#the same thing happens for the series of unfortunate events | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awrkive · 11 months ago

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NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 3 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.7k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments, litol bit of #domesticity, FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, angst if you squint??????????, the x file spoiler lol, suits cameo (me inserting my niche interests into conversations), the biggest warning of this part is: naked jungkook 💀

NOTES sorry for being almost 3 hours late efhkjdhfd i overestimated my abilities a bit mb mb anyway, AGAIN, i want to thank you guys for the overwhelming support! i want to take this opportunity to announce that i'll be taking a break from nb for around 2 weeks to work on my new jungkook one-shot fic that i will be posting for his birthday ❤️ if you are interested, i have posted the teaser on my tumblr page. LASTLY pls let me know your thoughts!! i LOVE LOOOVEEE reading every single one of your replies/reblogs/asks. i hope you enjoy this one and have a good weekend ahead!!!!!!

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN (REPLY IN THE COMMENT SECTION. PLS DO NOT SEND AN ASK ABOUT IT)

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You always wonder how a company this big seems to not have any budget lent for a copier that actually works – something that one doesn’t need to violently slap just for it to function perfectly.

You’ve been a victim not just once but five times to its inefficiency, the recent mishap being a month ago when the ink blots jumped right over the cuff of your shirt.

With the way that you’ve been harassing the copier at the very moment, you’ll say it’s about to do you wrong for the sixth time and you absolutely can’t let it happen anymore – not when you’re currently wearing a white polo shirt that stupidly costs a little too much more than anything in your wardrobe (you decided to spend a little more than usual last New Year’s).

So, with a last unnecessary kick to the bottom of the machine (out of pure spite) you left the copier room of your floor and think, fuck it – go to the IT department and ask Taemu to back you up from his supervisor so you can use their copier instead – which is something you’re not so sure of.

It’s embarrassing to go there just to ask him for help. Not with your history. But admittedly not that much of a history. After all, he seems to be cool with you and everything seems to be pretty chill. You can just go there; ask a little favor from a friend, and then hurry down to your floor.

There are some other options, though. Like, you can always ask the intern to do it for you. But the thing is, you kind of feel bad for those three. Your co-workers are doing a lot already; asking to fetch them things all around the building, buy them snacks, stuff like that. There’s another one but she’s way too quiet and didn’t really take shit from any of her seniors… which is kind of intimidating – but she's someone you wish you were when you were also an intern. You personally don’t want to help cultivate a somewhat toxic journey for the other three because you also started the same way as them. Beyond that, it would also be too rude to ask favors from Taemu indirectly.

You’re ultimately left with little and only one choice.

The elevator dings and the doors open after it does so.

One of the people in it is a woman you’ve never met around before. Long, black hair; tailored suit, slender figure, and a posture that screams she’s never hunched her back in her entire life.

Other people that entered at the same time as you start to bow their heads down slightly and greet a polite, “Good afternoon.”

You mirror their gesture as well.

As you step inside and settle on a spot, you wonder who she is.

An executive, maybe? She looks very put-together, and there’s authority that hangs over her frame… but exceptionally young in the physical aspect. Jungkook is also young, though – and he’s an executive, so that’s entirely possible. Additionally, others seem to know her. Or they're just pretending to know her like you did. Did you miss a ceremony? A meeting? Or did you gloss over some HR email again? You’ll have to check later to find out if that’s the case.

Anyway, your curiosity doesn’t last long when the elevator doors open once again, indicating the IT department floor.

You already texted Taemu awhile ago that you were on your way so he should meet you on-time.

As you walk down the hallway with your phone in your hand, your attention is caught by a familiar voice.

“Hey,”

You look up from your phone and see Taemu waving not too far away, heading towards your direction. It doesn’t take him long to get near you. When he does, you give him a smile.

“Taemu, hi.” You say as a small greeting. Taemu lifts his hand and you thought he was going for a high-five, so you lift your hand as well to meet the gesture. But then he leans in closer, one arm about to enclose your waist, and that’s when you realize he was actually gearing up for a hug.

Taemu seems to register that you weren’t exactly going for the same thing, so he steps back. He seems shy when you look at him in confusion.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” He offers his hand again, but just when you’re already thinking about hugging him because that was what he originally meant to do, he speaks just as you lean in closer to hug him. “I thought we were high-five-ing?”

Embarrassed, your hands retreat to yourself.

“I thought... you wanted to hug?” You chuckle.

“Okay, let’s just—” Taemu steps closer again and this time, it’s more than clear to you what he wants to do.

You reciprocate the hug he gives.

“This is so stupid.” You say, chuckling against his neck. The contact is quick as you two simultaneously break apart.

Taemu laughs at your remark, nodding his head. Then he gestures ahead, pointing to the direction of the copy room.

“Your copier not working again?” He asks as you walk down the hallway together.

You heave a sigh. “Yeah, they really need to change that one. Anyway, have you told Mr. Lee?” You ask, referring to his supervisor.

Teamu nods his head, opening the door to the copy room for you.

“Yeah, it’s fine with him. Just sign the logbook and stuff.”

“Thanks, Taemu.” You say, quickly getting to work, feeling slightly delighted at how their machine smoothly does its job and not like the one at all in your department. “Hey, I’m really sorry for bothering you with this.” You lament as you wait for the paper to slide out.

Taemu waves his hand, shaking his head at you. “It’s fine.”

You purse your lips into a thin line, giving him a somewhat apprehensive smile. The paper comes out and you get your thing. After a quick scan to see if the copier got everything right, you look back at Taemu to say, “Thanks again, Taemu. I really appreciate this.”

“No worries. Anytime.”

When you announce that you’re done, Taemu calls your name.

“Hm?” You hum, looking at him and wait for his next words.

He looks coy when he rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” He says, and you still in your position. Taemu seems like he surprised himself with his own words. You open your mouth to speak but then he beats you to it quickly, “It’s not a date. I phrased that as a date – but it’s not – ah, this is all coming out wrong,” Taemu chuckles, interrupting himself. With his hands in his slacks' pockets, he leans to a random table inside the room and looks at you with a more confident stance this time, as if he just gave himself a quick internal pep talk after jumbling his words. “What I meant to say is, if we can go out for lunch together today?”

You chuckle. You were just about to say yes. Contrary to his assumption, you didn’t really take his first question as an invitation for a date. Besides, he helped you with the copier today.

Nodding your head, you offer him a grin as you say, “Yeah. I’ll go to lunch with you.”

Taemu walks you to the elevator even though you said he doesn’t need to. He's insistent but you let it, anyway.

Taemu puts his hands on both sides of the door before it closes. The ride is pretty much empty except for yourself.

“When are you off?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. “Is 12:15 okay?”

Taemu nods. “Sure. See you at 12:15?”

“Yeah. Later.”

The elevator closes and you laugh to yourself when you catch Taemu awkwardly waving his hand at you goodbye.

“No, you didn’t, I kicked your ass at mini golf!” You say, laughing as Taemu looks at you with squinted eyes, obviously saying that was absolutely not what happened on your date a few months ago.

“Uh, you disregarded all the rules.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. Rules do not matter, though. It’s just some stick and a ball and… fake grass.”

Taemu laughs, surrendering his hands to the air, nodding when he says, “Fair, fair.”

You’re currently at a restaurant not too far away from your company building. It took Taemu and you about five minutes to get here; just a quick waiting time to cross the pedestrian lane to get from one street to the other.

Looking around, you can actually see some people inside wearing your company lace. The restaurant’s sort of like a famous spot around the company, though, so it doesn't necessarily surprise you. You’ve also had a few company dinners here some time ago.

Safe to say, lunch with Taemu is going… okay so far.

No – actually, it’s way better than you thought it would be.

You could have never, ever predicted that you’ll be out with him alone again after… you know, ghosting him. Your whole assessment of his character has also changed a bit after the whole fiasco.

See, some guys start feeling entitled over your permission and consent when you entertain them even just for a bit. When you go on dates and you break it to them that it’s just not working out between you two, they start to act weird. Like you’ve hurt them. Or that you lead them on – even though it’s absolutely not the case.

But Taemu’s proving himself to be different. You honestly expected him to act like that guy because he seems the type after your first date. But he surprises you by acting the total, complete opposite.

He’s so… nice. So casual. Like nothing happened. You feel bad because right now, you've officially confirmed to yourself that you totally misjudged him.

You can’t believe you’ll say this, but Taemu is not an asshole. Like at all.

Even now, you’re recalling what happened to your date and laughing about some of the memories of it, and it feels so long ago you’re starting to remember it differently.

“Anyway, this milkshake’s really good,” you say, taking your glass and looking at it curiously.

“Yeah? I told you,” Taemu grins, eating from his own plate.

“You always come here?” You ask out of curiosity since he seems to be familiar with the menu.

“Sort of? I mean, I try to take in the city as much as I can.” You nod, recalling what he told you before. He came from Daegu, and it’s his first time in Seoul.

Before you can say anything to that, the waiter comes to your table and gives you your bill.

Taemu and you simultaneously take out your wallets. When he sees you do it, though, he’s quick to shake his head, gesturing for you to not bother.

“No, no, it’s fine. I got it.”

“I got it, too,” You say, smiling at him, already picking out your card, ready to put it inside the check presenter.

“__,” Taemu says your name while chuckling. “I swear, it’s fine. I was the one who invited you for lunch.”

“Taemu,” You call him, using the same tone he used. Taemu grins at that. “I think we should split the bill.”

It’s only fair, you think. You ate pretty much the same thing.

You hold what felt like a minute staring competition until Taemu gives in and lets you stack your card on top of his in the booklet.

You’re about to resume eating – pick up on the conversation you left a few minutes ago – when your phone dings on the table, a message popping out on the notification center.

When you read the contact name, your eyes widen but you relax your face real quick lest Taemu asks questions.

“Sorry,” you say, pointing to your phone. Taemu nods, understanding. You pick the device in your hands, turn to your other side to not be rude, and read the text from Jungkook.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:47pm]: hey I bought you lunch Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:48pm]: i was gonnna ask you to go with me earlier but I got busy with some papers

Shoot.

You’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking about Jungkook at all for the entirety of the day. You woke up so early this morning that you waited for twenty whole minutes for your bus just so you can avoid seeing Jungkook because everytime his name pops up in your thoughts, you remember what you did the night before and it just messes with your head so much.

Listen, you aren’t embarrassed about trying to get yourself off. It’s just masturbation. It’s a carnal need and it’s totally normal. What you are not proud of is the way you thought about him – out of all people – and how it actually made you feel… a little more motivated to get yourself there.

But it’s a slip-up. A big mistake.

How are you supposed to look him in the eyes after that and act like you didn’t do what you did? Granted, you did stop before it escalated. But still, the point is that you thought about him while you were pleasuring yourself. Even if it was for a tiny bit second, it still counts!

Stupid fucking ovulation, you think to yourself with bitterness. You’re a much better person without it, you swear. You don’t go around thinking about men when you try to get yourself off, not at all! Personally, your head is mostly blank when you go through it.

But Jungkook left two texts. And he’s probably seen the read tag on his end already.

You [12:49pm]: I just got lunch ): thank you for buying me one tho that’s really nice ofu

You turn your phone off after sending your reply, placing it on the empty space of your table. When you look at Taemu, he’s eyeing something behind you. With furrowed brows, the question about what he’s looking at is on the tip of your tongue when he suddenly says,

“Isn’t that Mr. Jeon?”

“W-what?” You stammer, not sure if you heard him right.

The knots on Taemu’s forehead fades, and then he nods to himself. “I’m pretty sure that’s Mr. Jeon. He’s going this way.”

“Wha—”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” Taemu stands up from his seat and does a slight bow for greeting.

Without thinking about it, you mirror Taemu’s action, bowing your head longer than necessary.

“Good afternoon, M-mr. Jeon,”

It’s no use to avoid his gaze, though.

When you look at Jungkook, he seems pretty much just as surprised to see you. You look away, but your eyes fall to his hand, and you see that it carries a take-out paper bag from the restaurant. You think about his text.

“Good afternoon.” Jungkook says with an easy-going smile. He goes from surprised to casual real quick and glosses over you as if he doesn’t know you.

You don’t really know how that makes you feel.

“I was just going, have fun with your lunch.” He says and politely bids his goodbye, going straight to the direction of the restaurant’s door.

“He’s really cool, you know?” Taemu brings up when you both sit down again.

“I— huh?”

“You must have heard about the new project they’re starting at the end of this month, right?” He asks curiously.

You sit there stunned. Stunned from earlier’s interaction with Jungkook but also because you don’t really know what the hell Taemu’s talking about.

“No… I didn’t get any memo…?” You say instead, trying not to act way too oblivious lest he thinks you’re lazy or something. Not that it matters! You’re not trying to impress him or anything.

Taemu nods. “Well, you’ll probably know about it soon.”

But your head's too far gone now, still stuck on what happened a minute ago.

You look over at your phone while Taemu speaks, hoping for it to light up with a new notification from the messaging app.

A few minutes passed by and it doesn’t, even when you leave the restaurant.

You don’t really know why you’re here.

It’s been three days since that night in Jungkook’s place where you tried to bake in his kitchen, so it’s also been three days since you started practicing during the nights after work to perfect your cookies. Tonight, it just so happens that the cookies finally taste edible and honestly, it’s more than okay.

So, maybe that’s why you find yourself in front of Jungkook’s door with a plastic container in your hands, decently-baked cookies prettily arranged inside.

Jungkook was with you when you made those pathetic excuses for cookies, so you thought it’s only fair for him to try these ones and tell you what he thinks. Brag a little. Maybe have a little chitchat if he’s free or whatever.

It’s also… sort of like a peace offering for something he doesn’t need to know about. You can’t tell him you’re sorry for thinking about him when you did the deed because that’s just plain weird.

Speaking of weird, though, the interaction from yesterday left you feeling a little empty. There’s this gnawing feeling inside of you that something went wrong – but you can’t exactly point out why. Jungkook also hasn’t texted you after that – which isn’t out of the ordinary. You don’t text everyday and you don’t meet every single day, either – for the record. You’re both busy people. You can only imagine Jungkook’s schedule.

Anyway, if there’s anything that you learned about your friendship with Jungkook, it’s that you don’t need to lie to him. You just have to knock on his door and he’ll unintentionally clear your doubts by being the voice of reason because he’s nice like that.

You do hope though that tonight clears any weird air between you. Maybe you’ll find out later on that there’s nothing weird going on at all and you’re just overthinking stuff as usual.

You’re about to ring the doorbell twice when the door finally opens, showing you Jungkook still wearing his polo shirt. He looks like he’s just gotten home from work, red tie undone around his neckline and a few buttons popped open.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hey,” Jungkook looks at you, obviously wondering what brought you to his door.

“I wanted to give you this,” you hand him the plastic container which he takes with a confused look. “Those are cookies. I baked them. I didn’t give you anything when I baked two nights ago because they were bad.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods, looking down at the plastic. He smiles, then leans on his doorway. “So it’s good now?”

You gesture a so-so with your hand. “Don’t set your expectations too high. It’s not exactly Poilâne. But it tastes like matcha cookies, I swear.” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, you decide to add, “You also won’t get food poisoning, if you’re worried about that.”

Jungkook gives you an amused look. “I wasn’t… worried about that.”

“It’s a simple disclaimer. Just in case, you know, you suddenly feel weird in the stomach…” Jungkook arches his brow while you trail off. You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “I’m kidding.”

He lets out a chuckle and then stands upright. “Thank you for this.”

“No worries,” you say. You shift your weight from one foot to another. “Uh, do you wanna grab dinner? Right now?”

Jungkook looks at you apologetically.

“I really wish we could, but I have to finish something tonight. Work stuff.”

“Oh,” You nod immediately. “Okay. Uhm, good luck with that.”

He smiles at you. Lifting the container up, he arches his brows, saying, “Thank you, again. It looks good.”

“Yeah, I hope you like it,” You say. Realizing that there’s nothing more left to say, you turn on your heel ready to go. But before that, you look back at him one last time. “Bye.”

Jungkook grins.

“I’ll text you what I think about them.” He says, pointing to the cookies.

“Okay, Anton Ego.”

You both laugh at that, and you enter your apartment with a small smile on your face.

You don’t want to admit it even to yourself, but you might have taken Jungkook’s words about reviewing your baked goods too seriously that you waited for it last night longer than necessary. Even when the night ended and you go to work the next day, which is today, none of his texts come, and you don’t think anything’s coming anytime soon.

You try not to think about it too much because he did say he’s busy with work. You’re sure that’s the case, so you feel slightly bad for him.

Right now, you’re looking for Ms. Seo to get her signature on a document. So you head to the elevator, rushing a bit to get inside the one that’s about to close. It’s a little urgent, so you cannot waste any more time.

As soon as you enter though, you notice who’s in it.

It’s Jungkook and the woman you saw in the elevator two days ago.

You’re starting to think you need to start using the stairs from now on because your elevator trips are getting too ridiculous.

It feels like you’re running on auto-pilot when you greet them both, walking to the side to make space for the other people entering.

You wish you went beside the woman instead and not Jungkook’s side because you then have to try real hard not to look at him.

It proves to be an uneasy task when more people squeeze in as the elevator takes a few stops in between floors. You had to taut all the muscles in your body just to not get into any contact with Jungkook, but even with all the effort, it goes unsuccessful, as you brush his arm when you step back to move a little.

Jungkook looks at you the same time you do.

“I’m sorry.” You utter, low enough to not cause any unnecessary attention.

A few do turn to stare, anyway. And you can’t help but notice the way the woman’s hand moves towards Jungkook’s to hold it as she takes a look at you.

Jungkook, meanwhile, gives you that same professional smile he seems to have reserved for every employee that greets him around the building, warm voice saying, “It’s okay.”

You’re thankful that the next floor is where your stop is.

As you go back to your cubicle, you wonder who the woman is. Again.

There's something about her that feels familiar. She looks familiar. Like you’ve seen her before. You can’t just figure out where exactly.

“__,” Sol calls beside you.

“Huh?”

“You’re not having lunch?” She asks.

“Oh…” Right. It’s currently your break time. “Are you guys going out?” You say, looking at Joonhwi who’s two cubicles away from you.

Sol shakes her head, taking her coat from the back of her chair. “No, just at the cafeteria.”

You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll follow in a few minutes, just need to look over some stuff here,” You point to your computer.

“Okay. Just text me.”

You give Sol a smile and watch as she and Joonhwi head out of the office.

Your gaze falls to the time on your computer.

12:10pm.

Is Jungkook possibly having lunch right now? You remember him buying you one two days ago and feel a little sense of regret about not taking it even though it isn’t your fault and he should’ve told you first to give you a little heads-up.

You never really talked about it. You never really talked for the past three days.

But then again, he seems to be busy.

With a little hope in your heart, though, you pick up your phone and decide to send him a text.

You [12:12pm]: hey do u want to go out for lunch?

Or should you just buy him one like he did for you? It’s not like you’re trying to up him in a kindness competition. It can just be a small, thoughtful gesture from a friend to a friend.

You receive a reply a few seconds after.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: hey __ I’d love to

Your lips curl down when you read the next one that comes in a second.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: but I have a work meeting in 5mins

Oh. Okay. That tracks.

You [12:14pm]: okii!! That’s totally cool! good luck with work 😊

You stand up from your chair and take out your wallet from your bag, going out of your office and sending a quick text to Sol that you’re coming to the cafeteria.

When you get there, your peripheral vision catches a familiar figure.

You look back, trying to see if it’s someone you know.

Turns out it is. Because it’s Jungkook.

You’ve seen him in the elevator this morning and he wore a grey pair of suit. You’d also recognize his stature anywhere, but just like how it was inside the elevator, he’s with the woman again; long hair down like it was yesterday, this time adorning a suit dress that hugs her figure really well, her stilettos making her legs look longer but somehow Jungkook still stands a little taller.

For the very brief moment that you laid your eyes on them, you saw how Jungkook had his hand placed on the low of her back, how she laughed at something he said, and how they looked good together from your point of view. It seemed like they were on their way somewhere.

You realize that was what Jungkook meant when he said he’s busy.

They say a silver lining comes in every worst situation possible, and you’re more of an optimist rather than a pessimist so usually, you believe in the concept of silver linings even though right now – it looks like it’s going to be winning the jackpot in the lottery or… free education for everybody across the world.

“The contractor estimates it would be a week-long repair.”

“One week?” Is your immediate response, disbelief coloring your tone. “I’m sorry—” You try to fix your tone, salvaging yourself from being seen as outright rude in front of your building manager. “You mean seven whole days?”

The building manager, Mr. Han, nods his head. He looks genuinely apologetic as he delivers the news, for the record.

“That’s… really long.” You say, albeit calmer now. But you still can’t imagine it.

“It’s just an estimate. Contractor said it might be faster than that, but they still need to do a full assessment of your unit tomorrow, together with the water damage restoration company. We’re doing all we can to respond to the situation. We’re also talking to your upstairs neighbor about the stipulation of his negligence.”

You nod along to his words.

Obviously, it’s his job to ensure everything’s taken care of, but still, you’re appreciative of the way they are going about the current situation. You’ve heard horror stories about tenants getting into arguments with their building managers or landlords when their apartments experience accidents.

“Can I ask about relocation?” You ask. You have to read your lease again to make sure.

“Unfortunately, it’s not indicated in your lease policy, but your renter’s insurance should cover it. You can also talk to your landlord about reducing your rent for this month due to the inconvenience.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

The plumber and some of the help the building manager employed to dry up your place from the accidental flood had already left a while ago, and soon, Mr. Han’s figure disappears entirely after a few seconds as you watch him walk down the flight of stairs and away from the building.

You can hear the loud whirring of the air movers placed inside your unit from where you stood on your porch. Your hair’s damp, including some spots on your work clothes from the water that trickled down your ceiling as you panicked earlier to pack some of your belongings in a medium-sized luggage you managed to grab in the timeframe.

It’s the state that Jungkook catches you in when you see him emerging from the stairs, looking like he also just got back from work.

“Hey, what happened?” Jungkook, with his brows furrowed, looks at you with worried eyes, sounding equally concerned.

You sigh. “Hey,” you greet weakly. “My apartment got flooded.”

“What?”

“It’s the upstairs neighbor. He apparently left his tub running while he went to work this afternoon,” You take a sharp breath, getting pissed again at the negligence. So goddamn stupid, really. “He flooded his own place and the water leaked to my ceiling, and when I got back home from work I was welcomed with two inches of water on my floor.”

“What the hell?” Jungkook says in disbelief. You nod at his reaction. That is exactly what you said when you heard the story from the property manager. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you appreciate it.

“Not sure about that.” You answer honestly.

Jungkook furrows his brows. “You called your landlord immediately?”

Letting out a sigh again, you nod and move to sit on your suitcase – the lonesome bag that you’re planning to bring with you to wherever the hell you’re going to stay tonight. You don’t even think you have enough clothes in it.

“My place is a complete wreck. Most of the water’s drained, though, and the building manager brought some help inside and they put air movers inside to dry the place right now.” You blow air to the strand of hair that escapes from your ponytail out of frustration. “It’s a shitshow, I know.”

“Good that they responded fast,” Jungkook comments, but concern is still etched on his face as he asks you, “Have you called your insurance company yet?”

“Yeah, we’re emailing right now.” You tell him, showing your phone. You hate sending email through such a small device but you left your laptop back at the office – which is kind of a good thing, now that you think about it – because it would’ve gotten flooded had you left it in your place.

“Did you document everything?”

Your response comes in a little curt.

“Yes, Jungkook. I did.” The onslaught questions just somehow seemed to prompt irritation in you, and you can’t help but add, “I know everything I have to do. I’m an adult.”

Predictably, you render Jungkook surprised.

“I— I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

When you look up at him, you see his expression softening – and you feel bad for what you just did.

Chill, __. He’s just asking logical questions.

“No, I’m sorry,” You shake your head, feeling a little ashamed for bursting like that. You shouldn’t have talked to him like that, anyway. “I don’t know why I snapped, you’re just asking the important questions.”

Jungkook hesitantly hovers his hand on your shoulder, and the look he gives you seems to be asking for permission to touch you. You don’t even know if that’s his intention, but you give him a nod.

He smiles, tapping your shoulder for a brief second, saying, “It’s okay. You must be really stressed right now.”

“You think I can’t be calm in this situation?” You look at him with a blank expression. Jungkook’s taken aback and you witness the very split second his smile drops form his face, probably thinking he said something wrong. Then you can’t help it, you break. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he sees you bursting into a gentle laugh, breaking your serious demeanor.

He shakes his head slowly, seemingly incredulous of the stunt you just pulled.

“You and your jokes…”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You got me.” Jungkook chuckles.

“I’m sorry… it’s just me trying to ignore the fact that my apartment literally got flooded and those loud and big ass fans they placed inside are about to tear my ears off.”

You see the way Jungkook’s face winces.

“Where are you staying for the night, then?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, genuinely not sure about your options. “Probably gonna book a hotel or something.”

Of course you’ve thought about Jimin. He can probably easily help you find a place for the meantime but it’d probably be hard with him not being physically in the country just yet. Sol also crossed your mind, but you remember she has a roommate.

Getting a hotel to temporarily stay at is the most obvious option there is. It would be too much of a hassle, not to mention expensive, but—

“You can stay at mine for the night.”

You think you’re getting around to Jungkook offering you help without you even asking – but it doesn’t mean you still don’t get a little taken aback when he gives it so willingly and so quickly like this.

“No.” You shake your head.

“Seriously.” Jungkook stares at you.

You stare at him right back.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He raised his brow.

“I can’t think of reasons right now.”

“You don’t need to think at all.”

You squint your eyes at him, he does the same.

Soon enough, Jungkook breaks first and laughs.

“Come on! You’re gonna freeze in here.”

Hesitantly, you say, “… Are you sure?”

“What are you worried about?” He cocks his head to the side, awaiting your response.

Well. There’s a lot to be worried about.

There’s the thing where you always just seem to be caught into some shit and then he catches you right exactly in it. It’s starting to get embarrassing.

But Jungkook just doesn’t really seem to mind it.

“Nothing, really.” Is what you weakly settled for.

“Okay…” He trails off, raising a brow, obviously a bit confused. “Then what’s the big deal? Do you really want to go through the hassle of picking out hotels and booking a room at this hour? You have to go to work tomorrow.”

You visibly wince at the mention of work.

He’s right and you kind of hate it.

“You’re right…” you say after a while.

“You’re staying at mine?” Jungkook asks again, in which you nod your head in confirmation.

You stand up from your suitcase and pull up the handle. Then you look at him sincerely to give him a smile. “Thank you. I think this is like the five hundredth time this kind of thing happened between you and I.”

“Not counting.” Jungkook shrugs. “Have you had dinner yet?”

You nod your head. “I went with a friend— a co-worker.”

Jungkook visibly stills.

“The guy from a few days ago at the restaurant around work?”

You perk up at that, surprised he still recalls that day.

“Yeah, that’s him. Taemu. From the IT dep.”

He nods. You don’t know if he’s interested or not.

You think it’s a bit random that he brought that up, though, but you shake the thoughts away and call his name.

Jungkook looks at you.

“Thank you.” You say, hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” Jungkook then gestures to the luggage you’re holding. “Let me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to say yes before he takes the handle from you and carries the luggage with him to the direction of his place just across from yours.

You consciously try to make your steps lighter as you walk out of the shower box, making your way towards your suitcase to check on the clothes you packed.

When you open it, you thank the heavens that there are underwear – and a lot of them, for the record – but as you rummage around some more, you find that other than your work clothes, you only have nightwear inside. And when you say nightwear, not the comfortable cotton pajama kind but the nightie one – and that basically means the baby blue silky set of tiny camisole and shorts that can pass as a pair of panties.

I can’t possibly wear these, you think to yourself, hastily burying the pieces of clothing in the bottom of your luggage.

It shouldn’t mean anything – those are nightwear after all! But it was already embarrassing to ask Jungkook earlier if you could use his shower and his towel. You can’t come out of the bathroom wearing clothes that Jimin once tagged as “slutty pjs”. Not when you’re in Jungkook’s place.

“__?”

You look over to the door when you hear Jungkook’s voice, a knock following.

“Yes?” You answer.

“Do you have clothes in there?”

At the question, your gaze automatically falls to the suitcase where the thin strap of the camisole peeks out in between some other clothes that are completely useless for the night.

With hesitance, you say, “Uhm… do you possibly have a shirt I can borrow? I promise to clean it and return it to you tomorrow, ASAP.”

You hear him chuckle from the other side. “I brought you some. There’s also a pair of sweatpants but I’m not sure if they’ll fit you.”

It’s hard to not celebrate silently when Jungkook says that – but you might have jumped a little at his words.

When you walk towards the door and open it, you give Jungkook a huge smile as you tell him, “Thanks!”

He stops. And then you stop.

You realize you’re only in your towel – his towel, to be exact.

You feel the blood rushing to your cheeks the moment it registers.

Before you can do or say anything, Jungkook moves on quickly and stretches his arm, thrusting the clothes he’s mentioned into your way.

“There.” He says simply, smiling at you.

You take them from his hand, giving him a smile too, albeit a bit awkward.

“T-thanks.”

Jungkook turns on his heel to leave, and you lock the door to the bathroom as soon as he walks away.

You settle his clothes on top of the flat surface of the lavatory, physically shaking your head as you look at yourself in the mirror to shake your thoughts away.

Thoughts of his slightly parted lips when you opened the door while you’re only in a towel.

But it happened in such a split second that you’re not sure if it even happened.

When you take his white shirt, it feels soft to the touch and there’s a scent of fresh laundry that wafts through your nose when you wear it on yourself.

It’s loose on you, the sleeves almost covering your whole arms and the hem stopping mid-thigh. But because of that, it feels comfortable – like the oversized shirts you wear to bed that you, unfortunately, weren’t able to pack with you in the heap of panic.

But the pants show a different case. It’s so big that it drags on the floor as you wear it.

You made do, though; drawing the strings tightly and and knotting them together, pulling up the gartered hems up to your calf.

When you come out of the bathroom, Jungkook welcomes you with nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower half.

“H-hey,” You stammer, eyes meeting his own to avoid looking at his naked torso.

“I was just going in. You done?” He casually says, as if he doesn’t mind being naked in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done. Thanks for the clothes.” You say, gesturing across your body.

“Looks good.” Jungkook comments before entering the bathroom.

You think your cheeks just got impossibly hotter.

The sound of water running is heard before you scramble to the living room.

Why was he naked?!

Okay, he wasn’t actually naked naked but still, he had no clothes on. Why did he have no clothes on? You’re trying to erase the image of his torso, the lines that draw an obvious four-pack, his firm-looking chest, and the way the tattoos over his right arm apparently go way above his shoulder. It’s obvious that he goes to the gym and works out from the way those polo sleeves of his always hug his biceps a little too tight – and with a body like that, you completely understand why he wouldn’t mind parading it around.

The AC in his unit is turned on, but it suddenly feels way too hot from where you currently sit on his couch.

Shut up. Ugh. You tell yourself internally.

Completely wanting out of that headspace, you decide to take out your iPad to get in contact with your insurance company to discuss your current situation, and it does a good job of keeping your mind off Jungkook for a while.

You’re so deep in the activity that you don’t even notice a few minutes has already gone by, and with that, you don’t notice Jungkook coming out of the shower.

When you see him in your periphery, he’s now thankfully dressed in a shirt and some basketball shorts. He’s drying his hair as he walks over to your direction in the living room.

You look at him in surprise when you notice the pillow and comforter he has in his hands.

“Sorry. You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped,” you say, standing up from the couch, ready to help him with it, assuming that you’ll be on the couch tonight.

Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows. “I’m taking the couch.”

You stare at him, ready to hear him say he’s kidding or something but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

You shake your head vigorously.

“No, that’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous about it?” Jungkook says, putting the pillows on the couch, starting to make it all the while looking at you through the process to engage.

“It’s your place.” You reason.

“And you’re my guest.” He says as a matter of fact.

“But—”

Jungkook cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence.

“__, it’s fine, really. You can take my bed. I insist.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off, sounding more like a whine.

He laughs and then looks at you with a playful smile. “Okay, should we compromise? Like, what, share the bed or the couch?”

You ignore the way your cheeks heat up at the suggestion.

You honestly don’t know why Jungkook says these kinds of things. You know it’s just his usual teasing, but he’s about to confuse you one of these days…

“God, no.” You respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles. “Oh, is sleeping with me that repulsive to you?”

You push a little at his shoulder and roll your eyes.

When Jungkook’s done fixing the couch, he gestures to the door by the far end of the room. “Come on, I'll take you to the bedroom.”

You both walk towards that direction and as much as you’ve been over his place for more than once now, you’ve actually never seen his room – and for the record, why would you?

But it looks nice. Just like the rest of his apartment’s interior, his room is also almost the same. Kind of bare, but there are some sleek furniture that add character to the whole place.

“Too cold?” Jungkook asks, and you look at him to see him holding the remote of his AC.

