you. You could open your door and be face-to-face with his. 

“Okay… Can I give you a hug?” 

You rolled your eyes so far and deep inside your skull it was a surprise they didn’t detach and disappear somewhere. It wasn’t fair that you were taking out your frustrations on Jungkook simply because your ego was hurt. That self-awareness was what made you nod your head with your arms outstretched. 

Jungkook enveloped you in his large frame, the side of your face pressed against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he held the back of your head in his free hand. There was something about Jungkook’s closeness that caught you off guard. Perhaps it was because this was the first time you’d ever hugged each other; you’d never been this physical with each other at all, actually. You weren’t much of the hugging type, anyway. 

Jungkook’s warmth made you settle into his embrace for much longer than you’d expected. He felt soft, safe. Even the chemical smell of paint that had seeped into his hoodie was welcoming. Despite the rumbling of a heavy thunderstorm outside, you could still hear his heart beat beneath you. Something about that realization made you pull away from him suddenly. It was just too… close. 

He stared at you with a wrinkled brow and the pout was slowly coming back, but he stayed silent. You couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Ready?”

 With raised shoulders you braced yourself for the downpour. 

By the time the two of you had sprinted across the courtyard, you were completely soaked. You felt your earlier frustrations melt with the water droplets gliding down your arms as you leaned against Jungkook’s equally-soaked body. He was nearly doubled over in laughter, shoulder pressed against the wall next to the front door of his dorm room. 

“You look like a wet cat,” he teased. 

“Oh yeah? Well you look like a wet dog.” Your poor hair was going to get embarrassingly frizzy if you didn’t take care of it immediately. 

Jungkook flashed you an evil grin and violently shook his head, sending water spraying all over. 

“Jungkook, stop!” you hollered, giving him a shove. “I feel so gross already.” 

You twisted around to fish out your dorm key from your backpack, but your fingers scraped the bottom of the pocket. No key. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, setting your backpack on the ground to search through more pockets. Giving up on that possibility, you checked the pockets of your shorts. Nothing. 

Unlocking your phone, your thumb hovered over your roommate group text, unsure if you should interrupt Amiriah and Courtney. It was a little after 8pm… Both of your roommates would be in their weekly sorority meeting that usually lasted at least an hour, if not two. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I… locked myself out.” What a fucking rookie mistake. What was this, freshman year? “I’m pretty sure I left my keys on the kitchen table.” 

Now you were stranded in your hallway, cold and soaking wet. You could go downstairs to ask your RA to let you in, but she was a bitch. 

“You’re a mess. Come on, I’ve got clothes for you.” 

He didn’t give you the opportunity to protest; instead, he stepped inside his dorm without even so much as a look over his shoulder at you. 

Apparently your desire to be warm and dry was stronger than your fear of entering the Dorm Room from Hell. You’d never been in Jungkook’s dorm before, mostly because you didn’t want to run into Taehyung. 

The layout was the same as yours: full kitchen with adjacent living room, long hall with individual bedrooms that ended with a bathroom. The decorations practically screamed “guys who smoke weed” considering the giant marijuana leaf tapestry hanging in the living room and the multicolored string lights that hung on the ceiling casting a psychedelic glow throughout the dorm. An incense that smelled interestingly like the ocean was burning on the coffee table. 

You were pretty sure burning incense wasn’t allowed on university property. Then again, neither was smoking weed in the parking lot, but Jungkook and his roommates did whatever they wanted. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or…?” 

Jungkook led the way down the hall, you trailing a bit behind him as you continued being nosy. As you passed the first bedroom, the door suddenly swung open, causing you to yelp when you were face-to-face with a rather grumpy looking man with shockingly green hair. The bleary look of his eyes told you he’d been asleep. 

“Why the fuck are you wet?” 

You did a double take, shocked at the roughness of the question from a stranger. Before you could answer, Jungkook was pulling you forward by the wrist. 

“Hyung, I went to the grocery store today. There’s tangerines on the counter.” 

The green-haired roommate grumbled a thank you and shot straight to the kitchen. 

“Just ignore Yoongi,” Jungkook whispered, stopping in front of his bedroom. “He’s a fifth-year senior and probably ready to burn the entire university down.” 

Jungkook’s bedroom was the exact opposite of what you’d expected. After seeing the chaos of his art studio, you’d thought his bedroom would be much of the same. Instead you were met with a simple, organized room. No clutter, no mess. Everything had its place, not an art supply in sight. Peaking over his shoulder, you saw even his dresser drawers were organized, each article of clothing neatly folded. That was likely why Jungkook was able to quickly pick out a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts to hand you. 

“Oh, and this,” he tossed you a towel, as well. “You can use the bathroom. I’ll be in here.” 

“Thank you,” you said with an appreciative nod. 

The skin on your fingers had wrinkled up from the rain and you pressed them into the towel to find some relief. Who knew the feeling of wearing dry clothes would be so sweet? You took your time in the bathroom, rubbing down every inch of your body. Unfortunately, even your underwear and bra were soaked. If you put on dry clothes over them, the water would surely bleed into the fabric. So you opted for going commando, to your dismay. At least Jungkook’s t-shirt was baggy enough that your chest wasn’t on full display, and it wasn’t like anyone would know you weren’t wearing underwear. 

You caught a look at yourself in the mirror and laughed at how ridiculous you looked. It was like you’d come out of a really bad hip-hop music video from the early 2000s, literally drowning in baggy clothes. 

“Hey Jungkook… Do you have something I could put my clothes in?” You stood in the hallway in front of Jungkook’s bedroom, wet clothes in your hands. The door was closed and you were afraid of opening it if he was still changing. 

“You look cute.” 

You instinctively squeezed your bundle of clothes, turning your head to the side at the sound of that Mother. Fucking. Annoying. Ass. Voice. 

Taehyung raised an eyebrow at you, probably utterly confused as to why you looked the way you did, standing there in his dorm. You were determined to give him absolutely nothing. 

“So, you and Jungkook, huh?” 

A small smirk twisted at the corners of his mouth. By the way he was standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, it was clear that he wasn’t planning on walking away. 

“We just got back from class,” you said matter-of-factly. 

You focused on a spot on the wall to the right of his head when you spoke; it made it easier to look at him without having to stare into his eyes. Even though you found absolutely nothing about your statement funny, Taehyung started laughing. It was a low chuckle that brought that stupid smirk out even more. 

“Were you coming back from class at 2 o’clock this morning, too?” 

His eyes glinted with something that made a shiver shoot down the length of your spine. 

Luckily, Jungkook’s abrupt presence swinging the bedroom door open gave you and Taehyung someone else to focus on, and you could safely escape the fact that you didn’t have a witty comeback to shove in Taehyung’s face for teasing you about Jungkook. There was nothing there with Jungkook.  

He just gave nice hugs. And you respected his creative mind. And he had great taste in music. And you felt a little bit bad for him because people didn’t seem to give him the chances he deserved. And, wow, he was standing in the doorway of his bedroom wearing form-fitting gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips and you could tell that they sat low because he was shirtless. And your eyes were skipping down the path that his happy trail was leading from his belly button down to the strings of his sweatpants that hung down just on top of where you could make out a slight bulge in the fabric. 

“Y/N?” 

You quickly tore your eyes from Jungkook’s crotch to look at his face, not missing the way Taehyung’s smirk was growing even wider. You opened your mouth, then looked down at your clothes, then back at Jungkook. 

“She wants something to put her clothes in,” Taehyung admitted once it was clear you weren’t going to cooperate. “I’m going over to Natalie’s. Oh, and I dipped into your Trojan stash. Yoongi hyung didn’t have any and you have too many.” 

He flashed Jungkook a grin and pushed himself from his leaning position on the wall. 

“Have fun,” he offered over his shoulder as he walked away, heading to go fuck his girlfriend’s brains out. 

You were going to throw up. 

“What a fucking asshole,” you breathed through gritted teeth. 

Rather than be surprised at your cursing, Jungkook gave you a sympathetic look as he took your wet clothes from you to put in a small duffle bag. 

“I’m sorry…” he said after a moment, gesturing for you to step into his bedroom. He closed the door behind you and hopped onto his bed. Just as he’d done in the studio, he patted the space next to him to get you to sit with him. 

“C’mere.” 

“Jungkook, I don’t wanna bother you anymore. You’ve had to deal with me a lot the past 24 hours.” 

“Do I look bothered?”

You gave the boy a tight shake of your head and clambered onto the bed beside him, careful to sit hunched over a bit so your chest wouldn’t be too obvious. For once, he no longer smelled like paint. Instead your senses were overwhelmed by the strong scent of his laundry detergent, something akin to the ocean breeze of the incense the roommates were burning in the living room. He leaned his back against the headboard, but he turned at an angle to look at you from the side. 

“He told me about you two…” 

You felt your body stiffen at his confession and Jungkook rushed to finish his thought. 

“Not the details or anything. But just that you were hooking up.” 

Great. This was perfect. Leave it to Taehyung to treat you like a secret yet blabber to his friends. You hadn’t even told any of your friends about Taehyung. To this day, Courtney and Amiriah had no idea. And could you even trust Jungkook when he said the details were spared? Didn’t boys love to talk about their sexual conquests? 

“I’m sorry he’s such a fuckboy.” 

“Oh, like you aren’t, too?” 

“What?!” 

Jungkook stared at you incredulously, shocked by your sudden aggression. But you couldn’t stop yourself. The anger you’d let fester in you from countless boys quite literally fucking you over was all spilling over the top. It was just unfortunate that Jungkook was there to bear the weight rather than Taehyung; but you didn’t think he was wholly innocent either. College boys were entitled and selfish. Even though Jungkook had never done anything to you, you’d seen how some girls followed after him like he was some kind of mystery meant to be solved. He never explicitly talked about his love life with you, but you only took that as a bad sign. 

“Oh don’t act brand new, Jungkook. You literally make everything about sex. Literally all your poems are about eating pussy. You made that fucking painting of a naked women. And what the fuck is that?” 

Your arm shot out to point at a painting hanging on his wall that looked vaguely like an abstract rendition of a vulva. It somehow felt like the icing on the fucked up cake. 

“It’s called artistic appreciation!”

“You’re just as gross as Taehyung and all the other guys who just use women for their bodies and don’t give a fuck about how we feel or-”  

“Stop it.” Jungkook’s voice hit you like ice. You dropped your arm down and whipped your head back around to look at him, lips falling open at the harshness of his tone. 

“Don’t compare me to Tae. You don’t know what I’m like. You barely know me at all.” 

“That’s not-” 

“I said stop, okay?” he interjected again and the glare he sent you was enough to shut you up for good. Being scolded wasn’t exactly high on your list of favorite activities, especially not from someone you considered to be a friend. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire and you struggled to swallow down your words, shame creeping up your face in waves.

“I’ve spent the last four months in that poetry class watching you write about feeling broken and alone and misunderstood. And you know what I do? I invite you over to do homework ‘cause I know none of your other friends are studying English. And I asked you to go to Morgan Parker’s book reading with me ‘cause I knew you didn’t have anyone else to go with. And I invited you to my studio ‘cause you said you wish you were good at art and I wanted you to see that you could be good if you tried.” 

At this point his cheeks had turned bright pink and his hands were bunched up into fists in his lap. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away from the fire in his eyes. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel like you owe me anything or to get some kind of recognition, okay? But just don’t fucking compare me to Tae when all I’ve ever tried to do is make you feel less alone. I like you, a lot. And I don’t even care that you’re not into me and you’re still caught up on him. I genuinely just want you to be happy.” 

With his monologue over, Jungkook turned his head to stare down at his hands, leaving you to peer at his profile with your mouth hanging open. 

It was the most you’d heard Jungkook speak, ever. It was also the most expressive you’ve ever seen him. Despite his passion for art, Jungkook was a very level person; he was collected even in the most stressful situations. To see him visibly shaking as he raised his voice was upsetting. 

“Jungkook…” You reached out to touch his arm and your heart broke into a million pieces when he flinched. 

“It’s whatever.” 

But it wasn’t. 

You felt like shrinking into the smallest version of yourself and disappearing. You’d spent so much time aching over the wounds Taehyung had left that you hadn’t considered what you might be missing out on, or how you might have been hurting someone else. Your head was lost in the dark cloud hanging over you; your heart couldn’t see anything in front of you. Blinded by your own pain, healing long overdue. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

“JK…” you started again. Lifting your hand, you brought your fingers to his chin and encouraged him to turn his head to look at you. “I’m so sorry. I really am. I just… It hurts? I don’t know what to do with the hurt.” 

From Taehyung and every other reckless boy. 

You let go of his face and waited, holding your breath until your lungs burned. Much to your disappointment, Jungkook maintained that cold stare, his eyes boring into yours so deeply that you felt like he was seeing something inside of you that even you didn’t know. You were afraid to look at him, shame making it difficult to hold your head up.  

“Give it to me.” 

“What?” It was your turn to cast your eyebrows down in confusion. 

“Give me the hurt. You don’t have to hold onto it anymore. I can take it.” His large hand enveloped your own, thumb running figure 8s into your skin.

You tried to speak, but you couldn’t choke out even a whisper as his words repeated in your head. Give me the hurt. Your hands shivered beneath his and you looked away quickly, feeling that horrid prickling in the corner of your eyes. You were not going to lose it just because you were touch-starved and never once in your life had someone so soundly declared their desire to take on whatever pain it was that you were feeling. You liked to keep your pain a secret, only letting out emotions through your poetry. And even then, you wanted to separate yourself from it. Writing was like putting down your emotion, letting it exist outside of you, so you could live free from it. But that didn’t always happen the way you wanted it to. 

You blinked quickly, losing focus on Jungkook’s face until you felt something hot slip down your cheek and you realized you were crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, embarrassment flooding your chest as you tried not to hiccup. What kind of emotional disaster were you? As Courtney would say, it wasn’t very girlboss of you. 

“I can take it.” 

This time the embers had gone out in his eyes. Instead, his irises were pleading with you. You tried to cover your face with your hands, but Jungkook held them down. He brushed your cheeks dry with his thumb, cradling your chin in his palm. 

“You deserve better, okay?” 

It was difficult to believe, but the soft gaze Jungkook held made you want to think maybe he was right. But how could it be possible for someone to want to carry your burden for you? He had no reason to. 

“I’m good now,” you said after a moment, the tears dried and your breathing returning to normal. You wanted to give him an out, let him have the opportunity to feel like he’d done his part in case he didn’t really mean what he said. You refused to let yourself fall for anymore bullshit. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me…” 

There was that familiar line. You felt your eyes instinctually roll and you couldn’t stop the next snarky comment from slipping past your lips, using biting humor as a defense mechanism to cope. 

“Okay, Immanuel Kant.” 

Jungkook snorted, matching your eye roll, but he gave you a smile that reached his eyes. A classic Jungkook grin that had you giving a small smile in return and making your stomach flip like a fucking gymnast. It made you slowly float back down to reality and you remembered you were sitting in a shirtless Jungkook’s bed, his body leaned forward out of concern for you, his face mere inches from yours. Hand still cradling your chin. 

“Jungkook…” 

Your voice got caught in your throat with what little breathing you could manage. Then you watched his eyes drop to your lips as you whispered his name, and the melancholic look he gave you when his gaze returned to yours made you squeeze your eyes shut with guilt. He’d confessed his interest in you and you’d completely glossed over it. Not on purpose, but somehow you were making your feelings the priority once again. And now he looked at you like you were already gone. 

“Yeah, Y/N?” You opened your eyes at his call. 

“I…” 

You wanted to tell him how you felt, you really did. But life had taught you that in relationships there was always someone who cared more, and that person always got hurt the most. You just couldn’t keep being that person. 

Jungkook studied your face for what felt like an eternity. If he was expecting you to finish your sentence, he was certainly being patient. But it was the way his mouth turned downward into a small frown and his eyes traveled off somewhere behind you that told you he’d lost hope. 

Until he was staring at you once again and his grip on your chin tightened so subtly you almost didn’t notice. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His voice came out low and thick. The tone sent a shiver down your spine and made goosebumps rise along your forearms. You’d never heard his voice drop so deep before, nor had you seen his eyes darken the way they had now. A spark of desire fluttered in your stomach and you felt nearly lightheaded from the way your body was hitting a peak level of anxiety over his question. If you said yes, were you just giving into yet another boy who would ruin you? And you believed Jungkook could ruin you. He was an artist; they were always trouble. 

But there was no denying the fact that your nervousness was merely a physical response to your interest in Jungkook that had grown exponentially over time. You were weak, and he was right. You did feel broken and alone and misunderstood. And you knew that sometimes Jungkook felt that way, too.

Just when Jungkook began to pull away with a look of rejection written across his face, you nodded. Unable to speak, you watched Jungkook’s tongue swipe across his bottom lip as he leaned in even closer. 

You were prepared for something much more lewd than what Jungkook gave you. Though your lips were parted, he didn’t invade your space. Instead of tongue and lip biting, you were met with a chaste kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, and the way his hand cupped your face made you feel secure, just as you’d felt when he hugged you. You’d never felt a sense of security with someone from a simple kiss. 

And then he was ending the kiss just as quickly as he’d started it, finally dropping his hand from your face. 

“Sorry,” he sighed, no longer meeting your eyes when he spoke. “I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t want you to feel like you had to agree to that…” 

It was your turn to shut him up. Maybe it was the remaining hormones swirling in your brain from having cried so much, or the adrenaline from being kissed by a man you’d tried to shoo out of your mind, but you felt bold enough to take his chin in your hand as he had done to you. You pressed your lips against his, this time forcing his mouth into a faster, deeper rhythm. The kiss was heavy and more desperate than the first. It was what you’d initially expected Jungkook to give you; a makeout that went hard and fast from the beginning, 0 to 100. That was what fuckboys did, wasn’t it? Anything to get their dick wet the quickest. 

It was what you were used to.

Your small hands found the tops of his shoulders, fingers running along his smooth, warm skin before you pushed him against the headboard. Swinging your leg over his, your knees sank into the soft bed as you straddled him. You adjusted slightly in his lap and the shift made your core press directly on top of the bulge in his pants that you’d admired earlier. This realization made the sudden heat between your legs melt like lava, and you ground your hips into his in a smooth but firm motion. 

The movement elicited a deep groan from the back of Jungkook’s throat, another sweet sound you’d never had the pleasure of hearing fall from his lips. With his lips parted from groaning, you took the opportunity to slip your tongue inside of his mouth. His hands pushed up the hem of your shirt just enough to allow him to reach the skin of your waist, gripping you hard as your body moved against his. 

“Y/N, wait.” 

Jungkook pulled back to lean his head against the bed’s headboard and you were met not with lust-filled eyes as you expected, but eyes that looked so deeply pained you almost wanted to avert your gaze. 

“I don’t wanna be a rebound. I want this to mean something, or else I can’t do this.” 

Jungkook’s voice came out hoarse, and it trembled. His eyes still held that undeniable sadness that reminded you that, once again, you had failed to see how your own fear of rejection had made you ignorant to the feelings you were instilling in him. Here he was, willing to give himself over to you, holding back because he was afraid that you would hurt him.

Once again, shame flooded your face as you frantically searched for a way to show that you needed this to mean something, that in just a few months he had become the most constant person in your life, the person you were most comfortable with even when all you often did was just sit and talk about life. 

There was an obvious way to fix this, but you still had that gnawing feeling holding you back. 

“I like you, too, Jungkook.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you spoke just barely above a whisper. If you didn’t look at him, the vulnerability of the moment would be easier to manage. “You’re kind and smart even though you’re always toeing the line of academic probation.” 

Your words came out rushed, the last comment making you let out a laugh that sounded more like a short burst of air, and you held onto his shoulders for dear life. 

“And you’re the most creative and imaginative person I’ve ever met, but you’re so lowkey about everything. You deserve more than you give yourself credit for,” you continued, eyes still closed. “And… I guess you’re kinda hot…” 

With that you slowly opened one eye to peek at Jungkook’s face. It was embarrassing to say that the grin he wore made your heart soar and it was only then that you noticed the way his fingertips were running along your sides, tracing invisible designs onto your skin. 

“Only kinda hot?” 

“Oh shut up.” 

You gave him a playful slap against his chest. You let your hand linger there, palm pressed against him to feel the strength of his pec muscle. With your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, you ran your hand down the length of Jungkook’s chest and along his abdomen until you reached between your bodies to access the hem of his sweatpants. 

Without warning you gripped his cock, palming it over his pants. You felt it twitch beneath your fingers, already semi-hard and warm even through the fabric. Jungkook let out a low groan, hips slightly bucking into you. Suddenly aware of how painfully clothed you are, Jungkook slid his hands back up your sides, pushing his t-shirt off of you in the process. Ruining the orderly look of his bedroom, he tossed the t-shirt and brought his attention back to you. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he hissed, realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

You shuddered at the gentle way he ran his fingers up your sides once more and you leaned forward when his tattooed fingers lightly pinched one of your nipples until it went hard. Then he moved onto the other one, tweaking it slowly. 

After a moment you let go of him and reached for the hem of his sweatpants, waiting for him to lift his body so you could pull them down his legs. 

He’s big, bigger than you’d expected. You’d imagined he would have a nice dick, purely because it seemed like the most mysterious, standoffish guys always did. They didn’t have to compensate by being boisterous and arrogant; they knew what they were packing and that was enough. But Jungkook was quite possibly too much. You were a small person, for fuck’s sake. 

“We don’t have to do this. If you’re not ready, we can stop.” 

There was Jungkook reading your mind, yet again. How was it possible for him to know exactly what to say every single time? Were you just that expressive? If so, no one else in your life read you so well. 

“Stop talking,” you repeated his earlier command, but you didn’t look him in the eyes. Instead you were focused on how heavy and soft his cock felt in your hand as you admired him. You ran your fingers along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, then you glided your thumb along the tip to smear the bit of precum that was already leaking. The action made Jungkook whimper and the sound sent a jolt straight into your core. 

But just before you could lower your head down to give him what you knew he wanted, Jungkook’s hand was cupping your chin once again. He pulled your face upwards to guide you back to his. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. I want to do this,” you assured him, but he slowly shook his head. 

“You’re going in so fast, and you don’t have to. I’m not some asshole hookup. The point of all this isn’t just to get me off and make you put in all the work.” He leaned forward to kiss you on the tip of your nose and you’d never felt more wanted in your entire life. “You deserve to feel good for once.” 

Snaking his arm around your waist, Jungkook gently flipped you onto your back. Spreading your legs apart with his knees, he kneeled over you as he began laying hot kisses down the length of your neck, pausing only to suck at the soft skin where your neck and collarbone met. 

“Jungkook…” you sighed, squirming underneath him once his mouth began to travel further down. 

He flicked his tongue against one of your nipples, drawing a circle around the erect mound. He let out a deep hiss of approval when you moaned, arching your back to push yourself against his mouth. While his tongue was busy exploring your chest, Jungkook took his sweet time pulling his basketball shorts off of you, those too flying across the room. 

When he moved back into a comfortable position between your legs, his thigh brushed against your core and he let out a moan loud enough you were sure his roommates would hear him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you could’ve warned me you weren’t wearing any underwear,” he groaned, his thigh now glistening with your arousal. 

“Sorry I didn’t think to tell you while I was crying.” 

“So dramatic.” 

You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment that bore even deeper into your soul when a pathetic whimper escaped your lips the moment you felt Jungkook’s hand slip in between your thighs. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he sighed, effortlessly sliding his fingers along your folds. He ran his fingers up and down slowly as if he were memorizing each crevice and the way your legs jumped when he hit a certain spot, especially once he began stroking your clit. 

He was exploring, you realized. He was learning your body and there was nothing more embarrassing. All you could think about was the fear that Jungkook might not like what he saw. Or that he was comparing you to his past fucks. Or that Taehyung had told him things about your sex life. 

“Why are you hiding from me?”

You felt your hands being pried from your face and lifted over your head. Jungkook pinned your wrists above you, his face now inches from yours. You could see a restrained wildness in his eyes, but his eyebrows were knitted together in frustration. 

“Why?” he repeated. 

You shook your head, but another irritated call of your name made you question your decision to defy him.

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed…” you whispered, avoiding his gaze. 

“Does this seem like disappointment to you?” Jungkook rolled his hips into you, his now rock hard cock sliding against your dripping folds. 

“Ahh, n-no,” you gasped, wiggling under his hold. 

“Okay, so don’t hide from me. Let me take care of you.” 

Letting go of your wrists, Jungkook got off of the bed. You watched him with confusion that slowly melted into a mixture of anxiety and sweet anticipation as he hooked his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Falling to his knees, Jungkook let your legs rest on his broad shoulders. You could feel his breath against your skin and it took everything in your power not to begin squirming again when you felt his tongue lick a hot stripe up the inside of your thigh. 

“I want you to watch me while I eat you out,” Jungkook murmured, his dark eyes locking with yours as he leaned forward to plant a kiss against your lower lips. “Okay?” 

You had no choice but to nod in compliance, propping yourself up on your forearms so you could get a better view even though everything in you was screaming to break your gaze. You could hardly believe it was Jungkook staring at you through his bangs from between your legs. Not to mention you were usually very shy when it came to being sexually pleasured - mostly because it rarely happened. Guys were always expecting you to do them favors, not the other way around. You couldn’t even remember the last time a guy had gone down on you. 

But there was no time to be shy when Jungkook abruptly plunged his tongue into your folds. You let out a loud yelp and immediately slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the remaining squeals threatening to slip from your parted lips. Jungkook chuckled at your response and the vibration made your cunt throb. 

Still, you kept your gaze locked with his as he lapped up your juices, no matter how dirty it made you feel to have those blown out pupils bore into yours. Your eyes only fluttered when his lips found your clit and began to suck on it while his tongue flicked a steady rhythm against it, the two sensations proving to be almost too much for you to handle. Your breathing became ragged as you felt your abdomen tense up. 

“Jungkook,” you whispered a moan, hands gripping the bed sheets so tightly your fingers started to hurt. 

“Hmm, baby? You’re gonna have to speak up.” The new nickname made you whimper. 

As if to encourage you to find your voice, Jungkook slid two fingers inside of you as he returned to pleasuring your clit. The sudden stretch immediately ripped a strangled moan out of you and your hips involuntarily bucked into Jungkook’s face. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized, but Jungkook only fucked into you harder, expertly curling his fingers at just the right spot to make your legs start to shake. 

“Don’t apologize. You can fuck my face all you want,” he lifted his head up to lick his lips, sending you a wink that made your heart stop. 

He could sense your orgasm coming soon by the way your walls were clenching around his fingers, but he was determined to make it as mind-shattering as possible. Fitting a third finger inside of you, he continued to suck on your clit, tongue swirling to the rhythm of his fingers. 

“Ohh, oh my god,” you sobbed, tears pooling in your eyes as you finally reached your climax. You let out a loud cry, fingers tangled in Jungkook’s hair as you struggled to still your shaking legs. 

Licking a final stripe up your lips, Jungkook lifted his head from your thighs and gave you a satisfied grin. He was truly a sight for sore eyes with his mouth soaked in your arousal and his hair a mess from your fingers running through it. You fell flat on your back, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. 

“You good?”

“I’m going to die.”

Your eyes were on the ceiling but you heard him laugh and you felt his strong arms lift your legs back onto the bed, adjusting you so you were comfortably in the center of the mattress again. 

“Damn, I didn’t realize I was gonna make you tap out so fast,” he teased, lying down beside you. He pressed a kiss against your throat. 

“Everyone says you have great head game and I should’ve taken them more seriously.” 

“Who says that?!” 

You turned onto your side to face him, already rolling your eyes. “Don’t you know the rumors that get spread about you?” 

Jungkook gave you a small shake of his head. “I don’t worry about people. I’m only worried about you.” 

The warm fuzzy feelings his words gave you were too much for you to bear, so you pushed them away by pulling him closer, crashing your lips into his. Jungkook wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush up against his chest. You could feel his cock still hard against your leg and it reminded you that this whole situation felt so foreign to you. Never had you been pleasured by a man who expected nothing in return.

“You are art, you know that? A fucking masterpiece,” Jungkook sighed against your lips, pulling away to nuzzle against your neck. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yes, baby?” There was that fucking nickname again making your pussy flutter back to life. 

Instead of answering him, you reached down to grab his cock. He groaned against your throat as you gave him a few slow pumps. He’d taken care of you just as he’d promised, and now you hoped he’d let you take care of him. Not because you felt obligated to, but because you genuinely wanted to. 

Wordlessly, Jungkook rolled you onto your back so that he was hovering over you, his forearms on either side of your head. 

“I want you so bad,” he growled against your ear, hips rolling into your open legs. 

“What are you waiting for?” you whispered. 

“Fuck…” 

You blinked and he was no longer on top of you. Instead he was rummaging through the drawer of his nightstand, eventually pulling out a shiny square packet. For someone normally so calm, Jungkook’s fingers were shaking with need as he rolled the condom on. 

“Is this okay?” He returned to his position between your legs as you laid on your back. Your heart stung at his thoughtfulness, shocked that he was asking you what position you wanted him in. You nodded, spreading your legs wider for him. Jungkook ran his fingers along the inside of your thighs, his head dipped down so his bangs fell forward, partially obstructing your view of his face. 

You gasped when you felt something wet hit your cunt. He’d spit on you. You could feel the extra lubrication slide down your folds and the lewd act made you shiver. Sure, maybe that was fairly tame for some people, but it had your head reeling.  

Holding the base of his cock, Jungkook rubbed the tip along your folds, further smearing his spit and your arousal together. 

“If you want to stop, just tell me,” he said hoarsely, and that was the warning you got before he was sinking his cock into your entrance. 

Despite how relaxed and turned on you felt, the stretch was considerable. You tensed for a moment and Jungkook froze, his eyes meeting yours. With a nod of approval from you, he pushed himself in further, finally bottoming out and holding the position as he waited for you to adjust. You felt so unbelievably full with him inside of you and the pressure of him against your walls was enough to make your legs shake once again. 

After giving you a bit of time, Jungkook began to move his hips, starting with slow but long strokes that got increasingly deeper. 

“Oh god,” he moaned, head hanging down so he could watch his cock disappear into your cunt over and over again. After a while he lifted one of your legs to rest it on his shoulder so he could adjust his angle to thrust into you that much deeper, and the next slam of his body into yours that had his cock make direct contact with your g-spot made you scream. 

“Shit, Y/N, Yoongi’s gonna kill us if you keep screaming like that,” Jungkook said with a grin that very much made it seem like he wouldn’t mind dying for such an offense. 

“You… just feel s-so g-good,” you cried out, your nails clawing at Jungkook’s arms as you searched for something to hold on to. 

He couldn’t possibly have been concerned considering he only thrusted into you even harder. The thing about Jungkook, though, was that he was going hard but he was going slow. He was savoring every time he slid into you, savoring the glisten of his cock as he pulled out. Turning his head to the side, he kissed the leg he’d draped over his shoulder, one hand running down the smooth skin while his other held on tightly to your hip to keep you in place. 

“Fuck, yes baby,” Jungkook groaned. He pressed his fingers against your mouth, gently prying your lips open to stick his thumb in your mouth. The action surprised you, but you obediently sucked on his thumb until he was pulling away again. Reaching between you, he pressed his now wet thumb against your clit and began rubbing circles as he fucked you. 

You whined at the sudden stimulation, your walls fluttering around his cock as your breathing turned into panting. “I’m gonna…” you let out another moan, your walls clenching around Jungkook’s cock. “I’m gonna come again.” 

“That’s right, come on my cock for me, baby. Let go for me.” 

How could Jungkook make dirty talk sound so alluring? So supportive? It was just like his writing, a gentle lullaby of filth. From the look he’d given you earlier, you knew there was a less tame side of him you’d yet to tap into. The memory of his poem flooded your mind, daring you to take things a step further… she likes to wear my hand as a choker…

Reaching out, you grabbed the hand that was holding onto your hip and brought it to rest on your neck. You saw that same wild look flash in Jungkook’s eyes once again, and you knew the action had affected him because his thrusting faltered for a moment. With your lips slightly parted, you tilted your head back slightly to expose more of your throat for him. Jungkook wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a sight more beautiful. 

“Shit, you keep acting up like this I’m gonna fall in love,” he grunted, biting down hard on his bottom lip as he opened up his palm to get a firm grip on your neck. As he resumed his rhythmic thrusting, he squeezed your throat. At first, the decrease in oxygen had you gasping in your body’s natural drive for self-preservation. Once your body and mind adjusted, though, you succumbed to the way your body tingled with excitement. When you moaned, your eyes fluttering and rolling back, Jungkook applied even more pressure. 

You’d never imagined you’d have another orgasm somewhere inside of you so soon after the first, but you were convulsing around Jungkook’s cock just as he asked you to, calling out his name in the sweetest song. 

It wasn’t long before his thrusts became sloppier and his grip on your throat became almost too tight. The string of profanity he growled in your ear as he came made you shiver. Was it really possible that you affected him so deeply? 

Jungkook hovered over you for a moment, attempting to catch his breath. 

“I think that’s the hardest I ever came in my life,” he said weakly, finally mustering up enough strength to pull himself out of you. He left the bed to throw away the soiled condom, you musing at his cute little butt as he sauntered away. 

“You’re welcome,” you said with a grin, though the hoarseness of your voice startled you. You pressed your hand against your throat and winced, not because your throat hurt, but because of the way Jungkook looked at you with deep concern. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, climbing into bed beside you. 

“Please,” you sighed, snuggling against Jungkook’s chest. “You did me too good.” 

“I’ll fucking do you again, too, if you don’t stop rubbing your thighs against me,” he murmured in your ear, causing you to chuckle lightly. 

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

A loud knock on the door made you jump, your arm instinctually covering your chest though you knew Jungkook had locked the door. 

“What the fuck,” he whispered, silently willing whoever it was to go away. 

The knocking continued, this time a bit more aggressively. 

“Open up, bro, the light’s on. I know you’re in there,” Taehyung complained from the other side of the door. “You’ve still got my pen.”  

Your eyes grew wide as you looked at Jungkook. 

With a groan, Jungkook got out of bed once again. Grabbing the basketball shorts you’d been wearing, he pulled them on and snagged Taehyung’s vape pen from where it sat atop his dresser. He didn’t bother to put a shirt on or fix his sex hair. 

