#there should probably be a tag for all these fics huh

[thekeatoncadet]

Drew some background/minor characters to purge the brainworms. Unclear if it worked or not.

[luvsavos]

(AA) hopefully it’s okay for me to ask you about your ocs some more 😅 I’ll be asking for both memes, if that’s okay? Since you said you’re feeling (Lord? Lady?) Shara and Lord Naas I’ll ask you about them 😊 for the edgy/misc, 1 for Shara and 20 for Lord Naas, and for the other, 25 for Lord Naas, 4 for Shara…and 23 for Lady Dala? Though I don’t know if these are in their monster forms and humanoid…whatever you want, I’m interested!

yes ofc it absolutely is okay and i appreciate it greatly bc ive been in a funk this past week(? idk how long it's been time is blurry) and talking abt my ocs always helps me a bit

as always thank u for the ask<3

oc ask meme 1 & 2!

1: What memory would your OC rather just forget?

oooh, this is a VERY good question🤔 there's probably a lot of memories shara wishes they could forget, though if they had to pick just one it would probably, predictably, be the dragon wars, or more specifically naas' capture and experimentation by the ancients; not even they were certain if he would survive or not, and they blame themself somewhat for it happening, despite rationally knowing it was not their fault. alternatively, they'd probably not complain about forgetting their first encounter with shang---it was the first time in a very, VERY long time that they felt genuine guilt or remorse; they had not intended to harm him, let alone as grievously as they did. they were only trying to drive him away, but unfortunately for them he's a stubborn bastard. if he weren't nami's adopted son, i don't think they'd care as much, but like. that's nami's adopted son. she adores him and dotes on him a lot. of course they're going to feel bad about nearly killing him, and the subsequent trauma he endured from the experience---he still refuses to be anywhere near them, and if they're even so much as mentioned, he becomes distinctly on edge and anxious.

20: Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

oh, yes. Absolutely. fatalis are incredibly possessive of what they deem as their's, and it is VERY easy to set off their jealousy; for instance, others attempting to court his, ahem, Favourite Mortal. the jealousy can manifest in a few different ways, depending on who it's aimed at---to most, it's violence, as one would expect from a fatalis. to those he's fond of, he pretty much becomes a very grumpy and possibly slightly petty cat. you WILL know that he is jealous and you WILL feel bad about it but he's just going to sit with his back to you and sulk about it to really let the Feeling Bad About It sink in. good luck getting more than a scoff or grumble or other various wordless draconic noises out of him as a response for a while until he's decided he's okay again.

and for the Other;

25: how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

being, by all technicality, an old fatalis, naas' senses are a little different to modern fatalis; where modern fatalis have incredibly poor eyesight (likely around the same as a human's, if not slightly worse) due to their crystalline eyes and primarily cave-dwelling tendencies, relying more on their other senses, naasfilrah has significantly keener eyesight, though in turn does not have as sharp of hearing nor a sense of smell as modern fatali. that's not to say, of course, that they aren't still FAR beyond that of a human or wyverian, but the primary sense he relies on is his eyesight, with hearing and smell coming after.

4: how crafty/resourceful are they?

hmmmmmmm....... they don't often utilize "resourcefulness" in the same way other members of the five might; they prefer to not take action unless the circumstances deem it absolutely necessary, or unless explicitly asked to, so you could probably safely say that they're not Overly crafty or resourceful? most of their "craftiness" or "resourcefulness" is their own knowledge and powers, rather than any actual craftiness.

23: how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

ignoring i had to go and watch a video of her voiceclaim (lady dimitrescu) for this LMAO i would describe lady dala's voice as regal and smooth, if not her tone being a little blunt and/or condescending(?); i think she could sing fairly well, though likely only her daughters and the other members of the five have heard it. that said, if you're lucky enough to be permitted into the coiled peaks, her domain, maybe if you're Extra lucky, you might just hear the sound of her singing in the early morning hours carried on the wind, an ancient lullaby/poem that her followers used to sing once upon a time.

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch3. domestic encounters

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

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 10)

ᰔ word count. 14.1k (i like this number)

a/n. hello hellooo my ihm bb's :'') so good to see you all again. so this is actually the first half of an original 26k word chapter 3 that i had written lmfaooo i genuinely entertained the idea of posting a 26k word chapter but like gat damn. idk i thought it would be too much. so there is this first part which is 14k and then the next chapter will be 12k! anywho, this chapter was fun to write, there's still a lot of set-up tho hahah. ihm has been really fun to write for me cuz it's kinda chaotic but chill at the same time lol :0 i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Soooo…..ready to consummate the marriage?”

You turn fast on your heel, so fast that Gojo almost trips over his own Welcome mat at his doorstep in an attempt to not accidentally topple over you, which you’re sure by the sheer size he has on you would’ve killed you or at the very least paralyzed you from the neck down, so it’s a good thing his hands fly out of his pockets then brace himself on the wood paneling above the door. 

“Wha–” you stutter, “what?!”

He stands up straight before leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms, the sleeve fabric of his suit stretching across thick muscle but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking. “The marriage technically isn’t valid unless we consummate it.”

You roll your eyes and dig your finger into your heel to take it off and then do the same with your other, relishing in the freedom of your feet from the shackles of constrictive feminine clothing articles, although you’re a solid two and a half inches shorter again. “I would rather make love to one of those inflatable balloon salesmen at car dealerships that flail and flap around in the wind than let you touch me for the purpose of sex.”

“Fuck that’s harsh,” he laughs, like he’s genuinely impressed by the comeback this time, “so a dead bedroom then, huh?”

“Can’t be dead if it was never alive in the first place,” you mumble as you tread into his house and toss the documents envelope you had been holding onto the coffee table. You hear Gojo make his way across the hardwood floor behind you paired with the metal clanking of keys as he throws them into the paper mache bowl on the foyer table. 

“By the way,” you hear him say, and you turn your torso slightly to side eye him only to see that he’s casually taking his suit jacket off with a flip of it backwards, “who was that guy in the courtroom that was glaring daggers into my soul?”

Your eyes widen briefly. And then you sigh. “My ex.”

He pulls the jacket off behind him by the sleeves and tosses it onto the loveseat. “Huhhh. You used to date a cop? You don’t seem like the type.”

“What?” you say as you face him fully. He’s loosening his tie now with a tug. “Why not?”

“You’re kinda…delinquent. Figured a cop would like a more ‘docile’ woman,” he says.

“You sound creepy as fuck,” you say, grimacing a little as you narrow your eyes at him.

He sighs before tossing his tie off to the side as well. “I don’t agree with it. I’m just getting into their headspace. Everyone knows how cops are. Y’know, controlling.”

“Choso is different,” you immediately spat back at him, before your head can even run the words through a filter, and you realize it came off as defensive. Your cheeks warm, because now it looks like you’re not over your ex. And you want to be. Why were you still protecting Choso’s dignity?

Gojo blinks at you, a little surprised before he swallows slowly and he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender. “Alright. I believe you.”

You turn away from him and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling awkward before you scratch your elbow and then turn back to face him again. “Well. If you run into him around town,” you say, “can you try to make him feel emasculated and jealous? He did me dirty.”

Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “Uhhh. How?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, “brag about how great our sex life is or something.”

“But we have a sexless marriage.”

“Oh, yes, speaking of this sexless marriage,” you start, jutting your hip out to the side as you cross your arms sternly, “there are some ground rules that need to be set between you and I.” You point between the two of you.

“Ground rules?” he mimics after you as he undoes the top couple buttons of his white dress shirt, “like what?”

You hold a finger up. “Like no touching.” You hold another finger up. “Obviously, no sex.” You hold another finger up. “No sneaking into my room in the middle of the night.” You hold another finger up. “No peeping in on me while I’m showering.” You hold another finger up. “No ogling me around the hou–”

“These rules sound incredibly one-sided,” he snorts. 

“Yeah, well, don’t break them, you creep.”

“And if I catch you ogling me around the house?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Such a thing will not happen.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he sarcastically affirms, and he approaches you which makes you flinch a little but you realize he’s just walking past you towards the living room.

“Y–” you stutter, “you heard me, right? Once I start living here, you have to adhere to these rules.”

He waves his hand in the air dismissively with his back facing you. “Yes ma’am.”

Your eye twitches slightly, and you storm towards him only to watch him slump down onto his couch, knees spread wide as he leans forward with a small grunt to grab the remote off the coffee table before settling back again. He lays an arm up and stretched across the backrest of the couch before he turns the TV on and scrolls through news channels. 

You make your way in front of him, obstructing the view of the TV, and he leans off to the side to try to catch a glimpse at the screen but you reposition your body so that he still can’t see it. His eyes slowly move to you and he has an irritated look on his face. 

“I’m tryna watch CNN,” he says. 

“Punishment,” you say, “for breaking any of these rules will be severe.”

He raises an eyebrow, interested all of a sudden as he tosses the remote back onto the coffee table and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Oh? What’s the punishment?”

Honestly, you don’t know. You just want to threaten him to keep him in line. Forget the fact that he’s the one doing you the favor here with this marital arrangement, and yet you’re threatening him. But it has to be done. “You don’t want to find out,” you say, trying to sound as eerie as possible.

“Not knowing what it is makes me want to find out,” he tells you, his knee swaying side to side like a dog wagging its tail. 

You briefly glance down, and for fucks sake why is all of his clothing so perfectly fit and stretched taut whenever he does anything? You try not to eye the shape of his thighs as the black fabric stretches while he’s seated.

You clench your fists at your side, worry your bottom lip under your front teeth, furrow your brow and blink rapidly from not being able to come up with something to say, and Gojo seems to read this as worry before he laughs a little.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna break any of your silly rules, despite how tempting it might sound to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter as you walk around the couch towards the kitchen, feeling thirsty all of a sudden. 

“Seriously. I won’t. You’re not my type,” he says from behind you on the couch, with a tone that tells you he’s trying to sound reassuring but it really just pisses you off even more, “I don’t really go after women with daddy issues.”

“Wha–” you gasp, offended, and you spin on your heel to glare at the back of his head. “Who the fuck said I have daddy issues?!?!”

“No one has to say it, I can feel it,” he says as he continues to clicks through channels.

You pick an avocado up out of the pile of fruits from the bowl at the center of the island, holding it over your shoulder to charge up as much kinetic energy as possible so you can chuck it at him hard enough to knock him unconscious, and it’s like he senses the malice radiating off of your body because he looks over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that in your hand?” he asks.

“A grenade,” you say, “that I’m gonna launch at you.”

“Oh, thank god,” he exhales in relief, “I almost thought it was an avocado for a second.”

You deadpan stare at him. “I don't find you funny.”

“I think I’m pretty funny,” he says mindlessly, like he’s just arguing with you for the sake of arguing.

“No. I have never once laughed at a single thing you’ve ever said. Only grimaced with disgust,” you say.

He sighs. “Look at us. We’ve barely been married for an hour and we’re already fighting.”

You abandon your empty glass on the counter, shuffling around the corner towards the front entrance of the house because you can feel the headache from your pure annoyance starting to creep up on you. You sense Gojo’s eyes on you from the couch as you shove your feet back into the uncomfortableness of your heels. 

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

“Back to my house,” you grumble, wobbling a little when you take a step towards the door and place your hand on the handle.

“When are you gonna move in?” he asks suddenly.

You freeze in your tracks at his question. You’ve never heard the question before, because you’ve never had the chance to live anywhere that wasn’t your childhood home next door. So the question is jarring at best, and threatens to make you cry a little at worst. 

“Once I get my mom into hospice,” you say, quiet enough to where it’s possible he might not have even been able to hear it over the sound of presidential election updates. And then you make your way out of his house. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a beautiful sunny spring morning, clouds trailing by across the sky offering momentary relief from the heat reaching the pavement, and you’ve got a good marching band walk going on as you stroll down the sidewalk of your neighborhood for your morning walk. Well, that phrase implies that you go on morning walks often. You really don’t, you very rarely have the time or energy. But today you decided it was time to turn your life around (your running shoes will see you same time next month). 

You hear some commotion off at the right side of the street, and when you lift your head up a little to clear the obstructed view of your sun visor, you see a couple of cops standing on a lawn, chatting up your elderly women neighbors with their laughter bolstering in the air. One of the cops turns around, making eye contact with you, and—  of fucking course, it’s Choso.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mutter under your breath and try to walk faster down the sidewalk in Korean ahjumma style. 

“Hey! y/n! Wait!” you hear him call out and he jogs across the street to catch up with you.

You continue to military march down pavement. “What do you want, Choso? Why are you stalking me?”

He runs up in front of you to stop you in your tracks. You frown at him and cross your arms across your chest. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “I got a call about a stray dog out here.”

“Oh. Wonderful. So glad to know our officers are keeping us safe from cute street dogs,” you say, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“The dog had rabies. It bit an old man. Had to put it down,” he deadpans.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, cheeks flushing, “well, then, leave? Your job here is done.”

“I just—” he starts, “I want to—” He sighs, looking flustered like he’s trying to gain some sort of courage. And you’re almost entirely certain he didn’t need to garner this much courage to face a rabid dog than he seems to be needing for you. “I, uh, I want to meet your husband.”

“W-What??” you exasperate.

“To say congrats,” he says, but through gritted teeth.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah fucking right. You just wanna abuse your po-po powers to arrest him then throw him into jail then kill him to leave me widowed so that I’ll get back together with you and make a fool out of myself all over again.”

“Your capacity for catastrophization never fails to amaze me,” he says.

You’re pretty sure your therapist said something similar to you last week, too. 

“Ahhh!! y/n!!” you hear a familiar feminine voice call from down the street, and both you and Choso turn your heads toward the source of the sound.

Amaya, your neighbor, who is roughly thirty-weeks pregnant at the moment and therefore waddling down the street to get to you, is waving her arms in the air as her husband as well as another one of your neighbors follows after her. She finally reaches you and takes your hands into hers. “I haven’t seen you in forever!! How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s doing well…just getting by,” you say awkwardly, as Choso’s cop partner also approaches this little group that’s forming here, along with the elderly neighbors that he had been talking to. 

“Doctors taking good care of her?” Amaya’s husband, Ren, asks you with a twisted expression on his face and arms tightly crossed over his chest like he was gonna beat the doctors up if they weren’t. 

“Yes…” you say, “although, I think I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser.” Oh. Fuck. You should’ve kept that to yourself. Big mouth.

You can feel Choso’s eyes on you as he watches this interaction between you and your neighbors. 

“Oh! That’s interesting,” Amaya says, and as her hands soothe over yours, she feels the bump of the ring on your left hand. She glances down. “H-Huh??? Is this a wedding ring?!”

Choso crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his armpits in your periphery.

“Y…yeeeeesss…” you say awkwardly.

“You’ve finally married?” your elderly neighbors chirp out at the same time.

You shoot them a dirty look over the word finally. “Yes.” Please drop the subject, please drop the subject.

But Amaya has always been the gossipy nosy neighbor. “To who??”

Choso snaps his face to you, intently studying your body language. You take a deep breath.

“I-I didn’t tell you?? I married Satoru!!” you chirp, as if it was a normal thing.

“Ehhh?!” you hear multiple of your neighbors’ voices call out. 

“You married Satoru??? But you hate him!!” Amaya blurts out, her voice loud and echoing down the street of the neighborhood.

“I—” you stammer, ducking your head a little to hide behind your visor, “um, oh, y’know…those feelings just…snuck up on me!”

“Awwww good for youuu,” Amaya coos, and one of your elderly neighbors comes up to you with a cheeky smile to then rubs your arm approvingly, “he’s sooooo handsome, you’re so lucky!!”

Ren lets out a hmph over his wife’s flattery of another man, and you roll your eyes, wanting to put Gojo in his place even in the face of just your neighbors, but then you remember that a loving wife wouldn’t say something like his personality makes him an ugly rat. 

“But when did this happen?” Choso’s partner speaks up, his voice accusatory. Choso hits his partner’s chest vest with the back of his hand, as if to say cut it out.

You feel pissed off at that.

“Oh yeahhh, you and Choso only recently broke up!” Amaya says, pointing between the two of you.

You purse your lips together from the anxiety of this entire conversation. “Three weeks ago. Choso and I broke up three weeks ago,” you say, not even sure why you’re disclosing your personal matters to this group of congregated people, but the peer pressure was damning, and you’re pretty sure silence on this subject in front of your neighbors would only make Choso more suspicious, “and—” you had to get your story straight, “well���within those three weeks, Satoru and I just…got to know each other.”

“Eh?” Ren speaks up. “But he was out of town for two weeks. He only came back a week and a half ago.”

You blink at him.

“Ohhh yes, yes, that’s right, honey,” Amaya agrees with a slow nod in remembrance as she pats her husband's chest, “those chocolates he brought us were from London, right?”

Choso tilts his head at you, giving you a glare with the intent of having you crack under this pressure, because you’ve just been caught in a cold hard lie. More importantly, how the fuck did you not notice that Satoru had been gone for TWO WEEKS??? He was your next door neighbor. You’ve seriously been so damn out of it these days. Also, why the fuck didn’t he get you chocolates from London?!?!?! The fucking snake. 

“A marriage within three weeks is a little odd, no?” Choso’s partner speaks up, but with less of a casual conversation tone and more of a I sense something illegal going on here tone.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Choso sighs, taking a step to stand in front of you. “Let’s all get on with our days. She doesn’t have to share any information she doesn’t want to.”

You blink in surprise at Choso’s words, of which all your neighbors acknowledge albeit slightly reluctantly as they wave goodbye to you and start dispersing back to their homes. Choso’s partner gets some notice through his radio, and he pulls it from the velcro of his chest to speak into it before heading back to their cop car with a slight jog. Once everyone is gone and it’s just you and Choso again, he turns around to face you. His arms are still crossed at his chest while he wears a very skeptical and almost reprimanding look on his face.

“What are you up to, y/n?” he immediately asks you, and you feel goosebumps tickle your skin even in the heat. “I really hope it’s not something fishy. Or illegal.”

You swallow hard. You know the U.S. federal codes in the law for marital & insurance fraud like the back of your hand, since you read through them hundreds of times before deciding if your arrangement with Gojo would be worth it. 8 U.S.C. 1033 and 18 U.S.C. 371 provide for a penalty of up to ten years in prison for insurance fraud. And under that statute, you can also be fined up to $250,000. The best case scenario is that you just have to divorce Gojo, and forfeit your chances of ever recovering from your crippling debt. And while it’s hard to prove marital fraud, Choso had reason for a personal vendetta against you, and he has the resources to launch an investigation. 

“Why would I do something illegal??” you ask, as if to convince him that the possibility was absurd. 

He takes a step closer to you, and your breathing picks up. “People do illegal things all the time,” he says, “for the thrill, out of curiosity,” another step closer, “the most common reason that I’ve seen?” He’s so close to you now that you catch the familiar scent of his skin. “Desperation.”

You catch a small gasp of air from his imposition in your personal space, and finally, your weak legs manage to take you a step back. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about here,” you say with a shaky voice.

He raises an eyebrow at you. And then he sighs. “Stay out of trouble.”

Your eye twitches at him, annoyance resurging but you have to bite your tongue for self preservation. Gojo’s words about cops liking more docile women ring in your ears for a brief moment, and you have to physically shake your head to get his voice out of it. 