“The temp’s fine.”

He hums and puts down the remote.

“Alright, then. Just call me if you need something.” Jungkook says, gesturing to the door. He’s about to leave when you call him again.

“Good night, Jungkook. Thank you for your bed.”

“Good night, __. Uh… sweet dreams?”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook laughs.

When he leaves, you sit on his mattress covered by black duvets and sheets. It’s soft, and you let yourself bounce on the fluffy surface, delighting at the feel.

It’s about the same size as yours, and when you lay on it, you smell that usual scent that Jungkook always emanates. Clean, crisp, a little sweet. Like fresh apples. Or fresh laundry. He just always smells so… clean.

You feel a little sense of strangeness at the different environment you’re in, but the bed is too soft that you feel like you’re almost floating – and maybe it’s because you are tired from work and drained from the whole fiasco at your apartment, but you fall asleep fast and heavy within just a few minutes.

You almost jump from the bed when you open your eyes and see a different type of bedding, only to realize that you’re actually not in your apartment and in Jungkook’s instead.

After processing that, you begin to do a little stretching, finding that you slept quite well. As you do so, your eyes catch the digital clock on the bedside table, and you read 4:30 am.

It’s a bit too early to start getting ready for work, but maybe if you start prepping now, you’ll be ready to go out just as when Jungkook is waking up.

When you stand from the bed, you discover the absence of pants around your waist, the cold air sending goosebumps over your bare legs – and as expected, you see the sweats getting caught in between the heaps of dark sheets on the bed.

You must have taken it off in the middle of the night. It’s why you usually forgo pants when you sleep.

You decide against wearing it again, though, assuming that Jungkook is still sound asleep by now so he can’t possibly see you walking around his place naked from the waist down. Besides, the shirt’s big and almost serves as a dress.

Carrying the pants with you, you silently open the door to his bedroom to tiptoe on your way to the bathroom.

“Hey,”

“Jesus christ!” You clutch your heart at the sudden sound of Jungkook’s voice booming across the unit.

When you look at him, he’s… working out. Apparently.

Jungkook takes out the airpods from his ears and drink from his tumbler.

“What are you tiptoeing for?” He asks, brows furrowed.

From where you stand, you see droplets of sweat on the side of his forehead, his chest heaving from the push-ups you catch him doing a few seconds ago on the mat that he laid on the floor. There are small weights on the side, and Jungkook is still wearing his clothes from last night.

Did he possibly just… wake up and then choose to exercise? Is this his everyday routine?

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you make up an excuse that’s kind of partly true. He slept on the couch in the living room, after all. And from the sala, everything is pretty much visible to the eye as the unit has an open layout. So one single noise could’ve awakened him.

“Too late for that,” Jungkook chuckles. He looks at you longer than a second and you’re just about to get conscious when he asks, “You get ready for work at four?”

You purse your lips into a thin line. “Sort of. I also have to check my place.” Jungkook nods, understanding. “Uh, Jungkook?” He hums to acknowledge you. “Can I use your shower? Again?”

He laughs at the way you smile at him awkwardly. “Sure. Your towel’s just over the rack.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him and go straight to the bathroom.

You make quick work of washing yourself, and the shower, just like last night, isn’t your usual routine because of course, most of your stuff are still over at your place. Though Jungkook is kind enough to lend you some of his unused products – even giving you a spare toothbrush which now sits beside his own on the bathroom sink.

When you finish showering, you wear his shirt and his pants once again. As you go out of the bathroom, the sound of oil popping from the kitchen doesn’t escape your ears.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook says as you make your way towards the kitchen island. He’s a few steps away, working around the stove, frying up some sausage. He takes some eggs and then turns to you. “How do you like your eggs?”

You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by that, but then you both laugh at the realization anyway.

“Sunny side up.” You say after a while, seating yourself on one of the high stools. “Can I help you?”

“It’s okay, just sit there.”

You put your elbow on the island as you watch him work. “Wow, do you really treat all your guests like this?” You tease, deciding to poke a joke.

Jungkook laughs as he starts breaking eggs into the frying pan.

“You’re the first one.” He raises a brow your way, lips tilted into a playful smile.

“Awe.” You pretend to curtsy which makes Jungkook laugh.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook serves you a plate of sausage and perfectly-made sunny side up. You say a delighted “thank you!” in which Jungkook returns an adorable smile for.

You thought he was going to eat with you, but he only ate the sausage and began to work on cutting up some bananas while you continued to eat.

“What did they say about your apartment? How long is the repair?” Jungkook asks while he takes out a mixer.

“Week-long,” He visibly winces at your answer. You purse your lips. “I’m trying to look for a place to stay for the remaining days.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Lease doesn’t cover relocation?”

“Talked to the building manager and the landlord last night and they said it doesn’t. I also read the policy again myself last night, though, just to be sure. Anyway, landlord’s cutting my rent this month for up to thirty, so that’s something.”

“Okay… how about your stuff?”

As you watch Jungkook during the whole conversation, you realize that he’s apparently making a protein shake, and when he finishes shaking the bottle, he gestures it towards you, silently asking if you want to try it.

You shake your head, also answering his question. “I already filed a claim on it with my insurance company, so they’re handling it for me. They’re probably going to seek reimbursement from my upstairs neighbor’s insurance if he has one,” You shrug. “And I’m also gonna have to ask him to pay for the deductible.”

Jungkook nods, consuming his drink. You watch as he leans back on the kitchen sink, putting his protein shake down and crossing his arms, looking right at you.

“Why don’t you stay here for a while?”

You look right back at him weird.

“You’re not serious.”

“When am I not serious?”

You hold a staring competition after that, but Jungkook’s eyes are way too intense so you break away first.

“I just can’t.” You say, interrupting the silence.

“It’s friend to a friend. I bet you’d do this for me too.” Jungkook shrugs.

He doesn’t understand, though. Staying at his place for the remaining six days would mean that you’d be both living under the same roof together, and while it’s true that you would probably do this for him if he was in your shoes, it’s just not the same.

But you don’t want to get into all that. It’s too complicated to explain, even to yourself.

So you decide to joke a little.

“Probably not.” You tease.

Jungkook chuckles. “Mean.” He comments, shaking his head at you and playfully clicking his tongue.

“I’m joking,” you smile apologetically. “It’s just for six more days, though. The manager told me it might take faster.”

“Where do plan to stay, anyway? A hotel would be really inconvenient. The nearest one around here is too far from work, not to mention it’d be expensive as well.”

“There’s loss of use coverage,” You say, even though you know the stipulation, and your apartment flooding because of your neighbor’s negligence might probably not be in the clauses.

It’s just to reason with Jungkook, but he’s quick to present another point.

“It’s gonna take a long while, no?”

You pout. Sighing, you say, “You’re right.”

“Okay, so why not stay here?” Jungkook asks curiously. “You know I don’t mind. I won’t mind.” He says and it sounds so convincing and genuine.

You decide to deflect a little because you feel like giving in any seconds now.

“You say that but wait until you find that I’m not very likeable as a roommate.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Shoot. Hit me.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you try to think of your bad habits.

“I…” you trail off, but it stretches into seconds way longer than necessary.

Jungkook chuckles. “See, you can’t even list one.”

“I don’t cook.” You point out.

“I already know that.”

You frown. “So we can’t take turns cooking while I stay here.”

Jungkook only shrugs. “There’s take-out.”

“You’re gonna eat take-out for a week?”

“I can cook.” He chuckles.

“Okay… but sometimes, I get super cranky.”

He nods. “I’ll be out of your way, then. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

You sigh, out of reasons now.

“I’ll try to be helpful with you in the kitchen for the next six days. And I’ll also be nice.”

Jungkook’s brows perk up. “You’re saying you want to stay here?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But… I wan to pay you.”

“__, the whole reason why I’m offering is because a hotel is gonna cost you,” Jungkook laughs.

That prompts you to put a frown on your face.

“Fair point. But I’m going to take your couch the entire time, okay? And that’s final.”

It takes a little longer for Jungkook to agree to that. But he nods his head, anyway, saying, “Sure.”

It sounds so non-committal. You think he's going to still try insisting taking the couch.

“Okay.” You say, ignoring that thought, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

“You know you’re always welcome, right?” Jungkook says.

You’re thankful he turns around after he says that to tend to the stuff he used a while ago in the sink, giving you a perfect leeway to avoid his gaze lest he takes notice of the way you can’t help a big smile.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Finish your breakfast.” He says, pointing to your unfinished plate.

You give him a small salute.

Before he goes to the direction of the bathroom, Jungkook turns around to ask. "Do you want to go to work together?" He raises a brow, but then a second after his question, he puts a hand up, effectively stopping you from answering. "You're gonna say no. But I insist. Say yes, I made you breakfast."

You laugh at his squinted eyes.

"I was going to say yes, anyway."

"No, you weren't." Jungkook fires back.

You shoo him away playfully before he finally leave for the shower.

All you can think about is that maybe silver linings are indeed true.

Sharing a space with somebody has always felt… weird.

You had a roommate back in college for the whole four years, and while it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you – it was just an experience that didn’t really strike you as something memorable or fun. Min Heeji was a Bio major who was an extreme introvert, and past the casual hi’s and hello’s, you both just never hit it off.

After moving out of your dorm, you rented around Itaewon. You found the unit through a listing you saw on Facebook – some woman who was finding a roommate to split the rent with. You found out later that the reason why the previous people before you left was because she was quite an interesting lady… let’s just say – she was a person who dabbled on the arts of illegal drug trading. Jimin jokingly told you he wondered about how her weed tasted like. Sometimes, you want to smack him on the head.

You pretty much decided on being against roommates for the entirety of your life after that.

But Jeon Jungkook is thankfully not a total hermit, nor does he sell weed.

It’s been long since you lived with somebody, and being under the same roof as him is different – the good kind of different, to be clear.

He’s somewhat a clean freak so it’s almost embarrassing to do anything in his place because it’s always so spot clean.

One thing that you learned though is that he’s a busy man. You had an idea about a packed schedule and non-existent free time for an executive person like him – but the idea feels more real now that you’ve witnessed it.

On the first day of your stay, after your apartment got flooded, he drove you both to work just like he offered. During the night, though, he seemed to have come home late. You slept at around 10pm and never saw him entering the door, and when you woke up the next day, he’s gone, only a note on the fridge telling you that he’s prepared some breakfast you can heat up to eat.

Nonetheless, you feel into quite an easy routine with him.

After a great deal of insistence from your side, Jungkook is rightfully assigned in his bedroom while you lay on the couch. It’s a bit bigger than the one you have on your own, so there’s space for moving around. Even when you wake up with shitty back pains in the mornings, sleeping on his couch is better than sleeping in your current wreck of an apartment as the contractor is already repairing your place.

As of the third day since the incident, they’ve already changed your ceiling, the flooring coming next. It was starting to look good as per your visit.

That made it clearer to you, though, that you’re indeed staying at Jungkook’s for another four days.

Jungkook was so busy that he even worked on a Saturday – told you that it was a hectic week for his team over a shared dinner that you thought will happen only once during your stay with his packed schedule. On Sunday, you kind of assumed that Jungkook will still be at the office, but he surprised you when he came barging in the bathroom while you were in it.

You had your leg propped on the edge of the bathtub, squeezing the bottle of lotion in your palm and spreading the cream over the skin of your shin, adjusting the towel up your thighs so you can cover your entire leg with the product.

You did so mindlessly, part of your usual after-shower routine, completely unassuming of the sound of the doorknob clicking and Jungkook suddenly barging inside the room with a hamper in his hand.

Frozen in your position, your eyes locked into his own as he stepped a foot forward on the tiled floor. You realized the hamper is his laundry.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” Jungkook apologized, and he looked genuinely bashful.

“I thought you were at work.” you said, adjusting the towel on the top of your head.

Jungkook raised a brow, but there’s a smile on his lips. “On a Sunday?”

You narrowed your eyes at him which prompted him to laugh. A beat of silence, and then you noticed Jungkook’s gaze. You felt his eyes to the direction of your raised leg on the porcelain tub – and if your own sight didn’t deceive you, you could’ve sworn he’d made a quick glance-over to the expanse of your bare leg before he snapped right back into looking at your face.

“Anyway, I was just gonna do my laundry,” Jungkook twisted himself away from the bathroom’s door. “I’ll wait for you to finish, though. I’m sorry again for barging in.”

At that, you quickly shook your head and planted both your feet on the tiles, standing upright.

“No, it’s fine. I’m done, anyway. Are you in a hurry? I just need to change into some… clothes.” You said, glancing at the heap of some pajama pants and a t-shirt on the bathroom sink.

“Not in a hurry. You can change here.” Jungkook gave you a small smile.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be super quick.”

Your lips curled into an apologetic smile, but Jungkook waved you off.

He took one last look at you before he locked the door – one thing that you forgot to do in the very first place.

You blamed it on your habit of not really being mindful about it since you were used to living alone.

The day after that – one fateful Monday – Jungkook once again was MIA at his own place. You woke around 6 am, and as you got ready for work, you noticed a note on his fridge that he went to work earlier than usual that day, and he’d also be working late so you should lock up at night.

At the company, you did not even catch a single glimpse of him.

You bought some food on your way to his place later that day, thinking that maybe you could share a meal together – nevermind the fact that he had told you he was going to be home late. But you did not expect his “late” would exceed past 11 pm, and since you were also pretty much tired from your own activities for that day, you fell asleep on the couch without making it, lying on the surface with no pillows and comforter over your body.

In your dreams that night, you felt like you were floating.

Somebody has tucked their arms under your knees and neck, taking you off the previous surface you were lying on. The unfamiliar man cradles your body against his, carrying you somewhere and putting you on a much softer place. A mattress. A big, soft, mattress. And you noted that the man smelled of green apples and laundry. An almost familiar scent.

Needless to say, your dream was quite vivid that night.

When you woke up the next morning, you were welcomed with the familiar grey paint of the walls – the white ceiling, and the dark sheets and pillows that surrounded you. A waft of fresh laundry smell. The Iron Man figurine on the top shelf of the cabinet in the corner of the room. The black slippers on the side of the door that are way too big to be yours.

Jungkook.

The strange man in your dreams was Jungkook. And it wasn’t a dream at all.

It was Jeon Jungkook who carried you all the way to his bedroom from the sofa so you could sleep comfortably on it.

When you went out of his room that morning, ready to thank him and tell him he didn’t have to do what he did, feeling bad at the thought of him sleeping on his couch at his own place, Jungkook was nowhere to be found.

But as if it was becoming tradition, there was a note on his fridge that told you: I hope you don’t mind that I brought you to my room. I found you uncomfortable on the couch last night. Didn’t cook us breakfast because I have to go to work early again today, but I’ll have food delivered at around 7. Good morning, __ :)

— Jungkook.

That night, though, Jungkook miraculously came home early.

He arrived an hour after you, just in time as you finished doing the prep for the bibimbap you were planning to eat on your own, assuming Jungkook was going to be late again. When you saw him entering the door, you decided to make the portions of the ingredients bigger, thinking that it was the perfect opportunity to say thank you for the other night.

And you did not forget to say that either.

“Thank you for last night. You didn’t have to…” you trailed off, giving him a sheepish smile across the dining table as you both ate.

Jungkook, with his mouth full of rice – seemingly (thankfully) enjoying the meal you prepared for him – munched on it before he said, “You looked real tired. And uncomfortable, which reminds me, you should sleep in the bedroom as well tonight.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jungkook. Last night was just – uh, I was waiting for you to come home because I didn’t want to just lounge around your living room while you aren’t around, but then I guessed you arrived a little late.”

Out of all the things you’d said, it seemed Jungkook only remembered one thing.

“You were waiting for me to come home?” He said, his hand reaching for the side dish pausing mid-air, eyes trained to you. Curious, his brow piqued in what seemed like genuine intrigue.

You stopped. You went over your words, not realizing those came out of your mouth.

Obviously, you didn’t mean for that to slip out.

So, you shook your head slowly. Hesitantly, you reasoned, “It’s just you’re always in your room first before I fix the couch for bedtime. So.” You shrugged, knowing your explanation didn’t suffice.

Jungkook gave you a nod with small a smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, then. It’s just extra busy at the company these days.”

Your brows furrowed in curiosity, “Yeah, I heard about the collaboration with Kang Tech.”

You found out about it at work that day. It’s in the accounts payable you’ve worked on the past few days, and when you asked Joonhwi and Sol about it, they confirmed the recent moves the company is recently making.

You also realized then that the reason why the mystery woman in the elevator was familiar to you was because you’ve seen pictures of her before.

Of course you’d know her. She’s the woman Jimin’s parents are trying to set him up with. The one and only Kang Heesu. She took over as CEO just very recently at Kang Tech.

Apparently, Blue Nexus and Kang Tech are collaborating on a product that will be announced later during the month – which explains her being at the company oftentimes, Jungkook being busy, drowned with work stuff – them working closely together.

Whatever you felt on that day you saw them together – you’d like to dismiss that as just a blip in the system. Your system, to be exact.

It isn’t any of your business whoever gets around with Jungkook. Whether he’s close with Kang Heesu outside work or not (like what you’ve pondered about ever since finding out about the information of their collaboration) – that’s their thing.

“Yeah, the team’s been working overtime because of it.” Jungkook added to your words from earlier.

“So, you’re more tired than I am,” You pointed out, noting the obvious. He went to work at the ass-crack of dawn, went home late, and whenever he was home – all he faced was his laptop.

You even doubt he was getting enough sleep. There were bags under his eyes that weren’t there the past month you first met him – and even though he carried them with a certain grace, you could still see that some of the shine in his eyes was becoming absent.

You were glad you were able to prepare something for him. Did something for him. You didn’t have to – but you did. Because you wanted to be a helpful roommate.

“Does it show?” Jungkook chuckled, leaning back on the chair, a bashful expression on his face.

You shook your head. “Nope. But yeah, you don’t need to give up your bedroom tonight. I’ll be fine here.”

“I actually bought something. Wait a minute,” Jungkook suddenly said. Your brows furrowed when you watched him saunter over the living room and in towards his bedroom. When he came back to the dining area, he was carrying a huge paper bag. You looked at him, visibly confused. Jungkook cleared his throat as he sat back down on his seat. “I was thinking you could use this. It’s a foldable cushion or whatever so you can sleep more comfortably on the couch.”

You gawked at the paper bag, and then at him.

“What?”

“I went to the mall yesterday and the lady told me this is one of their best sellers… I don’t know. Do you want to have a look at it?” Jungkook said, worry seeping in his tone.

“That’s a… cushion? For the couch?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could utter. You didn’t really know what to say. “I… this is really thoughtful. You didn’t have to, you know that, right?”

Jungkook shook his head and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You told him sincerely.

“It’s nothing.” He waved you off. “I got that dry-cleaned already, by the way, so you can use it tonight if you really insist on sleeping on the couch.” Jungkook said with a teasing smile.

“That,” you point to the paper bag, “will single-handedly get me to want to live here for another three months.”

Jungkook raised his brow. “Really?”

You chuckled, leaving the conversation up on the air.

When you both finished your meal, you offered to do the dishes yourself, but Jungkook was insistent to do it, saying you’ve already done a lot for the day. You begged to differ, but you relented, anyway.

After you showered and made the couch, geeking internally at how soft the cushion he bought was, you couldn’t sleep right away, your mind finding it hard to focus on the lull of the crickets. So, at around 11 pm, you opened your laptop to pull up an X-Files episode, thinking it could condition you into being sleepy.

You promised yourself you were just going to finish one more episode, but the next episode button was too tempting and you found yourself binging the show into the wee hours of the night.

“__?” A voice coming from the far end of the room called, followed by the clicking sound of the lights turning on. With that, you found Jungkook standing on his door with his eyes half-lidded, hands rubbing his chest, seemingly having just woken up from his sleep.

“Jungkook,” you acknowledged him, straying your attention from your show. Jungkook started to trot towards the direction of the kitchen, and your eyes followed him as he stopped in front of his fridge, taking some water out and pouring it into a glass.

After he drank it, he looked at you to ask, “Can’t sleep?” You nodded your head. He made his way towards the couch, pointing at it. “Would you mind?”

“No, do you want to?” You adjusted the duvet you put all over your back to make room for him, and Jungkook placed himself beside you, peering over the screen on your laptop.

“What are you watching?” He asked, voice a little groggy.

“The X-Files. You know the show?”

“Heard about it a few times. Never gotten around to watch it, though,” Jungkook said, leaning on the back of the couch, eyes still glued to your laptop.

You smiled. “Maybe you can start it now.”

“What’s it about?”

“Uh… aliens,” you started off, feeling a little silly about it. Gauging his reaction, you waited for him to give you a judgmental look but he seemed to be intrigued when he looked at you, asking for more details. You perked up that, feeling suddenly excited. “Okay, so, the guy here – his name’s Mulder. He’s an FBI agent who’s tasked on cases that have, you know, unexplainable nature. Basically, he believes in aliens, all that ET stuff,” you explained. Right on time, Gillian Anderson appears on frame. Pointing at her, you looked at Jungkook as you introduced her to him, “And the woman – she’s so pretty – that’s Scully. She’s a skeptic. She’s an FBI agent who’s also a scientist and was assigned to be with him to debunk his work.”

“So, they investigate cases together?” Jungkook added.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, and it’s different for each episode. There’s the alien storyline which is like, the main plot of the show, but there’s the fun filler episodes. Monster of the week, they call it. I’m rewatching one of those right now ‘cause they’re fun and don’t have a backstory.”

“It sounds good,” Jungkook looked impressed, training his eyes back on the show.

You weren’t sure if he was just trying to make a conversation, but he seemed genuinely interested as you both watched the show, which tickled your excitement more. You’ve tried to get Jimin into it but he wasn’t really an avid fan of watching long shows, so you’ve given up on trying to convince him to be as obsessive of the show as you.

“Do they kiss?” Jungkook suddenly asked mid-episode, brows furrowed as he watched Mulder wiped something off the side of Scully’s lips. It’s the episode when Scully just got back from being abducted.

Amused, you looked at him and let out a chuckle. Jungkook turned to look at you, confused at the reaction.

“Hm?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just funny. So, there’s a thing in this show, right? Scully and Mulder are not supposed to be a couple, but they act like one.”

Jungkook let out a seemingly enlightened, “Ah.” Then he looked at your screen again, “I’m watching it right now out of context and I’m assuming they’re a couple.”

“Right? They have such insane chemistry. It’s why I love this show so much.”

“Wait. They never get together? Or kiss, romantically?” Jungkook asked curiously.

“They kiss on the seventh season. We’re on the second one.”

“Wow,” He breathed, genuinely surprised. “That’s a long wait.”

“I know,” you chuckled.

You both sat beside each other as the episode finished. Jungkook would have some questions, and you happily answered each one. It was also fun to share some lore about the show – and you didn’t know if you were coming off too geeky about it – you were just unbelievably excited that he seemed to genuinely like it.

Time passed without you both noticing, and it was 2:23 am when you became hesitant on clicking the next episode button.

“Do you still want to watch another one or…” You trailed off, eyes glued to the screen, waiting to hear Jungkook’s response. But then a few seconds passed, and you didn’t receive one. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widened when you see the state Jungkook was in.

He was leaning far back on the couch with his head resting on the backrest, arms crossed over his chest, lips slightly parted with his eyes shut closed. You could see his chest rising and falling from the way he breathed in and out of sleep, looking quite peaceful regardless of his seemingly uncomfortable position.

You shut your mouth and closed your laptop quietly, trying to be careful with your movements so as to not disturb him and accidentally wake him up. Stretching your back to lean down, your breath hitched as you tried to set the laptop down on the coffee table, not daring to graze any part of Jungkook’s body, especially when his thigh was so closed to your own.

When you successfully put away the device, you went back to sitting beside him, contemplating on your next move.

You ended up staring at him, noting the way his biceps are bulging out of the sleeves of his white shirt with a thin material from their crossed position. Your eyes trailed down to the veins on his forearms, and naturally, you focused in on the one with the swirls of ink around it. It was a body of art on the first look – but looking at it at that moment – close up and free, you took time to identify the drawings on his skin.

There was that snake that trailed down close to his hand, the skeletal rock n’ roll hand, and the script that says “rather be dead than cool”. It was a shame that you couldn’t see from your current view the flower tattoo you were always curious about, nevertheless, the entirety of his inked arm was just… breathtaking, to say the least.

You wanted to ask him what they meant – or if they even meant something. You knew by now he only got them in college – when he moved to the US – and you were just curious about how he decided to get them; about the backstory, anything… Would love to trace down your fingers on his skin as he tells you the exact moment.

And then you realized what you were doing and suddenly looked away.

You felt like a creep. What were you doing, staring at him while he was unaware, unconscious in his sleep? It was not right, and you were supposed to scoot over to the edge to give him plenty of space all for himself.

But as you looked at him again, your eyes stopped at his face, and you couldn’t help but stare at it.

Again.

His nose was something you weirdly have a liking to, and there’s a scar on his cheek that once again bubbled up another layer of curiosity within you.

“Stop it.” You mumbled out loud – not loud enough for Jungkook to hear – but just enough to snap yourself out of the trance you were in.

It was stupid. So stupid. To stare at a sleeping man and have those thoughts inside your head. Jungkook would never do anything like this to you, and at that sentiment, you stood up from the couch to get away.

You caught a sight of the duvet that you used a while ago. As you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to be in dire need of one, so you made quiet steps to put it over him, stopping your breathing in case you did it too loud and he wakes up.

As you carefully laid out the blanket on top of his body, Jungkook stirred, and your breath hitched as you stopped on your tracks.

He mumbled something incoherent, his neck craning to lay on his cheek. Regardless, he stayed on his position, arms still crossed, seemingly going back to his deep sleep instantly.

You stepped out in front of him, letting out a breath of relief.

Standing there for a few seconds, you wondered about where you were going to stay. Jungkook was on the couch and unlike him – you could not carry him to his room without him noticing.

Looking at the direction of said room, you thought about staying there for the night, but decide against it. You didn’t get his permission to do so, it’d be rude—

But the couch is only one, though. And you could feel a yawn ready to come out of your own mouth, sleep lurking at the back of your head.

You could try to wake Jungkook up to tell him to go to his room so he could sleep more comfortably, but you couldn’t do it. The past few days, he had been so busy with work and seemed like he wasn’t getting enough rest. What if you woke him up and he couldn’t go back to sleep anymore? That would just make you feel bad.

Getting the pillow strewn over the edge, you walked towards the direction and fixed it against the arm rest, sitting on the spot and making yourself comfortable on it. Of course, it wasn’t – you were craning your neck too far to the side to try to lay your head, and your body was sprawled in a weird sitting and lying position.

It was fine, though. Jungkook was about two feet away from you, and you felt like you could sleep in the state.

But it was a few long minutes before it completely overtook you.

There’s a feeling of a hard plane against your back when you feel yourself waking up.

You’re in a curled position, hands tucked under your cheeks. As much as you’re starting to slowly feel conscious, you’re still not a hundred percent aware of your surroundings just yet. It’s why you ignore the blow of hot air against the crook of your neck.

When you blearily open your eyes, you’re welcomed with the sight of the back of the grey couch you’ve accustomed yourself with over the past few days. The white foldable cushion you’re lying on. The familiar scent of Jungkook’s apartment.

It’s another usual morning, as far as you’re concerned.

So, you stretch an arm up as well as your leg, groggily mumbling something as you go back to closing your eyes again to hopefully sneak in a few more minutes of sleep.

“Hmm…”

At the sudden sound, your eyes snap open, surprised at the embodied voice that came out somewhere that’s definitely not from your own mouth. It was close, though – something close to your neck; you felt it so – and at that realization, your eyes trail down to your waist, and your breath catches in your throat when you see an arm wrapped around it.

Under your head is another arm that adorns a familiar sleeve tattoo.

When you crane your neck to look behind you, you’re welcomed by Jungkook’s locks of black and messy hair, his face apparently buried in the crook of your neck.

He must’ve felt you move because he stirs in his position, mumbling something, arm tightening around you.

You feel your heart starting to beat faster than usual as you feel the tips of Jungkook’s fingers resting on the bare skin of your stomach due to your camisole riding up, and your eyes continue to widen when you saw that the shirt he’s worn last night is now lying haphazardly across the coffee table where your laptop is.

When Jungkook pushes himself against you closer, that’s when you feel something hard against the cleft of your ass.

“Oh my god!”

“What the fuck!”

“I’m so sorry!” You immediately say, retreating your hands that just pushed him off the couch once everything registered in your head.

You just… slept with each other! You woke up with Jungkook spooning you! The hard plane against your back that you felt earlier was his chest and the hot air blowing in your ear was his breath! You both fell asleep together on the couch!

Jungkook – the poor man – visibly winces as he cradles the back of his head, adjusting himself on the floor after you forcefully yeeted him off the couch.

He didn’t expect that, of course he didn’t! He still looks like he’s half asleep when you kneel on the floor in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and craning your neck to check if you’ve done damage to his head.

“What the hell was that for?” Jungkook asks, still lost about what just happened.

You grimace as you hesitantly put your palm over the back of his head and rub to soothe the pain you’ve caused him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just surprised and shocked when I–”

You stopped speaking when you notice that Jungkook is looking up at you, eyes half-lidded from sleep. Stopping your ministration on the back of his head, you retreat your hands to yourself and look away.

“We slept together.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his tone incredulous, but more like confused. When you train your eyes to him again, you see him looking down on his body and then yours.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize what you just said.

“Oh my god, no! Not slept slept with each other! I mean, we slept together. Like, literally.” You say, looking at him in panic.

Jungkook furrows his brows. And then after a beat of silence, he lets out a low, “Oh.”

“Oh?” You parrot back.

“Yeah, oh,” He says drily. Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fists and then looks at you again. “I’m sorry, I feel disoriented. I just woke up.”

You wince at that, feeling bad for pushing him again.

It was just a reflex thing, okay! Especially when you felt that certain something in your ass.

When Jungkook stands up from the floor, you notice the strings of his grey shorts getting undone, and your eyes betray you as they pay a look at the noticeable bulge on his crotch.

Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

You stand up quickly, following after him, feeling your heart hammer in your chest.

Okay, boo-fucking-hoo! Men get boners in the mornings. What’s the big deal about it?

“What time is it?” Jungkook asks, brushing his hair back, and you have to physically look away and try to busy yourself by looking for your phone so you can ignore his naked chest on display and his abs and stupid big arms.

You spot your phone nearby and turn it on.

“Six thirty.”

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses.

You’ve never heard him let out so many curses before.

“What? It’s still early.” you say, in case he was referring to work.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I was supposed to get ready at five am sharp. Need to go there early.”

“Oh.”

He groans, and the sound makes your stomach feel a little weird.

“I have to go shower,” Jungkook says, picking up his shirt from the coffee table. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Huh?” You realize what he’s talking about and is then quick to shake your head. “No, not your fault. I, uh, you fell asleep on the couch last night and I didn’t want to wake you.”

He nods, more like to himself. “How did we…?” Jungkook points between you, eyeing the couch.

“I didn’t want to use your bed without your permission, so I slept on the couch as well,” But then you decide to add, “But I didn’t sleep beside you, I was like –” you point to the edge of the couch, “there.”

“Ah,” Jungkook follows your eyes, and then nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” you purse your lips into a thin line. “Sorry about that. I should’ve just woken you up, huh?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Well, is it okay if I use the shower first?”

“Of course.”

Jungkook smiles before he saunters towards the bathroom. You try not to stare at the hard lines of his retreating back, taping down to his narrow waist.

You failed to do that, obviously.

Sighing out loud when you’re sure he can’t hear you, you busy yourself in the kitchen to make some toast.

After work, you paid a quick visit to your apartment to see how it’s going, since you’re supposed to be able to come back tomorrow.

Your building manager told you that you can pretty much move back already, but there’s no water yet, so you will still have to stay at Jungkook’s place for the last time. At least for another night.

Speaking of him, when you step out on your porch, you see him in front of his own unit, back turned to you, opening his door.

“Hey,” you call. Jungkook turns on his heel, and he smiles as he sees you.

“Hey,” He greets, his hand pausing on the door. Jungkook gives you his undivided attention as he looks at you. “Your apartment’s fine now?”

You nod happily, grinning widely. “Yeah. But I have no water yet. They’re turning it on tomorrow.” You saunter towards his direction and stop beside him. Pointing to the paper bags in his hands, you ask, “What’s that?”

Jungkook lifts them up. “Soju and Midday Miso take-out.” Then, hesitantly, he looks at you curiously. “Do you drink?”

That prompts you to laugh.

“Of course. Are you drinking tonight?”

He nods his head. “Yeah. I was gonna ask you to drink with me… but if you’re not up for it, I’ll just be in my room.”

You cock your head to the side.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Nothing. Just thought I could loosen up.”

You nod in understanding.

You think about asking him how work’s been, but decide against it, not wanting to pry in case he doesn’t want to talk about any of it.