“Wait,” you whispered. “What about me?” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jungkook spoke at a normal volume as if to demonstrate how serious he was about not caring if Taehyung saw you there. 

“Seriously, JK?” Taehyung clearly thought Jungkook’s comment had been directed towards him. 

You quickly grabbed Jungkook’s t-shirt and pulled it on seconds before Jungkook swung the bedroom door open. 

You watched Taehyung’s eyes slowly scan over Jungkook’s appearance. His mouth twisted as though he were about to speak, but then he locked eyes with you where you still sat in Jungkook’s bed, probably looking just as fucked out as Jungkook did. 

“Here.” Jungkook dropped the vape in Taehyung’s open palm. “Need anything else?” 

Taehyung’s eyes made their way back to Jungkook and whatever snarky comment he’d been prepared to make before was now gone. 

“Nah, that’s it, thanks.” 

-

After a week of being exclusive with Jungkook, you felt the need to loop your roomates into the whole situation. Courtney and Amiriah were your best friends, after all. The three of you had been your own Golden Trio since day one freshman year, ending up in the same peer mentor group. The first time you’d all hung out together you’d gone to an off-campus frat party. Barely an hour in and Courtney had been throwing her guts up right into the pool. Needless to say, the three of you had never gone back to that house. As horrifying as it was, you felt like it painted the perfect picture of your relationship. You were all in it for the long haul, no matter how messy. 

But now you had to tell them you were dating the weird guy. 

You kept looking at your phone, checking the time. The two should have been out of their sorority meeting by now, which meant they could arrive at your dorm at any moment. Waiting was nerve-racking. You gnawed on a hangnail, only pulling your gaze from your phone when you felt Jungkook’s strong arms wrap around your waist. He pulled you into his lap on the couch and leaned into you, lightly brushing his lips along your neck, making you shiver. 

“Why do you act like you’re having me meet your parents?” he asked with a small chuckle. 

“Courtney and Amiriah are important to me,” you started, trying to find the correct words to explain your friends. “They’re also really… judgmental, but because they care about me. And they don’t trust men.” Which was fair. You did your best to look out for them as well. 

Jungkook hummed in response but didn’t speak. That didn’t surprise you. A man of few words, you knew he liked to have time to decide how he felt or what he wanted to say about things. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you announced, standing up. Jungkook nodded and leaned back into the couch. Was it a good thing that he didn’t seem nervous? 

Of course the moment you entered the bathroom, Courtney and Amiriah came bustling through the front door. Their loud chatter quickly halted when their eyes fell upon Jungkook lounging on your couch, legs spread and tattooed arm draped across the back of the couch. 

“Hey,” he greeted them with a grin and a nod of his head. 

“Oh, um, hi?” Courtney’s greeting was more of a question. 

“Where’s Y/N?” What Amiriah wanted to ask was how he even got into your dorm, but she didn’t want to be rude. 

“I’m here!” You shuffled into the room, giving your friends a little wave. “Jungkook wanted to hang out here for a change.” 

The boy quirked his eyebrow at you and gave you an amused smile, noticing how you’d made it sound like it was his idea when it most certainly had been yours. Not that it bothered him. If anything, he wanted you to deflect onto him. He’d told you he could take anything you needed to give him, and he’d meant it. 

Jungkook got up from his seat and walked over to the three of you, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. The pose made his biceps and chest more prominent, and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment. God, he was too pretty. 

“I feel bad it’s the first time I’m finally meeting you,” he said in a warm voice. “Y/N never shuts up about how great you two are. Pretty sure I’ve heard the story of The Great Edible Debacle at the Dolph concert about fifty times.” 

You were shocked by how charming he was being. Really laying it on thick. 

“That is a horrible story to be telling people, Y/N! What the fuck,” Amiriah said with a laugh. “We’re only a little bit insane.” 

“And stupid,” Courtney chimed in. 

The four of you continued your bantering as you lounged around the living room, snacking on some food your roommates had brought as leftovers from their sorority meeting. Jungkook fit into the conversation rather neatly, talking a lot more than you’d expected, but still knowing when to sit back and let the girls dominate the conversation. He sat with his arm around your waist, keeping you close but not dipping into any PDA, knowing it would bother you if he did. 

The conversation came to a pause when Jungkook’s phone began to ring, all three pairs of eyes pointed in his direction. 

“Ah, fuck. Tae’s calling me,” he mumbled. “I’ll be right back.” As he stood up, he cupped your face for a moment, running his thumb across your cheek before he was bringing his phone to his ear. 

“Hyungie, what’s up?” Jungkook stepped out into the hallway, closing the front door behind him. 

“Girl, are y’all fucking?!” Amiriah leaned forward with a harsh whisper, excitement dancing in her bright eyes. 

“We’re dating, actually.” 

Courtney let out a squeal, bouncing on her knees where she sat on a pillow on the floor, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. “I knew it, I totally knew it.” 

“I’m gonna admit, weird or not, that man is foine now that I’m seeing him up close.” Amiriah loudly sucked her teeth and shook her head. “He’s got that snatched little waist. And those thighs? He could smash a watermelon.” 

“Okay, okay, but we gotta ask the REAL question here.” Courtney was now plopping down on the couch between you and Amiriah, blanket still in tow. “Did he eat it right?? In the words of Nicki Minaj, do he got good form??” 

You slapped Courtney on the arm in protest, but you were grinning as you spoke. “I almost started crying, it was so good.” 

“WHEW girl, stop it,” Amiriah grabbed your arm and shook it. “Are you willing to share? For charity?” 

Before you could scold your friend for trying to get her hands on your man, Jungkook returned. The shift in the room’s atmosphere was palpable, and the way Courtney and Amiriah watched Jungkook with new interest was almost too obvious. 

He gave you a confused smile as he squeezed onto the couch next to you. 

“So, Jungkook,” Amiriah began and you prayed to God she wouldn’t say anything stupid. “You said you heard stories about us, but we didn’t talk about all the fun things we’ve heard about you!” 

You shot your friend a glare but she was already on a roll with Courtney on her heels. 

“Yeah, we’ve heard all about your poetry,” Courtney added. 

You don’t think your roommates were prepared for the low chuckle that rumbled from Jungkook nor for the dark look in his eyes as he turned to you. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, and you silently pleaded with him to behave. 

“Yeah, I was trying to give Y/N a preview of what she could be getting.” 

“Jungkook,” you gasped and your friends started talking all at once, but all you could focus on was the way your boyfriend was smirking at you, his tongue playing with his lip ring how he knew you liked. 

He leaned into you, his lips ghosting your ear and sending goosebumps up your arms as he whispered, 

“Just wait until you come over tonight.”

Living with Jungkook meant living with the constant smell of paint. Sure, you only just moved in together less than a week ago, but that was certainly long enough to know. And you were already finding little splatters on the floor and in the kitchen sink.

Living with Jungkook also meant that you were required to use the word magnets on the refrigerator to write him a poem every morning, just like he was going to write one for you. This was established as a house rule while the two of you discussed whether it would be a good idea to live together.

You thought the rules were going to be about who does the laundry, but you had to remember, this was Jungkook.

You tiptoed around the cardboard boxes full of all the stuff you two moved in with, but had yet to unpack. The hardwood floors glistened in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the flimsy blinds. Specks of dust glittered the air.

Jungkook was laying out a tarp in the entranceway of the apartment. An array of paint cans were placed around the tarp to hold it down.

“JK, what are you doing?” you inquired with your hands on your hips.

“Painting,” he said with a simple smile before turning back to his work. It was then that you noticed a large tray with fresh paint, and a variety of brushes sticking out of Jungkook’s pockets. 

“Here? This wall is the first thing people see when they walk in,” you pointed out. Leave it to Jungkook to start on a project before he’d even unpacked all his underwear. 

“That’s the point.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke, instead focused on mixing the color he wanted. 

You let out a small sigh. This man… 

“What are you going to do? Please, I beg of you, please do not paint genitalia of any kind.” It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy your boyfriend’s artwork. You were obsessed with his creativity, actually. It was part of what made you fall for him. But there was no denying that he was… unconventional in his taste. 

Jungkook let out a chuckle, his nose scrunched up and his cute front teeth exposed. It was the laugh that meant he thought you were being ridiculous. 

“It’s gonna be something even better.” 

That was not reassuring at all. 

“Jungkook, my parents are coming to visit in a week!” 

Setting his brush down in silence, Jungkook extended his arm to hook a tattooed finger through the belt loop of your shorts. You begrudgingly let him pull you forward until you were pressed against his chest. Your arms circled his tiny waist and you forgot you were supposed to be annoyed with him when he started caressing your head, careful not to mess up your hair. 

“I’m gonna paint a mural of my muse,” he said in the wispy tone his voice took on when he was thinking through his plans. “That’s you, in case you didn’t know.” 

You lifted your head to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest. “No.” 

“What?!” 

“You are not putting up some kind of shrine for me in the middle of the apartment.” 

“Why can’t I let everyone know that I worship you?” Jungkook whined, letting go of you. You weren’t prepared to be set free, though, and you stumbled backwards. With wide eyes, Jungkook grabbed a handful of your shirt to stop you from falling, but it was too late. Your foot stepped directly into one of his open paint cans. 

“JUNGKOOK!” you shrieked, lifting up your foot to see gloopy red paint drip from your toes.

Jungkook’s cheeks grew puffy as he tried to hold in his laughter while he searched for his towels. It was a failed attempt, though, and you were glowering even harder as you watched the laugh come bursting from inside him. 

“I’m-,” Jungkook wheezed, holding out a paint-stained towel for you. He was laughing so hard his hand shook. “I’m s-sorry, baby, I-” 

He abruptly shut up when he felt your hand swipe his cheek and a thick liquid rolled down his neck. 

“That’s what you get for laughing at me!” you said with a wicked grin, admiring how you’d smeared paint all over the side of his face. 

Your grin slowly fell as you watched Jungkook lean down to drag his fingers through his tray of baby blue paint. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, pointing your finger at him. 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Jungkook gave you the sweetest smile and reached for your legs. You felt his wet hands slide down your bare thighs and you shrieked again as he threw you over his shoulder. 

“Put me down! Kookie, you’re going to get paint all over the floor.” You gently beat his back with your fists, but your laughter made your actions less convincing. 

“Me? You’re the one ruining my painting area.” He tried brushing his bangs out of his eyes, but ended up smearing paint across his forehead and into his hair. “Now I have to clean my baby up.” 

You could hear the pout in his voice as he carried you down the hallway to the bathroom, dripping red and blue paint. The two of you were certainly going to leave your mark on this place.

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

[comatosebunny09]

Now that his birthday’s passed, I can be angsty on main.

cw: non-mc reader, angst, rejection, heartbreak, self-loathing, alcohol mention, unrequited feelings (kind of), stream of consciousness, not proofread, bittersweet (?) ending

After Sy returns to the base following a day spent with Emcee, you quietly slip him your gift—a small, matte black box with a curled, scarlet ribbon encircling it. You don’t give him time to thank you before you’re out of sight. He doesn’t miss the forlorn undertone of your “Happy Belated, boss-man,” before you leave.

He opens it up to see a QR code at the base of the box. He scans it on his phone. Two tickets to a candlelit orchestral performance. He smiles quietly, an affectionate chuckle in his throat. Something tame yet different to get him out of the base. Something so inherently Sylus. But why are there two tickets?

He stares after your afterimage. Ah. Was one of them for—not you? Well, that won’t do. You went through all this trouble to get him something thoughtful. Of course you’re coming with him. Maybe it’ll help break up the tension that’s been brewing between you since he made his choice.

—

It’s nice. Pleasant. You rented out the concert hall just for him. Didn’t expect him to bring you, but you won’t deny that you were thrilled about the invitation. Surprised—it was meant for him to enjoy it with…someone else.

He looks great beneath the candlelight. Then again, so do you. Dressed in sophisticated crimson, a dress to highlight the devastation of your body, courtesy of him. It’s still alright for him to buy you things, right? Friends buy each other gifts all the time.

It’s a little awkward, sitting there beside him. Thighs just barely brushing, fingers itching to reach for each other’s hands. But you’re friends—this is what you agreed to. You convinced yourself you were content with remaining by his side, paying off your unspoken debt to him, even if it pained you to look at him. Smell him. Feel him, barely ghosting, but always a commanding presence.

The music is a lovely distraction. It’s soft, invoking emotions you tucked away. Your eyes water as the strings kick in. It’s like he senses the minute shift in your expression, the change to your posture, the clench of your teeth, and he places his hand over yours to offer you a semblance of comfort. It feels wrong how his fingers burn, how they curl towards your palm on the armrest. How they make you feel safe, validated, wanted.

That soft smile he offers when you glance at him doesn’t help. And how he strokes over the clutch of your hand with his thumb, agitating the emotions welling in your chest. Your returned smile is watery, guarded as you glance at your lap.

Should friends even be holding hands like this?

—

A little bubbly to chase the burn away.

He took you to a lovely restaurant afterwards. You joked it was his birthday gift, so you should be treating him. It’s fine—friends take care of each other, right? When the ache is too much. When your tongue’s too heavy in your mouth, and your heart pulls in your chest.

You end up going for a walk downtown after dinner. Enjoy the historic sights, the fairy lights, the nightlife bustling on the cobblestoned walkways.

You’re laughing. Crowding together. Conversing like two idiots who just fell out of love, itching to sink back into it. He has gentle yet firm fingers around the crook of your elbow to steady you. Maybe you drank more champagne than you thought.

Your feet hurt. He shepherds you to a bus stand to take a load off. Pulls your feet up onto his lap, peeling off your high-heeled sandals, and working through the pain with his knuckles. Just like old times. Is this alright? Should he really be…this nice when he’s…not yours, and—

Thoughts you tried to keep at bay come spilling in. That night replays like torn film reels.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” he whispered, as if admitting it so low would ease the devastation of it. The sting. “Maybe in another lifetime, it could’ve been you. I could’ve held your hand while you laughed so sweetly under the sun. I could’ve stroked your cheek while you pouted in that adorable way, pretending to be upset with me. I could’ve held you so close while you dreamed, while you gave yourself to me. Just…not now. The timing. It’s just—”

You laughed despite the pang in your chest. Despite the tears clumping in your lashes, distorting your vision of him. Pathetic little streaks of red, white, black. You remember rubbing your arms to self-soothe. Being hysterical. Curling into yourself as bile singed the back of your throat. You wanted to vomit. Wanted the world to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to be erased from his memory—him forgetting you would’ve hurt less.

“Please don’t cry,” he placated, voice all croaky. Strained. Broken, almost like how you felt. Like it pained him more to let you down. He reached out for you, fingers shaky in the air near your cheek. You stepped away. You didn’t deserve his affection. Didn’t think you could handle it.

You laughed again, forcing a bitter smile onto your lips. “I’m okay,” you lied through a constricted throat.

It burned. Felt visceral. His pity was the worst torture you’d ever been subjected to. Honestly, you could’ve lived with him being mean. Crushing you. Telling you that you were delusional, a mistake, pathetic. His tenderness hurt more, like a knife thrust into your gut and twisted. It was like he was teasing you with a glimpse of what could have been. False hope. That doting voice speaking to you every day like that.

“Don’t worry about me,” you choked around the threat of a sob, a laugh, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He hated it, how you always had to put up a front. Always so brave, guarding your emotions like forbidden treasure. He wanted to hold you. Stroke over your hair. Murmur, ‘I’m sorrys’ against the outskirts of your ear. He’d never seen you like this, falling apart at the seams, and yet still fighting to shield yourself. As though showing a bit of weakness would cause him to dispose of you.

He hated himself, watching you wear that prideful smile despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. Letting you slip out of his office without a fight. His nails bit unforgivingly into his palm. Split the skin. Anguish possessed his features in the quiet. He always swiftly dealt with anyone who hurt you. A hair out of place, a scar on your cheek, blood seeping through your clothes.

So what was he supposed to do when he was the source of your pain?

You don’t say anything as his driver pulls his car up to the bus stop. Stone-faced as Sylus drops his jacket onto your shoulders, ushering you into the backseat. You feel empty—a husk. You thought you’d be over it by now, his soft rejection. But he’s gone and picked the scab, reopening festering wounds beneath with his sentimentality.

Why couldn’t it be you? Why was it always—

Someone else?

You lean away from him the entire ride back to base, watching the streetlights blur past the tinted window with your forehead against the crisp glass. It’s all you can do to keep your tears at bay. To keep yourself from falling apart all over again.

And you don’t miss his reflection—those anguished, scarlet-spun eyes watching you. His mouth opening and closing, grappling with the right words to say, yet failing to get them out. 

What could he say that wouldn’t wound you more? 

—

You leave without warning the following morning while everyone’s asleep. Pack up your essentials, a duffle slung over your shoulder, a motorcycle purring between your legs.

You ride towards the horizon, no destination in sight, a sinking feeling in your throat. You thought you could do this. Thought you could brave the storm, the torrents of pain, the letdowns. Thought you could handle seeing him smile like that, hearing him laugh like that, knowing you weren’t the cause of it. 

You deserve better, don’t you? A change of scenery. A chance to start over. To figure out who you are again, without the crushing weight of a quiet, consuming, one-sided love tearing you asunder.

[windixie]

10 things I hate about you ⟢ ꒰ frat boy! gojo x reader ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ pairing ✧ college au . frat boy! gojo x reader . based on the film '10 things I hate about you'

summary . satoru gojo is the usual frat boy that one can think of when you're asked to think of, well, a frat boy. he loves to sleep around and be a womanizer. he swears he's been in every single girls bed from college, but it seems he hasn't gotten into yours. his friend offers to pay him to ask you out and get into your pants in the span of a month. at first he refuses, but who is he to turn down money despite the greedy bastard being rich as hell? what he doesn't expect is to accidentally fall in love with you and forget of his past morals.

⟡ genre/tag . fluff, angst, mentions of starving, enemies to lovers (sort of, you just hate him) college au, gojo is a manwhore ! a bit of suguru x reader and ofc reminder this is based on '10 things I hate about you' so there will be many similarities !

⨾ words . 7.1k

NOT PROOFREAD.

a/n : wrote this after watching 10 things I hate about you for the first time ever. I actually rewatched in a few more times while writing this ! knew I had to write about this right away with my glorious king satoru. also a thank you to my friend for helping me out again !

nav . here !

gojo knew who he was from a young age. setting his goals straight, which were to sleep with every girl he could get his hands on. or his dick into.

he made this a goal the second he graduated high school and got admitted to the states best college, one that was known for having the largest fraternity parties. and so far he has a body count of... well he lost count. charming girls was easy, all he had to do was woo them with a shine of his pearly whites, and his 9-inch dick.

"im surprised your shit hasn't ever gotten infected" suguru remarked, lighting up the cigar that was placed on his pink lips. the two were juniors in college, but they've been close since freshman year when gojo joined into the life of partying.

"easy. I wear condoms." this made suguru's pierced eyebrow lift up as he glanced at the white haired boy.

"thought you went raw."

that made gojo chuckle as he adverted his attention to his friend instead of his phone where he was texting a girl he's had his eye on for a while. the cheerleading captain. if things went well tonight, he will for sure have a chance to pound into her on his bed with a new bed frame after breaking his last one. take a wild guess.

"nah, as if I'd ever give them the full experience."

when I said that this school was widely known for their frat parties, I meant it. there is one every Friday, and every Friday you turned down your friends offer to go out with her. sure you attended some parties, just not any fraternities.

"cmon, you never come with me! you're always so busy doing nothing" bianca grumbled as she dramatically flopped onto your bed, making you jump a little. "and I will continue to be busy doing nothing" you shot back as you cleaned off the dust on your neglected guitar. "not even for an hour?" "nope." "not even for me?" "absolutely not, can't risk seeing my ex."

"what about for choso?"

now, by all means you definitely did not have any romantic feelings towards the emo boy. regardless of being a bit alternative yourself, you had no interest going after boys with similar tastes and style as you, not after your past relationship. choso was the lead guitarist of a band you've known for years. they perform once in a while at small or big events. this party being one of them. you've been wanting to ask him for guitar tips, but the man was quite reserved.

"for real?"

"mhm." she lifted up her head from the pillow propping her on her palm. "you should go, maybe to get the chance to talk to him. they lost a back up guitarist last week-"

"yeah I know." you interrupted

"maybe you could fill in that spot."

you went quiet for a bit letting the idea sink in for a bit before lifting up your head to look at her, slowly placing down your fender guitar, that was now looking brand new, on the floor next to the amplifier. "well, maybe I can."

meanwhile, in the comfort of the frat house, gojo was absolutely losing his mind. he has a hook up in less than an hour and nothing is going according to plan. "hey. hey! this is not the beer I asked for you guys to buy!" he shouted from across the room as he saw his friends carry in a cooler full of heineken instead of bud light which he claimed was the best beer created.

"you're stressing out man, calm down." suguru's hands met with gojos shoulders massaging the knots of stress that were forming. "course i'm stressed, am going to be deep inside the cheerleading captain if the party impresses her, can't let this opportunity just slip away."

"she's chopped." shoko chimed in as she walked past the two boys carrying a cooler herself. "well yeah but like, its a huge deal alright?!" he threw his hands up in the air in despair. "where the hell is that band?"

"they're on their way, should be here in twenty."

"yeah well the party fucking starts in twenty!" he bit back. his anxiety was hard to miss. just then as if it was divine intervention, choso walked in dabbing suguru up, exchanging a few pats on the back. "haven't seen you in a while man."

the guitarist that left the group? that was suguru. he ditched the band simply because he wanted to focus more on his party life after being influenced by satoru. and somewhere along the way he lost interest in that dumb dream he had on becoming a rockstar or whatever. that obviously didn't sit well with the other band members, but choso could care less, not like suguru was contributing anything to the band in the first place since choso's guitar always outshined suguru's.

“mhm, thanks for coming, you guys can go set up over there” he pointed at the stage they set up.

“will do.”

you rarely wore dresses. not that you didn’t like them, they’re just not your go to option to wear. but there’s no way you’d ever say you hated the one you were wearing right now. it was a pretty vintage one that bianca was lending you for tonight after you finally agreed to accompany her to the party.

“see you look gorgeous” bianca placed her mascara wand down to look at you up and down admiring how her dress fit you perfectly. “i like it” you hummed looking down at yourself.

“come on, we’ll be late.”

the loud music filled the cramped building as you made your way through the crowd clinging onto bianca’s arm for your life. people danced, drank, and made out in every corner you’d look at. the whole place reeked and the flashing lights and loud music made it very overwhelming. gojo wobbled down the stairs fixing his white locks, pushing them back panting as he threw himself on the couch where suguru greeted him with a red cup.

“well?” the sweating boy gladly took a sip of his beer grunting. “had to cover her face in a pillow. her expressions were pissing me off.” his long limbs stretched out. suguru chuckled as he cracked his neck a bit listening to the song that was playing carefully. “oh shit, i wrote this song.” “don’t care.” satoru mumbled. “well, guess i can say i’ve fucked every girl in school.” as if that was anything to flex about.

that’s when sugurus eyes landed on you from across the room, a smirk crept up on his face noticing how out of place you looked.

his pretty ex girlfriend.

you and suguru dated all throughout high school. after joining college, he was ready for new things, such as sex. but you weren’t which led to your breakup and fucked your best friend at the time out of spite. you lost both your boyfriend and best girl just from not being ready to get your virginity taken away.

“what about her?” he asked pointing at you. satoru followed his finger before his eyes found you as well. “who the hell even is that” he could barely make out your figure through the colored lights and his blurry vision. “so you haven’t.”

bianca served you a drink which you were definitely not going to consume, before she excused herself to find someone to dance with.

“here drink this. i’ll be back alright? choso is right over there, use this time to talk to him.”

before you even got the chance to even let out a word, she left. you felt abandoned as she left you in the kitchen all alone. bringing up the cup to your lips, you took a sip before cringing at how god awful it tasted.

“not a fan of heineken? told those bastards to bring in bud light but they never listen” you hear a voice behind you, making you turn around to meet eyes with satoru, the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. the bet was simple. he had exactly one month, until november 20, to make you fall for him and fuck him. with a whopping 300$ waiting at the end for him, if successful.

“you get into her panties in a month, and i’ll pay you.” your ex offered. “why?” gojos eyebrows furrowed. “what’s in it for you?”

the whole thing was suspicious to him at first. suguru never gets in the way of gojos sex life. never telling him who to fuck or who to avoid fucking.

“mm just cuz.. she’s difficult. you like a challenge don’t you?”

reluctantly, satoru agrees. “how much?”

“300.”

“bet.”

“oh sorry don’t think we’ve met before. i’m satoru” he offered a sweet smile, showing off those pearly whites that could have a girl soaking wet in 10 seconds. “oh.. okay.” your response made him still for a second.

“i want you to go out with me”

“huh?”

“go out with me.” he repeated which only made you scoff at the boy’s advances. “sorry not really interested.” a grunt left his mouth before continuing. “i can take you out some place real nice, places you’ve never been before.”

“like the 7/11 in broadway?”

he froze for a second before chuckling shaking his head while doing so. “well, no..” his pale fingers reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you like picnics, pretty?”

“not really.” his hand got smacked away by yours. “ill prepare you the best dishes you can imagine.”

“im seriously not interested, thank you though.”

he stood there, dumbfounded, as he watched you walk away. this was going to take a while.

you didn't even have the opportunity to talk to choso, which was the whole reason why you wanted to go to the dumb party in the first place, because bianca came running towards you ordering for you two to leave this instant after finding the boy she was talking to fucking another girl.

the way you met bianca was from her showing you around the college campus when you transferred, become your only friend so far. and you knew that this boy she was in a talking stage with was really, really her type. that night you spent comforting her, allowing her to soak your shoulder with her tears and her barely audible tantrum, as well as thinking about the boy that wanted to desperately go out with you. what was that about?

────୨ৎ────

gojo could've sworn he left dissecting frogs back in high school, but here he was again, poking around at the laid back the diseased amphibians internal organs. "no way am I doing this shit." with a mutter, he placed the tweezers down gagging, shaking his hands in disgust before pulling out his cigarette box, sliding one out placing it in between his pretty pink lips, far too pretty for a man. "smoking in class? you'll set the smoke alarm off." suguru scooted closer to his friend. "how'd it go yesterday? did you get her number or..?" gojo exhaled, no smoke yet, just resignation.

"nothing happened. she wasn't interested" the black haired boy scoffed, not comprehending the words that were coming out the school's playboy. " you're satoru fucking gojo, this should be easy as hell for you!"

“well how do I make her fall for me?” he brought up the lighter up to his cigar huffing it slowly before blowing it towards suguru, in which he looked down at gojo unimpressed. “you can start by putting that,” he took ahold of the cigarette before crushing it down against the table, which left a nasty dent on the cheap laminate. “down.” he ordered flatly, staring as gojo whined like a kid who just got denied candy from the check out isle. “she doesn't like boys who smoke.”

“..how do you know that?”

suguru paused in deep thought. "I overheard her telling her friend that, the one that has the white pearls around her neck all the time. they were talking about their types or something." he shrugged. "anything else she said about her type?" gojo asked intrigued as if he was about to take a test on you specifically.

“she likes pretty guys.”

“are you telling me im not a pretty guy?”

As if divine intervention occurred, the door creaked open, pausing the chatter between the two boys. there you were. wearing a cute frilly outfit as you made your way to your desk. suguru shot gojo a pointed look before walking away. the sight of you made gojo straighten his posture suddenly hyper aware of every detail of himself. quickly running a hand through his hair and gulping, his adams apple bobbing. he shot you a smirk as you got close.

"hey.. wanna traumatize this frog with me?"

you looked down at the poorly dissected frog then back at him, the boy from the party. "looks like you've traumatized it enough." your response made him blink. well, at least you were giving him full sentences now but your sarcasm hurt his ego a bit. "if you give it a kiss, im sure you'd bring it back to life." the boys blue eyes met yours. "or you can kiss me instead.."

you let out a small chuckle. "like that'd be any different."

"just sit down.." he pushed a stool for you to sit down on. you were reluctant but you sat down, sliding off your bag to set it down next to you before slipping on a pair of gloves provided by the lab you were both currently doing, or about to do. "girls would kill to place their lips on mine"

"oh im sure.." you picked up the scalpel, carefully inspecting the frog. "are you seriously this bad at dissecting?"

"baby im a lover not a scientist." gojo brought a hand up to his heart dramatically.

shooting him a glance, you continue poking around the organs. "you don't even qualify as the first one.." he snorted at your sass, lips twitching in a cute crooked grin. "I beg to differ" he brought his hand up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "go out with me, please."

"hold the damn frog still before I poke one of your eyes out instead"

"yes ma'am."

suguru watched from afar with a serious look placed on his face.

────୨ৎ────

the wandering page is heaven itself. a cute shop tucked right around the corner of the school full of second hand books and cd's. its tyour go to spot where you usually buy your cd's for your collection that was placed neatly back at your dorm. you entered, the bell placed on top of the door notifying any workers of your entrance quickly making your way to the music disc section, crooked shelves full of cd's. you're surprised to see many new arrivals.

some were year old music, and some were rare old ones from the 2000's. you reached out to grab a few, a soft smile plastered on your face as you scanned the labels. so deep into it, you didn't notice the bell chiming again.

"excuse me, have you seen any cd of the cranberries?" the smooth voice behind you asked. "oh sorry I don't work here-"

"found out through her instagram stories, she enjoys listening to this Irish band, the cranberries."

"what's her insta?" gojo looked up from his phone, pausing his game.

"uhhh, shit can't find it anymore but anyways. use that information how you want" suguru grabbed his hair, making a messy bun out of it. "got it."

halfway through your sentence, you took a good look at who was behind you. satoru. "oh, it's you." your eyes narrowed as they focused on him. the boy slid his glasses on the crown of his head. you didn't know he even wore those, well you barely knew him. still, you'd be lying if you said you didn't find it attractive. "are you stalking me?" you asked defensively.

"what? no no, I guess this is just destiny" his eyes lowered down to the cd in your hands. "frank valli? isn't that guy like, ancient?" you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. the plastic creaked at the way your hands gripped it tighter. "I wouldn't say that."

satoru chuckled tilting his head a bit. he sure has some nerve.

"didn't realize you were into boy bands."

"not a boy band"

"right, got it."

you pushed past him to head to the cashier. shit.

────୨ৎ────

"you're not going to get anywhere if you keep teasing her like that." suguru knew you hated when people would make fun of your interests, even if it was just a harmless joke. the edge on his tone wasn't unnoticed by his friend. "she's so.. difficult." gojo muttered, half to himself, as he threw a basketball up in the air before catching it as it fell back into his hands.

"hes weird. real weird." you explained to bianca who was so intrigued by the sudden love interest that appeared in your life out of nowhere. "no way the satoru gojo is wanting to take you out!" without hesitation, you threw a pillow at her, which landed right on her face. "don't say it like that!.. hurts me a bit" with a groan, you allowed your hand to drag over your face. "cmon its just that.. he's not known for asking girls out. he just gets on with the freaky ass stuff."

you gave her a flat look. "I feel so special."

"what else does she like? since you know soooo much about her."

"well.. apart from the cranberries, she likes the Marias. they're performing near us, take her there. im sure that'll definitely make her warm up to you. and once she does, go for it." gojos face faltered, his expression turning a bit more thoughtful as he sat up.

"seriously?"

"mhm. take her."

"... pass me my computer. let me order the tickets."

"well I think you should give him a chance. he's very handsome." biancas eyebrows wiggled. "girl you can have him, I don't want him." you replied, which only earned a groan from her. "I don't want any boy who thinks the whole world revolves around him because he's a frat boy with a body count of two hundred"

"if you really didn't want him, you wouldn't be talking about him every five minutes."

her comment really shut you up.

────୨ৎ────

you weren't expecting to see two tickets slip right into your line of sight while you were halfway through placing some textbooks in your locker. the bold blue letters read, 'THE MARIAS' "hi pretty.. got these for you and me." your eyes widened at the familiar voice. the white haired individual really had a habit of sneaking up behind you didn't he? "you.. you got-" you stammered, blinking at the sight of the tickets, then back at him.

"got these for you and me." he repeated himself, both his voice and gaze softening. not sure to be flattered or continue being suspicious, you slowly accepted one of the tickets, taking it from his pale hand. "you really don't give up huh?"

"id never give up on you. how many times do I have to tell you sweetheart, I want you. so allow me to take you out, yeah?" his voice never stuttered. but your heart did.

"one date." you said firmly as you lifted up your finger, finally agreeing to his advances. his charm was different.. it was bold, yes, but real. "don't push your luck, im only accepting because its the marias. im not even going to ask how you know I like them."

"because I like you." there was short pauses between his words allowing each syllable to sink in. like he meant it.

"one date, for now." he said placing his lips on your cheek lightly, making you freeze. "ill pick you up at seven.. here give me your phone number."

you had no idea why you were allowing him to win a point at this game he was forcing you to play. but you were definitely not going to complain now.

"alright I gave em to her." the proud boy with a grin stretched from ear to ear, walked up to where suguru was.

"told you it'd work."

for some odd reason, suguru couldn't help but feel a deep sense of jealousy. you were his girlfriend for years. and his dumb actions ruined all of it. but if he made you realize that no one would ever love you like he did, you'd for sure come crawling back to him.

later that night, in the comfort of your un-made bed, you sat cross legged staring down at the new contact. satoru with a stupid blue heart next to it. of course he'd type in his name like that. "just one date.." you repeated to yourself. a silent warning to yourself, him, and the universe.

satoru : hi ml, wear something cute yea? and something easy to take off ;)

you stared at the message. any past thoughts of him not being that bad quickly vanished. obviously, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of your reply, so you left him on read. guess that hurt his feelings because a few minutes later he texted again.

satoru : im joking baby :(

you threw your phone onto the night stand, like it burned your hand. you couldn't decide what was worse, his sad excuse of flirting, or the fact that your lips were twitching in a just barely visible smile.

"going on a date I see?" bianca grinned as she watched you put on the last bit of blush on your cheek. "lemme guess, you finally agreed to gojos attempts?"

"yep. just one date though. only because he bought me concert tickets."

her eyes widened. "no way! to see who?!"