His partner yells for him from his car, something about a call they got for a robbery downtown, and Choso spares you a warning look before he turns on his heel and jogs back to the car. The sound of police sirens mimic the panic in your beating heart as you watch them speed off down the street and out of sight.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You pull into your neighborhood at the early hours of the morning, skin feeling dry and eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion as you yank your hospital badge clip off your scrub top to toss onto the passenger seat along with your stethoscope, releasing it from your neck like pulling a noose loose. 

Before your shift last night, you had to take your mom to the hospital because she was have shortness of breath, and her oxygen saturation was low on her pulse oximeter. She’s stable now, it was just yet another flare up of her COPD, but given her other risk factors, the hospitalist admitted her to monitor her overnight and through to the evening today if all goes well. Which meant that you could have the house to yourself for once. It might sound selfish to say, because shouldn’t the more dominant feeling be I hope my mom will be okay, but the reality was that there’s only so much of that worry you can have at a time. It doesn’t mean you’re not thinking of her literally every second of the day. It just means you’re human. 

The weirdest thing about working the night shift is seeing everyone else’s days start while yours is just ending. There’s a bit of satisfaction with it. Like imagining laughing at their faces ha ha! You have to go to work now at seven in the morning, meanwhile I get to sleep! as if working the night shift doesn’t lead to substantially higher rates of cardiovascular disease and other chronic illness, as well as an early death. So who really got the last laugh? Day shift workers. Literally.

It wasn’t something you did because you liked working the night shift. You do it because you get paid a 20% differential for it. And you need all the money you can get right now.

Your brain seems to be working more than usual if you’re able to think about all these things after a shift. Swiftly pulling into the driveway of your home, around the hull of Gojo’s obnoxious boat in the driveway, you get out of your car with your purse hanging from your shoulder and just before you shut the door, you see one of your elderly neighbors waving at you from across the street. You’re pretty sure her name is Margaret, but you’re awful with names. You do remember that she was in the posse of neighbors that were flocking you yesterday and asking you pushy questions about your marriage in the presence of Choso. And your body stiffens a little. 

She tilts her head at you as you stand in your driveway, and you awkwardly glance over at Gojo’s house.

“Oops!” you chirp from across the street, “always forget to pull into the Hubby’s driveway instead! Silly me!!”

You grab your emergency overnight stay bag from the back of your car and hurry over to Gojo’s house, knocking on the door incessantly and ringing the bell so as to not arouse any more suspicion from your neighbors about why two married people aren’t living together. “Forgot my keys!! Hahahhahaha,” you exclaim while your pounding on the door intensifies. You’re sure you're just being paranoid, because why would sweet old lady Margaret (Janice? Patricia?) snitch on you? But you’ve been paranoid all your life. It’s one of your fatal flaws. 

The door opens suddenly, right as you were about to pound harshly once again, and you stop the motion in time to not sock Gojo in the abdomen with your fist. He blinks down at you, his face a little puffy from sleep, his hair shooting out in all different directions, and he scratches at his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt, one he clearly threw on last minute before opening the door considering the fact that he put it on backwards. And inside-out. 

“Huh? y/n?” he mumbles, his voice deep and kind of raspy with sleep, “what are you doing here?”

“Just let me in,” you hiss at him, glancing over your shoulder to your elderly neighbor's lawn for a second, and then duck under his arm that was holding the door open to get inside the house.

You turn around to see him shrug his shoulders and slowly close the door, clearly too tired to deal with the bullshit this early in the AM, and he turns around to face you before leaning back onto the surface. His eyes close, like he’s trying to preserve the sleepy feeling for when he gets back into bed.

“Can I help you?” he says. His head falls back with a small thump to rest on the door.

“I’m going to sleep here for the night. Er, for the day,” you say. “I will move in starting today.”

“Okay,” he easily agrees.

You blink at him. “Um. Show me to my room.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as he heads for the stairs with the shuffle of his slippers across the hardwood floor. You note that he is very easily malleable and overall smooth brained when he’s sleepy. You try to ignore the fact that you find it kinda cute. 

You follow him up the stairs and he leads you across the loft into a hallway studded with a couple of doors. He opens one of them for you, his head drifting a little like he’s about to fall back asleep. “Here you go,” he says while gesturing inside the bedroom and rubbing his eye with a weakly closed fist, “guest bedroom. Uh, there’s another one near the master too that’s a bit bigger, but this one has a lock on the door. So that I don’t sneak into your room in the middle of the night.”

“Thanks,” you accept and head inside. You set your emergency overnight stay bag on the bed and then turn around to face the door to find Gojo still standing in the frame. He has his hands pushed into the pockets of his pajama pants as he squints at you. 

You feel…a little…nervous? Shy? Who the fuck were you to be shy in front of Gojo? You really don’t give a damn what he thinks about you, since a lion does not concern itself with the opinions of a sheep (you’ve been doing reruns of Game of Thrones this past week), but starting today, you’ll be in his territory, and this whole situation is so domestic that you feel vulnerable in front of him. Like the sheep somehow managed to splay the lion open this time, and now the real you is on display for him. You’re suddenly self conscious of the unruly state of your hair and the stains of IV fluid on your black scrubs and the fact that the allegedly flake-proof mascara you put on at the beginning of your shift has long since flaked all over your cheeks.

“Um. Can you leave?” you say in a small voice.

“Huh?” he responds, like he himself forgot that he was still standing there. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He lets out a very long exhale. “Make yourself at home.” And then, still facing you, he walks off to the side veeeeeeery slowly until he’s out of sight.

You walk up to the doorframe and peak your head around to the left to see him still standing there.

“Satoru. Stop treating me like I’m some animal at the zoo. Leave.” 

“It’s just so weird seeing you in my house like thi—”

You slam the door on him, your breathing finally slowing down again as your palms lay flat on painted white wood. You move your hand down to the handle, thumb and forefinger lingering on the lock as you look at it for a moment, but ultimately decide against locking it.

The room has a bathroom attached to it which is nice. The bed is a queen size, fitted with light blue and eggshell white sheets, tucked neatly spare for one corner of the bed where the duvet is flipped over. To the left of the bed is a nightstand and to the right is a dresser that looks very new. You take a glance at your reflection in the mirror sitting above it, and let out a small gasp at your less than flattering appearance. 

A five minute shower does you wonders, and you pat yourself dry with a towel that matches the shower curtain. You find one of your floor-length vintage nightgowns, with the long frilly sleeves, after rustling through your overnight stay bag, along with a toothbrush and some moisturizer. 

As you brush your teeth, you pace around the room. There’s a little staggered rack near the window that is lined with plants and the blinds are angled perfectly for sunlight to get through to them. You poke your finger to one of the plant’s soil and notice that it’s damp. Been watered recently. Gojo is a plant guy? He really doesn’t seem the type. Well, actually, he’s pretty vain about his avocado tree. But houseplants were a different story. A whole different trope of person.

After getting ready for bed, you slip into the sheets and lay stiff despite the comfortable mattress as you stare up at the ceiling with the duvet tucked under your arms. It’s bright in the room. Back home, you have blackout curtains, which help you sleep because it blocks out the morning light. Here, you don’t have that. You don’t have your melatonin either. But you do have the exhaustion in your veins, making you blink slowly and slowly until the water in your eyes feels as thick as oil. You’re so tired to the point that you can’t even sleep.

You force your eyes to close anyway. You’ll pretend you’re a queen in a palace, here in a foreign land she has recently conquered under her empire. A daydream that you find doesn’t really help you drift off to sleep. But counting sheep never fails you. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You awake in the afternoon with a headache that pounds at your head like the FBI is trying to infiltrate your own mind. And all you can hear now is the FBI OPEN UP!!! meme as you groan and rub at your temples with one hand while leaning over the bed to pet at the nightstand for your go-to bottle of Tylenol just to–

Pet around at nothing.

“Mm?” you mumble, opening your eyes cautiously before harsh light makes you close them again. But even behind the protection of your eyelids, you’re still very keen on the brightness that finds you in this room. Finally, you’re able to blink the sleepiness away and adjust to the light, and when the blur of your vision subsides, you realize that you’re in a bed that is most definitely not your own. And then you remember.

You spent your first night (well, technically morning and early afternoon), at Gojo’s house.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, balled up fist rubbing at your eyes ferociously as you sit groggy from the sleep that enveloped you so performatively after your shift last night. You can’t even remember coming to his house, which is concerning, since that could mean you forgot to do a lot of other things when coming home. Like changing your clothes, and scrubbing your make-up off. But it seems like habit and routine has saved you, since you glance down and see yourself in one of your nightgowns and your skin doesn’t feel dry.

A loud thud! noise from directly beneath you startles you, jolting some of the sleepiness out of you, and you finally feel inclined to head out the door.

You make it across the loft and to the top of the staircase so you can peer over the railing to the downstairs floor. But from the top, you can’t see anything except for the entry area and the family room, but you assume the sounds you hear are coming from the kitchen, because it sounds like the closing of a fridge and ceramic on marble paired with footsteps on hardwood. Lifting the hem of your nightgown up so you don’t trip over it, you creep down the stairs, diligent in avoiding the 2nd and 7th step (you’ve since learned that they creak a little), and make steady progress in getting to the bottom of the stairwell to then stealthily peak your head around the rail and peer into the kitchen. You only have a view of one side, the long counter strip with the stove and the fridge, but you freeze when you’re met with the sight of a man standing there shirtless pouring orange juice into a coffee mug.

You’re temporarily shocked, your fight of flight immediately kicking in as you clutch the imaginary pearls around your neck in fear…but then…you slowly…find yourself starting to stare. This man’s back is huge, massive really…with tense and defined muscles, expansive smooth lines with ridges that meet bone. His shoulders are broad, rounding down into strong arms that are split with veins. And your eyes trail the way his waist narrows down to his hips, of which gray sweatpants very loosely hang from. Honestly, if the door in the movie Titanic was as large as this man’s back, then maybe Rose AND Jack could have fit on it and survived. (a/n. basically picture this)

And in the middle of your drooling, you realize. That this man. Is. Gojo.

Which should be a relief to you, because if it wasn’t Gojo, and there was just some random man in the house, then you’d have to start looking for a weapon of sorts. But instead you just continue to watch him silently without coming out of your hiding. Shirtless in his own kitchen (a crime, really) as he pours OJ into a black mug (who the fuck drinks juice from a coffee mug). He suddenly turns around to face the island and a small gasp leaves your lips before you duck your head behind the rail to hide yourself from his line of sight, and when you realize you’re in the clear, you slowly peak your head back out.

The sight of his chest and torso nearly knocks you breathless, because why is his skin so smooth…and taut across the defined muscles of his abs, glistening with a sheen you can only guess is a salty layer of sweat. His fringe is damp, sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face, a droplet of sweat rolling down from his temple towards his chin but he uses his bare shoulder to wipe the sweat off before it can get that far. He brings the mug of OJ to his lips and tips it back with a swallow, the thick muscles of his neck rippling and rolling with the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, a singular droplet of orange juice escaping from the corner of his lips, trailing down the vein on his neck and into the territory of his chest. Okay. You were being creepy as fuck right now. He can’t find out that you’re staring at him like this, you’d literally move to a different country if he ever caught you. And yet, for some reason, you just can’t stop either. 

He pulls the mug from his mouth, letting out a large exhale since he literally just gulped it all down in one go. He places his palms flat on the table, slightly distant from one another, as he takes in the sight of his counter, while you take in the sight of the way his biceps bulge and the veins on his thick forearms tense. He looks like he’s contemplating something. And then he shrugs his shoulders slightly before grabbing the carton next to him and chugging straight from it, like whatever he poured himself wasn’t enough to quench the thirst for citrus juice he seems to have after–you can only assume–the workout he just had. 

There’s a deep noise that’s muffled in his throat in the second before he pulls the carton away from his mouth and his eyes glance at something on the floor. You can’t see what it is, but you can see the marvelous shape of his ass through his sweatpants– I mean, you can see him furrow his brow a little and then he’s suddenly crouched down on the floor, ducked behind the island and out of sight, before he mutters something that you think sounds like damn fridge…

You stand on your tiptoes on the last step, trying to peer over the obstructing view of the counter, but you trip over the hem of your nightgown, losing balance and–

–fall straight onto the hardwood in front of you, on all fours. 

“Ah,” you exclaim blandly, and in your periphery, see Gojo suddenly stand up straight from his crouched position.

“y/n?” he calls out from the kitchen, his tone surprised.

“Sorry!” you chirp as you feel embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks, “just, uh, fell down the stairs!”

“What?!?” he exclaims in a panic, and you forgot that most people would panic if someone said that to them. He rushes over to you and gets down on one of his knees to peer at your face, his hand shooting out to grab your upper arm with little delicacy out of concern, and his eyes roam all across you to assess for injuries. “Are you okay??”

“Just!” you chirp as you yank your arm out of his hold, “Peachy!” You’re not able to make eye contact with him as he remains kneeled next to you, but you can’t find yourself able to move either. So you just relish in the ridiculous feeling of being on all fours in your vintage grandma nightgown in front of your shirtless and, breaking news: very hot, fake husband. God you can smell the musk and sweat from him when he’s this close, and it’s sexy. You have to be careful to not just straight up mount him on the floor right now. Much to your aroused dismay. 

“Um,” you squeak out, “can you put a shirt on.”

“Huh?” he looks down at himself, like he forgot he’s half naked. “Oh. Yeah.” He stands up. “Sorry, I’m not really used to having someone in the house anymore,” he says, and his use of the word anymore isn’t lost on you. 

He heads over to the coat closet, pulling a gray sweatshirt that’s a shade darker than his sweatpants off of a coat hanger and then pulling it on over his head. He pulls the hood off, and now his hair looks damp with sweat and sexily ruffled up. And he’s also in a comfy-looking sweatshirt. That was way hotter than being shirtless, for fucks sake. You wonder if he’d reconsider being shirtless again. He’s kneeling down beside you once more, and yes you are still on all fours just staring down at the hardwood floor like an animal paralyzed with fear. 

“Have some decency, please. Especially since I am to start living here from today onwards. I would appreciate modesty around the house,” you say as a tactic of self preservation. “Take note of my attire–appropriately covering all skin.”

“Are you gonna stand up?” he asks you.

“No. I shan't.”

“What? Why not? And why are you talking like that?” 

“It appears I am frozen.”

“Are your knees okay?”

“I believe so.”

He sighs and gets up from his knelt position, then suddenly comes up behind you, bending over to wrap his arms around your waist tightly before picking you up with the same ease in which someone would pick up a plastic lawn chair. You gasp, still retaining your four-legged creature formation, until he shakes it out of you and then sets you back down onto your feet. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says with a sigh as he heads back towards the kitchen, and he’s back to crouching down somewhere behind the counter.

You shuffle your feet over to the kitchen and peer over the kitchen island to see that he’s examining the floor in front of the fridge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He scratches at his eyebrow. “The fridge is leaking again.”

“Oh.”

He clicks something on both sides of the fridge's feet and then grips the corners of its body, pulling it out from the wall with a small grunt leaving his lips. Even with the baggy sweatshirt, you can see the curves of the muscles in his arms as he works. 

You place your elbows on the island and hold your face in your hands as you watch him. “How are you gonna fix it?”

He’s dabbing at the wet hardwood with a very worn out rag to get it dry. “I just have to shut the water valve off for a bit.”

“How do you do that?”

He points over his shoulder with his thumb, and you trace the line of it to the cabinet under the sink. 

“Really? You’re gonna get under the sink?”

He dusts his hands off and tosses the rug off to the side. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure you can fix it?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“How long has this been an issue?”

His gaze flicks to yours briefly before he stands up. “About a week.”

“Don’t you think you should just call someone?”

“What?” He turns to face you and crosses his arms across his chest while raising an eyebrow at you, like you’ve just deeply offended him. “Why the fuck would I call someone for a job I could do myself?”

You tilt your head at him, trying to hide the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “Well you said it’s been a whole week.”

“Yeah, I’ve–...I’ve just been busy. So I haven’t had a chance to really take a look at it.”

“Ohhhh okay okay,” you say in a teasingly skeptic tone, poking your tongue to your cheek as it’s getting progressively harder to hide your grin.

“What?” he says to you, impatiently.

“Nothinggg,” you purr, and you watch him with a cheeky look on your face as he glares at you before he disappears off towards the garage.

He comes back with a tool box and you spend some time poking around in it curiously as he grabs a couple of tools before crouching down in front of the sink.

For some reason, you feel shy watching him. Maybe it’s because when he’s laying on his back, the top twenty-percent of him ducked underneath the sink, and he’s working his hands on some pipes that you can’t see, his sweatshirt rides up a little and you can see the very lower part of his torso. And then when he yanks particularly hard on something, it rides up more and you can see his abs tensing and relaxing with almost every breath he takes and every move he makes. You’re just grateful he can’t see you, and the urge to clench your thighs together is almost stronger than your brain’s disposition to convince yourself that he’s not attractive just because you think he’s annoying most of the time. 

“y/n,” he calls out to you from under the sink, and you jump a little. He tilts his head a little so he can make eye contact with you from under. “Can you hand me those slip-joint pliers?”

“I have no idea what that is or where to even begin to know what that is.”

“The pliers that have the serrated edges,” he tries.

“Huh?”

“.........shark with sharp teeth.” 

“Oh! Yes. Yes, of course,” you grab them and then shuffle over to him before crouching down, balancing on your toes, “here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says in a flat tone, slowly taking them from you. 

“You’re welcome!” you chirp. You feel very useful. 

His head disappears back to deep underneath the sink again to work on stuff again. Even though this whole thing is probably just his masculine ego wanting to fix things around the house by himself rather than just call a person that is literally paid to fix these sorts of things, you have to admit that you’re not complaining for getting to watch him do something handy. 

“I’ve just– gotta–” he grunts a little and you hear the creaking of pipes, “tighten this up a bit–” he lets out another gruff noise, his voice strained with effort, and you’re ashamed to say it sounds hot. “Alright!” He pulls himself out from under the sink and stands up back onto his feet with a bounce in his step as he dusts his hands off. “Fixed. For now.”

The fridge starts making a strange whirring noise. You raise an eyebrow at him. He quickly reaches behind it and clicks some button before the eerie whirring stops.

“Okay. Now it’s fixed.”

You give him a very skeptic look. “Sure, Jan.”

“Don’t sure jan me. Trust. It won’t leak anymore.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond before heading back up the stairs to freshen up. 

By the time you go back downstairs, Gojo is nowhere to be found, and you take the opportunity to sit on his couch in the living room to then peruse which streaming services he has on his TV. It isn’t until about ten minutes later that you hear someone coming down the stairs, because he makes no effort to avoid the creaky steps.

You put your elbow up on the couch backrest and twist your torso to look at him. He’s wearing pajama pants and an unmatching black short sleeve cotton T-shirt that’s loose around his torso but tight at the arms. He’s ruffling his hair up with a hand towel, attempting to get it dry from the shower he clearly just took. As he makes his way towards the living room, you catch a waft of the clean soapy aqua fragrance of shampoo lingering in his hair. He stops about four feet behind the couch.

You glance down at his feet. “Why the fuck are you, as a grown ass man, wearing bunny slippers inside the house?”