As you both enter his apartment, it’s almost so domesticated how you take off your shoes and put them in the rack in the threshold. Jungkook wears his black sliders while you wear your baby blue ones. Following him into the living room, it’s almost wild to see yourself being so familiar with his place already.

“Where can we watch The X-Files?” Jungkook asks suddenly after he set the bags on the table, going for the remote and turning on the TV.

You look at him in surprise, not expecting him to ask that.

You answer nonetheless, and Jungkook clicks on the show once it shows up on the screen.

“Do you really want to start with the pilot episode?” You chuckle when he hovers over it.

Jungkook grins. “I enjoyed it last night. Maybe this could be a new favorite.”

“Woah,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Do you know how much I have to convince Jimin to watch this show?”

“Jimin doesn’t like shows. I wanted him to watch Suits but he said he couldn’t stand Harvey Specter – which is fair.”

“Oh my god, that’s also what he told me when I recommended Suits!” You say. You narrow your eyes at him, excited about the information. “So… you like Suits?”

Jungkook nods. “Sort of like a guilty pleasure? I used to watch it a lot in college. My roommate studied law and started telling me about how inaccurate it was, but it’s fun regardless,” He says with a shrug. “Sue me.”

“I know, right! People always wanna be smart about procedural dramas, but I think it’s just camp they can’t comprehend,” You shake your head, feeling a certain high bubble inside you. You lean your elbows on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, thoughts on Jessica Pearson?”

Jungkook grins. “A dream.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so glad you have the correct opinion.”

Jungkook laughs at that, and you begin to eat the take-out he bought, The X-Files playing on the big screen before you.

“You went home early today,” you comment as you take the shot glass he offers you.

A few minutes has passed already and you’re beginning to open the bottles of soju, Midday Miso take-out boxes all finished.

“Managed to finish early tonight. That’s probably why I wanted to drink,” Jungkook says, tipping his head back to drink from his own bottle. “Also, it’s your last day here.”

You nod. With a teasing smile, you jab, “Are you going to miss me?”

Jungkook looks at you briefly.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You ask incredulously, feigning hurt.

He chuckles. “I liked your little dance in the kitchen last Sunday.”

Your lips part, recalling that time when you reheated some pizza during the night. As far as you were concerned, Jungkook was in his bedroom at that time!

“You saw that?” You say, embarrassed.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because he chuckles and begins to sound comforting when he says, “Some part of it, yeah. Megan Thee Stallion would love to perform with you, I think.”

“Oh my god, no,” You giggle, covering your face with your hands because if he caught you during that part, it means he saw you trying to throw it back. “Yeah, I think I’m packing my things right now.”

Jungkook laughs, and his eyes crinkle as he does so, overjoyed at your tactics.

“I thought you wanted to drink with me?”

You squint your eyes. “Just because I feel sorry for pushing you off the couch this morning.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Yeah, that hurt. I think I have a bump on my head right now.”

You stop, eyes widening. “Seriously?”

Jungkook presses his lips together and nods. You grow concerned, ready to lean over the table to check the back of his head, but as you do so, Jungkook makes a sound of stifling his laugh and you realize he’s fucking with you.

“That’s so mean.” you say, going back to your side and pouting at him.

“Not meaner than you pushing me off the couch.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. You just surprised me, 's all!”

Jungkook laughs and nods his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere.”

You scrunch your face. “Me too.”

And then a beat of silence.

Jungkook tips his head back for another sip of his alcohol. When he looks at you again, a gentle smile is playing on his lips.

“I had a good night sleep, though. Did you?”

He looks at you with something in his eyes – something soft and gentle – his gaze making the hair on your nape stand and your cheeks burn.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The night continues to envelope your surroundings and as time passes by, the empty bottles of soju multiply.

You’ve always had a high tolerance for alcohol – and soju, in particular, is generally not too strong for you personally. With one bottle in, you don’t feel hammered just yet. There’s a daze at the back of your head that you’re starting to feel, though. One and a half is your limit, sometimes two – you’ve had that down since college.

Jungkook seems to share the same trait, it seems like. You noticed he’s on his second one, and even though his cheeks are starting to get painted red, he still speaks with you like he’s a hundred percent conscious and not like alcohol’s hit his system already.

“It’s so hot,” you say, popping open the first two buttons of your shirt. Jungkook’s coat has long been disposed on the couch, and his ties are loosened, with the long sleeves of his dress shirt pushed to his elbow, showing his tattoos.

“Should I adjust the AC?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as you gather your hair up in a ponytail.

You manage to secure it even without a tie and answer him, “No, it’s fine.”

When you feel like you can breathe again, you look at Jungkook. As you think about what to say next, you giggle lightly.

“Let’s have some fun with these,” You point to the empty bottle of soju. Jungkook quirks his brow, which prompts you to continue. “Let’s play spin the bottle. When it points at you, you have to answer some questions. If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to drink.”

Jungkook snorts. “Truth or dare? Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, not truth or dare. Just truth because I’m sophisticated like that. Besides, are you going to entertain me if I dare you to wear a rainbow suit for work tomorrow?”

“This is your idea of fun?” Jungkook says, teasing you. Playful with a boyish grin.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s quite fun, actually. But I know about how thirty-year-olds get. If it’s past your bedtime, then…” you glance at the door to his bedroom.

Jungkook bursts out in laughter.

“You like making it sound like I’m sixty, don’t you?”

“Are you?” You pout.

Jungkook chuckles, although relenting to your game proposition.

“Alright…”

You do a little shoulder dance which makes Jungkook shake his head. As you spin the bottle, it stops and points at him. You let out a little sound of enthusiasm.

“Okay. What’s that mean?” You ask. Jungkook looks confused as he tries to see what you’re looking at. His arm. “That flower tattoo – or if it even has a meaning.”

“Oh,” Jungkook utters, realizing. He lifts up his right arm and twists it so that the flower tattoo is within both your sight. There, you see a full view of the flower drawing tattooed in orange ink. You find yourself staring at it as Jungkook starts to speak, “It’s a tiger lily. My birth flower. It means…” You can see Jungkook hesitate for a little while, and you’re just about to take back your question when he continues to say, “It means please love me.”

“Wow.” You gasp. “That’s… so pretty.”

Jungkook caresses his forearm, staring quite lovingly at the art. “I know. My tattoo artist did a really good job.”

He takes it to himself to spin the bottle again, and this time, it points at you.

“Well… do you have a tattoo?” Jungkook asks, and it’s obvious he meant to tease.

You nod your head. His playful smile drops.

“Are you serious?”

You raise your brow at him. “Sorry. Only one question gets entertained.”

He clicks his tongue playfully but then begins to spin the bottle one more time. When it points at you again, he gives you a smirk.

“Can I see your tattoo if you’re saying you have one?”

You scrunch your face, cocking your head to the side.

“Hm. I don’t think so. It’s under my boob. So.”

Jungkook stills, and you watch as his eyes trail down from your face down to your collar – although he did it quite subtly.

“Oh.”

You grin. “Yeah, “oh”,” you chuckle. When he shakes his head, you tell him, “What?” You look at him weird, regardless of the smile on your lips. He stares right back at you, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Ohh, I see. You think I’m lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just thought…”

“You just thought what?”

“I just thought you wouldn’t have one. Or if you did, it’d be a like a small thing on the leg or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs, still smiling.

You grin. “Interesting insight.”

“Nevermind that.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, spinning the bottle again.

When the rotation stills at his direction, you clap a little and put your elbows on the coffee table.

Your next question sounds stupid in your head, but you let it out anyway.

“What’s your ideal type?” You ask.

“Oh, are we doing that?” Jungkook says, sounding intrigued. “Are you going to ask me about my first kiss next?”

You snort. “This feels so high school. But answer my question.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He playfully gives you a salute. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, well, I like women who are smart and… funny,” Jungkook says, and when he looks at you, you move back a little. With a soft smile, he adds, “And pretty.”

You break the eye contact. Raising your brow, you nod your head. “Pretty women. Like Kang Heesu, right?”

Jungkook looks surprised when he hears the name.

“How do you know her?”

“How can I not? Jimin’s mother has been trying to set him up with her for months now.” You shrug.

Jungkook chuckles, as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Yeah. You’re right – not about the part that she’s my ideal type, though.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff.

“That’s such a cop-out answer, Jungkook.”

He looks at you incredulously, chuckling as he says, “What? It’s not a cop-out, it’s the truth.”

“You’re awfully close with her. I heard from my coworkers you’re both dating.” You raise a brow at him.

It’s true. Words are starting to get around the office that Jungkook and Heesu are more than just collaborators.

Of course, you know to ignore that. Not because you want to be in denial or anything – but because you just don’t think it is actually true.

But maybe poking fun at it will get you the confirmation. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Jungkook laughs at your previous words, though, as if you just told him a big joke.

“God, no,” he shakes his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. “They’re really saying that?” You nod your head, your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ought to make everybody know we’re just working together. You know about the project the company has in collaboration with Kang Tech, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’m not dating Kang Heesu.”

The words feel a bit different in your ears. Paired with the way he looked at you as he said it, he sounded as though he was… almost assuring you.

But of what?

You shake off the idea in your head.

“Okay. Next one.” you interrupt the silence to change the subject. You curse in your head when the bottle stops at you.

“Your turn. What’s your ideal type?” Jungkook asks as if his tongue is just itching to ask you that. You know he’s just excited to get back at you.

You think about it for a moment, though, and you find you don’t really know what to say.

It’s not a thought you ponder over a lot. The guys that you’ve been with were so… different from each other.

“I—I’m not sure,” you shake your head, genuine.

Jungkook points at the shot glass. “New rule. I’ll count to ten and if you don’t answer, you drink.”

You glare at him; he just gives you a grin.

“I really don’t know! I mean, my past relationships are so different from each other,” you say, pouting. “But— okay. I guess I like guys who are… confident,” You look at Jungkook and then let your mind float. “And I guess I also like somebody who’s…” You watch as he leans in closer to wait for your next words. Your feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you finish up with, “Attentive. I like good listeners. Yeah.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. And then, he adds, “Is Shin Taemu from the IT department a good listener, then?”

Your brows furrow. “Shin Taemu?” He nods. That earns a laugh from you. “No, we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Well, we – uh – did date. Didn’t work out. So. We’re only friends now.”

“Date, as in, a long relationship?” His eyes are so full of genuine curiosity that you cower away from them.

You shake your head at his question. “No, no – not long relationship, it wasn’t like that. I meant date as in – dinner date. Once.” You look at the shot glass and down it because of the sudden nerves that enter you. “We’re doing this game wrong.”

Jungkoon chuckles at the way you drink another glass. He mirrors your action, though, and ask, “How so? We’re questioning each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s too many questions!” You complain, jutting your lips into a pout.

“You said you only wanted truth, so there goes your questions,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh. “Okay, just so I can amuse you, I’ll do a dare if it points at me, and you’ll do one if it stops at you. Deal?”

When you nod, Jungkook spins the bottle. He did it quite forcefully that the bottle takes a longer time to stop. You both watch keenly as it begins to slow down. Nervous, you pray it doesn’t stop at you, and you let out a sigh of relief when it finally points to Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head when you let out a contained, “Yes!”

“I dare you to…” you trail off, watching as he looks at you curiously. “Let me pluck your brows.”

“What?” Jungkook asks incredulously.

“A promise is a promise.” You remind him.

“Like all of them?”

“What? Of course no!” You chuckle, seeing the genuine panic in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“You silly,” You say, laughing at him. “Not right now, though. I actually feel like I’m about to pass out. Oh my god, I have to tend to a hung-over tomorrow.” You let your face fall into your hands and stifle a groan.

“I’ll cook us some porridge or something, don’t worry.” Jungkook says. Curiously, he asks, “Why do you want to pluck my brows?”

You stare at him, and then focus your eyes onto his brows.

Pouting, you let your shoulders deflate as you sigh. “They’re so thick.”

“What?” Jungkook lets out, laughing incredulously. “I’m so confused.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay… well, would you let me pluck your brows?”

You try to think about it.

“No,” you shake your head. You add, “Unless you’re flirting with me.”

Jungkook stops. And then raises a brow. “Unless I’m flirting with you…”

You snap your eyes to look at him. Mirroring his brow, you ask, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook looks at you, lips tilted into a barely-there smirk that suddenly makes your cheeks burn with heat. “Do you like it?”

It takes you a while to answer, processing his words. You don’t know if he’s joking or what. Is this just his usual teasing? It feels different this time.

But why are you denying it again to yourself, though? You may be stupid sometimes, but you know his teasing gets a little… borderline flirty. You’re scared to ask him about it outright, though – afraid to be faced with the possible truth that it’s just your head playing mind-tricks for you; that Jungkook, with his teasing, is not flirty at all and you’re just flattering yourself to think about it that way.

But right now, his question feels real.

If he is flirting with you… do you like it?

You pour a drink into the shotglass and down it quickly. You feel your vision starting to get a little hazy as you put it down the table.

Jungkook realizes what you just did, and then throw his head back to laugh.

“Now, that was a cop-out.” He says, pointing to the trick that you just did.

You give him a smirk. “No rules about not answering except down a drink.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Smart girl.”

He watches as you stand up, but when you trip over the carpet, he’s quick to follow and go over to your direction to hold your wrist, his arm going around your waist to guide you to stand upright.

“You okay?” He asks. When you look up, your faces are just a hair's breadth away.

“Hm.” You hum, blinking your eyes up at him. You find it’s because your lids are starting to get heavy.

“Be careful.” Jungkook says, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, nor your wrist.

You stand there in the middle of the living room with that position, and weirdly enough, you feel like you’re both glued on it.

You can’t move – or don’t want to. You wish you want to. But you don’t, and it’s why you let Jungkook’s fingers trail softly to your waist.

“You look real sleepy,” he comments – whispers, more like, his bated breath hitting your skin.

“I am a bit dazy.” You say, finding yourself indulging in his touch.

Somehow, Jungkook never makes a move to get away even when you’re already steady on both feet. You feel that fading away so soon though, your knees starting to feel like they’re about to buckle at the way Jungkook’s eyes bore deep into your own. You feel a sort of heightened sense within your body, his hand on your back making something in you tingle.

It’s so intimate – the position. Jungkook looms over you with his much bigger frame and with his support on your back, you can just let yourself fall back.

Can you, though? Are you sure he’s going to catch you?

“You do look a little dazy,” Jungkook comments, but his eyes have traveled down to your face, and you can see them stop at your lips.

That makes them part.

You see Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobbing at the action.

“I do feel dazy,” you say, parroting back his words. Maybe they’re coming off slurred. You don’t know. You find you don’t care.

Jungkook’s lips tilt into a gentle smile. Soft like his demeanor. Soft like his arm that somehow found a way to tighten its hold around you even though you don’t need it. But it’s Jungkook though, and as much as you deny it even to yourself – you do like his touch.

“Yeah, you told me so.” His voice becomes an octave lower. His hands start to rub your clothed waist, and the ministrations of his thumb distract you a bit.

You roam your eyes around his face – noting the scar on his cheek which story you want to know so bad. When you trail you eyes down to his lips, you see the mole under it. You don’t think you were being subtle at all – it’s quite obvious that you’re just staring.

And you know Jungkook notices.

“Jungkook,” you breathed out, calling him about nothing in particular.

His only response is a small, gentle hum.

A beat of silence, and you feel Jungkook’s face leaning closer to yours.

You don’t make a move away from him, just let your legs stay where they are, letting Jungkook slowly pull you to him. You can tell his movements are slower than usual – like he’s testing the waters, searching for something in your eyes, quietly asking if it’s okay – if what he’s about to do is okay.

It makes your heart hammer against your chest – his breathing becoming more audible in your own ears. His mouth reeks of the soju you both drank earlier, but you’ve always liked the smell of it, especially when it comes with a man as breathtaking as him.

You feel the tip of his nose touching yours, your chest pressing against his own, his hand travelling from your waist to the back of your head.

When Jungkook leans down to close the gap, you swerve your face just in time to have his lips press against your hair instead.

“I’m sleepy.” You say quietly, a nervous lilt to your voice. You duck your head a little lower, laying your face on his chest and bury it with his scent.

You can feel Jungkook freeze in his position, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. You hope he doesn’t feel the way your heart goes abnormal in your chest with such proximity – but right now, all you want to do is hide. Hide your face away from him because if he sees you, he’ll know exactly what you’re thinking.

He’ll know exactly the effect he has on you.

It takes a few seconds of silence before Jungkook comes back to you.

“Hm,” He hums, and you feel his hand letting go of your wrist to wrap around your waist, squeezing for a brief moment. Jungkook’s other hand cradles your head to his chest, swiping his hand against your hair in a repeated manner, and with the way he rests his chin on the crown of your head, you feel comfort in the whole thing. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, and you can just feel your lids getting heavier at the remark.

“Yeah?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take the couch. Do you want to shower first?” You shake your head against his chest. You feel it vibrating when he chuckles. “Okay.”

“My body feels like jelly.” You say, and you feel that to be actually true.

“Is that code for “carry me to your bed, Jungkook”?”

You’re thankful your face is buried in his chest as you smile widely.

“Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t mind.”

You nod. “Good. I think I’ll get alcohol poisoning tomorrow.”

You feel Jungkook lifting his chin off your head as he sounds scold-y when he says, “Don’t joke like that.”

You giggle against his chest.

“Carry me before I pass out.”

Jungkook snorts. “Ohh. Bossy.”

“It’s my last day here. I deserve some slack.” You grumble.

“Fine.”

TAGLIST: @mortal-body-timelesssoul @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lachimolalajeon @miniesjams32 @parkinglot-nights @peterstarkchrishiddleston @aznstoner @chuberry22 @tae-hibiscus @jungkooksmytype

note: pls check your account settings if you are enabling ur profile to be tagged.

#fic: nb #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 months ago

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Fluff ☼

Angst ►

Smut *

A little bit of jam ☼

You buy donuts for the team and it all ends in chaos

Bob Reynolds NSFW headcanons ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Where Soft Things Grow 🌱

When Bob's therapist asks him to find an activity that will help him gain some control, he's forced to turn to you. That's just the first step in a series of events he never thought would happen.

Let them see ☼

You and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

The way you hold me ☼

The heater's failing and you're freezing from the rain, so Bob offers to lend you a blanket. Apparently, he keeps you warmer than the fabric.

Shadows Beneath the Light ►☼ (Sorcerer!reader) (part 1)

Valentina contacts you to conduct a complete team assessment regarding the mystical arts. But when Bob's turn comes, it turns out he needs more of your help.

Where Darkness Cradles the Light ►☼(Sorcerer!reader) (part 2)

You land a full-time job at the Watchtower, and over time, you and Bob grow closer. But the shadows of your past soon resurface—and now it’s Bob who must help you find your way back to the light.

Wrapped around you (hurt/comfort)

Bob has a secret lover in the city, and that night he feels the need to sleep in her arms.

No one else +18! (part 2 of wrapped around you)

Bob agrees to join you at a bar with your friends, but a stranger’s gesture unsettles him more than he expected. Later that night, in the quiet of your apartment, he finally lets himself be vulnerable—and loved.

Espionage ☼ (same reader as above)

A quiet morning on the Watchtower turns into psychic people-watching when Jean, Yelena, and Ava decide to “check in” on their teammates. It’s all fun and teasing, until Jean sees something she wasn’t meant to: Bob, deeply in love, living a secret life no one expected.

Off the Record ☼

After the fallout with the Void and with tensions rising around the New Avengers, all you're really trying to do is hold on to the people who still matter. Joaquín, your best friend, writes from a distance. Bob—unstable but honest—has started to stay close. And before everything breaks for good, you decide it’s time they meet, even if you’re not all on the same side. Even if some wouldn’t approve.

I: Golden

Bob loves you, but he'd never dare say it. Unfortunately, all these repressed feelings fuel Sentry, who decides to do something once and for all.

II: Obsidian ►

Bob loves you, but he’s trapped by his own fears and silence. Void, the shadow of his pain, confronts you with the burden he carries—leaving you scared and unsure of what comes next.

III: Cobalt ► (+18!)

Bob loves you, but fear keeps him silent. Void's rage haunts your nights, while Sentry's presence stirs painful truths. Between rejection, longing, and a moment of raw intimacy, you both try to navigate a love shaped by trauma, identity, and everything that threatens to tear you apart.

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p0orbaby · 10 months ago

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All This Money, Darling, What Else Is Left to Do?

summary: you’ve moved to barca for work, you meet alexia

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use, bathroom sex, how original

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 1.1k

other parts found here

You’ve never been good with Spanish, which is unfortunate considering you’ve just moved to Barcelona to film a series that’s supposed to be your “dark, gritty” transition from Hollywood darling to Oscar-worthy actress. A role that will, in your words, “finally earn me that little golden bastard.” The director had only sighed in response, muttering something about Brits and their insatiable thirst for awards, before handing you a script written entirely in Spanish.

You’ve got all the superficial things down: tousled hair that looks like you just rolled out of bed in a sultry way (when in reality, it took your stylist an hour to perfect), designer sunglasses that scream “I’m too famous to be bothered,” and a wardrobe carefully curated to say, “I’m an artist, but I could still outdress you at a red carpet event.”

The language, though, remains your Everest.

Which is how you find yourself at a party hosted by some up-and-coming director who might actually be a waiter – it’s hard to tell when everyone here looks like they stepped out of an indie film. The only reason you’re here is because your agent insists you need to “immerse yourself in the culture.” Apparently, the key to embodying a brooding Spanish detective is to drink sangria and eat patatas bravas at a rooftop party with people who don’t recognise you. Or worse, pretend not to recognise you.

You’ve been nursing the same glass of wine for an hour, half-watching as a group of women discuss something with intense, dramatic flair. You’re only half-listening until one of them catches your eye.

You don’t know her name. Not yet. But you know she’s trouble from the way she moves. She’s all sharp edges and grace, the kind of woman who makes every hair on your body stand on end before you’ve even exchanged a word. When she looks at you, it’s like she already knows you – all of you – even the parts you try to keep hidden behind layers of well-crafted mystique.

You make a mental note to stay away from her. Which, naturally, means you’ll be making out in the bathroom with her within the hour.

And that’s exactly how it happens. One moment, you’re trying to figure out what the hell “Tarjeta amarilla” means, and the next, she’s pressed up against you, lips smashing into yours like she’s been waiting her entire life to taste you. It’s heady, intoxicating, the way she devours you like you’re something she plans to enjoy slowly – but not yet.

The bathroom is one of those annoyingly chic setups with a waterfall tap and hand towels that look like they should be in a palace. It’s also incredibly small, which is fine because she’s pressed up against you, and suddenly there’s no need for space.

You don’t know who makes the first move. It’s all a blur of hands and lips, and somewhere between her tongue tracing the line of your jaw and your fingers digging into her hips, you figure out you don’t actually care.

Her name’s Alexia. You learned that somewhere between her pushing you against the wall and slipping her hand under your bra. Alexia, whispered like a prayer. Or maybe it was a curse. She’s too good at this. Too good at the way she takes control, the way she knows exactly where to touch you to make you gasp, arch, and cling to her like she’s your lifeline.

And then she’s guiding you to the sink, bending you over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It probably is for her – something about the way she holds you down with one massive hand and undoes her jeans with the other tells you this is far from her first time.

You glance up at the mirror, and there you are – tousled hair now a genuine mess, eyes blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate. You look every bit the part of a woman who’s about to get absolutely wrecked.

Which is exactly what happens.

Alexia’s behind you, and then something cool and smooth is pressing against your entrance – a strap, because of course, she’d have one at the ready. You bite your lip, half to stifle a moan and half because you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing you already coming undone. You’re an actress, after all, and the best performances are always the ones where you keep the audience guessing.

Not that it matters. The second she pushes in, you’re a mess, nails scraping against the sink’s surface as you try – and fail – to keep yourself together. She’s ruthless, setting a pace that leaves no room for pretense. It’s rough, raw, the kind of fucking that makes you forget your name and what you’re supposed to be doing here in Spain in the first place.

“Te gusta, ¿verdad?” she murmurs in your ear, voice low and teasing. And by her tone you just about make out she’s asked you a question.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp, any attempt at playing it cool flying out the window as she thrusts harder, deeper. The sound of skin against skin fills the small bathroom, along with your increasingly loud moans. There’s no point in being quiet now – everyone out there either knows what’s happening or will by the time she’s done with you.

It’s filthy, the way she fucks you – no pretense, no gentleness, just pure, unbridled lust. You’re half-certain you’ll have bruises tomorrow, and the thought only turns you on more.

“Mírate,” she breathes, voice laced with dark amusement. “Miss Hollywood, siendo follada como una vulgar zorra"

You whimper in response, because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t understand a word she’s saying. Yet you’re still reduced to nothing but pure pleasure, body trembling as she drives you closer and closer to the precipice.

And then she does something with her hips – some angle that has you seeing stars, and you’re gone, crying out her name as you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life. The kind of orgasm that leaves you breathless, boneless, clinging to the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

But she doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking, overstimulated and begging her to – not until she’s milked every last bit of pleasure from you, until you’re nothing but a panting, sweaty mess in her extremely toned arms.

When she finally pulls out, you collapse against the sink, legs barely holding you up. Alexia’s still behind you, hands sliding up your sides in a way that’s almost affectionate. Almost.

“That was…” You try to find words, but they’re lost somewhere between the haze of lust and the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Sí,” she agrees, smirking as she steps back, giving you just enough space to turn around and face her.

There’s something in her eyes, something that says she’s not done with you yet. And despite the fact that you should probably get back to the party, should probably straighten yourself up and pretend like you haven’t just been fucked within an inch of your life, you can’t bring yourself to care.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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lostinlovingrevery · 5 months ago

Text

Somnolent

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: I started writing this while half asleep last night so if there's some parts that seem odd. No there ain't...

Plot: Logan comes back home to you late at night...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+! MDNI, sleepy sex, unprotected PiV, creampie, light cockwarming at the end (watch out for UTIs), fingering, there's some fluff too!

Word Count: 2497

The mansion late at night was always a bit unsettling.

The halls usually filled with kids and teenagers, chatting, laughing, and running about, were empty and quiet. Lights throughout the school dimmed to a lower level, making the halls and most rooms shadowy and dark. It didn’t mean everyone was asleep, but for the most part, the school was tucked in.

Logan quietly stepped inside. He has come back from a solo mission, something to do with getting some info regarding a young mutant that has taken up cage fighting and using the advantage of their powers to win fights.

Sounds eerily familiar.

Except for the young part.

Charles thought Logan would be perfect for the job, considering he had a “career” cage fighting even though Logan insisted that no, it wasn’t a career it was just a way to make some money. Nonetheless, considering Logan had agreed to stay at the mansion and help out after some…various incidents, he told Charles he’ll see what he can do.

Kid was just some misled youth, believing he was some freak of society and ran away from home. Logan wasn’t really good at helping people through life crisis- considering he was in his own. Gave him some honest advice, and in the end kid ended up deciding to go back home to his parents. Job well done. He did invite him to join the school- purely because Charles told him to offer the invitation, but he declined. One thing at a time.

Hearing the sound of the tv playing, he peeked inside to see the same boy as usual - who claims he doesn’t sleep, watching tv, flipping channels with the blink of his eyes.

“TVs gonna rot your mind bub,” Logan mutters as he watches the channels flip through.

“Nuh uh.” He mutters.

“Couldn’t you just read a book?”

“I read in the day.” He says. He blinks again, and an old cartoon is playing, which Logan recognizes to be ‘The Flintstones’. The boy settled deeper in the couch, seemingly satisfied by the channel he was watching. He scoffed, a grin coming across his face as he shook his head, turning back to go towards the stairs. The wooden steps creaked under his weight as he walked up the stairs.

There was one thing that had been on his mind the entire time he was gone. The sweet little thing that has really become the sole reason he decided to stay- although he hasn’t told you that yet.

He stopped at the door that belonged to your bedroom. Cracking it open silently as he peered inside, and he could make out your sleeping figure under the sheets. Stepping inside, he dropped his bag to the floor silently and closed the door behind him. He walked around the bed, his eyes not leaving you as he got closer.

You were sleeping peacefully on your back, one arm resting across your stomach, the other, folded behind your head, which was turned to the side- facing him. Your hair was messy, your lips slightly parted and your breathing was slow and even.

You looked beautiful, so peaceful. Different from your usual chaotic self when you are awake. Part of the reason why you grew on him so much. You knew how to push his buttons, but you also knew how to calm him down (Especially when Scott gets on his nerves). You’d been his grounding force since the first day he showed up.

He leaned over her, his arm bracing himself above you, resting on the headboard as he took in your features. For a long while, he’d been lost in himself. No memories of who he was, or what had happened to him so many years ago that haunts him in his nightmares. Through a series of unfortunate events, he got to discover what happened to him- and you held his hand the entire time.

Stirring, you slowly opened your eyes, blinking a few times at first being unsure of what you were looking at until Logan’s face came into view. You smiled sleepily,

“Lo.”

“Hey baby.” He greets coos. It was then how it occurred to him, how lucky he felt to be able to have you to come home too. Home?

“Mm..” You groaned, stretching your arms above your bed, arching your back in a big stretch.

“Hm, someone's sleepy.”

You nodded, closing your eyes with your arms folded behind your head. Logan's eyes lingered downwards, noticing the strappy nightie you were sporting. “What time is it?”

“Late.” He says, his hand coming down to gently pull the blanket from you, exposing the upper half of your body to him, and he felt himself getting hard. The nightie you were wearing, a cotton white, with lace along the hem of the collar, a sweetheart neckline that perfectly accented your breasts. The nightie you had on wasn’t particularly sexy, but Logan was pent up. He’s had to use his hand, getting himself off to the thought of you nearly every night since he’d been gone.

“How was your trip?” You asked, your voice pitched higher due to your sleepy state, a small yawn escaping you. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes,

“Fine. I missed you.” He mutters, leaning down to bury his face in the crook of your neck. Sounds of your sleepy mirth made him smile, and he began to press kisses over your shoulder.

“I missed you too.”

“Course ya did.” he mutters, and your hand smacked his, eliciting a warm chuckle from him. His hand came up, fingers hooking under the strap of your nightie, sliding it down your shoulder, as he pressed kisses downwards towards your chest. “This is a cute lil thing you got on bub. New?”

“Bought it for you.” You hummed. He sat up, looking down at you with a grin, and you were looking up at him with a sleepy smile.

“That so?”

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes again, struggling to stay awake. He felt his dick twitch, watching your dozy form attempt to stay awake for him. He chewed on his lip, before returning to press kisses over the top of your chest again. One of your hands came up to curl into his hair, encouraging him to keep going. His lips pressed in the space between your breasts.

“Baby, can I show you how much I missed you?” He asks, his voice low- tittering into begging. He looked up, watching your reaction and you nodded.

He excitedly stood up, shedding his jacket- dropping the leather to the ground, and kicking off his boots before his hands came to unbuckle his belt, and unzip his pants. He pushed your comforter off, and you spread your legs for him, as he eagerly climbs onto the bed between them. He didn’t even bother taking his clothes off, as his lips met yours.

He kissed you languidly, as you attempted to return the effort, but being half asleep as you were- it was fairly messy. He chuckled against your lips, nipping at them gently. “Someone sure is tired.”

“Uh uh.” You shook your head, brows creasing angrily with a small pout- but your eyes, shut tiredly, fought against your denial.

“Don’t worry about it bub, just enjoy the ride, I’ll take care of you. Show you how much I missed ya.” He purrs, pressing soft kisses to your cheek and back down to your neck. He nipped and sucked at your neck, creating small purple bruises, as his hand trailed down your side, lifting the hem of your pretty nightie up and his fingers traced your inner thigh, before reaching your folds. “Hm, no panties. Dirty girl.”

“Mm. I did that for you. In case you came back.” You mutter.

“You spoil me doll.” He mutters, leaning to press open mouth kisses along your jawline, up to your chin, as his fingers began to circle your clit, gathering wetness on them, as he rubbed you and opened you up. You took a sharp breath, as you felt pleasure begin to envelope you. You brought your hands up to your pillow, softly gripping them as you bit your lip. His fingers traced down your folds, reaching to your hole, and he carefully slid one finger inside you. “So tight baby, gotta open up for me.”

Your hips lifted involuntarily as he began working you open, stroking his finger in and out of you, curling it to hit that sweet spot inside of you that made you moan, and your grip on your pillows tighten.

“Lo-” You whined,

“Shh, I know.” He hushed, pressing a kiss to your pouty lips. He slid another finger inside, moving them inside and out in a thrusting motion, before scissoring them open inside you, stretching you open and you gasped.

“Lo,” You moaned again tipping your head to the side. He grunted, pulling his fingers out and sitting up. He pushed his jeans down, his hard cock came out, popping against his stomach, with dribbles of pre-cum rolling down it. He took himself in his hand, lubing himself up with your arousal and his pre-cum together as he stroked himself.

“Fuck, hadn’t stopped thinking about you all week baby.” He groaned.