"the Marias."

"oh, if that isn't true love right there, id not know what is."

you chuckled. "did you confront your talking stage?"

"fuck no" she groaned. "just blocked him everywhere, im not giving him any time of my day so he could explain himself to me." her body fell on your bed, bouncing a bit. "did you ever talk to choso?"

shit. that's what you've been forgetting.

"ill get around to it."

you both met up to where you agreed, which was just outside the girls dormitories. the second he saw you, his heart fluttered.

you looked, no, you are gorgeous. why was he just noticing this now?

"...hey" a smile crept up on his face. he was dressed casual while you wore a pretty jean skirt with a shirt from the band. "hi" you returned the greeting.

"you're so beautiful.." you'd be lying if you said you weren't flustered. if you were to lie, the dark tint of pink on your cheeks would say otherwise. "lets just go."

with a chuckle, he led you to his car. a model of the year, typical for a rich ass boy like him. being the gentleman he was, he opened the passenger door for you before closing it as you settled yourself down.

he made his way over to the drivers seat. "you ready babe?"

the concert was beautiful. the music reached your heart it made you tear up, of course some songs made you recall your past relationship. gojo couldn't help but admire you from time to time. watching as your pretty mouth sang along to the unknown lyrics.

"lets take a picture pretty." he said out of nowhere. "a picture?" he nodded before pulling out his phone snapping a few pictures of you and him throughout the night, mostly of you. you did the same, filling up your gallery with endless pictures and videos.

as the night came to an end, he drove you safely back home, both of you discussing the songs you enjoyed being performed the most.

"I think I enjoyed back to me the most"

"no way! paranoia was clearly the most enjoyable."

he rolled his eyes. "yeah well I think what I enjoyed the most was seeing you sing. you're gorgeous baby."

"you already told me that like twenty times."

"and ill continue to tell you for the rest of my life and beyond that." his words made your stomach twist. not in a bad way. definitely not.

it was quiet for a bit before you spoke again. "yknow I want to be in a band." gojos eyebrows rose up in surprise. "that so?" you nodded. "my ex boyfriend was in one." the mention of you having a dating history didn't sit well with him. he kept reminding himself that this was all just a bet. so why did it bother him?

"mm so you're saying im not going to be your first boyfriend?"

"you're very confident to know if I even want you as my boyfriend."

the radio played soft melodies through the quiet moments between the two of you. "my friend was in a band too, he quit tho"

now it was your turn to be surprised. "oh that's cool."

"I want to join chosos band, that's the one-" before you could finish, he arrived at the side of the sidewalk that led to the girls dormitories. "choso.. I know him. ive got connections and I have no problem recommending you to him darling."

"you'd do that for me?"

"course I would."

".. counting down the seconds to go on another date with you soon love." he spoke quietly. his soft voice made you smile. and before you knew it, you were leaning into a kiss with no control over your body, like it was possessed by a curse or something.

gojo froze. he was torn between kissing you back or not. "lets save this for another time."

your heart sank as you pulled back.

opening the door, you left without a goodnight. or a kiss. once you were out of view, satoru dragged his hands down his face groaning. he's grown attached to you without knowing it. and he's hurt you with denying your kiss. he was getting what he wanted. well, what the bet said.

he knew he had to fix this somehow. he couldn't just let you lose all feelings for him when he was so close.

the next day, upon walking to campus, he paid a couple of band students, winking at them. what was he up to?

────୨ৎ────

you were outside sitting on the first bench closest to the field scrolling on your phone.

you were annoyed.

no. pissed. pissed at how he dodged your kiss like it meant nothing and honestly you have every right to be. because why is he hesitant to kiss you when he’s the one that was so desperate. is this some sort of sick joke?

if he wanted to feed into his ego by making you fall for him. well he got it.

but if he wanted you. he wouldn’t have flinched.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a microphone starting.

“can't take my eyes of off you..” he murmured into the microphone, his eyes locking on yours. you blinked once. and then again - unsure if you were seeing right. before you even got a chance to process it, the band that was right next to you began to perform filling the field with the familiar tune of ‘can’t take my eyes off you’. his body stepped forward, then another, until he broke into a dance. you let out a few chuckles of disbelief as you watched him make a fool of himself.

“i love you baby!” you wanted to crawl into a corner and die from embarrassment. “and if it’s quite alright, i need you baby..” his finger pointed right at you.

a crowd formed, recording as the schools biggest frat boy performed for a girl they’ve never seen before. you brought your hands up to you face covering it in embarrassment as a flush appeared. he was so off key now, yelling out the lyrics as two police officers approached him. he made a bee line towards the bottom of the bleachers, dodging any attempt of getting caught. as he finally reached you, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“oh pretty baby..” he panted as the chorus died down. your hands shot up grabbing the collar of his shirt before smashing your lips onto his for a short, but sweet, kiss, before he was taken away by the officers.

“i love you baby..” he said as he got dragged out the field by the hold of the officers.

and part of you knew that his words were truthful.

────୨ৎ────

detention was awful. well not really, but for satoru it is. sitting in silence for an hour is straight up torture. he would rather take death than one more second of this.

he was unaware of the faint tapping on the window next to him until you accidentally tapped too hard, ducking your head just in time. he was close enough to look down and see you there. he looked up to see the teacher too busy typing away at her computer, probably writing that inappropriate novel everyone says she writes, before looking back down at you. you waved your hand, gesturing for him to escape.

'I can't..' he worded which you just rolled your eyes at.

'come on!'

he sighed looking back at the teacher before he slowly opened the window. he stood up as the teacher got distracted by tapping on her window now. he took this opportunity to jump out, landing harshly on the grass. before he could let out a groan of pain, your hand covered his mouth.

"come on."

you both made a run for it, away from the school campus.

"did you see that my love? I was like a ninja!"

"you sure didn't land like one."

he grinned before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "you like the performance I gave ya?

"..yeah, my favorite part was you getting caught." he lightly shoved you away before hugging you again.

you both were laying in bed at his dorm, enjoying each others presence. "so.. you going to tomorrows frat?" he asked softly as he rubbed your back. "I dunno.. last time I went I didn't like it."

he needed you to go. he only had three more days to fuck you. "it'll be fun.. just come with me." his persistence made you furrow your eyebrows. "why are you forcing this on me?

"im not forcing you. is it too much for me to ask you to come join me at my party?"

"dont talk like that to me." you propped yourself up on your elbow looking down at him. "what. what is is going on huh?"

he scoffed. "nothing!"

"well its obviously something if you keep on-mmph!" his lips on yours cut you off. you obviously allowed him to mold his onto yours.

"just want to show off my pretty doll to everyone.. so come tomorrow"

he was running out of time, after all.

────୨ৎ────

at the end, you agreed to accompany him. after reaching the frat house, you searched for the bathroom needing a pee break after drinking too much water earlier. after countless doors being opened, and getting flashed, you finally secured yourself some privacy.

you came back from the bathroom, rounding the corner, just in time to hear a laugh.

"can't believe you actually pulled this off man." the voice was one you haven't heard in months. another voice cuts in. "yeah yeah whatever, it stopped being a bet weeks ago suguru."

your heart drops.

no, no no this can't be happening.

drunken laughter chatting about how you thought this actually meant something. that you meant something to satoru.

"so you dont want your prize?" you quickly approached the two voices. your entire world stopped as you saw satoru, and your ex suguru.

"are you fucking kidding me?" you stared at him, feeling so many emotions all at once. anger, betrayal, and even denial. your mind was processing what you just heard. you wanted to hear it wasn't real, that he wasn't only after you because of a bet and that he actually likes you. but you knew you were better than that, you couldn't help but connect all the dots. the coincidence that he came up to you at that frat party, the same one you knew suguru was in. the way gojo knew your interests. the way he knew your type.

it wasn't fate. it was orchestrated.

there was horror written all over gojos face. "no baby.. baby listen to me." but you refused, shaking your head. you refused because the following words were going to be the confirmation that you dreaded to hear. without another word, you turned away pushing though the crowd. "y/n!" he shouted, but you didn't turn back. as you made your way down the hall, his hand wrapped around you wrist, "please, PLEASE listen to me!" in which you yanked back.

"it was all a bet huh? set up by the one boy I hate the most. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you! you're just like every other frat-" you were interrupted by his lips molding against yours. no matter how much you wanted to melt into it, you didn't. your hands landed on his chest, pushing him off you before wiping your lips. the boy stood there, stunned, as his sad blue eyes watched you walk out.

"babe.."

that night your phone was blowing up. call after call, text after text- all from him.

satoru : y/n please.

satoru : call me, return my calls lets talk pretty.

satoru : it was a bet, but believe me when I tell you that I truly love you.

satoru : I love you. say it back baby. please I need you. can't lose you, im sorry love please don't leave. fuck suguru for all I care.

you were debating if you should just block him for good, finger hovering over the red block button. but you simply put your phone on dnd and headed to sleep recalling the horrible events of tonight. tear stains were placed on your cheeks, mascara ruined, just like how your life felt. ruined.

Bianca had tried, she really did. she tried her best to comfort you, but she understood you needed space. the sweet girl provided you with extra blankets as well as water, she even rubbed off the remaining makeup on you. she as well received some texts from satoru. her response?

'fuck you.''

satoru hasn't felt this horrible since he accidentally flushed down his sisters goldfish back in first grade. but it wasn't the same.

the goldfish didn't hate him. you did.

and he hated himself for how he made you feel. he hated himself for doing this to you. but god was he grateful to have taken on that bet. not for the money, but for you. because of the bet, he met such a wonderful girl who he was completely smitten for. too bad that the girl now hates his guts.

the weather matched how gojo felt. he looked like hell.

his iconic shades and stupid grin weren't present. his usual outfits was replaced by a simple white t-shirt with sweatpants. the confident boy was now just a regular burnt out college student who looks like he missed out on eight hours of sleep to study for his physics final. he hasn't eaten since yesterday, deciding his body didn't deserve to be rewarded with food.

he ignored the glances from other students. people who idolized him were staring with widened eyes. no way was that satoru gojo. some of his frat bros came up to him, hitting his back, laughing at whatever the hell they thought was funny. suguru included.

satoru swore he began seeing red.

"you never told me she was your fucking ex." he muttered dangerously. suguru let out a sigh, leading gojo away from others. "hey, we made a bet. don't see why you're mopping about it. I wanted to show her that really no one would love her like me. anyways here, you ran out yesterday couldn't give this to you." he pulled out the prize promised from the beginning. those damn 300$.

satoru pushed the money back to sugars chest. "I dont want it." all the air was knocked from sugars lungs for a second. gojos fist collided with sugurus cheekbone. sugurus eyes widened and a few gasps could be heard from the scene. his gaze following satoru watching as he walked further and further away.

the boy was desperate to see you. he needed to find a way to prove himself to you. to prove that his feelings were real.

you didn't show up to your classes that day, deciding its best if you stayed in bed scrolling through your phones gallery wanting to delete every picture you've taken of him.

satoru : good morning angel, you've got every right to hate me. but im not giving up on us, not when you're everything ive ever wanted. talk to me mkay?.."

Bianca thankfully walked in which quickly made you forget about his text.

"hey girl.. know this is bad to bring up now but.. choso wants to talk to you later at the frat he's playing at. something about letting you into the band."

for the first time in a while, you felt happy. you knew who recommended you to him.

"you know what happened last time I went to a frat.."

she chuckled a bit. "ill make sure that son of a bitch doesn't approach you. ill be your personal guard dog madam."

the familiar smell of beer, weed, and other shit you didn't want to know, came to you. the same smells you encountered on that night. biancas arm was around yours tightly, keeping watch of your surroundings. "alright, we got emo boy on stage. frat boy at 10 o'clock"

"I dont think that's 10 o'clock.." you muttered which you were quickly 'shh' at. "okay coast is clear."

you took in deep breaths reminding yourself that you weren't here for gojo, you were here because you might have a chance to join your ex boyfriends band. he caught your eye for a second, offering you a small nod.

bianca nudged you, urging you to go talk to him. "if gojo dares to even approach you, ill smash his empty head with my beer." you weaved through the crowd, getting closer to where choso and the others were setting up. "hey stink. haven't seen you in a while." you recalled the old nickname the bandmates gave you all those years ago.

"hi choso.. you wanted to talk?" he hummed, nodding, as his fingers adjusted the chords that were plugged into his guitar. "you still got that fender?" your heart stopped for a second. "great, lets meet up every Thursday, ill teach you and we'll let you into the band."

"you're serious?"

"yeah. confused why you didn't just ask me in person. had to hear it from your new boyfriend."

just as you felt your stress go away, any memories of gojo leave your mind, they came back immediately. "oh.. no no he's not my boyfriend." you explained. "ah, right. you still got my number?" he asked in which you shook your head. "nope, suguru made me delete any contacts that were of a guy."

a half chuckle half scoff escaped his lips. "course he did."

before you could discuss any more details, a voice behind you appeared. for the 100th time in the past month. "wow.. you're glowing."

gojo.

the sound of his voice sent shivers throughout your body. you turned to see him.. disheveled. the bags under his eyes gave away his lack of sleep. he looked miserable. still stupidly hot of course.

"what the hell do you want."

"I want to talk.."

bianca was running across the room, ready to jump on him. "get away from her asshole! you got ten seconds!" gojo looked down at her with a confused look before looking back at you. with a bit of hesitation, you agreed. "fine."

in a secluded area, the same spot where you had your "break up" you ordered him to talk. "I messed up. so fucking bad. I took the bet, yeah. thought I could.. woo you. but believe me when I said I had zero idea suguru was the ex you talked about."

"to me you weren't a bet baby. everything about you felt raw. you kept rejecting me and god, that made me want you even more."

you didn't speak, allowing him to finish letting out his emotions. "and I hated myself for liking you, for falling for you like a fucking idiot. because it meant it wasn't a bet anymore, it was love. and I hated how I took that bet. I hated your stupid hair, and the way you played guitar. I hated the music you listened to, your dorky smile. I hate the way your voice softens when you talk about the shit you like. I hate that I dont know every detail about you down to you favorite childhood movie. but.. I hate how I don't hate you at all. and I hate how I dont regret doing the bet at all, because otherwise, I wouldn't have met you."

his voice was raw. the emotions he had going on began to flowing down his cheeks. you began to remember why you fell for him in the first place because even though he was an entitled frat boy, he already had the key to your heart with the way he talked to you. "..you can't just fix this with recommending me to choso's band.."

"I know." he whispered.

"..and you lied to me." you continued, but at this point you were just playing with him.

"I did. but im not lying now. I stopped lying weeks ago."

"why?"

"because I fell in love with this really awesome girl."

you looked up at him for a while, taking in his apology and confession. there was no longer a frat boy in front of you, he was cracked open showing who he truly was. just a sweet boy who wanted your love.

just satoru.

"you love me?" you asked.

he nodded, rather quickly. "absolutely"

"..and if I dont love you back."

god, he'd kill himself. "then, that'd be fine too." he watched as you stepped closer. "if I asked you to stay away from me forever-"

"I will do that too." he promised.

"..but you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't." he placed his lips on yours, feeling as your arms wrapped around his neck as his found your waist, deepening the kiss.

"dont screw up again satoru."

"fuck, just kiss me."

and that you did.

ending a/n . hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing ! this was my first long fic.. never doing ts again.

[orcasoul]

The Plus One

Summery: You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Warnings: swearing, angst (because I liiive for it!), mental health issues, low self esteem from reader, caring Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

This is inspired by the video of Pedro dancing his arse off at Sarah Paulsons 50th birthday party. God bless this man for randomly inspiring us when he's not even trying to lol.

Word Count: 3,516

It's a quiet evening at home. The living room fireplace is softy blazing, the crackling red and orange flames along with the Christmas tree lights and low lamp light bathes the room in a reposeful ambience. You're snuggled up on the settee in your favourite fluffy Oodie, sipping a hot chocolate as you finish reading a Christmas rom com by one of your favourite authors. And while this is something that usually helps you to unwind at the end of the day, you can't seem to shift that gutting feeling deep down in your stomach. You should have been with Pedro tonight at Sarah's party instead of here alone. With the book finished you're about to check Kindle for your next read but before opening the app, you'd decided to check your notifications on facebook.

Now you wish you hadn't. Of course the first thing to pop up would be a video of Pedro having the time of his life at the party. Not that that is the real issue here. You're not the controlling or possessive type who wants to keep their partner all for yourself and deny them any kind of social life; quite the opposit, in fact. The thing that really hurts, that makes your heart physically ache is that you're never included in Pedro's social events anymore. You would have loved to have been his date to Sarah's party and make memories with him like normal couples do. You've met Sarah on several occasions and the two of you had always got along really well, so why would he rather go alone than bring you?

You've been together for six months now, so it's not like you're in the early stages where you're both yet to meet the others' family and friends. It just doesn't make sense. You had attended a few ceremonies and promotional events for Pedro's movies with him before now and even though they had been quite intense environments to be in, you were just thrilled to be there with him, to support him and show the world how proud you are of him. And you'd like to think that you were adept at hiding the effects that your social anxiety had on you during these occasions. You'd smile, engage in chit chat and if it became too overwhelming you'd always secretly resort to your special coping technique to calm your nerves; stroking slow circles on the palm of your hand.

But it had been months since you'd last attended any events with him and as time goes on it just hurts more and more. You'd hoped time would have made it easier to accept, but truthfully it makes you feel abandoned, insignificant, like you don't belong in his world. Is that it? Is he embarrassed by you? It's true you're both from very different worlds, having met through friends of friends and not through working together in the film industry. Sometimes you still can't understand why he'd chose to be with a nobody like you when he could literally have any woman he wanted. As your mind continues to spiral, taking you to dark places, tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

To love him so much, only to feel it's not enough for him to want you around is... soul crushing. You'd been trying for so long to ignore that niggling little voice in the back of your mind; the one telling you that you aren't good enough for him and there has been times when you'd been able to mute it, especially when you're together and he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes, or the times he would come home to LA between filming, even if it was just for a couple of days to see you or if he couldn't make it he'd fly you out to the set. No matter what he always made time for your relationship, but only out of the public eye. Pedro has always been a private person, especially when it comes to romantic involvements, but it feels like he's trying to hide you.

And now, this latest video has turned that niggling little voice into a full on megaphone, screaming an endless barrage of ugly truths at you; you're not enough for him. He's bored of you. You're an embarrassment, a stone around his neck. It was only a matter of time. You clutch at your chest as your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sobs wracking your body. It's over! How could you have not seen it sooner?! He doesn't need you in his life. He's bloody Pedro Pascal for heavens' sake.

You were a delusional fool to ever believe you had anything to offer him. Maybe this is his way of subtly telling you it wasn't working for him anymore. Maybe he'd hoped showing you the stark differences between you both would have made you realise it couldn't continue, and being the kind and gentle man he is, he didn't want to outright dump you and hurt you, so this was the best strategy.

Now your sorrow is tinged with anger. If he wanted to end it all this time he damn well should have had the balls to tell you instead of dragging it out. So, it's down to you now; if he won't do it, you'll have to. Your tablet screen is now shining with your tears. You wipe it dry with your sleeve and throw it down beside you, Knidle well and truly forgotton. Fluffing up a cushion, you curl up on the settee while your broken heart mourns and weeps.

As the party came to an end Pedro couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He'd had a great time and wouldn't have missed one of his best friends' milestone birthdays for the world, but he missed you like hell tonight. He especially felt the sting of your absence when he would see couples dancing or sitting together, hand in hand or snuggling up. He feels selfish, but he wishes you could have been here tonight. And not just tonight, but to all his recent public appearances like the premiers for The Wild Robot and Gladiator 2, but he won't put you through that again.

The guilt still eats away at him when he casts his mind back to the last couple of times you'd attended high profile events with him, even low key and private ones where there isn't a constant blinding flash of cameras. He knows of your struggles with your mental health, in particular with social anxiety (something he can absolutely relate to) and even through your obvious facade he could see what the pressure was doing to you, often feeling a slight tremble in your hand while laced with his. He could see the difference between your forced smile and your genuine smile; the one that would make your eyes sparkle and he could lose himself in them completely.

But the worst thing was when you start rubbing the palm of your hand over and over when you'd thought he wasn't watching. He knew then it was all becoming too much for you and that's when he'd decided that he won't be selfish anymore, that he had to prioritise your well being and comfort before his own and if that meant attending ceremonies and large gatherings alone, so be it. Of course, he always felt incomplete without you at his side, but your needs far outweigh his own as far as he's concerned. Knowing he can shield you from even a fraction of discomfort makes the sacrifice worth it.

After slipping into his jacket, Pedro found Sarah at the front door of her house, waving some guests off. Wrapping her in a big hug, he said, "Happy birthday again, sweetie and thanks for inviting me." Sarah returned the hug. "I'm so glad you came, but I missed seeing Y/N tonight. How is she?" Pedro couldn't hold back the grin that broke out across his face at the mention of your name. "She's great. I wanted to bring her tonight, but I think the crowd would have been too much for her." Sarah smiled endearingly at her friend. "You really do love her, don't you?" Pedro chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh no reason..." she smirked. " Only that I've never seen you so smitten and protective over any other woman in all the years I've known you. You've got it bad." Pedro rolled his eyes, playfully. "Yeah, I guess I do." "So, what are you waiting for?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" Pedro asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "You've been carrying that ring around with you for weeks now and still haven't asked her. What's holding you back?" Pedro shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Just worried about her, that's all. The moment word gets out of an engagement, paparazzi will be circling like vultures. I don't just want her overwhelmed." "I think you underestimate her," Sarah began, "I don't think she'd ever let her anxiety get in the way of being with you. It's obvious how much she loves you. In fact when I'm around you two for too long, the sweetness gives me temporary diabetes." Pedro let out a deep belly laugh at that, drawing one from Sarah in return.

"Just do it..." she urged, gently. "You know she'll say yes." Pedro smiled and nodded, "I know." "Well..." Sarah yawned, "Get out of here. I'm fifty now and need my beauty sleep." She gave Pedro another hug. "So, I'll see you and Y/N for lunch next week?" "Sure," Pedro replied, "Goodnight, sweetie." He waved as he walked to his car. "Night," Sarah called out before closing the door.

Settling in his car, Pedro connected his phone to the car speaker and rang your phone. He promised he'd call after the party to say goodnight and couldn't wait to hear your voice. But as soon as you answered, he knew something was wrong. "Hey baby, everything okay?" he asked, worridly. His worry only increased when you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "Yeah um... I'm fine." You most definitely aren't fine! "You're a shit liar, you know that?" Pedro says, lightheartedly to help put you at ease. Now his tone turns more serious. "Tell me what's wrong." Silence... "Y/N? You're starting to scare me now." "I told you I'm fine. I'm just... tired." You tried to sound convincing but failed, spectacularly.

"I'm coming over -" "No!" Your abrupt outburst silenced Pedro. You've never turned him away in all the months you've been together. "It's... uh... it's late. You should just get home safe." Pedro sighed. "I know something's wrong and if you won't tell me on the phone I'm coming over." At that, you burst into tears. A pang shot straight through Pedro's heart at the sound of you crying. "Hey, baby, talk to me!" he pled. "What happened?" In between the the sniffling your voice became strained. "I didn't want to do this over the phone." Pedro suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut, not liking the tone of this conversation. "Do what?" he asked, hesitantly. "Its..." sniffle, "It's over."

If Pedro hadn't already been sitting in the car his legs would have given out on him! "W- what?!" he stuttered in disbelief. "What do you mean it's over?!" His hands gripped the steering wheel for support. Where the fuck did this come from all of a sudden?! "Please..." you whispered, sounding mentally drained. "Don't pretend you didn't know this was coming. If you don't want me anymore you should have said something sooner." Pdero jerked his head back, blinking in shock. "What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?" You are full on sobbing now, your words just an unintelligible jumble. "I'm coming over, right now!" "No, please-" "I'm coming over!" he cut you off bluntly and hung up the phone.

His hands shook as he started up the engine and it took all of his willpower to not floor it to your house. Getting pulled over for speeding is the last thing he needs right now. The whole way over, his mind was a frantic mess. What could have happened between the last time he saw you (which was only yesterday) and now? Did he say something? Do something? When he got to your house, he practically flew from the car, his fist pounding on your front door almost as hard as his heart was pounding behind his ribs. "Baby open up, please. I'm not leaving until you talk to me." A few moments later the door cracked open and there you stood, puffy eyed and blotchy faced. Your lips had swollen and your nose shone red from crying.

Pedro could have cried himself from the state you're in. Without a second thought he pushed his way through the door and swept you into his arms, cupping the back of your head to his chest. To his relief, instead of pushing him away, you encircled your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He reached back to close the door behind him, then guided you to the setee, sitting beside you. "Now, what's all this about, hmm? I know this isn't what you really want." You shook your head, a small humourless laugh escaping you. "Of course it's not, but deep down I think it's what you want."

Pedro's forefinger gently tipped your chin up so you were looking into his eyes; big puppy dog eyes filled hurt, confusion and fear. "What I want?" His bottom lip twitched as if he was lost for words. You nod, wiping your cheeks. "W- why would you ever think something like that, sweetheart?" Pedro's shocked expression now has you doubting yourself. Were you wrong? But how could you be? For a while, you've been trying to ignore the feeling that he was slipping away but looking at him now... It's like he'd never even entertained the idea of leaving you. All this uncertainty is giving you whiplash and you can't hold it in anymore. You need to get everything off your chest.

"I..." you trail off as you feel more tears gathering, ready to pour out along with all your insecurities. "...I feel like you don't want me around anymore..." you begin, chest shuddering with nerves and hiccups. "You never invite me to anything, whether it's to do with your public life or even your social life. I'm never included like a partner should be. I need you to be honest... Are you ashamed of me? Because sometimes I feel like you don't want to be seen with me and that you've been pulling away..." You're rambling now, but you just can't stop. "I know I'm not on the same level as you and there are so many beautiful women out there throwing themselves at your feet. Maybe I don't belong in your world. Maybe I'm not enough for you-" Pedro's hands on either side of your face stops your self deprecating tirade.

"Baby, don't you ever put yourself down like that again, you hear me?" You're shocked to see Pedro's cheeks are now wet too. "I'm sorry. Fucking hell! I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you this whole time." "Protecting me?" you ask in bewilderment. Pedro gave you a sad smile. "I Know from years of experience that being in the spotlight is tough. It can be draining and I could see how hard it was for you." Pedro took one of your hands and turned it over, rubbing slow circles into your palm. When you realised what he meant by that action, he nodded and kissed your forehead.

"I know you tried to hide it from me, but I noticed every time." "I'm sorry," you mumbled, shame burning your cheeks. "No." Pedro squeezed your hand. "You never apologise for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was afraid if I mentioned it, you deny it for my sake, so I stopped asking you to come with me thinking it was the best thing for you." Pedro exhaled and your heart ached for him, seeing the guilt and remorse crushing him. "I didn't think it would have looked like I never want you around, 'cause the truth is I miss you, EVERY GODDAMN TIME I have to attend these things without you. I want you with me, now and forever. I'll tell you what..." he looked to be carefully considering his next words. "if you feel up for it, come with me to the next event and if you feel overwhelmed at any point, you tell me and we'll take some time out or even leave."

More tears fall, but this time from sheer relief. You hadn't realised you'd dropped your head again until Pedro, once again, lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with a fierce and passionate determination. "Now, I'll say this only once; I'm not ashamed of you, we are on the same level, you are more than enough for me and you ARE my world. I love you, so much!" You couldn't fight the beaming smile that practically split your face and you grabbed Pedro by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips against his.

A surprised "Oomph!" came from his throat and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hands slid to your waist and he pulled you flush to his upper body. His tongue licked your lips and you opened them, allowing him to deepen then kiss; a kiss filled with love, reassurance and a promise of forever. Pedro then broke the kiss, pulling you into a hug. "I love you too," you whispered into his ear. "And I'm sorry, I should have told you how I was feeling instead of keeping it from you." Pedro cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry too, for making that decision for you instead of talking to you."

You let out a lighthearted chuckle, Pedro's frown softening at the sound. "I guess it was just bad communication on both our parts." "Yeah..." he agreed. "Let's make a promise to each other, right now; that we'll always be open and honest with each other and not keep things bottled up." "I promise," you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "And I promise, too," he returned the kiss. With all the tension drained from your body, you suddenly feel exhausted and can't stop the big yawn taking over you. Pedro smiled at you, adoringly. "I think we should get you to bed, sweetheart." He stood up, picking you up off the setee and made his way to your bedroom.

"Will you stay tonight?" You whisper as you snuggle into his neck, inhaling the scent you love so much. "Of course I will." He kissed the crown of your head. While you used the bathroom, pedro changed into a pair of PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt he'd left here for when he'd stay over. He used the bathroom after you, rushing through brushing his teeth just so he could return to you sooner. Walking into the bedroom, he laughed to himself when all could see was your eyes peeking at him from the edge of the quilt, which was pulled up to cover your nose. God, you look adorable. Your eyes creased in the corners as you laughed under the cover, then pulled it away for him to settle in next to you.

Pedro laid on his back, lifting his arm for you to snuggle into him. Sighing happily, you lay your head on his broad chest and lace a leg over his hips, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothing you instantly. "I love you." You tipped your head up to kiss him softly on his lips. "I love you too," he purred, tightening his arms around you. It didn't take you more than ten minutes to drop off, judging by your slow breaths. Pedro, on the other hand, stayed awake long after you'd dropped off, just relishing the feeling of holding you in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how close he came to losing you tonight, and all because of a misunderstanding.

He thinks of the ring he's been carrying around, how he almost lost the opportunity to give it to you. Well, he won't wait any longer. If tonight has taught him anything, it's that nothing is guaranteed in life and, even though he never once doubted you'd say yes, just your devastated reaction to believing you'd lost him proves that you love and need him as much as he does you. Tomorrow he'll ask you; He'll wine and dine you at your favourite restaurant, take you on a stroll along the beach and then, he'll get down on one knee and invite you to share the rest of your life with him.

@greenwitchfromthewoods @picketniffler @liciafonseca @misscornelia13 @missadangel @southernbe

[chantal0]

10 things I hate about you ⋆˚꩜｡ hockey player! gojo x alt! reader

pt. 1/2

pairing ｡𖦹°‧ college au - hockey player! gojo x reader

summary : getting accepted into one of the ivy league universities was supposed to be you getting the best education you could get, not the centerpiece of a bet created by none other than the hockey team, the players challenge satoru that he can't make you fall for him in 10 days in which he allows his pride take over to go out of his way to take on the bet thinking it would be easy. what he didn't expect was to fall for you instead, but after you find out his ulterior motives, your trust in him shatters and so does his heart. now with the truth out, he is now more determined than ever to get you back, but this time, he isn't playing games.

warnings/tags .ᐟ.ᐟ fluff, angst, brief smut, college au, this fic is based on the film '10 things I hate about you', partial angst with readers father regarding sickness, reader is low income.

wc . 10k

a/n ꪆৎ this is a rewrite of one of my old fics, so you might recognize some scenes that I reused. remembered I wrote it after rewatching 10 things I hate about you. if you see any typos, ignore them. out of sight out of mind. song for this fic : no one noticed by the marias.

transferring from a community college to one of the top 10 universities was a huge step for you. you weren't even sure how you did it. but those two years of attending your local community college that wasn't even ten minutes away from your house paid off. one that made you feel ashamed in going since it felt like a detour from your actual goals.

growing up, you promised your family members that they'd see you majoring in the best schools and in becoming something they would be proud of to call a daughter. thats why you studied so hard in grade school, getting the best grades not allowing them to go below an 85%. but after your mother left shortly after your father got diagnosed with cancer. your dreams had to take a backseat to allow you to become the backbone of your family that consisted of you, your father, and your two younger brothers.

money came in short with your minimum paying job and it just wasn't enough to pay off any college funds. your brother who just turned sixteen always helped you out with groceries and bills now that your father retired from his job, after you forced him to, making sure he was taken care of at all times. hospital bills were also pricey, sometimes your insurance wouldn't cover all the costs and they had to be paid directly from your personal money.

so after applying to yale and actually receiving an acceptance letter in the mail a week after had you trembling in both excitement and fear. you were happy you could finally get the education you've been longing for, but on the other hand you wouldn't want to leave all the responsibility to your brother. he disagreed and encouraged your dreams instead when you sat him down to talk.

"y/n you've always been wanting to go to university. im sixteen now, im not the ten year old you know anymore, I am more than willing to take care after dad and matt."

you let out a sigh as you averted your gaze back down to the letter in your hands. the bold lettering called out your name and you tried to resist. but you couldn't.

"anything happens, you call me immediately." you firmly ordered. the pink haired boy chuckled, the corner of his lips lifted up as well as the corners of his eyes wrinkled before nodding. "got it."

thats how you found yourself packing the last bit of your shirts. no matter how hard you tried to, you just couldn't help the bit of tears that spilled from your eyes. you paused, letting out a shaky breath before feeling a pair of arms wrap around your waist. you looked down to see the soft face of your brother, Matt.

"sissy dont cry. me papa and yuji will be okay!" he promised.

you knelt down to wrap your arms around him as well, holding onto the warmth you were going to leave behind in a few hours. then, another pair wrapped around you both, a much stronger set of arms, then another, your fathers, who was weaker than before but still full of love. before you knew it, your whole family was cuddling together in the comfort of your own room.

no words were exchanged for a few minutes.

"ill miss those blueberry pancakes you make" your father whispered, making everyone giggle. you raised your head up, propping it on top of matt.

"ill leave the recipe for you guys."

your father placed a small delicate peck on your forehead.

airports were your least favorite method of transportation. you couldn't handle hearing the incoherent voice in the speakers call out the plane that was about to board in twenty minutes, or the panicked looks on peoples faces when they realize they booked the wrong flight, or the people just in general, so many people. the whole process was messy and annoying.

your family walked you to where the escalators headed up to your gate. with a sigh, you turned to face them watching as they held back tears. "ill miss you guys." a beat passed. then another. and you found yourself in another family hug.

it was still weird with the missing pair of warm arms that belonged to your mother. but looking back, maybe they weren't warm at all. they were always cold and empty whenever you hugged her. you reminded yourself that she left willingly. you quickly pushed those negative thoughts behind, not wanting to think about her when you had the next best four years of your life right ahead of you.