He opens one eye to glance down at his slippers as he continues to tousle his hair dry, “oh, Juno got them for me for Christmas last year. She wanted me to wear them ‘all the time or else uncle toru’s feet will burn off from the floor lava.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face. 

Juno is Gojo’s five-year-old niece, and from the interactions you’ve seen between them, and from the way My Little Pony was the first thing that popped up when you turned the TV on, you know that Gojo absolutely adores her and vice versa. You’ve met her a couple times, even babysat her once in an emergency, and she’s a cute and bright little kid that you certainly have way more fondness for than her obnoxiously annoying uncle who is also now your fake husband. Wait, does that mean that Juno is your niece now, too?

Gojo lets out a sigh before hanging the towel over his shoulder, his hair apparently adequately dry enough for him now. He looks younger when his hair is messy and a little damp, falling over his forehead flatter than usual. It’s kinda boyish and dare-you-say charming.

He looks down at his slippers again with a pleasant reminiscent look on his face before placing his hands on his hips like he’s a baseball dad of three. “Y’know, when I was growing up–”

“Ah yes. During the Great Depression.”

He gives you an annoyed look. “Quit it. When I was a kid–”

“Back in the 1800s.”

“Aren’t you pushing thirty?” he asks you.

“Aren’t you in need of some new dentures?” you ask him.

“Fuckin’ rude,” he mumbles as he walks towards the foyer table to rip open some of the mail that was scattered across it.

“What happened when you were a kid?” you ask.

“Forget it,” he says, tucking some of his bills back into envelopes.

“What!! I wanna know,” you say.

“Yeah well I don’t want to tell you anymore,” he responds.

As you two fully grown adults continue bickering like toddlers for the better part of two minutes, your phone is ringing upstairs unbeknownst to you. 

“Wait. Shut up,” Gojo cuts off your next insult as he snaps his head up-right suddenly. 

“What?! Did you just tell me to shut u–”

“Shhhhhh,” he hushes you, turning his ear towards the stairs with a concentrated expression on his face.

You silence yourself, and then you hear the ringing coming from upstairs.

“Fuck,” you mumble as you scramble off the couch and jog to the bottom of the staircase, Gojo’s eyes on you the entire time as you run up the steps back to your room.

You hear your phone ringing on the bed somewhere but you can’t find it so you rummage through the sheets before finally spotting it, swiping on the call and bringing it to your ear without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” you say.

“Oh! y/n, hi there. It’s Dr. Johnson calling. I was prepared to leave you a voicemail,” he says.

“I’m here,” you say hastily, holding your phone to your ear with both hands as you feel your entire body tense up. 

You never knew what to expect with any sort of phone calls these days, especially when you’re at work or when your mom isn’t home, because a phone call could be something as simple as approving a refill on some of her medication, to something much worse than that. Something much more final than that. 

“It’s not an emergency,” Dr. Johnson says on the other line, like he can sense your fear and anxiety through the phone, “just wanted to reach out to let you know that I spoke with the hospitalist who admitted your mother to the hospital and she’s doing better now. They’ll likely discharge her by the end of the day.”

You slowly let out the breath you were holding. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I know she needs to come in for chemo tomorrow, so it’s perfect timing.”

“Yes, we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Uh, Dr. Johnson, I do want to let you know…I’ll be admitting my mom for hospice in a couple of days,” you tell him. You wince a little, because you know it’s probably something that you should’ve discussed with him prior to all of this. “It’s…likely that you won’t have to continue her care anymore, since she’s been approved for Kaiser insurance, I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser physicians.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other line, the briefest moment of hesitation from a self-assured doctor who always had something to say right away. “Really? That’s–...wow. I can’t say I won’t be extremely sad to not see her anymore.”

“I know…” you say, worrying your bottom lip through your teeth, feeling a sudden wave of guilt overtake your senses, “you’ve been following her progress ever since her diagnosis, even got her into remission…it’s just a little complicated with some insurance stuff and some bills as well. If I could have things my way, I would continue care with you and your team.”

Even though you can’t see it, you can tell he’s nodding on the other line. “I understand, y/n. I know that there’s more to healthcare in this country than just…receiving care. But I don’t have to explain those things to you, since you’re a nurse. Do what’s best for you and your family. Give me the details for the hospice, and I’ll have my MAs send over your mother’s chart.”

“Thank you, Dr. Johnson,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “Really. For everything.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“Oh–” you stutter, in fear he might hang up right as you remembered to ask him something.

“Yes?”

“I know I’ll see you tomorrow so we can discuss it then too, but I was just wondering if the scans were back from my mom’s brain MRI she had done? I know they usually take three weeks to come back but just wanted to check.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “I had a feeling you’d follow up about that. No, there are no scans that have come back. I’ll let you know right away when they do.”

“Okay…” you say.

“I know you’re worried about a possible glioma,” he speaks up, “but let’s just try to stay positive until we see the scans, okay?”

“Yes. Sounds good. Thank you, doctor.”

“Alright. I will see you and your mom tomorrow.”

“Yes. Bye,” you say and hear his word of farewell too before hanging up. 

You stare down at the screen of your phone, taking in slow deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You just wanted these scans to come back already so that you could feel at peace knowing that your mom’s worsening neurological condition is due to her Alzheimer’s and not a tumor in her brain. The average survival length of a person with a brain tumor is low, and even worse if it’s a glioblastoma, ranging at around 12-18 months. You can buy her a few years at least with the stage of cancer progression she’s at right now, even with the possibility of remission, but if it becomes severely advanced disease then–

You gasp softly and cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even fathom the thought without feeling a feverish chill run down your entire body. Now's not the time to spiral. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Now is the time to stay positive. Just like Dr. Johnson said. 

Putting one step ahead of the other, you leave the room, cross the loft and slowly make your way down the stairs and stop at the very last step when you see Gojo rushing across the foyer with his dress shoes on, wearing a dark blue suit, save for the tie, and he looks like he’s pressed for time.

“Are you going somewhere?” you ask from the last step, your hand curled around the rail still.

“Hey, uh, yeah,” he scrambles, grabbing his keys from the paper mache bowl on the foyer table and then pats at his pockets for his wallet only to notice it’s absent. “Fuck.” He disappears somewhere into the house in a hurry and then returns with his wallet in his hand before shoving it in his pocket with the jingle of his keys too. “I had to push a couple house viewings from this afternoon up, so I need to leave.” He finally turns to face you and exhales slowly to regain his breath. “Small favor?”

“What’s up,” you say.

He rubs the back of his neck a little guiltily. “Well, Sana called a few minutes ago asking if I could watch Juno since she had to pick her up early from school, and I said sure, but I have to leave now, so–”

“I can watch her,” you say.

He claps his hands together in prayer form and holds them up to his face, “I owe you one.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you hum, watching as he resumes his haste to leave the house. And just before he heads out the door, you say— “Collar.”

“Huh?” He turns around to face you. “Oh.” He takes a second to flatten the collar of his shirt. “Thanks.” And then he’s out the door.

You sigh, relishing in the emptiness of the house. Maybe you should raid his pantry, or play porn on the TV super loud so all the neighbors think he’s a creep. But perhaps that is not appropriate, given that his sister will be bringing his niece over very soon.

You quickly head over to your house to change into something more appropriate than your nightgown, just some blue jeans that honestly make you look like a soccer mom, and then a T-shirt. You walk back to Gojo’s house and only get about five minutes to peruse his pantry when the doorbell rings.

When you open the door, you’re met face-to-face with Gojo’s sister, Sana. How would you describe Sana? Well, first of all, she’s beautiful, with all the same features as Gojo except in female form. Striking round blue eyes, silky white hair that shimmers silver underneath sunlight (you would describe Gojo less poetically than this, though). Her hair is pin straight, falling down just past her shoulders. She’s sweet, or at least has been the couple of times that you’ve met her, but she can also be a little serious and strict. The type to not really laugh at the dinner table if you make a pointed joke about the current political state of the country, but maybe it’s because she didn’t even understand the joke to begin with. Either way, she’s very different from the annoying and irritating temperament of her older brother, and how their mother managed to give birth to such two different kids is beyond you.

“Hey,” you greet her at the door with a small smile.

“Hi, y/n,” she returns with a polite smile of her own. She’s holding onto Juno’s scrawny shoulders as the kid stands in front of her, barely to the height of her mother’s hips. Juno was toying with the light pink baseball cap on her head, her hair pulled through the opening in the back and tied up into a ponytail. “I’m so sorry to bother you with her.”

“Oh! No, not a bother at all, I love getting to see her,” you say as you crouch down to get at eye level with her. “Hi Juno!”

Juno has curly white hair rather than the pin straight that her mother possessed, a feature that more closely resembles her father’s hair, along with her hazel eyes. You’ve only met Sana’s husband, Jun, once before. From what you know, he’s some type of businessman, and the first thing you noticed about him was that he was the same height as Sana. But his wife was blessed with supermodel height and was probably taller than most men, so it wasn’t surprising. Jun was hearty, almost suspiciously kind, laughed boisterously loud, and in the small amount of time you met him, it was easy to see that Sana very rarely humored his ill-mannered and awkwardly-placed jokes, but they seemed very in love with each other regardless. Apparently he and Gojo go golfing every other weekend. Information that you seem to know despite any desire to know it. 

Juno hugs her water bottle to her chest, shy as she makes eye contact with you. “Hi, auntie y/n.”

“I loooooove your baseball cap! It’s so cute, where did you get it?” you ask her.

She blinks off to the side timidly, her fluffy white lashes fluttering over her bright eyes. “Um. Uncle Toru.”

“Ohhh I see, I see! It suits you.”

Sana nudges her a little with her knee. “What do we say, Juno?”

“Thank you, auntie y/n,” she immediately squeaks out in reflex.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the white bandage wrapped over her tiny arm and your brow furrows before reaching out to gently hold it. Juno winces a little from the sensation. You stand up straight.

“What happened to her arm?” you ask Sana.

Sana sighs as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “She fell on the playground at school today. It’s a pretty large scrape and it’s been hurting her a lot.”

“Did you disinfect it?”

“Oh…I just–...washed it with some water. The school nurse wasn’t there today so I just had to pick her up early.” 

“Mm, I see,” you say, “I can take a look at it. I have some neosporin in my purse.”

She lets out a relieved sigh, like she was secretly hoping you would make the offer. “Thank you. Really.” She gently pushes on her daughter’s shoulder. “C’mon Juno. Go inside and set your homework up on the table.”

Juno cranes her neck up to look at her mom. “Mommy, can I have a snack first? Pop-tart!”

“If your uncle has them in the pantry, then sure,” Sana says, and immediately upon hearing those words, Juno rushes inside the house with giggles filling the air. “But only one!!” Sana yells out to her in a strict tone, and you watch with amusement as Juno skips off before returning your attention back to Sana.

“Sooo…” she starts, a small hint of hesitation playing on her usually prim face, “I suppose we’re sisters now. Sisters-in-law.”

Your eyes widen and your shoulders stiffen. It was at least a good thing that Gojo told his family already that you two are married, because it seems that most of his extended family live here in this town. At least, you know that his sister’s family and his parents live here. Better to be heard from him directly than to run into you randomly living at his house all of a sudden when they drop by. You’re sure his family has questions about this extremely sudden marriage to say the least. You’re not sure how much they’ll try to pry, but you hope it’s not much, because you’ve never really been a great actress. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“Mm,” she hums pleasantly at you, nodding slowly and peering off into the house beyond your shoulder, “say…I’m, um, just a little…surprised by how sudden this all is.”

“Hmm?”

“With you and my brother,” she says straightforwardly. “Obviously, you must know he’s been married before, but it’s…a little odd, it feels like just yesterday when he told us he was…getting a divorce. And now he’s married again.” She trails off when she has some sobering thought that flashes through her head. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m blabbering about this. I’m just–...I’m just thinking out loud. It must be a sore topic.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all. No worries,” you say with an awkward laugh, “I’ve, um, come to terms with it?” You try your best to come up with a believable response.

“That’s good,” she says while she runs soothing circles with her thumb over the skin at her elbow, “well, some love moves faster than others.” She displays a well-meaning smile on her face. “I’m really happy for you two.”

For some reason, your heart warms. Like when the lines of reality and imagination blur, and so you’re left here with a truly comforting feeling. Only it’s fleeting and temporary, like escapism. “Thank you,” you say softly. And after a moment, “by the way, I’m really sorry for…Satoru and I not having a proper wedding. We just wanted something simple.”

She lets out a small scoff. “Oh, gosh, don’t apologize for that. I’m sick of weddings. I was so glad I didn’t have to peruse yet another wedding registry this year. There are only so many toaster ovens I can buy.”

You’re a little surprised by the humor from her, but the two of you let out small laughs in unison at the doorstep.

Sana glances at her watch. “I have to get going. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

You nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

You close the door slowly, watching her briefly through the stained glass window as she heads towards her car and gets inside before promptly driving off. 

There’s the sound of ruffling heard and then the sound of things falling off a shelf towards the kitchen. You turn on your heel and head in the direction. “Junooo,” you call out, “where are youuuu?”

“In here!” she chirps from the pantry room. You turn the light on to see her standing in the center with a couple boxes of cereal fallen around her. She’s holding an empty box in her hand. “The pop-tart box is empty,” she says with a pout and sulk of her shoulders as she makes the most :(( face you’ve ever seen a child make.

“Oh no,” you say, grabbing the box from her and inspecting the inside, “your devious uncle must’ve eaten them all in a manic episode.”

“What is a manic mean?” she asks you as she looks up, rubbing her ankle with her other foot.

“Oh, it’s like…crazy? He went crazy?”

She giggles at the thought.

“If you’re hungry, I can make you something,” you offer.

She shyly nods her head but her grin fully rounds her cheeks before she darts off towards the kitchen. 

You find her standing near the kitchen island, trying to get up onto one of the bar stools but to no avail. You come up behind her to pick her up then set her down on the seat, adjusting it so it’s a little higher. 

“What do you want me to make?” you ask her as you come around to the other side of the island and set your elbows up on the cold marble, leaning over to place your chin in your palm. 

“Um…” she brings her index finger up to her bottom lip in thought, “pancakes? Can I have blubbery pancakes?”

“Huh?” 

“Um…” she starts again, “last time, when I eated them at your house. Um, when I ated them at your house,” she tries to correct herself, “I really liked them.”

“Oh!” you perch up from your bent over position, “I remember! The blueberry pancakes. Aww, Juno, you remember that? How sweet.”

She becomes a little bashful and glances down at the her lap.

“Okayyy,” you say, placing your hands on your waist as you look around at the kitchen, “well I’ll have to see what ingredients I’m working with here, but hopefully I can make them for you.” You tilt your head at her before pointing a finger. “Have you ever seen the show Chopped?” 

She sits up straight with excitement. “Yes yes! Me and mommy love it.”

“Good. Let’s pretend I’m working with a mystery basket here,” you say, and then you turn around to open Gojo’s fridge. 

You can learn a lot about a person based on what the inside of their fridge looks like. You’re surprised to find the inside of his looks…sparkly? That was the only way you knew how to describe it. With clean shelves that reflect the bright lighting off the plastic, plastic that looks as mirror sheen as glass. As your eyes take in the contents inside, you notice he has some leftover thai food at the front, most likely leftovers from as recent as last night. One of the produce drawers is filled to the brim while the other is mostly empty, and you notice he separates them by leafy stuff vs. veggies. The leafy stuff is the drawer that’s filled to the brim, and you just know he’s stressed out over how to use all of it up before it starts wilting. Must’ve been on sale, you think to yourself. To the right of the fridge, there are an insane amount of orange juice cartons, and you notice he drinks the same one as you–pulp free with the added vitamins and calcium that’s made for kids. Although maybe he has an excuse for it, since he has a five-year-old niece. There’s a few containers of meal prep stacked up at the back of the fridge that look like some sort of arrangement of quinoa, chicken and Mediterranean vegetables. And then there’s just a bunch of assorted cans of beer throughout the fridge, which you assume are to appease the diverse preferences of his friends whenever he has them over. 

You grab a couple of eggs from the egg carton, placing them on the counter along with a stick of butter plus a half-full carton of milk, and peer deep into the fridge past the wall of condiments to eye for any fresh fruit such as berries, but you don’t see any. You try the freezer and are relieved when you see he has some frozen blueberries in there.

“Okay!” you shut the fridge. “Just need to grab a few more things from the pantry room and then I’ll make you your pancakes, okay?” 

Juno nods enthusiastically. “Um. Can I get my backpack?”

“Sure.” You pick her up off the bar stool to set her down on the ground and she runs to the coffee table in front of the TV to grab her things as you head to the pantry room. 

Flour, sugar, baking powder, all tucked in your elbows as you carry the ingredients back to the kitchen before dropping them onto the counter and picking Juno up to place her on the barstool again. She starts to lay out her glittery pens and pristinely sharpened pencils in front of her as well as a packet of papers. 

“I can’t believe they’re giving Kindergarteners homework these days…” you mutter under your breath as you grab a bowl. “Juno, wanna help me crack the eggs?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go wash our hands then.”

As you mix all your ingredients together and Juno continues to stare at her papers with her face awfully close to them (does she need glasses?), you think to yourself what a nice little life this is. Although you haven’t been able to spend the day at your house like you were hoping you would, since you could finally have it for yourself, it was nice to spend it at Gojo’s. It was something different, something refreshing, something grounding. An escape that you needed. 

“Um. Auntie y/n?” Juno calls from behind you as you flip a pancake at the stove.

“Yes sweetheart.”

“How is mommy?”

“Hmm?” you hum. “My mommy?”

“Yes!”

“Oh you are just the sweetest thing. She’s doing okay. She’s just a little sick still.”

“When I’m sick,” Juno speaks up with a childlike enthusiasm in her voice, “my mommy gives me grape soor–...stir–” she struggles with the word, “shrup, ah, syrup! Grape syrup. It makes me better.”

“Ohhh honey, I know,” you coo as you try to match her enthusiasm, placing two little pancakes onto a plate for her. “When you get the sniffles, right?”

“Yes! Maybe your mommy will be better too if I give her some of my grape syoorup?”

You stop in your tracks, staring down at the food you were just plating.

The innocence of a child. It was hard to stay strong in the face of it. When you were younger, you probably would’ve thought that a magical potion would make your mom all better, too.

You turn around to face her. “Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little to fight the knot that you find is twisting it, “I think,” and now you’re blinking away the faint sheer of tears as you press your lips into a thin smile, your soft soft above a whisper, “that that is a wonderful idea.”

Juno gobbles up her blubbery pancakes with the extra maple syrup on them and you watch her take every bite. There was something satisfying about seeing a little kid eat so well. The sight made you feel well-fed on their behalf.

“Alright,” you say with a small grunt as you pick Juno up and set her down onto the ground, then take her hand to lead her over to the carpeted family room. “Let me take a look at this scrape of yours.”

Juno’s hand tugs slightly when you try to pull on it, so you turn around to see that she has stopped in her tracks halfway through the trek to the other room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her.

“I don’t want you to see it…”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s ugly.”

“Juno,” you tug on her hand a little, “I have to see it so that I can clean it. Otherwise you might get sick. A type of sick that even grape syrup can’t fix.”