Your relationship, while still new - had been nothing but passion, and trust. You and Logan just seemed to get each other without having to say a word. Communication wasn’t Logans forte, never was as he began to realize as memories of his long life slowly come back to him. A random scent triggers back to something distant, his childhood home. A song that reminds him of his time in the 70’s, with a woman who led him to become like his now, long since dead and gone. A sound of a low flying plane, reminding him of the wars he’d been apart of. It was a lot- the mind can only remember so much. You always were patient with him though, talked him through everything. He’s addicted to you.

Climbing forward, he pushed your thighs wider, and lifted the skirt of your nightie to your belly, exposing your lower half to him. He felt saliva filling his mouth, the urge to taste you crawling up his spine, but his cock throbbed painfully and he decided that eating you out like you were a rare delicacy was going to happen later. He leaned over you, an arm braced by your head, his free hand pressing the tip of his cock into your hole, slowly pushing inside- a loud hiss escaping him at how tight you felt.

“Mm!” You moaned biting your lip, you turned your head to the other side. You were still half asleep, aware of what was happening, but your sleepy state made all the pleasure Logan was giving you 10 times more intense, as you drifted in and out of falling asleep and waking up again. Your body felt limp, Logan resting over you keeping you warm like a blanket. If you hadn’t been talking to him first- you would’ve thought this was a dream. A very wet dream.

He continued moving deep inside until he bottomed out, and he buried his face into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you and hold you while he fucked you. His pace was slow at first, pulling out almost to the tip, before pushing back in - molding space for his cock inside you.

Your arms lazily wrapped around his neck, one hand burying into his thick curls, as you bit your lip, small whines escaping you with each thrust. You felt incredibly relaxed, being surrounded by him- his voice cooing in your ears, his scent overwhelming your nose, his cock stretching you open so wonderfully. Hitting that spot his fingers were rubbing just moments ago. You brought your legs higher up, wrapping them around his waist- desperately wanting him to stay buried deep inside you as he thrusted slowly. Being around Logan felt nothing but safe, which was something you’d always yearned for. Safety in your life, due to living in a world that hated who you were.

Harsh pants escaped Logan, his hot breath on your neck as he began to thrust faster, he wrapped his arms around your waist, your hands burying into his hair.

“Goddamn baby- you feel so good. So fucking good.” He groaned. He was rutting into you, barely pulling out. “So damn wet and tight- you’re all for me aren’t ya?”

You whined, desperately nodding your head as he kept hitting that spot inside you over and over. Your nails dug into his scalp, pulled at his hair, making him moan- then pain of your nails scratching him spurring him on as he began to go faster, his hips slamming into your thighs, lewd wet noises filling the room.

“Logan-” You whined tipping your head back onto your pillow. He grunted, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Fuck.” He hissed. “Cmon baby, cum for me. I need you to cum- please-” He whined. Your legs were trembling, his deep thrusts leaving your body to start going numb. “You’re all mine, you know that? All fucking mine-”

The tight thread pooling in your lower tummy snapped, as waves of pleasure shook your body, wetness splashing onto him, effectively soaking the both of you. You whined his name, arching your back towards him, and he bit down on your neck, thrusting inside you once more, before he let out a loud- very loud, cry of pleasure, panting as he came deep inside you, his warm cum painting your walls, so much of it that it begins to spill out of your hole, still stuffed with him.

He collapsed against you, his cheek pressed against your chest, a small bit of drool escaping him as he recovered from the waves of euphoria that was still crashing through him. You body went limp, legs unwrapping from his waist, hands falling to either side of your head.

“Fuck.” He hissed. “See what you do to me bub?” He slowly pushes himself up. Leaning forward to press his lips over yours. You hummed in response. He brushed some hair out of your face, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Lets get some sleep.” He mutters and you nodded.

He started to pull out of you, but you whined. “Stay in.” You say. He chuckled.

“You sure?”

“Mm.”

“Alright.” He wrapped his arm over your waist, turning to his back and bringing you with him, lying on his chest. “Comfortable?”

“Mm.” You nodded, now more sleepy than ever in your post-coitus haze. He pulled the comforter over the both of you, his hand softly scratching up and down your back, his other hand resting on your hip. Your cheek pressed to his chest. “Lo?” You mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“You’re mine too, right?” You asks, you were drifting off to sleep, your voice barely a whisper, but he understood you.

He smiled. “Yeah sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #vans daydreams #wolverine smut #trilogy!logan

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kunasthiast · 3 months ago

Text

champagne problems (part 1)

summary: Golf clubs, generational wealth (and trauma), and a childhood friendship that aged like milk. Everything is hell with Sukuna... especially if you had relapses of the memories that made you emotionally constipated for the last 12 fucking years. pairings: sukuna x reader (female) cw: crack fic! (pls don't take this srsly), one-sided enemies to lovers, slow-burn, delusional denial, aggressively coded sexual tension, french toast, suggestive content words: 17.1k (had to cut in parts since i've got too much words)

It’s either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or you were abandoned by it. Really. Of all the people in this planet, in this country, and in this obscenely, soul-sucking, beige-coded, stepford-smiling gated community, you had to be stuck with him.

Sukuna.

That pink-haired bastard with more money than god and an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull. For the love of strawberries and all things sacred, he’s a narcissistic, cocky asshole that you refuse to be associated with. For years now, actually. And he, by the way, just happened to be your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

You’ve known him forever—since diapers, actually, thanks to your parents being disgustingly close. (Money and golf, as they say, deepen relationships and ruin offspring). Back then, it was you, Sukuna, and Gojo: inseparable, chaotic, and constantly banned from formal events for “behavioral disruption.”

Then came college. And oh, college. A series of very questionable decisions – booze, bad judgment, and that one summer you both agreed to never mention again. The one where tequila blurred every line you swore you’d never cross. Let’s just say, some boundaries were… explored. Poorly.

And of course, to top it all off: a stupid, petty fight that led to a rift in your friendship. Now, you’re both single parents, stumbling through young adulthood with a baby on each hip. You, with your son. Him, with his daughter.

Minimal contact is the unspoken rule. Occasional passive-aggressive exchanges at neighborhood meetings (gods, this is a cookie-cutter suburban hell – why is every lawn looked like the golf course green?). Where the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and thinly veiled judgment, and every conversation was a subtle competition for the best-manicured lawn and the most successful offspring.

Forced civility at school (because, of course, your kids go to the same overpriced academy that call tests “challenges” and uniforms “identity expressions”), and you’re both contractually obligated to show up at family business functions, aka golf disguised as networking disguised as family bonding disguised as a pissing contest.

And, speaking of contests – you’ve been lock in one with Sukuna for years. Specifically, your annual power play at the PTA sponsorship table. One-upping each other in increasingly ridiculous ways because nothing fuels you more than spite.

But what’s life without being a little bitchy, right?

Unfortunately, karma – being the absolute bitch of life – decided that your kids would become best friends. Not casual playground pals. No. Soulmate-level best friends. The kind that build pillow forts with emotional depth. With the insistent sleepovers, shared inside jokes in their own weird language you’re 90% they invented, and referred to each other as siblings.

How did it happen? You have no fucking idea.

Or maybe you do, you’re just in deep denial. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s some goddamn cosmic joke. Maybe the universe has you by the throat and won’t let go until it watches you suffer in 4K.

Not that you don’t love his daughter – she’s an absolute angel, the kind of sweet that makes dentists nervous. But her being your son’s BFF? That’s… inevitable.

Especially in your tight, old-money-adjacent social circle. They’ve known each other since they were just wearing diapers, since they were teething on the same overpriced Montessori rattles.

Just like you and Sukuna.

Except this time, it’s different. Because their friendship demands one thing: coexistence. You and that tattoed-to-the-gods asshole had been forced to coexist. Again, coexist.

And Sukuna? Oh no, he doesn’t do coexisting. Nah. Nope. Never. He breaks balance. He thrives on chaos. He gets off on making your life just inconvenient enough to ruin your peace, but not enough to justify a felony charge.

And this morning? This godforsaken Saturday morning? He outdid himself.

Twelve years of passive-aggressive parenting – scratch that, thirty-three years of slow-burn emotional warfare – have led to this moment. This may just be his masterpiece.

Because this was when the relapse started—and Sukuna made damn sure you felt every inch of it.

The first thing you register at seven-fucking-A.M. is the sound of something dying. Violently. It’s mechanical. Obnoxious. It sounds like a robot lawnmower from hell just met its end outside your bedroom window.

The second thing you register? Pure, unfiltered rage.

Your eyes snap open like you’ve just been slapped by God himself. That noise—it’s outside. Your house. Your lawn.

You lurch out of bed like a woman possessed – dazed, furious, still marinating in last night’s sleep deprivation, because of course you were up ’til 3 AM binge-watching that dumb dating show where someone literally said “Montoya, por favor,”. You then grabbed your pillow and screamed into it for ten minutes. Regret? Never heard of her.

You barely register the cool cling of your La Perla silk sleepwear against your skin as you stomp toward the window. One violent yank later—

And there it is. Not a noise. But, a nuisance. Him. Sukuna.

Shirtless. (Is that not a violation of at least three HOA rules?) Smirking. Holding a hedge trimmer like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial that probably ends with “Dior Sauvage: For Men Who Deserve Jail.”

You’ve seen him shirtless before. Too many times. College. His apartment. Your apartment. That goddamn couch in the frat house that probably caused seven diseases just by looking at it. Heat. A lot of teeth. Chaos. And him tracing lazy circles on your back like he was trying to memorize you. The worst part? You let him.

The morning sun, which used to mean peace and lattes, now glints off the sheen of sweat on his stupid, tattooed chest—each muscle cut like it was carved by demons with a thirst for drama. His pink hair is tousled just so—purposefully chaotic, like the universe made him hot just to personally ruin your life.

And then you see it. What used to be your hedge. You blink once. Then again. No change.

Your lush, lovingly imperfect, expensive-as-shit privet hedge is gone. Vaporized. Replaced by a row of cold, surgically shaved shrubs that look like a serial killer’s idea of curb appeal. Your eye twitches.

As if summoned by your fury, Sukuna glances up. His crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on your rage – or maybe something else. That look – the one he gave you at 2AM on your billion-dollar couch the night you swore it was a one-time thing. The one that said, “I’d ruin you if you let me.” And you let him. Back then. Right before shit got complicated. Right before you woke up next to him and pretended that everything’s normal as fuck. Again.

He knows what this is doing to you. And that annoyingly smug bastard does this all with a smirk. A slow, wolfish, go-ahead-lose-your-mind kind of smirk.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mouths. Oh, of course. You can lip-read him. Of course you can. Curse your stupid subconscious for prioritizing Sukuna Fluency over Spanish.

You inhale deeply. Try to center yourself. Failing that, you simply open the door like you’re kicking off Act One of a Greek tragedy. No robe. No shoes. No dignity. Just you, rage, and a whole lot of leg.

“Sukuna,” you bark, voice rasping like vengeance incarnate.

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he turns, casually leaning on the hedge trimmer like he’s posing for The Bachelor: War Criminal Edition.

“Oh. You’re up early,” he drawls. His eyes flick downward—just for a second, but long enough to set your entire nervous system on fire.

“You—” You gesture wildly toward the massacre formerly known as your hedge. “What the actual fuck did you do?”

Sukuna squints at the row of plant corpses like a man admiring the Louvre, “Landscaping,” he says.

“That was my hedge.”

“It was an ugly hedge.”

You nearly combust. “Are you clinically insane?!”

He finally turns fully to face you, crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on female rage. “Don’t be dramatic. It looks better now.”

“Better?!” you screech. “It looks like it was done by Hannibal Lecter with a pair of OCD scissors!”

Sukuna hums. “You’re welcome.”

You take one murderous step forward. “You owe me a new hedge.”

“I gave you a new hedge.”

“I will burn this entire street down.”

His grin widens, predatory. “Might wanna change out of that nightie first, sweetheart. Fire hazard.”

You freeze. That’s when it hits you. The air. The breeze. The sudden realization that you are—very much—standing in front of Satan in La Perla silk.

Short. Bare. Clingy. Absolutely illegal in three states. Straps like dental floss. Chest support? None. Coverage? Legally negligible. Your arms fly up like someone just yelled “freeze!”

And Sukuna? Oh, he notices. He notices everything. His gaze drags over you slowly, hungrily, with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows exactly the effect he has.

“Nice outfit,” he murmurs. “All for me, babe?”

Your soul? Gone. Astral projected. Witnessed its own murder. And a tiny, traitorous part of your brain, the part you usually kept locked in a soundproof room, whispered, ‘Yep.' You crushed that traitorous voice with the force of a thousand suns.

“Shut up,” you hiss, spinning on your heel like a scandalized Disney princess on the verge of committing a felony.

“Don’t be shy now,” he calls after you, laughter rumbling from his chest like a goddamn villain.

“Come back! Let’s negotiate... hedge replacements. Or anything else you’re aching to trim.”

You slam the door so hard you hear a bird scream outside.

And you? You launch yourself face-first into the couch like a woman wronged by fate, God, and the HOA.

Because of that man. Because of Ryomen. Fucking. Sukuna. Because your life is a telenovela and that devil is hot and ruining your lawn.

Your theatrical death scene is cut short by the sound of a small, sleepy voice.

“Mom?” You freeze.

Riku, your 12-year old son, stands in the hallway, looking like he’s fought a pillow and lost. Pajama shirt backward. One sock. A feather in his hair?

He squints. Then pauses. “Why are you yelling? It’s Saturday.”

You try to pull yourself together, smoothing down your very not-child-appropriate sleepwear and flattening your hair like that’ll help.

“Nothing,” you say. Too fast. Too high-pitched. Too guilty.

Riku eyes you. Then the door. Then back to you. “Mom, why are you dressed like that?”

Your soul flatlines. “I—no reason. Go to bed.”

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“AND?!”

He sighs like he pays taxes and you’re the child here. “Did you fight with Papa again?”

Your brain short-circuited. “Papa?”

He yawns. “Unckuna said I should call him that. Since we’re like family.”

Something in your chest twists. He said that? The same man who claims relationships are just complicated sleepovers with taxes? The one who ghosted you emotionally mid-snuggle and then had the audacity to joke about building IKEA furniture “as a team”? The one who doesn’t even believe in relationships (more like… you both don’t) that last longer than a lease.

And now he’s out here playing pretend dad to your son? Like he didn’t once whisper the word “ours” into your neck and pretend it was a joke.

You see white. You see God. You see the void. You also see a very expensive therapy bill forming in your future.

“That man is NOT your father,” you snarl.

“He also said your hedge looked like a haunted broccoli. With trust issues.”

“HE MURDERED MY HEDGE.”

Riku shrugs. “It was kinda ugly.”

You gasp. “It was tastefully whimsical!”

Then your phone buzzes.

[Do Not Answer]: good morning, sweetheart. hope you’re still wearing that cute little nightie. you always looked best in silk. see u later 😘

You stare at the screen like it personally offended you. Then briefly consider throwing your phone out the window. Or yourself. Unfortunately, your insurance doesn’t cover “Sukuna-related injuries” or emotional trauma due to unsolicited thirst traps and flirty, horny, late-stage situationship texts.

Because he’s done this before—flirting like it’s harmless, like it doesn’t drag old memories up from the basement where you thought you buried them under shame, sarcasm, and 12 years of pretending you don’t miss him. The way his hand used to fit in yours, the ghost of his lips on your neck, the memory of his laugh echoing in your apartment, a laugh you hadn't heard in person for years. All of it was buried, but the soil was thin.

You scream into the couch cushion like you’re dying on a battlefield. And worse than shame, deeper than anger, in the dark corners of your soul, is the memory of liking it.

“Ew,” Riku mutters. “Do I have to hear about your weird grown-up drama?”

“IT’S NOT WEIRD DRAMA.”

Riku gives you a long, tired look. “Mom.”

“What?!”

He points to the phone. “I know you like him.”

Your entire soul dissolves into steam.

Despite the fact that he just ruined your precious Saturday morning with this hedge incident and a completely inappropriate message to send to your ‘co-parent’, Sukuna was moving on with his day. Specifically, he was cooking breakfast like some domestic menace in his obnoxiously sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen that looked like it belonged in the magazine spread of Architectural Digest.

Because unlike most rich assholes, Sukuna didn’t trust personal chefs. People spit in food. People sneezed in food. People existed near food, which was already bad enough. So, every morning, he cooked his own. For him and his daughter. Without fail. And since it was Saturday, that meant one thing: big breakfast.

Which also meant, thanks to the unfortunate circumstances of your life, you and Riku would be there too. Because in a twist of cosmic cruelty, his daughter Keiko had long ago declared that Saturday breakfast at her dad’s house was sacred tradition.

And Riku, the traitor, had readily agreed. Of course he did. The two of them had been best friends since they were in kindergarten, and you? You were just along for the ride. Fuck it, right?

Keiko, same age as Riku, stomped into the kitchen like she owned the place (she does, it’s her dad’s) – hair a tangled mess, eyes half shut, wearing an oversized My Melody pajama set like a gremlin princess.

“Daddy, what’s for breakfast?” She flopped onto a barstool, chin resting on her palm, already judging the pile of ingredients on the counter: eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, rice, miso soup, and a whole loaf of milk bread that was about to get French-toastified.

“Morning, princess. You’ve got drool,” Sukuna said, wiping her face with casual affection before returning to the stove, flipping eggs like a culinary showoff. She snorted. He hummed.

Everything about this household was too chill. And that was his bragging right.

And now here you were, an hour later (mind you, it might already be 8:02AM). Not in your silk sleepwear now, but in your Loro Piana lounge set – a color-matching oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants. In enemy territory. Sitting at his obnoxiously pristine kitchen island while the bane of your existence plated up French toast like he hadn’t just murdered your hedge in cold blood an hour ago and sent you a text message that would make Satan blush. Maybe you were Satan. Life was suffering.

You sat stiffly, stewing in silent rage, eating his stupidly delicious food in his stupidly perfect kitchen like the fool you were. Betrayed not just by your son, but by your taste buds.

Riku, of course, had zero shame. He was already seated next to Keiko, looking entirely far too comfortable as he reached over and swiped a piece of bacon from her plate.

“Hey!” She snapped. “That’s mine.”

Riku shrugged mid-bite with zero remorse. “Now it’s mine.”

Keiko kicked him under the table.

Sukuna – ever the type to let kids settle their own beef like unsupervised wolf cubs – didn’t even flinch. Like everything's perfectly normal. But his eyes, for a flicker, held a strange intensity as he watched you, a glint that wasn't just amusement. He simply set a plate in front of you, stacked high with French toast, bacon, and disgustingly perfect scrambled eggs. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in close – voice infuriatingly close to your ear and a sin against sanity.

“Eat up, sweetheart,” he murmured, smug as ever. “Wouldn’t want you getting lightheaded from all that screaming this morning.”

Your fork nearly snapped in half.

Keiko, sensing the chaos brewing, quickly changed the subject.

“Daddy,” she said, perking up, “Riku and I are gonna work on our science project later, ‘kay?”

Sukuna sat down, completely unbothered. “What is it?”

“A volcano model,” Keiko said proudly.

Sukuna arched a brow. “Lame.”

Keiko glared. “It’s for school!”

He snorted. “What happened to building a flamethrower?”

You nearly choked. Nope, you choked on your French toast.

Riku’s eyes lit up. “Wait, we can do that?”

“No,” You snapped, pointing your fork at Sukuna. “Absolutely not. Do NOT encourage them.”

Sukuna smirked, utterly unrepentant, and shrugged. “Relax, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let them build an unsafe flamethrower.”

Your stared at him in disbelief. “There is no such thing as a safe flamethrower.”

The kids immediately started whispered like they were plotting something completely unhinged.

You took a long, deep breath. One problem at a time.

Right now, your biggest issue was pretending this breakfast wasn’t delicious. Which, unfortunately, it very much was. It was fucking amazing. Yeah, you’re easily pleased when it comes to food. But giving Sukuna even an ounce of satisfaction? Absolutely not. So, you settled for silent suffering, stabbing your fork into your French toast with unnecessary force.

Sukuna, because he was the devil incarnate, noticed. Obviously. Because the pink-haired menace always noticed.

“Good?” He asked, smirking.

You chewed aggressively. “No.”

Riku, your traitor of a child, spoke with his mouth full. “It’s really good.”

Keiko nodded, licking syrup off her fork. “Yeah, Daddy’s food is always the best.”

Sukuna looked insufferably pleased with himself. You swallowed your pride with the same intensity you swallowed that stupidly fluffy French toast. It was almost worth selling your soul for. Mind it, almost. This man could burn in hell. Preferably after breakfast.

Some time the next week, you were sprawled on the couch, half-dead after surviving what felt like a thousand back-to-back meetings. Thank God you work from home, and thank heavens it’s the family’s generational business. You could’ve been stuck in some sterile office with fluorescent lights, but nope, you're chilling at home, in your luxurious chaos. Oh, and did you mention it’s old money and generational wealth? Yeah, that kind of wealth. It’s a blessing… or a curse. Honestly, it depends on the day.

It was a Tuesday evening, and you were half-heartedly flipping through Netflix, trying to figure out which rom-com would match your mood. Naturally, you were leaning toward something unhinged and wildly unrealistic – you know, peak escapism… because why not? Maybe something classic with Matthew McConaughey, who was inescapably charming, or Hugh Grant with that disarming, floppy hair of his. Adam Sandler was also on the table, because who doesn’t love his chaotic, awkward brand of comedy? Basically something that might almost restore your faith in the idea that true love could be both absurd and beautiful. Almost.

Then, the door opened, and in walked your son, back from school.

And no – you don’t fetch him. Not when your smug, self-appointed savior of a neighbor has been picking him up for years now. Five, to be exact. Something about “Tch. We’re neighbors and they’re best friends – I should just do it instead of a fucking driver,” as if that was the most obvious and safest solution (no kidnaps, right?) in the world. Well, it is.

You didn’t even argue. Why would you? Free childcare and no afternoon traffic? That’s a win. You don’t argue with that kind of magic.

“How’s school?” you asked, still scrolling through the abyss of movie options.

Riku kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door with the grace of a well-raised (you raised him) gremlin. “Fine,” he called, heading straight for the fridge. “We had a math quiz. I killed it.”

“Good job, baby genius,” you said, eyes still glued to your television as you scrolled through rom-coms. You finally hovered over How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, thumb on the remote paused mid-air. “So, steak or sushi for dinner?”

“Nah, Papa said we might do burgers tonight.”

You blinked.

“Wait – what?”

“Yup,” Riku said, nonchalantly tearing into a kunafa pistachio chocolate bar and zero shame. “He said if I finished my homework early, he’d take us to that place with the crazy milkshakes and the gold leaf fries.”

Your jaw dropped. Turned slowly at your child. Offended.

“You’re making dinner plans with him? Without me?”

Riku, blissfully unaware of the storm he was causing, crunched into the chocolate bar. “I mean… yeah? It’s Papa. He plans everything better than you do anyway.”

You gasped, obviously scandalized by your son’s betrayal. Clutching your chest in exaggeration with an, “Excuse me?!”

Before you could fully process your son’s betrayal, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. A FaceTime call. From your mother. Red flag. Big red flag.

She always call through FaceTime if it was a serious business to discuss. Like weddings. Or funerals. Or your personal life, which she had no business being involved in.

You almost didn’t answer, but curiosity—and the very real possibility of her forcing a conversation about your non-existent love life—compelled you to pick up.

The screen flashed, and suddenly, your mother’s entire face filled your phone, her expression beaming with suspicious delight.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she chirped, like didn’t just interrupt your most sacred of moments — talking with your son who clearly forgot that you have to eat dinner too.

“What’s wrong?” You narrowed your eyes, instantly suspicious.

Her smile widened. Uh-oh. You knew that smile. It’s an all-too-familiar sign that something – something – was very, very wrong. It’s a trap. Oh my god, why the fuck did you answer it? You could practically hear your sanity slowly crumbling.

Your father’s voice rumbled from somewhere off-screen. “Is that her?”

Your mother turned the camera. And there he was – your father – glowing with smug satisfaction, reading the newspaper like a man preparing to ruin your peace.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, not even bothering to look up. “How’s Sukuna?”

You blacked out, “WHAT?”

“Oh, your father and I just had the loveliest brunch with him yesterday,” your mother practically sang the words, her voice dripping with way too much enthusiasm.

Your brain short-circuited, processing. “You—what?”

“Brunch,” she repeated slowly, as if you were some kind of idiot who didn’t know what brunch was. “At that little place by the golf course! You know, the one with the fresh strawberry tarts? We were so surprised when Sukuna walked in! And oh, sweetheart—he insisted on paying.”

“Even the wine,” your father added, flipping a page, and still not looking up from his paper.

You stared, horrified. Yep, your entire existence is crumbling in real time.

“No. No, no, no. What the hell were you two doing having brunch with Sukuna?!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t planned! We were there. He was there – fate, darling. Fate.”

Your father set down his paper and finally looked at you like the sage old man he was. “He’s a good man.”

Oh my god. You fought the urge to throw your phone across the room.

Your mother sighed a long, dreamy exhale that belonged to a teenage girl meeting her favorite boyband, not a grown woman discussing your literal neighbor. Your self-proclaimed enemy.

“Oh, sweetheart, he’s just so charming and thoughtful! He even asked how we were, how you were, how Riku was—” She paused, giving you that look. "He even asked about your garden. Said he was sorry about the hedge. And then he asked what kind of flowers you liked.”

Sukuna… apologized? And asked about your favorite flowers? A memory flickered – Sukuna, years ago, nursing you back to health after a particularly bad tequila night, carefully placing a bouquet of spider lilies (your favorite, but you never told him) on your bedside table. And now, a pang of something that felt suspiciously like longing hit you. But no. Deny, deny, deny. Lock it down the deepest vault.

“Mom.”

“— and honestly, it’s just so rare these days. A man with such good manners…”

“Mom. We’re neighbors.”

“And handsome, too! I mean, obviously, we always knew that, but now—”

“MOM.”

Your father nodded, the sagely figure of a man who had clearly seen things. “Still a shame he’s not yet married.”

You swore you were about to die or throw yourself off a cliff. You weren’t picky at this point.

Your mother giggled. That dangerous giggle. The one that said she was absolutely about to dive into matchmaking hell. Everything is hell when it comes to everything with Sukuna involved.

“Mom, I swear to God, if you’re about to —”

“Oh, I just think it’s such a shame you two never worked out!”

You screamed in frustration.

Right at that moment, Riku poked his head in the camera. Of course. “Oh. Grandma’s talking about Papa again, huh?”

Your mother, ever the opportunist, perked up. “Oh, hi, sweetheart! Have you eaten? Did Uncle Sukuna pick you up from school?”

Riku flopped onto the couch, still munching on his chocolate bar and nonchalantly stealing one of your throw pillows that your leg was clearly hugging. “Yeah. We’re also gonna have burgers tonight! And gold-leaf fries.”

Your mother gasped. “Gold-plated?! Oh, see? Isn’t he wonderful?”

Riku shrugged. “I mean, yeah, he’s cool.”

Your soul left your body.

“Mom,” you said, voice shaking. “Please. I beg you. Stop.”

She only laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t be shy! You know, when I was your age, if a man looked at me the way Sukuna looks at you—”

“HANGING UP.”

“Wait—!”

Click.

You threw your phone onto the couch like it physically burned you. Riku, completely unfazed, finished his chocolate bar. How he finished it that fast was beyond you. Was he part vacuum cleaner?

“…So, mom,” he said, casually. “can I sleep over at Kei’s tonight?”

You grabbed the throw pillow and playfully smacked him with it.

Wednesdays. Hump days. The weird, middle child of the week. The day that usually smelled like stress and overpriced cold brews.

Normally, Wednesdays were crammed with back-to-back meetings: clients, your personal assistant, your shopping assistant (because, priorities), and the occasional emergency call from your hair stylist because your toner was apparently too warm. But, not today.

Today was sacred.

Today was shopping day. A full, uninterrupted day of retail therapy. Chanel, Cartier, a suspiciously overpriced iced matcha with edible gold flakes—you earned this.

You even texted your driver, Hiro, at 9 a.m. sharp to be on standby – like the responsible adult you occasionally pretend to be. Your credit cards warmed up like a Formula 1 engine, and all your favorite stores knew to roll out the metaphorical red carpet.

This Wednesday was going so well until Sukuna betrayed you.

You were still in your robe, smearing serum across your face like a rich house cat bathing in luxury, when your phone pinged. You glanced at the notification and felt your soul leave your body.

[Do Not Answer]: babe, I’m slammed with meetings [Do Not Answer]: mind picking up the kids today?

You stared.

Blinked.

And blinked again.

… Babe?

Babe.

Babe?!

The sheer audacity of that word nearly made you drop your gua sha.

He doesn’t call you babe. He never calls you babe. Well, that was years ago. But, he says “princess” with that smirk when he wants to piss you off, or “gorgeous” when he’s being annoyingly charming, and most of the times, lately, he calls you “sweetheart,” and you’re so ready to combust anytime. But babe?

Babe is sacred. Babe is relationship territory. Babe is dangerous. Babe is cruel.

You could feel twelve years’ worth of buried feelings rattle like a demon in the basement of your emotional trauma house. You shoved them back down with professional precision.

This was a trap. A distraction. You needed to focus. And also... what meetings?!

You jabbed your fingers at the screen, rage typing like a woman possessed.

[You]: since when do you have afternoon meetings? especially on a wednesday?! [You]: this feels illegal [You]: actually, I feel scammed

He replied instantly. The man had the nerve to send:

[Do Not Answer]: lol

LOL?! Oh, he thinks this is funny? Your eye twitched.

[You]: what if I was busy? [Do Not Answer]: you’re not [You]: YOU DON’T KNOW THAT [Do Not Answer]: you literally told me you had nothing scheduled this week

Okay, he wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point. The point is: he’s a treacherous man-child who clearly weaponizes your schedule against him. He couldn’t just pull the “I’m busy” card on you like that anytime. Not on a Wednesday, when your shopping trip had been meticulously planned to indulge in luxury and self-care.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, itching to send him something even more venomous. But instead, you stared at the blinking cursor, sighed like a Victorian widow, and texted:

[You]: k

You groaned dramatically into your hands. Yeah, to hell with your skin care. You went back to your bedroom and flopped onto your bed and groaned into your 600-thread count pillow. Somewhere in the distance, a dramatic violin played for your suffering. You were going to have to endure the other moms. The PTA vultures.

And possibly your own mother, who loved nothing more than materializing at school pickups like a judgmental ghost, armed with gossip and Sukuna-related questions.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Do Not Answer]: thanks, sweetheart. appreciate it ;) [You]: shut up

Hiro, your long-suffering driver and part-time therapist, was clearly thrilled by the unfolding drama.

“Madam,” he greeted, glancing at you through the mirror. “You look… thrilled.”

You scowled, sliding dramatically into the leather seat like a woman betrayed. “This is Sukuna's job. I’ve been scammed. I should sue him for emotional damages.”

“Is it really a scam,” Hiro asked diplomatically, “if he asked nicely?”

"He didn't ask nicely! He said lol. That’s verbal assault.”

Hiro hummed like he agreed, but he didn’t. Traitor.

When the car pulled into the school gates, it was like arriving at the frontline of a suburban battlefield. Mothers. Nannies. Personal bodyguards. Chauffeurs in black luxury cars. PTA moms who always dressed like they were going to brunch with the royal family.

And you?

You wore sweats, your old uni hoodie, and exactly zero makeup. You looked like the before picture in a glow-up video. But your diamond rings sparkled like hellfire – your only giveaway that you were rich as fuck. You weren’t broke, you were just done with these kinds of scene.

The judgment came fast. Some of the moms did that thing where they glanced at you, then whispered behind their hands. A few nannies gave you nods of respect, probably because you weren’t the usual “too-rich-to-function” type.

But the worst?

Mrs. Yoshida.

PTA Queen Bee. Two-time “Mother of the Year” because she nominated herself. Three-time brunch committee president. The woman probably tried to trademark: “yummy mummy.” The woman who would call the manager at a fucking charity event. Her heels clicked on the pavement like judgment incarnate as she stalked toward you.

"Oh,” she said, smiling that fake ‘I pity you’ smile. “It’s so nice to see you doing the school run for once!”

You blinked. Then smiled sweetly.

“Oh, and it’s so nice to see you still dressing like an overworked air hostess.”

Her smile dropped like the stock market is full of reds.

Hiro choked on his laughter.

But before the woman could recover from the verbal slap, you spotted the kids. Riku and Keiko. Standing side by side. Waiting. Hopeful. Clearly hopefully waiting for Sukuna to get them sundae on the way home.

Except when they saw you, that hope died.

Riku blinked, confused. To your horror, his face fell. Your son, your flesh and blood, is disappointed that you’re the one picking them up. This left you gaping in disbelief.

Then, Keiko turned. She titled her head with the slow horror of someone discovering they’d been served sparkling water instead of Sprite.