"call me if you need anything." you said with your voice more steady.

your father nodded before everyone let go at the sound of the speakers calling out your gate number. with one final look and a last goodbye, you stood on the escalators holding back tears of your own.

if the process of checking into the airport wasn't annoying enough, the next five hours boarding the plane itself would be. the man snoring next to you couldn't be any louder, the baby crying behind you wouldn't shut up, and the women gossiping in front of you was the only source of entertainment you could get.

but it all came to this. yale. the beautiful sight of the university's campus. you took it all in, seeing how students walked in with luggages or boxes of their own with the assistance of their parents or friends.

the sun casted a glow on the building itself making it appear straight out of a movie. you stood there for a moment, continuing to take it all in before your main character moment was interrupted by someone bumping into you.

he had white hair that resembled snow itself. he stumbled a bit before regaining his balance. the boys behind him that you figured were his friends laughed at the sight.

"oh uh sorry." he quickly apologized, glancing your way smiling like he meant the entire opposite of his apology before playfully nudging his friend as they continued making their way into the building. you blinked, continuing to watch as he disappeared. he was oddly.. beautiful.

after picking up a few papers form the directory, you followed the directions on the map to where the dormitories were located. you found out that you would be sharing your dorm with a roommate, you didn't mind as you saw this as an opportunity to make your very first friend.

and you were right because the second you twisted the door knob, not fully getting to turn it around before it swung open on its own, introducing a rather tall girl with the prettiest aesthetic and the sweetest smile plastered on her face that comforted you in ways you didn't know you needed.

"hi! I'm miwa!" the girl said in which you returned her greeting with your name. she moved to the side allowing you to step in. you took in the large room. it looks like she already has claimed her part of the room on the left side. band and show posters plastered all over her walls neatly with stuffed animals lying peacefully on her bed. it reminded you fondly of matt recalling how he has millions of plushies on his bed.

"need some help with that?" she pointed at your suitcases. you hesitated at first not wanting to bother her but it wouldn't hurt, right? "yes please." you chuckled which made her grin.

"great, roommate bonding begins now!"

hours pass by full of cleaning and organizing and chatter between you and the blue haired girl. you found out that she's been here for the past two years and you explained to her that you were a transfer. somewhere in between hanging fairy lights and folding blankets, she let it slip that she's crushing on a boy that is on the hockey team.

"didn't know they had a hockey team here." you said as you placed the last piece of clothing in the closet provided by the school. miwa gasped dramatically. "okay now I need to take you out to watch a game sometime!"

she flopped down onto your bed next to you. "its like an essential yale culture."

"deal. i'd like to see how good looking this boy you claim is the most handsome boy in all of yale to exist really is."

"he is!"

the first day of school wasn't until next week, yet you could already feel the nerves setting in as well as the homesickness. you pulled out your phone, dimming the brightness now that miwa was asleep and all the lights were turned off. pressing on yujis contact you sent him a message.

you || 9:04 P.M

everything alright?

yuji || 9:10 P.M

everything's great

you let out a sigh of relief at his words.

the first day was full of chaos, at least for you. you woke up a bit late after your alarm failed to do its job, you lost your map that showed the entire campus, and on top of that you had no idea what to wear.

after brushing your teeth and washing your face, you quickly slipped on a pair of pants and a cute top before rushing out of your dorm all while brushing your hair. you made it on time thankfully, but you surely learned your lesson to set your alarm to full volume.

your classes finally came to an end and you dragged your tired body that was aching from carrying all the syllabus and textbooks in your bag towards your dorm. miwa was already there scrolling through her phone.

"oh hey!," she flinched as she took a closer look at you. "you look rough"

you placed your bag down on the floor before flopping on your bed. "I am rough" you said with a grumble. she moved from her bed towards yours. "hey lighten up, tomorrow will be better. its the second day of school and the first hockey game"

"already?"

"yeah. since its the same previous team as last year versus some other school. coach said he wanted to kick off this season early for some reason. im not complaining, I get to see kokichi!"

"oh right your man" you teased which made her chubby pale cheeks turn a light pink shade before she bolted towards her closet pulling out two tops. "okay so which one says 'hey cute hockey player over there! wanna go out with me?'"

you burst out laughing before pointing at the one on the right hand. "that one, definitely that one."

you were never the type of person to enjoy sports. your brothers and dad enjoyed them though. they always connected both the couches together and gathered a bunch of blankets and snacks whenever a big game came up. now you are here witnessing one happen right in front of you, not on a screen.

you pulled out your phone to snap a picture to send to the family group chat. one you created after you had to delete the previous one with your mother in it. you angled the phone carefully, snapping a picture of the players already spread out ready to kick off the game.

you stared at your screen for a second before sending the message to the group chat. the second you sent it, the announcer's voice came to the speakers and the crowd erupted.

"there he is!" miwa squealed as she pointed at the dark haired boy, kokichi. he was rather attractive and you could see why she liked him. they definitely would make a cute couple. he was walking with a friend who had white hair. your eyes squinted as you looked a bit closer.

it was the same boy who bumped into you a week ago. his white locks were messy and he had a grin plastered over his face. it seemed that he was popular with the girls because they went wild at the sight of him.

you were interrupted from your thoughts when miwa's elbow made contact with your shoulder. "look, he waved at me!"

your eyes traced back to kokichi. "yeah, I saw." but your eyes kept wandering back to the boy with white hair. number ten. you watched as he placed his helmet on and slid across the rink to get into position.

a buzzer sounded across the arena, putting the game to a start and sending the crowd into a loud roar. you sat a bit straighter as you tried to keep track of the hockey puck. all the players were a blur of white and blue as they slid through the ice rink.

number 10 was sharp.

he was focused and quick, weaving through the other players. he stole the puck clean with a swift movement of his stick, gliding towards the opposite teams net. the air was thick with anticipation and it seemed that the entire arena was holding it's breath, and you didn't realize that you were holding yours as well.

then he hit it straight into the back of the cage with a satisfying clank.

applause echoed and so did the screams of the players' name.

satoru.

he rushed to his teammates doing a small celebration before continuing the game. maybe hockey wasn't too bad.

the game ended as soon as the buzzer could be heard, with your school winning. people made their way towards the exit or down to the rink. the hockey cheerleaders, glittering with their tiny ass skirts, made their way to their boyfriends who were players.

but most of them?

they went to satoru, congratulating him like he had just saved the world itself from an apocalypse. his hands reached to take off his gear, forehead dripping with a thin layer of sweat.

"im gonna go talk to kokichi." miwa said as she stood up from the bleacher already feeling the nerves settling down her stomach. you nodded, following her. she wrapped her arms around the boy, a hug in which he returned as well.

"thanks for coming." he said in a low voice placing his lips on hers practically melting the poor girl setting her rosacea on fire. you stood there a bit awkward not realizing that a pair of eyes was placed on your figure.

"hey, is she new?" a player asked his friends, pointing directly at you.

the other boy shrugged. "I guess, never seen her before." he turned to satoru who was busy untying the shoelaces of his skates, whistling at him. "yo satoru! remember when you were whining about not having any other girl to crack?"

satoru's eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a bit before he approached his friend. "yeah, what about it?" the guy grinned, jerking his chin toward the bleachers.

"what about her?"

he could barely see you due to his poor eyesight now that he had taken off his contacts. he saw you with a girl he knew was in a situationship with kokichi, his friend. "who the hell is that?"

"she's new. go after her."

satoru grumbled. "she looks like a total loner." his friend shrugged, untying his long black hair. "you like a challenge though, don't you?" he tossed his stick into his bag. "ten days. thats the bet"

"woah we're making this a bet?" satoru raised his eyebrow. there was a beat of silence, long enough to make him think this through. it's been a while since he's been laid, not wanting to continue the life of being a frat boy and a 'play boy.' he really just wanted to focus on his studies and hockey as well, if he found a girl somewhere throughout that then he'd settle down.

he grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip from it. "ten days." he repeated, mostly to himself. "suguru I don't know-"

"you backing out?" suguru questioned, wanting to stir something.

no matter how much he wanted to resist, he just couldn't because no matter how much he swore that he stopped doing that shit, he missed it just a bit. "fine, ten days."

his jaw was tightened watching as his friend smirked. the group chuckled a bit, like it was just another 'harmless' game. satoru glanced at you.

pretty.

you and miwa made your way to the exit after the little make-out session with her now new boyfriend. she kept squealing about how she couldn't believe she finally got together with him. you were incredibly happy for the both of them.

"he kissed me! like he actually kissed me! I thought I was going to pass out!"

satoru debated, standing still for a moment. you were a step away from leaving, your arm wrapped around your friends, chattering about whatever. part of him wanted to plan this through, something smoother than just..

"fuck it." he mumbled.

his legs moved before his brain ordered them to. "hey-" he called out, jogging a bit to fully reach you. you turned slowly, miwa did too with her eyebrows furrowed. he realized that maybe this wasn't the best option. his lips parted a bit before continuing.

"uh.." he scratched the back of his neck. "you dropped something."

you stared at him in confusion. "no I didn't.." you looked down to confirm that you in fact, didn't drop any item.

"right uhm, that was supposed to be my opening line" he cursed at himself, but it made you chuckle. satoru was dorky, you thought. he had an uneven smile before he looked back at you.

"im satoru"

"I know" you felt like everyone in this damn school knew who he was. "oh im y/n." you quickly introduced yourself after the small pause. for some reason, satoru didn't feel like this was the beginning of a bet he agreed to, but a beginning for something he wasn't ready for.

"go out with me."

miwa snapped her head so fast towards you, you could have sworn you heard a crack. you blinked at satoru, unsure if you heard him right.

"what?"

"go out with me, please." he repeated confident just like the first time. you weren't entirely convinced. "is this a joke?" satoru froze. of course this was a joke. he always played around with random girls so why did it make him feel guilty this time.

"no. I want you, pretty." he smiled softly, showing off his pearly whites that could have any girl soaking her panties in under 10 seconds.

you could feel miwa vibrating next to you, begging you to say yes, or at least something. "I think i'll pass." you mumbled, not unkindly just firm enough to make your point, staring at him for a bit before turning your heel to leave with miwa who now had a disappointed look on her face.

"whyyy?" she whined.

a grunt left satoru's lips. "I can take you out somewhere, anywhere! real nice places sweetheart!"

"like the 7/11 in broadway?" you shot back. he froze before chuckling a genuine laugh, shaking his head. "even better!"

the corner of your lips tugged up a smile as you giggled with miwa at his advances as you both left.

"well look at you missy, pulling mr captain of the hockey team."

"im just that good." you continued to hold your smile, not letting it drop.

and neither did he.

every night at eight, you'd have a video call with your family, just to make sure everything was alright back at home.

"he had an appointment today." yuji said while he was washing the dirty plates, handing them to matt to dry. you used to always put the dishes away back to their original places, but you were no longer there to do your job and that hurt you a bit.

it stung seeing how they had to adapt to live without you and you recalled how you all had to do the same when your mother left. you watched how matt didn't hand it to anyone, he just placed them down.

"and the results?" you asked, your voice quiet and steady but ready for any news you didn't want to hear. not yet.

"not out yet, but im sure nothing has changed since last time he got checked up."

yuji turned off the sink, handing the smaller kid the last dish before drying his hands with a towel. "how's yale treating you? saw the picture you sent."

you hummed looking back at how the day went. "it's going great I guess. our school won the game by the way, oh and a boy wants to take me out."

"you agreed?" yuji has always been the overprotective type, despite you being older.

you answered by shaking your head. "no, he's sketchy."

"how come?" now he was completely alert. a boy is hitting on his sister hundreds of miles away from home? not on his watch. you shrugged.

"he has a whole fangirl club or something."

matts voice could be heard from afar. "he's a red flag!" his words made you chuckle. "you been teaching him new vocabulary?"

yuji rolled his eyes. "its the kids at his school. but seriously, trust your gut. if you don't feel like something is right about that gut, don't take his offer."

you nodded, pressing the sleeve of your sweater up to your nose taking in the scent of old memories. it hasnt been washed since you left home and that nostalgic smell lingered.

one that you desperately wanted to go back to.

satoru could've sworn he left dissecting frogs back in high school, but here he was again, poking around at the laid back amphibians internal organs. "no way am I doing this shit." with a mutter, he placed the tweezers down gagging, shaking his hands in disgust before pulling out his cigarette box, sliding one out placing it in between his pretty pink lips, far too pretty for a man. "smoking in class? you'll set the smoke alarm off." suguru scooted closer to his friend.

"better than doing a bbl on a frog." satoru grumbled, looking away not being able to stare at the gross mess that was right in front of him. "that girl from yesterday.." he narrowed his eyes in thought, trying to remember your name. "y/n" he mumbled after it finally reached him.

"she didn't want to go out with me." he continued. the black haired boy scoffed, not comprehending the words that were coming out of the school's playboy. " you're satoru fucking gojo, this should be easy as hell for you!"

"look man, I dont do this shit anymore."

suguru rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he looked at the frog's corpse. "I'll pay you." satoru grunted bringing the lighter up to his cigarette, huffing it slowly before blowing it towards suguru, in which he looked down at the smoking boy unimpressed.

"I have enough money, I don't need your pocket change."

suguru paused in deep thought. "you're right, heard she's only into pretty guys anyways." satoru brought a hand up to his chest as if he was truly hurt, because he was.

“are you telling me im not a pretty guy?” he took out the cigarette from his mouth, before crushing it down against the table, which left a nasty dent on the cheap laminate. "why do you want me to play with her?"

suguru brought his pierced tongue out to lick his dry lips. "I guess I just miss the old you. seriously satoru, I'll pay you. 300 bucks if you take her out on a date," he scooted closer to his friend. "500 if you get in her panties. and 1000 if you manage to make her your date to hoco."

as if divine intervention occurred, the door creaked open, pausing the chatter between the two boys. there you were. wearing a well put together outfit that just made satoru's hormones run crazy, as you made your way to your desk. the sight of you made gojo straighten his posture suddenly hyper aware of every detail of himself. quickly running a hand through his hair and gulping, his adams apple bobbing.

he turned to look at suguru who was already giving him a pointed look.

"bet."

another thing that you like about yale's campus is that its not too far away from shopping areas. you found a nearby barnes and noble not even a few blocks away from the school. it soon became your go to stop where you would buy books and cd's. you weren't able to fit any of your beloved music or novels when you were packing, so you started a new collection that was placed neatly back at your dorm.

you entered, the bell placed on top of the door notifying any workers of your entrance quickly making your way to the music disc section, straight shelves full of cd's. you're surprised to see many new arrivals.

some were year old music, and some were rare old ones from the 2000's. you reached out to grab a few, a soft smile plastered on your face as you scanned the labels. so deep into it, you didn't notice the bell chiming again.

'debut' by bjork was being held by your hand right now, having an inner battle with yourself whether to be financially responsible for today. you placed the cd back when you remembered that the hospital bill from your fathers last visit would soon come back. and you were not looking forward to seeing the multiple zeros behind whatever number was in front of it.

"excuse me, have you seen any cd of bjork?" the smooth voice behind you asked. "oh yeah-" you answered, turning to look back at the voice.

halfway through your sentence, you took a good look at who was behind you. satoru. "oh, it's you." your eyes narrowed as they focused on him. the boy slid his glasses on the crown of his head. you didn't know he even wore those. satoru seemed to have noticed your observation.

"lost my contacts."

"are you stalking me?" you asked defensively which just made him laugh. his body got closer to yours as he skimmed through the cd's.

"you not getting that bjork one?" he asked tilting his head as his long pale fingers slid the music disc right out of its place. the plastic creaked the second he held it.

"uh its a bit expensive.." the words came out in a mumble, almost embarrassed to admit you couldn't afford a fifty dollar cd. you shifted your weight onto your right leg, looking anywhere but him.

he looked at you before looking down at the case. "guess I'll get it."

you blinked. "didn't know you liked her."

"I dont. but I like you, so I'll get it for you, baby. anything else you want?"

you head snapped towards him, watching how he didn't even let you answer as he placed the bjork case that contained the disc you've been wanting for a while into a shopping basket. you were so shocked you didn't even realize the term of endearment.

"its fifty.." you reminded him.

"be a sweetheart and dont mention the prices, I dont care one bit about it." your eyes dropped to the basket, lips parting to say anything but nothing came out. nothing but a, "can I get the post one..?"

you couldn't find how much one has ever spent at barnes and nobles, but you were pretty sure you may have broken whatever record there was. satoru didn't mind, just like he said.

when the cashier asked how he'd like his receipt he declined it. when he saw the total on the screen in bold green letters, he ignored it. and when he handed you the bags full of books, cd's, and figures, some that you didn't even ask for. he just noticed you staring at them for a little too long and he'd just grab it and place it in the basket, he had a smile plastered right on those pink lips.

"I think I deserve a kiss for all of this.."

its the least you could do, right? besides he didn't tell you where he wanted the kiss. so you stepped up on your tippy toes a bit to place your lips on his cheek.

"thank you. seriously thank you." his smirk softened to a smile, returning the kiss but on your forehead making your breathing stutter.

"any time," he mumbled kissing your nose before backing up. "oh here, give me your phone"

your hand pulls out your phone from your back pocket, handing it to him. "what for?"

"im putting my number in.." his fingers typed quickly, the dumb smirk on his face not leaving, before slipping it back into your hands.

'my sugar daddy'

you visibly cringed at the name he chose. "you've got to be kidding me." you said with pure disbelief. he nodded, proud of his decision. "I did buy you all this didn't I?" he tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear, leaning down to whisper into it.

"ill send you a picture to set up as my contact photo. perhaps a nude?"

"perhaps not."

miwa's eyes widened when she saw you stumble into the shared dorm with heavy bags on each hand. "woah.. didn't know it was black friday." she half joked, getting up from her bed to help you out. you exhaled in relief when the weight was taken from your poor limp arms. "and I didn't pay a single penny."

she averted her gaze from the bags up to you. "who did pay for them? your sugar daddy?" your face burned at that damn name. "you're not wrong. it was satoru." you held up your phone, opening this contact name you knew would have miwa laughing.

she squinted, looking at it before she burst into giggles.

"hes so extra." you set the bags down on the desk, taking one thing out at a time. miwa wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes. "how'd this happen?"

you dragged a hand down your face, shrugging. "he saw me at the store and offered to buy me whatever. but I swear I didn't ask for all of this."

"he likes you."

you paused for a second. "does he now?"

it was a dumb question. who else would buy a random person they have no interest in hundreds of dollars worth of barnes and noble? no one, except him of course.

you retold the same ridiculous events to yuji, who still wasn't pleased at the idea of you getting hit on not even a month into school. his arms were crossed over his chest as he was lazily sitting on his desk chair, same as you.

"return everything."

you scoffed. "no way! even if I did I wouldn't be able to, he didn't ask for a receipt."

"he shouldn't be buying you shit. didn't you tell me yesterday how your gut was telling you something was off?"you moved from your desk to your bed, sighing as your back hit the mattress. "well maybe I was wrong about him."

satoru felt proud of being able to treat you like a princess, buying you all sorts of things, showering you with everything you wanted. he remembered how you hesitated on buying that cd. it bothered him a bit.

'did she have a problem with money?'

his phone rang with a message from suguru.

'party tonight at the frat, you coming?"

of course he was, he hasn't missed a single function since he joined yale. his fingers typed out, "Omw!" but before he could send it, he stopped, and then deleted it. why was he thinking about you right now?

why is he declining a party?

"im not in the mood tonight."

he stared at the screen for a moment, realizing that he actually sent that. a calloused hand rubbed his cheekbone, exhaling before he received another notification, this time not from any of his friends but from spotify.

'the marias are performing near you! click to see ticket prices and shows available!'

the marias? where had he heard that name.. his mind instantly flashed to you. you were holding the marias disc, the one he bought you along with all the other cd's. it was as if his body was moving without him knowing because a second later, he was buying two tickets.

your first day was an unconfirmed barnes and noble date. but your second day, the concert, would be an actual date.

he clicked the 'pay now' button without hesitation.

you weren't expecting to see a screen showing the digital receipts slip right into your line of sight while you were halfway through placing some textbooks in your locker. the bold blue letters read, 'THE MARIAS'

"hi pretty.. got these for you and me." your eyes widened at the familiar voice. the white haired individual really had a habit of sneaking up behind you didn't he? "you.. you got-" you stammered, blinking at the sight of the tickets, then back at him.

"got these for you and me." he repeated himself, both his voice and gaze softening. not sure to be flattered or continue being suspicious, you slowly reached for his phone, taking it from his pale hand to make sure what you were seeing was real.

not only did he buy you both tickets to a music artist you liked, but he also got the best seats. "you got the marias tickets.." you said mostly to yourself. his smirk was still there, but it showed no sign of being cocky.

"mhm, thought you'd like it."

"satoru.. you already spent so much on me yesterday.." how come a boy you barely knew was dropping a thousand on you each day. "I told you I like you. this can be our first date." he gently grabbed back his phone.

you swallowed, your mind trying to wrap itself around the unexpected layers of satoru you’d been seeing over the last few days. and you wondered if you were the first one to see this version of him.

"one date." you said firmly as you lifted up your finger, finally agreeing to his advances. his charm was different.. it was bold, yes, but real. "don't push your luck, im only accepting because its bjork."

"there will be more than one date, pretty." there was short pauses between his words allowing each syllable to sink in. like he meant it.

you had no idea why you were allowing him to score another point at this game he was forcing you to play. "at least let me pay for the gas.. or for the food." you offered but satoru only scrunched his face up shaking his head.

"don't do that."

he had some extra cash on him. 300. just like suguru promised when he said he'd pay satoru 300 if he managed to take you out on a date.

"just wear something pretty for me, and easy to remove."

you rolled your eyes. "im not sure about that second part, you're pushing your luck here sir."

"mm no not sir baby, its sugar dadd-"

your hand shot out to cover his mouth, cutting him off before he even had the chance to finish. he was shocked for a bit before he licked a long stripe against your hand moaning.

you recoiled immediately, gagging with a mix of shock and disgust. he chuckled at your discomfort and the sight of you wiping your hand on his chest.

"you like that baby?"

"no!" you shot back, closing your locker before rushing to the bathroom to properly clean your hand.

"ill see you later my love!" he called out.

miwa helped you get ready for the concert date after school. she straightened your hair pin straight while you both talked about what could happen later. your phone vibrated with a notification from 'sugar daddy'

"you still wearing something easy to remove right?"

you stared at the message. any past thoughts of him not being that bad quickly vanished. obviously, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of your reply, so you left him on read. guess that hurt his feelings because a few minutes later he texted again.

"im joking baby :("

"still haven't changed that contact name?" miwa asked, finishing up the last strand for the final section. you grumbled a little 'shut it'

"im kind of nervous.." you admitted. this was going to be your first date after all.

miwa stopped, her hands hovering in mid air, before she turned your chair to face each other. her expression softened, a mix of understanding and excitement. "hey, it’s okay to be nervous. besides you kind of already know him.."

"briefly." you couldn't help but sigh, your eyes following her figure as she chose an outfit from her side of the closet to lend you.

"he wanted something easy to remove right?"

"dont."

you both met up to where you agreed, which was just outside the girls dormitories. the second he saw you, his heart fluttered.

you looked, no, you are gorgeous.

"...hey" a smile crept up on his face. he was dressed casual while you went all out thanks to miwa.

"hi" you smiled softly.

"you're so beautiful.." you'd be lying if you said you weren't flustered. even if you tried lying, the dark tint of pink on your cheeks would say otherwise. "thank you"

with a chuckle, he led you to his car. a model of the year, typical for a rich ass boy like him. being the gentleman he was, he opened the passenger door for you before closing it as you settled yourself down.

he made his way over to the drivers seat. "can't believe I finally landed a date with you" he mumbled before reaching over to hold your hand in his.

why was he acting like this? it was just a bet.. right?

you stared down at your hands that were now intertwined. you'd expect his to be cold from how pale they were and the amount of time he spends playing hockey in the cold rink.

your eyes lifted to his face, he was focused on the road now, a quiet little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, like just having you next to him was enough.

"im going to be honest, i don't know any of this bands songs."

your breath caught in your throat. "you bought the tickets without knowing how they were?"

he shook his head. "I bought the tickets because I knew you knew who they were." his hand squeezed yours, keeping his eyes on the road. "have I told you how absolutely sexy you are? I mean look at this.." his hand moved from yours to tug at your skirt, making you gasp.

"feel good, baby?" he continued squeezing your thigh, biting his lower lip as he felt the warmth of your skin.

he slapped it playfully, moving his hand onto the steering wheel leaving you flustered.

"pervert.."

the concert was beautiful. the music reached your heart it made you tear up, of course some songs hit close to home. gojo couldn't help but admire you from time to time. watching as your pretty mouth sang along to the unknown lyrics.

"lets take a picture pretty." he said out of nowhere. "a picture?" he nodded before pulling out his phone, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing his cheek against yours, snapping a few pictures of you and him throughout the night, mostly of you. you did the same, filling up your gallery with endless pictures and videos.

he pressed his lips on your temple before pulling away to continue enjoying the performance.

as the night came to an end, he drove you safely back home, both of you discussing the songs you enjoyed being performed the most.

"I think I enjoyed back to me the most"

"no way! paranoia was clearly the most enjoyable."

he rolled his eyes. "yeah well I think what I enjoyed the most was seeing you sing. you're gorgeous baby."

"you already told me that like twenty times."

"and ill continue to tell you for the rest of my life and beyond that." his words made your stomach twist. not in a bad way. definitely not. you watched how the dim light lit up his face making him look even more handsome than he already was.

"want to go to the ice rink?" he asked.

'right now? I dont think im wearing the appropriate clothing for skating.."

satoru grinned, pulling up to the building where the arena was in. "good thing I came prepared then." he reached towards the backseat, pulling out a duffel bag.

"you can thank your friend miwa."

you stared down at the clothes, which belonged to you, now on your lap. light pink thighs and a sweater as well as leg warmers. "you guys planned this?"

"she helped me out. I wanted to make this the best first date."

it was late, so the place was quieter than usual, dimly lit, making the place peaceful. the cold air nipped at your cheeks as you both stepped inside, and you tried your best not to show how nervous you were.

"ive never skated before." you admit.

"good thing your man is a hockey player." he finished tying up his laces before getting down on one knee to tie yours. he said it so casually. 'your man'

satoru looked up at you all while he continued fumbling around with the laces on your skates. "I really hope we have that romcom moment where you slip on the ice and fall right into my arms."

"what type of movies are you watching?" you giggled, feeling the heat creep up to your neck.

he finished the second skate, placing it on the ground before gripping your thighs. "like I said.. romcoms." he murmured, bringing you closer to his face. he darted his tongue out to lick the inside of your thigh.

a gasp left your lips. "h-hey.."

he didn't stop there.

he was starved. his lips traveled all throughout your inner thighs, nipping once in a while. "pretty.."

a shaky hand pushed his head away, watching as a string of saliva connected his lips with you. "so uhm.. you gonna teach me how to skate..?"

the fog of tension shattered the moment you placed your hand on his forehead, pushing him away. he licked his lips before chuckling. "yeah, come on."

the second you stepped onto the ice, you were already struggling. it was more slippery than you'd expect it to be, but satoru's large hands, placed on your waist, kept you steady.

"lean on me."

you held onto his arms, following his step wobbling once in a while.

"I got you doll."

twenty minutes was all you needed to learn how to maintain your balance on the ice. you excitedly followed satoru, holding his hand as you both made rounds around the rink, your skates gliding smoothly. he glanced at you, smiling as he watched you. "look at you... natural born skater" just as he said that, you bumped into his shoulder.

"natural born liar."

he chuckled seeing how your eyes showed signs of being tired. he wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you up with ease. "lets get you out of here. kind of sad we didn't have that cute moment."

"what cute moment?" you wrapped your arms around him before he placed you down the carpet when he got you both out the ice rink. "the one where you fall right into my arms and we kiss."

you rolled your eyes. "maybe next time."

he raised an eyebrow, kneeling down again to take off your shoes. "so is that a confirmation that we will have another date?"

"mhm." you hummed quietly and before you knew it, you were leaning into a kiss with no control over your body, like it was possessed by a curse or something.

he hesitated for a second, deciding not to kiss you back. it was just a bet.

"lets go."

you stared at him in hurt and betrayal. this is what he wanted wasn't it? you felt your heart sink deeper as the seconds passed. you didn't allow him to put your shoes on, doing it yourself instead.

"baby.."

"dont." your voice wasn't firm, it was soft. barely even a whisper to be honest. "you're just messing with me aren't you?" he looked startled, like he had gotten caught with his hand down the cookie jar, because he did.

"no..no you're not something to play around with."

you were mad. furious even. "feels like it."

opening the door after gathering your clothes, you left without a goodnight. or a kiss. once you were out of view, satoru dragged his hands down his face groaning. he's grown attached to you without knowing it in the span of three days. and he's hurt you by denying your kiss.

he rushed after you.

"let me walk you."

"its fine. my dorm isn't that far."

"damn it y/n." he pressed his lips against yours, cupping your jaw. the kiss was full of frustration and it was desperate. his other hand found your hip, bringing you closer to him. he wanted to deepen the kiss, but he noticed you weren't kissing back.

he pulled away before smashing his lips against yours again, hoping that you'd kiss back this time but you didn't.

"I'll see you later.." you mumbled out.

he watched you walk away quickly in the direction of your dorm. now it was his heart who was sinking. he didn't remember any of his last 'bets' hurting this much.

so why does it feel like you were ripping out his heart right now?

when you reached your dorm, ready to get any call from your brothers, you already planned not to mention anything. not the concert date with satoru and definitely not how yuji was right about him. you couldn't let him have that 'I told you so' moment.

your phone vibrated at the back of your pocket as soon as you dropped your bag onto the floor. miwa was staying over at her boyfriends tonight, giving you and satoru any privacy if things went to a more heated direction.

it did. sorta.

with a sigh, you slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call from yuji.

"took you a while."

you forced a laugh. "sorry, you woke me up." you allowed your body to rest, flopping down on your messy bed with a 'thump', the back of your head sinking into the pillows.

"I'm just calling you to let you know that a hospital bill might reach you."

you quirked an eyebrow, staring at the ceiling. "its going to be sent out to me? all the way to yale?" yuji let out a small 'mhm', casual like he was commenting on the weather.

"yeah, from dad's last check up."

"oh," you rubbed your face, feeling a different kind of tired. "thats right."

"its just from his prescriptions and shit.. I would've paid it myself but.." his voice trailed off.

"no, no dont worry about it. not like i'm already drowning in student loans or whatever"

"of course not." you could hear him chuckle from the other side of the phone.

after the call ended, you let the silence settle. you received your mail usually by the end of the week in your small issued mailbox that was located in the front of the school. most of the time it was just flyers for clubs you had no intention of joining. but soon, a hospital bill that you desperately wanted to leave behind home, where it belongs, will appear right inside the small box.

after dreading to see the ridiculous amount you had to pay for oral chemotherapy medication, your mind circled back to satoru, a finger brushed against your lips, reliving the moment he placed his against yours in a kiss you wanted to return, but didn't.

you felt like it wasn't real.

why would he hesitate in the first place? your hand dropped back down against the mattress, gripping the bed sheets to brace yourself from any tears that might come out.

miwa dragged you to watch kokichi practice in the ice rink. the memories from last night hit you like a wave every other minute you sat on the bleachers. the same spot you were rejected.

you were annoyed.

no. pissed. pissed at how he dodged your kiss like it meant nothing and honestly you have every right to be. because why is he hesitant to kiss you when he’s the one that was so desperate. is this some sort of sick joke?

you didn't want to mention it to miwa or anyone. you were too embarrassed and the poor girl was happy she even had the opportunity to help out satoru with last nights date. you couldn't take that away from her. when she asked how it went you spared the details and just gave a brief summary.

"it was fun, he took me to the concert, we sang. then the ice rink, thanks by the way, and he taught me how to skate."

"thats so cute!" her face lit up.

you both continued to see the hockey players glide across the arena. but someone was missing. number 10. your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a microphone starting.

“can't take my eyes of off you..” a voice murmured into the microphone, a voice you instantly recognized. satoru. you blinked once. and then again-unsure if you were hearing correctly or if the loud ass volume you listen to your music in was finally catching up to you.

you squinted your eyes to see the white haired boy stand right in the middle of the rink, the whole team joining him as well. his body stepped forward, then another, until he broke into a dance. you let out a few chuckles of disbelief as you watched him make a fool of himself.

“i love you baby!” you wanted to crawl into a corner and die from embarrassment. “and if it’s quite alright, i need you baby..” his finger pointed right at you. a few people around you chuckled as well, one yelling, "go verona!"

you brought your hands up to you face covering it in embarrassment as a flush appeared. he was so off key now, yelling out the lyrics as he did little tricks around the ice, nearly slipping but catching himself with a dramatic spin. he made a bee line towards the top of the bleachers. you wanted to escape but he was quick, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“oh pretty baby..” he panted as the chorus died down. he placed the microphone down, grabbing your cheeks without a warning with both hands planting a long and sweet kiss on your plump lips. this time, you kissed back without hesitation from either of you.

"satoru.." you managed to say before he continued his desperate kisses, sliding his tongue into your mouth leaving no room for the words that were swirling in your head. miwa was ecstatic, clapping with others, who were surprised that the ex-playboy was acting straight out of a 2000's movie.

"shut up.. let me just kiss you." his fingers threaded through your hair.

and kisses continued all the way to his dorm, no sign of stopping any time soon as he pushed you down his bed.

"im sorry about yesterday.. let me make it up to you."

"I think you did already with your little performance."

he chuckled, shaking his head. "nah, you need more than a song."

satoru wears everything on his face. like everything. you could tell what he was feeling with just a glimpse at his blushed face that turned from his usual pale color to a deep red. his mouth was open when he sank into you.

he smirked when he watched you struggle to take him. the small moans you let out made him twitch. "you look so fucking good. taking my cock like this." he wrapped your legs around his bare waist before his large hand found your neck, wrapping lightly around it.

"sa..satoru.." you whimpered.