She looks up at you with curious eyes, not fearful ones. 

“There is sick like that?” she asks you.

“Yes. Now give me your arm.”

Juno follows you to the family room and stands still, the front of her jutting out slightly as she pouts, a display of her remaining disapproval for you taking a look at her scrape. You get down onto your knees and slowly undo the bandages, unwrapping the layers one-by-one before the end falls off and you’re staring at a 4x2cm superficial abrasion on her arm, and when your thumb lightly swipes at the skin underneath it, Juno winces from the pain.

You also notice she has a bruise on her left upper thigh, right below where the hem of her shorts end.

“You…only fell onto your right side, right?” you ask her.

“Mhm,” she nods.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How come you have a bruise on your left thigh then?”

Her eyes widen slightly with shock and her head quickly snaps down to look at her thigh. “Um. Um. I don’t know. Um. Um.”

“Juno,” you say, trying to muster up a strict tone, but she refuses to make eye contact with you anymore as she stares at the carpet beneath her. You gently grab a hold of both of her wrists. “Sweetheart. Look at me.” Her eyes slowly lift up to meet yours. “I want to help you, but I can't help you unless you’re honest with me.”

Her big eyes blink at you slowly and her bottom lip quivers slightly.

“How did you really hurt yourself?”

She immediately starts bawling. Full on sobs that echo throughout the room and startle you slightly as the tears freely fall down her cheeks and she struggles to wipe them off with her left arm, but they only drip down her elbow.

“Oh–” you stutter, holding her by her shoulders, “Juno–”

She sniffles. “They–” she hiccups, “they pushed me…they always push me.”

“Who pushed you?? Who always pushes you??”

She sucks in a deep breath as she continues to cry and you struggle to wipe at her tears for her with the pad of your thumb. “The–hic–girls at school. They’re so–hic–...wahhh…they’re so mean.”

“They pushed you on the playground and that’s how you got this scrape and bruise?” you ask her.

She nods as she slowly begins to come down from her outburst, her remnant sniffles and short sharp inhales showing that she was struggling to breath. You run to grab some tissues and then come back, holding them to her nose before she blows into them.

“Oh sweetheart…I’m so sorry,” you say to her.

She suddenly runs into you, hugging you tightly, and you’re momentarily surprised before wrapping an arm around her too and then gently patting at her back.

“How long has this been going on?” you ask her.

“Mm…ever since I–hic–ever since I got on T-ball team…but they couldn’t get on.”

“Oh…” you coo, gently rubbing her back now. You’re not a mom, you’ve got no fucking clue how to navigate this sort of situation. But you can try your best to give some advice. “Juno, you have every right to feel happy and safe at school.” You gently pull her away from the hug so that you can look at her face. “And it’s okay to stand up for yourself and against anyone that is being mean to you. Don’t let them take that power away from you.”

She nods slowly, her lip quivering slightly again.

You sigh slowly before giving her another hug. “And we’ll work out something with your mom too, okay? She can talk to the teachers.”

“No!” Juno shrieks, pulling away from you suddenly. You blink at her. “No. Please don’t tell my mommy.”

“W-Why not??”

“Because–” she stutters, “um…I want to tell her myself. Because I lied, and mommy always says to me to not tell lies. So I have to fix it myself.”

You tilt your head at her, frowning slightly. You’re not exactly sure how much autonomy over such things you should be granting a five-year-old, but you decide to give her the choice. You hold your pinky finger out to her, “you have to promise me you’ll tell her though, okay?”

She nods and wraps her pinky around yours. 

After getting her scrape cleaned up and tended to, Juno spends the next hour or so watching My Little Pony on the TV as you clean up the mess you made in the kitchen. And as you’re staring out into the backyard while wiping down the cutting board, the sound of the doorbell ringing makes you jump with a startle and breaks you out of your trance.

You were prepared to open the door to find Sana standing at the entrance, but instead you’re met with the sight of a different woman.

Much older, and with all the same features, it doesn’t really take you long to figure out who she is.

“Ah! There she is!” the woman chirps out. “I’m—”

“Juno’s grandmother,” you finish the statement for her.

“—Satoru’s mother,” she instead says.

You both blink at one another.

“Well,” she chirps, “I’m both!”

Gojo’s mother appears to be a kind woman, and it’s evident that being gorgeous must run in the family. Although she has aged features, they’re still beautiful in a graceful way, where people would take a look at her and think of aging as a privilege and not a curse. Her eyes are somewhat feline, different from the roundness of those you’ve seen in her family, and her hair is a shimmering silver all around with a pretty silk press layered hair style that flatters her frail jaw. She was wearing a French-style button up dress with a rather gaudy belt around her waist, and you catch the scent of her lilac perfume even while she’s standing three feet away.

She puts her hands on her hips and has a forced smile on her face. “My son gets married and he doesn’t even tell me a peep about it, or introduce me to his new wife! I have to come all the way over here myself!” she exclaims, and her tone is like she’s trying to play it off with nonchalance but the stiffness of her features makes it look like she’s losing her mind. “Well,” she clicks her tongue, “he’s always had the penchant for never sharing anything he ever does with me.”

“Ah…I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gojo,” you say to her, unsure why you’re apologizing, but there was this energy to her that made you realize she had a skill for making people feel apologetic in her presence.

“No worries! Not your fault. I’ll deal with him later,” she says, her smile growing to where it almost fully crescents her eyes in a frightening way that almost sends a shiver down your spine, “anywhoooo,” she takes both of your hands into hers, “you’re very beautiful, and you have a very lucky-looking nose!”

“Lucky?”

“Yes, yes. You will bring luck to our family.”

“Thanks?” you say, trying to manage a smile.

She takes a step closer to you. “Tell me, what do your parents do for a living?”

“Oh! Um, well, my mom is retired, but she used to be an art teacher. My dad is in the food business, but uh, I haven’t spoken to him in years ever since my parents got divorced.”

“Ah,” she says curtly, her face blank as if she couldn’t think of a single thing to follow up with after that. She peers past your shoulder. “Where’s the little princess?”

“She’s just inside grabbing her things.” You gently slip your hands out of her hold and turn around to face the inside of the house. “Juno!! Do you need help?”

“No!!” she calls from the kitchen.

“Say, my dear,” Gojo’s mother speaks up, “why don’t you and Satoru come by for dinner this weekend? Jun and Sana apparently have some important news they’d like to share with the family, and I offered that we all hear it together over a meal. This way you can meet your father-in-law too!”

You take a deep breath in, realizing that this fake marriage agreement involves a lot more deceit than you ever thought it would. “Sure. Yes. I’d love that. Let me know if I can bring anything.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaims, just in time for when you feel Juno brush past you towards her grandma, hunching over slightly with her backpack’s weight. Gojo’s mother pulls you in for a hug which entirely startles you and you slowly wrap your arms around her as well. “It’s so lovely to have a daughter-in-law. Oh, I am just so happy to have you in our family.”

She lets go of you but still keeps you close by a delicate hold of your elbows, a gleeful smile on her face as she looks you up and down slowly.

“Bye, auntie y/n!!” Juno squeaks out, hugging your leg, and you pat at the top of her head. Her grandmother finally lets go of you and takes Juno’s tiny hand in her frail one, and you see them off to the car.

By the time you make it back inside the house, you let out a deep slow breath, one that you didn’t know you were holding in, as you lay your weight back on the front door. You feel a pressure in your head from your dwindling social battery and all these tricky encounters.

So, you’re part of a whole other family, now?

That. Is. Frightening.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 3]

a/n. ah!! hope you enjoyed this ihm chapter :’’) sorry if it seemed like a bunch of random scenes lolol i swear it’s all set up for stuff that will happen down the lineee. i just be yappin so the word count ends up kinda high. hope to see you in the next one!! <3 love u all. also it’s my frank ocean anons bday today so i dedicate this chapter to themm 🫶🏼💕 manifesting dilf gojo for u bb for anyone curious about why reader is a bit paranoid w potentially being busted for her fake marriage, i had another reader that was curious about this too so i answered them here if you'd like to check it out :)

➸ take me to chapter four!

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[yourmidnightlover]

the sun

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: after the events of the snap, you find out news that's both heart wrenching and warming. what happens five years later when bucky's back?

warnings: death, mourning, pregnancy, childbirth, canon-typical violence (not much but just adding to cover all the bases), loosely based on end game and infinity war (as in ignore my mistakes lmaooo), if i failed to mention any warnings PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: dude idk why i've had an urge to write such heart wrenching angst lately. i'm actually in a decent place rn. i tried to cut this fic down bc originally it was SOOOO long i felt like a lot of it was just filler and i feel like shorter fics of mine tend to do better... ANYWHO! this does have a happy/hopeful ending so no worries! also picturing this beefcake for this story is AGHHHHHHH!

you never thought two lines on a stick could ever break your heart the way they did.

tears clouded your vision as you gripped the counter, trying not to crumble or succumb to your grief.

6 weeks ago, the avengers lost. everything.

half of the world, gone in a moment.

in one moment, your world collapsed. seeing bucky fade to dust right in front of you...

sobs wracked through your body as you crumbled to the ground.

this was supposed to be a happy moment. there should be tears of joy, not sobs of sorrow. your heart should feel full of love, not like there's a super-soldier sized hole in it.

"y/n," nat's voice rang outside the door, giving you a moment to yourself.

"just-," you tried to level your breathing before she opened the door, knowing but not understanding the grief you were feeling.

she wrapped her arms around your body, tucking your head into her neck as she gently rubbed your back soothingly. steve leaned against the bathroom door, glancing on the counter to see what they had all expected.

a positive pregnancy test.

you were having bucky's baby.

without bucky.

you gripped his dog tags that you had been wearing since the funeral. they were the only thing that could truly ground you.

they brought back happy memories of cuddling in bed, the cool metal shocking your skin for only a moment before realizing that it was only bucky and smiling at the memory.

god, it hadn't even been two months.

how were you supposed to do this alone?

"we're here for you," steve's voice called from the doorway, as if he could hear your thoughts. "you'll never be alone. not in this... not ever." he shook his head, his brows furrowed in a serious, straight line.

eventually, your sobs subsided. you stood with nat from your seat on the ground, wiping your own eyes mustering up a pathetic smile before she left you and steve to work out your grief together.

"we didn't even know it was possible," you shrugged. "it's like he sent me them..." you placed your hand on an invisible bump before facing steve, his teary eyes reminding you that he had lost his best friend, too. "he sent us this baby."

you reached your hand out for steve to hold. he took it gratefully and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight and letting only a few tears slip his waterline before pulling back.

"if you'll let me, i want to be there for you for everything," his chin wobbled. "buck would kick my ass if i let you go through this alone." a genuine laugh left your lips for the first time in nearly two months.

"i would be so grateful for that," you nodded as you let go of his arms. "part of me still can't believe that it's real. it's like part of me still expects him to walk into the compound from a long mission or something..." you shook your head. "i know that sounds so stupid."

"it's not," he shook his head with a smile. "it's what i wish was true, maybe it's your subconscious trying to preserve your mind?"

"maybe," you shrugged before continuing, "i should probably talk to tony and bruce, huh?"

-

you knew you were around eight weeks along.

according to the doctors' tony had enlisted, however, you were already 12 weeks along, which was impossible.

bucky had been gone on a mission at that time... but it's whatever. you got to hear the heartbeat. steve went with you, too. you both bawled together. you kept three copies of the ultrasound and he kept two.

banner had already offered to do some testing on the dna of the baby, noting that the serum would likely affect the pregnancy (as it probably already has).

you had talked to tony about retiring from the whole superhero gig for the time being. you needed to mourn and prepare for a new life simultaneously. tony had promised to provide anything you needed at the drop of a hat, and he sure as hell delivered.

within no time, your pregnancy was being measured at 20 weeks while only being pregnant for 12. banner was concerned for your body's ability to keep up with the rapid rate of growth of the baby. he had you on a strict, hefty diet with two different prenatal vitamins in attempt to help your nutrition.

in spite of your best efforts, you were always exhausted and in pain. but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. this was bucky's baby. you didn't care how much pain you went through when you had half of him growing inside of you.

you couldn't walk for long without feeling like passing out, which banner chalked up to low iron. steve had grown progressively more worried for you and the baby the longer the pregnancy went on.

as a result, he had moved into the spare room that was in your and bucky's house. truly, it just made it easier for him to help you finish up the nursery anyway.

he was very handy about it all, painting, building furniture from scratch, the whole deal.

"i've been thinking... and if it's a girl, i want to name her evangeline james barnes," you informed steve as you ate the steak he had been making for the past few weeks of your pregnancy, as ordered by dr. banner. that with carrots, broccoli, potatoes, and for dessert strawberries, blueberries and raspberries over ice cream. "and if it's a boy, cyrus james barnes. evangeline means good news, and cyrus means sun."

steve placed his hand over yours, "i think buck would've loved them." he smiled warmly as you downed the food in a few minutes.

you had begun showing soon after you found out you were pregnant, but now, it felt like it was impossible to hide. nat had been wonderful about helping you keep up with the changes your body was going through, getting you new maternity clothes every week.

she even made sure to get you every single craving that wasn't in accordance to banner's hefty diet. not that he didn't want you to eat more, he thought it was best you did! but he also wanted to make sure that with all that you did eat, your body got as many nutrients as possible.

just to be safe, he kept you on other vitamin supplements anyway.

you couldn't help but imagine what bucky would say or do about everything now.

he would hold your body closely, pressing firm kisses to your bump every chance he could get while whispering some sickly sweet sayings to your unborn child, words that would melt the winter soldier's cold exterior.

he would whisper words of encouragement any moment you felt worried about your abilities to be a mom. he would say how beautiful you were, in spite of being bloated in places you didn't know could bloat.

he would be wonderful, and in your mind, he was still alive and vibrant. well, as vibrant as bucky ever was, at least.

truthfully, that's the only way you were able to keep going on like this. steve was wonderful, but you couldn't help but want the love of your life by your side as you tried to navigate this new chapter.

in a couple more weeks, you were projected to be at 32 weeks. bruce and tony were talking with your doctors about the safety of inducing so early, both for you and the baby.

oh, and you wanted the gender to be a surprise.

and within the week, you were having your baby.

steve and nat were by your side during the birth, whispering encouraging words and compliments of your strength.

"i need him!" you screamed in pain as you held one of each of their hands, sobbing in agony. "i need james! i need my bucky! i can't do this alone, i can't-i can't!"

"you can," nat reminded you. "this baby needs you," she held your face to look at hers. "bucky is a part of this baby." you swore you could see tears in her eyes before turning to face steve.

"remember what you told me when you found out you were pregnant?" he didn't bother wiping the tears from his face. "bucky sent you-sent us this baby. he knows you can do it." you sniffled before nodding at your two best friends, pushing with one last scream and a second later, you had...

"cyrus james barnes," the nurse called to you. "it's a boy, congratulations mom."

-

the next few years went by quicker than you could've ever imagined.

crawling, first words, first steps...

you missed bucky. not a day passed where you didn't miss him.

but, having cy helped a lot. he looked just like his father. dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, a cute little nose... not to mention his father's stubbornness.

you made sure he knew who his father was. you took him to the museum often, showing him the statue of his father and his background in the world war, him saving the world so much. you told him how you fell in love with him.

how you fell for the quiet man before ever really talking to him. how you were partners on a long-term, undercover mission and that's where your love ignited from the sparks.

not that cy understood any of what you told him. you just felt it was important to know that his parents loved him, and each other dearly.

you never took off his dog tags, either.

steve was a huge help the whole time. he kept working for the avengers, so he was gone often, but he provided a good male role model for cyrus. after all, he was his uncle steve. he already taught him how to throw a ball, albeit a little softball, but it counts!

you made sure to document everything that went on in yours and cyrus's life.

banner had said that cyrus was growing at an exceeding rate, but nothing to be concerned about. in fact, cyrus was turning five in almost half a year, meaning the anniversary of bucky's death, or disappearance or whatever you called it, was coming up.

then, you got a call from tony and banner.

it all happened so quickly, from testing to planning to the execution. pepper watched cyrus for you while you went back with steve, scott, and tony to get the tesseract.

of course, the men being men had to come upon a few hiccups, but eventually, after going as far back as the 70s, you brought back the tesseract.

the only thing is that nat never came back...

next thing you know, bruce is snapping his fingers and clint is getting a call from his supposedly deceased wife. your eyes fill with tears, hands searching in your pockets for your phone to see if you've gotten anything yet.

is it possible he wasn't brought back? he was the first to... disintegrate. die. maybe that meant something in the eyes of the stones?

then, you felt a buzz in your hand.

although, you didn't have any time to try to grasp what that meant, because more aliens came to earth.

shocker.

after yet another war, one that you weren't even prepared for, after losing more people, again. after losing tony...

but amidst the chaos of the aftermath of the fight, with screams of joy and shock and grief surrounding you, tears streaming down your face, your eyes met the blue ones you only saw in your son.

he slowly walked towards you as the tears sped up. you didn't even realize when your feet began running towards him.

when his arms wrapped around your waist, you finally felt the home you thought you had come to terms with never feeling again. your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder as you breathed in the scent of gunmetal that had overtaken him in the battle.

"oh my god," you cried into the leather of his jacket. he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as you felt his smile on your cheek. "i can't believe you're really here."

"i'm here, doll," his hands cradled your head so tenderly. "i'm not ever leaving again. never."

you pulled back before your eyes widened in realization. "you've gotta meet someone, jamie."

his brows furrowed in confusion, just smiling and nodding along with whatever you said.

within the next few hours, simply being held by bucky before steve stole him away with a hug, you finally brought him home.

"so, steve moved in," you started as you pulled your car into the driveway, turning to see bucky looking at you with an incredulous look. "you'll see why." you reached to hold his hand before he brought yours to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

you told him to wait in the car as you went inside to relieve the babysitter for cyrus. after giving him some cash, he went outside, knocking on your car window to let bucky know he should make his way inside.

upon entering, he saw you sitting on the floor with a little boy with striking blue eyes that seemed so familiar to him. his nose, too. his lips though, they were all yours. he had a slight grin plastered on his lips, one that matched yours to a t.

"daddy?" suddenly, it all clicked.

his heart, his mind, his fucking soul, everything made sense now. the pain, hydra, the mind washing, the torture.

meeting you. falling in love. dying?

his son.

he started walking closer to bucky before the steady walk turned into a run. bucky knelt down, wrapping the boy in his arms, cradling his tiny frame in his arms protectively. his son.

"cyrus james barnes," you said with a teary smile on your face. bucky, without breaking the hug with his son, looked up at you with a smile that matched yours. "cyrus means 'sun', and i thought it was fitting. he brought me so much light and hope after you..." you choked up before he stood up with cy in his arms, walking towards you before wrapping you in the big, family hug.

"i love you so much, both of you."

[bokunoheros]

LIPSTICK STAINS & MIRRORS

CHARACTER: SHOUTO TODOROKI

GENRE: FLUFF, SMUT

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but written to be afab (shouto calls you princess once), reader is implied to be shorter than shouto, y’all are like 20+, married and live together, mirror sex, kissing, so much kissing, i love kissing, oral (m. receiving), fingering (reader receiving),  inappropriate quirk usage (temperature play), shouto is a tease but in a loving manner, cervix kissing, chair sex, riding (reverse cowgirl), cumming inside, and aftercare, also kinda lazy ending?? bc i stayed up til 10am finishing this and wanna be done so bad

SUMMARY: you just ordered a bunch of new lipgloss and can’t wait to try it out — subsequently, your husband thinks you look beautiful, but doesn’t know how to verbalize it. 