Basically, her entire soul left her body.

“…Where’s daddy?” she asked, peering into the Rolls like Sukuna was hiding in the glovebox.

“Busy,” you said.

Keiko looked physically ill with that word.

“So… you're picking us up?"

"Yes, Keiko."

"You?"

"YES, KEI. ME. GET IN THE CAR.” You’re controlling yourself with pure rage wrapped in customer and parenting service. Trying to remain calm as possible in front of all these judgmental PTA moms.

As they begrudgingly climbed in, you caught sight of Mrs. Yoshida again, watching the entire ordeal with the satisfied smirk of someone whose life is just a little bit less messy than yours. Yeah, you’ve had enough of this soul-sucking vibe. You just wanted to throw a juice box at her.

Once the doors shut, Riku sighed, dramatic as ever. “Well. This is awkward."

"Awkward?" you scoffed. “You’re disappointed in your own mother picking you up. That’s awkward.”

Keiko crossed her arms like a betrayed heiress. “Daddy always buys us ice cream after school.”

Riku leaned forward. "Yeah, Mom. You buying us ice cream?"

You looked between the two gremlins and then to Hiro, who was silently laughing in the front seat. You exhaled sharply, “…Fine.”

They cheered and you glared at these two gremlins.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I swear to God, if you two start rating me as a school-run parent—"

Keiko already had her little pink notebook out.

"You're at a 2 right now," she said, flipping open a page. "But ice cream might boost you to a 5.”

“Out of 5, right?” You said with a smile on your face, overly excited with the high-rating.

“No, out of 10.” Keiko nonchalantly said as she write on her pink notebook.

Your face fell with a what an actual fuck is happening reaction to everything around you.

Riku nodded. “Papa's still at a 9.8."

A 9.8?!

“What did he lose 0.2 for? Murder?” Clearly, you shouldn’t be near kids. But one of these kids is your son. So, yeah.

Riku shrugged. "He called my math homework stupid."

Keiko giggled. "Oh yeah! But then he bought you Jordans, so it’s okay."

You turned to Hiro, scandalized, “Are you hearing this? This is corruption. He’s bribing them.”

Hiro, looking at the road ahead, and with a perfectly straight face, just said, “It's a delicate ecosystem, madam. He plays the long game.”

You groaned.

And that was how you ended up at a drive-thru, buying two sundaes and one sad coffee. You, in the front seat, emotionally wrecked while your son and Sukuna's spawn ranked your parenting.

You finished at 2. Sukuna is still winning.

The moment you pulled into the driveway, your phone pinged.

[Do Not Answer]: how’d it go? [You]: ur child is a menace [You]: she ranked me like i was on the next top parent. a 2, sukuna. A DAMN TWO [Do Not Answer]: lmao [You]: this isn’t funny. ur evil tactics are spreading [Do Not Answer]: u just mad i’m winning parenthood [You]: i’m blocking u [Do Not Answer]: nahh u’re not

He was right. You scowled at your phone anyway. Before you could chuck your phone out the window, Riku turned to you.

“Can Kei sleep over?”

You blinked. “Didn’t she just rate me a TWO?!”

Keiko smiled sweetly. “It was just feedback, mama.” (You are not her mama. You’ve explained this. Repeatedly.)

Riku nodded sagely. "Yeah, Mom. Feedback’s important."

You squinted at your own son. And then stared at them both for this unbelievable situation of you being manipulated by these two gremlins.

Hiro (again, your driver) was full-on laughing now, no longer bothering to hide it.

"You know what?" you muttered, rubbing your temples. "No. No sleepovers. I’m officially clocking out as a parent today."

"Mama, no!” Keiko gasped.

“You gave me a two.”

Riku groaned. “Mom, you’re being dramatic.”

“You know what’s dramatic? Giving me a two, then immediately asking for a sleepover.”

Keiko huffed. "Fine. I’ll bump you to a five."

Riku crossed his arms. “You did buy us ice cream.”

"Are you guys seriously negotiating my score?"

Keiko beamed. "So that’s a yes?"

You sighed.

This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

"...Fine."

They cheered. Hiro, the traitor, just continued laughing in the front seat.

You ignored them all and pulled out your phone.

[You]: ur little gremlin just emotionally manipulated me into a sleepover [Do Not Answer]: that’s my girl [You]: come get her. i’m done parenting [Do Not Answer]: lmao no [You]: i hate u [Do Not Answer]: no you don’t ;)

You glared at the screen. This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

You were going to scream.

Or text him again.

Or maybe both.

But for now?

You needed wine. And maybe a therapist.

Golf was supposed to be a sport. A peaceful, relaxing Friday activity. Supposedly.

But no. Of course not. Why would anything in your life be peaceful?

In your life, everything was a battlefield – including, but not limited to, your tragic excuse for golf skills, the stiletto-thin patience you’re currently wearing, and the fact that you’re stuck listening to old-money business jargon that sounds like it came out of a rejected Succession script. Or maybe Dynasty, you never know anymore.

At the stupidly pristine golf course, your dad stood with Wasuke (aka Sukuna’s dad, aka walking intimidation in pastel polos) and Jin (Sukuna’s twin, aka the lesser evil?). Their conversation smelled like money. Like old, generational, smells-like-the-inside-of-an-oak-safe-and-a-Ferrari-merged-wealth. The air around them crackled with hostile mergers and billion-dollar foreplay.

Your sister was occasionally chimed in like she was born in a boardroom, and Gojo—another menace of the century with Sukuna — was playing both sides with the enthusiasm of a court jester who inherited a hedge fund.

Let’s be real: only three of you gave a single solitary shit about actual golf – you, Sukuna, and your mom. And your mom only cared because she once beat a CEO with a 7-iron and hasn’t emotionally recovered since.

The sun was bright. The grass was green. The vibe was hostile. And, you were already regretting your entire bloodline. Then, the worst voice known to mankind – smooth, smug, and utterly punchable – cut in from behind.

"You’re holding it wrong.”

You turned your head so fast your neck cracked. “Can you shut up?"

Sukuna stood there, leaning on his golf club like he was auditioning for Rogue Billionaires Weekly, smirk carved across his face like he owned the damn country club. Spoiler: he might be.

"Your stance is off. And your grip is fucking weak.” he said, voice mocking.

"My grip is fine, thank you.” Also, what the fuck even is a stance? You’re holding the club?!

He just grinned at you. That infuriating, teeth-flashing, smug little shit grin.

You sighed and turned back to the sound of corporate greed happening ten feet away, like a live-action PowerPoint presentation from hell. Yep, this is your slow, corporate-sponsored death.

"—the Dubai expansion is moving along," your dad said, adjusting his golf glove like a Bond villain. "Full return on investment by Q3 next year.”

Wasuke nodded. "And you’re securing exclusivity on that?"

Your sister jumped in. “The terms are favorable, but the board wants to explore secondary partnerships.”

May gods help you. Not the secondary partnerships.

"Secondary partnerships dilute brand value," Jin said, matter-of-factly and a voice flat as a Wall Street banker’s soul. "If you’re going in, go in alone."

Gojo, never missing an opportunity to self-promote, smirked. "Which is why I love working solo. No boards, no shareholders—just me, my money, and my incredible business instincts."

Sukuna snorted. "You mean your incredible luck?"

Gojo gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. Really, an Oscar-worthy performance. “'Kuna, I am deeply, deeply wounded."

"Don’t call me that," Sukuna muttered as he causally swung his golf club with perfect precision and sent the ball flying.

Meanwhile, Jin just dropped some casual xenophobia into the convo with, "I don’t trust the French.”

Heavens, they’re really brothers.

Wasuke didn’t even look up from his phone. “Their money’s good, but their loyalty is nonexistent.”

You leaned toward Sukuna out of curiosity. "Do you actually know what they’re talking about?"

Sukuna gave you a look that said: I have watched blood diamonds being auctioned off with less drama.

"Do you think I sit in boardrooms for fun?"

"Honestly? I try not to think about what you do."

"Because you’d get too distracted?" he said, mockingly sweet.

You rolled your eyes. "Because it’s probably illegal."

His smirk said no comment. Then Wasuke shifted the convo to Formula 1 – Sukuna’s domain of god complex and expensive toys.

"Motorsport contracts for the Euro manufacturers are wrapping up," Wasuke said, eyeing the scoreboard. "I want F1 projections next week."

“Already sent them,” Sukuna replied, because of course he did. “Wind tunnel drama, but the numbers are solid.”

"F1’s a money pit," your dad noted.

Jin smirked. “Yet they still beg us to be in their garages."

Your sister gave a knowing nod. "That’s because you control the entire supply chain. Power units, manufacturing motors, aerospace-grade materials—"

"You don’t win a championship without our parts," Sukuna added with terrifying ease.

Gojo whistled. "Damn. Y’all are playing god."

Wasuke smirked. "We don’t play god. We just make sure everyone needs us."

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked to yours. "Sound familiar?"

Ugh. That was a direct hit. You knew exactly what he was hinting at.

"Don’t be mad our family has the luxury industry in a chokehold," you shot back.

Jin laughed. "Our industries are co-dependent, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “Strategically entangled with deep-rooted dysfunction. There. Fixed it.”

“That’s rich, ”Sukuna chuckled under his breath. “Coming from the woman who emotionally negotiated a 5/10 rating out of a twelve-year-old.”

You whipped around to glare at him, your golf club pointed like a weapon. “Your daughter emotionally blackmailed me with dessert, okay? I’m the victim here.”

He took a slow step toward you, eyes gleaming like he was about to say something incredibly inappropriate. Especially in this place where you’re surrounded by family.

And you know that look. You hated that look he’s giving you right now. You just froze there, mentally preparing for the impact, fully aware that if this man so much as winked, your ovaries would detonate.

You sighed. "I hate it here."

"Sure," Sukuna drawled, “but you love getting the family-and-friends discount on Richard Mille."

You opened your mouth to argue — then shut it.

“…That’s what I thought," he said.

Meanwhile, the boardroom larping continued, with Jin casually lining up his golf shot. "By the way, what’s your play for the next expansion?"

Your dad smirked. "Exclusive deal on a rare pearl farm."

"How rare?" Sukuna asked.

Your sister crossed her arms. "One-of-one. Completely untapped market. If you want the pearls, you go through us."

Wasuke let out an approving chuckle. "That’s how you do business."

Sukuna turned to you. Smirking. "And you call me a capitalist pig."

You rolled your eyes. "I never said I wasn’t one too."

"Exactly."

Gojo clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough. Some of us are here to actually have fun.”

"Some of us are here to play golf," Jin added, eyes pointed at your disaster pose.

“Do you have broken legs or something, dumbass?” Sukuna asked. “Your stance has been criminal for the last 30 minutes.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered through a deep, meditative breath.

Gojo hummed, sipping his iced coffee. "No, he's right."

Your sister nodded sagely. "I’ve seen better posture from Riku playing Wii Sports."

Your mother sighed. "Honey, at least pretend you inherited some athletic ability."

You took a slow, deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t bury everyone here with a 9-iron. That’s a lot of jail time. And, murder is fucking illegal.

Across from you, Sukuna's shit-eating grin widened. “Want help?"

You gave him a deadpan look. "I would rather set this golf club on fire and dance around it like a pagan ritual."

"Aww," he cooed. "You’re so cute when you’re in denial."

Before you could golf club his skull, your dad clapped. “Alright, enough flirting. Take your shot.”

Flirting???

You turned slowly to look at him, completely horrified. Because why does every family function have to end up with everyone talking about your and Sukuna’s relationship.

“Dad.”

"Yes, dear?"

"That was not flirting."

Gojo grinned. "It kinda was."

Sukuna just snickered.

You ignored all of them and took your shot—which was terrible. The ball barely made it by three meters before pathetically rolling to a sad, pathetic stop like it just gave up on life. Not that golf balls have life but – everything’s just so stupid.

"Yikes," Sukuna whispered.

Gojo coughed to hide a laugh.

Your sister patted your shoulder. "It’s okay. Not all of us can be naturally gifted."

Sukuna slung an arm over your shoulder—bold move like a smug snake. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ve got other talents."

You shoved him off. "Like resisting the urge to commit first-degree homicide?"

He laughed and stepped up to take his own shot. He positioned himself with stupid, effortless confidence, gave a casual swing and then nailed it perfectly like it was nothing. The ball sailed through the air perfectly, landing exactly where it was supposed to.

Your father beamed. "Now that is how you play golf!"

Sukuna smirked at you. "See? That’s what maturity looks like."

You glared. "Maturity? You have a gold statue of yourself in your front yard, Sukuna."

"Confidence," he corrected.

Your mother sighed dreamily. "Oh, Sukuna, you should teach her more things. Maybe then she’d finally listen."

You choked. "Mom."

"She has a point," Gojo piped up. "I mean, you don’t even peel your own oranges—"

"That’s different," you snapped.

Sukuna grinned. "How?"

"Because peeling fruit is a waste of time. It’s too much work.”

"Uh-huh," he said, completely unconvinced. "And yet, you eat the ones I peel for you."

You paused.

Sukuna smirked with a wink, “Exactly.”

Gojo laughed. "Ohhh. He got you there."

Your sister gasped. "You’ve been peeling her fruit for years?"

"Yeah. Since high school.” Sukuna shrugged like it was nothing.

Your mother looked at you. "Sweetheart," she said, voice thick with judgment and amusement. "This is why we love him more than you."

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Strike you down, Zeus, you’re ready.

Before your soul could ascend, Sukuna glanced at his watch. "We should wrap up soon. We have to pick up the kids."

Oh. Right. Riku and Keiko.

You groaned. "God, I hope they haven’t schemed anything.”

Sukuna just smiled. "Hope all you want. We both know they’re worse than us."

Your sigh was basically a prayer. Because he was right.

Then he looked at you – really looked – and for a second, you saw it. A familiar, almost nostalgic glint in his crimson eyes. That something in his eyes. The history. The bullshit. The college days.

Before the weird, co-parenting situationship.

Before the kids.

Before all this strategic dysfunction.

Of course it started with betrayal. Because why wouldn’t it?

REWIND TO 15 YEARS AGO

Ah, the golden age. The era of questionable fashion choices, stolen Netflix passwords, and zero concept of consequences. You were younger, dumber, and apparently, very susceptible to being peer-pressured by your stupidly attractive childhood best friends and tequila with a price tag that could fund a small startup.

And the betrayal? Classic Gojo.

Not yours.

Not Sukuna’s.

But Gojo freaking Satoru’s.

The plan was simple. A chill, lowkey, totally-not-going-to-spiral-into-chaos evening. The threey of you. One rare, bougie-ass bottle of unreleased tequila – procured through one of Sukuna’s many mysterious family connections, which probably meant some shady auction involving something you don’t even know if legal or illegal at this point, but like… whatever. Details.

And the holy trinity of chaos – you, Sukuna, Gojo – were supposed to break in your overpriced couch (emotionally) and consume alcohol worth more than your rent. In your apartment. With music, chaos, and maybe light emotional trauma.

But Gojo?

That flaky, unreliable, sunglasses-wearing disaster of a human being? He didn’t show up. He straight up ghosted.

No text. No call. Just vibes – and not even the good ones. You and Sukuna were left staring at your phones like you’d both been stood up by the world’s most unserious Tinder date. Sitting in the dim glow of your apartment, side by side on your ridiculously expensive couch. The tequila, untouched, sat like a third wheel on your pristine glass coffee table, judging you.

And of course Sukuna, ever the picture of carelessness, was lounging on your couch like he owned the place (well, he and Gojo has your spare keys thanks to your very insistent mother who said that this was for safety purposes). He’s made himself too comfortable. His expensive leather jacket? Tossed like trash. His shirt? Pushed up just enough to flash his abs like a Calvin Klein ad. His legs? Sprawled. Man was taking up 80% of your couch like it came with a deed in his name.

You’d almost asked him to move his knee off your thigh, but that required energy and dignity – both of which were too low.

“He’s a piece of shit,” you mumbled, flipping your phone screen-down like it had personally betrayed you too.

Sukuna just huffed, stretching like a lazy cat. “We knew that.”

A beat of silence.

Then you turned your head. Sukuna was already looking at you.

And that was the beginning of the end.

You didn’t even need to say it, but you did anyway – because you’re you and you’re brain was one shot away from being completely unhinged.

"Fuck him," you said, curling your fingers around the bottle’s neck. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

Sukuna’s smirk was criminal. ”Gladly.”

Tequila hit like a kiss and a slap. Warm and mean. Sweet with aftershocks. It tasted like rebellion and a future apology text. It burned, sweet and smooth, slipping down your throat like bad decisions.

And by the fifth shot, everything had softened. You, the air, the line between sense and chaos. You weren’t drunk-drunk. Just in that dreamy, blurry zone where every thought seemed brilliant and you suddenly had strong opinions on things like fruit ethics and the social implications of banana neglect.

"Okay, hear me out," you began, swirling your glass like you actually understood tequila tasting. "If a banana has brown spots and you throw it away, isn’t that, like… fruitism?” You argued, dead serious.

Sukuna blinked at you, slow and unimpressed. “You’re equating overripe produce with discrimination?”

"Okay, but isn’t it?"

Sukuna, drunk but still insufferably rational, huffed. "Fruits were literally made to decay. The spots don’t even mean they’re bad. They’re just riper. Sweeter.”

“I’m just saying,” You squinted at him and gestured with passion. “And people toss them like yesterday’s garbage. That’s bias.”

He groaned, rubbing his face like your IQ physically pained him. “You’re drunk.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “You’re hot.”

He didn’t even blink. “Still doesn’t make what you said smart.”

“Can’t have it all.”

Shot seven was the real villain. That was the one that made you bold. That was the shot that made the conversation shift to a heated, increasingly idiotic debate about billionaires and time-travel tech like you were on a TED talk stage.

“Listen,” you said, pointing an accusing finger at him and serious as a heart attack, “if someone invented a machine that lets you relive the best moment of your life –”

“Oh, here we fucking go,” Sukuna muttered, who is slumped against the couch with a drink in hand and zero patience. And he’s already rubbing his temple like he has a migraine.

“—billionaires shouldn’t be allowed to use it.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look.the kind that screamed you’re an idiot and I am suffering. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard, and I talk to Gojo on a regular basis.”

“That’s justice,” you replied.

“You sound like one of those fake-deep Twitter threads with the ‘let that sink in’ at the end.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, hand to chest. “That’s the meanest things you’ve ever said to me.”

Sukuna smirked and leaned back on the couch, swirling his drink, all lazy and smug. “Not even top five. Cry about it.”

And honestly? Fair.

You narrowed your eyes at him, then shoved at his shoulder. “Smug bastard.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just raised an eyebrow, all smug and irritating. “That the best you got?”

“You wanna go?” you said, drunk enough to mean it, sober enough to know it was a terrible idea.

“Brat, I’ve been waiting for you to throw hands.”

And just like that, it was on. The argument devolved into some half-playful, half-serious wrestling match that your tequila-soaked logic somehow decided was a good idea. You lunged yourself at him—awkwardly, gracelessly, like a cat trying to fight its reflection. And he caught you. Of course.

Sukuna met your weak-ass attack with a wicked grin and zero effort, catching your wrists mid-swat and easily flipping you onto your back like this was WWE: College Edition.

He was straddling your waist like this was some twisted rom-com where the lead-up was fruit bias and class warfare. He was pinning your hands above your head with one of his stupidly strong hands, face inches from yours. Neither of you moved. His smirk stretched slow and deliberate.

“Aw,” he murmured, looking down at you. “Pinned you already.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Your brain screamed.

“We better not fuck,” you said, breathless, mock-serious, heart pounding like you weren’t already halfway there. “That would be crazy.”

Sukuna laughed, sharp and dark. “You’re right. That would be so stupid.”

You stared up at him, drunk on more than just tequila. “So, don’t.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, the world going mute, “Make me.”

The tension was a slow, burning thing. Suddenly too heavy, too obvious.

And it happened.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. And fuck, maybe he had.

It was desperate, messy, hot—his hands were greedy, large, possessive, fingers digging into your waist as you pulled him onto you. His weight settled over yours, pinning you to the couch, every hard line of muscle pressing into your body.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, breath warm against your lips. “This is a bad idea.”

You nipped at his bottom lip, smirking. “Then stop.”

Sukuna growled.

So obviously, you didn’t

Your soul has left your body.

You were spent. Utterly wrecked. A pleasantly, post-orgasmic disaster of a human being, melted into your couch like cheese. The kind of boneless, mind-melting exhaustion that came after a particularly intense workout—except the only exercise involved had been riding Sukuna like your life depended on it.

Sukuna yanked you back down with a lazy smirk, his fingers tight around your waist. He was against your neck, smug as sin, like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire pelvic floor and sanity in under an hour.

Your brain was short-circuiting. Not even crashing—melting. Like: what were you doing?

What were you doing letting Sukuna Ryomen, heir to a criminally rich, morally grey empire, raw you on a couch your mother had helped you pick out a week ago? That same couch that she said would “last through years of wear and tear”? Oh honey, if only she knew.

You could still feel him inside you (because, he is still inside you), which, frankly, was just rude. Your vagina had zero chill. Not when Sukuna had been whispering things like good girl and so fucking tight into your ear for the last forty-five minutes like he was narrating an erotic audiobook that only your nervous system had access to.

Your breathing was ragged, your skin damp with sweat, your limbs completely useless. The couch cushions were destroyed, one of the pillows had somehow ended up on the floor, and your legs… well. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to use them properly for the next hour. Maybe the next week.

Then there was a moment – still, quiet, charged – and Sukuna, ever the menace, had to go and say, “Loving daddy’s cock inside you, baby?”

Oh fuck, his post-sex voice is too sexy to hear. Your vagina responded before your brain did. Your moan was involuntary. Your dignity packed a bag and left.

The air was thick, too warm, and filled with the scent of tequila, sex, and very bad decisions.

You should’ve been freaking out. Should’ve been reconsidering every life choice that led up to this moment. Should’ve been thinking about things like consequences or friendship dynamics or even just the fact that you had quite literally defiled your own couch.

And then, because the universe has a terrible sense of timing –

BANG.

The door slammed open.

You and Sukuna froze mid-regret, your heart doing backflips and your brain buffering like a corrupted YouTube video. Basically, this is the time your soul left your body.

And then…

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Gojo.

Of course it was Gojo.

Standing in your doorway like he was meant to be the comedic third act twist in your sexual coming-of-age story. Sunglasses on at 2AM (maybe it’s already 3AM), stupid grin in full force, and holding a bag of snacks the size of a small child.

Your brain, still swimming in post-orgasmic haze and the last remnants of drunkenness, short-circuited.

Because—oh. That’s why he was late.

He’d gone shopping.

Gojo had spent—what, two hours? Three?—debating the intricate nuances of potato chips, probably standing in the aisle like a philosopher pondering the meaning of life. And in the end? He’d just bought one of everything. Every brand. Every flavor. As if he were assembling a tasting menu for a fucking wine and cheese night—except it was just snacks.

You blinked at him like he was a mirage.

He blinked back, grinning harder, “Did you—” He gestured vaguely at your naked, sweaty, entangled bodies.

“You guys seriously just fucked?”

Sukuna groaned, voice muffled against your skin. “Get the fuck out.”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. You wanted to cry. Or vanish. Or time-travel to an hour ago and slap the bottle out of your own hand.

Gojo continued, blissfully ignorant with his shit-eating grin dialed up to maximum wattage. “You could’ve at least waited for me.”

“GOJO.”

“Not to join!” he added, then paused. “Unless—?”

Sukuna finally lifted his head, naked, disheveled, and radiating murder. His voice dropped into something lethal. "You step one foot further, and I will personally make sure you never reproduce.”

And then he threw the nearest couch pillow at Gojo’s face.

Gojo dodged with the agility of a mad who had absolutely walked in on worse. “Y’know, I knew something was up with you two since high school –”

He sighed. Sighed, like he was talking about a missed prom date and not your current naked humiliation.

“SATORU.”

“— the sexual tension was like a constant third presence. Like god, but hornier.”

Yeah, you’re most likely dying of humiliation tonight.

“But I never thought you’d actually go and rawdog each other without me even getting a sip of that tequila.”

Your eye twitched. Your entire nervous system sent out one last emergency broadcast before collapsing like a dying star. There was no saving you now. You were gonna have to move cities. Change names. Fake your death and live in the woods.

In a blind, desperate attempt to salvage literally anything – your pride, your humanity, your grandmother’s ghost watching from the afterlife – you grabbed the nearest object and hurled it at him.

Maybe it was a pillow. Maybe it was your shame. Maybe it was your will to live.

No. No, of course it couldn’t be anything soft or metaphorical.

It was your bra.

The bra that cost more than your phone. The bra hand-stitched by artisans in France who probably didn’t intend for it to be yeeted across the room like a missile of humiliation.

Gojo caught it midair. And fucking whistled. Whistled.

Sukuna let out a lethal growl above you, like he was two seconds from choosing violence over pulling out. “Drop. It.”

Gojo, being Gojo, did not drop it. No. That would’ve been rational. Instead, he held it up to the light like some deranged pervert on an antique TV show.

“Huh. Didn’t peg you as a lace kinda girl. Delicate, but slutty. Iconic.”

You lunged at him like a rabid raccoon.

Sukuna yanked you back down before you could inflict justified murder, his grip locking tight around your waist like he knew exactly how many war crimes you were about to commit. “Save your energy, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh, now he wants to be cute? Now? After he rawdogged your soul out of your body and left it there, on the floor, vulnerable and exposed like a neglected Sims character?

Gojo cackled, like this was the highlight of this week. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. So! Are we finally admitting that you guys have been feral for each other this whole time?”

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, GOJO."

He wheezed. Laughed like this was the best episode of a reality TV he’d ever seen. You, however, were having a full-blown metaphysical crisis.

And then it hit you. Like your brain finally sobered up enough to whisper, ‘hey dumbass… something’s off…’

You.

And Sukuna.

Were.

Still.

Naked.

Not cute-and-covered-by-the-blanket naked.

Not tastefully-draped-like-a-renaissance-painting naked.

No.

This was “there’s an entire Gojo eyeball on your titty” naked.

That’s why Sukuna fucking yanked you down so fast. Not to protect your dignity – lol, what dignity – but because your boobs were just out. Just there. Making their unwanted debut to the worst audience in human history.

Your entire existence condensed into one singular thought: you’re gonna astral project out of this flesh prison and never return.

You buried your face in your hands.

“I’m never drinking again,” you mumbled, voice muffled and soul-dead. The words of a liar. A liar with regrets.

Sukuna, the bastard, didn’t even flinch. This man had seen war (business rejections, most likely). Tax evasion. Eternal damnation. Your naked ass wasn’t gonna rattle him. “I’m never letting you drink again.”

Gojo, now seated in the doorway like he was watching a 2000s rom-com movie, clapped his hands together. “Well! Now that everyone's tits are covered, I vote we unpack all this juicy sexual tension over midnight snacks.”

You made a noise. It might have been a sob. Or a scream.

Then, you locked eyes with Sukuna. Dead serious.

“Kill him first,” you said. “Then me.”

Gojo opened his mouth—

“No, you cannot take a picture,” you snapped.

Gojo shut his mouth. But only for a second.

“I was gonna ask if you guys needed snacks,” he said, fake-offended, “but sure, go ahead and assume the worst.”

Sukuna's eye twitched. Like, visibly. Dangerously. “You have five seconds before I personally rearrange your jaw.”

Gojo held up his hands in surrender—still holding your bra, like it was a white flag for surrender.

You just wanted to die. Or better—rewind time. All the way back to when you said, “just one tequila shot.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” Gojo smirked.

That was it. That was Sukuna’s final nerve snapping. Man went from 0 to murder real quick, pulling out (rude) in a heartbeat and bolting after Gojo around the apartment with the kind of fury that would make Greek gods go ‘damn bro, chill.’

You, meanwhile, scrambled to find a blanket. Any blanket. Any napkin. A curtain. You would’ve accepted being wrapped in your own regret at that point. Still dizzy. Still mildly post-orgasmic. Still spiritually decimated.

You never lived that moment down.

Ever.

Gojo made sure of it.

And yet – despite the absolute catastrophic level of social humiliation – you really thought that was it. A stupid, drunken slip-up. A one-time tequila-fueled tragedy.

But it wasn’t. Because, of course, it wasn’t.

Because this was you and Sukuna.

Disasters. Walking, breathing, kissing disasters.

And this?

This was the biggest, dumbest, horniest fucking disaster of them all.

It wasn’t just a one-time thing.

It wasn’t just a casual phase.

It lasted three fucking years.

God forbid.

Three years of sneaking glances across rooms like the two of you weren’t regularly naked in each other’s beds. Three years of pretending there wasn’t stupidly cosmic about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Three years of pretending it was just fucking.

You were in your last year of college. Graduation loomed in like a loaded gun. Sukuna was finishing his postgrad, looking dangerously adult while you were still using dry shampoo as a personality. And instead of prepping for the real world, you were spending every night tangled in sheets, sweat, and denial.

You weren’t even being subtle about it.

Sukuna’s hoodies lived in your wardrobe rent-free. Your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. You ate half his fries every time.

It wasn’t just the sex (though, let’s be real, the sex could summon the dead and cancel student debt). It was everything. The way his hoodies, shirts, pants (heck, all his clothes) lived in your wardrobe rent-free. The way your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. The way you shamelessly ate half his fries every time. The way he memorized your coffee order. The way you always saved him the last dumpling even though you hated sharing. The fact that he punched a guy once for saying your laugh was annoying. You were basically in a relationship.

Just… you know. Without the commitment. Or the honesty. Or the emotional maturity.

But not everything lasts perfectly, right?

Because saying it would make it real.

And if it was real then, it could end. And neither of you were brave enough for that.

You don’t remember exactly when it started to shift.

Maybe when he stayed over just to sleep.

Maybe when you waited for him after class.

Maybe when he threatened his frat brothers for flirting with you.

Maybe when you were too in your feelings, and he was in denial, and the entire relationship had the emotional maturity of a wet paper towel trying to hold a gallon of wine.

It was three fucking years of closeness so intimate it could’ve been called codependency if it weren’t so mutual.

But neither of you said it.

Neither of you dared to.

Not until the night it all went to hell.

Over the stupidest, pettiest, most aggressively idiotic fight in the history of human race. And romance.

Over a fucking LED light.

You blinked out of the memory like you’d just been possessed by a much younger, hotter, dumber version of yourself. Truly, your early twenties needed a warning label.

Only dragged back to the present by the sound of Gojo’s obnoxious laugh and the distant thwack of another golf ball being ruthlessly yeeted into the horizon.

But your mind was still a few tequila shots behind. Still sticky with the memory of hot skin, tangled limbs, and the unforgivable knowledge that Sukuna had once bitten your neck like he was trying to ruin you on purpose. (He did.) That he’d once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name, let alone the fact that you were definitely, definitely supposed to keep things platonic.

You hadn’t thought about that night in years. You’d buried it so deep beneath co-parenting schedules and passive-aggressive text threads that it had fossilized. You’d compartmentalized it like a pro. Filed it under Regrettable But Also Kinda Amazing Decisions That We Pretend Never Happened Because Denial Is a Lifestyle.

But all it took was one look.

One stupid look from Sukuna and your whole nervous system went, “Hey, remember that time you climbed him like a tree?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva.

Sukuna looked at you, raising a brow. “You good?”

You stared at him. The same eyes. Same smirk. Same stupid, punchable face that you’d once maybe considered kissing in a tequila haze.

You muttered, “I hate you.”

He grinned. “You looked like you were remembering something tragic. Was it my abs?”

You hit him with your golf club. Lightly. (For legal reasons.)

Gojo, watching from the side, completely unaware of your inner spiral, wandered over with the self-satisfied strut of a man who just made par and will never let anyone forget it. “So, what’s the verdict? Are we still pretending you two don’t have wildly unresolved sexual tension or…?”

You glared. “Do you want to die today?”

Gojo just waggled his brows. “I’m just saying, the air’s thick with tension. Like, if I blink, someone’s getting pinned to the nearest flat surface.”

Sukuna, infuriatingly calm, walked past you to grab his water bottle. “Grow up, Gojo.”

That was rich coming from a man who once texted you “wanna come over and fight?” at 2 a.m. and then had the audacity to kiss you like you were air and he was suffocating years ago.

You rubbed your temple. Get it together.

But the memory clung. It had claws. And it wouldn’t let go.

Only the three of you knew. Only the three of you would ever know. You’d made a silent, mutually-assured-destruction type pact after the fact. No one brings it up. No one mentions the couch. No one so much as breathes in the direction of “remember that night?”

And you’d all been doing so well.

Until now.

Until Sukuna looked at you like that.

Until you remembered exactly how he tasted.

Until your body remembered what your brain had worked overtime to erase.

You looked at Sukuna now – older, annoyingly hotter, a single father of a cute, angel-looking gremlin – and your stomach dropped.

Because the worst part wasn’t the memory.