"mmf- yeah that feels good. so.. tight and wet f'me. should've done this yesterday." he rolled his hips against yours gently. satoru has never been this gentle during sex towards anyone. he slid in and out of you slowly, making sure you felt every single one of his veins.

"oh fuck.. not going to last long inside this warm fucking pussy."

he licked your lips before shoving his tongue down your throat. satoru pulled away, forcing your jaw to open to spit right into your mouth.

"swallow."

you obeyed, swallowing his shared spit, opening your mouth to show him.

"good girl."

you screamed, gripping his shoulders when he slipped almost all the way out before slamming all the way in. he was loving this, almost forgetting the amount of money he would receive for getting into your panties.

it wasn't until you both finished, and his arms were wrapped around you in a comfortable position to cuddle, placing loving kisses on your forehead, that he finally remembered that this was all a bet. was.

he was scared that maybe he didn't want this to be just a game. his breath stilled, his fingers still tracing random shapes on your back as he pulled back slightly, taking a close look at your peaceful expression.

he didn't want it to end.

he took a look at his calendar that was placed on his nightstand. he counted the days knowing he didn't have that much left with you.

"love?"

you hummed, opening your eyes, your expression soft, when he called out to you.

"i'm playing tomorrow.. then we're having a sort of 'hoco' type of thing at the frat.. come with me?"

you nodded, placing your head on his chest listening to the way his heart beat at a steady pace. "course.." you murmured, he did tire you out after all. his body relaxed at your answer. there were still so many things left unsaid, so much you both needed to figure out. but he was okay with just having you this close to him right now.

you didn't call your family that night. your phone was put on do not disturb, laying on top of the nightstand. satoru's arms were still wrapped tightly around you.

but across the country, yuji grew worried, because not only were hospital bills going to reach you, but terrible news as well.

he paced back and forth outside the hospital room, the one where your father was currently staying, checking his phone every second to see if you have seen his messages or calls.

nothing from you.

he tried to come up with a reason. you were probably studying, or just busy in general. he wanted to cry because the feeling of being the one now responsible for everything was finally sinking in. he didn't know why your father collapsed. he didn't know if your aunt was on her way to pick up matt from school. and he didn't know when the hell you would answer your phone.

"answer.. please." he prayed.

the next day when you woke up to the sound of shuffling, you were met with several forehead kisses.

"sorry baby, have to go straight to the rink." your eyes fluttered open slowly, eyes adjusting to the morning light. you remembered the game today, and the party as well.

"practice hard.." your morning voice came out groggy, in which he let out a soft laugh.

"ill see you later baby." with that he left.

you looked around, still groggy, seeing the clock on his wall. eleven o clock.

your eyes widened. shit. you were late for class. you threw the blanket off of you, quickly putting on the same clothes from yesterday. when you reached for your panties, you noticed they were ripped. the sudden pain you felt on your stomach was a reminder of your poor decisions from last night.

you slipped on your skirt, praying you wouldn't flash anyone by the time you got to your dorm. after grabbing your bag, you reached for your phone before bolting out of his room.

when you made your way to class, you felt a deep feeling in your gut telling you, no, yelling, that something wasn't okay.

the cold air of the rink hit you the moment you stepped through the doors, crisp and biting against your skin. the faint sound of blades carving across ice echoed through the space, mixed with low shouts and the occasional laughter of teammates mid practice.

miwa was buzzing beside you, excited to see her boyfriend play, and for the party he asked her out to. you caught sight of satoru not that far away talking with a boy with gauges.

"I'll be back: you said to her.

"okay! I'll go grab us some seats then!"

you watched as the blue haired girl quickly made her way up the bleachers, snatching a good spot for the both of you. you approached satoru, ready to scare him as you snuck behind him.

"dude, I'm telling you I fucked her already, pay up." he grumbled.

your entire world stopped for a second. were you hearing correctly? the other boy laughed. "thought you didn't want to take this bet?" his hand reached for his pocket, pulling out his wallet to slip out a few hundred dollar bills.

it all suddenly clicked.

"it's whatever. honestly, she's everything i've wanted in a girl." the boy you thought you could trust accepted the bills into his hand. how could you have thought that this actually meant something. that you actually meant something to satoru.

"are you fucking kidding me?" you stared at him, feeling so many emotions all at once. anger, betrayal, and even denial. your mind was processing what you just heard. you wanted to hear it wasn't real, that he wasn't only after you because of a bet and that he actually likes you. but you knew you were better than that, you couldn't help but connect all the dots. the way he just randomly went up to you? the way he spent so much money on you?

it wasn't fate. it was orchestrated. and you felt stupid for now realizing.

there was horror written all over gojos face. "no baby.. baby listen to me." but you refused, shaking your head. you refused because the following words were going to be the confirmation that you dreaded to hear. without another word, you turned away pushing though the crowd. "y/n!" he shouted, but you didn't turn back. as you made your way down the hall, his hand wrapped around your wrist, "please, PLEASE listen to me!" in which you yanked back.

"it was all a bet huh? and for what? I knew I shouldn't have trusted yo-" you were interrupted by his lips molding against yours. no matter how much you wanted to melt into it, you didn't. your hands landed on his chest, pushing him off you before wiping your lips. the boy stood there, stunned, as his sad blue eyes watched you walk out.

how could he do this to you? after you accepted his dates. after you let him use your body for pleasure. after everything?you felt horrible for leaving miwa alone, but you didn't want to ruin her day. her boyfriend was playing hockey, with satoru.

it was when you pulled out your phone, ready to block him, when you saw the several missed calls from yuji and from your fathers doctor. your heart sank even more. you quickly found a secluded spot.

satoru wanted to follow after you, desperate to fix things. but he couldn't, not with a game he needed to play. but in all honesty he was done playing.

yuji was screaming at you through the phone. his voice was raw. one you haven't heard in years.

"I called you twenty fucking times y/n! all of last night, where the hell were you?!"

you were hyperventilating. the situation sinking in, the one with gojo and the one where your dad was on the brink of death. "with.. with this guy.."

silence.

"with a guy?" he spat. “you were with some guy while dad was- y/n, he’s in critical condition. they had to resuscitate him last night. and im over here wondering that something important was going on with you only to find out you were busy sucking some guy off. was it the guy you told me about?"

"..yeah..but it didn't end well."

"I dont fucking care about that right now. honestly im glad, let this be a lesson. we thought we were gonna lose him. and you were out playing house with some asshole?”

you didn't answer, too busy trying to even breathe. "im sorry... im sorry." yuji didn’t respond right away.

"i already paid half of the shit," his sharp voice continued. "if you could send some money over that would be great. and those bills, have you paid them yet?"

you swallowed hard, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. “o, I… I haven’t had time, yuji,”

“you haven’t had time?” he repeated like the words physically hurt him. there was a long pause. when Yuji spoke again, his voice had softened.

".. just please pay his medication.. my job isn't paying that well."

"I will.." you said quietly. "where is matt?"

"he's with aunt teresa. i'll call you if anything happens again, please answer next time."

you sniffled, wiping your runny nose. "okay. I love you."

click.

the call ended with him not saying those words back. you still had your phone up to your ear, wishing that magically yuji would say it back.

you felt so unwanted

unloved.

you could feel your eyes stinging even more and your throat closing up on you. you felt like you were losing everyone, your father slipping away in a hospital bed miles from here, your brother who had always been your anchor, your voice of reason, now too exhausted to carry you, and satoru.

satoru.

that night your phone was blowing up. call after call, text after text- all from him.

satoru : y/n please.

satoru : call me, return my calls lets talk pretty.

satoru : it was a bet, but believe me when I tell you that I truly love you.

satoru : I love you. say it back baby. please I need you. can't lose you, im sorry love please don't leave..

you remembered when you planned to block him before the call with yuji, your finger hovered over the red block button. but you simply put your phone on dnd and headed to sleep recalling the horrible events of tonight. tear stains were placed on your cheeks, mascara ruined, just like how your life felt.

miwa had tried, she really did. she tried her best to comfort you, but she understood you needed space. the sweet girl provided you with extra blankets as well as water, she even rubbed off the remaining makeup on you.

satoru hasn't felt this horrible since he accidentally flushed down his sisters goldfish back in first grade. but it wasn't the same.

the goldfish didn't hate him. you did.

and he hated himself for how he made you feel. he hated himself for doing this to you. but god was he grateful to have taken on that bet. not for the money, but for you. because of the bet, he met such a wonderful girl who he was completely smitten for. too bad that the girl now hates his guts.

the weather matched how gojo felt. he looked like hell.

his usual outfits was replaced by a simple white t-shirt with sweatpants. the confident boy was now just a regular burnt out college student who looks like he missed out on eight hours of sleep to study for his physics final. he hasn't eaten since yesterday, deciding his body didn't deserve to be rewarded with food.

he made his way to the small mailroom provided for students. his face lit up when he saw you there, not looking so good like him.

"baby."

his voice startled you, making you drop your mail, watching as they scattered all throughout the tile floor.

you crouched down to gather your mail, avoiding his eyes, heart pounding in your chest from too many things at once, his voice, your brother’s call, the reminder of your father, the unbearable guilt, and now him standing here, looking like someone you didn’t know how to love right now.

satoru knelt beside you, brushing your fingers by accident as he helped you collect the envelopes. the moment your skin touched, a sharp breath escaped his lips.

thats when saw it. a bunch of letters from kaiser permamente.

"what's this..?"

you froze, hand curling tighter around the envelope like you could hide it, like you could make it disappear if you just willed it hard enough. but he had already seen.

you stood quickly, clutching the papers to your chest. “it’s nothing.”

“sweetheart…” His tone shifted, serious now. “that’s a hospital.”

"i know, i can read." you shot back.

satoru rose to his feet slowly, eyes still locked on you, his earlier exhaustion now sharpened with concern. “y/n?” His voice cracked. “is everything okay?”

you didn't know how it came to this. but you were hugging him tightly, crying into his chest like he wasn't part of the reason why you were going through it.

.

.

.

ending a/n : I hope you guys enjoyed reading the first half of 10 things I hate about you !!

[theetherealbloom]

It Only Falls Into Place When You're Falling To Pieces

Summary: There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ HEAVY ANGST, Fluff, Crying, Tears, Sadness, Apocalypse, Cordyceps, Infected, Major Character Death(s), Funerals, Grief, PTSD, Depression, Kissing, Blood, Morgue, Star-Crossed Lovers, TLOU 2 Spoilers,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: Fml. I know that you know I don’t usually write angst, but fuck man, I need to mourn and maybe so do you… God I'm so sad. Like we knew the story and how it would end for Joel. Even if you think you're ready... But I know this from experience, even if you've braced yourself, brutality like this... will hurt a lot.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Still by Noah Kahan

Joel Miller Masterlist | MAIN MASTERLIST |

WYOMING, JACKSON — 2029

The mornings were slow in Jackson. Slow in a way that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t living in the end times anymore.

Joel had a habit of waking up before you. Not out of routine or discipline, but out of muscle memory. The kind that sticks even when the world’s long since changed.

Sometimes, he made coffee. Sometimes, he just sat at the table, plucking at his guitar in soft, incomplete chords while the sun started to push through the windows. The house you shared wasn’t big or fancy. But it was warm. It was quiet. It had his coat always draped over the same chair, his boots by the door, the scent of cedar and pine from the little woodworking studio in one of the rooms.

It had Joel.

You found yourself drifting toward him more often than not. Whether he was sanding a piece of maple or trying to shape a leg for a rocking chair he swore he’d finish someday, he let you linger. You’d sit on the bench next to him, fingers curled around a warm mug. He’d hand you scraps to practice carving, smiling softly when you accidentally broke off a corner.

“‘S alright,” he’d murmur, brushing sawdust off your cheek with a thumb. “Takes time.”

Everything with Joel took time.

Loving him. Learning him. Earning the space between his heart and the pain he never quite put into words.

But the quiet in Jackson gave you time. Time to laugh with him over burned dinners, to slow dance in the kitchen when he played a familiar tune, to lay on the couch with your head on his chest while he told you about old country songs and the guitar he lost in Austin.

And it gave him time, too.

Time to lower his walls. To see you not as a danger, but as something steady—something soft he could rest in. Time to share pieces of himself he rarely offered to anyone, fragile corners he'd kept locked away.

He would look at you and think, If I were braver. If I could just say it.

He’d imagine the words on his tongue, how they’d change everything the second they left his mouth. But he wasn’t ready—not brave enough, not honest enough.

So he just looked at you instead.

And maybe you knew. Maybe you always knew.

Because he did love you.

In quiet, consistent ways. In the way he made your coffee just how you liked it. In the way he memorized the sound of your laugh. In every glance, every softened breath, every moment where he didn’t walk away.

He didn’t love you because he was lonely—Joel had long since learned how to survive in the silence.

He loved you because your light made the dark seem less like a prison and more like a place he could leave behind.

It started small.

A found thing—half-buried in the snow behind the stables. You’d been looking for spare nails in a busted old toolbox when you saw it: a film camera. Dusty, scratched up, but the click still worked. You brought it back like a prize.

Joel looked up from the guitar he was restringing, brow furrowed. “You went diggin’ around in that old junkyard again?”

You grinned, breath fogging the air. “Found treasure.”

He squinted at the thing in your hand like it might bite him. “You sure that ain’t just some broken plastic?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He watched you tinker with it all afternoon, wiping the lens clean with your sleeve, warming the roll of film between your palms to bring it back to life. You caught him staring more than once—chin propped in his hand, fingers idle on the frets of a guitar he’d been meaning to finish tuning.

When it finally worked, you snapped a picture of the sunset from your porch. Then one of his back as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration, sleeves rolled up, calloused hands steady over the worn wood.

You took one of his profile too. He’d been humming low under his breath, unaware.

“Hey,” he said, catching the click. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re handsome when you’re focused.”

He huffed a laugh, but he didn’t stop you when you raised the camera again.

Later that week, you asked him for one together.

“C’mere,” you said, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Just one. You might like the memory someday.”

He looked reluctant, like the idea of being frozen in time made him itch. But he let you lead him into the light. You kissed him on the cheek just as the timer clicked. He smiled, wide and surprised and real.

The photo came out a little blurry. But your mouth was pressed to his skin, his eyes crinkled with something close to joy. You kept it in your coat pocket like it might keep you warm.

Sometimes, he came into the kitchen just to touch you.

No reason. No words. Just drawn to you like muscle memory.

You’d be standing at the counter, elbow-deep in something mundane—rinsing mugs, slicing vegetables, stirring whatever was bubbling in the pot—when suddenly there’d be a shift in the air behind you. A warmth. A quiet presence.

Then, Joel’s arms would wind around your waist, firm and steady, palms pressing low on your stomach, right through the thin fabric of your shirt. His chest would settle against your back like it belonged there, like you were meant to carry each other’s weight.

“You makin’ somethin’ good?” he’d mumble into your hair, voice rough with sleep or fresh air or maybe just the softness you always brought out of him.

You barely had time to answer before you’d feel it—his nose brushing just beneath your ear, his scruff scratching tender against your neck. The kind of touch that made the air feel thick with heat and memory.

“You smell like cinnamon,” he whispered one evening, lips grazing the spot where your jaw met your throat.

You stilled, blinking down at the spoon in your hand. “You been sniffin’ me, Miller?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, slow and sweet, like molasses in summer. “You’re intoxicatin’, darlin’. Makes a man forget what he came in here for.”

His mouth followed the curve of your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse. Slow. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

You laughed then, breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. Just a soft, breathless sound that filled the space between your bodies as you leaned back into him, hips settling against his.

The laughter didn’t last long. It never did when his hands started to move—one curling around your hip, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

The spoon slipped from your fingers and clattered into the sink, forgotten.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and whispered, “The stew’s gonna burn.”

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling just enough to be trouble.

“Let it.”

One night, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

It was late, storm tapping at the windows, fire burning low. You were tucked beneath his arm on the couch, legs over his lap, your hand tucked into the worn flannel of his shirt. He kissed you once, then again, then a hundred more times.

Short, sweet little things.

He kissed your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. You giggled, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling.

“Joel,” you whispered, nose scrunched, lips twitching. “What are you doing?”

His palms cradled your face like you were something delicate. Like he’d break if he didn’t touch you just right.

“Memorizing you,” he said. Then he kissed the giggle right off your lips.

Your hands curled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, lips sliding together like they belonged there.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice came out low and honest, barely above a breath:

“You’re everythin’ darlin’.”

He didn’t say he loved you.

Not with words.

But in every quiet moment, every gentle touch, every photo you took that he let you keep—he showed you.

And somehow, that meant more.

Love shows up in the quiet moments with Joel. Always has been.

Not in grand declarations or fireworks. Not in promises whispered beneath starlight or etched into stone. No, with Joel, love slips in softly—through the cracks of everyday life, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence he lets you share without needing to fill it. It’s there when the world is loud, and he chooses to be quiet with you. When everything aches and he doesn’t try to fix it—just stays.

It’s the way your hand always finds his, especially when he’s got that look about him—brows drawn low, eyes shadowed, body still as a storm about to break. You’ve come to know it well, that kind of tension that settles in his shoulders like he’s bracing against something only he can see. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel like peace, but like he’s waiting to run or fight or fall apart.

So you reach for him.

You don’t announce it, don’t make a show of it. Just slide your hand into his, palm against his rough calloused skin, fingers curling between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. Because you’ve done this before, countless times. Every time the ghosts get too loud or the silence feels too sharp. You hold his hand and he lets you, and that’s how you know—how you always know—he’s letting you in again.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just breathes out slow, like your touch takes some of the weight off, even if it’s just a fraction. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders drop a little. You can feel it—the shift, the surrender, the trust.

“Y’okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it could be mistaken for wind slipping through the seams of the old house, rustling the curtains just enough to remind you that the world is still turning outside these walls.

Joel looks at you. Not a glance. A real look. The kind that lingers. The kind that says more than words ever could. His eyes are tired, but there’s something else there too—something quieter, gentler, something that only ever surfaces around you.

His thumb moves in a slow arc across your knuckles, and when he answers, it’s not just with words. It’s in the way his grip tightens slightly, not desperate, just present.

“I am now,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, frayed at the edges. Like maybe he’s been holding it in all day, maybe even longer. Like your hand in his unlocked something he didn’t know he needed to say.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You lean into him instead, resting your head on his shoulder, letting the weight of you press gently against him like a tether. Like a promise. His arm slips around you, steady and sure, palm settling at your hip. He presses a kiss into your hair—right at the crown of your head, like a seal, like a prayer, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.

The room around you is quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the fire. Outside, snow falls soundlessly, blanketing the world in soft white. And inside, it’s warm. Not just from the fire—but from him. From this.

From the way he holds you like you’re something he never thought he’d have again. Like the simple act of your hand in his might keep the darkness at bay for one more night.

With Joel, love doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to.

It just stays.

And that’s always been more than enough.

The mornings are always slow.

Time feels syrup-thick when the sun hasn’t fully crested the horizon yet, and sleep still clings to your limbs like molasses. Your body is heavy, cocooned in the tangle of sheets still warm from the man who slept beside you. The air is cool beyond the bed, but the mattress holds the echo of his heat, and it makes you reluctant to move, even as your senses start to stretch awake.

You shift lazily, one arm reaching across the bed to where Joel had been moments ago. It’s empty now, his absence a soft dip in the mattress, but the scent of him lingers—cedarwood, a trace of leather, the faint hint of salt and earth from yesterday’s long walk back into Jackson. Comforting. Familiar.

You pry one eye open, squinting into the low light. Joel’s already sitting at the edge of the bed, the muscles of his back broad and bare, catching a gentle glint from the early morning haze seeping in through the window. He’s halfway through pulling on his shirt, slow and steady, the way he always is in the mornings. A quiet man doing quiet things.

Without thinking, without even fully waking, your hand slips out from beneath the covers and finds him.

Your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist—barely a tug, just enough to let him know you’re there, still tethered to him. And then you shift closer, burying your face against the small of his back, pressing a soft, languid kiss to the warm skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Mmm... good mornin’, Joel,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, muffled by the skin beneath your lips.

He pauses. Still for a moment, like the warmth of your kiss stopped time. Then he breathes out, slow and fond, and turns slightly—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the corners, soft with affection, and that familiar crooked smile curves beneath the rough scruff of his jaw.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice is rough and low, like gravel soaked in honey, warm enough to melt straight through your bones.

You hum in response, already halfway to sleep again, forehead resting against his back. The bed creaks softly as he shifts, brushing his hand over your tangled hair in a slow, affectionate stroke. His thumb lingers at your temple, then trails down to the curve of your cheek, gentle and grounding.

“Go on,” he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss into your hair. “Sleep a little longer. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

You don’t answer, not really. Just let out a sigh that sounds like peace and contentment all wrapped into one. He stands slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb the blankets more than necessary, and as he moves toward the hearth, you stay curled in the warmth he left behind—your hand resting in the space where his had been, eyes slipping closed again.

You listen to the familiar rhythm of him moving through the room—boots being tugged on, the scrape of kindling, the gentle snap of a match. The softest clink of metal on stone. And through it all, the quiet knowledge that this is what love is.

Not always words. Not always fire and thunder.

But this.

These mornings. These moments. Him.

Sometimes, when the world gets too loud—even in Jackson—you find yourself gravitating toward him without a thought.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the bustle of the market, the chatter of passing patrols, or just the quiet hum of a too-long day catching up with your bones. Something in your chest tightens, overwhelmed and aching for something quieter, something still. And so you find Joel.

He’s usually somewhere close—he always is. Maybe talking with Tommy, maybe checking the perimeter, maybe just standing there with his arms crossed like he’s holding up the whole damn sky on his back again. But the moment your arms circle around his middle, everything else seems to fall away.

You press yourself into him, chest to his back, arms around his waist, and your face buries instinctively in the crook of his neck. That space between shoulder and jaw where you swear the whole world could stop and you wouldn’t mind. The smell of him hits you instantly—faint cedarwood, worn leather, a trace of smoke from the fire pit, and something else too. Something warm and steady and Joel.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away or ask what’s wrong. He just lets out a quiet hum, low in his chest, and leans back into your touch. His hands find yours where they’re linked around his stomach, thumbs brushing idly over your knuckles. You feel the weight of his chin as he rests it gently on top of your head, and then the press of a kiss into your hair—soft, unthinking, like muscle memory.

It’s the kind of affection that doesn’t ask for attention. Doesn’t need an occasion. It just is.

You breathe him in like you’re trying to anchor yourself. Let your eyes flutter shut. Let the rest of the world blur into background noise.

“I missed this,” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, the words barely more than a sigh. You don’t even mean the moment, exactly—you mean the peace of it. The quiet. The him of it all.

Joel turns his head just a little, enough for the edge of his beard to scratch gently against your forehead. His voice is soft when he replies, but there’s something thick in it, something full.

“You’re right here,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gotta miss a thing.”

You shift your face closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sometimes I still do,” you admit.

He nods once, like he gets it without needing you to explain. “Yeah,” he says, his hand trailing up to cup the back of your head. “Me too.”

And for a long moment, neither of you say anything more. You just stand there, wrapped up in each other, while the world spins noisily on around you—too loud, too fast, too much.

But here, in the shelter of his arms, in the crook of his neck, everything is quiet. Everything is enough.

Crowds were never your thing.

Too many people pressed in too close, too many voices overlapping, footsteps echoing off wood and brick. Even in a place like Jackson—safe, familiar—it could still feel like too much. You were used to being on alert, always aware of exits and shadows, always bracing for what could go wrong. Old habits from the world outside didn’t die easily.

Joel wasn’t much better with crowds. Maybe a little quieter about it, a little more practiced at hiding the way his shoulders stiffened when someone brushed past too close. But you’d seen it. The way his jaw would flex when he was trying to be polite but already had one foot out the door in his head. The way his hand sometimes hovered near his belt like he was missing the feel of his rifle.

And yet, here you were.

The town hall was full to bursting, the whole place humming with life. It was some kind of celebration—maybe a harvest, maybe a birthday, maybe people just needed a reason to dance and drink and pretend that the world hadn’t ended outside those walls. Whatever it was, it was loud. Laughter spilled from every corner. Music vibrated through the floorboards. Glasses clinked together and boots stomped in time with the beat.

You stood near the far end of the room, half-heartedly nursing a cup of water, swaying just a little in time with the song playing—more to keep your nerves from buzzing than for enjoyment. You scanned the room like you always did. Faces. Movements. That unconscious search for something familiar, something grounding.

And then your eyes found Joel.

He was on the opposite side of the room, shoulder leaning against a wooden support beam, arms folded loosely across his chest. He hadn’t joined the dance, hadn’t made a plate from the food table. Just stood there, scanning the crowd—and you knew in your bones he’d been looking for you.

When your eyes met, the noise dulled. Not all at once. It didn’t go silent or freeze like in the movies. But it faded. As if the current of the room moved around the two of you instead of through.

You were mid-sip when it happened, your fingers curled around the cool tin cup, lips barely brushing the rim. But as soon as you caught his gaze, you paused.

It wasn’t a grand thing. No sweeping declarations. Just a glance. A quiet, steady look that said you’re here, and I see you, and that’s all I need.

You tilted your head a fraction, the corner of your mouth twitching upward into the kind of smile you only saved for him—small, but true. Your chest softened. Your breath eased.

Across the room, Joel’s lips quirked into that familiar little half-smile, the one that never quite reached both corners of his mouth, but you knew what it meant. He gave a subtle nod. Nothing flashy. Nothing for show.

Just,  I see you too.

You held that look for a second longer, your body still surrounded by the warmth and noise and movement of the room, but none of it really touched you. Not in that moment. Not with his gaze wrapped around you like a thread pulled taut across the distance.

And even though no one said a word, something passed between you.

You smile again, this one a little wider, a little softer. A silent message of your own: I’m not going anywhere.

And Joel’s eyes softened like he heard it loud and clear.

You hum sometimes, without even knowing you’re doing it. It just slips out—soft and low, the way wind moves through tall grass. A half-remembered tune from before the world went sideways. Maybe it was from the radio, maybe from your childhood, maybe your mother’s voice singing over the hiss of boiling water. It’s not the melody that matters. It’s the feeling that comes with it—warmth, familiarity, something that once meant home.

Sometimes, when your mind is far away, you whistle it instead. Just a few notes, carried on your breath.

Joel never interrupts. Never tells you to stop or asks you to hush. He just listens—quietly, carefully, like the sound of your humming settles something in him too. Like maybe the song is stitching him back together in places neither of you can quite name.

He’s usually out on the porch when it happens, sitting on the old wooden steps with one of the guitars he’s been fixing up. Strings stretched taut, frets worn smooth by time and hands that once knew chords. His fingers—rough and weathered—move slow and steady as he tunes it. Every so often, he plucks a string, listens, adjusts. The sun casts a soft amber glow across his forearms, painting the scars in gold.

You’re nearby. Always. Curled up with your legs folded beneath you, back resting against one of the porch posts. A blanket draped over your shoulders. You hum like peace lives in your chest and is trying to find its way out.

Joel glances up when he hears it—mid-strum, his brow relaxed, lips parted just slightly like he’s about to say something but doesn’t. He just looks at you for a moment, and everything about him softens. His shoulders drop. The line between his brows disappears. Like the sound of you is the first deep breath he’s taken all day.

“What’s that song?” he asks after a while, his voice breaking the silence like it belongs there. Low and warm, barely above the hush of wind.

You pause, the melody tapering off in your throat. Your eyes flick toward the sky, as if the answer might be waiting somewhere in the clouds.

“Not sure,” you murmur, a smile tugging lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Mama used to sing it when she was cooking. I think it used to be on the radio, too. One of those songs that just… stuck.”

Joel nods, the kind of slow, thoughtful nod that doesn’t need words to follow. He strums another chord, something soft and sweet, and leans back on his elbows.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Keep goin’. I like it.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something that makes your chest ache in that soft, full kind of way. The kind of ache that’s not about pain at all, but about being known. About being seen and loved for the quiet parts of yourself you didn’t think anyone else noticed.

So you hum again, picking up where you left off. Joel doesn’t look away. He keeps strumming, matching your rhythm now. Not quite harmonizing. Just being there with you, in it.

And for a little while, the world feels like it’s made of nothing but warm wood, old songs, and two people learning how to feel safe again.

You’re curled up together in bed one night, everything quiet except the low pop and crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. The room glows in soft amber and gold, the shadows on the walls swaying like they’re dancing to the rhythm of your breathing. Outside, wind brushes against the windows, but inside, it’s warm. Safe. Still.

Joel lies flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped loosely around your waist. You’re pressed into his side, head resting just below his collarbone, your hand lazily combing through his hair—fingertips tracing gentle, aimless patterns. His hair’s soft tonight, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of cedar soap and woodsmoke.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need. Just the hush between heartbeats and the sound of Joel’s steady breathing, slow and even beneath your ear.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whisper eventually, your voice thick with sleep. Each word melts into the warmth of his skin. Your eyes are already slipping closed, lashes brushing his chest. You don’t even know if he hears you.

But then you feel it—Joel’s arm tightening around your waist, his hand sliding up under your shirt just enough to rest against your spine, warm and grounding.

“Then don’t move,” he murmurs, voice rough with tiredness and something gentler, deeper. The kind of softness he only ever shows in moments like this, when the world is quiet and his guard is down. “Ain’t no one tellin’ us to go anywhere.”

You smile into the dark, into the skin of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. His heartbeat thumps slow and steady, and you swear you could fall asleep to that sound alone.

Joel shifts slightly, just enough to press a kiss into the top of your head. His lips linger there—like a promise more than anything spoken.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you say, voice feather-light.

A comfortable silence settles in again. Your fingers slow in his hair, curling around a soft wave near his temple. His hand stays at your back, thumb drawing idle shapes you’re too sleepy to name.

The fire crackles. The wind hums. And you drift off like that—wrapped up in him, hand still in his hair, the weight of his love wrapped around you like a second blanket. Nothing else matters. Not out there. Not tomorrow. Just this.

Just him.

The temperature dips before the sun even brushes the horizon. The last of the daylight clings to the sky in hazy streaks of orange and violet, but the wind has already turned sharp, biting through the seams of your jacket. You and Joel walk side by side down the path back toward Jackson, boots crunching over patches of frost-laced grass and half-frozen dirt.

You don’t say much—patrols tend to leave a certain kind of quiet between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling. But you can feel the chill starting to settle deep in your bones, your fingers stiff and cheeks raw from the cold. You try to rub your hands together for warmth, but it’s useless. The wind is relentless.

Joel notices, of course. His eyes flick over to you, worried in that subtle way he is—more tension in the jaw, more silence than usual. You know he’s about to offer you his coat or tell you he should’ve brought that extra scarf.

So before he can open his mouth, you reach out and grab a fistful of his jacket.

Without a word, you tug him in. Joel stumbles the smallest step forward, surprised but not resisting. You pull until you're chest to chest, until the warmth of his body bleeds into yours. Your frozen hands slip under the back hem of his coat and find the soft flannel of his shirt underneath, palms pressing flat against the heat of his spine.

“Jesus,” Joel mutters, letting out a breath that puffs white between you, his arms automatically sliding around your waist. “You could’ve just asked for my coat, y’know.”

“But then I wouldn’t be this close,” you reply, chin tilting up, a smile tugging at your lips despite your chattering teeth. “You’re warmer than any jacket.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, the kind that melts around the edges. He leans in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “You’re a damn menace,” he says—but his voice is warm and low, thick with affection.

You can feel his fingers pressing into your back, holding you tighter. His nose brushes yours as he tilts his head, and then—soft as snowfall—he kisses you. Once. Then again. And a third time, his lips barely touching yours, quick little pecks that make you laugh and shiver all at once.

“Joel,” you whisper, still grinning, your breath fogging between you both.

“I like the taste of your lips on mine,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your mouth like silk. He says it like a secret. Like it’s always been true.

Then he kisses you again—this time slower, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pours warmth into you one soft press at a time. The world falls quiet. No wind. No cold. No patrols or gates or the threat of anything waiting in the dark.

Just Joel.

Just this.

When you finally pull apart, you don’t go far. He keeps you close, your fingers still tucked against his back, his breath brushing your temple.

You smile into his collar. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

He kisses your hair, voice barely above a whisper. “Far as I’m concerned, we can stay like this forever.” 

And in that moment, time slows. Your heartbeat settles into the rhythm of his, safe and steady. Warm, despite everything. Because love—real love—isn’t just in the grand gestures. It’s in this. A quiet winter dusk. A jacket shared. The taste of his kiss. The way he holds you like you’re something worth braving the cold for.

Then there’s Ellie.

She was nineteen now. Strong. Sharp-tongued and guarded in the way Joel used to be. You weren’t her mother, and she never treated you like one—but she was curious about you. Distant at first. Then, little by little, she started asking questions. Sitting with you on the porch. Bringing you a book she found and thought you might like.

She and Joel… there were things left unsaid between them. You could feel it like a splinter under the skin. Something tender and unresolved.

He finally told you one night, long after you’d both settled into the quiet comfort of shared sheets and a life you thought might last.

It was after dinner. After the guitar and the laughter. After you’d kissed the corners of his mouth and pulled him into bed.

“I lied to her,” he said, voice hollow.

You blinked in the dark, still half-tangled in sleep. “What?”

Joel’s face was turned toward the ceiling. Still. Tense. “I lied to Ellie. About the Fireflies. About the hospital.”

The room chilled. Your fingers reached for his without hesitation.

“I killed them,” he continued. “Every last one that stood between me and her. ‘Cause they were gonna cut her open. To find a cure.”

He didn’t cry right away. He spoke through gritted teeth, like the guilt was a weight he carried every damn day and had never quite set down.

“She would’ve died. She didn’t know—still doesn’t really. I told her there were others. That she wasn’t the only one. But it was a lie. It’s all a lie.”

You didn’t speak. Just curled into him. Held his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“She hates me for it,” he whispered.

“No,” you said. “She loves you. She’s angry, but she loves you.”

He shook his head. Silent tears rolled into his hairline. You kissed his shoulder. You stayed up all night, fingers running through his graying hair until his breathing steadied again.

That was the last night he told you something he’d never said out loud.

The screams had long gone silent. All that was left now was smoke. Gunpowder. Blood soaking into snow.