WORD COUNT: 7.7K

🦊’s A/N: this wasn’t actually going to be the first fic i posted here, but i DID just get a bunch of lipgloss i've waited a week and a half for, and would love to do the following <3 anyway shoutout judydoll they didn’t sponsor this but i wish they would. // also i pulled like two all-nighters writing this so i’m sorry if it like. starts unraveling a lil at the end i didnt actually proofread this god bless everyone thank you for giving this fic a chance

you had just ordered a bunch of new lipgloss you’d gotten in a buy 2 get 1 free sale, and it had finally come in the mail! after squealing excitedly and startling your poor husband, and highschool sweetheart, you quickly ran up to your shared bedroom and sat down in front of your vanity. fumbling with the box for a second, you get up to grab a pair of scissors from the bathroom before using one blade to cut through the packaging tape sealing the contents inside away. 

once you’d managed to get your greedy little hands on the new products is around the same time shouto had wandered into the bedroom, where he stood leaning against the door frame, watching as you excitedly looked down at your lipstick and wondered which one to try on first.

hm……. maybe the more natural looking color instead of the red..? probably, since it's less likely to leave a stain, you think to yourself, oblivious to your husband's presence — until you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, that is. 

“oh! shouto, just in time,” you grin, waving him over. “which one do you think i should try first?” you ask, knowing he had always shown an interest in the process of how you did your makeup. not that he had actually verbalized said interest, rather, it was something you noticed while you were still in highschool. after months into the actual relationship, you two had finally had sex and you had stayed the night at his house. once this became an almost routine of sorts, you'd begin bringing stuff to stay overnight, and get ready for class in the morning, including a few makeup palettes. and so, shouto slowly took an interest in the way in which you’d do your makeup — be it just some eyeshadow/liner, or a fully beat face, he found it to be so…..interesting. 

that being said, the youngest of the todoroki family takes a step towards you and away from the doorframe to look down at the lipsticks in your hands and picks the one in the shiny silver, almost holographic, tube and says this one. 

huh, what do you know? he had picked the lipstain! guess it’s meant to be, then.

untwisting the cap, you shift in your seat slightly to better face the mirror as you pull the wand from the bottle, and find yourself face to face with the applicator you had been tweaking over for what felt like ever — a nice, smooth, iron tip! one of a kind, really, as you had never seen anything like it before! looking into the mirror, your gaze lingers on shouto for but a moment before focusing on your own lips and applying the stained lipgloss evenly — and then one more coat for good measure. 

“what do you think?” you ask sweetly, turning around in your seat to face him.

what he thinks? obviously, he thinks you look stunningly, jaw droppingly gorgeous regardless of what you’re wearing, or if you have makeup on or not (save for the times you’ve ugly cried around him…), but god…. he can’t ignore the way his body suddenly feels flushed as he looks at your lips and the red-ish color currently staining them.

“i think — it looks nice,” he says simply as he takes a few steps closer to you, up until he’s directly behind your vanity chair and planting his hands on the back of it.

“just… nice?” your voice comes out softer than normal, and you sound audibly disappointed. at this, shouto begins to internally panic as he thinks of a way to get his admiration.

“very nice,” he corrects quickly, and you can’t help but let out a little chuckle at how rushed he sounded — you understood that your husband wasn’t exactly a stellar wordsmith, so you weren’t actually too upset with him.

“that’s it?” this time, you sound much more lighthearted, as you raise a brow at him and watch him speedrun the five stages of grief through his expressions and slight body language.

“....i think, you look very lovely,” he’s finally able to vocalize. even after all this time, he still got somewhat bashful when complimenting you — it wasn’t his fault! you just happened to render him speechless and left his dick hard every time you did anything! fuck… how should he go about this? maybe he should just show you what he thinks? yes…. that should work. 

“stand up,” he says all of a sudden — he didn’t sound demanding or rude or anything, but there was a certain firmness to his voice that had you obeying without a second thought. without a moment of hesitation, shouto steps around to the side of the chair so he’s standing almost in front of you, and plants his large, calloused hands on your hips.

“shouto….” your voice comes out as a mere whisper as he pulls you closer toward him, left hand coming to cup your cheek as you look up at him.

“hm?” is all you get in reply as he leans in to kiss you tenderly.

tilting his head slightly to the side, he slots his lips over your painted ones in hopes of properly conveying his feelings on how he thinks you look. truthfully, as embarrassing as it may be, shouto wishes you’d put some lipstick on him so he could kiss you all over and leave a physical mark as you so often did to him. maybe one day he would have to sneak some of your lipgloss for himself to surprise you with? perchance… (you can’t just say perchance!) that being said, he takes advantage of the lipstick you’re currently wearing and hopes it transfers onto his lips. 

and just like that, you’ve forgotten all about your new lipstick, or anything that wasn’t your husband, really. when you first met him, it was a little difficult to imagine shouto todoroki as a good kisser, and it was kinda true initially!, but after a little guidance and experience, he very quickly got the hang of it and used his newfound skills to turn you into nothing more than a panting mess.

swiping his tongue over the seam of your lips, he pulls away with a slight grin just as you part them for him.

“hey…..” you whine. “that’s not fair.” 

“what isn’t?” he asks in a way that would’ve made you think he was playing dumb if he wasn’t….. well, like the way he was. you know your husband well enough to know that he was asking an earnest question, as he often teased you without meaning to or being aware of it.

“just… kiss me again, …please?” you ask in such a saccharine voice, shouto finds himself unable to resist for even a moment as he eagerly leans back in for another kiss.

god…. he was just so fucking weak when it came to You. he could never tell you no or deny you of what you asked for — hell, the first time you asked if you could kiss him (when he was still a kissless virgin), he accidentally bonked his head against yours in trying to copy the way you tilted your head to the side. …only, he had tilted his in the same direction as you, making for a very awkward, very laughable (but memorable) first kiss.

“mmh,” he hums quietly, pleasurably, as his lips work against yours — gently and tenderly, full of nothing but adoration for you, his sweet spouse. 

there just truly weren’t enough words in the world for shouto to describe his affections for you, so instead, he often took to showing you exactly how he felt; more often than not, this led to fleeting but heated kisses throughout the day that left you on your toes and wanting for more. jesus, did he even realize the effect he had on you? (he did Nawt.) 

this time, it was you to take the initiative to swipe your tongue over his plump lower lip before nibbling on it lightly and sucking it into your mouth. at this, the softest little moan slips past shouto’s throat at the feeling and he pulls you closer to him, so much so that your chest was now flush against his as the hand on your cheek leaves a cooling sensation against your flushed skin. 

releasing his lip with a wet, almost schliiick kind of noise, you go to pull away from the kiss, just as he had done earlier, just to find the hand on your cheek had shifted to cradle the back of your head, and the hand on your hip had turned into an arm wrapped tightly around your waist as shouto’s tongue manages to slip into your open mouth.

you can’t help but giggle at the almost ticklish feeling of the wet muscle running around the inside of your cheeks before his tongue is suddenly ice cold and you’re squealing and trying to push him away.

“shouto!” you cry with no real irritation or upsetness — all he had done was catch you off-guard, really. okay, so maybe he could tease you on purpose every now and then..! it just wasn’t often that he did such a thing! he was typically kind of oblivious to a lot of things — not that it was his fault or anything; he hadn’t exactly grown up with the best social cues or …. uhm. family, in general, really….. (touya and enji i’m looking at you). 

“yeah?” he breathes, looking down at you with stars in his eyes.

“what was that about?” you ask, trying to steady your breathing, chest heaving slightly as your hands find their way up to his chest, where they rest on his boo—well defined and muscled pecs. 

“what was what about?” he echoes, tilting his head, actually playing dumb this time—he knew damn well what he had done this time around, and he couldn’t contain the little smile that tugged at the corners of his plump and almost pouty lips. he loved using his quirk to tease you — given, he’d been extremely hesitant about it at first, worried he might hurt you, or somehow cause some kind of permanent damage. thankfully, as the years went by, he gradually warmed up to it, and now? he couldn’t get enough of your reactions! like when he was fingering you, and suddenly his hand started to get a little too hot, or a little too cold, depending on which one he was using; it wasn’t enough to actually hurt or cause any damage, just some mild discomfort turned to pleasure once you got used to the feeling. and sometimes, whenever you let him cum inside or somewhere on you, his cum felt hotter than it should — sure, yeah, cum is warm, but…. his was just hot! it didn’t scald or anything, but it was definitely an added sensation that wouldn’t be possible without his quirk.

“you know what..!” is what you would have said had shouto not leaned in to kiss you again—effectively cutting you off and rendering you speechless. so maybe he knew he was a good kisser; he was highly observant after all, and would have to be a moron to not realize that he at least left you breathless every time! sure, he didn’t realize the full extent of the effect he had on you, but… partially aware is better than completely oblivious, right? 

this time as you two kiss, the hand cradling your head moves back down to your hip, and before you know it, he’s picking you up and sitting himself down in the chair you were previously sitting on not too long ago. 

“ah–!” you gasp at the sudden movement and change in position. now straddling his lap, with your back to the mirror, shouto begins trailing kisses down to your jawline and then the column of your neck. now, your husband wasn’t a particularly sloppy kisser. no, more often than not, he was very put together in almost every aspect of his life, and the bedroom was no exception. well, save for the occasions shouto just simply could not contain himself, and it was beginning to seem like one of those situations as he runs his freezing tongue over the sensitive skin of your neck, causing goosebumps to form as he nibbles at the junction where your neck and shoulder meet. 

“sho–shouto—,” you breathe as he peppers kisses over your tender flesh. it had taken him a long while to be able to show affection so freely, and even now, he still had some trouble, but compared to the todoroki you knew in high school, he had improved by leaps and bounds! 

your husband merely ignores your soft cry of his name—his dick doesn’t, though, and you can even feel it start to twitch to life beneath you. fuck. all you had done was put on a little lipstick, and?? now your husband was glued to your neck, nipping and biting along the way, even stopping in a couple places to suck against the skin there in order to leave a couple hickies! 

“don’t tease,” you try to chide him, but it comes off weak and a little pathetic sounding as shouto finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck and takes full advantage of it. jesus christ! his tongue was so cold!! it was such a contrast to the heat of his breath, you couldn’t help but pant at the feeling. 

“‘m not,” is the only thing he says, it was more of a mumble, really, as he bites down harder than he had previously, and you can’t help the squeal that leaves you as his teeth sink into your skin.

“shouto!” if you didn’t know any better, or if you had married someone more… aggressive (katsuki)...., you might have thought your husband had drawn blood — he didn’t, obviously, as he would never intentionally hurt you, but he did like to toe the line of pleasure and pain often enough to keep you on your toes, just enough pain for it to be able to bleed into an acquired type of pleasure.

“yeah?” he all but hums in response, sounding pleased with himself.

he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, however, as he quickly pulls away from your neck to plant another heated kiss to your glossy lips. it doesn’t last very long, though, as he pulls away just far enough to look at you properly, and his eyes widen when he sees the way your lipstick had been smudged and it had spread slightly down to your neck (it was more like lightly red-colored patches in the shape of his lips peppered vaguely over your flesh). 

“will you put on some more lipstick?” he suddenly asks, sounding out of breath.

giggling quietly at his request, you nod and oblige, shifting to turn around on his lap so that your back was against his chest, and your ass against his steadily growing erection. grabbing the tube of lipstick from your vanity, you untwist the cap and begin to apply more, focusing wholly on your lips during the process, completely missing the way shouto was eyeing you in the mirror.

after putting the cap back on and setting the silver bottle full of what felt watery liquid when you put it on, but wasn’t actually, back down on your vanity’s surface, you tilt your head to face your husband, who had wrapped his arms around your waist while you had been applying the aforementioned beauty product, and smile at him.

“better?” you wonder aloud, knowing it was much better indeed.

“mhmm,” he hums sweetly, one hand coming up to all but squish your cheeks, just without the pressure, to better tilt your head towards him as he himself leans in for yet another kiss. you swear, the first time you kissed shouto, a switch flipped in that poor boy’s brain, because ever since then, he’s been addicted to them like they’re crack—he needs your kisses the same way he needs oxygen to breathe or a therapist for his generations of trauma stuffed into a single, incomplete lifetime. (please….. please, go to group therapy with the rest of 1-a, i’m begging.) 

shouto can’t help but smile against your lips as he pulls you flush against his chest and rolls his hips, and consequently, his hard-on, up against your ass. neither of you can contain the whimper or little gasp that slips past your throats, nor can you help the way one of your hands comes up to thread itself into his peppermint-colored hair as you part your lips needily, trying to shift around in his firm grasp. 

despite the quality of your lipstick, it still transferred partially onto his lips, simply due to how fresh the coat was, not that your husband minds. he’d revel in the way he’d get to smear lipstick over your body, and — pause. his hands suddenly find themselves planted on your hips as he manhandles you to face him again, and meets your gaze for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead. but in that moment, you could see all the love and admiration in the world swirling around in his beautifully mismatched eyes, and you couldn’t control the wide-ass smile that had spread across your face—so wide, in fact, your cheeks hurt. even though it was such a simple action, you could truly feel his love for you in everything that he did. 

“i love you—so much, y’know,” you practically coo, hands moving to cup his flushed cheeks as you simply just look at the man you had married. goddamn! he was so beautiful! taking in all the fine details of his face, you notice the faintest little dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and the way even his eyebrows, and even his awfully long lashes (he got them from his mother), are different colors. his perfectly plump and pouty lips to match his overall softer facial features. how could anybody be so perfect-looking? it was just simply unfair! even with his ice burn scar and somewhat sparse left eyebrow growth, it didn’t change a thing in your eyes. 

shouto feels his heart flutter at your words, and his grin stretches to be almost uncharacteristically wide as his hands shift lower on your hips, closer to your upper thighs, and his thumbs begin rubbing tender circles against the plush flesh there. 

“i — love you more,” he whispers back. the words sound shy coming from him, but you can tell he means his words. you may have fallen first, but shouto fell harder. his smile softens a bit as his hands move up to cup your cheeks tenderly before pressing another kiss to your painted lips. god. he truly could not believe how lucky he was to have you — you, who brought him out of his shell back in highschool, you who showed him love can be tender and soft, you who taught him how to let love into his heart. 

now, it was shouto’s turn to show you just how much he loved you.

sliding his tongue over the seam of your lips, he lets out a soft hum as he grips your thighs before sliding his hands slowly upwards and up under the t-shirt you wore—it was his, actually!—and over your bare ribcage. you can’t help the goosebumps that broke out over your skin at the feeling of his calloused hands against your much softer flesh, nor the chill that runs down your spine and causes your nipples to stiffen under the thin fabric—especially with the way he begins to palm and grope at your tits. 

“mmnh,” you hum at the temperature difference of his rough hands, and let out a soft moan when it increases drastically all of a sudden, your right nipple freezing cold and the left a little too hot for comfort—even your body was unsure of how to react to such a feeling, but it sure does send a throb down to your clit, and you can feel a damp spot begin to form in the seat of your panties, which is all you happened to be wearing under your stolen shirt.

“shouto, please,” you whine, squirming around on his lap, and dragging your thinly clothed cunt over the erection in his stupid grey sweatpants that always drove you crazy. 

“please what, love?” he asks, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. 

“god…. just— fuck me,” is all your able to get out, but, lucky for you, your husband has something even better in mind than just that. sure, he couldn’t wait to get his dick wet—to feel the way your cunt wraps around his sensitive tip—god, he can feel himself leak pre-cum like he’s some excited teenager again, and he groans at the nature of your request.

“mm, …not yet,” he smirks, and, before he’s even processed what he himself is doing, he had already licked an embarrassingly hot stripe up the length of your neck.

“shouto!” you squeal. “what was that for?!” 

“felt like it,” he replies simply before attaching his full lips to your neck once more, where he began nipping and nibbling at all your most tender spots, before he finds your sweet spot and bites down particularly hard and begins suckling against the skin there, determined to leave a mark of sorts. now, while shouto was not one to leave marks in obvious places—he was perfectly content with marking you in places only he could see—he just couldn't help himself for some reason..! maybe it was because he was feeling rather bold at the moment, or because he couldn't get enough of the sweet, quiet noises you were making as he nipped and sucked at your flesh until you were sure the skin was raw. 

“sho—” you can’t help but wiggle in his lap, cunt grazing over his erection. when he groans at your actions, you repeat your actions, rolling your hips down against his as he marks your neck up in pretty blue and purple and reddish hues. 

suddenly, an idea pops into your mind, and you find yourself melting off of his lap and onto your knees between his legs, eager hands reaching to unbuckle his leather belt and pull it off of him. 

“wh–what’re you doing, baby?” shouto finds himself breathless with a flushed face as you begin to unbutton his pants and tug down the zipper, exposing his all-too-tight black boxers and the wet spot that had formed on them. you only grin and lick your lips at the sight, of course, eager to get your husband’s perfect cock in your mouth.

“what’s it look ‘m doin’, huh?” you look up at him with big wet eyes and pouty red lips. “now lift your hips f’me,” you instruct him, and he does as told, so you can tug his pants and boxers down in one swift go.

shouto hisses as his sensitive tip comes into contact with the cool air of the bedroom, and he looks down at you a little embarrassedly, biting as lower lip as you kissed his swollen and flushed head before taking it slowly into your mouth. 

“ah–!” your husband moans as you suckle around his mushroom-headed tip and he can’t help the way one large hand falls down to rest on top of your head, long fingers burying themselves into your hair as he begins to set a moderate pace for you to bob your head. unfortunately, poor shouto still had trouble controlling his reactions whenever you gave him head — your mouth and tongue were simply too skilled for your own good! for his own good! 

tilting his head back to look at the ceiling instead of you, in an attempt to not bust too early, he catches a glimpse of the lewd sight in the mirror and—oh god. his dick fucking twitches and he feels an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leak from his sticky tip and into your hot mouth. 

“jesus christ—fuck,” your husband groans—it wasn’t too often that he swore, only when he was especially mad, passionate, or, in this case, especially horny. “take it easy, honey—please,” he whines, hand gripping your hair tighter, forcing your head further down his thick length despite his contradictory words. you pay his actions no mind, however, only doing your best to suppress your gag reflex and hollow your cheeks out around him before swallowing thickly; you even went as far as to deepthroat him all the way, uncaring of the way drool seeped past your lips and all around the base of his cock. swallowing around him again once his leaky tip hits the back of your throat, and shouto’s hand grips your hair a little too tightly—not that you minded in the moment. if anything, it made your pussy throb. as did the way he was panting and moaning softly above you. god…… his little noises were absolutely divine and each and every one sent a jolt to your clit. 

much to his embarrassment, shouto is surprisingly noisy in bed — not exactly loud per se, but certainly unable to contain all his little huffs, puffs, and soft moans and quiet groans. but it wasn’t like it was his fault! how exactly was he supposed to stay quiet when you’re making him feel so damn good? jesus, it wasn’t fair! for him, anyway; for you, his sweet sounds only made you all the more hot and bothered. 

his gaze falls down to meet yours, and then further down to his dick and the way your glossy lips wrapped around it and the fucking lipstick stains you were leaving around him. how was he meant to last like this? (here’s a hint: he wasn’t!) 

pushing against his hand for a moment, he lessens his grip as you pull off him with a sickening schliiickk noise and wrap one hand around his base as you pant for air, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

“shouto?”