It was the terrifying realization that some part of you... hadn’t actually moved on.

And that? That was the most dangerous thing of all.

It wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. You weren’t normal.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to be.

Sukuna knew. He knew the moment you glitched like a broken Sims out of nowhere, the subtle shift in your posture, the way your lips pressed into a tight line. He’d seen it before, in the way you tried to bury things under layers of sarcasm and nonchalance.

And that? That was exact thing that made his chest tighten, just a little bit.

You’d always been good at pretending. Hell, you were great at pretending. But Sukuna wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen the cracks in the armor. He’d felt them in the way you’d tense up when he was too close. In the way you still looked at him when you thought no one was paying attention.

Even thought it’s been 12 years, the memory of your lips on his, the desperate heat of it, was all burned into his mind just as much as it was in yours. That last night had fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even begin to untangle. That fucking fight over LED lights. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But now? Now, standing next to you on this golf course, with Gojo prattling on about tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, Sukuna could feel something else — something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront.

He’d tried. He’d tried to move on. To tell himself that you were just a chapter in a stupid, messy college romance he could chalk up to a lesson learned. But the way you still looked at him — like you wanted to kill him one minute and kiss him the next — made him wonder if he was really the one who’d moved on.

You hadn’t said it. You hadn’t admitted it to him, and you definitely hadn’t admitted it to yourself. But Sukuna could feel the pull between you two, like gravity trying to yank him back into orbit. And he fucking hated it.

You weren’t ready to move on, and maybe… maybe neither was he.

Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts again, loud and obnoxious, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just made the tension worse. And there you were, glaring at him like you wanted to murder him with your golf club. That just made his smirk wider.

He didn’t care what Gojo said. He didn’t care how thick the air felt between them.

He cared that every time you looked at him, he felt something that wasn’t quite hatred. He cared that, despite everything, the memory of that night — the way you fit so perfectly against him — still haunted him.

The worst part?

You were still the one thing that got under his skin.

And that terrified him.

You’re sitting there, waiting outside the school, in his damn car, sunglasses on like you’re trying to hide from the world and also from the fact that your brain’s still stuck in the relapsing and post-golfing haze. The one where you remember way too much of that face – that stupid, stupid face – and the laugh that somehow made you feel things you don’t ever wanna feel again. And don’t even get started on his damn arms. Like, who needs arms to be that distracting in the middle of everything? Seriously, when did he roll up his sleeves? Was there some kind of cosmic mistake? The universe did not need that information.

And yet, here you are, replaying it in slow motion in your head. Yep, even that night 15 years ago. Even worse, you almost drooled thinking about it. Almost.

It also didn’t need the fact that you almost drooled while thinking about it.

And, God, it’s too quiet. Way too quiet. Normally, you and Sukuna are bantering like two toddlers fighting over the last cookie. You’re both competitive assholes, arguing about dumb shit like whose playlist will play for the ride-back. But today? Nah. You’re both too out of it. Too tame.

You glance sideways at Sukuna, who’s leaning back in his seat too lax. Does he always look like that? But you’ve been staring at him for far too long today, and it’s messing with your internal wiring. You actually almost forgot to argue. Almost.

So, you break the silence first. “I’d rather not get out of the car,” you say, because... why not?

Sukuna looks over at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “What? Did Mrs. Yoshida go up to you the other day?”

The mere mention of her name is enough to spark an internal cringe. You snort but it comes out half-hearted. Like, yeah, you’ve got a serious vendetta against that woman, but even you can’t muster the energy to fully engage. “Yeah. Guess she wanted to show off yet again.”

Sukuna huffed a laugh, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “Show off what? Her death grip on passive aggression?”

That earned him a real laugh from you, one that surprised both of you a little. But it fades just as quickly as it came. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes closed, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. Like you’ve been holding it since that goddamn golf course.

“She said something about me finally doing the school run for once,” you muttered, your voice low with disbelief. “Like I was doing a cosplay of a present parent.”

Sukuna’s face doesn’t change, but his voice drops into that deep, sarcastic tone. “She would say that. Probably thinks your ovaries are overdue for reactivation or some shit.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does that even mean?”

He smirked. That damn smirk that you swear could put every other man on the planet to shame. “Don’t know. Ask her. I bet she’s got a PowerPoint ready.” Oh, honey, maybe, you’re too down bad after that relapse.

Another snort escaped you, this time more genuine, because honestly? She would. God, the thought of it made your skin crawl, but it’s too funny not to appreciate, “God, I hate her heels. They click like a countdown to emotional damage.”

Sukuna laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you forget the day’s weirdness for a second. “She probably practices walking in her driveway.”

“Oh absolutely. Full parade route. With flags and a marching band made of guilt.”

That’s it. That’s the sweet spot. You both start laughing, but it’s like a weird patchwork of relief and awkwardness, too. Like you can’t quite shake off the tension from earlier today, but at least now there’s something more normal—something fun—in the air.

And that’s how you found outside the car, now standing in front of the school gates, with Sukuna this time. But standing so goddamn close to you. It made your heart rate do that little skip thing you can’t ever explain. But, no time to be a freak about it.

The bell rings. And of course, who’s the first person you see? Mrs. Goddamn Yoshida. She appeared out of thin air like a mid-tier Bond villain with hair lacquered into a helmet of superiority and lip gloss as weaponized as ever.

“Oh,” she drawls, her voice as sugary sweet as cyanide. “Two school pickups in a week? Someone’s going for Mother of the Month.”

You don’t even blink. Your sunglasses are firmly in place, and you’re already prepping your comeback. “You would know. You still printing the certificates at home?”

Sukuna laughed beside you, a deep, guttural sound that only made Mrs. Yoshida more uncomfortable. He eyes practically twitched. She’s not even hiding the fact that she’s shook that you’re here with Sukuna. The most-coveted bachelor (well, he may be a single dad but technically he’s not yet married) in the country. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but just as she’s about to speak –

“Mom?”

Riku’s voice rang out like a melody through the tension, and just like that, everything resets. Your brain stutters for half a second as you snap your head around to see Riku, your baby boy (c’mon, he’s 12), running towards you like you’ve just saved his world.

And then, there’s Keiko. Running right behind Riku… but instead of launching themselves into your arms like the sensible kids they are, they both straight up betrayed you. These gremlins ran straight for Sukuna. What you can’t believe was the fact that your son ignored you. He may have called you but no he didn’t even ran towards you. What the fuck was that?

You blink, standing there, totally dumbfounded. Your mouth might even be hanging open a bit. Seriously? They just—what? Your son, the kid you’ve been raising, the one who’s spent years gluing your heart to his every move, just totally... skipped you? And now he’s practically throwing himself at Sukuna?

Your brain scrambles for words, but they’re stuck in some weird loop. "Riku," you manage, but it's more like you're calling him out of instinct than actually knowing what the hell to do with this new development.

But Keiko, of course, isn’t wasting any time either. She’s clinging to Sukuna’s leg like she’s on some sort of mission, because you might probably be jealous of his parenting dynamic with his daughter. You want to tell them both off, but the weirdest thing happens: a tiny part of you feels... left out? Like, what the hell?

Sukuna looks down at the two of them, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, clearly trying not to laugh too hard at your expense. "Guess your son likes me more," he teases, all calm and collected as usual, though you can tell he’s getting a kick out of it.

Riku finally looks up at you, a little sheepish now, like he knows he’s been caught. "Uh, sorry, Mom. Papa told me he’ll bring us to that sushi place today." He scratches his head awkwardly.

OH. So, that’s what we’re doing now.

Bribery. Betrayal. And sushi.

You narrow your eyes, your expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and parental betrayal. “Oh. Papa told you that, huh?” you repeat slowly, the word "Papa" practically dripping with italics and judgment. The way Riku suddenly fidgets? Yeah, he knows he’s in trouble. Good.

Sukuna just shrugs, the cocky bastard, still smirking like this is all part of his grand villain arc. “Can’t help it if I have good taste and your kid has excellent priorities,” he says, which is exactly the kind of smug crap he always pulls when he knows he’s winning.

You cross your arms, sunglasses still on, even though the sun is hiding behind a cloud like it’s also trying to avoid the tension. “Yeah? Next time, how about you bribe your own daughter and leave mine out of it?”

Keiko, ever the daddy’s girl, finally detaches herself from Sukuna’s leg and gives you an innocent look, but it’s not lost on you that she’s got a mischievous glint in her eyes. “No need, mama! I already love daddy a lot.”

You stare at both of them for a second, blinking as you process this betrayal. "You two are unbelievable. Is this why Riku comes home later than he should’ve been for the past month? Your briberies?”

Sukuna doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin widens like he’s thriving under the betrayal-fueled glare you’re shooting at him.

“Oh, come on,” he says, deadpan, “you make it sound like we’re running some underground snack ring. It was one burger trip. Maybe three. And a boba run.”

You squint at him. “And the churros that Riku brought home last week?”

“That was... spontaneous.”

Keiko, bless her tiny traitorous heart, pipes up like she’s on the witness stand. “And the arcade tokens, Daddy?”

Sukuna blinks. Then shrugs. “Okay, five bribery trips. But who’s counting?”

You’re counting. You are absolutely counting. You’re already adding it to the list in your Notes app. You inhale, deeply. Breathe in patience. Exhale vengeance.

“You do realize,” you say slowly, “that he told his math teacher you’re his second emergency contact now?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “That’s cute. And honestly? Fair. I bring snacks, pick them up, and importantly? Emotional availability.”

You gasp like you’ve just been hit with a flying sandal. “I birthed him.”

He tilts his head, hand over his heart in mock sympathy. “Yeah, but I took him to watch that new superhero movie twice, and I didn’t complain once. Not even during the post-credit scene.”

Riku nods solemnly. “He even explained the multiverse to me without getting mad.”

You turn to your son like you’re looking at a stranger in your home. “You never let me explain anything without groaning.”

Riku shrugs with zero guilt. “Your explanations come with a lot of side stories.”

“That’s called context!” you sputter.

Oh, but now this pink-haired bastard is actually laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a smug little puff of air. No. This is a full-on, head-tilted-back, shoulders-shaking, evil-boyfriend-in-a-Kdrama laugh. And the worst part? It's lowkey making you relapse to that 3-year long situationship. Which is exactly what the problem is. You’ve been relapsing since this week fucking started. This shouldn’t have happened. And this all started because he murdered your hedge.

And now, you’re standing there—offended, outnumbered, and tragically out-bribed—and all you can think is: you hate it here.

“I’m surrounded by traitors,” you mutter under your breath, adjusting your sunglasses like they’ll shield your soul from this level of disrespect.

Sukuna wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “C’mon, don’t be jealous. You’re still the top mom in this cult we’ve built.”

You stare at him. “You literally poached my child with raw fish, sneakers, burgers, gold leaf fries, and Marvel trivia. That’s not parenting. That’s warfare.”

“And I’m winning,” he says without missing a beat.

Keiko pats your arm in consolation. “It’s okay, Mama. You still have snacks sometimes at your house.”

“Sometimes,” you echo, wounded.

Riku’s still awkwardly standing there, clearly feeling the weight of his betrayal. “Uh, Mom, do you still wanna go to that sushi place later?” he asks, his voice full of nervous hope, like he’s waiting for a miracle to save him from your wrath.

You narrow your eyes, looking between your son and Sukuna. “You really think I’m gonna let you off the hook that easily?” You cross your arms again, but this time it’s not as fierce. “I mean, if you wanna bribe me with sushi... I guess I can consider it.”

Sukuna snorts beside you, clearly enjoying the inner battle you’re having with yourself. "See? Told you, bribery always works.”

"Shut up," you mutter, but you can’t help the hint of a smile. Dammit, this is exactly how he got you last time.

Sukuna’s trying to herd the kids toward the car now, like some unholy cross between a playground kingpin and the world’s most chaotic dad. And for one fleeting moment, you catch yourself smiling. Genuinely. The kind that sneaks up on you before you can armor it with sarcasm.

And then—

“I call shotgun!” Riku yells.

“No, I call shotgun!” Keiko yells back.

You’re about to intervene like a responsible adult (because who lets 12-year-olds ride shotgun?!) when Sukuna just shrugs and tosses you the keys. “Guess you’re driving. They’ll keep fighting otherwise.”

You catch them automatically, then freeze. “Wait, I’m driving? In your car?”

He’s already walking to the passenger side. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”

And there it is again. That weird little glitch in your heart. The one that started on the golf course, peaked somewhere around churros, and now, apparently, comes with keys and unsolicited trust.

You mutter under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat, “Next time I’m bringing veggie chips and trauma bonding. See how he likes that.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re genuinely grinning as you walk toward the school gates. Because no matter how many times you roll your eyes at him, you know that, deep down, you’ll always be this close to falling right back into that stupid pattern of chaos and longing.

And secretly? Secretly you don’t mind the shotgun betrayal. Or the sushi bribes. Or even Sukuna’s dumb laugh that now lives rent-free in your brain.

What you do mind is how easy it is to imagine this being…normal.

And that? That’s the scariest part.

Because the last time things felt normal with Sukuna—it ended with heartbreak, a bruised ego, and a pink LED light flickering like the world’s most ironic heartbreak anthem.

REWIND TO 12 YEARS AGO

It had all started innocently enough—just a stupid school project, both of you in your own little worlds, completely unaware of the mess you'd end up in. You’d been frantically pulling an all-nighter for your thesis on marketing strategies, running on a diet of coffee and panic. The room smelled like burnt ambition and three-day-old coffee.

Sukuna had walked in, uninvited (as usual), plopping himself down on the edge of your bed and looking like he owned the place. You didn’t even glance up from your notes.

"Got any snacks, or is your thesis a full meal by itself?” he'd asked casually, stretching his legs across the floor.

“it’s a five-course meal of existential dread. You should’ve brought dessert,” you muttered, eyes flicking over your outline that still had more question marks than actual points.

He made a dramatic tsk noise. ”Really? That bad? Damn, should’ve brought ice cream. Or a priest.”

You finally looked up, dead-eyed. “Unless the priest knows APA format and has a spare conclusion section in his pocket, I don’t want it.”

“Wow, brat. So ungrateful.” He leaned over to snatch your mug without asking, took a sip, and immediately gagged. “What is this? Battery acid? Motor oil? Regret?”

“It’s coffee,” you said, dryly. “And if you touch my highlighters, I will end you.”

He blinked at you. “Gotchu, babe. No touching the holy trinity: coffee, highlighters, and your rapidly deteriorating sanity.”

You grunted. “What are you even doing here, ‘Kuna? Don’t you have people to terrorize somewhere else?”

He shrugged, picking up a sticky note from your desk and squinting at the words like they personally offended him. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite stress case.”

You gave him a look that screamed I am five seconds away from a breakdown and you’re monologuing in my safe space.But Sukuna? He was already distracted, fiddling with your desk lamp like it held the secrets of the universe.

Before you could ask what the hell he was doing, he suddenly grinned, standing up, and twisting the lamp in a way that made the light flicker dramatically.

“What are you doing with my lamp?” you snapped, but he was already flipping the switch.

“Nah, I’m just making sure you’re not too depressed so we gotta change the mood lighting. You need it. Trust me. This is what creative enlightenment looks like.” He flashed a grin that had you wondering if he’d lost his mind.

“If that’s enlightenment, pretty sure the light’s about to start flickering and lead me to a breakdown.” You were so tired, but you couldn’t help the irritation bubbling up.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He reached for your lamp again, twisting it in the other direction like he was adjusting some fancy futuristic remote control.

“I didn’t sign up for this!” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could do more damage to your perfectly ordinary, functional lamp. “This is my space, my chaos. You can’t just—”

Suddenly, you found yourself flat on your back on the bed, and Sukuna’s weight was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Not a bad way to distract you, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, and that was it. The floodgates opened, your frustrations morphing into something entirely different.

Heat. Hands. Teeth.

And that stupid lamp still casting romantic lighting like you were in some low-budget romcom with a dangerously high body count.

You didn’t even remember who pulled who first. One second you were yelling about thesis formatting and desk territory, and the next, Sukuna was pulling your shirt over your head like it had personally offended him. You should’ve been worried about citations. APA format. Deadline. But somehow his mouth on your neck took priority.

Again.

You made it to the edge of the bed this time before knocking over a pile of highlighters and flashcards. Sukuna didn't even blink.

“Watch the thesis,” you gasped as your laptop nearly flew off the side.

“Babe, the only thing I’m watching is you falling apart under me,” he said, grinning like the devil, hands already sliding down your waist.

You hated that it worked. Hated how your body betrayed you so quickly—how easily you leaned into him, craved him, even when your life was falling apart in bullet points and overdue drafts.

It was frantic. A little sloppy. Neither of you had the brain cells for finesse. Just something rough and grounding to yank you out of the spiral and straight into Sukuna’s orbit—where logic went to die and pleasure took the wheel.

By the time it was over, both of you were breathless and half-covered in dissertation pages and regret.

And that’s when he did it.

He reached over.

And changed the mood lighting again.

Soft pink this time.

You stared at him, chest still heaving, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. “What the actual hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” he said innocently, blinking like a man who wasn’t still inside you thirty seconds ago.

“It’s a vibe. I’m curating.”

“You’re curating? This isn’t a Pinterest board, Sukuna. This is my room.”

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically to the lamp, “I made it better.”

You sat up, immediately regretting it when your thigh cramped. “I swear to God, if you touch that lamp one more time—”

“You’ll what? Write a strongly worded thesis about it?”

“Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You say that,” he said, flopping back onto the bed with a grin, “but you let me raw you like a stress-relief squishmallow, so.”

You picked up a pillow and hurled it at his face.

Hard.

Sukuna caught it with one hand, smirking.

“I’m changing it to red next.”

“Touch that switch and I’m putting glitter glue in your shampoo.”

“…Kinky.”

You screamed into another pillow.

And for a second, it was funny. Ridiculous. The kind of scene you'd laugh about in five years over drinks.

But something in the air shifted—too subtle to notice at first. Like a hairline crack in a dam.

Then he said it. The thing that would claw its way into both of your memories and rot there, festering for years.

“You know, if you put half the effort into your actual thesis that you put into pretending to be in love with me when you're bored, you'd be graduating top of our class.”

Silence.

It came so fast, so sharp, it cleaved the air clean in half.

You sat up slowly. Carefully. Like you were disarming a bomb, but oh—too late. It already went off.

“What did you just say?”

Sukuna’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. He leaned back like nothing had happened, like he didn’t just shatter the air between you.

“You heard me.”

“No, no. I heard you, I just… I’m trying to figure out which part of your brain decided that was okay to say to me. After everything. After this.” You gestured wildly at the bed, the thesis pages crumpled under you, your tangled clothes on the floor, his smug, stupid face.

His jaw flexed. “I’m just saying, maybe I’m not the only one who treats this thing like it’s a joke.”

“Oh, you’re unbelievable.” You were up now, gathering your papers with trembling fingers. “You barge in here like you own the place, like I’m some goddamn stop on your rich-boy itinerary when you get bored of your mansion and your endless supply of zero-consequence bullshit—”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, standing up now too. “You think I want to be here every time you have a meltdown? You think this is fun for me? Watching you burn out for a piece of paper you’ll hate in six months? You make me your emotional support punching bag and then call it intimacy.”

“I never asked you to stay.”

“Well maybe I should’ve taken the hint three years ago, huh?” His voice was sharp now. No teasing. No heat. Just glass. “When we started sleeping together and you couldn’t even look me in the eye after.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t the first fight. Not even the worst one.

But it felt… final.

“You want honesty?” you whispered, throat tight. “Fine. You’re a coward, Sukuna. You sit in this little fantasy where nothing matters because you’re scared to actually want something. To want me. So yeah, maybe I pretended a little. Maybe I lied. But at least I felt something.”

That stopped him. For a moment, he just… stood there. Staring at you.

And then he laughed. Hollow. Low.

“You felt something? Great. Real useful. Let me know if you ever figure out what it was, sweetheart. Preferably not when I’m balls-deep and playing with your lighting setup.”

You slapped him.

You didn’t even think—your body just moved, and the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

He didn’t flinch. He just looked at you like something had gone dead in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “There it is.”

“Get out.”

“You sure?” He took a step back. “You’ve got, what, one brain cell left and a thesis due tomorrow? Might as well finish what we started.”

“I said get out.” Your voice broke on the last word. Oh god. Not the voice crack. Not in front of him. That was the equivalent of handing him a loaded gun, then tripping and falling onto the bullet yourself. Incredible work. Ten out of ten. Gold medal in Olympic self-sabotage.

He stared for a beat. Just long enough to register it. The voice crack. The heartbreak. The humiliation curdling in your stomach like expired milk.

Then he scoffed. That trademark Sukuna scoff. That “you’re beneath me” noise that made your skin crawl and your heart crumble all at once. Like it wasn’t worth it. Like you weren’t worth it.

Then he left.

No dramatic door slam. No stomping. No cinematic thunder in the background. Just the soft click of the handle as it shut behind him. Quiet. Cold. Like a polite little fuck you from the universe.

You sat there. Alone.

Drowning in a sea of flashcards, energy drink cans, and the pink lightbulb you swore was a good idea when you bought it. You thought it was romantic. Cute. Mood-setting. Turns out it just made heartbreak look like a music video from hell.

Twenty years of friendship.

Three years of blurred lines.

And one second of cruelty you’d never come back from.

And the worst part? The absolute dumbest, most pathetic, most humiliating part?

You still wanted him to walk back in.

Oh god. Oh no. No, no, no, don’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—yep. You’re crying. You’re crying in pink LED, like a sad little flamingo.

You wanted him to go slam the door open, with your favorite ice cream on hand (Friday is ice cream nights).

To say he didn’t mean it. To take it all back. To change the fucking light to blue this time, maybe even purple, something less pity-me-Barbie-core, and call it a truce.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Because that’s the thing about Sukuna.

He didn’t fix the things he broke. He just stepped over the debris in expensive shoes and left before the dust settled. And you? You were always the idiot standing there, broom in one hand, heart in the other, wondering why it still hurt.

You wiped your face with his hoodie sleeve forgotten on the floor sleeve like a Victorian widow who also hadn’t slept in three days. Because your wardrobe is full of his fucking clothes. Oh my god, you’re still in your underwear. And, your thesis stared at you, cursor blinking like it was mocking you.

Fuck, you needed a drink so hard you wanted to forgot this stupid night.

So yeah—after that night, you both did it.

You broke the last, dumb, invisible rule of whatever-the-hell your relationship was.

You slept with other people.

Not out of desire. Not out of revenge. Not even out of rage. No, it was dumber than that.

It was survival.

You hooked up with someone from a rooftop party. What was his name? You don’t know. You don’t care. You laughed too loud, drank warm wine out of a Solo cup, and let some stranger kiss you like it meant something. It didn’t. Because he wasn’t Sukuna. That was the bar. The bar was not Sukuna. You limboed under it like a sad circus clown.

Across somewhere else, he did the same.

In a random ass bedroom in a frat house with lighting that looked like it was allergic to joy, Sukuna let someone run their hands down his back. He didn’t joke. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t whisper dumb things in her ear like he used to do with you. More like earlier.

He just laid there. Face blank. Eyes open.

Because if someone else wanted him—even just for one night—maybe it would drown out the sound of your voice when you’d said: at least I felt something.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

It never fucking works.

Because at the end of it, you both laid there in different places, beside warm strangers who meant absolutely nothing, staring at foreign ceilings that hadn’t heard you fight, cry, or laugh—and realized something ugly: you finally did the one thing you swore you’d never do.

You became strangers.

Strangers with shared ghosts. No one left to haunt but yourselves.

After that night? Radio silence. Nothing.

He didn’t walk over to your apartment anymore.

You didn’t leave the door unlocked. He has his own key to yours.

No Post-it notes on the fridge. No coffee mugs by the bed. No thesis pages tangled with underwear.

Just the hollow silence of absence. The weight of nothing.

And yeah. Gojo noticed.

Because you and Sukuna? You didn’t know how not to touch each other. You were that disgusting duo. PDA central. Couple-core. Fruit-peeling, lap-lounging, casual-hair-touching menaces.

You once made out behind the school bake sale. For charity.

Now? You barely made eye contact. And it’s been what? Three fucking weeks.

And if he walked into a room? You walked out.

Because looking at him was like looking at a memory you weren’t ready to bury.

Because if you looked too long, you might remember.

And remembering was dangerous.

Remembering felt like relapse.

Which—congrats, by the way—is exactly what you’re doing right now.

And now? You’re so disoriented from today (c’mon, two very deeply buried memories in a day flashing you because of that one look Sukuna gave you and sense of normalcy with this co-parenting situation with your son and his daughter being best friends, too?) – picking up the kids today, smiling like you weren’t dying, pretending that the raw fish didn’t taste like regret even as your son beamed up at you?

So yeah. That Friday night? Alone in your master bedroom, lights off, ceiling staring back at you, while your son sleeps over at Sukuna’s house next door?

That’s when it hit. The full, unbearable weight of your very stupid, very mutual, very emotionally constipated downfall.

And the worst part? The truly cursed, absolutely unhinged part?

Somewhere, in a dusty, padlocked corner of your ribcage you’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist—

You still fucking loved him.

Even after that LED night.

Even after the single parenting.

Even after everything.

God. You’re such an idiot.

a/n: lol part 2 is coming sometime this May (?) aaaand as much as i wanna say that this is proofread – it's not :') hshdashadsah thanks so much for reading – i appreciate u all so much!!! also taglist is still open <3

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #jjk x you #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk #au sukuna #writing #sukuna au

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one-sunny · 4 months ago

Text

Taking the Hit

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader drabble

Summary: The battle of Marineford ended with Ace alive and you fighting for your life. With a healing devil fruit ability, it only made sense for you to take the hit instead. Now, Ace is left to agonize over the events as he waits for you to wake up. Marineford rewrite. Angst. Ace is beating himself up and other descriptions of anxiety. Desc. of violence and near death experiences. Reader is the one hurt.

Masterlist

Ace sits on the cold floor, knees to his chest, hands pushed back into his hair. He had run out of tears but anxiety still squeezes at his throat. Accusations fire off in his mind, going in rounds and coming back with even more heat each time. The racing thoughts are accompanied by flickers of fire- flames he has to quickly extinguish on his chest and shoulders.

He had already been scolded by the surgeon of death once for this.

Deep in the ocean within the confines of the Polar Tang, Ace waits with his heart in his throat for the people he cares for the most in the world to get out of surgery. A surgery that shouldn’t even be happening on injuries that he caused. It was all his fault.

Images flash in his mind like a strobing light, and your screams echo above all else to make him claw at his scalp. It was driving him mad. Not knowing was making it worse. Being kicked out of the operating room nearly made him combust but the bear- something Ace couldn’t even question given the situation- assured him that his captain could handle it. That Ace could leave his girl and his little brother and close friend in the surgeon of deaths capable hands.

His eyes squeeze shut and that only makes things worse.

He can see your face.

Your labored breaths.

The life draining despite the red glow of power illuminating from your hands…

Ace had been quick. He was in place to protect his brother from his own bullheadedness. Unfortunately for him, you were right behind. All of your energy put into throwing yourself into Ace and taking his place.

A desperate scream.

He isn’t even sure if it had come from you or him. But he watches in horror as you drop to your knees before him and Luffy, on the cusp of dying right before their eyes. For the first time ever, Ace yelled at you. Truly yelled at you.

Because now, there was a gaping hole in your chest where it should have been his.

“Why would you do that?” The tears are flowing freely. Emotions storm and spark. Anger. Hurt. Desperation.

“Ease-“ You choke on your words. “Easier ta heal m-m’ self.” He can see your blood stained hands pressing into the wound, your eyes closed, and palms glowing.

There were many times where you had explained your healing devil fruit powers to Ace, but it was a concept that he never fully grasped. You were a healer, he knew that very well, as you often fussed over and took care of any bump or bruises he ended up with.

But you could also heal yourself. Once, after having taken a bullet for a crew mate, you had explained that it was far easier to heal yourself than others. Sure, you felt the pain, but the effects were gone soon after. While the power was a blessing, Ace often cursed it for how reckless it made you. Protecting others was a top priority. Taking the hit so others don’t have to endure the pain.

And now you’re here. With his little brother and close friend in the same operating room after helping Ace save you.

After putting you all in danger.

The metal door swings open and Ace is on his feet in an instant. Law maintains his usual stoic demeanor, but the eye bags are a little bit deeper after such a long series of surgeries.

“I did everything I possibly could.”

Anger sparks within Ace at the carelessness about him. “What does that mean?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see. They all took on a lot more damage than most could survive.” Law speaks in an even, tired voice. “Even with her healing powers,” He glances down at the white towel he dries his hands on. “There’s no guarantee she will survive.”

Agony.

Ace nearly collapses on the spot.

The next few days are a blur. Jinbe is the first to recover, steadily regaining his strength and joining Ace in looming over the two of you. Ace doesn’t even leave your side until Luffy wakes- fists flying and screaming bloody murder. Still in fight or flight mode.

Even when a feast is prepared by the Snake Princess herself for his little brother, he remains rooted in place. He had no interest in the isle of women or even the food they had to offer. Not when you were still hooked up to so many tubes in that bed.

Ace squeezes at your hand for the millionth time that day, arms folded on the side of the bed, and head leaning on top of them. He rambles on with his daily list of apologies and mixes in countless reason he was in love with you. Why he needed you. Why he wishes it was him in that bed.

His eyes squeeze shut to his daily horror show that played on repeat any time he closed his eyes. “You’re so stubborn.” He huffs out, lips grazing over your fingers as he speaks. “Should be me.” A shaky breath leaves him as his lips press into your skin.

That’s when he hears it. A grunt. A muttering sound that didn’t even form real words, but they didn’t have to.

His heart soars.

Ace shoots up straight to look at you as your nose scrunches up and your eyes squeeze tight. Your eyes flickering open is like a shot of adrenaline right through him and he has to hold himself back from tugging you into his chest.

His brain short circuits as he grabs your hand once again, delighted at the feeling of you weakly squeezing back.

Calling for Law was the next step, the doctor checking you over now that you were awake. He rambles on about the recovery process, warning you from using any healing ability before you regain your strength, before leaving the two of you alone.

Ace looks at you with all the love and adoration in his gaze. For the first time in days, you’re able to gaze back at him. Weakly, a hand reaches out to him and he’s leaning over the bed to allow it to fall against his cheek. He places a hand over yours to prolong the touch, leaning into with eyes squeezed shut, and for the first time he doesn’t see the vision of you bleeding out on the battle field. No, now all he sees is your eyes finally opening.

“Ace.” Your voice is scratchy and dry.

Tears prick in his eyes at the sound of his own name coming out of your mouth. “Yeah, doll?”

“ ‘M glad I did it.”

His brows pull together as the words hang in the air. Then he laughs. It’s breathy and unfamiliar after the days he has endured. “What?”

“You said it should have been you.” You beckon him closer and he follows. “But i’m glad it wasn’t.” A smile pulls to your cracked lips. “I would never want to live in a world without Portgas D. Ace. Because you deserve to be alive.” Your forehead leans against his as he chokes back a sob. “I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe because i’m so in love with you.”

And that effectively breaks him.

“Say it again.” He pleads as he hesitantly embraces you, careful not to cause anymore harm. “Please.”

“I love you.” You repeat as your eyes well up in tears. “I’m so in love with you.” Leaning into his embrace felt like all of the relief that you needed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Ace sobs freely into your arms.

#yeah so this is actually canon and ace is fine #(i scream as they drag me away in a straitjacket)#header: the scream (e. munch)#portgas d ace #portgas ace x you #portgas ace one shot #portgas d ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace one shot #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace #one-fics

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elodieunderglass · 2 months ago

Note

Are there any trans characters in the Killieverse? Obviously, there’s a good selection of queer ones, including the titular jockey, but, just off the top of my head, I can’t think of any trans ones.

There’s a little bit of background activity -

Derek has a trans mother. His lesbian mothers are his biological parents, and she came out in his childhood. He inherited early baldness from her, but she decided to do a whole shaven-head butch thing with it. This is part of the general chillness of Derek’s mental landscape. (So he went bald early. So did his mom. It’s whatever.)

Miles is a bit GNC, in a baby Gen Alpha way. I think a lot of that cohort of kids are going to have their Own Thing about it.

BUT

Apologies for the quantum fucking nature of this response

in the quantum state we operate in, which is regrettably defined by the fact that I didn’t think about writing a book until five minutes ago, nobody major to the plot is currently trans.

However, this is the plan.

Throw Your Heart Over - a messed-up family falls apart. Lots of horses run in circles. Being very brave about it, a guy recovers his twin. (Probably about 10 chapters. Will require paid Irish, racetrack and horse behaviour accuracy readers, to be paid up-front. Was thinking of writing it and selling it to try to recover cost of paying various helpers.)