Your boots crunch through it—through the aftermath. Bodies, both friend and foe, lie crumpled like broken marionettes. The streets of Jackson, once humming with quiet life, are now a graveyard.

Tommy had held the line at the south gate. You saw him, blackened with ash and soot, flames dancing in the reflection of his eyes as he lit up a bloater with the last fuel of the flamethrower. His scream—raw, furious—cut through the chaos like a knife. You’d joined the others in the streets, turning bullets on the infected… and eventually, on the bitten.

Some of them you knew by name.

You don’t remember pulling the trigger. You only remember the stillness afterward.

The quiet after the roar.

By the time the last runner was put down, your hands were slick with blood—some of it not your own. And when they called for the dead to be gathered, you helped. You counted.

You lost count.

They winched open the gates sometime after. You were still standing by the old greenhouse-turned-morgue, watching Tommy collapse into Maria’s arms, his body shaking with the weight of what he’d survived.

And then—

The hoofbeats. The shuffle of footsteps. The drag of something heavy behind them.

You turned.

Jesse and Ellie rode in first. Dina followed, all their faces hollowed out by exhaustion and something far worse. Behind their horse trailed a shape wrapped in canvas, dark with frozen blood, limp in the snow.

Ellie’s eyes met yours.

Red-rimmed. Wide. Empty.

And you knew.

You knew.

Your legs gave out beneath you before the thought could fully form. The cold didn’t register. Only the scream that tore out of your throat—animal, guttural. You clawed at the snow, sobbing into the dirt and ice, your lungs heaving like they were trying to break through your ribs.

“No—no—no—!” It came out broken. Like you could undo it just by denying it hard enough.

Tommy grabbed you. Held you back. His own face soaked with tears.

You screamed again. You didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care that you were on your knees in the blood and the snow with your heart ripped open.

Maria stood nearby. Hands pressed to her mouth. Silent.

The bag didn’t move.

He was in there.

Joel.

You want to tear the canvas open. You want it to be a mistake. You want to see his face, alive. Cranky. Loving. Whole.

But you already know.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. How long your sobs echo off the ruined walls of Jackson. You only know this: he felt like home.

And now home is just… gone.

They carry him to the chapel. Ellie disappears inside, Dina trailing her silently. Jesse catches your eye and looks away.

You follow the corpse. Your legs move on their own. There’s nothing left to protect now, no fight to win. You’ve survived—but at what cost?

The snow keeps falling.

And somehow, the world keeps turning.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. No birdsong, no wind. Just the thick, suffocating kind of silence that wraps around your ribs and squeezes until it feels like you might shatter from the inside out. The kind of silence that doesn’t leave room for breath, or hope.

The makeshift morgue is colder than outside, colder than anything should ever be. Too sterile. Too still. Too many bodies of people you once smiled at in passing. A metal table stands at the corner of the room, and he’s there—Joel—lying beneath a white sheet that feels far too thin. Like if you peeled it back, he’d stir. Grumble about the draft. Ask where his jacket went.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t fucking move.

You sink to your knees beside the table. Wood floor biting into your bones, your hands trembling as they hover just above the edge of the sheet. Your throat burns like it’s been scraped raw from the inside out, but you haven’t said anything. Not really. Not yet.

Tommy sits down beside you, legs bent awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest like if he doesn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart right here with you.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you choke out, voice so broken it barely sounds like yours. Your hands finally touch the edge of the table, and you grip it like a lifeline.

“I know,” Tommy murmurs. He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t try to fix it. Maybe because he knows there’s no fixing this.

You press your forehead against the cold edge of the metal, like maybe if you’re close enough, you’ll feel his warmth again. But there’s nothing. Only the chill of a world that kept turning without him in it.

“I needed him,” you whisper. The words break on your tongue like glass. “I still do. I need his voice—I need his arms. I need him to tell me this is all gonna be okay.”

A sob claws its way out of your chest, jagged and ugly. “He was supposed to be here.”

You think about the way he used to hold you—how his hands fit so easily around your waist, how he’d tug you close like the world outside didn’t exist. You think about his voice, low and rough, whispering “I got you, baby,” when the nightmares got bad. About the way he looked at you, like you were something worth protecting. Like you were home.

He was home.

And now he’s gone. And you’re nothing but a house with the roof torn off, standing in the rain.

“I don’t know how to be in a world that doesn’t have him in it,” you admit, tears falling freely now, soaking into your sleeves. “I was never scared of tomorrow when he was with me.”

Your head turns toward Tommy, eyes rimmed red. “How do I do this?”

He doesn’t answer. He just puts a hand over yours, squeezes it tight. It’s all he can give you, and you take it, even though it’s not the hand you want.

You close your eyes, breathing in like maybe you’ll catch some trace of him. Leather. Cedar. That soap he used when he tried to be fancy. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the dull antiseptic of this godforsaken room.

“I thought I knew grief,” you whisper. “But this… this is a whole new kind of broken.”

And it is. It’s grief with no bottom. No edges. No map. Like walking into a fog and never coming back out.

You reach up, finally, trembling fingers lifting the edge of the sheet.

You don’t pull it back.

You just press your palm over where you know his heart used to beat.

And you stay there, frozen in time, whispering his name like a prayer. Like if you say it enough, he might come back.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t.

And you know—no matter how many tomorrows come—you’ll miss him in every single one.

Because he wasn’t just the love of your life.

He was your life.

And now, all that’s left is the silence.

It’s three days later when Tommy finds you.

You haven’t spoken much since that day. Just shadows under your eyes and silence on your lips. People leave flowers near the mailbox. You go through the motions—eating when someone puts food in front of you, lying down when your legs give out—but you’re not really here.

You’re sitting on Joel’s porch when he approaches. Your knees are drawn to your chest, your hands wrapped in the sleeves of a jacket that still smells like him. It’s too big, and it doesn’t make you feel any less hollow.

Tommy stands in front of you for a moment, quiet.

Then he lowers himself to sit on the step beside you.

“I ain’t sure if now’s the right time,” he says, voice low. Rough. “But he… he asked me to give you somethin’. If…”

You look at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. You both know how it ends.

Your heart stops. And then starts again, slower. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small envelope—folded and worn soft at the edges like it had been carried for a long time.

Your name is on it.

Your handwriting. Joel’s writing. It’s him. It's him.

Your fingers are shaking as you take it.

“I didn’t read it,” Tommy says, eyes on the horizon. “Didn’t wanna. Figured that was for you.”

Inside the envelope is a single piece of paper, folded once.

And a gold band.

Simple. Plain. No diamonds or carvings. Just a ring. One he probably bartered for quietly. One he probably kept in his pocket, maybe touched it when he thought about you. One he never got to give you.

Your vision blurs instantly.

The paper trembles in your hands as you unfold it. The ink is smudged in one corner—Joel had probably written it with those big hands, careful and slow. Trying to say something final in a way that didn’t feel like goodbye.

Your eyes find the first words.

Hey, baby.

If you’re reading this… then I’m not where I should be. I’m sorry.

God, I didn’t wanna write this. Been puttin’ it off for weeks. But the way this world is… well, you and I both know it don’t always give you time to say things out loud.

So I’m writin’ ‘em now.

First thing—I love you. You probably know that already. Hell, I’ve said it in a hundred different ways without ever sayin’ the words. In the way I hold you. The way I listen to you hum that song. The way I breathe easier when you’re near.

You gave me something I thought I didn’t deserve. Peace. A second chance. A home.

I hope I gave you the same.

Second thing—you’ll find a ring with this letter. Nothin’ fancy. I wanted to give it to you proper. Maybe on the porch. Maybe by the fire. Just… you and me. I had all these words planned. But none of ‘em matter now.

Just know this—I would’ve asked you to be mine. Not ‘cause I needed to prove anything. But because you already were. In every way that counts.

And I wanted the world to know.

I wanted to grow old with you. Wanted to find out what your hair looks like when it’s all grey. Wanted to kiss you goodnight a thousand more times.

I wanted all of it.

But if I didn’t make it—if you’re readin’ this now—I need you to do something for me.

Live.

Please. Don’t let this break you.

You got too much light in you to burn out now.

So wear the ring, if it helps. Or don’t. Keep it in your pocket. Toss it in the river. It’s yours, either way.

You’ll always be mine.

Forever and then some,  

Joel

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until Tommy places a hand on your back, steadying you as the weight of the words crushes you from the inside out.

The ring glints in your palm, catching the dying light of the day.

You bring it to your lips, kiss it once, then curl it into your fist and press it against your heart.

“I would’ve said yes,” you whisper into the air, broken and breathless. “I would’ve said yes a thousand times.”

And the wind moves through the trees like it’s carrying the words to him—wherever he is.

Because love like that doesn’t die.

It just waits.

It lingers in the quiet. In the echo of footsteps that aren’t his. In the smell of cedar and leather that still clings to the collar of his coat. It stays tucked in the corners of every room he touched, every breath he took beside you.

You will mourn him forever. You will miss him every minute.

Your hands will grow old holding a photograph of the two of you—sunlight on your faces, his arm around your shoulders like he always meant to keep you safe. Your bones will ache with the shape of him, your soul carved hollow where he used to be.

And when your time comes, when the world fades soft and slow at the edges, you’ll go with his name dancing on your lips. A whisper. A promise.

Because some loves aren’t meant to end.

Only to be found again.

[kooklovee]

Yours for a year - JJK

PROLOGUE

One year, one contract, one fake marriage. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

Pairing - Ceo!Jungkook x Reader

Genre - fake/contract marriage au, grumpy x sunshine, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, smut (MDNI)

Warnings - family pressure for marriage, inner thoughts, different perceptions of love👀, tae is a mutual friend, reader is a uni professor

Wc - 1.8k words

a/n - as mentioned, this is just the prologue- just so yk the bg )) I'm thinking of doing 5 chapters max bt those are not even close to finishing.. just bits and pieces🫠 so final update will be only when I've finished AND satisfied with what I've written :) pls be patient <3

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook believed in a lot of things. But love wasn’t one of them.

Because it wasn’t a necessity in Jungkook’s life.

Love? That four-letter word people threw around like it held the universe together? He didn’t get it. Never had. Never wanted to.

He doesn’t believe in love. Not in the way movies or books paint it. Love is just a concept people cling to.

People made it sound like some grand, life-altering miracle. Like one person could walk in and suddenly your world shifted on its axis. Jungkook never understood how that worked. Why people gave up sleep and sanity and sometimes, even logic, for something so unpredictable.

He never saw the point.

What he did understand? Stability. Purpose. Building something that lasted—not based on feelings, but on facts. Work gave him that. Running Jeon & Co gave him that. He liked being in control. Liked knowing the next step.

And to be fair, his life was good. Great, even.

He had everything he wanted. His career, his family, and his dog- Bam curled up by his feet at the end of every day.

He didn’t need dinners for two. He didn’t need someone to hold. He didn’t need to wake up next to someone who snored or stole his covers or left their shampoo bottles next to his.

He liked the quiet.

He’d seen people fall in love, watched it bloom around him like a damn rom-com montage. Everyone around him seemed to be in on this big- clued into this big magical concept that just didn’t land for him. Like they’d all read a manual he somehow missed.

Love, to him, wasn’t something worth chasing.

So no, he doesn't dream of it.

His older brother, Seojun, was the one originally set to take over Jeon & Co. But somewhere in university, he got an interest in cameras, film reels. So he changed paths, started his own production house- something he was passionate about, something the family supported. Jeon Seojun, now happily married to the love of his life, Harin, and later blessed with a cute little bundle of joy—Rae.

Then there was his sister, Aera—also married, already a successful fashion designer, living abroad with her artist husband and sending aesthetic postcards from every continent.

That left Jungkook. The youngest. The one who was good at everything.

The golden boy. The straight-A student, top of his class, excelled in everything he touched.

So he took the reins. Quietly. No complaints. Took the company to even greater heights. Built Jeon & Co into one of the most respected names in the industry.

He didn’t need anything else.

His life was simple, structured, successful. And he liked it that way.

But now, the gentle nudges from his family started turning into obvious conversations- about marriage.

Even his grandmother had joined the marriage cheer squad, talking about how nice it would be to see him settled, how much she wants to see her youngest grandson married while she’s still around.

They’d been patient for years. But lately, it was like everyone in the Jeon family had decided enough was enough.

So when his mother casually mentioned over dinner that they’d been talking to a friend about a potential match—a lovely girl, smart, already familiar with the family- something in Jungkook snapped.

He didn’t even want to get married—least of all to someone he didn’t know. Not a life partner chosen by someone else. Not a stranger who’ll live with him, sleep beside him, and share the parts of him he doesn’t even know how to share.

So he did the only thing that made sense in that moment.

“I already have a girlfriend.”

The room had gone silent.

Five pairs of eyes stared at him.

And now, here he is, wondering what kind of fucking mess he’s dragged himself into just to avoid being shackled into a marriage with a stranger.

But Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t let anyone dictate what he did with his life.

Especially not when it came to his heart.

Love, was a chaos.

And chaos had no place in his life.

Later that night, he called Taehyung,—the one person who’s been there since their school days, unsure of whether he needed a plan or just someone to tell him he wasn’t losing his mind.

Taehyung, in fact, didn’t think it was that bad of a situation at all. At least not one without a potential fix.

That’s when the idea came up—something so bizarre and impractical. Jungkook couldn’t believe he was actually considering it,

A fake marriage.

Taehyung had suggested like it was the most logical solution. Just a year. One year of pretending to be in love and married. Long enough to satisfy his family, long enough for everyone to believe it had been real. And then—well, things wouldn’t work out. They’d “divorce,” separate, move on with their lives.

At first, Jungkook dismissed it outright.

He couldn’t fathom the idea of someone sharing his space. His home was the only part of his life untouched by the outside world. His world ran on precision and privacy. Letting someone into that world- even under a fake arrangement, felt like crossing a line he’d drawn years ago.

And besides, it couldn’t be just anyone. His family wasn’t stupid. If he suddenly showed up with a complete stranger, they’d see through it in a second.

That’s when Taehyung said he might know someone—that he trusted, that she was dependable. She wasn’t from Jungkook’s world, which might actually work in their favor.

Taehyung promised to talk to her first, see if she’d even be willing to consider something this ridiculous.

The entire idea of a fake marriage felt childish. But the more he thought about it, the more it made a strange sort of sense. At least this way, he’d have control over who entered his life, buy him a year of peace—freedom from the constant “marriage talk”.

Just one year, after all.

"It’s the third time I’m saying no, Taehyung. Don’t you get it?"

You huffed into the phone, flopping down into your office chair. Your cardigan sleeves were already pushed up from the two-hour lecture you'd just delivered, your notes still a mess on your desk.

You had barely gotten a sip of water before your phone buzzed, and of course—of course, it was Taehyung.

“I’m not asking you to marry a serial killer,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “The CEO Jeon Jungkook. Not exactly someone I see fake marrying for any reason.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper-shout as you turned away from the glass pane in your office door.

You’d never met Jeon Jungkook before. Not even once. Just heard about him in passing from Taehyung. "My best friend from school," he’d always say, tossing the name around like it was no big deal.

Like Jeon Jungkook wasn’t this corporate enigma. A hot prodigy in business, son of a chaebol family, making a name for himself in the most unnervingly silent way.

You remembered the buzz when it had happened—articles, interviews, headlines, the ‘mystery heir’ who never spoke unless he had to. He disappeared from the public eye just as quickly, and that was that.

Until Taehyung showed up at your door yesterday, looking far too excited for someone about to propose a fake marriage arrangement.

It had sounded insane at first. Because it was insane.

Taehyung had explained you the situation Jungkook got himself into, with the same energy someone might use to pitch a movie script.

And what was his solution?

You.

“It’s just a year,” he said now, voice sliding back into persuasion-mode. “One year. So it looks real. You two live together. Make it convincing enough so his family backs off. Then you divorce, like fake divorce whatever, and it’s over! No harm done. It's not like you're actually getting married.”

You stared at the ceiling, “Tae. That’s not normal. You know that, right?”

He snorted. “Neither is rent in Seoul. Come on. You told me your roommate left, you’ve been searching for a new place. This solves that plus you get paid too! A logical person would never say no to this, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend in front of the whole world. Just his family. Think of it like a job.”

You bit your lip, annoyed by how tempting that actually sounded. You were indeed searching for a new place ever since your roommate had gotten transferred across the country. You hadn’t realized how ridiculously unaffordable rent was until you’d started living alone. And this offer, as ridiculous as it sounded, came with a house and money.

Still. A fake marriage?

You weren’t exactly the fake-it kind of girl. You'd always held this quiet belief in old-school romance. The kind that was built slowly, like a soft song that stayed. But you’d also lived long enough to know life wasn’t a movie.

Back in your student days, you’d buried yourself in textbooks, not people. Relationships weren’t something that you felt urgent back then.

Then life happened. Work took over. The days got busy, and dating just… never found its way in.

Love, to you, was about ease.

About finding someone naturally, in moments that didn't feel curated.

But you'd still tried some years back- a few blind dates your friends sent you on, awkward setups, the usual.

But nothing ever felt right. Nothing ever felt real.

Romance was something you assumed would fall into place eventually.

You wanted something that just... happened.

When it was meant to.

And now, after years of quietly waiting for something real, you were being considered for the role of a fake wife.

You almost scoffed at the absurdity.

“He doesn’t even know me,” you sighed.

“He knows I trust you. That’s enough for him. So technically he won't be letting a complete stranger moving into his house,” Taehyung said, like that explained everything.

You blinked. “So I’m just... the least suspicious option?”

“That's just a bonus,” Taehyung laughed. "But no, really, just think about it."

“What if his family hates me? And his mom throws a Birkin at my head?”

He groaned. “You’re being dramatic. They’re nice people, Y/N. No one's gonna throw anything at you, I promise.”

“I mean, come on,” Taehyung added playfully. “I just know you’re gonna be a really good actor.”

You rolled your eyes at the unnecessary buttering he was doing.

You could’ve actually considered this whole fake marriage drama. Because as much as it sounded stupid, sure, but it also sounded fun to you.

But again, he wasn’t just any man.

You were just a regular girl with a regular job and a "not-so-glamorous" life. But you enjoy it, being a university professor with a cluttered desk, a habit of losing your pens at least three times a day and considered laundry a full-body workout. You liked your little routines.

But you were also someone who definitely didn't live in the same world as his.

So the idea of faking a marriage- especially to someone like Jeon Jungkook, a man who basically belonged in the pages of Forbes—felt so far out of your league it was laughable.

Even thinking about being tangled in something like this with someone like him felt strange.

But maybe...

it wouldn’t be the worst idea.

It was almost New Year’s. And People made wild resolutions all the time, right?

Maybe this was a little main character arc you never saw coming.

It’s not like you had wild plans for New Year’s anyway.

Just one year, after all.

What worse could happen?

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[rttnz0mb]

⦻ Creepypasta Headcanons pt. 1 ⦻

Warnings: sfw, fluff, Mentions of gore, slight nsfw, slight angst, Multiple characters

Disclaimer: these are just a few head cannons I have for some of the creepy pastas, i'll probably make more head cannons on these characters again sometime!!

Jeff The Killer

🔪 very impatient and hotheaded, making talking to him not the easiest

🩸 has a bit of a southern accent - more noticeable when he gets mad and starts yelling

💀 never really apologized to liu but they still talk a little bit but he wishes they could be as close as they were when they were younger

🫀 Prop has many one night stands an isn't really interested in having a serious relationship with anyone

🔪 Doesn't like people arguing or loud noises so he always has headphones on him just in case he needs to cancel noise out

🩸 doesn't like people touching him especially when hes overwhelmed and if people do he usually get very triggered and flips out on people leaving him feeling guilty especially if its liu

💀 sometimes asks liu if he could sleep in his bed with him because his nightmares get really bad sometimes

🫀 favorite slasher movie is scream and one-time he dressed up as ghost face for Halloween and went out scaring little kids

🔪 he's actually really into the gyaru and y2k fashion but he will never admit it

.

Toby Rogers

🪓 Likes painting his nails different colors - its something he used to do with Lyra so he likes having his nails painting almost constantly

💀 Doesn't like the nickname "ticci toby" because hes insecure of his tics especially when hes meeting new people and he has to explain his tourettes to them

🔥 Has more of a western emo type of style

🗝️ Doesn't like to be around people who are drunk because it reminds him of his dad

🪓 Has to cut his hair very often because it grows super fast and it gets super curly and out of control

💀 likes when people he's close to pat his back or caress his hands when he's stressed to calm him down

🔥 wears a bunch of Lyra's old jewelry even though they are girly he doesn't really care

🗝️ Sees Tim and Brian kind of like father figures and is really close with them and often comes to them for advice

🪓 LOVES tim Burton films like he watches them year round, his favorite one is Edward Scissorhands

.

Ben Drowned

🎮 Has a terrible water phobia and gets mad when anyone jokes about it

💧 Doesn't really enjoy energy drinks to much but he does drink them if he wants to have extra energy (like he needs it)

🕹 Really misses his life as a normal kid and wishes he could've experienced a normal teenage life

👾 Loves um gardening if yk what i mean

🎮 Smokes with Jeff a lot so there kinda close

💧 Doesn't really sleep because he's a ghost and because he has nightmares of drowning so he usually doesn't unless he's mentally exhausted which is a lot of the time

🕹 he definitely bully's kids on Roblox and then hacks there account once they say something rude back

👾 HATES the perv allegations like so what if he has pictures of woman in his drawer like.. ( no I'm joking please don't get mad :) )

🎮 Sometimes hides in different electronics when he needs a break from everything

.

Bloody Painter

🎨 very soft spoken and doesn't really enjoy having conversations with others unless there close which it takes a long time for him to open up to people

🩸 Doesn't really see himself as a serial killer only as an artist

🖌️ gets aggravated easily with the other pastas so he usually traps himself in his room until hes hungry and needs to eat which he sometimes forgets to do if hes really into a painting hes working on

🎧 He likes more classical music especially when hes painting he also really enjoys jazz music

🎨 He doesn't like when people use his name because he doesn't like thinking about his past which his name reminds him of it

🩸 Not a huge fan of screaming so he Usually cuts his victims throats first so they cant scream plus he also gets a lot of blood for his paintings this way

🖌️ He enjoys drinking wine every now and then

🎧 The thought of having a partner scares him a lot since he probably has really bad attachment issues

🎨 can come of as rude and cold but he really just doesn't want to come of as sensitive and soft

Okay that's it for now hope you enjoyed!! I'll def do more of these with other creepypastas just request any if there's anyone you want me to do cuz I'll probably do the more popular ones first but I def wanna do the more underrated ones too!!

OKAY BYE BYE!!!

[imnotshua]

progress report: i am missing you to death - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2006 - you and wonwoo are better off as lovers ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships, mutual pining. idiots in love. my babies are flawed and that's okay because so are real people. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid regular things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. they are both down bad. occasional use of pet names (baby & pretty), no use of y/n or other variations, plot and smut, mention of historical bullying, but nothing graphic or extreme. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses (lots), fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f & m receiving), no condoms but reader is on BC, sloppy, soooo much hand holding, sex!!!!!, hickeys, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 17.7k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: this work is the main instalment from my series sorry every song's about you. it’s complete on its own and can be read without the others. there’s a prequel already posted, it’ll be linked at the end and can be found on the series masterlist linked above. you choose the order you want to read them in. future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boy’s I slept with someone in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this stupid song written about me. I have a playlist linked on the series masterlist if you happen to be into that. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for reading this in fragments, over and over again until i got it right. jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate and love you both beyond belief. to @c-oupsie thank you for catching my errors and shouting at me about these two idiots in my dms, i love yelling, i appreciate you. to @daechwitatamic thank you for encouraging me, i appreciate you and your shouting too! to everyone who reads, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

January 2006

Wonwoo got the last choice for film night. He’d put on some period drama to make up for the torture he put you through earlier (another horror movie), one that’ll make you cry very soon probably, and sets the re-filled popcorn bowl between your legs. You pass him a bottle that he opens with his teeth, because for some reason you always forget to bring an opener from the kitchen, and once you’re tucked up in the blanket, with his thigh pressed against the side of yours, it feels too wrong to move. 

It’s routine. It’s good. It’s been this way since school. Every Tuesday is reserved for taking up each other's space. Tuesday– because who else makes plans on Tuesdays? Watching movie after movie in his apartment until it gets too late to go home, and you sleep here. Can’t get interrupted on a Tuesday. (The only time you press pause is when either of you are dating someone, the last was Siyeon several months ago. You liked her, but Wonwoo never really talked about why he ended it.) You have a half hearted fight over who takes the sofa, but you always win out in the end. Wonwoo brings you pillows and pyjamas that smell like his laundry powder. It’s fine. It’s nice. 

The problem is that lately your feelings have been running away with themselves again. You’re not sure how it started anew, or if they ever even fully went away, but the affection you have for him swirls, neglected and nameless, in your stomach. All Wonwoo has to do is smile in your direction and you melt. Made worse tenfold every time he holds your hand. It’s not often. Just when a particularly horrible scene comes on, and your spine goes rigid and you hold your breath, he’ll reach over, wrap his fingers around yours and use his thumb to work the tension out of your knuckles. He’s so good like this. You’ll take all the horror movies he wants for these soft moments, even though they make everything worse. He’s your best friend, and you’ve tried this two too many times. You never properly talked about the last time, the second time, four years ago.

(It’s like these feelings come in cycles.)

The end began with a sickness bug that stretched several days, and ended with a clipped voicemail, Wonwoo’s quiet contemplation obvious through the tinny sound of the recording, saying he wants to just be friends, saying he didn’t want to ruin what you have. That he cares about you so deeply that your friendship needs preserving over everything else. Yes, it hurt. God– it hurts. But you’d rather have him in your life in these half measures, than not at all. 

His hand is on his leg now. You could touch but you won’t. What’s happening on screen isn’t the right kind of scary for holding Wonwoo’s hand. Just Laurie telling Jo he loves her, and Jo telling him she doesn’t. Not in that way. You sink onto your side, hardly watching the screen through fuzzy eyes. Wonwoo chuckles softly as he looks over. 

“Are you crying?”

“No–” you say, voice thick.

“Oh you are,” he says, leaning over to stroke your hair. 

“Don’t touch me right now, Wonwoo,” you warn. “I’ll bite you.”

“Freak.” He laughs and pulls his hand back. “Shit–”

“What?”

It’s obvious what. Wonwoo has knocked over the mostly-full bottle that was tucked between you, and it’s soaking into the seat. 

You jump up to grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and when you come back Wonwoo is stripping the covers from the cushions. “Fuck, it’s soaked. I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” you ask, patting the excess liquid from the cushions. ‘It’s your sofa.”

“Yeah but it’s your bed.”

“Who says I was even gonna stay?” you joke.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call a taxi.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s one AM, you’re not going home now.” 

You laugh. “And where, pray tell, am I going to sleep?”

“My room,” he says, without any idea how the thought of that has been floating through your mind for weeks. You haven’t slept in there since– since– “Hansol’s on the night shift, I’ll take his.”

You chew on the fat of your cheek. “Okay, sure. That works.”

There’s a knock at the half open door an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. “I can’t sleep.”

“Does it smell again?”

“It’s like something died in there. And there’s crumbs in the bed.”

Okay. Okay. It’s fine.

Wonwoo slips into the bed next to you, pulls the sheets right up to his shoulders even though he must be boiling in those pyjamas. Maybe he’s feeling strange about this, too. You turn on your side to find him watching your face already, cautious eyes and words unsaid on his lips. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Is this too weird?”

“Not weird,” he says. A pause. “A little weird. It’s been a while.” He reaches for your hand and you let him take it. Dummy.

“Do you think Jo and Laurie should’ve ended up together?” Wonwoo asks, after a minute. 

“She didn’t love him.”

“Wouldn’t it have been a better story if she had?”

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been them then, right? Jo and Laurie in love would’ve been different people entirely.”

Here he is, fingers entwined with yours and much too close. Here you are, four years older and not at all wiser. You are Laurie, pathetic and yearning, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get that he’s Jo, and that sometimes his tenderness makes you ache. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” he says.

Some things shouldn’t change even when they do. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” you say. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol opens the bedroom door at just past six AM. He clocks the bed, the lump under the sheets, the just visible hair, face hidden by Wonwoo’s shoulder. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, who has been laid wide awake for the better part of an hour, trying not to move lest he wakes you too, and mouths Who’s that?

Wonwoo mouths back your name, and Hansol’s jaw hangs open. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and raises curious eyebrows. Wonwoo gives him the finger. 

A little later, while you’re attempting to rush out the door for a seminar, Hansol is shovelling cereal in his mouth, and Wonwoo is sitting at the table with a coffee. Hansol asks around a mouthful of Frosties– “so, are you two fucking again?”

“What? No.”

Hansol swallows loudly, frowning confused. “What’s the wet patch on the couch?”

“Ew– it’s beer, you weirdo.” You’re staring at Hansol in disbelief. “Even if we were hooking up I don’t fuck on shared furniture.”

Wonwoo suppresses a choke on his coffee. You throw him a pointed look, lips twisting with the effort of trying not to laugh.

(You and he did, once, on the aforementioned sofa.)

“Why did you sleep in his–” Hansol gestures with an accusing spoon at Wonwoo. “–bed, then?”

“Because it smells like a skunk shat in your room, Hansol, maybe you should wash your arsehole once in a while.”

“I’m squeaky clean, buddy.”

“I doubt that, pal.”

Hansol laughs. He’s loving this. “You need to get laid so badly, shall I help find someone big and strong to pull that gigantic stick out your a–”

“Oh my God, please shut up,” Wonwoo interrupts. “It’s so weird you two are related, who talks with their cousins like this?”

“Second cousins,” you and Hansol correct in unison.

“Just to clarify– you’re not together again?”

You roll your eyes so hard all Wonwoo can see is white. “We weren’t ever together,” you say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this before.”

Wonwoo rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You’re going to be late,” he says to you.

You look at your watch. “Shit– bye best friend, call me tomorrow. Smell you later, Hansol.”

You’re already halfway out the door, and Hansol is calling after you, “Gonna find you a boyfriend! That’s a warning!” 

When the door clicks closed, Hansol turns on Wonwoo. “You’re donezo, I guess?”

Wonwoo sips his coffee. “Never started-zo.”

That sounded less stupid in his head.

Grinning wide, Hansol says, “You won’t mind if I introduce her to Minghao, then?”

Wonwoo presses his forehead against the table and tries to consider how much Hansol’s parents would miss him if he were to flush their son down the toilet. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

February 2006

Wonwoo hovers his cursor over the Submit button. He hesitates. Could remove one of the options, the long shot, and replace it with something more achievable. He’s not going to get it, and if he did he’s under no obligation to take it. It’s more for his ego than anything else, he tells himself. But Professor Lee had insisted he throw his hat in the ring, so he does, and tries not to panic over having made a horrible error of judgement once he clicks submit, because now it’s too late– it’s in the ether. 

You turn over in your sleep, uncomfy in the ball you’d tucked yourself into before drifting off, and your leg unfurls over him, seeking warmth and closeness. Wonwoo sets his laptop on the nightstand, and shifts down carefully next to you. It’s nights like these that Wonwoo is convinced that his life isn’t really real. Because isn’t it some funny joke that you’re here next to him like this, and you’re both still worlds apart. Touches are considered and well-mannered, despite how they used to be. But here you are in your ridiculous Pompompurin pyjamas and he wonders if you ever think about the last time you wore these with him. Probably not. It wouldn’t be considered memorable to anyone else, he thinks. Just a late breakfast in bed, that turned into non-stop talking, that turned silly, peppered kisses into lazy, deepened ones, forgoing lunch in favour of laying together, just close, in ways not completely unlike you are now. In some parallel universe, in some other life, this could still be happening in the way it was meant to. 

Wonwoo considers how well he really knows you now, if it’s less than before, if your favourite colour is still the same as it was when you were children together. There are some questions you don’t think to ask your best friend of twenty years, because it’s expected you’ll already know. Unfortunately, Wonwoo knows nothing of the things inside your head, and someday you’ll find out. Tomorrow he’s going to ask what your favourite colour is, and hopefully that someday won’t be anytime soon. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo surprises you when he picks up the phone on a Friday evening. 

“Oh– hello. I was preparing to leave you a message. Aren’t you playing WoW?”

“Runescape,” he says. “Just getting snacks. What’s up?”

“Mum called, said I’ve got a letter there about our class reunion next month, the eighteenth.”

“Ah yeah, Jihoon mentioned that it was coming up.”

“You wanna go? I could rent a car.”

“Oh so you’re volunteering me as the driver?” You can hear Wonwoo’s smile through the phone. “When are you planning on getting your licence?”

You pout, even though he can’t see you. “Come onnn, won’t it be fun? I promise I’ll be good company.”

Wonwoo laughs. “How good?”

“I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Uh huh–”

“And I’ll burn three new CDs.”

“Four.”

“And I’ll burn four new CDs.”

“Okay, getting closer.”

“And, uh– honestly that's all I had.” You wrack your brain and come up with nothing of substance. “I’ll uh– I’ll hype you up in front of that girl you had a crush on. Whatsername? The cheerleader. God, it’s on the tip of my tongue–”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The girl– that girl you liked once. The one with the hair–”

“I genuinely have no idea who you mean.” He does sound confused, actually. 

“Damn,” you say. “That’s all my bargaining chips.”

“Damn,” he echoes, with a click of his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to take me to dinner if you can’t remember who my mystery girl is.”

“So you’ll drive us?”

“Rent the car.”

“Thanks dear, you’re a real friend,” you sing-song. “Love you, see y–”

“Wait,” he says. “Wanna come over and play Mario Kart?

“Right now?”

“Yeah, you can stay the weekend. If you want.”

There was a phrase Wonwoo’s dad always used to use for the pair of you. Birds of a feather flock together. You’re flocking so often you hardly have to think about it. Just comes naturally. Nothing else is going on, and a weekend playing games and eating out of Wonwoo’s fridge instead of your own is a decent offering. Maybe he’ll have rented that film he talked about last week. The Descent? You’ll tolerate it, if he’ll squeeze your hand through the awful parts. 