“yeah?” his heart is pounding and he bites his lip as he looks down at your flushed face that now had a thin sheen of sweat over it, and he feels almost ashamed for the way he immediately craves your mouth back around him.

“i want you to cum in my mouth, okay?” you tell him with a soft smile, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before taking him into your mouth once again, all the way down until your nose was flush against his mix-matched pubic hair and you had to actively breathe through your nose so you didn’t hurl. shallowly beginning to bob your head, your tongue laves over the underside of his veiny cock as the hand previously wrapped around him moves to cup his balls, fondling them softly before giving them a gentle squeeze.

“oh—sweetheart,” he moans, dick twitching violently in your mouth. “don’t stop,” he all but begs you, rolling his hips up, forcing himself further down your throat. you actually do gag at this, but are able to swallow most of your excessive drool down, only some of it spilling over and out of your mouth and onto to your husband’s dick, mixing beautifully with your lipstick stains, and poor todoroki groans at both the sight and feeling.

all it takes is a few more bobs of your head and another squeeze to his balls before they’re tightening and suddenly he’s cumming down your throat—just like you had asked him to. god, he swears you’ll be the death of him!

swallowing around his awfully sensitive length one final time, both to tease him and get his cum down, you pull off of him with another disgustingly wet noise before looking up at him oh-so-sweetly.

the hand that wasn’t still fondling his balls comes to wrap around his dick, pumping it slowly as you press a little kiss to his flushed and shiny tip, licking it playfully and swirling your tongue around it for a moment before you actually stopped teasing his cock with your mouth and just with your hand.

“baby, please—” his voice is uncharacteristically whiney and his hips buck up into your grasp. despite his natural temperature regulation due to his quirk, shouto finds his entire body feeling hot, so hot, thanks to your delicate touch. “just—ah!” he moans softly as your hand begins moving up and down his shaft slowly, moving up and up until you could place your thumb over the slit of his red and swollen head and run it over the horribly sensitive spot. 

“god–damn, sweetheart—give me a moment, please,” he begs you, hips bucking upwards as his cock twitches simultaneously. shouto feels like he’s losing his mind as you pump his oversensitive length and he has to keep his eyes away from the mirror lest he nut again—no, the next time he came today, it would be inside you, his beautiful fucking spouse. “just let me breathe.” one of his large hands comes up to run through his hair and push his bangs out of his face just for them to fall right back in place once it exits his hair. 

with a scoff and a roll of your eyes, you blow a puff of cold air over his cockhead and let out a playful okay. 

“i guess,” you giggle, looking up at him from your spot on the floor. it’s true that your knees were starting to get a little sore, but you figured you were basically done anyway, so, naturally, you went to stand—just for shouto’s massive hands to land on your hips, up under your shirt, and turn you around so that you’re facing the mirror before tugging your panties down to your now reddened knees in one swift movement.

pulling you onto his lap, his painfully hard cock pressed into the crack of your ass, you whine and squirm in your husband’s strong grasp.

“b-baby?” you sound audibly confused and shouto can’t help but smile at your reaction as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

“shh,” he hushes you gently, one hand coming down between your legs to stop and rest on your clit. 

“sho-shouto,” you can’t help but whine as he applies a slow but firm pressure to your achy bundle of nerves, gently starting to trace teasing circles over it.

“can’t i make you feel good, too?” he whispers into your ear, catching your gaze in the mirror. his heterochromatic eyes are glued to the reflection of yours and you feel a chill run down your spine as he nuzzles his nose against your neck as his middle finger dips down to your dripping slit before bringing it back up to rub against your pulsing clit.

“ah!” an airy breath escapes you and your back arches at his calloused touch. “fuck,” you hiss as he begins pressing soft kisses to the already brusing flesh of your neck and finger moves with experience over your slick button. 

the first several times you two slept together, shouto was rather shy, and not particularly bold — always scared he was going to hurt you somehow or fuck up your pleasure, and then you’d want nothing to do with him; so it took a bit of instruction and teaching him what it is you do and don’t like, but shouto, ever the fast learner, quickly caught on and figured out what exactly he had to do and how he had to do it in order for you to feel good. 

“that’s what i like to hear,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you, nibbling on the lobe of your ear before blowing a puff of cold air onto it. todoroki could never get enough of the noises you made — the same way you couldn’t get enough of his whimpers and whines — and would do anything in his power to elicit such sweet sounds from you.

“sh-shut up,” is all you’re able to get out, unable to think as he brings his middle finger back down to your slit and actually inserts it into you this time — fingering you in the lightest, most teasing manner possible, while he heats up his hand, his right arm wrapping around you tighter to keep you in place.

shouto just chuckles at your poor attempt at a quip as he licks a chilly stripe up the column of your neck, causing you to shiver as a devious grin stretches over your husband’s usually sweet face. 

“oh, honey,” his voice is low and deep and admittedly makes your pussy clench around the single finger stuffed in it — god, you wish he’d add a second or third to actually stretch you out. and, almost as if he had read your thoughts, shouto curls his finger inside of you before pulling it out about halfway so he could slide another in until—he just stops, one finger half way in you with the tip of another barely poking at your entrance. 

“sho–shouto?” you all but whine, hips wiggling futilely, wishing he’d just scissor your cunt open already!

“look in the mirror,” he commands softly. nodding hesitantly, you reluctantly look at your reflection and take in the lewdness of the scene: shouto had your legs spread out over his, keeping them open by borderline entwining your lower legs with his, with his thick ring and middle fingers positioned against your cunt, and his chin now resting on your shoulder, piercing gaze capturing your own. 

as he finally begins easing his ring finger into along with the one already in there, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and just like that, any movement stops.

“i didn’t tell you to close your eyes,” he mutters, right hand coming up to slip under your shirt and pinch a nipple. 

“ah! ‘m sorry!” your eyes immediately fly open as you try to focus your gaze on the sight in front of you as shouto’s fingers get progressively hotter the further they slip into you, and suddenly—you were burning from the inside out!

“mmh, shouto….” you whine, one hand coming up to tangle into his hair, giving it a light tug. 

your husband merely ignores you as he focuses on pleasing you instead; curling his all too hot fingers at just the right angle, spreading them apart to scissor your pretty pussy, his eyes trained on your reflection and each little way you react to his touch—the way you flinch and try to close your legs, just for him to effortlessly prevent this by spreading his a little wider. god; he had learned to be a little too good at this for your own good. 

“nngh—, c’mon baby, don’ be a tease,” is all you’re able to get out as your husband takes his goddamn time fingering you; this couldn’t even be considered as finger-fucking! the feeling of the calloused pads of his heated fingertips rubbing against your already hot inner walls as he pumps them slowly—your internal temperature felt like it was skyrocketing, when in reality, it was only one or two degrees higher, something shouto could easily remedy should he switch hands. 

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about, lovely,” he smiles gently, beginning to pepper kisses along your neck once more. fuck, you coudn’t stand when he played dumb like that — he had to have known what he was doing!! (and he did! that just wasn’t for you to know.) “if there’s something you want…. then you’ll have to ask for it directly, my dear,” he tells you cheekily, and you can physically feel his smile against your skin as he begins to suck against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

god! damn him! 

“f-faster,” you whine, wiggling and rolling your hips against his slow moving fingers, just for shouto to pull them nearly all the way out of you. “sh–shouto! goddammit! please don’t tease me!” you plead, eyes beginning to lightly water over out of sheer frustration. tugging at his hair, you try to twist around enough to give him another kiss — just for him to avoid your lips, too!

“uh-uh,” he chides, his freezing free hand pinching one of your nipples, and you gasp louder than you would have liked to at the feeling. “watch yourself in the mirror ‘n ask nicely and you can have anything you want, princess,” shouto says softly, physically unable to stop smiling. sure, most of the time, his teasing was truly unintentional, the other half of the time (a little less than half, really, it was closer to 60/40) was completely on purpose, as hearing you whine his name or for him to touch you never failed to turn him on or bring a somewhat sadistic smile to his usually stoic face. 

nodding, you refocus your attention onto the large vanity mirror, with the chair scooted far back enough so you could clearly see his fingers buried in your glistening cunt, and you physically can’t control the whimper that slips past your throat as his index and pinky fingers move to spread your slick folds apart so you could get a better view of what shouto thought was the most perfect pussy in the world—ever since you’d first had sex (despite his initial nerves), he had quickly grown addicted to the feeling of your cunt wrapped oh-so-snuggly around him. 

finally, your husband finally began to finger you in earnest, crooking his fingers in such a delicious way so deep inside you—much further than your own fingers could ever reach, anyway—and suddenly you wish it was his dick filling you up, not just his fingers..! unbeknownst to you, this was both shouto’s brief way of giving his sensitive cock a rest so he could fuck you properly without creaming too early and making sure you’d get to cum twice, too.

“you’re so tense,” his voice has a saccharine lilt to it, and you feel goosebumps erupt over your skin as he watches the way his fingers pump in and out of you, and he can feel his length twitch and drool pre as he imagines your cunt fluttering around his dick instead of his fingers.

“‘s not my fault—you’re not exactly making it easy f’me to relax,” you complain, shifting around in his grip as you give his hair a light tug. 

“oh? i’m not?” his gentle smile stretches into a shit eating grin as he slides his fingers out of you entirely before bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick your slick off the digits that had been nearly knuckle-deep inside you less than a moment ago, except—he only sucks off his ring finger, leaving the middle one for you to suck on instead, bringing it up to your plump, glossy lips whilst softly telling you to open your mouth. of course, you obeyed without a second thought, happily, and almost hazily, swirling your tongue around his finger in a similar manner you had done with his cock. the action reminded shouto of such, and he lets out a quiet groan at the feeling.

“mmh,” you hum pleasantly around the digit that was pressing down lightly against your tongue. you weren’t too pleased, however, about the lack of stimulation your pussy was receiving, and you decided to make this known to your husband.

catching his eye in the mirror, you let out a little whine and wrap both your hands around his thick wrist as you purposely let the drool in your mouth build up so it begins to seep down his hand and slowly trickle onto his forearm. 

“baby, please. please just fuck me,” you mumble, tugging on his wrist to pull his calloused, slick finger from you spit-soaked mouth. 

shouto really was planning to finger you to an orgasm, honest, but—when you asked so sweetly, he just couldn’t say no to you!

“fuck,” he groans, both hands quickly settling onto your hips in order to lift you enough to align your soaked slit with his flushed and achy cock. “y’know i can’t tell you no when you ask like that,” he says before letting you slowly sink all the way to the base. 

“you feel so good,” he groans out as your puffy pussy wraps around him tightly.

“s–so do you,” you whine out, feeling his head kiss the entrance to your cervix. jesus christ, how was it possible to hit so deep? “s-so, so good,” you tell him, trying to look at the two of you in the mirror and the way your cunt envelopes him and—it’s just too embarrassing to look at! 

squirming in his grasp, you try to turn around to better face him so you could plant a kiss to his plump lips. shouto, however, simply uses one large hand to squish your cheeks and hold your face in place to watch as he lazily fucks up into in the mirror. no matter how bad he wanted to kiss you (that would have to come (cum) after you), he just enjoyed that flustered look on your face too much to not indulge in it! besides, he was always so sweet to you, he’s sure you can handle some light teasing. 

“aa–ahh! sh-shouto! fuck!” you cry as he begins bouncing you up and down his needy dick. you whimper at the way he throbs inside you and your cunt clenches tightly around him—making your husband groan loudly too. “sho–!” it’s all you can do to look into the mirror at the lewd sight, and embarrassingly enough, it only serves to turn you on even more.

“hmm?” it’s all he can do to hum out a response as he keeps you moving up and down, strong arms moving with ease as he rhythmically rolls his hips up into yours. “what—” he hisses from the way his tip hits against your cervix, with nowhere left to go. “what is it, love?” he does his best to answer coherently, needing you to be the one fucked dumb first. without a second thought, one hand abandons your hip to slide down your abdomen all the way back between your legs where he began rubbing slow, tight circles against your neglected clit.

“ah! f–fuck!” you moan as he soon sets a steady pace against your throbbing bud, steadily working you up to an orgasm, the knot in your stomach tightening. 

it doesn’t take much longer before you’re quivering in shouto’s grip and whining about how close you were, and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride wash over him as he pushes you closer to the edge. 

as your cunt clenches and flutters around him, shouto feels himself growing uncomfortably close as well, and soon finds himself asking if it’s okay if he came inside.

“yes, please, baby,” you whine and nod your head, one hand moving to entangle itself into shouto’s hair as he finally allowed you to kiss him once again.

and, with a few more thrusts, you find yourself cumming in sync as the horribly tense knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re creaming all over your husband’s cock.

“oh fuck,” he groans, dick pulsing once, twice, before finally squirting his thick, hot seed deep into your womb, leaving you feeling both gross and contently full.

after rubbing your clit throughout the duration of your orgasm, shouto still doesn’t stop, even once you began coming down from you high, and you can’t help but jolt in his lap from the oversensitivity.

“sh-shouto, you can—you can st-stop!” you manage to spit out, biting your lower lip as you watch his calloused fingers rub steady circles against your poor clit. 

“but—” he pants. “you only— only came once,” he tries to explain, rolling his hips up into you despite his own sensitivity, desperate to make you cum again. 

“i– i know, but—’m sensitive, baby,” you try telling him, quickly feeling that familiar knot start to form again.  “ple—please!”

despite your pathetic little mewls, your husband ignores you in favor of your excess pleasure, significantly warming up the fingers playing with your puffy clit. 

it’s not long before you’re cumming one more time, evening out your total to two—equal to what you had given your oh-so-doting husband (even if you only went out of your way to actually give him a single orgasm—he just happened to cum a second time because you felt so good wrapped around him).

“fuck, baby,” you moan, back arching deeply as he slowly lessens the pressure on your throbbing clit. shouto never disappointed you in bed, or in this case, just simply in the bedroom, and for that, you were eternally grateful.

once you were done making a mess around the length of his dick, your back falls flush against his chest, and you both pant heavily for a long moment before either of you are able to recompose yourselves.

afterwards, shouto helps lift you off his softening dick, and into the bathroom so you could piss (always piss after sex, y’all), before going downstairs to get you a glass of water and then returning back to your shared bedroom to wait in your king sized bed.  once you re-entered the room, your husband sits up in the plush bed, with his arms extended out to you, your water already on your nightstand. 

with a smile, you make your way over to the bed, with only slightly wobbly legs, and curl up in your loving shouto’s strong arms, where he holds you close to him, resting your head against his chest, where you could hear his beating heart—a sound so soothing you were almost lulled asleep by it until you heard the quietest, faintest whisper of, “you’re so beautiful,” and you can’t help the grin that breaks out across your face as you tell him he is too, something shouto has never been too sure of how to process, but over time, as the compliments he received increased, he slowly learned how to handle and accept them properly.

“i love you,” you say in sync, and you let out a little giggle at this before saying jinx! and pressing a kiss to his cheek before nuzzling your head back against his chest and yawning deeply.

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part two ]

[ a continuation of part one ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 1875

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

in any other circumstances, you wouldn’t even dare to imagine holding a man you had just met the same day.

but stan … was different.

when your eyes first locked with his from across the counter, you could tell that he was hurting, and badly. he was trying so hard to cover it up, and it worked for the most part — after all, up until now, nobody had cared about him enough to see through his facade.

but you saw straight through him. and not only that, you actually did something about it. you offered to care for his needs, at your own expense.

his father only ever saw him as an expense.

so, there you were, sitting at the bar, holding onto the maroon fabric of his jacket as he trembled like a leaf.

the scent of cigarette smoke and pine needles was strong in your nose as he buried his face into your shoulder. you could feel his stubble scratching against your skin.

there was a part of you that wanted to speak up and comfort him, but ultimately you decided against it. you didn’t quite know enough about him to be able to speak to his situation.

after a few minutes, stan seemed to be calming down. his breathing became even, although he was still clinging onto you tightly.

“i …”

his voice was cracked and raspy.

“i … screwed up. i don’t … know how i’m gonna fix it.”

your brow furrowed as you listened to him.

“y’know, stan … i don’t know what you’re going through. but can you do me one favor?”

“... yeah?”

“look at me.”

slowly, the brunet lifted his head, pulling himself back just enough to be able to look at you. his eyes were red and puffy, but his gaze was sincere.

you looked back at him, determined. “i’m gonna help you out.”

stan didn’t know how to react. he swallowed a lump in his throat, scanning your face as if to check whether you were lying to him or not.

“... you don’t … hafta do that. i brought it on myself—”

“i don’t care.”

his eyes widened.

“if i can keep somebody from a worse fate, then i’ll do it. let me give you a place to stay, even if it’s just for a little while.” you smiled warmly, squeezing his arm for emphasis. “you shouldn’t have to feel like your life means nothing.”

“… you’re an angel.”

those words made you blush. “i–i wouldn’t say that—”

uh-oh, he’s smirking now. chuckling lowly, he let go of you so that he could cross his arms over his chest.

“what, are you tryna tell me you’re not sent from heaven? think about it. you’re saving my biscuits here, toots.” there was serious gratitude in his tone, despite his teasing. at least he seemed to be in a better mood. “i think i’ll hafta call you that more often, yeah? angel.”

you laughed nervously, trying desperately to distract yourself from your red hot face. “really? h–how interesting …”

stan snickered again, gazing at you for a moment longer with fondness dancing in his brown eyes. then, glancing at the wall clock, he realized the time. “damn, it’s midnight. i should probably stop bothering you ‘nd get to bed, huh?”

“huh, it is late … i should sleep, too.”

“then it’s decided. i’ll see ya tomorrow.” he hummed, standing from his seat and stretching out his arms before cracking a soft smile and turning around to walk towards his room.

you were left to watch him leave, your eyes following his footsteps as he made his way back up the staircase.

approximately eight hours later, you awoke to the sunlight gently filtering through your bedside window, causing your eyelids to flutter open.

the events of last night came flooding back into your mind.

i guess i’ll be seeing a whole lot more of him …

sitting up in bed, you yawned, rubbing your face sleepily.

“mm … what time is it …”

the alarm clock on your nightstand read 8:02 am.

shoot, i overslept—oh, wait. it’s my day off.

that little fact was enough to put you in a good mood for the morning. humming happily to yourself, you began to get ready for the day, picking out a comfortable outfit and a few accessories.

descending two flights of stairs, you wandered into the lobby of your inn, greeting a few different patrons and employees with a cheerful wave. it was breakfast rush hour for the kitchen, and you could catch glimpses of your executive chef running to and fro behind the bar.

he seems pretty busy today. maybe i’ll grab a bite to eat somewhere? hmm, but the question is where …

just then, your train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone calling out your name.

you whipped around to locate the voice’s source, and there was stan, walking towards you at a leisurely pace. a radiant grin broke out on your face.