The Straight and Narrow - a messed-up guy flails around. Has narrowboats in it. (Will require Irish and Scottish dialogue readers, but much less work for them, and should be be cheap enough to produce. Thus, while possibly less interesting to the audience that wants to see Killie making a tit of himself, it could generate enough money to pay in advance for…)

Run for the Roses (working title) - idiot twins meet nerds while becoming Embroiled in situations. Killie gets taken out back and beaten up by the twin wolves of his demisexuality and bisexuality, whom he’s managed to avoid this far, but to his own disgust, he has to not only meet but master them, because he unfortunately met them at the same time as The Best Human In the World and he’s in love. (Will require Jewish accuracy reader, Irish dialogue reader and some form of RPG-knowing person.)

The Blood Always Comes Through (Heirs Above the Ground) - the horse dynasty has to deal with itself eventually, including such exciting set pieces as meeting Derek’s parents, forcibly rebooting Charlie’s horsegirl powers, Miles (could unpack to be a Whole Fucking Thing), several horse dynasty fights and showdowns, What The Hell That Murder Bill Did Was About, Killie’s gay wedding, and possibly a trans character. (Absolute carnage. Will need every sort of sensitivity and accuracy reader on the books. May never get to this one. Could be two books tbh.)

^^ I’d like to have a trans character come out during that one!! but I’d like it to be a bit of a surprise.

So unfortunately the answer is NO. But WATCH OUT.

If a SPECIFIC SERIES OF EVENTS unfurls to the point where I can produce four books, with ideally paying for the help needed for the next, there IS a trans named character.

So like, yes but also no.

But in a way that hopefully makes sense. There aren’t many reveals I’m specifically protecting but I feel like I gotta leave something worth paying money for (since I need the money for the next team of editors.)

And of course we can all headcanon whatever at any time. I think the merfolk in the mermaid AU should all be intersex on a level we can’t even comprehend, while still referring to themselves as the default/normal humans, and with everything happening on land having a qualifier (Air Gulls, Air Plants, Land Meat.) and the merfolk should, like, refer to land humans having things like Land Penises. This is very funny to me

#throw your heart over #this is actually a good outline #and a horrifying amount of work. oh no.

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mattsfavoritestar · 10 months ago

Text

RIGHT HERE , chris sturniolo

midnight snack mini series.

synopsis... you were delusional enough to believe him when he said that he belonged to only you. fed up as one can be, you ghost him for almost a week with the success of not breaking no contact. unfortunately for you, chris always finds a way.

warnings... mean!chris, bbsf!chris, toxic!chris, kinda possesive!chris mentions of drug usage, lowkey manipulation, gaslighting, oral (fem receiving), orgasm denial, starts off angsty

word count... 1488

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

“chris?”

“chris are you even listening to me?”

“chris!”

his head turned to you with a lazy smile on his face. his eyes were blown out and red from the edible he took prior to your arrival. “I heard you the first time” he says. he wasn’t even taking you seriously right now. that promise he made about only being yours? a lie. you were stupid enough to even believe that someone like chris could even change.

one too many females came to you as a woman with receipts of an all too familiar pair of blue eyes in each picture. the same blue eyes that weren’t even focused on you even though he was looking right at you. he sighed, “can’t blame me for wanting attention when you can’t even give me a damn day” he grumbled. you felt that familiar burn in your eyes. how dare he say you don’t give him enough? you’ve risked your relationship with your brother countless times for this. for him.

“you know what? i’m done. clearly, you’re not even mentally here right now” you say as you prepare to leave. chris watched you with a blank expression as you gathered your things quietly with an occasional face wipe with your sleeve. as you walked out his room you made sure to hide all notifications from him in case he decides to try calling you later. you didn’t even bother asking matt for a ride, too embarrassed by his brother leaving you humiliated yet again.

with more room on your schedule, you finally had time to sit down and hang out with your friends. you guys were talking about the events that happened the past few days and planning future events. it’s been a week since you’ve spoken to or even seen chris. every time your brother would bring him home; you made an effort to leave the house or stay quiet in your room.

your phone buzzed with an incoming call from your brother. you excused yourself from the room and answered. “hey, uh chris is gonna pick you up later.” he says. you internally groaned as you shut your eyes. “why? and he doesn’t even have a car” you responded. you heard your brother laugh on the other side. “i’m staying the night at lina’s house, and he shares the car with matt and nick idiot,” your brother explains. “more like matt’s car” you mutter as the line disconnects. you unmute chris’s messages and were met with 13 notifications from him.

sat @ 2:30am:

5 missed called from DO NOT RESPOND

message from DO NOT RESPOND: answer me

sun @ 5pm:

3 messages from DO NOT RESPOND

tue @ 8:35pm:

2 missed facetimes from DO NOT RESPOND

yesterday @ 12am:

1 missed call from DO NOT RESPOND

today 10 mins:

message from DO NOT RESPOND: im omw

you go back into the room where your friends were and sit down with a sigh. “what’s the matter babe?” one of them asked. you shake your head with a smile, “nothing don’t worry ‘bout it” you say. the next fifteen minutes filled with giggles and gossiping. then your peace was interrupted by the blaring bass of lil skies vibrating the walls. you groan out loud then apologize before letting your friends know of your departure.

you mentally battled yourself into what you were going to say or if you should say anything at all as you walked up to the car. chris didn’t even glance into your direction as you opened the door. ‘okay so silence it is’ you thought to yourself. the entire ride was filled with tension and vibrations from the speaker.

as you exited the car, you felt your heartbeat pick up as the engine turned off. your brother wasn’t home and chris was right behind you clearly pissed off. you said nothing as you entered your house and beelined straight for your room. you were so focused on trying to avoid him that you didn’t register the sound of his heavy footsteps growing louder. just as you reached the door, you were pushed against it before you could even open it.

“back to not talking to me?” he whispers into your ear. you pinched your mouth into a straight line. your breath hitched as you felt his fingers trail along your lower body. “i called you by the way.” he adds as he plays with the hem of your shirt. as calm as he sounded you knew better than to trust the tone of his voice. “you interrupted my time with my friends,” you say through gritted teeth.

an annoyed chuckle fell from his lips. “baby i don’t give a fuck about your ‘friends’” he spat. his hands find your hips and pull you back onto his lower half. you scoff, “do you even remember why i avoided you?” you ask. you were turned around to face him. “i wasn’t that high,” he mumbles. you roll your eyes before opening your bedroom door and pulling away from him. chris watches you take your pants off before sitting on your bed and grabbing your tv remote.

he walks over then crawls on top of you, places scattered kisses on your neck. “chris- no outside clothes” you whined as you tried pushing him off. “m’sorry baby” he says between kisses. you tried to pay no attention to him but could help melting at his touch. “let me make it up to you, yeah?” he says as his fingers slightly dip into the rim of your panties. his lips caught yours with a deep groan. you felt yourself lowering back onto the bed while your hands found themselves tangled in his curls.

a gasp left your lips at the feeling of his finger nudging your clit. his lips grew more demanding, your head felt fuzzy at the lack of air. you pulled away from his lips with a strangled moan as his fingers dipped inside you. chris bit his lip with a smirk to your reaction. he then slowly lowered himself till his head was met with your pelvis. he planted a kiss onto your clit as he stroked your gummy walls.

you let out a strangled loud moan when he curled his fingers upward, barely brushing your g-spot. “doesn’t my apology feel so good, baby?” he asks. you give him a moan in response as your hips buck into his face, earning another kiss onto your clit. “think it’s time you gave me your apology now” he says before removing his fingers.

you whine as you sit up on your elbows and look at him through your glossed eyes. “but i didn’t do anything” you state as he tugs your panties off. “i went almost a full week being ignored,” he spat. you already knew he was pissed off but you still weren’t prepared to face it. “but chris you-“ you were cut off with your own strangled moan as you felt his warm mouth completely enraptured you.

“told you it wasn’t my fault n’yet you still left me” he grumbles before making a heavy stripe with his tongue. your legs were folded and pushed up towards your chest with his head between them. you couldn’t even try to escape his mouth since his hands had a tight grip on your waist. his tongue prodded at your hole and his teeth grazed your clit. you tugged at his hair, each pull harsher than the last. mixtures of moans and apologies fell from your lips.

“s’my pussy?” he asked through a muffled voice, you nodded with a mewl in response. chris detaches his mouth from your aching heat only to replaced it with his fingers. he gave you rapid strokes as his mouth fell open with a smile as if he was mocking your moans. you turned your head to the side with a whine with your stomach feeling tighter by the second. “so close, yeah? gonna make a mess f’me?” he cooed.

you nodded your head; you felt his fingers go faster by the second. chris catches you off guard with a tug at your jaw as he forces you to look at him. his lips glossed with your arousal and his hair disheveled from your tugging. he gives you a sinister smile before roughly pulling his fingers out of you. before you could protest, he shoved those same fingers into your mouth. you felt tears of frustration brimming your water line and drops of drool mixed with your own fluids falling from your mouth.

“awe, d’you really think i’d let you cum that easily baby?” he asks in a mocking tone. you gurgled around his fingers as if you were trying to complain. chris shoves them deeper into your mouth causing you to slightly gag.” you can later if you don’t piss me off” he smiles. he roughly flips you on to your stomach. with a slap to your ass, you couldn’t help but arch your back with a whine. “s’gonna be a long night baby” he chuckles.

#𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢.#𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢. ♡︎ 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠 #𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢. ♡︎ 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 #𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢. ♡︎ 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo angst #Spotify #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #midnight snack mini series.

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popp1n · 11 days ago

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General Notes, Ideas, & Potential Scenes for Ghosting the Government

• Danny's Midwestern accent thickens when he's nervous or excited (as a human.) In ghost form the same happens with ghost speak.

• Dog audio buttons or a soundboard for lbm dani

• Jason and Danny meeting over text due to Tucker getting his code crossed (he's trying to piggyback off of a secure line. It's the batcomputer/oracles system.)

• Dan living a corpse au with his clone body. He has a pacemaker-type device regulating his nervous system visible on his person, it's integrated into his fake background. He doesn't go ghost often, being in Wisconsin and not wanting to fade out of the timeline, but it's useful for when he forgets he's not a ghost and does need to do things like breath.*

• He and Dani are vlad's heirs to Dalv.co. Dan and Dani have rocky relationships with each other, but ultimately care for each other like a sibling. Danny views the both of them like cousins. (Dani is that annoying younger cousin at family gatherings y'all). Dan and Dani also have rocky relationship with Vlad, but it's improved now that Vlad is making an effort to be an actual father rather than pursuing Maddie. (Clockwork scared him.)

• Vlad still makes comments about Maddie just to piss off Danny. It amuses him. Vlad will always be a bit in love with her.

* - when he goes ghost in public, to outsiders it looks like he passes out. If he's able to, Dan will plonk himself down somewhere inconspicuous like a bench, but sometimes he forgets that his human half separates, so he'll just quickly drag his body to a corner. Unfortunately, he's had enough incidents of funny sleeping spots and positions that it gets small time news coverage. (Checkpoint - "Danny's" face in a news source outside of Amity connecting him to Vlad.)

• Oracle notices them (Team Phantom) first. Duke first clocks them as out of towners as signal and gives some advice. Jason meets jazz at a bookstore (she was buying college materials). Damian first meets them (after a series of events and interactions he hears about in the batfam groupchat. He was so jealous for a while.) when they are taking lbm dani for a stroll.

"Why is this small creature in such a state? Why don't you have them properly leashed) ect. Ect."

"She's a rescue." (Danny panicked. It isnt a lie. They did rescue her.)

Damian is obsessed with this intelligent little mysterious creature (he is not a stranger to mythological/supernatural creatures. Goliath anyone? That dragon he has???).

Masterpost

Dani is obsessed back because this kid has a sword, smells yummy (junk food ectoplasm), and is respectful of her personhood while in this tiny, mentally and physically impaired form.

(Some of these have been inspired or taken from Various prompt posts. I don't remember which ones specifically, so if you do feel free to link them in the comments.)

#ghosting the government #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc crossover #danny phantom #batman

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it-happened-one-fic · 8 months ago

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Twisted Weddings: Photoshoot #1 - Quite the Image

Summary: Your first photoshoot was going to be with Trey. The question was whether the presence of the bicycle or exactly how good he looked in a suit was more startling, and the bicycle really seemed to be winning. Either way, you could only hope your first attempt at modeling went pseudo-well.

Type: Female reader/ 800 Followers Event/ Series/ sfw/ fluff/ light-flirtation

Twisted Weddings Series Masterlist

Word count: 1346

“So… A bike,” Trey eyed the bicycle that was leaned against a pole as I shifted. Doing my best to not continue eyeing him. But, to be fair, I’d never actually seen Trey in a suit before. Much less one that was tailored specifically to make him look his absolute best.

I’d been impressed enough when I’d seen the gown I was wearing. A slim-fitting dress with fluttery, sheer sleeves that could get caught in even the smallest of breezes and made for a rather dreamy-looking dress.

And the embarrassing thing was that I knew that both it and I looked nice. Trey’s reaction could have only been so faked.

I could only hope that I hadn’t been as obvious in my surprise at how nice he looked. At the very least, I knew I hadn’t openly gaped at him.

“Maybe we’re both going to be riding it for the photo?” I stepped over next to Trey. Eyeing the lone visible prop for our photoshoot.

An old-looking bicycle.

Trey shook his head though, a slight frown on his face, “I doubt it. Your skirt might get caught in the wheel or something….”

He trailed off, glancing my way with a half smile as he tilted his head, “It probably would be a cute photo though.”

I nodded, quietly agreeing with him as I did my best to ignore the way the slight breeze ruffled my sleeves as he hummed thoughtfully.

“I guess it could be a picture of us walking together while pushing a bike?” He hardly sounded confident in his theory, but I felt myself nod, crossing my arms slightly as I continued to eye the bicycle.

But unfortunately, there was no telling exactly what Crewel had planned.

“Alright, Pups!” Me and Trey both jerked upright as Crewel strolled out of the building and over to where we were standing. Almost as if he’d been signaled by my thoughts that right now was the perfect time to make his appearance.

Trey and I turned together, both looking towards our instructor, and the man who skittered after him with all sorts of photography-related paraphernalia at the same time. And all at once I realized this was actually happening. As if the wedding clothes hadn’t been enough.

I was going to be featured heavily as a model in a photoshoot for Crewel’s latest designs for bridal clothes.

Trey and I briefly exchanged glances before we looked back towards our instructor who stopped in front of us. Almost as if we were thinking the same thing. But neither of us spoke as Crewel began to explain.

“I’m sure the two of you have already realized that you have this bicycle as your prop,” Crewel gestured idly to the bicycle, and we both nodded. With me glancing back at it and idly wondering exactly how this was going to work.

Me and Trey both looked towards Crewel for explanation, though. But both of us knew that Crewel was going to tell us how we were going to be posed and what we were going to be doing.

And he wasted no time in doing just that, “Good. Y/n. You get on the bike first. Trey, you’ll be behind them and actually pedaling.”

Trey hesitated slightly, glancing over at me worriedly before he looked towards Crewel, “But… Professor, won’t Y/n’s skirt get caught in the wheels?”

Crewel’s eyebrows arched at the young man next to me, and I shifted, idly scooting backwards as Crewel crossed his arms and eyed Trey, “Y/n is going to be riding side-saddle, Mr. Clover. Her skirt is slim-fitting and will take care of itself.”

Trey nodded, his eyes widening slightly before he turned, his gaze barely meeting mine as he made a slight face before reaching over and rolling the bike over so that I could perch on it carefully. All while Crewel continued.

“Both of you will need to ignore the photographer. He’s going to be snapping pictures the very moment the two of you are on the bike, but you need to pretend like he isn’t here. Do NOT look at the camera.”

I nodded lightly, balancing myself carefully. And the very moment I was balanced, Trey was on the bike behind me, bumping me slightly as he muttered apologies, and I shook my head. Scooting forward to try and give him more only to almost slide off the seat.

I could hear the camera snapping in the background as Trey caught me with an arm around my waist, laughing slightly as I gripped the handlebars in front of me and he pushed off.

The bicycle wobbled as he pedaled, and I tried to steer us in a reasonably straight path before he reached forward and grabbed the handle-bars as I slowly got tickled at exactly how bad we were doing.

But it was like something as simple as riding a bicycle had suddenly become impossibly difficult now that we were being looked at.

My arms rested lightly on the front of the bicycle as I giggled, my laughter causing Trey to start chuckling behind me even as I heard Crewel release a sigh of long suffering as we came to a stop. Both of us laughing as the bicycle rocked to the side for what had to be the thousandth time.

I leaned back, sighing slightly as I twisted to see Crewel walking towards us before I glanced at Trey, “Think we’re in trouble?”

He shook his head, a smile still on his face as he offered a only slightly guilty-looking half shrug. But before either he or Crewel could speak, the photographer was piping up.

“Mr. Crewel, I actually got some good shots there!” Crewel stopped, his eyebrows arching as he looked at the photographer with almost the same degree of surprise as I felt.

Nonetheless, the man trotted over, showing Crewel the screen of his camera as he spoke, “All of these pictures show a certain degree of happiness wedding photos don’t often have due to how staged they are. These two actually look like a happy young couple having some fun on their big day.”

Crewel nodded as he looked through the pictures before pointing at one in particular, “This one.”

Apparently understanding, the photographer nodded, “Yes, I liked that one too. The way he’s smiling down at the young lady is particularly nice here, and they are just starting to laugh.”

“The wind also caught both the sleeves and the edge of the skirt nicely too,” Crewel paused, looking up at us with slightly arched eyebrows. “It looks like you’ve both lucked up. There are some good pictures here.”

“So we’re free to go?” Trey looked about as hesitant as I felt, but Crewel nodded.

“Since the photos are good, you’re done.” He paused, his gaze shifting to me as he tilted his head, “And how do you feel about going ahead and getting another photo-shoot done today, Pup?”

I hesitated before I nodded, “Yeah, that should be fine.”

“Alright then, and good work Mr. Clover,” I felt myself grin over at Trey who looked at me with a sigh. Like he knew perfectly well to expect teasing.

“Looking forward to becoming a poster boy for grooms everywhere?” I nudged with my shoulder as we both walked back towards the campus proper to get changed. Him back into his normal clothes and me into a different wedding gown.

He chuckled, only slightly flustered before he grinned over at me, a glint of meanness entering his honey-colored eyes, “Not as much as I’m looking forward to getting to see everyone else’s faces at the dorm.”

I blinked, tilting my head curiously at him, “You're heading back to the dorm to show the guys your suit?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head, “No. I meant when they see our pictures. Apparently we cut quite the image as a young couple.”

It was a fight not to shove him for his teasing, but I took it with only a slight bit of embarrassment.

After all, he was just quoting the photographer.

If you would like to read more

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elaine19day · 9 months ago

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Alright guys, I'm here today to address the pictures of the alleged 'new merch' that had been circling around in the English fandom for a few days. See how I said 'English fandom'? Because nobody really addressed it on weibo and XHS yet… at least not to that extent. (Sorry, I have seen these screencaps on tumblr, insta, X and discord, and I have no idea who originally took them, I don't claim to have taken those screenshots, merely providing them here so you know what I'm talking about.)

So what happened? A few days ago a random shop on taobao created new listings that offered a new series of badges and prints/acrylics - not just featuring the 4 main boys, but also He Cheng, Qiu, She Li and… Cun Tou…..?! Now let's take a moment and sit back and think about this for a while. First of all: Why would a random shop that's NOT affiliated with mosspaca in any way post new 'official' merchandise? (Because we can see there's the mosspaca copyright writing on the badges and acrylics, just like it used to be on the previous badge series) Why would this random shop post these things while neither OldXian herself nor her boss, moss, have posted or announced anything via weibo/XHS? Don't you think this is sort of fishy? You don't find this strange, you don't question that at all? Sure, some people said: It's leaked and it will be available on the upcoming signing event on the 29th which OX announced on her weibo. Sure. There is a possibility, of course. They could have a leak in mosspaca studio and some person got their hands on some undisclosed merch and decided to make bank by making a new shop and listing the items for pre-order, hoping they could cash in. NOT a smart choice if you wanna keep your job because such incidents get investigated thoroughly and we all know by now that moss himself is very strict about these things and already has taken legal action against shops before when they sell fake merch as official merch. The other possibility? Old Xian's apple account has been hacked by an outsider and then the same scenario as before applies - that person wanted to cash in before it officially releases.

Now. How has OX handled merchandise before? It was always announced before an event and sometimes even months(!) in advance when they were pre-order items. Also. Have you ever seen Old Xian making merch for Cheng, Qiu, She Li and Buzzcut? Sure, the first 3 have been on some old postcards way back in the day, plus they are depicted in some of the artbooks, okay. But actual merch with them separately? The last badge series had a very limited special edition button with He Cheng. That was super rare. And now OX suddenly makes merch of the 2 adults, plus She Li AND Buzzcut, who's a minor character which barely makes an appearance? (Sorry, Buzzcut fans, not trying to be mean, just wanting to drive home the point that OX creating merch of him is highly unlikely - unfortunately.)

So what can we take home from all the stuff I just pointed out? Yep, there is a high chance that this is not official. It might be fake merch, sold by a random person who used generative AI tools and editing skills to create these things. I mean, sure, some of the pictures look highly convincing, I give you that. But then again, there are fanartists out there who can perfectly mimic Old Xian's style and edit/draw the boys in new poses that make it seem 'real' and official. But then there's THIS. Please take a close look at the way the faces are 'drawn', the way that the eyes are sort of smudged, same as some of the abs, the way Mo's face is contorted in a weird angle, the way the hands look chunky and unreal, and so on. (click on image to enlarge it and see it in more detail)

Weird, right? Well, it's a very common, typical thing for pictures that are generated with free AI tools. Everyone who has tried one or the other and has fcked around with one of those tools out of curiosity will notice.

Also - have you noticed the sheer AMOUNT of things posted from this one random seller? 10 different badges, 12 different long bookmarks (acrylic boards?), 4 couple cards, plus a LOT of other random new things which all feature very old panels from the manhua… When has Old Xian ever released SO MUCH merch at once? Yep. Never. Plus the re-using of old pictures for new merch? Also doesn't make much sense. And there's a lot of the older illustrations being used for these supposed new things here.

So if you take all of this into account, you might conclude that someone is tryna pull your leg here, selling fake merch disguised as official by even slapping the logo onto it to make it more convincing and mimicking how it looked the last time around. Of course - there might be the odd chance that mosspaca suddenly took a 180° turn and completely changed their modus operandi and decided to do things completely different compared to before and that it was leaked after all and meant as a surprise for the new autograph event etc etc etc. Yep. There's a chance that all this is true after all. But there's also a chance that I step out of my house tomorrow and an airplane crashes onto my head. Of course, that chance is *extremely* small. But the chance is there… So there you have it. All I'm asking you here, is to take a moment to think it through logically when you see these things online. And that you don't instantly believe everything that other people post who are always so eager to spread false information just for the sake of stirring up the fandom without ever taking the time to verify their sources. (No, I'm NOT taking a jab at anyone here who posted/reposted these pictures and was confused and/or asked about it. I was just as puzzled as you guys. But I am criticizing those who post it and announce that it's definitely new, official merchandise…) In conclusion: Might be true, but chances are very slim, all things considered. Let's wait until Tuesday when the event takes place and keep an eye on weibo and XHS - let's see which pictures the CN fandom will post when showing their autographs. Then you can check if there's new merch present. If not - well, then it's pretty safe to say that this was definitely fake. (And if this turns out to be real after all, I will make a follow-up post, regarding the AI-looking faces. But you might not like that 'lore' so I will not mention it for now, to prevent possible drama.)

#19 days #old xian #mosspaca #tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #zhanyi #zhan zheng xi #jian yi #he cheng #brother qiu #buzzcut #cun tou #she li #merchandise

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heavenlyvision · 2 years ago

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Bare

Word count: 9.3k

Pairing: Liu Kang x F!Reader

A/N: This is a bit different to my other works so far, at least it feels different! I am stoked about the people who encouraged me to write this!! You guys have been the kindest to interact with and really encourage me to keep writing <33 (P.S. If you're having trouble picturing the position in the smut scene, it’s pretty close to the full nelson, hopefully you can picture it with just my description though 😅😅)

Summary: Through a series of unfortunate events, you find yourself befriending a God and making his life more difficult, it’s just a bonus that he’s friendly, kind, and really hot.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, grinding, p in v sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, Liu Kang might be a little ooc and I am sorry but he’s hot and I had to write for him.

Living in the temple with Liu Kang is an odd feeling, you’ve been here for a while now, but you still feel out of place. Maybe because there isn’t any real reason that you’re here, you know he has plans and is a Fire God and something about a tournament with another realm, but you don’t fit in to any of that. You’re just some person he felt bad for after making friends with and is now allowing you to stay in his temple????

To be fair, he didn’t really befriend you, he asked if you were okay and then you held him verbally hostage. He looked friendly and so you started talking to him, something you would usually be too reserved to do. Having conversations with strangers isn’t something you’re in the habit of, and you especially don’t start them, but you’d had a series of unfortunate events happen to you in the course of a week and he looked nice. You think he was too polite to ask you to stop talking to him, but he eventually engaged in the conversation.

It was a little cafe not far from where you used to live, Liu Kang had been there by chance, he tells you now that there was something he had to take care of in that area, but he kept coming back after that first encounter. Every time you were there, he was also there, and he listened to you.

When you first met and spoke with Liu Kang you complained about how your partner broke up with you but actually he was cheating on you and had been for months, so you had to leave his apartment, which was originally yours before you were both on the lease. But you didn’t leave by choice, he locked you out and left your stuff in front of the building, which obviously, some of it was missing.

Whether he kept it or if some of it was taken by strangers you aren’t sure, but it sucks either way, you didn’t tell Liu Kang that last thing at the time though. Being kicked out of your own apartment and cheated on was embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to know you were also robbed.

While visiting that café everyday hoping to see Liu Kang, your personal circumstances kept getting worse, you didn’t keep bombarding him with your issues though. He was nice and funny in a polite way, and he was becoming a friend to you. So, you didn’t say anything to him but the friend you had been staying with turned out to be who your partner was cheating on you with, so you had to rush to find another place to stay, which you managed. And things would’ve been okay from there if you hadn’t lost your job due to cutbacks in that same week, so not only were you living off your quickly depleting savings, you were also trying to find a job, while living in a shitty, tiny apartment, an apartment where, if you had all your furniture, you wouldn’t be able to see the floor.

The only thing you looked forward to were the afternoons in that café talking to and getting to know Liu Kang. It was unfortunate luck when your ex-friend and ex-partner walked in and saw you talking with him. They didn’t mind their own business, and that was how Liu Kang had found out how much worse things had gotten for you in the few months you had been meeting with him.

After he learned about the extent of things he brought up living with him at the temple, he said it would be more for him than for you, claiming to need help and that you were perfect for it. But you knew he didn’t really need any help; he’s a literal God and you’re just a person. So, you kept declining, he’d bring it up once a month and you would tell him no every month, determined to make things work for yourself.

But eventually, you were fed up with all the dead-end jobs and being dismissed after only a few weeks, you were looking down the barrel of eviction and you caved, asking Liu Kang for help. Something he was more than happy to provide.

It felt odd, making friends with a stranger, only to find out he was a God and then that God feeling so bad for you that he offers to make your life easier by letting you live with him at his temple. You can’t help but feel pitiful about giving up all your responsibilities and running away but there wasn’t anything left for you in that city.

Staying by Liu Kang’s side has introduced you to so much beauty, it’s expanded your small world, and you don’t feel even a little bit of regret for leaving, not anymore. Though you still feel out of place, your heart is at peace.

Currently, you’re drinking tea with Liu Kang, it’s something you two do every afternoon and it reminds you of the café. Even though he’s busy, he always has tea with you, every afternoon.

Conversing with him always starts the same way, you say something completely random or make an observation and he sighs at your inability to sit in silence for more than a minute at a time.

“You know, I think he still has my favourite book.” You say in reference to your ex.

There’s a book you owned, and it was a classic, not worth anything, but you had annotated it to high hell and the love you have for it is shown in your scribblings and all the sticky notes. It’s something you immediately noticed was missing but never said anything about.

He has a confused look on his face, “What? Why didn’t you ask for it back?”

“He’d just say that I lost it, or that it got stolen when he left my boxes outside the apartment,” You shrug at him.

“He… left your belongings… outside of the apartment, where strangers could rifle through them… and steal from you?” He questions, his tone is calm but the pauses in his sentence display contempt.

“Did I not tell you that?” You wonder.

He’s looking at you, eyes squinting, scrutinising you and trying to determine if you were purposefully keeping that from him, “No… you have not mentioned it.”

In all honesty, you thought you had already told him that. You aren’t trying to hide it anymore, it’s already done. You just feel a bit sad about your favourite book, you’ve been wanting to reread it lately and you like reading the notes you’ve made previously as you do.

“I was just thinking about the book, it was annotated,” you sigh.

“I can take you to go get it, if you’d like?” He offers.

“He probably won’t even admit to having it, let alone give it back but thank you.” You offer him a smile, he’s always so kind to you, a gentle God.

He considers you for a moment, “I have some books, if you’d like to read them.”

“I found your library months ago, read a bunch of them but it isn’t the same.” You appreciate his suggestion, but other books can’t compare.

He sips at his tea, before saying, “You’re picky.”

“No, it’s just that I cultivated that book with all my thoughts and feelings on the story and now it’s gone,” you huff out.

Liu Kang frowns a bit, thinking about your words, “I do not like him.”

“Neither,” you laugh, “You know, he wasn’t even worth it, never made me org–” you stop abruptly, realising what you were about to say… to a God, “Uhm what I actually mean is, he was a… bad partner, not… attentive?” It comes out like a question, but you aren’t asking anything.

He chuckles and shakes his head at you; he always seems to find you amusing, “That’s a shame,” he mutters.

You want to question him on what he means but he speaks again, “Why did you stay with him?”

“After a while, I felt… trapped,” you sigh, “He was kinder in the beginning of our relationship, but he grew colder, meaner, he didn’t talk to me… he didn’t like talking to me, always saying I talk too much,” you give him a wry smile.

He hums, “I like listening to you.”

You feel flush at his words, he does this sometimes, says something innocuous without realising how the kind words have you falling for him. But, it’s a feeling you don’t let yourself indulge in, for a number of reasons but mostly because you feel unremarkable compared to him. You feel small and your feelings feel unimportant, so you don’t entertain them, not wanting them to grow stronger with nowhere to put them down. He makes it hard though.

“I like talking to you,” you reply.

Relationships aren’t something you’ve had much success in, your only one that lasted longer than a couple weeks being the one where you lost your apartment, belongings, friend, etc etc.

“I sometimes wonder if he ever loved me,” you confess to Liu Kang.

You stayed out of obligation and convenience, leaving was too much effort, but why did he stay for so long, only to do what he did. Sometimes you feel sick thinking about it, because if he never showed you love then what does it look like? And are you capable of recognising it in someone else? In yourself?

He puts a hand on your shoulder, “I can hear you thinking from here, stop it.”

“You can hear thoughts??” You’re a little worried as you say it.

He restrains himself from rolling his eyes at you, “Not what I meant; I cannot actually hear your thoughts.”

“Oh thank god, don’t say things like that.” You place a hand over your beating heart.

“Why would I be able to read minds?” He queries.

“I dunno, you’re a God, you can’t say stuff like that, I’ll take you literally,”

He hums, “Noted.”

Both of you sit in the silence, normally you would say something else but for once you’re a little lost for words. Still wondering if you’ve ever been loved, properly. An ache fills your heart, and you aren’t really sure what it means.

Liu Kang’s grip squeezes on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to him, “If he never loved you, then he is a fool.”

And there it is again, something meant as comfort said so tenderly to you that your heart feels like it might implode.

“Thank you,” you say, hand coming up to rest on top of his.

He looks deep in thought for a moment, “I think you should learn self-defence.”

It’s abrupt, the way he brings it up, you pull your hand away and turn so you’re facing him properly, “Why?”

“I think I would feel better about you being a part of this world, if you could defend yourself.”

You consider his words, your lips pouting in thought, “I’d rather not.”

His response is to frown at you, “Why not?”

“I’d rather not, just ‘cause I don’t wanna have strangers train me or whatever, don’t like the idea of being touched by them,” you say it flippantly, waving a hand as you do.

You know he would want to take you to that academy or have someone specifically train you, but you aren’t fond of strangers, and you especially don’t like the idea of their hands positioning you and such, it’s a very uncomfortable idea.

Your face must be betraying how much you dislike the idea, “Stop making that face,” Liu Kang sighs.

“Sorry,” your face drops into a neutral expression, you hadn’t realised you were making one.

“Things are going to pick up soon, I would feel better if you’d consider it.”

You frown again, this time on purpose.

He looks into your eyes, it feels like he’s trying to stare you down, “That won’t work, I don’t like being touched,” you remark.

He raises a brow at you, “You let me touch you.”

You look away from him and mumble, “That’s different.”

“How?” He inquires.

How nosey of him, “It just is…” you shrug at him.