“Sure, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

March 2006

The last weeks of winter feel too long, but today there is a breath of warmth in the air and it feels good good good. March is always the best time of year for dreaming, you think. Feels especially good when you’re watching 28 Days Later, and Wonwoo holds your hand through the whole thing. It’s not even as scary as the others he’s had you sit through, but holding his hand feels nice. Every Tuesday since Little Women has ended in his bed. Feels like old times, without any of the touching and all of the one sided angst. 

When it’s your turn, Wonwoo groans at the sight of the Sense and Sensibility box, but it’s gently done.

“You cannot complain when we’ve been watching horror every week lately,” you admonish, pointing at him with one of your fries. He bites at it and you throw the remaining half at his face. “You know I hate them.” 

Wonwoo grins. “You should complain more, then.”

You hum your agreement. “Well it’s because I’m so selfless that I don’t, you see.”

“Sure, sure,” Wonwoo laughs. His laugh is so lovely. “That’s why you’re taking up my entire bed every Tuesday night.” 

You scoff. “I sleep very mindfully, actually. I even curl into a little ball so your giraffe legs have enough space.” 

“Is that so?” Wonwoo tugs at the material of your (his) pyjama bottoms. “Then explain why I’ve woken up with your legs draped over me every time?”

You blink. Can feel the heat on your ears. Thank God it’s dark. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”

A pause. 

“I don’t mind,” he says. Quiet. Suddenly too serious. You can’t look at him. “You’ve always slept like that.” 

“Movie’s starting,” you say. And that’s that. 

Later, Wonwoo squeezes in beside you in his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. He bumps his hip into your side, smiles at you in the mirror, and it feels so horribly domestic you might actually throw up. It doesn’t make sense what you’re doing. 

When you finish brushing your teeth you look down the hallway to the sofa, think briefly about taking it, but Wonwoo steps out behind you, tugs on your sleeve and asks if you’re coming to bed. There’s toothpaste on the corner of his lip. This time four years ago you would’ve wiped it away. Now you just tap at the corner of your own, say got something there and let Wonwoo sort himself out. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s a rare Tuesday that Hansol is home. He takes Wonwoo’s usual spot next to you, showing you pictures of some guy on his laptop while Wonwoo is fetching drinks and snacks from the kitchen, and when he comes back in the room he blinks, surprised that he’s been relegated to the armchair. He leans over the arm of the sofa to peer at the Myspace profile loaded on Hansol’s screen. 

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Hansol here is trying to get me a date.”

“Am not,” Hansol rebuts. “Though if I were, is he the sort of guy you’d be interested in?”

“Uh–”

Wonwoo’s sharp laugh sounds like a bark. “No, Soonyoung is not her type.”

You swat at him. “What would you know about my type? None of my exes have been remotely similar. He’s hot.”

“Sure, but he’s not for you,” Wonwoo insists. “He’s not serious about anything–”

Hansol sighs, dejected. “We’re never gonna get him laid–“

You stare at the screen. “And apparently he’s a virgin–”

“Don’t shame him,” Hansol says flatly.

“I’m not! It’s just surprising, that’s all!”

“Okay, fine, what about this guy–” He’s already closing off his profile and loading another. It’s all grunge and dark compared to the neon green garishness of the previous. He’s tall, long dark hair, painted nails. That’s all you get to see before Wonwoo is snapping the laptop closed. 

“I’m putting on the movie now, guests choice first.”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” asks Hansol.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just flops into the chair opposite, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the title screen on the TV.

Pride and Prejudice begins, and no less than five minutes in, Hansol sags against the back of the sofa. “Borrrrring. Can we watch Shrek instead?”

Wonwoo glances at you, and you shrug. Hansol takes that as a yes, and disappears off to his room to dig out the DVD from underneath the mess. 

“We can watch it another time,” Wonwoo offers. But you don’t care about that. You’re wondering if Wonwoo is keeping his secrets again. If Hansol knew much about your past, more than the hooking up, more to do with the depth of the feelings you once had for each other, would he be trying to set you up with his and Wonwoo’s friends, right in front of him?

Later, you lay in Wonwoo’s bed and ask why he isn’t dating anyone. He’s on the verge of sleep, can hear it with how low his voice is, how soft. 

“Don’t wanna,” he hums, eyes closed. “M’happy as I am.”

Ah.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Dating someone.”

“Well I’ve got terribly high standards, you see.”

Wonwoo laughs, grins lazy and sweet. “Not high enough. All your partners have been awful.”

“Not all of them,” you argue.

“Name one.” His big brown eyes open just enough for him to level you with them.

You could say anything. Anything. You could say what you really mean, and it could be okay. It could not, too. 

“Remember Park Sungkyu? He was pretty great.”

Wonwoo tickles your middle, and you yelp, swatting at him and suppressing a giggle. “Boys from when we were six don’t count.”

“He gave me a crown for my birthdayyy!” you sing-song. “He called me his Princess.” Wonwoo tickles you again and you jolt.

“Okay, okay, you’re right! I have terrible taste! Now stop torturing me, you freak.”

“Whatever Her Majesty desires.” 

You kick him in the shin in exaggerated outrage but all Wonwoo does is smile wide, grossly pleased with himself. He’s beautiful like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s the weekend and you’re watching Pride and Prejudice from Wonwoo’s bed. Hansol has taken over the living room with a group of friends, and their yelling is so loud it feels like they’re right outside the door. It’s the final game for something or other, you didn’t really listen. It’s unseasonably warm, and though the window is thrust open the air hangs still and heavy in this room. You’re laid shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sheets pushed down to your feet. Occasionally, his thigh brushes yours and it’s nice. His hand twists, palm up, and his thumb strokes your wrist. You like how it feels deliberate. 

It gets to the part where Elizabeth turns down Mr Darcy’s proposal and Wonwoo sniffs. You near snap your neck to look at him. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are. Your eyes are all watery.”

He gestures at the screen. “This is fucked up. They could just talk to each other.”

You shrug, turning back to the screen. Elizabeth finishes up her speech, Mr Darcy looks at her lips, they lean in and hold back. The desperation in his voice, his breathy please, has your chest knotted tight and uncomfortable. “Without a little miscommunication there wouldn’t be any story at all,” you say. 

“Love doesn’t need to be a story,” says Wonwoo, flat. “It could just be.”

“But then we wouldn’t have films, my dearest friend. And all this yearning makes me feel alive.”

Wonwoo knocks his foot against yours, and you nudge him back. More cheers from down the hall. 

“I hate yearning. Makes me feel sick.”

You laugh then, rolling onto your side and looking over at him. Your heart is thumping so loud he can surely hear it. Don’t say it. Don’t push. “What have you ever yearned for?” 

Fuck. What a stupid thing to say.

He doesn’t look at you. Rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and clams up. “Nothing. Nevermind.” And there it is. He’ll touch on his terms and won’t give the feeling a name. He pushes up from the bed. “Want ice cream?”

“No,” you grumble, slipping down flat on the bed and stretching out your arms, eyes fluttering shut to tuck up the feeling in them. “Wanna sleep. This weather makes me tired.”

“Let's sleep then,” he says. “We can finish the rest in the morning.” He shuts off his laptop and makes to take off his t-shirt, but stops, clearly thinking better of it. 

You poke his arm. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep without it. It’s boiling.” 

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.” 

His shoulders go all stiff for a second. Stupid.

“Aren’t you warm too?”

Yes. The sweat is starting to make your shirt stick to your skin. “No, I’m okay.”

Wonwoo shrugs off his clothes, tosses them to the chair (keeps his underwear on even though he usually wouldn’t, as some attempt at consideration for the blockades between you ever since– since before) and lays down. Your eyes meet in the half-dark for a moment, and there is something unwritten in his expression. The backs of your hands brush, and it’s still not the right kind of scary to make this touch okay. You can feel the warmth beaming out of him, and you almost tell him how lovely he looks with his skin all flushed and shiny like this. But then he turns his back on you, whispers goodnight, best friend to the wall, and you hold your breath for a moment, while you sink into the depths of your wanting. 

You can’t be the one to bring up the possibility of you, together, again. It’s too humiliating. You should let this go. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thanks to traffic the drive takes longer than expected. It doesn’t matter. Despite burning six CDs, and stealing four from Hansol’s collection, Wonwoo has you play From Under the Cork Tree twice in the first half of the drive. For the first two hours you talk non-stop, the next is taken up speculating on and placing bets on the lives of the classmates you haven’t already reconnected with on Facebook. You spend the fourth half-snoozing, while Wonwoo hums along to Snow Patrol. He’s gently singing the wrong lyrics to Set Fire to the Third Bar, when Jihoon calls your mobile. 

“Hi Jihoon,” you murmur, and then holding up the phone to Wonwoo’s ear– “Say hi.”

“Hi Jihoon,” says Wonwoo obediently. “We’re still two hours away– shitty traffic.” 

You take the phone back, and say, “Are we meeting you there tonight or do you guys wanna come pregame with us and Wonwoo’s parents?”

Jihoon laughs. “How much pregaming are we talking?”

“I need at least two drinks before I set foot in the same room as Choi Hwangyu.”

“Haven’t you let that whole mortal enemies thing go yet?”

“Never,” you assert, crossing your heart. Wonwoo laughs. “It’s a mutual hatred that will last for all eternity.”

“You know– ‘all eternity’ is a redundant phr–”

“Oh my Godddd.”

You settle on the plan for the evening quickly. You and Wonwoo will have dinner with his parents, change into something that smells less like rental car and chilli Doritos, and Jihoon and Iseul will meet you at the pub before heading to the venue near your old school. 

You flip the phone to end the call, and Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your knee. 

“You gonna be okay? Seeing him?”

It started off as just a bunch of guys being dickheads, nothing too worthy of note. Hwangyu took it further. Snapping your bra strap in the middle of class, spilling drinks over your shirt in front of the entire lunch hall, spreading baseless rumours about boys you’d supposedly hooked up with. Once he started telling people you blew him in the chemistry lab during lunch break, Wonwoo and Jihoon stopped taking notice of your asking them to not intervene and “had words” after school. Wonwoo didn’t walk you home that day– had his friend from the year below, Mingyu, walk you instead. Jihoon told you not to ask so you never did, but just like that Hwangyu stopped giving you grief. Even back then you hated the fact that it took other guys to get him to leave you alone. Patriarchy rules even at the turn of the twenty-first century. How gross.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I looked him up a few days ago. Guess what?”

“He’s divorced?”

“Divorced thrice.”

Wonwoo laughs. “We’re twenty-six, how does someone find the time to get married to and divorced from three different people?”

“We could’ve been married already had we not spent eight years fucking around at university.” You’re laughing until you notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, a weird lopsided smile on his face, and you realise what you just said. You cough. “Not we. You know what I mean. My question was more how did he find three separate people who want to fuck him?”

“Urgh, I’d rather not have that visual, thanks.”

Snow Patrol wraps up, and you dig out the CD case from under your feet. “Okay, what next? Arctic Monkeys or My Chemical Romance?”

“Can we have Fall Out Boy again?”

“Oh my G–”

“I really liked that fifth one.” 

You fiddle taking Snow Patrol out the player and popping Fall Out Boy back in, trying not to scratch their bottoms. 

“Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner? Yeah, it’s my second favourite.”

“What’s your first?” asks Wonwoo.

“XO, the last one.” You tip your head back against the headrest, close your eyes, listen to Wonwoo sing, and wonder if it’s him or the music that makes your heart beat faster. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s fun, really. Catching up with all these people you haven’t seen in eight years, and Jihoon and Iseul, who you last saw seven months ago, and Wonwoo, who you see all the time. After your first rounds, the four of you huddle at the table on the furthest edge of the room, Iseul tells you about how her job is having her relocate to your city, and could you show her around (you will—of course you will. The idea of your old friend being there in your home makes you giddy, and Wonwoo laughs when you clap your hands in excitement.), Jihoon tells you all about his latest projects, and you and Wonwoo catch them both up on your studies. Eventually the group breaks off, Wonwoo to the bathroom, Jihoon to the bar, and Iseul spots another friend across the room, and darts off with a promise to be right back. 

You take the moment of quiet to check your texts. Mingyu and Seokmin have heard you’re in town, they want to hang out tomorrow. Your mother wants to know if you’re staying the night with her or your father (neither, you’re staying with Wonwoo’s parents, who were far more glad to see you than your own parents would be), and Wonwoo, who has messaged from the bathroom.

Wonwoo: You’re taking me for dinner after this btw.

You: Wash your hands before texting me, you pig!

There’s a clearing of a throat behind you, and you turn, half expecting Wonwoo there saying something smart in reply, but it’s not. 

“Oh. Hello.”

Your voice is anything but friendly. It seems Hwangyu still has the same unwarranted self-assuredness that pissed you off back then, because once addressed, he settles himself into the chair just vacated by Iseul and leans into your space.

You lean back. “Can I help you?”

“Did you come with Jihoon?’

You blink stupidly. He must not recognise you.

“No.”

He smirks, lazy, out the side of his mouth. 

“Good,” he says, slow. “Can’t stand that guy.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve grown into your looks, haven’t you? Nice dress.”

There goes that hopeful theory of him not recognising you, but what in the God awful fuck is happening? Is he trying to pick you up? No apology, not even a pleasantry to speak of, just headfirst into some backhanded compliment and a sleazy smile. These men should only exist as fictional villains, not out in the real world. 

You’re trying to gather your words. The planned retorts in your head don’t work in a situation where this is the angle he’s taking. Shit. 

“I looked you up,” he says, not looking at you. Eyes darting, nervous almost, across the room. You spot his usual friend group, they’re all looking over like hyenas. “A few weeks ago.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Wanted to see if you were single. I always liked you, you know.”

The sound of your laugh takes you by surprise. Comes out more like a bark. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

He doesn’t have the good grace to look contrite. Instead he drums his chewed up fingers on his knee, and says, “Got your attention, though.”

There is stale air around him, hair already peppered at the sides. He looks older than his years, and affected. The hate isn’t eternal, because you just feel something like pity for him. Not so much that you’d forgive the way he treated you, but enough to let it go. Enough to be able to sit here and think that at least you remained kind, and three separate women divorced him before he got within touching distance of thirty. What a sad little life.

“Are you still Jeon Wonwoo’s girl?”

You roll your eyes. About to say no, the truth, because not wanting him has absolutely nothing to do with Wonwoo, and he should know that– but a hand on your shoulder stills you. “Yeah, she is,” says Jihoon, from behind you. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. I am,” you echo, because you’re not going to let Hwangyu call your friend a liar. 

Much too slowly, Hwangyu makes his exit. Exchanges stiff pleasantries with Jihoon, and tries with Iseul who doesn’t return them (she’s a wonderful friend), and slips away to his old friends across the hall. You watch– they clap him on the shoulder, jeer at him, make faces like a twelve year old would. Some friends.

Jihoon and Iseul sit back down in their respective seats. Exchange a look, and you heave a frustrated sigh, just before Wonwoo returns from the bathroom. His eyes flick between you, catching the smell of the tension, and sinks slowly into his seat next to yours.

“What did I miss?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu and Seokmin are playing pool, badly. You can hear their yelling from all the way over here. Someone has started playing Boyz II Men on the jukebox. Jihoon is drunk, sings along to the words. His voice has always been pretty. Iseul joins in, and hers is less so, but it’s so fun to watch them together. 

‘I know the colour of love

And it lives inside of you

I know the colour of truth

It's in the image of you’

They’re another set of friends who could have been, but didn’t. It’s a shame they could never figure it out. You and Wonwoo clink your bottles together, take a sip, and Wonwoo lets you lean against him. His arm rests on the bench behind your back, his hand on your shoulder. He’s a little drunk, as are you, and it’s nice to be home and in all your old haunts.

You rest the back of your head in the crook of his neck, and ask him what he thinks the colour of love is. 

Wonwoo hums in thought, runs his thumb along the length of your shoulder blade. “I don’t know, I’ll need to think about it. What do you think it is?”

“It’s pink.”

“Why?”

Blush pink, soft, and subtle, and sweet. The colour of his cheeks when he’s shy. The colour of the soft sweater he wore one time, while you were walking along the river and he was happy and goofy and lovely, swinging your clasped hands high in the sky. The colour of the flowers he buys for your birthday, the same kind (your favourite) every year without fail. His corsage on prom night. The fuzzy feeling you get in your stomach when he laughs is pink. Painted clouds at sunset, lovehearts, strawberries, the Milky Way, cherry blossoms. Pink is the colour of hopeless romantics, and the colour of the Wonwoo shaped hole in your heart. 

He taps you, gentle. “Get distracted?” he asks. You nod. “Drunk?” 

“Getting there.”

“Why pink?”

It’s too much to say. “Valentines Day. Duh.”

Britney Spears comes on the jukebox. Iseul squeals loud and drags you up to dance. Wonwoo watches you, his smile beaming, and you can hardly look at him. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, when Wonwoo lays in bed (the air mattress on the floor of his childhood bedroom), he’s still mulling over your question. Your arm is hanging over the edge of his old bed, fingers close enough to touch. He doesn’t. You’d fallen fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

Wonwoo thinks about when you were children. Digging in the grass, plucking leaves from trees (Biggest one wins! Wins what? I dunno, a promise?), the first shoots of the tulips you and he planted in your grandfather's garden. He’s had so many shared firsts with you. There was no obligation, no forced time spent, just two kids who chose the comfort of one another over everyone else. It’s really something that you’ve still stuck like glue, all these years, as you’ve grown and reincarnated into several different people. Every time, you’ve chosen each other, even when it didn’t work. 

The colour of love is green. It’s in all those moments he felt most free. Like anything could happen. Like everything is fresh and new and an adventure to be had. It’s in the wig you wore for Halloween one year, and you made him laugh so hard he cried. It’s in the way you ground him when his heart is racing, when you drag him outside to stand in the park, make him kick off his shoes and socks and stand on the grass to feel the earth beneath his body. He always feels silly until it works. It’s in the bauble you painted for his parents when you were eight, tucked away for safekeeping in the attic, brought out every December to hang on the tree. It’s the colour of the blanket his mother knitted you years ago, that you still keep, spread out on top of your bed. His colour is in the dress you wore the very first time, and in another one, more sensible and grown, that you wore last night. His colour is all his moments with you. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 2006

“If I have to move to Busan you’ll come visit me, right?”

You purse your lips and hum loud for dramatic effect. Wonwoo throws a cushion at your face, and you laugh, swatting at him and missing by a mile. 

You’re laying down with your bare feet in his lap, while Wonwoo balances his laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa to check on his applications. The news trickles slowly, only a few people have heard back, so far. You’re almost done with your program, and Wonwoo is just about to start. People have called him a late bloomer before, but he just takes a little while to come around. Needs it to be a sure thing before he gets his head out of the sand. He’s starting to realise that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters. 

“Say yes.”

“I’ll have to get my drivers licence,” you say, thinking possibilities out loud. “But sure, I’ll get the train in the meantime.”

You push up and lean over him to peer at his screen, place your hand on his bicep for balance. Wonwoo tries not to think too much about it.

“Where else did you apply?” you ask, scanning the page.

Wonwoo lists off. “SNU, KNUH, PNU–” 

“Cambridge?” Your voice is small, and he hates it. “I didn’t know you still wanted to go.”

Wonwoo shrugs. He does. Cambridge had been a fantasy for a while, all his adult life and then some, and the research fellow for the Keros Project couldn’t be a better opportunity. Six months in Greece, five in England. But also he doesn’t. Both because you’re his constant, and this is new ground. What if he leaves? Even if it’s just Busan– if he leaves this city, would you still be birds?

He won’t get in.

“I won’t get in.”

“But you applied?”

“Professor Lee insisted,” Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed and already sick of hearing himself talk about it. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t try. Seriously though, they only take a few applicants. It’s not going to be me. It’ll be Busan for me, most likely.”

You’re quiet for a moment, hand still on him like you’ve forgotten all about it. 

“Cambridge would be stupid if they didn’t take you,” you say, smiling tiny and false. “Not sure how often I could visit though.”

Wonwoo’s skin feels all hot. Would crawl out of it, if he could. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol’s friend, Minghao (the one from Myspace) is in the arts. It suits him. He talks at length about his various projects– painting, interpretive dance, a four man performance he’s directed that will soon be playing at some hole in the wall venue (that he asks if you’d like to see. You would.) and it’s nice to be around someone that shows their interest in you so clearly. He asks about your studies and seems genuinely interested when you talk about the impact candlelight vigils have on policy making. How the government consistently underestimates its people. It’s a rare occurrence that a date takes interest in your work. Wonwoo talks with you about it all the time, of co– but that’s not– he’s not– 

It’s just different when it’s a date. 

He’s perfectly polite. Buys your coffee and holds the door. Walks on the road side of the footpath, even. Minghao would be easy for you to like. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and takes notice. He’s bold. He’s a welcome distraction. 

But Wonwoo is still there. 

He’s pressed into every crevice of your mind. He’s your past and present and only God knows if he’s in your future. Later, you call, but of course you get the answerphone– he did say yesterday that he’d be in the library all weekend. 

“Hey, Wonwoo, it’s me. Listen– will you come over when you hear this? Doesn’t matter what time. Use your key. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s late when Wonwoo lets himself in. Heard your message just after two and walked straight out the door, rode his bike all the way here. 

The apartment looks like it always does. He’s hardly spent much time here in recent years, save for the occasional lingering in the living room before heading out somewhere neutral. Doesn’t feel right being in your space anymore, not after how it all ended last time, with water brash in his mouth. He still thinks about that. It’s why movie night is only ever at his place. So when you called and asked him to be here, to use his key, he knew something was awry. 

Seoyoung, your new-ish roommate, is in the living room, sitting on the ledge and blowing smoke out the window. She moved in about four months ago and you’ve quickly become good friends. She looks up at Wonwoo and waves, mouths she’s asleep and Wonwoo acknowledges with whispered “ah– thanks.”

Wonwoo knocks on your half open door, but you don’t stir, in too deep a sleep. You don’t notice the door clunk closed louder than Wonwoo intends. The mattress dips under his weight and still you don’t move. It’s only when he squeezes your hand that you blink the sleep from your eyes, puffy cheeks and always lovely. You stretch out like a cat, willing the fatigue away with a sigh that turns to a yawn, and Wonwoo feels immense guilt for having kept you waiting. More still for waking you up, but you wouldn’t have asked him to come if you didn’t want to talk right away. 

You pat the space next to you in silent invitation and Wonwoo hesitates. 

“I’m in my outdoor clothes.” 

“One of your t-shirts is in the bottom drawer,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard. 

Wonwoo changes in the bathroom. Washes his face and thinks about the last time he used your sink. The feelings haven’t changed, just bottled. Matured. He has a similar unease in every fibre of his body. Feels like static energy on his fingertips and he needs to rub it away. 

The silence stretches when he sinks down into the empty space of the bed. You draw patterns onto the sheets with a fingertip and stare down at the dimples you make. He wants to still your hand, to turn it over in his and ask why you called him over. Doesn’t, because you’re working up to it, can tell you’ve got tightness in your chest just by the sound of your breathing. You lean into him, sagging against his side and head tipped to rest on his shoulder. He has to stop himself pressing his lips to your crown. 

“I’m sorry I kept this,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Wear it to sleep, sometimes.”

He remembers it wasn’t in the bag of things you’d handed him, a couple of weeks after he left you that message on your answerphone. He figured it’d just been mislaid, didn’t occur to him that you’d tucked it away for yourself.  

“I don’t mind.” Always looked better on you anyway. 

You loop your arm around his. 

“I went on a date today.”

Oh.

“Minghao?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo nods. He could see that working. You’ve always wanted something romantic. Someone who could have nineteenth century novels written about them. Minghao seems like that type.

“He’s asked me out again.”

“Okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, feels like he knows where this is headed because you’ve both dated people since last time. It’s never had to be a conversation though. Movie nights become strictly group activities, any day of the week is fine. It’s okay. It’s out of respect, or whatever. 

“Should I go?”

“It’s your room,” Wonwoo deadpans.

“On the date, idiot.”

He swallows. “I don’t know. Do you like him?”

You shrug. “I could.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Wonwoo–” 

“We don’t talk about stuff like this.”

“We need to,” you insist. “What are we doing?”

There it is. The question he’s been dreading. The question he hoped you wouldn’t ask because he doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to take the feelings in his chest and wrap them neatly into words. All he wanted to do was just let it happen, if it were to happen at all, on your terms. Except now you’re asking him to give it a name, and his throat goes dry. He’s doing it again. Despite how he’s tried letting you go, despite keeping a respectable distance, he’s still managing to slip his way back in like this. Lately, Wonwoo has been wondering if he’s a narcissist, since he doesn’t even realise he’s manipulating the situation until it’s too late, and you’re saying what he can’t. You’re so much braver than he is. It wasn’t until week five (six?) of holding your hand that he realised he was choosing horror movies deliberately so he’d have a reason to touch you. It got to the point when the background music would feature its first minor key of many, and your palm would turn outwards, just waiting for him to clasp it in his and hold you through the scene. He’s given you a Pavlovian response. Isn’t that completely fucked?

“Wonwoo,” you plead. His heart jolts. “I won’t wait for you forever.”

He tips his head back against the headboard, eyes closed because he can’t bear to look at you while he admits it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “What I’ve been doing?”

“Nothing you do makes sense to me.”

The silence feels all thick and pliable.

Quietly, he confesses. “I don’t want you to date him. Anyone, really.”

Feels as though he’s sinking into syrup. Hard to move, hard to breathe. Hears your jagged inhale and steels himself for the ripping of the plaster. 

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” 

Wonwoo is a poorly knitted scarf. All slipped stitches and fast forming holes. One tug on a loose thread and he comes apart. 

“I want to be yours.”

He doesn’t expect your touch, let alone your kiss, gentle and loving on his shoulder. When he looks at you, your eyes are big and sad. 

“I don’t want to be your secret,” you whisper, in a tiny voice, against his t-shirt. 

This is his undoing. Wraps his fingers around your wrist and insists you’re not. You’ve never been that. It’s just– he wants to keep this private, not that he loves you, but how he shows it. Feels like it should be something sacred. You blink, startled, completely taken aback.

“You love me?”

“God. Yes,” he breathes. “Didn’t you know?”

“I thought you might– I didn’t know.” You’re crying. Silent tears spilling over, fingers plucking at a hangnail on your thumb and this is the worst. His heart aches. “You’re so quiet, how could I know anything for sure? How long?” 

“I–” He fucked up. Oh, he fucked up so badly. He rags his hands over his face, pushes his hair back while he searches for the right way to say it. “Too long.”

“After Siyeon?”

Wonwoo sighs. His thing with Siyeon wasn’t anything real. It started as a one time thing that stretched into semi-regular hook ups. She was in love with someone else, and he was pretending he wasn’t. The whole getting over someone by getting under someone else thing doesn’t work on a heartache as sour as his, and fuck anyone who said it would, actually. 

“Before?” 

“Before.”

You suck in a breath. “Oh.”

“Since we were kids, really,” he says. “Since before we ever–”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Wonwoo laughs ruefully. “Is it? I feel like I was plain as day. The guys at school used to tease me for it.”

“I hate this,” you say after a moment, voice thick and sad. You rub at your face. Push away the still falling tears. “It should feel nice, shouldn’t it? You saying you love me and I just feel sad about all the wasted years. And now it feels like I forced it out of you, before you were ready. I love you too, you know. Have all this time.”

Wonwoo feels too big for his body. Like he’s full of hot air and could float right out of the window high high higher until he burns up in the atmosphere. Even still, there is that small voice in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, telling him he’s self-centered for getting what he needs, that he’s cruel for making you feel like this, selfish for wanting you just for himself. Stupid, for having wasted time. The alarm goes off– he doesn’t deserve it, your kindness, your patience, your love. When it comes to you he is, and always has been, a coward. But you’re still here grounding him, head resting against him, arms still linked, and you’re making no moves to push him out the door. 

“How can I make it better?”

You sniff. “You can tell me again when I’ve stopped crying. You can stay.” 

“Can I hold you?” Like you’re his, he doesn’t say.

You chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

Wonwoo shifts down, turns on his side and lifts the duvet for you to move into the space in front of him. You take his glasses, fold them carefully and place them on your nightstand. You slot in next to him, back to his front, his body curls around yours and you press into him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and he starts to let himself hope it could be okay. 

“Have you stopped crying yet,” he asks softly, after a while. His hand is splayed across your cotton clad stomach, one finger toying with the hem. Yours is tracing figures of eight on his forearm. 

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For a long time, you’ve imagined it would feel like fanfare. A marching band size confession if there were to ever be one. But that’s not who he is, and it’s not what you really want. It’s better like this. Whispered sweet things. His breath warming your skin. His fingers on the soft skin of your stomach, lips on your neck. 

It feels honest. 

It feels real. 

Wonwoo turns you on your back, leans over to kiss the skin beneath your eyes. One– two– Wonwoo has always had so much love in him. It’s just quiet. You place your palm over his cheek and he leans into it. Turns to press a kiss to the centre, to your fingertips, one by one. Everything feels soft and pink and fragile. 

“Wonwoo?”

He makes a soft, curious noise. Lips still pressed to the tip of your ring finger.

“Kiss me?”

Every time holds meaning, but now it’s morphed, reincarnated into something new. Wonwoo loves you properly, and this time he’s said it out loud. The way he kisses makes everything go hazy and light and it feels like sunset. Slow and deliberate and feathered across your skin. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, kissing him open mouthed, and his body goes molten against you. The weight of him is exquisite. 

Wonwoo loves like moonlight. Comes in cycles, and yes, this time it’s clearer than others, but it turns out he’s always just there even when he’s not, even when it goes dark and things turn ugly, he’s still there holding your hand. There is moonlight in his eyes, now, shining and shimmering. With tenderness, Wonwoo runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, your bottom lip, the pulse point on your neck. You slip a hand beneath his t-shirt, touch the skin there and sigh over the way he presses against you. Your hand moves down and he stills you. 

“This is embarrassing,” he murmurs. “I didn’t bring any–”

“I don’t need one if you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill now.”

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Okay.”

“Don’t you want to?”

Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, you can feel his eyelashes tickling your skin. “I always want to.”

“Then touch me.” 

He does. Works deft fingers over your middle, watches the way the goosebumps raise as he takes your warm body from your clothes. Soothes his big hands over your skin to warm you. You don’t tell him you’re already burning. He mouths over the swell of your breast, pebbles the nipple between his fingers, asks if it’s okay, like this. It’s okay. Anything he wants is okay. You tell him that– that he can do anything he wants to you, that you’re his to do as he pleases with, and he groans, a small disbelieving sound. 

“Don’t say things like that.” 

You don’t ask why. Wonwoo has always been possessive, but it’s not something he likes about himself. Hates to share but doesn’t like to take either, feels some kind of shame about it. Wears the word selfish like a chain around his neck. And so he doesn’t take at all, tries to stay content with nothing. You tried to tell him once, it’s not selfish to want things. It’s not self-centred to have your needs met. You deserve good things, too, Wonwoo. And he looked at you, both forlorn and skeptical, said something about how caged birds can forget how to fly. He never seemed to get that he’d only ever imprisoned himself. Tonight you’ll give him your body, push his shame away with your hands and your mouth, and let him have this. 

You fist your hands in his hair, drag him up by it just to crush your lips against his to kiss him messy. He groans again, a little louder, and it’s this you’ve missed the most. The way he forgets himself when he’s touching you. The way he lets go. You wiggle underneath him, let his body shift so he’s caught between your legs and you can feel how he presses against your core. You nip at his lip, toy with the waistband of his underwear. “Off,” you say, and Wonwoo complies. The t-shirt follows straight after, and his body is back on you, looking at you like you hung the moon. 

He brings a hand between your bodies, taps you almost where you want him, asks if he can touch you. Please. A finger dips inside, an open mouthed kiss, his length, hard, pressed into your thigh. Wonwoo likes things wet, and sloppy. You like whatever he likes. He gathers up the wetness inside you, smears it over your clit, brings his fingers to his mouth, closes his eyes as he tastes you on his tongue. God, what the fuck. 

“Missed you,” you say, and he kisses you deep. Licks into your mouth, pushes two long fingers back inside your slick heat, and curls them over the sweetest spot. You pull off his lips to gasp. 

“Can we keep doing this?” Wonwoo whispers against the corner of your mouth. “Will you kiss me anytime you want? Baby, say yes.”

You nod, head hazy, swimming in the moment. Baby. The ache in your chest, once dulled but never gone, is pounding. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo holds you like you’re about to disappear, grips your waist tight with his free hand, fucks into you slow and messy with the other. You whimper as he plays with your clit, spread your legs wider so he can see, if he wants, but he’s watching your face, watching your mouth form a silent o. You’re so pretty, he tells you. So pretty always but prettiest like this, when it’s just the two of you. Watches your eyes go glassy, watches you come apart for him, feels your pussy clench around his fingers and commits the way your body shudders to memory. He doesn’t wait for it to pass before he kisses you again, takes your whines in his mouth and eats them. They taste saccharine sweet. 

He slots between your legs, rests his cock against your core, pressing languid kisses to anywhere he can reach without moving from this spot. Nips at your collarbone, laves his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck. Will leave a mark there, one day, when you’re his. A small part of him says that you’re his now, always have been, but it’s not really true, is it? Wonwoo needs the conversation, needs the lines drawn and the expectations laid out. Needs you to be sure that it’s him you want. Needs to know he’ll be able to give you what you need. He hasn’t, always, and that was part of the trouble. Wants it to be different, this time, because being with you is one of the few things that makes him feel whole in his own skin. 

Right now he wants to feel you like this, chasing friction and needing more. He’ll give it to you, would give you anything in this moment, just wants you needy first. It starts with you wrapping your arms around his back, running your fingertips down his spine, lighting little fires in their wake. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and tell him you need him inside. That you want him to fill you up. Fuck, if he could do this forever–

He wraps long fingers around your ankle, bends your knee to press your thigh to your chest, gives him better access like this, and it’s then he rolls against you, his cock dragging along your clit. He’s always loved the way you sound. Loves the way you get wet for him. Wonwoo loves you. So much. 

“Love you, too, Wonwoo.”