“stan! hey, good morning! how’d you sleep?”

raising a brow, he chuckled at your energy. “well, good morning, sunshine. i slept like a baby, thanks t’ you.”

“ah, don’t mention it.” you smiled, placing your hands on your hips. “i’m just glad you could sleep.”

the two of you looked at each other for a second.

why did his stare make you feel butterflies in your chest?

probably unimportant ………… right? yeah.

clearing your throat, you averted your gaze before you started to blush again. “so, um … have you had anything to eat yet?”

“nah. i was just about to, though.” to be frank, he had totally forgotten that he had access to breakfast until you just mentioned it.

“sounds goo–”

you paused mid-sentence, remembering something.

“actually … i was planning on eating out for breakfast today. would you wanna join me? since the kitchen is bustling and all …”

oh, wow. did you really just ask him out to breakfast? it didn’t hit you until after you had said it out loud that it could be considered that way. oops. was that weird? were you weird? augh.

stan had half a mind to tease you senseless for how cute that was, but after thinking about it, he decided against it. he wouldn’t wanna ruin his chances at having breakfast with you.

“you kiddin’? i’d love that.” he nodded his head, flattered and amused. “not many people can say they’ve had breakfast with an angel, ya know.”

your ears turned red.

i walked right into that one. darn you and your smooth talking …

“oh, let’s just go already.” embarrassed, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him along towards the front door. stan laughed heartily, allowing himself to be led.

it wasn’t long before you arrived at one of your favorite diners in town, known for their homey atmosphere and good breakfast. walking into the building, you were met with the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee. the two of you breathed it in simultaneously, sighing.

“reminds me of breakfast as a kid.” stanley mused, thinking of the days when he and ford would poke at each other’s food and giggle. you smiled, watching his expression.

“c’mon, this way.” you beckoned him over towards the table you usually sat at, and a familiar waitress walked over to you as you settled in.

“good morning, loyal patron~ i see you’ve brought a plus one today, yes?”

“uh—yes. don’t go jumping to conclusions, though …”

the waitress grinned innocently. “of course. now, what can i get for you two?”

stan wound up ordering pancakes with bacon and eggs, while you settled on some waffles and a mug of coffee. you could have sworn you saw that waitress giggling to her coworker about something as she went on her way, but you shook your head to yourself in an attempt to ignore it. instead, you directed your attention towards the man sitting across from you.

“so, i’m guessin’ you’re a regular here?” he tilted his head, leaning back against his seat. there was a smirk plastered onto his face that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“you would guess correctly.” you hummed, picking up the salt shaker on the table and fidgeting with it absentmindedly. “have you ever been?”

a rumbling sigh escaped his lips.

“nah … i’m not exactly from around here.”

your gaze was trained on him. so far, he’s kept a laid-back demeanor, not to mention that little smirk that drives you insane—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was way more depth to his character than he let on.

“yeah? where’re you from?”

“...”

there was a brief silence. his chocolate brown eyes, warmly lit by the sun, stared into your soul.

“i’m from new jersey.”

your eyebrows shot up. “from jersey? wow … you’re far from home, then.”

“it’s not home anymore.”

you opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again. stan was staring out the window, a frown creasing his face.

“i … sorry. sensitive topic?”

he turned back to you, a faint blush appearing on his face. “uh … well, yeah, i guess … it’s okay.”

“come again?”

“... it’s, uh—i–i’m okay, if it’s you.”

he was a darker shade of red now, scratching awkwardly at his stubble. he felt so … vulnerable. but somehow, he was okay with it.

at that moment, the waitress came back with plates of food. “order up!”

you watched as you were served, salivating as you saw golden waffles covered in butter and syrup smiling up at you. it didn’t take long for the both of you to start digging in.

“... wow.” after the first few bites, stan had stars in his eyes. “it tastes just like ma’s.”

“was your mom a good cook?”

he snorted. “well, she wasn’t exactly a michelin star chef, but she could make some damn good flapjacks. at least, i sure thought so.” putting another forkful of pancake into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. you simply propped your head on one hand, watching.

“i always told her she could sell ‘em for a fortune.”

his tone was soft with nostalgia.

“she just laughed. prob’ly cause i was five when i told her that.”

“they must’ve been really something, huh?”

“they were. all my life, i dreamt of selling somethin’ as good as that. i haven’t stopped trying, either.”

he scoffed.

“most of ‘em have been a bust.”

you hummed softly in understanding.

“you’re still trying, though. that’s worth more than any failed effort.”

he looked up from his plate. “... you think so?”

“sure i do.” lifting your mug, you took a sip of coffee. “perseverance is worth a lot.”

stan could barely handle your uplifting words. his heart was squeezing in his chest. covering his flustered face with one hand, he leaned against the table, grumbling.

“... an angel … God sent an angel.”

“what?”

“what? nothing.”

a few hours later, you were walking side by side back to the inn. stan couldn’t help but admire the way the fall breeze tousled your hair, and the gentle smile on his face was speaking his thoughts out loud.

he’d never known that somebody this beautiful could even exist.

maybe ...

maybe he hasn’t hit rock bottom quite yet.

end

[ part three ]

author's note:

thank you for all the love on this fic !!! :D

i gotta keep cooking.

if you have any fic or headcanon requests, hit up my askbox! <3

tag list: @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @seahorrorz @blustalker @hay-needle @phanmai1002

[barleyo]

BARELYYYYY write another daddy Leon fic, AND MY LIFE WILL BE YOURSSS

867-5309.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: this fic is shitty and short, sorry ^_^ i literally have no drive or desire to write anymore, idk what's going on with me. probably some type of brain worm! but i thought i should at least try to get something written :3 (ily whoever knows what song the title is referencing)

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), phone sex, age gap (21 and 50-ish), mutual masturbation, no actual sex, idk dude i'm not sure what i was going for with this

Wordcount: 719

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

"Little note wasn't lying," Leon said into his phone, sitting in his car near the back of the bar's mostly empty parking lot. "What's this about a good time, doll?"

It was too late for him to be out like this. Too late for him to be this far from sober. Too late for him to be calling some random number that was stuck to the urinal partition. And, of course, it was much too late for him to be this horny.

"Depends," a voice, your voice, spoke on the line. "What kinda night is it, mister?"

Thank god he was drunk, or else he would've heard right through your overly sensual, fake tone. Thank god you were stupid, or else you would've known it was him right from the sleazy nicknames he used.

"Tonight?" 

Dirty fucking man. His hands were practically already in his pants. Roughly palming at himself over his tented jeans to the sound of some mystery broad's voice. 

"It's a real good night, babydoll. I think you could make it better though." He pulled his zipper down, cock pulsating desperately. 

You giggled on the other line, absolutely drowning in the sudden flush of attention. That's why you slipped the damn sticky note with your burner's number into the men's room all those nights ago, hoping some horned up man old enough to be your dad would ring your line and validate you. Little did you know, that man would truly be your dad. 

"Sounds like you could use it. I don't mind 'chatting' for a bit," you said, hand finding its way all over your body. "Tell me, y'touching yourself already?"

"To a voice like yours? Of course I am."

Leon freed himself from the confines of his pants, eyes shifting anxiously as he looked around the sparse parking lot. He was a grown man, he'd jerked off to hotlines and voices on the phone all the time. In public, though? New territory completely. 

He squeezed his shaft, feeling it pulse in his hand. Thing had a heartbeat of its own at that point as it practically begging to catch some friction and relief. 

"Glad you called," you said, sliding your panties off while you spoke. You tossed them in the corner of your room mindlessly. "I've been waiting for someone to find that little note."

Leon opened his mouth to respond when he heard a soft moan escape your mouth. That was enough for him to start. He wanted to take it slow, to enjoy himself, but who was he kidding? He was a needy fucker and he wanted to cum ASAP. 

"What'cha doing right now?" he was finally able to ask, swallowing thickly as he pumped his length. "Using those cute fingers, doll?"

You hummed through an over exaggerated moan, dramatizing and putting on a show for your 'mystery man.' 

"Sure am," you said, finger curled, reaching your g-spot the best you could with the limited length it had. "But it's not as good as the real thing."

He could practically hear the pout in your voice, and it drove him crazy. You sounded like a bratty little baby, just his type. 

"Awh, aren't you a poor thing? Bet some older cock would do you good, huh?" 

He heard the squelch of your cunt through the phone speaker. It picked up the sound of your palm hitting your clit, and the little gasps of air you let out each time you slammed your fingers in.

"Guess so." You bit your bottom lip, holding back an excited squeal at his words. "You offering?" 

Leon chuckled dryly, watching the tip of his cock weep with pre as he stroked himself. "Oh, someone's eager. Sure," he said, amused smirk on his face as he started to near his climax, hand still working furiously over his cock. "I'm offering. I could use a cute thing like you, anyway. It'll be much better than just hearing ya through the phone."

"We'll see about that," you teased, phone clicking off of the line just as he started to cum. 

(XXX)-867-5309: *sent location* 

(XXX)-867-5309: pull up ;)

Wait, that address? That was his house...

"Fuck."

Leon's head fell back on the car seat headrest, brain going a mile a minute. Hand still covered in stray spurts of cum.

"Fuck!"

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[sixhours]

looking for the light

Rating: Everyone Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Sarah, Sarah Miller, Joel Miller, baby Sarah, soft!Joel, Joel needs a hug, Joel is trying really hard OK, angst, angst with a happy ending, but mostly just angst, sorry Word count: ~750, it's a baby fic

Note: Y’all can blame @frannyzooey for this little bit of heartache.

You can also read on AO3.

~*~

She screams for what feels like hours.

“C’mon, baby girl,” he whispers, a note of desperation creeping in. He’s been through the checklist–formula, diaper, swaddle, rock–but she won’t settle. “Sweet girl, Sarah girl, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

We’re okay.

And she screams.

Her little face scrunched up, tears streaming down–those are new, he thinks dully–body arched taut as a bowstring.

Pace and rock and sway and prep the bottle only for her to spit it out, check the diaper, rub her back in slow, firm circles, pace and rock and sway and shush.

Screaming.

He turns 23 today. Or maybe it was yesterday. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn't know how long she’s been like this.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. C’mon, baby girl. I got you.”

Screaming.

And then his hands are shaking too hard to hold her, his vision blurred with tears of his own.

He can’t do this.

He sets her in the crib, the one she hasn’t used since they brought her home, tiny limbs poking out of her car seat harness like a starfish, practically swallowed by the thing, so small.

Fleeing from the room. He doesn’t make it far. She is gravity and he is stuck in her orbit.

He slides down the wall in the hallway, curling in on himself, chest so tight he thinks he might pass out. When he finally sucks in a decent breath, it’s a barking, wheezing thing, and he wastes it on a sob.

Laureen walked out two weeks ago. No note, no call, just went back to her parents in Albany. The paperwork signing over her rights is sitting on the kitchen table, stained with coffee rings and sour milk.

Tommy’s bedroom is empty and he’s god knows where, probably drunk or fucking around with some girl. He’s 17, still a kid himself, another responsibility he isn’t ready for.

Joel bites down hard on his fist and wishes desperately for the mother they buried six months ago.

He can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t raise a baby and pay the bills and keep his brother out of trouble. He should…

No. No, he can’t do that. The nurse handed her to him in the hospital, all red-faced and slick, and she’d taken his heart when she wrapped her tiny hand around his thumb.

So that’s not an option.

But Christ, he’s drowning.

“Please.”

He doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Doesn’t know anything but the needling sound of her cries that he can no longer ignore.

He stands, swipes at his eyes, goes back into the room. Picks her up.

Pace and rock and sway and shush.

“Please, Sarah.”

Whispers swallowed by screams.

“Please, baby, tell me what you need. Please.”

Tears on his cheeks to match hers as he begs. He begs.

“Please, baby girl.”

And then he must bounce just right, or pat her just right, because she lets out the loudest, most magnificent burp Joel has ever heard. It shouldn’t be possible, such a big sound coming from such a tiny body. It rings in his ears and settles her quaking limbs, spit-up soaking the back of his shirt. He never has the burp cloth on the right side. It doesn’t matter.

Quiet.

“Was that it?” he sniffs, pathetic. “Was that all, sweet girl? Jus’ had a bubble, huh?”

Shuddery little hiccup against his chin.

“There she is,” he murmurs, cupping her tiny head in one palm, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “My girl, my Sarah girl.”

He collapses into the plush glider rocker, the one that cost a full month’s pay, the one Laureen insisted on. He hadn’t blinked, just wrote the check.

One foot on the floor, one on the ottoman, rocking. She settles on his chest, ear to his heart, already drowsy.

“We’re gonna be okay, you an’ me,” he whispers, nose pressed to her crown, tears still drying on his cheeks, willing himself to believe it. “We’re gonna be jus’ fine.”

~*~

Dawn.

She stirs, little snuffling noises, mouthing one tiny fist. 

He shifts her into the crook of his arm, sleep-crusted eyes blinking open to look at her, lets his thumb trace the velvet-soft curve of her cheek.

“Mornin’, baby girl.”

Dark brown eyes mirror his. The softest coo in answer.

And something new.

Tentative, hesitant at first, then blossoming.

“Yeah? You like that?”

Throat thick with love, shaky in-breath. Happy tears this time.

“Yeah,” he whispers, returning her first smile. “Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.”

[ramblingoak]

A Thousand Kisses

For an Anon that requested a lazy kiss with Copia.

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Warnings: soft, tired and kissable Copia, sfw, 540 words, not beta read (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers)

“I never want to move again.”

You grinned at Copia even though he couldn’t see it with his face buried in his pillow.  The poor man had been practicing with the ghouls all day for the upcoming tour.  When he finally showed up at your door it was with a hoarse voice and a stiff posture.  You couldn’t even get his clothes off without him groaning every time he had to move.  As soon as you had wiped off most of his makeup and made him take some painkillers he had collapsed onto the bed.

“You should really take a hot shower, otherwise you’re not gonna be able to move in the morning.”

“I can’t move now, amore.”  He turned his head to the side so his voice wasn’t muffled, his bright green eye focusing on you.  “I’m broken.”

“Broken, huh?  That’s too bad, Papa.  I’ll have to adjust my plans for tonight.”

“Pl-ah cazzo,”  Copia whimpered as he rolled onto his back, taking a few deep breaths before trying again.  “Plans, you say?”

“You know, just the usual.”  You toed off your shoes and crawled onto the bed, moving slowly until you were resting on your side next to him.  His chest rumbled like a purring cat when you rubbed a hand up and down his bare chest.  “A candlelit dinner, some dancing…”

“Please don’t say dancing right now.”  

He pouted when you laughed at him and you couldn’t resist shifting so you could kiss his full bottom lip.

“What about wobbling, Papa?  Would you wobble for me?”

“Amore, you know that I would normally do anything for you, yeah?”  You nodded before resting your chin on his chest.  He managed to bring a hand up to your cheek, swiping his thumb across it gently before speaking again.  “But Lilith herself couldn’t get me to wobble right now.”

He smiled softly when you kissed his palm before he laid his arm back down on the bed.  Even that had him wincing and you frowned down at him. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Papa?  Anything at all.”

Copia was quiet and still for a few moments, long enough you almost thought he had fallen asleep.  You started to move away to let him rest but he slid an arm around your waist to keep you in place.

“Anything?”  He opened his eyes and gave you a lazy smile when he felt you nod against his chest again.  “A kiss then.”

“Just one?”

“Hmm, or two.  Three maybe, if you feel I deserve it.”

You leaned in to give him the first one, your lips lingering on his for a couple of seconds.  It was your turn to cup his cheek, rubbing at spot of white that you had missed earlier.  Copia’s eyes were bleary with sleep and you stifled a grin when you realized he probably wouldn’t last till the third kiss.  It didn’t matter though, you’d still give him all the tired and lazy kisses you could until he was asleep.

“You deserve a thousand kisses, Copia.”

“A thousand, amore?”  He smiled against your lips when you gave him the second one, his hand idly rubbing up and down your back while he gazed into your eyes.  “I’ll hold you to that.”

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[muniimyg]

4.5: say it 》 series m.list

note: some feelings, some banter,, some smut at the beginning of the 3rd scene <3 have fun,, enj !!! do we like yuna and tae? vibes on... the jealousy? lmk what u guys think !!!mwah <3 updating sooon

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fic taglist: @mint--yoongs @ellesalazar @bloopkook

//

Soccer was something Jungkook was known for on campus.

It never occurred to you just how well-known he was until now… Yet, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Jungkook had quit the team out of boredom and curiosity only to be begged back in as if he’s their ace.

Okay, fine. 

… He probably is the ace. 

Jungkook comes off as too perfect. It’s quite irritating, actually. He has decent grades, a fun friend group, and a well-balanced lifestyle. You can’t help but hate that being a part of his routine for the past few weeks has you in this emotional state: needy. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

Before the arrangement between you and Jungkook was made, you two barely saw each other. His life consisted of school, soccer, and friends. You only ran into him at parties or friendgroup outings. Having one class with him every other semester has to be the closest you two have ever been. 

You’ve never missed anyone before and although there’s an underlying warm feeling—your feelings of frustration and annoyance have never been stronger. His absence may have gotten your heart to grow fonder of him—but your anger and resistance to him continue to linger. 

It’s almost like a haunting feeling. 

As much as you want to carry on with your day and act like you aren’t waiting for his clingy text messages; you can’t help but itch and wonder what he’s doing and who he’s with. Though his text messages yesterday provided you with some sort of comfort and assurance, you can’t help but feel uneasy about all of this. 

About him. 

“Earth to ____?” Yuna waves her hands in front of your face. Snapping out of your thoughts, you offer her a warm smile. “Geez, you’re so out of it these days… Are you feeling sick?”

You shake your head. 

For a moment there, you were so lost in thought you forgot where you were. For a brief moment, you look out the window and notice the gloomy clouds before turning back to your space. The library is fuller than usual and Yuna is sitting in front of you with her laptop and notebook. She’s been talking for the past 20 minutes about… 

Something. 

You can’t recall.

Maybe you should start listening to her more… You’re truly the worst friend ever. 

“You look worried… Do you have an exam you didn’t study for or something?” Again, you shake your head in response. Yuna hums as she taps her fingers on her chin. Thinking to herself, she creates a solution. 

“Do you wanna come with me and see Taehyung?” 

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Why would I want to see Taehyung?”

She shrugs, putting her hands up in defeat. “…. Was just suggesting.”

Leaning towards her, you cheekily ask; “fess up. Do you have feelings for him?”

A gasp escapes her lips as she covers her mouth with her hands. Yuna furrows her eyebrows together and looks at you in panic. “Is the ____ interested in my love life? For the first time in forever? When did you get a nose job? You’re so nosy!”

You cover your nose and glare at her. 

“Shut up! Jungkook just mentioned that—”

“Jungkook, huh?” Yuna switches her hand placement immediately. She leans forward to you, putting her elbows on the table, and rests her chin on the palm of her hands. “What’s up with you two? I must’ve been wasted as hell that night at karaoke because if what I saw was true… Boy, do you owe me a girls night…”

Gulping, you keep your chin high. “What do you mean? What did you see that night?”

“He’s into you.”