“What if I teach you self-defence?”

You look back to him, “Maybe.”

If you had a choice, you’d rather not be taught any kind of self-defence, but you guess if it’s Liu Kang teaching you, you could be amicable to that, eventually.

Both his brows raise, “Are you going to make this difficult for me?”

You repeat your previous answer, sly smile on your lips, “Maybe…”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been almost a full week since that conversation with Liu Kang, you keep putting off training with him. He’s a patient man but you think you’re slowly chipping away at it. His concern for you growing the more you put it off.

You understand that things will be changing soon, with his champions and what not, but he keeps you fairly separate from all that anyways. You know of the Lin Kuei and their involvement, along with the brothers but you’ve not met them, and he’s not asked you to. So, you aren’t really sure why he’s become so caught up on getting you some kind of training.

It’s late in the evening and you’re walking to the library, which maybe you shouldn’t be, but you feel the need to read something. Get your mind off of everything that’s been happening. Maybe you’ll find a new favourite book and annotate that.

But because you have the luck of someone who’s broken a mirror every day, it starts bucketing down rain. Usually, you enjoy rainy weather and a good book, but this isn’t that. You’re walking the temple grounds one minute and the next you’re fully drenched, down to the bone. Clothes soggy, shoes filled with water, and to top it off, the torrential downpour is making your visibility awful. You can’t make heads or tails with all this rain; it would probably be just as bad even if it wasn’t dark out.

Just your luck, there isn’t much you can do but stumble blindly through the grounds, hoping you’re going the right way. But predictably, that is not a good idea, you’re about as wet as a person can be, shaking from the cold breeze, you need to find shelter somewhere soon.

Some of the buildings are recognisable, you think? You can’t really be sure, but you think you recognise the building Liu Kang resides in. Hobbling up to the door, you knock on it, hoping that some higher power takes pity on you and that Liu Kang is home… and also awake.

And wouldn’t you know it, he’s not home, the only solution you can think of is to sit under the small shelter surrounding the building, to at least prevent yourself from getting any more wet, not that that’s even possible at this point.

The rain doesn’t stop, the rate at which it’s coming unchanging. Spending all night here is not a feasible option, sadly, you will have to move again and hope you find your own quarters or somewhere open you can tuck into. It’d be embarrassing to sleep on Liu Kang’s doorstep only for him to trip over you in the morning.

You decide to try knocking one last time, maybe he didn’t hear you. Wrapping your knuckles against his front door, you knock harder, wishing for him to be home and that your first knocks went unheard.

Waiting a moment before you give up, he’s obviously out doing some God business or whatever, you don’t really question his movements. Turning your back to his door, you look out at the rain, working yourself up to going back out into it.

Just as you step out into it again, you feel a hand grab your upper arm and pull you back, bending your head back to look up, you realise it’s Liu Kang and a relived smile breaks out across your face. You turn around to face him properly and he lets go of your arm.

The look on his face is one of complete confusion, “What are you doing out in this rain?”

“I was looking for the library but then it started raining… and I got lost but I recognised your building, and I knocked a couple times, but I thought you were out, so I was gonna look for somewhere else to try and get warm.” You’re shaking like a leaf in front of him, teeth chattering as you talk.

He frowns at you and grabs you again, pulling you inside. The escape from the unforgiving wind is very welcome to you.

“Why were you out this late to begin with?” His eyes are firm as he looks at you.

You look away from him, feeling like you’re being scolded, “I… wanted to read a book… can’t stop thinking and I can’t sleep.”

You’re standing in front of him and staring at the floor below you, still shivering involuntarily, a puddle of water being created on the wood, “Do you have a towel, your floors getting wet.” Your head nodding downwards to the puddle.

“I am not worried about my floors,” he sighs, “Come with me.”

You shuffle down the hall after him, you feel like a wet cat who got caught outside when they’re meant to be inside. There’s a trail of water droplets trailing after you, you feel bad getting his floors all wet, you’ll have to remember to clean up for him.

Following behind, you properly look at him and notice his upper half is bare, only in pants for bed, you can’t help but stare at his large frame and muscular back. It’s a very human display, for him to be shirtless and in sleep pants, his hair down, he looks good, but he always looks good. You feel like a silly mess.

He leads you into his bathroom and hands you a clean towel, “Have a shower, get warm.”

You stand there looking at him for a moment, “What will I wear?”

Liu Kang walks past you and further down the hall, you briefly wonder if you’re meant to follow him or start showering. You decide to pull off your jacket and slip out of your shoes while waiting.

His footsteps are coming back towards you, “Here,” he offers you some of his clothes.

You think about whether the shirt would even close, he’s always wearing shirts that show his chest and they don’t exactly look like they’d offer you any modesty, even if you do it up. You unfold the shirt and you’re thankful to see it will, in fact cover you.

“Something wrong?” He asks.

Shaking your head at him, you say, “No, I was just wondering if you gave me one of those shirts that doesn’t actually close properly.”

He sighs at you, “Have a shower, then we will talk.”

You drop the shirt down from in front of you to look at him but he’s already walking away and shutting the door behind him.

The showers heat is what you imagine heaven feels like, or maybe getting really high. Muscles that you hadn’t even realised were tensed finally relax and you feel like you could melt into a puddle on the shower floor. You hadn’t noticed just how cold you were, if you had stayed out all night you might’ve actually turned into a popsicle.

After you’ve washed and dried yourself off, you look at Liu Kang’s clothes, he gave you pants but you’re worried they won’t fit. Which is troublesome because you can’t put on your wet underwear, not unless you wanna squirm in place all evening.

Closing your eyes, you huff out a sigh, considering your options. Telling him that you have no underwear is a mortifying thought. So, you pull his shirt on and do up the buttons, it comes down pretty far on your body, which shouldn’t be shocking; he is a large man but seeing it come more than halfway down your thighs makes you remember the size difference.

Considering how far it comes down on you, you wonder if you even have to say anything. You decide it might be better not to say anything, the risk of whatever conversation would ensue undoubtedly would embarrass you to death.

Which, before you met Liu Kang, you never really got all that embarrassed but the effect he has on you makes you feel self-conscious of all your choices and little mannerisms.

Padding down his hallway, you meet him in his living area, he’s sitting on his lounge. Rounding it, you hold onto the hem of his shirt, you feel nervous; like he’s about to give you the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ talk. It always worked on you as a kid, it’d probably work now too.

When he looks up to you, his eyes skate up your body slowly before he meets your gaze, “What’s wrong with the pants?”

“Don’t fit,” you mumble.

He nods at you, and you go to sit next to him.

“You smell like me,” he notes.

You had noticed that, his scent is overwhelming you, making you feel warm.

You change the subject, “Thank you, for the shirt and shower... and for letting me in.”

He looks concerned, “Why would I not let you in?”

You shrug at him, you aren’t really sure why you said it, maybe it’s the being locked out of your own apartment memories haunting you again. You fidget in your seat a bit, uncomfortable from both not wearing underwear and this conversation.

You change the subject, “Do you have a mop or another towel, I can dry your floors.”

He shakes his head at you, “You do not need to do that, I’ve already done it.”

He readjusts his position, moving to the side, one leg crossed on the couch and an arm coming up to rest on the back of the couch. He’s facing you completely now, you’re sitting forward with your knees touching, looking into your lap and toying with the hem of his shirt, conscious of the fact you aren’t wearing underwear.

“I would have done it,” you mutter.

“I know, that is why I did it first.”

You don’t say anything, which is out of character and it’s starting to concern Liu Kang.

“What were you going to do tonight? If I hadn’t answered my door,” he questions you, his tone concerned.

Your lips pout and you look away to the side, staring at his now very interesting wall.

“I dunno, I mean, I was planning to go back out and try and find my place or somewhere else warm at least, I wasn’t just gonna sit on your doorstep all night,” you shrug, still not facing him.

The couch cushions move as he shuffles a little closer, “That would have been reckless, your lips were almost blue before, you need to have more concern for your wellbeing.”

“I care about myself,” you turn to look at him, he had moved closer than you expected, you stumble over yourself a bit at his proximity, “…I do care, I didn’t know what to do and I made the best choice in that moment, it’s not like I wanted to go back into the rain… I knocked again… just in case you didn’t hear the first time…”

He looks at you intensely, it’s making you nervous and you look away from him, eyes turning downwards to your lap again, legs rubbing against each other as you continue to squirm.

“Look at me,” he says gently, you turn your head to look at him properly, he continues, “I am so aware of how human you are, and I worry about your safety because of it, you do not inspire confidence in me when you do stuff like this.”

“I think you’re taking this too seriously; I didn’t know it was going to rain and–”

“–That is not my only concern,” he gives you a pointed look.

“And we are back on this?” You ask.

He nods in response.

A deep sigh is pushed out of you, “You know, you are quite persistent… pushy even.”

“If you give in now, it would save us a lot of time,” he replies, making his stance clear, this is not something he is willing to compromise on. At least, not any more than he already has.

“I don’t understand why you want me to do this so bad? You’ve kept me separate from everything so far, so why would I need any kind of training?”

“For my peace of mind,” he says, rather abruptly.

Taking a deep breath in you let it all out at once, “You really aren’t going to let this go?” You ask, double checking.

“No,” he confirms.

“Then… I suppose… I will allow you to train me,” you huff, you’d cross your arms, but you’re worried about his shirt riding up your thighs.

He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

You hum noncommittally, “This is such an unlucky night for me.”

He chuckles at you while getting up from the couch, “I am going to put some tea on, can you watch it?”

“Yeah,” you also get up from the couch and follow him to his kitchen.

Opening cupboards, he pulls out everything and puts the kettle on, then he wanders down the hallway leaving you to watch it. You don’t really know what he’s gone off to do, you’re a little peeved that you’ll have to be training for a possible threat, not even a tangible one. Plus you think he’s not telling you everything, but he seems to be a bit touchy right now, so you won’t push it.

Especially since you seem to be the reason why he’s being a bit short. But everything that happened tonight was just a series of unfortunate events, which at this point is par for the course for you. You don’t want to try and argue your case again though because, well, you were walking around an area you aren’t completely familiar with in the middle of the night, so you might be a little in the wrong.

Mindlessly, you watch the kettle, it feels a little ironic considering that old phrase, ‘a watched pot never boils’. From behind you, Liu Kang’s footsteps stop, you turn around to look at him.

“What were you doing?” You ask him, before you realise he’s holding all your wet clothes, including your underwear, the underwear that you are currently not wearing. Underwear that you should be wearing.

“What are you wearing underneath my shirt?” His gaze is even, unreadable.

“Uhm, well… like, r-right now?” You ask for clarification, your eyes wide.

“Yes, right now,” his tone is equally unreadable.

You suck on your teeth uncomfortably, “Well, right now… in this moment… I guess… nothing.”

“Right, thought so, considering I found these,” he holds out your underwear with one finger, showing them to you, “amongst all your other clothes.”

“Okayyyy, but you see…your pants didn’t fit and well, I didn’t want to put on wet underwear…” you avert your eyes from his, feeling exposed, “so, I decided, not to wear any…” You trail off, not really sure where to go from here.

He hums at you in understanding, “So, while I was telling you to care more for yourself…you were sitting on my couch, squirming because you chose to forgo underwear, is that right?”

You look upwards, feigning deep thought, “Mhm, pretty much, yeah…but I wouldn’t say I was squirming.”

“You were squirming, I thought it was because the conversation was uncomfortable.” He retorts.

“Well, it was…just in multiple ways,” you smile innocently at him, “Uhm, can I have those?”

“Are you going to put them on?” He asks.

You nod at him, “I was considering it, wearing wet panties has to feel better than this.”

His eyes close momentarily at your words, he intakes a breath. You feel ashamed to admit that this conversation is working you up, it would probably be for the best if you cover yourself properly.

Walking over to him you go to grab your underwear, but as you reach up to pluck them from his hand, he reaches further up. Not completely out of arm’s length but if you do reach up, you would be exposing yourself completely.

“That’s not nice,” you huff.

“It isn’t nice showing up on my doorstep just to get into my clothes and then sit on my couch with nothing underneath them.” His eyes are full of mirth.

“Can I just have my underwear…please?”

He pretends to be in deep thought, mimicking you from earlier, “Do you really want to put on wet underwear?”

“…Yes.” No. You don’t really want to, but not wearing underwear around someone who knows you aren’t wearing any is…horrifyingly revealing.

“So, you were fine not wearing any underwear when I didn’t know, but now you’d rather be uncomfortable in wet panties, instead of being bare?”

“You’re asking me too many questions,” you’re frowning at him, but he doesn’t seem to find it menacing, his eyes still playful.

“You normally enjoy talking,” he jests.

A scowl is pulling at you lips, “Liu can you please just,” you look away and huff, “give me my underwear,” you mumble it out.

“Is there a specific reason that you need them now?” His implication is heavy, and you are not admitting to anything, you’d sooner die.

Rolling your eyes at him, you grab your clothes from his other hand and walk over to his dining table. You place them over the back of his chairs, so they have the chance to dry.

He shows mercy and moves to you to give you your underwear. As you hold them you make a face of displeasure, they’re soaked still, and you really don’t want to put them on.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow raising.

“Nothing,” you lie.

He pushes, “Put them on then.”

This situation is too much for you, this side of Liu Kang paired with his bare skin is making you dizzy, your pussy getting wetter by the second. It’s incredibly embarrassing that, him knowing and teasing you for not wearing underwear, is making your skin hot and body yearn for him. Even more embarrassing that he seems to have some kind of inkling about your arousal for him.

“I will,” another lie, you are not putting these on.

“You know, your facial expressions are incredibly honest,” he observes.

You try your hand at a poker face and it has him smiling in response.

Giving in, you confess, “I don’t want to put them on, they’re too wet.”

His face is bright, pleased at his victory, “You are an odd person,” he teases.

You’re exasperated, “Can’t you just pretend to not know?”

“I can try.” He shrugs and gives you a sweet smile but it doesn’t feel sweet, not after what he just put you through.

You put your wet underwear on the chair next to your other clothes, preferably you would clean them but they’ll do for getting you back to your room tomorrow.

You huff past Liu Kang as you walk to sit on his couch again, still holding onto the hem of his shirt as you sit, not wanting it to ride up. Not willing to risk it, especially since he knows how bare you are underneath.

He makes the tea and brings it over to you, both of you sitting in silence. You can’t help but squirm a bit in your spot. Wanting to rub your thighs together for some kind of relief but that would be way too obvious. So, you try focusing on your tea, the flavours of it, the smell, the warmth.

But then your thoughts wander, and you’re thinking about Liu Kang’s arms, his chest, his tattoos, his hands, the playfulness in his voice, his eyes as he looked at you. The stern voice he used on you earlier, everything about him sets you alight, you huff in annoyance next to him.

You hear him sigh lightly beside you, “You’re squirming again.”

“No, I’m not,” a boldfaced lie.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing,” you take another sip of your tea.

He grabs your mug from you, placing it on the table, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t need help,” you scowl at him.

His expression is dubious and not believing you for a single second, “Come here,” he pats the couch between his spread thighs.

Your face is shocked, “What for?”

He rolls his eyes at you, “I was not born yesterday, do you want my help or not?”

You argue, “Still don’t need help.”

Both his brows drop, “You’re sitting there, bare and squirming on my couch.”

“You’re supposed to pretend not to know,” you comment.

“I can only ignore so much,” he retorts.

You look at him for a bit, his expression unchanging, seemingly steadfast.

“How are you going to help?” You’re curious now.

“Find out,” he pats the couch again.

Looking upwards and away from him, you consider it for a bit, this might not be a great idea but he’s really hot and offering to help you, so against your better judgement you move over to him and sit between his spread legs. He moves forward, chest pressed to your back, his lips right by your ear.

“Can I touch you?” He checks with you.

“…Yes, please.”

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your body, resting atop one of your thighs.

Tapping it, he says, “Open your legs.”

Your skin feels hot but you listen and open them, the outside of your thighs touching the inside of his.

“Perfect,” he mumbles beside your head.

His hand slides down, caressing your inner thigh now, his other arm is wrapped around your torso, keeping you still. The hand on your thigh slowly inching closer to where you need him most, it feels like everything he’s doing is taking a million years. He’s taking his time to tenderly touch you, working you up more than you already are.

Your own hands come up to the one wrapped around you, holding onto his forearm, “Can you just… touch me please?” You ask him, voice the slightest bit breathless.

“In a moment,” his hand moves further away from your aching heat, instead tickling up the length of your inner thigh.

Your body feels like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin, his barely there touch turning your brain into mush. Slowly, his hand travels back up your thigh, and he cups your pussy, his two middle fingers slipping between your folds.

His chest rumbles with a groan behind you, “How long have you been this wet?”

You turn your head away from him and to the side, trying to avoid his words in your ear. It doesn’t work, if anything he can get closer, his head leaning down and breathing hot air onto your ear. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine in response, your teeth biting into your lower lip to supress the small sound you almost make.

“Probably when I confronted you, right?” He hits the nail on the head.

His fingers keep running through your folds, spreading your slick all over your pussy, the tip of his middle finger pressing into you the slightest bit, you cant your hips in response and he pulls away, instead repeating his previous motions of rubbing his fingers through your folds. His teasing pulling a huff from you.

“You know how I know?” he probes.

You shake your head at him, you’re a little bit curious as to what gave you away.

“I know because you are so honest, your facial expression, your movements, your eyes,” he practically purrs in your ear.

You shuffle against him, whether to get him closer or get yourself free, you aren’t sure but he holds you still against him. His fingers making a mess of your pussy, he moves them to your clit, giving you only the slightest amount of pressure. It has your hips rising to chase the sensation, wanting his fingers to be firmer. The arm around your torso pulls you back to him, holding you steady.

“You’re still squirming,” he comments.

“It’s –hah– your fault,” you quip.

“Mmm, is that so?” He wonders out loud.

Finally, he adds more pressure to your clit, the stimulation almost knocking the wind out of you, a small whimper falling from your lips involuntarily. Liu Kang hums appreciatively at your reaction to his touch. His nose runs up the length of your neck, tickling you.

“You seem to enjoy being touched right now,” he breathes the words against your neck.

He rubs circles into your clit, firm and even, never picking up or slowing down. Your hips wriggle against him, you want more, want him inside you.

A breath of air is pushed out his nostrils, amused at your movements, “Need something?” He’s still holding you firm, “If you do, you need to ask.”

“Want you to touch me,” you request.

Tone serious but his words have humour behind them, “I am touching you.”

“Want your finger, inside,” you whine at him, hating how desperate you must look and sound. No man ever having pulled you apart with such minimal contact but he isn’t just a man, is he?

His chest vibrates under you, his fingers slipping down to your pussy hole, middle finger pressing into you slowly. His large finger a stretch for you, his thumb rubs at your clit, trying to coax you into relaxing enough to take it.

“I don’t think you could be any tighter,” he murmurs to you.

Your hips are wanting to wiggle down onto his finger but you’re being held in place, when he does get his finger fully inside you, it has you instinctually trying to close your legs. Liu Kang tsks at you in disappointment, the hand around you briefly moving to place your legs over tops of his. You’re completely spread on him, the crook of your knees resting over top of his legs.

“This is embarrassing,” you mutter.

His hand moves back to hold you around your middle again, “You won’t mind soon.”

This man is going to be the death of you.

The finger inside you crooks up, stroking at your inner walls, the pleasure has your body writhing in his hold again. He pulls you back into his chest further and looks over your shoulder, down to where his finger is seated inside you. As his finger draws back from you, wet sounds follow the movement, and when he pushes it back inside, your cunt clamps down on it; a gasp jumping out of your throat.

He fucks his one finger into you continuously, your slick dripping from you, hips jumping against him. Eventually, you want more, want to feel fuller.

You pant out, “More, Liu – hah.”

He obeys, pressing his ring finger into you, his pace slowing to make up for the stretch, the small amount of pain not enough to bother you, your arousal outweighing it. Your hips grind down onto his fingers, taking the both of them deeper. His thumb rubs at your clit again as he fucks both his fingers into you, your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes glazing over.

“Getting all fucked out on my fingers, that’s cute.” He observes.

His fingers are completely seated inside you; your hips grind into his hand. He allows you the small moment to rock your hips back and forth. Before he suddenly starts fucking them into you, pulling them out and slamming them back in, the tips of his fingers brushing something devastating. The feeling has your body shaking and whimpers falling from your lips, he hums in delight at your reaction and targets the one spot. Fucking his large fingers into it over and over again, wanting to have you falling apart for him.

Your insides start twisting in on themselves, panting breaths coming quicker, an odd feeling overwhelming you. You go to warn Liu Kang, “Feels weird.”

Liu Kang can feel your walls clenching down on his fingers, “It’s fine.”

You huff out at him, both from the feeling and his response.

“Poor girl, her ex-boyfriend didn’t only never get her to cum, she’s also never orgasmed before, mmm?” He questions, taunting.

If that’s what this is then you guess you really haven’t orgasmed before, you could’ve sworn you had but it never felt like this.

You gasp at his words, uncharacteristic of him and also really hot. Your brows knit together as his fingers keep moving inside you, his pace picking up slightly. The wet squelching of your wet cunt prominent in the otherwise quiet house.

“Stop fighting it love, just let it happen,” he whispers into the skin of your neck. He leaves wet kisses against it.

Your skin heats up in reaction to the pet name, your pussy spasming around his fingers, a whiny gasp of his name ripped from your chest. You go to keel forward but he holds you to him.

“There you go,” he purrs into your skin, “Doing so good, love.”

Your thighs are shaking on top of his, small whimpers leaving you as he continues fucking his fingers into you, prolonging your high. Aftershocks wracking your frame, jolting in his hold, slowly his fingers come to a stop, your head had dropped forward during your orgasm.

His unoccupied hand comes up to press against your forehead and pull your head back to his shoulder, you’re panting against him. Chest rising and falling quickly, your eyes unseeing for a few moments after.

When he pulls his fingers from you, he holds them up to marvel at them, admiring the way your cum has sticky strings falling from his fingers when he parts them.

“Look at that,” he says with the brightest tone, genuinely enamoured by the sight of your cum on his fingers.

You shy away from the display, turning your head to the side, unfortunately for your self-consciousness, you see the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks your cum off of them. The shameless display has your skin burning you from the inside out. After he’s sucked them clean, he wipes his spit off on your inner thigh.

“Can’t believe you were with a man who couldn’t make you orgasm for that long,” he says, almost out of nowhere.

You don’t respond, still embarrassed and a little fucked out, you don’t feel present in your own body. Wiggling against Liu Kang, you feel his very pronounced erection dig into your ass.

You mumble to him, surprised, “You’re hard.”

“Obviously, why wouldn’t I be?” he’s confused by your shock.

You remark, “You didn’t get any pleasure from that.”

“Love, I got so much pleasure from that.”

His response makes you blush.

“Your ex is some piece of work,” he claims.

You lift your shaky legs up and off of his, back to your previous position of outer thighs to his inner thighs. He lets you lay on top of him for a bit while you collect yourself, but you want to look at him.

Clumsily, you get up and shuffle around, climbing on top of him and straddling him, now face to face. You sit back a bit on his lap so you can see him properly.

“What’s wrong now?” He asks, feigning exasperation at you.

You don’t reply, instead lazily taking in all of his features, your eyes zero in on his lips. Wanting to kiss him but unsure if that’s crossing an invisible line. You don’t move, but you pull your eyes away from his mouth to look him in the eyes again.

Lightly rolling his eyes, he huffs out a sigh, his hand comes up behind your neck and pulls you towards him. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and sweet. At least it is until you shuffle forward and sit right on top of the bulge in his pants. You groan at the feeling of his hard cock pressed up against your bare cunt, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

His tongue explores your mouth, kissing you deeply. His hand holds onto your neck, keeping you in place for him to kiss you how he pleases. It’s is unlike any other, you’re realising now, you don’t think you’ve ever been kissed with so much desire, need.

Groans are pulled from his chest at the way you’ve started mindlessly grinding against him. His free hand coming up to encourage it, appreciating the friction. Having been hard for far too long with no relief. Your hands move to his shoulders, holding onto his warm skin.

You keep grinding clumsily onto his cock, back and forth along the length of it. He keeps his mouth on yours, his groans and your whines shared in it. When you pull back to breathe, his hand comes away from your throat and holds onto your other hip, using both his hands to drag you up and down his cock more forcefully.

You’re huffing out whimpers every time the head of his dick grazes your clit, Liu Kang is getting lost in the feeling of you soaking his cock through his pants. His head dropping back on the couch, you’re getting desperate on top of him. His dick is twitching under you, feeling him jerk against you has you rutting into him.

“Liu,” you call out to him.

“Mmm?” He hums to you.

“Want you inside,” you whimper.

His head shoots up to look you in the eyes, his hands stilling your hips causing you to whine pitifully. His cock jumps under you at the sound.

“Are you sure? Could barely take my fingers,” he’s double checking before getting his hopes up.

Nodding your head at him, you say, “Mhm, need it.”

His chest rumbles with a guttural groan, before he’s tapping the side of your thigh, asking you to stand on your knees for a moment. You lift yourself up and he pulls his pants down, enough to get his fat cock free.

The size of him shocks you slightly, his hands grab your hips again, pulling you down to sit on it. He starts the previous rhythm, grinding you down onto him, his cock slips between your folds, your pussy getting his dick wet and ready for you.

Gliding up and down his cock has your slick leaking from you and as you slide up, the head of his dick catches on your pussy hole, the feeling catching you off guard. You can’t help but push down onto his cock, stretching yourself on him, Liu Kang gasps at the feeling. His hands gripping your hips harshly, grounding himself.

Frustration grows in you at the difficulty of getting him inside you, so you force it and drop down quickly, more of his big dick filling your small cunt. The feeling too much, not so much pain but a large shock, your hands grasp onto Liu Kang roughly. His own body jerking forward, hips moving up on their own accord, a woosh of air exiting him like he’s been punched.

You whimper as your pussy contracts on his cock, right on the verge of an orgasm out of nowhere. Liu Kang realises this; his thumb moves to your clit and rubs quick circles into it. You’re cumming embarrassingly quick on him, his dick only halfway inside you and your eyes are teared up, your pussy creaming on him.

He growls enthusiastically at the sight and feeling of you cumming on him, only stuffed half full.

“Look at that,” he hums, “for someone who’s never had an orgasm, you cum easily.” He remarks.

You’re spasming around his cock, thighs shaking from holding yourself up.

“Sit down,” he says.

Taking a deep breath, you keep going, overstimulated and worried that him breathing on your pussy would have you cumming again. But you persevere, sinking down on him slowly, taking all of him in carefully. Eventually, you’re sitting on him, taking him to the hilt, the full feeling makes you dazed. Liu Kang’s head is thrown back slightly, his own gaze looking a bit fucked out, just from you sitting on him.

You can’t help but grind down into him, hips moving back and forth with him fully seated inside you. His big cock brushing against spots you didn’t know existed, it has you quivering on him. Your grinding gets desperate, and he lets you rut against him how you please, head leaning back and watching you squirm against him devotedly. Small grunts and moans escaping him every now and again. Your own noises more frequent and louder, your hands press into his pecs, using him as leverage.

His own hands leave your hips and instead come up and rest behind his head, holding it up. He’s leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock however you need. The sight of his torso stretched out and watching you blissfully ride him makes your pussy clench. Your clit grinding into his pelvis over and over is eventually what undoes you, cumming with a drawn-out whine, Liu Kang groans at the feeling of you cumming on him again. His self-control waning thin but he wears a large smile as you cum on him again, nonetheless.

“It’s my turn now,” he murmurs.

He manhandles you off of him, turning you so your back is to his chest, then he’s re-entering you from this position. The way he easily manoeuvred you has your heart beating and cunt leaking.

He feels different from this angle, feels delightfully deep. His arms come up and under the crook of your legs, holding them in his elbows. You’re spread so open for him; he slips deeper inside you and it has you keening. His hands hold your tits, playing with them, tugging at your nipples over his shirt. You’re practically immobile in this position, making you feel helpless.

His hands leave your tits and hold onto the front of your shoulders, his hips draw back, his cock slipping out slightly, before he’s shoving himself back inside you all at once. He repeats the motion over and over, fucking up into your immobile body, taking what he needs from you now. Your head falls back on his shoulder, whines and pants freely falling from your lips. Hands scratching at his thighs, grappling for some stability.

It shamefully doesn’t take you long again to finish, not with the punishing pace he set and the sounds spilling from his mouth right by your ear.

“Cumming again? Already?” His words are teasing but he seems overjoyed at your third orgasm on his cock.

His words have your cunt drooling on him, creamy ring at the base of his cock from all your orgasms. You’re silent when you cum this time, more pants than anything else, your pussy strangling his dick. He groans at the feeling of you shuddering on his cock, he continues fucking you through it, not stopping and holding you open.

The brutal pace he’s set is a lot for your abused cunt, the overstimulation getting to you. The pleasure shooting through you is sharp and you jump every time the head of his cock bumps up against something heavenly inside you.

“One more for me?” He asks you, feeling you getting close to the edge again.

You shake your head at him, “Too –hah– much.”

“You can take it.” He encourages, determined to throw you off the edge if you won’t go willingly, “Just one more, love.”

His words, his voice, it sends you over the edge, your orgasm is sharp and sudden. Punching you in your gut, a needy whine spilling from your lips, you’re shedding actual tears from the force of it. Liu Kang is still fucking up into you, pace picking up, chasing after his own high.

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” it’s barely coherent when you say it, you aren’t capable of actual speech at the moment, effectively fucked dumb by him.

A large and guttural groan is ripped from him, you can feel it in his chest. He’s cumming hard, releasing it all inside of you, he pushes you down as he fucks up into you. Holding your cunt to the base of him, grinding against you as he finishes. The sensation of being filled by him has your cunt fluttering around him.

You gasp at the feeling of his dick twitching violently as he releases inside you. He holds you to him for some time as he comes down from his own high, and then he’s gently untangling your legs from his arms. He slumps back into the couch, you’re careful to keep him inside you. Not wanting to ruin his couch more than you already have.

You feel limp against him, “You’re gonna get cum on your couch,” you warn.

He groans at you, disapproving of your observation, “Just keep me inside you.”

“That’s not gonna work…” You feel bashful as you add, “It’s leaking out around you.”

He pushes himself up and looks down from over your shoulder, wanting to see it for himself. A satisfied hum leaves him at the sight of his and your cum leaking out of you and down the base of his cock.

“Liu,” you press him.

His hand moves to your cunt and holds there as he slips out of you, holding your pussy, stuffing what’s leaking out back in. You thought he was going to keep his hand there so it didn’t get on the couch but this is the opposite of that, he’s scooping it off his pants, your thighs and the couch and then stuffing it back inside of you.

“You’re making an even bigger mess,” you worry, brows creased.

“It’s fine,” comes his nonchalant reply.

Eventually, after he’s satisfied with what he’s stuffed back inside you, he puts his dick back in his pants and picks you up. He carries you into his room and places you on his bed.

You sigh, “I would be more comfortable with a pair of underwear.”

“I have some boxers that would probably fit you,” he mentions flippantly.

“Why didn’t you offer that from the start?!” You exasperate.

“You didn’t ask, and then you asked me to pretend your bare pussy wasn’t on my couch,” he shrugs at you.

He grabs a pair of boxer briefs and hands them to you, he stands next to you so you have leverage when you stand up yourself. Your legs feel like jelly, you stand there struggling to even stand on both feet let alone one to put the boxers on.

He huffs at you, amused at your struggle, “Sit down, I’ll put them on.”

You sit back down and he slips them over your legs, after he’s gotten them up as far as he can get them while you’re sitting, you grab onto him and stand so he can tug them up the rest of the way.

You mutter at him, “Can’t believe this was always an option.”

He smiles softly at you as you crawl into his bed, you sit up against the headboard. On his bedside table you notice something.

“What’s that,” you ask, nodding your head at it.

“That’s for you,” he says, grabbing it and handing it to you, he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. Watching your reaction.

And when you realise what it is, you feel like you might cry because it’s the most perfect gift. It’s your favourite book but Liu Kang has gone through it and annotated the pages with his thoughts and feelings. It makes you ridiculously happy.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever been given,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile.

“Would have preferred to get your copy back but I thought this was the next best thing,” he says.

You shake your head at him, “This is better.” You’re excited to read your favourite book again but this time with all of Liu Kang’s thoughts filling the pages.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A/N: Thank you for reading!!!! I had trouble with my characterisation of Liu Kang so I am sorry if you guys feel like I didn’t do him justice, but I appreciate any and all support!!! <333 I am down bad for this man atm so I had to get him out of my system. I have an idea for a miniseries of sorts or a part two at the very least, so if you guys like this one, I’ll write the next part <333 Requests are always open, that also goes for if you have any questions in general about me, my blog, or specific fics :)))

#liu kang x reader #liu kang x reader smut #smut #mk1 smut #fanfic #liu kang #liu kang smut #mk1 2023 #liu kang x you

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