He groans as he slots a hand between your bodies, fists his cock and slides into your slick, tight heat. It’s agonising, he thinks, the way you tighten around him. Wants to go to sleep this way, wrapped up in each other like this. He knows if he asks you’ll let him, but he wants you to want it too. Maybe another time. This time there’s going to be more. He knows it.

“Need you to move,” you sigh. “Move for me.”

He does. Fucks into you slow, shit, baby, you feel so good. He gets in deep, feels the tension burning in his guts, gasps into your kiss when your cunt goes impossibly tight and wet around his cock, loves when your nails dig into his skin, when your moan comes out muffled and broken. 

He pulls out to look down at his cock slipping inside you, pushes in as deep as he can again and you arch your hips to meet him. He rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit. His body is alight, the perfect amount of heat and pressure and you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice rasps. Your lips are pink and swollen. He wants them back on him. “So wet for me.” 

The pressure of his hands on you– it wavers. Digs in hard in one moment and become the ghost of a touch the next. It’s like he loses himself and then remembers that you’re a flower, soft, and delicate. You won't break, because you’ve never been the least bit fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt. More so he doesn’t want to let himself claim you. Can’t let anyone know he knows you like he does. 

“Leave marks on me, Wonwoo,” you say, reading his mind. You run your fingers over the top of his, where they rest upon your middle. “I like it.”

He did once, at the end of the first time. Sucked a deep, purple bruise beneath your neck for everyone to see. And he loved it, loved knowing he put it there in the dark, and loved how it deepened into your skin a day later, knowing that every time you looked in the mirror you’d be reminded. Loved it– until the brakes were slammed on, and he had to watch it deepen still. Watched your friends tease, asking ‘who’s loverboy?’ just for you to say oh my god, no one, shut up. The next day you’d covered your mottled skin with make-up, so like you he pretended nothing happened. And all too soon it faded, much faster than all the rest of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all, had he known he was no one. 

But now you’re telling him to. Wanting clouds his judgement. It’s a dream, maybe, but dreams have never felt like this, you were always just out of reach. He’s all shallow thrusts and quickened breaths, and you take his hands to show him where you want his mouth. 

“Here,” you say, pressing his palm over your breast. Here is good, he thinks, as he mottles the flesh with his lips. Private, just something for the two of you. He’ll ask for a picture in a few days, jerk himself off over it, probably. You thread a hand through his hair, pull on it (his cock twitches inside you, embarrassing) to angle his head up your body. You look so happy, smiling soft, and watching him through your eyelashes. God, why didn’t he get his shit together before? 

“Here, too” you say, directing him to your collarbone. Wastes no time leaving a small mark. He likes it, looks a little like a love heart. There’s still a chill in the air this April, you could easily cover it if you need to, he wouldn’t mind this time. But then you say here, and this time you’re tipping up your jaw to give him access, pressing his fingers to the column of your lovely neck. He stills inside you, and you make a small noise of discontent, and angle your hips to draw him in deeper. 

“Please, Wonwoo,” you beg, eyes big and shining. You touch his bottom lip, wet with spit. “Need it on me. Wanna be yours too.” 

He uses teeth, this time. Sinks into your body and groans against your neck, you press kisses into his hair as he fucks you. Hard breaths, sloppy thrusts, the sound of wet skin and your broken noises. Wonwoo whimpers into your neck as you pulse around him, sucking the deepest bruise, fuck fuck fuck. “Gonna come,” you breathe. “Are you close?” He nods, laves a soothing tongue over the ache, makes it shine. 

“Harder,” you plead, pulling at his hips to drag him against you. “Make me sore.” And it’s fucked up that he wants to. Has this morbid, fascinating thought of you feeling him for days afterward as you go about your life, a heavy, aching reminder that he did this to your body– but maybe it’s okay, if you want it too? He feels the pressure on his skin, in his bones, of your need for him. He thrusts deep and fast without warning, even the breath he takes is sharp, and the noise– fuck, the noise is obscene. You come with a gasp, eyes fluttering like you want to keep them open but can’t, too lost in the feeling. He whispers sweet praise in your ear as he comes too, and you kiss, lazy and open mouthed, at his cheek. His sticky release seeps out of you around his cock, and he fucks it back in, head clouding and body taught with overstimulation.

After a moment, when he’s caught his breath and your body goes molten, he shifts his weight and starts to pull out, but you drag your listless limbs over him to hold him there. “Stay,” you ask quietly, all gentle and loving and shy. “Just for a little while.” 

Words are inefficient, here. Can’t tell you all the ways in which he loves you. Just places those feelings on his lips and presses them to your temple. Hopes you know what you mean to him and hopes he means the same to you. Wonwoo welcomes this arrow through his heart. 

When it’s quiet, and the air in the room is all still and heavy, you murmur against his sweat-sheened skin, “It’s never like this with anyone else.”

No. Nothing could ever be like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

May 2006

You’re home for the weekend, and today you're taking a day trip to Dadaepo beach, the south side of Busan. Wonwoo is driving and the windows are down and you’re listening to music and you’re in love. For real, this time. No second guessing, no wondering if he loves you back, because it’s out in the open and it’s tangible. He holds your hand all the time, and it’s so nice not to have adrenaline coursing through your veins before he knots his fingers with yours. He’s driving like this, hands clasped together in your lap. 

Iseul and Seoyoung got close so fast, and they’re singing old songs together in the backseat. Mingyu’s too long body is squished between them, looking utterly perplexed at how he ended up in this car with these strange, loud women. 

Later, you lay out the picnic you’d packed. The others are in the water, in the distance you can almost hear Iseul and Seoyoung shouting happily at Mingyu, and him yelling back. Wonwoo lays stretched out on the blanket like a cat, half dozing in the sun, face covered by the book he was reading earlier. He’s stroking your knee absentmindedly. 

“Talked to my dad earlier– he asked after your applications,” you say.

“Should find out the rest soon,” he replies. He’s already been accepted at KNUH, but that’s his back up. 

A couple of seabirds soar high overhead, can hear them calling to each other, flying so close their wings almost touch. They go like that together, far out above the ocean, and you watch them go until they’re just specks in the hazy blue.

“It’d be nice to live here,” you muse, looking at the way the sunlight dances on the water. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo smiles soft, half-hidden under the book. “Yeah it would.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Happy birthday,” Wonwoo whispers into your skin. He’s half-asleep still. Breath warming your neck and fingers slotted into the waistband of your pyjamas. Not to go further, just to touch. 

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, more alert, having been awake a little longer and waiting for him to stir. “Thank you,” you whisper back, smiling wide. “When do I get my flowers?”

“Patience is a virtue,” he mumbles. 

“One I don’t have,” you say into his cheek. 

“Liar.”

“Did you hide them in the bathroom?” You shift, ready to go get them yourself, but Wonwoo holds you tighter, dragging you back in. 

“You’re not getting your own flowers.” Wonwoo pushes up from the bed. Hair messy and face all scrunched up. God, he’s lovely in the mornings. “Stay there.”

You suppress a giggle, touching his bare thigh just to touch. 

“I like when you’re bossy.” 

He kisses your forehead. You put his glasses on for him, wonky because he just looks so cute like that. He grumbles.

He pulls on his grey sweatpants from the night before, doesn’t bother with a shirt, to fumble his way out of his room in the barely-there morning light. He comes back in about five minutes later, singing the birthday song, voice soft and slow with sleep, tray in hands, two coffees, a bowl of fruit to share, a funfetti cupcake with one pastel green candle, blush pink tulips pretty in a vase. 

He makes you blow out the candle, sets the tray on the nightstand on your side of his bed, and flops back in beside you. He curls into your side, arm over your middle and drawing you close, eyes already shutting. You smile, touching the petals and making birthday wishes that all of this carries on, even as you get old. 

“They’re pretty, thank you, Wonwoo.”

“Pretty flowers for my pretty girl,” he says simply, like it doesn’t make your heart sing. “Your real present is later.”

“You already got me my present,” you protest.

“S’different now,” he says through a yawn. 

You grin. Things are different. There still hasn’t been a conversation, nothing defined– you should do that, soon– but it feels like you belong to each other, more so than any other time before. The two of you are swimming into open sun-dappled waters, and it feels warm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

June 2006

Wonwoo sits on the edge of his bed, the envelope thick with papers lying forgotten on the floor. He drags his free hand over his mouth, reads the letter again in disbelief, because it can’t be real. It shouldn’t be. 

“I shouldn’t have applied.” His voice is strained. Hurts to hear. 

Of course he should have. 

“You couldn’t have known.” 

“I’m not going.” He meets your eyes, stricken, and you know he’d mean it if you even gave him an inch.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “You’ve got to. It was made for you.”

The letter is crumpling in Wonwoo’s fist. He’ll want to save it, probably. A memento of the start of his new chapter. He should save it. You take it from him, smooth out the creases, pull a heavy book from your shelf and press it over the paper. You won’t cry, not here in front of him, but your eyes feel too wet. He’d only feel some awful boundless guilt and it’d just make everything worse. You rub at them. 

Wonwoo moves close. Tugs at your belt loop to bring you between his legs, presses his forehead into your sternum, and you cradle his head in your arms. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, soothing a hand over his hair, reassuring yourself as well as him. “What was it your dad used to call us? Do you remember?”

He nods. You tug him by the chin to look up at you. “Tell me,” you say as you touch his neck, feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Birds of a feather,” he breathes.

Wonwoo pushes up your top, presses open wet kisses up your middle, bunches the material under your arms and drags the cup of your bra down rough. 

“That’s it,” you say, voice thick. “That’s it, Wonwoo. We’re birds.”

Takes your nipple in his mouth, makes it wet with his tongue, pulls off just to watch it pebble in the cold, slick with spit. 

“You need to go,” you say. Your throat is dry. Deep in your mind, the cruelest part of you, says it was purposeful, him applying for something that’ll take him away from you, right on the precipice of it all. Before lines can be drawn, while the boundaries are still blurred. He’s not like that, really. It’s just your projection, you remind yourself. Doesn’t stop it from hurting because two short months isn’t enough, but you’ll never be the one to hold him back. Not when he’s been working so hard, not when he holds himself back more than anyone. You fist your hands at the nape of his neck. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

He pulls at your hips, fingers digging so tight they hurt. It’s good. It’s awful. 

“I can’t do a distance like this,” you admit, carding your hands through his hair. “A year is too long. Might be more.” His clumsy, desperate hands fumble with the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs so you can kick them off. You slide into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth moves up your body, clawing and aching and needy, teeth nipping at your collarbone, sucking purple into your spit-sheened skin. Slips a hand between you and hums pleasantly at the wetness on your underwear. Circles his fingers over your cotton-covered clit. “How long have we got left?”

“Three weeks,” he says, between bites. His eyelashes are wet. 

You nod. Okay. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got three weeks, and then we’ll be friends again. We can do this.”

Wonwoo pulls your underwear to the side, slips a finger over your wet, wanting cunt. “Friends don’t do this,” he rasps, sinking his finger in, curling just enough to make you keen. He’s so hard, you can feel the denim-clad bulge against your body. “Friends don’t touch each other like this.”

“We can,” you sigh. “If we want.” He wrenches at your clothes and kicks them to the floor, leaves you bare and he’s still wearing too much. 

You push him back on the bed, drag his hands from your body to pin them at his sides. He looks at you, wounded and desperately turned on. You turn your back on him, spread your legs over his body to let him see you, wet and needy, pull on his belt and shove his jeans and underwear away just enough to free his hard cock. 

“You know I want more than that,” he admits, breath warm against your clit. He hisses as you take him in your mouth, whines desperately as you pull back and swipe your tongue over the head. Let the spit bubble between your lips and work it over him, because this is how he likes you, sloppy and messy and wet. He licks into you, all tongue and teeth and soft lips against your core, pressed deep, getting his face wet with you, drags your body down tight against his mouth, arms wrapped around your hips and fingers digging into your flesh. You moan, pornographic, around his cock. Wonwoo arches his hips, fucks rough into your mouth, chasing the heat. 

Wonwoo is greedy, sometimes. You love this part of him, when he lets it out. Wants your release fast, it seems. He moves between sharp bites at your thighs, marks pressed into the juncture of them, secret and lovely, heavy sucks over your clit, all while working you open with long, thick fingers. Makes you come unexpectedly fast, shuddering over him and pulling off his achingly hard cock with a broken moan. “You’re so wet, baby. Wanna be inside you.”

You nod, dumb and lovestruck and hazy. He grabs at your wrist and tugs, pulls you back over him and tight against his body, kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at his shirt, drag it awkwardly over his head and his glasses get pulled off with them, they clatter to the floor, but he’s pulling your breast to his mouth again and nothing matters but this, right now. 

Right now, you sink over him slow slow slow, let him feel all your tight, wet heat before he gets needy, before he fucks up into you hard, like he wants to become part of you. Like he wants to crawl inside and make a home there. You watch his chest rise and fall, touch his skin as best you can between the lack of space between your bodies, lay your palm over his heart and feel it beat for you. He calls you beautiful, and you say it back. Says he likes the way your eyes roll back, that he loves how wet you get when he kisses your neck, when he calls you his pretty girl. Baby, fuck– you take me so well. He reaches behind your body, fingers splayed over where you join, feels the way your cunt hugs him. Groans as you grip his length with your pussy, hisses when you dig your nails into his chest as you come– everywhere, everything tight tight tight. 

Wonwoo runs soothing hands down your back as you sag against him, tells you he loves you, asks delicate and concerned if you want to stop because you’re crying, and when you hold him closer, tell him no, you need this– he puts you on your back and fucks you hard enough to make you forget about it. Presses your body into the mattress and lays his entire weight on you. Wonwoo buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispers that you mean everything to him, and you nod, hold his body and let the fever set in. He comes with the deepest, most languid stroke, holds his cock tight inside and fills you up. Asks desperately if you can feel it. You can. Yeah, yeah I can feel you. Feels so good. 

Much later, you lay facing each other in the quiet, tears already shed and conversation put on pause. It’s too hard to talk about being friends, just now. He kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips, and you let him. Too sad to move, too in love. Friends don’t mean I love you the way you do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

August, 2006

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:13

Hello from Naxos, 

I got here from Athens a few days ago. I stupidly left my laptop in one of the lecture halls (I think) and no one has handed it in to the office, so I didn’t see your emails until now. Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been living in a daze since I left home. Can’t keep my head on straight.

I don’t know how to describe this place. It’s beautiful. It’s hot. My room doesn’t have air conditioning and the sweat makes the sheets stick to my skin even in the middle of the night. The air hangs still and it’s thick in my throat. I think you’d hate it. And even then I’m sure you’d want to be held to sleep while complaining about the heat. I’m in the internet cafe now, and it’s so nice and cool I might pay for an extra hour just to sit here and feel like a person again.

Tomorrow we’re visiting Keros for the first time, and I don’t know how to feel. Whenever I imagine stepping off the boat the roof of my mouth goes dry. Is that excitement? I don’t know. I do know that I’m not sure I fit in here with the others. They’re quite similar to you, in the coming from a well off family regard, but they’re completely unaware of how they sound. I don’t think they realise how they flaunt it. When I first got here they talked about taking ‘the boat’ down to Santorini and asked if I wanted to join them. I said I’d need to check how much the ferry costs, and they looked at me like I’d sprouted another head right in front of them. Turns out they took someone’s dads yacht for the weekend. I didn’t go. I think you’d know how to talk with them. You’d know how to relate to them in some way that wouldn’t come across awkward or fake. I mean that as a compliment.

You asked me what I’m thinking about and right now it’s that time you and I dug out those old coins in your grandparents garden. Do you think your Grandfather buried them there for us to find? I’ve often thought that that small thing brought me to where I am, to what I’m doing, and I wonder if it was real? I miss that garden a lot. I miss us in it.

Am I complaining too much? I am, aren’t I? I think it’s the heat. 

How is your summer at home?

What have you been doing?

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:18

Mum and dad say you’re welcome to visit them before you go back to the city next month.

I miss you.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 4th August 2006, 18:52

Hello to Naxos,

I’m sure you’ll be in Keros by now, so I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. It looks lovely in the photographs on Google but I hope you’re taking some of your own for me anyway. I want some photos just for me, please, Wonwoo. I hope you’re looking at the sea and thinking that I’d like the colour of it. 

I don’t know how much I’d enjoy the company of your colleagues though. They sound stuffy and out of touch. Is there anyone you actually like yet? Tell me about them. 

I’m in the garden right now. I’m quite positive Grandpa buried the coins for us because there was mud all over his knees, don’t you remember? Granny scolded him for washing his dirty hands in the kitchen sink but she said the smile on your face made her forget about it. Just because it was engineered doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, you know? That your joy wasn’t real. Don’t you feel joy now, being exactly where you’ve wanted to be for the longest time? 

It’s been almost two months since you left and you haven’t sent one single photo of a cat, and I know for a fact that Greece has many. Have you spent all your time off holed up inside? Go out for a drink. Make some friends. Stand on the grass with your feet bare. It’ll do you some good.

Summer at home is as it always is. I saw Mingyu and Seokmin at a bar a few days after you left, Mingyu said to say hi but I told him to do it himself and gave him your new email address, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Mother has been down, I think Dongho cheated on her again but she won’t say anything. I haven’t done much else besides sleeping and shopping and playing games. Don’t tell anyone I said so but it’s boring without you here. 

I don’t think I’ll stay for the whole summer, actually. Iseul and Seoyoung are saying they want to visit the States. I’ll probably go with them. Iseul’s parents have a little place in California. I’ll take my laptop though, email me every time you think of me.

Tell your parents I’ll visit in the next few days, I’ve been craving your mum’s kimchi jjigae. 

PS - I miss us in the garden too. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 7th August 2006, 19:36

Keros was definitely something. I worry I built it up in my head too much, you know? Thought I’d feel more moved than I did. One of the leads, Edward, from a village in Wales I can’t pronounce the name of, is walking us through the project for the next few weeks. If I could learn half as much as he knows for the time I’m here, I’m sure I’ll get by for the rest of my career. I stood in the ruins of what was a home built over 2300 years ago and wondered what the people who lived there must’ve felt about it. Were they happy? Did they think the island too small? Were they jealous their neighbour had a better view of the ocean? Did they start sleeping with their best friend (again) just before moving to a Mediterranean island hahaha?

Should we talk about us yet? I worry if we leave it any longer we’ll just start pretending it didn’t happen again.

I did take some pictures on the island. Shall I post them on Facebook? There’s this small cove you would’ve liked that had these tiny iridescent fish that swam up so close to my feet that I thought they’d bite them. There was one cat outside my window but it was dark and the one photo I got of it is so blurry it’s not worth showing. I’ll find more to take photos of. 

Thanks for giving Mingyu my details, he’s already emailed me. He said you were looking well. I’m sorry about your mother. 

I won’t go for that drink you suggest because all the would-be drinkers seem more interested in snorting lines off each other's chests, and I don’t have the spare cash for all that. I have met some people - Matteo and Emma. Matteo is from Naples and Emma is from London. Emma reads, and she said she’ll lend me her copy of The Little Prince when she’s done with it. I haven’t told her I’ve already read it.

California sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Knowing Iseul her parent’s “little place” has eight bedrooms, a tennis court, an olympic swimming pool, and a live-in chef haha. How long will you go for? 

PS - on second thought I don’t know how you would’ve felt about the fish and the feet. 

PPS - if I emailed you every time I thought of you then I’d hardly ever leave the cafe.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 8th August 2006, 17:52

Should I have brought it up?

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 9th August 2006, 06:28

Hello from LA,

Sorry for the slow reply, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

Wonwoo, I don’t know what there is to say about it all. Do you? 

I’m trying very hard not to be pathetic but the fact is that despite whatever state our on and off hook up thing is in, I still want us to be in each other’s lives. I don’t think you’re going to be in love with me forever, are you? You’re my safe space and I like hearing your thoughts and I feel like being your friend makes me a better person. We have good sex, great sex, but we’ve never managed anything solid. I mean, I know that you left because of the fellowship and because I encouraged you to take it, but things between us always seem to end just as soon as it gets real. 

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always going to be friends. You’re going to marry the girl next door type that doesn’t ask too many questions. She is sweet and knits you scarves for Christmas and prefers doggy style so you don’t see her face when she comes. She isn’t me– the selfish, obnoxious girl from three streets across, who beat you in the spelling bee when we were seven. You’re probably going to have three children, and definitely become very accomplished in whatever archeologists are accomplished in. And I am going to have at least four husbands, one child who’ll grow up rolling their eyes at me, and I’ll become infamous for whistleblowing the government for…. something gross and scandalous. Like listening in to everyone’s phone calls. We’ll holiday together and our children will grow up like cousins and when we get drunk and our spouses go to bed I’ll go “remember our last night before you left for Greece? Remember that night? You put your wet fingers in my mouth and told me ‘bite down when you come.’ I think about that all the time.” You’ll be so mortified your ears will go red. You’ll probably spill your drink.

I’m laughing my ass off just imagining it. Isn’t it funny that you’re only bold enough to say things like that when we’re in bed? It’s like you need to be cocooned up with someone in order to let your inside voice out. God, you’re so impolite when you fuck me. 

But don’t worry. You were my best friend long before you ever touched me like that. Every time we do this you tell me you just want to be friends, right? So let’s be friends. I can do platonic if that makes it easier for you.

Anyway. The update is I visited your parents (they probably already told you) and your mum made the BEST japchae for me. They love me sooooo much, I’ve got no idea why. I’m sure you’re very jealous and that sustains me. Now I’m in LA for the rest of the month. Iseul’s place is only six bedrooms, actually! No tennis court or live-in chef but the pool is admittedly gigantic. Please see attached photo. I look great, right? I’m sure you’re nodding. Maybe while I’m here I’ll find husband numero uno. If I'm going to have four I should start working on that ASAP. 

We’re okay, Wonwoo. 

PS - don’t you dare upload those photos to Facebook, send them to me and me alone. Also send me one of you because you’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten what you look like. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 10th August 2006, 20:39

Hello to California,

Is that really what you think? That I fall out of it so quickly? That we started sleeping together again, and you think I didn’t feel fucked up over leaving? I’m starting to wonder if it was worth leaving at all. I’m glad we’re friends but do friends kiss the way we do? Are friends allowed to do that with each other? Does it make me a bad friend if I looked at the photo you sent and thought how pretty you are and let my mind run away wondering how you’d look if you were in my room here. I almost thought about printing your photo off but is that perverted? You’re fully clothed but I feel like a pervert. You do look great. I love that colour on you. 

I can’t imagine this life you’re dreaming up. I can’t imagine marrying some faceless person. Can’t imagine anything for me beyond what’s happening today. I can see you with four husbands though. I don’t mean that in any type of way, just that you find it easy to find people who love you even if they don’t exactly fit.

If you’re going to uncover some government spy operation let’s get started on the theories right now. If they’ve been listening to phone calls then it stands to reason they’re probably reading emails and texts too. Do you think they’re reading ours? Do we have our very own spy?

What is your first husband going to be like? The antithesis of me? Or maybe someone so strangely similar that all of our friends whisper about how weird it is? Don’t you think it’s messed up that we’re talking about this?

Please see attached a couple of photos of the island, one of me in my room, for your eyes only. Don’t go showing them to Iseul and Seoyoung. They’re not as good as the ones on my film camera but you’ll have to wait until I’m home for those. 

PS - can you download Skype? Efraim, the guy who owns the cafe, is installing it on all the computers, he says we’ll be able to video call. I’m free on Sunday after 7PM, that’s 9AM for you. Are you free?

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 11th August 2006, 12:05

It was worth leaving because this is what you’ve been working for your whole life. And it doesn’t matter that we started again because as long as we’re both single it can pick up whenever we want. I know you care for me in your quiet way. I know you’d never hurt me with intent. It’s fun, and we’re young, and we know it’s easy with each other. It doesn’t have to be more than that. Maybe we shouldn’t have said the L word, though, don’t you think? I try not to think about it. It would have been more sensible not to. Hindsight blah blah blah. 

We can be whatever kind of friends you want. I don’t mind that you think about fucking me. You did, right? When you saw my photo? I’d quite like it if you did. I like thinking about your cheeks getting hot and having to adjust your jeans in the middle of the cafe. Did you feel the need to hide your screen?

You’re probably right about the spies reading our emails too, I’ll note that down somewhere offline. Have you considered that our spy may be Efraim? After all, he has easy access to the computers you use every evening. Maybe you should consider getting a laptop of your own. It must be costing you a small fortune going to the cafe to email little old me every day. Dad is getting a new one soon, shall I ask him to post you his old one? Don’t be weird about accepting it, it’s just a laptop.

My first husband is so so so handsome. Grossly rich because of generational wealth, he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of being self made. I need to start strong, you see. A little shorter than you, so you’re not entirely emasculated haha. He probably knows how to sail. I bet he drapes sweaters across his shoulders like those guys in Ralph Lauren ads. I bet he’s played Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar and doesn’t realise how cliche it is. He’s probably doing it right now. I hope he’s not conceited. That’d be unbearable. Though I suppose we’d need a good reason to divorce. 

How are Matteo and Emma? What are they like? Did you tell them anything about me?

Seoyoung says hello. Iseul said she thinks you need a haircut (sorry, she peeked over my shoulder when I read your email) but I don’t. I think you look hot with long hair. Send me more photos of you? Take a shower first and think about me. Leave your clothes off. Shut your eyes and imagine I’m with you. I’ll open them in private.

We’re going to a party in Malibu on Saturday. Iseul’s cousins (Joshua and Kevin– they’re cool, you’d like them) are family friends with some big shot Hollywood producer so maybe I’ll meet some celebrities! Maybe I’ll meet my husband! If you send me a photo before then just know I won’t look at it, I need my head in the game. I’ll call on Sunday morning and tell you all about it.

PS - don’t open the attached photos in front of Efraim. It’s okay if you print them.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 12th August 2006, 22:47

God. You’re right about getting another laptop while I’m here (I’m not taking your dad’s one, I’ll save up for one by myself) because I had to wait until Efraim went to the bathroom before printing your photos. I nearly broke a sweat wondering if he’d come back too quickly and see me holding them like some kind of sick freak. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your husbands won’t know what to do with themselves.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Do you think about it too? I’m guessing by your photos that you do. Did you think of me eating you out when you touched yourself? You probably won’t read this email for another twelve hours but just know that I failed miserably not getting hard in the back of the cafe. I had to spend ten minutes catching up on the news back home just to stop remembering being inside you, how wet you get when I kiss your neck. What am I, a teenager?

You should’ve come here for your summer trip, rather than LA. Why are you going out tonight looking for someone else when you could have been here. I’m jealous. I miss you. 

I’ll send you your demands before we call tomorrow. I want to see your face when you open it.

Matteo and Emma are great. They’re funny, and well read, and they know more mythology than I do, if you can believe it. Matteo is a good cook. He made lasagne for dinner the night I last emailed you and it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I wish you could try it. If he ever wanted to open a restaurant he absolutely could. If you wanted to take him as one of your husbands I wouldn’t be opposed. It’d give me more reason to have dinner at your house. Emma has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. 

They both know about you. We work together here a few nights a week, so they’ve seen me writing you. I told them we’re best friends, that you’re a little bit insane despite being one of the most level headed people I know. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. I told them that you’re smarter than I am, and that you’ll probably take down several governments one day. I told them that you miss me terribly. And that you understand me better than I understand myself, and that I can hardly understand you at all. 

Emma asked if we were ever together, and I didn’t know how to answer. I almost said not really, but I don’t know if that’s true. Is it true? Matteo changed the subject before I could answer anyway. He wanted to know who bowser80 was. On that note I’m begging you to choose a more sensible email address, if only so Efraim doesn’t think I’m sending vaguely horny emails to a Super Mario character. He probably has the wrong impression of you. 

I’m really looking forward to speaking to you properly. Your photos are- well they’re obscenely hot. But I want to see your smile. 

Talk soon. Don’t fuck your husband-to-be on the first night, he doesn’t deserve you.

PS - I’m not sure if Efraim is our spy, actually. I just watched him pick his nose and wipe it under the desk. I would hope someone trained in espionage would have better decorum. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 13th August 2006, 18:56

Don’t open these until we’re on the call. 

Can’t wait.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 14th August 2006, 09:08

I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been looking at your photos again since I woke up and I fear I’m never going to leave my bed. 

Wonwoo, I’m being very serious when I say you need to get a laptop again as soon as possible because Efraim absolutely cannot read or hear the things I want to say to you. God, Wonwoo, I need to suck your dick inside out. I need you inside me.

How long have you got left in Europe? Is it forever?

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 14th August 2006, 17:31

I can’t stop thinking about you either. I forgot the sound of your laugh for a while and now after hearing it I’m worried I’ll lose it again. Let's keep calling, so we stay real for each other. For the sake of my sanity please say less about sucking my dick. It’s only Monday and it’s a personal goal of mine to make it through the week without rocking a semi in this cafe.

On the topic of buying a laptop, I’m picking up a part time job. The stipend doesn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped. Efraim is hiring, and I asked if working here means I can read everyone's emails and he looked so confused I was almost convinced. Perhaps he’s a better spy than we thought. Of course working here means more opportunity for talking to you, which sweetens the deal somewhat. 

It does feel like it’ll be forever, doesn’t it? I won’t be able to come home to visit until March. I wouldn’t be opposed to you visiting me here during your winter break. Would you like to?

Say yes.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

December 2006

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 30th December 2006, 09:40

Hi baby,

My palms are sweating but I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just us, isn’t it? I haven’t been this nervous to see you since before school the day after we slept together. The first time, I mean. We were idiots, I know that much. 

I’m borrowing Matteo’s car to come pick you up, I’m nearly ready. Please excuse the mess in it, he lives like a pig but he’s so endearing Emma and I forgive him anything. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him tonight. Emma can’t make it until New Years, she sends her apologies- I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’ll say it to your face.

By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow morning and we’ll have already had one whole day together. You’ll ask to use my laptop to check your emails, and I’ll still be half asleep in the bed next to you. 

Have I kissed you yet? 

I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you as soon as you get through customs. I’ve been playing out how it’ll go. I’m going to set your bags down on the floor and take your face in my hands and kiss you right there in the middle of the arrivals lounge. Even as I’m typing all of this out, I know it won’t happen like that. I’m going to wave awkwardly when I see you coming through the doorway. I’m going to be hit with a rush of nostalgia when I catch the smell of your shampoo when we hug hello. I’m going to look at your lips and think about the taste of you, but then I’ll feel the eyes of other people on us, and they’ll be wondering if we’re together, and then I’ll start thinking too much and accidentally leave it too late, and you’ll be handing me your bags to carry. I’ll feel foolish and thoughtless for not taking them from you in the first place. 

I’ll kiss you without an audience. I hope you don’t mind. 

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 31st December 2006, 06:15

Hi Wonwoo, 

I like when you call me baby outside of the bedroom. Are you trying it on for size?

Don’t worry, you were a real gentleman at the airport yesterday. Took my bag and opened doors and everything. Five stars. It’s sweet knowing you were nervous. You didn’t look it at all. I thought how confident and self assured you seemed, like you knew all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m kind of in awe of you. The way we talk online has me forgetting what you’re like in person. How quiet you go, how the comfortable silences have me wondering what you’re thinking, how deliberate you are with your words. You say sometimes that I understand you better than anyone but I don’t think I do. You must think that your expressions give away your every emotion but they don’t, Wonwoo. You have this huge inner world I know nothing about and your emails give me a peek at what’s inside. You’re a mystery to me, the same way everyone is a mystery. 

Even now, you’re fast asleep (I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to ask to use your laptop, but you don’t mind, do you? I wanted you to rest.) and I have no idea what you’re dreaming about. Is it me? I hope it is. I like how you sleep next to me, did I ever tell you that? You’re like a koala. I like how you reach for my hand when I think you’re already sleeping and draw lazy figures of eight across my palm, with your chest against my back. I like the way your hair is even longer now. Messy and soft. Wonwoo, you’re so so so handsome. You look like an artist. You look like someone Jane Austen would write about.

I liked that you kissed me in private. I liked that you kissed me at all. I liked that you held my hand when you introduced me to your friends, even though you were quiet as ever. Were you feeling shy?

I’m looking in the mirror now and I like the marks you left on my neck. They’re so dark! I’m going to need a vat of concealer to cover these up if we leave your room today. I’m going to steal your scarf. I should complain about the mess you made of me, but I like that you’re secretly possessive. Don’t tell anyone I told you that haha. 

I like the way you touched me last night. The way you pressed my hips into the mattress and licked over my clit. The way you twined our hands together and rolled into me. If I close my eyes I can still feel it. Your teeth on my jaw. You, thick and hard, so deep inside me. Your skin felt good against mine. Were we always that good together? Is it better now because we haven’t seen each other for so long? I was so wet I’d be embarrassed if it were with anyone but you. Fuck, I want you again. 

You don’t know that I’m wearing your t-shirt right now. Would you be bothered? Would you like it? 

Wonwoo, would you mind if I woke you up? I want you to fuck me in your t-shirt. I want you to open your tired eyes and be glad I’m in something that smells like you. Reach under the hem and find me without underwear, already wet and wanting. I want you to fuck me harder than last night. I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want to feel the vibrations of your groan against my chest. I want it to hurt so much that I still feel you there when I leave. 

I’m going to send this email and wake you up. Sorry it’s so early, baby.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 31st December 2006, 07:53

Good morning,

You’re in the shower. I’m laying on my bed wondering how I’m going to survive this week. We’ve always been good together, I think. But I’ve never, ever seen you like that before. In a good way. The best way. 

Baby, you know I still love you, don’t you? I’m going to say that to your face any second now, so you will already know by the time you read this. Do you love me too?

Keep wearing my t-shirts. Take that one home with you so you can wear it when we Skype, and I can remember the morning you ruined my life. That one looks better on you anyway. God. We’ve got five days left and I’m already hating the thought of you going home. Is it insane to ask you to stay longer? Probably. You’ve got work. Tonight I'm going to kiss you at midnight and make a wish.

I love you. 

I hope you say it back.

PS - it won’t be too long before I’m home. Please wait for me. We can be birds again.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 1st January 2007, 08:29

I love you too.

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always birds.

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thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider telling me what you liked via a reblog so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you have any questions, please ask!! it gives me life to talk about these babies. ily, goodnight!

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