“Jungkook is into everyone—”

“Yeah, right!” Yuna disagrees passionately, earning a few hushes from other students nearby. In a whispering tone, she continues. “Jungkook barely pays attention to the guys—his own friends! He does what he wants, shows up when he wants, eats what he wants and maintains his slutty figure, and parties when and with who he wants—I think… He wants you. He kept giving you fuck me eyes all night… And you! Don’t act all innocent. I saw you sulking like a little bitch! Which.. Is new? I’ve never seen you clingy before… Not with any of your exes... Not even with me."

You roll your eyes at her. Though her words rang true, you refuse to yield. If Yuna, the densest human in the world, can figure you out... You're fucked.

“You’re right.”

Yuna’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“You were sooo wasted that night.”

After a few hours of studying, you and Yuna pack your things up. She practically begs you to come with her as she meets up with Taehyung. In all honesty, it didn’t take much convincing. For some reason, you say yes with the tiniest bit of hope that Jungkook would be with him. 

Although, you don’t ask.

Hurrying out of the library, Yuna instantly spots Taehyung. With a toothy smile, he waves and picks up his pace. He greets Yuna with a pat on her head and you by nudging your arm. 

“Where’s Jungkook?” 

Shrugging, you look around as if you could spot Jungkook. Shyly, you answer, “thought he was with you.”

“He came home late yesterday…” Taehyung says as if it mattered for you to know. “I assumed he was with you.”

In response, you shake your head at him. “Nope. I haven’t seen him in a while… Last time was when we got coffee—”

You wince at the memory. 

“You okay?” Yuna’s face falls concerned. Taehyung looks at you rather confused. She hits his arm and confides in him. “See what I mean? She’s been like this all day.”

Taehyung tightens his lips as he gives your odd behaviour some thought. “Maybe she’s sleep-deprived. Are you sleepy, ___? You look a little tired.”

“Maybe the break-up is finally hitting her. Do you miss him, ___? Is that it?” Yuna suggests rather passionately. “You know, I miss him! He was a good boyfriend and you seemed happy—”

You huff, feeling defeated. “I’m just tired. I guess I’m more tired than I realize. I think I should just head home… I’ll catch up with you guys next time.” 

Yuna shoves Taehyung away and pulls you in a hug. She sways you two side to side and cries; “my poor baby, ____! Feel better, okay?”

Laughing, you ask Taehyung to help you peel your best friend off of you. When Yuna lets go and gives you space, her eyes suddenly squint as if she has just seen something unpeculiar. Then, she rubs her eyes to be sure.

“Is that Jungkook?”

You turn your head and feel your heart clench.

It feels conflicted. 

Yes, that was Jungkook.

… But with whom? 

Before you can escape or avoid eye contact with him, Taehyung has already waved them over. Jungkook nods, acknowledging you all. He crosses the street and you turn around, keeping your head low. You do this because for some reason you feel all shy… Like you didn’t just have sex with him a week ago—in front of a mirror. 

“Whose that?” Yuna asks, disregarding the fact that the two were practically a three feet away.

“Who knows,” Taehyung scoffs. “Secret girlfriend? Sneaky link? Who knows with that kid.”

Yuna gasps. “No way! I thought he was into ___—”

“Hey,” Jungkook greets brightly. Taehyung and Yuna greet him with the same energy. He offers a big smile as he stands beside you and pinches your waist. You itch away and avoid eye contact. From the corner of his eye, he catches your behaviour and feels confused.

In a low tone, only loud enough for you to hear; he mutters, “Don’t ignore me. That’s fucking annoying.”

You don’t move. Still, you ignore his seductive words.

He tilts his head at you but figures you’re just in a mood. Shifting his focus, Jungkook breaks the ice. “Where you guys going?”

“I just met up with them like a few minutes ago,” Taehyung explains. “We were gonna grab dinner but I think—”

“Hi, I’m Yuna!” your best friend interrupts Taehyung. She stretches her hand out for the girl to shake. She takes Yuna’s hand and shakes it. “This is Taehyung and my best friend ___!” 

You raise your head and offer a short-lived smile. A simple, “hi,” is all you manage to choke out. 

Mina has short brown hair and pretty eyes. She’s a little shorter than you and has Jungkook’s towel hanging on her arm.

You feel sick.

“Nice to meet you guys! I’m Mina, Jungkook’s friend…” she pauses and lets out a shy laugh. “Actually, I’m more of his fan than I am his friend.”

Like a groupie? Ew.

Jungkook joins her and laughs. “She usually sits around with her friends on bleachers and watches our practices. We’ve been catching up since I got back in with the team. We were going to get dinner too.” 

Taehyung and Yuna nod, taking in the information. “Well, do you want to join us?” Yuna suggests. “___ isn’t feeling well so she was going to go home. It’d be nice to have better company! ___’s been so out of it today—”

You shush her. 

“You okay?” Jungkook brings his attention to you. 

It feels like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach. When did Jungkook’s gaze ever feel this… weird? It’s difficult to describe but it’s like you’re nervous or something. All you can really do is nod in response. 

“I’m okay,” you assure him. 

“You sure?” he presses, taking a step closer to you.  

He’s much closer to you this time and your body betrays you by staying still. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. If anything, you take a deep breath and inhale his scent. It’s comforting after all the days you’ve spent away from him. From the corner of your eye, you can see Yuna begin to get excited to be witnessing this moment. When you can sense that she’s about to explode in best friend behaviour, you make your move. 

“Can I talk to you?” you blurt. “Please? It’s about that thing…”

Jungkook blinks. 

“Sure,” he doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Text me the address. I’ll just drive ___ home so we can talk.”

You're thankful he says this. You're thankful he goes along with your request without question. For a second there, you weren't sure if he was on your side.

Rather, you worried if he liked you enough to choose you regardless of the mix-signals and thus far constipated interaction.

Mina offers a warm smile in return, but you can’t help but notice the disappointment in her eyes as Jungkook takes your tote bag off of your shoulder and carries it. He assures Mina that he’s leaving her in great hands and that he’ll be there no later than 30 minutes. 

“I parked my car that way,” Jungkook points towards the end of the street. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” you almost stutter. “I’ll see you guys next time. Nice to meet you, Mina.” 

“You too! Feel better,” she says sincerely. “See you in a bit, Jungkook?”

“See you in a bit,” he promises. Mina takes his word for it.

Jungkook bids his last goodbye before grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you to leave. As he does so, you watch Mina, Taehyung, and Yuna wave you two goodbye. Even a few feet apart, you can practically hear Yuna begin her gossip session. 

“See? He’s so into her!”

Unlike last time, there was no issue. 

Oh, it was up. 

Jungkook hisses at your touch. 

As you take his cock out, you run your thumb across the tip. You pump him, feeling his velvety skin follow the way you move your wrist. He’s thick—practically two hands on deck kind of thick. In fact, he looks even bigger in your hands. Maybe it’s the LED lights in his car or the fact that he hasn’t cum since your last meet-up—but he was bigger than usual today. If anything, it made you drool. 

Dipping your head low, you stick your tongue out and move his cock with your hands. You slap it against your needy tongue before closing your mouth and sucking on it. 

Bobbing your head, Jungkook can’t resist. He grabs a fistful of your hair and begins to push your head up and down. He holds your head close, making sure his dick touched the back of your throat. You gag and he takes that as a sign to let go. Pulling away, you take a quick breath in before puckering your lips at him. 

He shifts from his laid-back position and leans forward. Jungkook wraps his hand around your neck and brushes his thumb against your puffy lips. 

“You know how I like it,” he utters. “Missed this fucking mouth. Begging for kisses?” 

With hopeful eyes, you nod. 

“Anything my girl wants,” Jungkook leans in and kisses you slowly. He pulls away after just three kisses. “... My girl gets.”

“Kiss me lots,” you whine. 

Jungkook’s stomach turns. If it could do flips, that’s what it does. He would be an idiot not to know why you were acting this way… Yet, he still wanted to have fun. 

“Make me cum and I’ll kiss you all you want.” 

With that, you get back to it. 

You spit on his dick as you pump him at a slow pace. His hands travel to your shirt, pulling at the neckline to see your cleavage. You let go of him to lift your arms. Without hesitation, Jungkook helps remove your shirt and admires your breasts in a plain black bra. 

Suddenly, you shift your position. The passenger seat is extremely uncomfortable considering you’re giving him head… But this part must be the hardest part. You lean your body towards him more, prioritizing your breasts. Somehow, you manage to bend a certain way and slip his dick in between your tits. 

“Holy shit—” Jungkook cries as he begins to lose it. 

You bite your lip, trying your best to make this work. You hold your breasts closer together as he begins to pump himself. Every time Jungkook lifts his hips to dig himself deeper in, you can’t help but like the way the head pops up.

It’s almost cute. 

The position doesn’t last very long. You begin to cramp and Jungkook misses your mouth. So, you switch back to giving him a blow job. Then, that doesn’t last very long because Jungkook can’t do it anymore—he can’t hold it in. His breath hitches as you suck his dick. He throws his head back and hisses your name. 

“___,” he cries, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Then, he cums. 

He spills himself into your mouth and you swallow. As he empties himself, you take it upon yourself to lick his dick clean. Today, his cum tasted sweeter than usual. You wonder if his diet changed or if you just haven’t tasted him in a while.

Jungkook stares in amazement as you finish him off. He can’t help but let his mind spin as his body tingles from the sensation you caused. When you finish, you straighten yourself out and he hands you your shirt. Putting it on, you sit yourself back properly in the passenger seat and sigh in relief. Jungkook tucks himself back in.

“Good talk,” you joke, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Oddly enough, you feel awkward. What were you supposed to do now? After you two got into his car, it didn’t take much time before you threw yourself at him. Happily, he received your kisses and took it upon himself to drive towards his place. Parked outside his home, the coast was clear. You gave him head and now you feel stuck. 

Jungkook notices the panic in your eyes and reaches his hand out. He places them on your upper thigh, causing you to look at him. 

“What’s up with you?” Jungkook can’t help but ask. “You miss me too much?”

You scoff, “as if.”

He laughs, moving closer to you. Jungkook rubs your thighs innocently and squeezes it. It’s comforting for some reason… You like the way he touches you. 

“Spit it out, pookie.”

You shrug. “Nothing. Just wanted to give you head. You can take me home now.”

“Ha!” Jungkook taunts you. He then removes his hand from your thigh and reaches for his phone on the dashboard. Looking at the time, his eyes widen. 

“Shit!”

“What?”

“It’s been an hour? Mina called me like five times. I’m late—no, I missed it.”

Giving him head didn’t take an entire hour.. No, it was the flirting and the clingy talk that took majority of the time. Convincing him to let you give him head? That wasn’t even a conversation that needed to be done. It was always yes for you. So, you took your time.

Flirting.

Kissing.

And giving him a sloppy blowjob that completed the 1 hour mark of stalling.

Your lips curve into a small smile. Looking away, you feel a sense of relief. You aren’t proud of yourself but… This was something you could live with. As you stay silent, you think of what you could possibly say in this situation without coming off suspicious. 

But, your silence lasts a second too long.

“Wild guess but… Did you give me head so I’d miss the dinner?” Jungkook theorizes. 

You turn to him, eyebrows knitted together and your head slightly tilted to look confused. “Are you blaming me for missing the dinner?”

“Are you gaslighting me?”

You’re tongue-tied. For the first time in forever, you have no come back. Your brain can’t think of any words. Slowly and then all at once, you felt like a stupid idiot sitting in his car. Had you gone too far? You’ve never seen yourself act upon jealousy like this… You have no excuse. You have no explanation. You don’t feel like yourself. 

“Mina’s pretty. Is she your type?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your question. Partly because he didn’t want to entertain whatever you had stirring up in your mind and partly because he didn’t want to feed tour ego.

“___? What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighs, not knowing whether he finds this irritating or cute. Why would you sabotage something so meaningless? Dinner with friends? It’s not like you weren’t invited either… His thoughts lead him to one question: “I think you’re acting jealous. Are you jealous?”

Unsure of what to do, you decide to give up. “Are you going to be mad at me if I admit that I am?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this you admitting that you are?”

You reply in silence. 

“___?”

“Give me a fucking minute, okay? I’m trying to figure out if I should lie or not,” you groan. Taking a moment, you look into his eyes. “Am I supposed to lie, Jungkook?”

Now, he feels choked. “Maybe.”

You blink at him. 

Before you can stop yourself from the words that have been spiraling through your head all day—you confess softly; “I’m jealous.”

His head begins to spin. Is this what post-orgasm depression is? The pit of his stomach feels weird… 

Taking a deep breath, you shift your body to face him as best as you can. Fidgeting with your fingers, you push yourself to admit the ugly truth: “I don’t think I can lie about it… Jungkook, I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing you with other girls and I’m annoyed you have a little fan club. So, yeah. I sucked your dick so you’d miss your little date. I’m sorry, it was selfish of me… So, go catch up with her if you want…. I was out of place. I don’t care anymore—”

“Yes you do,” he cuts you off. 

You gulp, noticing the way his eyes have lit up. 

“Say it,” Jungkook insists. “Say it and I won’t go.”

With shifty eyes, you ask, “really?”

In all honesty, he wasn’t looking for a specific word or phrase. He just wanted you to say it. Say something. Make this fuck session mean something.

Jungkook breathes, “I’m all yours if you want me to be.”

“Yikes…” 

He shoots you a glare. You’ve ruined the moment. 

Jungkook reaches over and unlocks your door. “Fine. I gotta get going. You can walk home from here, right? Mina won’t mind me being a little late—”

You hit his chest with an annoyed look on your face. 

He smirks, “say it.”

“Jungkook,” you begin. “Don’t make me feel this way, okay? The second you continue this vibe, I’m going to expect more from you and that’s not what we—”

“Then expect more,” Jungkook scoffs. “It’s simple, ____. If you’re jealous, tell me. If you like me, tell me. If you hate this and want out—give me at least two weeks’ notice so I can emotionally prepare.” 

A part of your heart feels like it’s being tugged. Was he always this good with words? For some reason, you find it humorous. “You bring up confessing a lot… Are you trying to tell me something, pookie?”

“Please,” Jungkook laughs. “I’m not here to play stupid games and win stupid prizes. I’m not confessing until I have you absolutely in love with me… Pookie, this jealousy thing? It’s just the start. Just a little longer and you’ll be standing outside my window in the pouring rain, begging for me.”

In response, you make a puking face at him. “Shut up. The minute you get jealous, I’ll make you eat your words.”

He leans in and puckers his lips. “Why waste your time getting me to eat my own words when I can eat something else?” 

You cup his face and squish his lips together. Pressing your lips against his, you pull away quickly with a cheeky smile. “Keep entertaining your little fan club and you’ll be eating nothing.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “It’s not my fault they watch while we practice—”

“Jungkook.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He does just that.

Jungkook buckles your seatbelt and then his. Turning on the engine, he pulls out of his driveway and begins to drive you home. It’s a short 15 minute ride, but it’s filled with your rambling and constant shuffling of songs in his playlist.

As he stays silent, half-assed listening to you; he soaks in your presence and can’t find a single fibre in his body to be mad at you. He knows that what you did tonight was unacceptable. You had caused Mina to look like she got stood up and jeopardized a perfectly peaceful night by earning him a place on Taehyung’s hot seat of questions later tonight… But it’s okay.

With the smile on your face and the way you hesitate to reach for his hand as he drives; he can’t but help to feel like it’s worth it. Your hand will take his without a second thought one day. One day, you’ll be a part of the little fan club you hate so much. One day, it’ll work out because it has to.

If he never goes through these exact moments with you, maybe he wouldn’t have known his feelings for you… But, he does and it’s so clear to him.

Jungkook will wait for you.

[wolfiesmoon]

A day to remember

Inumaki x gn!reader

this is a request!! thank u so much for requesting💗anyways time for jujutsu tech prom hehe😌 (lets pretend prom is a thing in japan and that there's actually enough students to do a cute thing like this lmaoo)

also since this is a prom fic, the second years are now third years and the first years are second years

@noomon one tag for uuuuu

The atmosphere was oddly lovey-dovey at Jujutsu Tech recently. Prom was just around the corner, so it wasn't exactly odd that spirits were high, but considering the usually grim faces that you see in the halls of the school, it does feel strange to see everyone so excited.

Then again, you suppose it is better to make the most of every day as a sorcerer and little joys like this are precisely what make all the death and injury worth it.

But, on the topic of prom... You don't know who to go with! You might just end up skipping out or going alone if you must (Gojo will probably force you to go). After all, prom isn't all about dancing with a guy and romantic stuff, it's about having fun with your friends and laughing at the memories you made as students of this school.

Or, well, for this kind of school, maybe some of the memories are better forgotten.

"Hey, senpai!" you heard a familiar voice behind you. It was Yuuji and Nobara! They often come to talk to you about random things so you aren't at all surprised to see them.

"Hello." you greet them, wondering what crazy story they'll tell you today.

"Do you already have a date for prom?" Yuuji and Nobara beamed.

"Do I- No, no I don't." that's the question you were expecting the least. Why are they asking you this anyways?

"Great." Nobara huffed, very satisfied with your answer. Yuuji seemed even more excited than before. You had little question marks floating above your head.

"Why are you happy about me being single? Are you two trying to tell me something?" your eyebrows furrowed slighly. But then again, Nobara and Yuuji are idiots (affectionately), so you don't think they're seriously trying to insult you.

"Oh, actually, it's because-"

Nobara slapped a hand over Yuuji's mouth before he could continue his sentence. "It's nothing, don't worry about it." she smiled at you, dragging Yuuji away and muttering something you couldn't quite catch.

Huh. How strange.

But now that you think about it, there is one person you'd really like to go to prom with.

.

The next day, Panda approaches you after class.

"Hey, you should like, totally follow after me right now. I have something to show you." Panda suggested cheerfully. And why not? Knowing Panda, he probably just has something funny or stupid to show you, which is always a pleasure.

As you followed him, a strange feeling started rising up inside you. You felt oddly fidgety and excited. Maybe it was the whole prom thing. I mean, with the strange conversation you had with the second years just yesterday is it that much of a stretch to assume that you're about to get confessed to via a prom invitation?

Nah, you shouldn't get ahead of yourself. If anything, Panda's going to let you in on someone else's promposal plan so you can help them out. Not that that's a bad thing, you just really get your hopes up sometimes.

You were being lead down a dimly lit hallway in one of the more secluded areas of the school. There was even candles here and there, to set the mood, you assume. Wow, this is really a last minute invitation. They're asking you to help out at the last possible moment, huh?

You soon found yourself in front of a group of students, all lined up to make a little walkway for you and Panda. Panda stops right at the end of the line, motioning for you to continue walking. All the other third years lined up were smiling knowingly at you. What in the world is going on?

You walked down the line of students a bit hesitantly, taking the flowers each of them handed you along the way. Oh wow, this is impressive. And also definitely means that this promposal is meant for you. You can feel your heart start beating faster with excitement when taking each rose into your hands.

Who orchestrated a confession so grand? Please be him...

Nobara handed you a rose when you walked by her, smiling proudly at you. Now the question from yesterday makes perfect sense.

At the end of the line of students, you saw a few of your classmates holding up signs that said "I know I'm not a man of many words, but I really need you to kelp me out here. It's almost prom night and you're still not together with me (which is criminal in my opinion). This isn't just a prom invitation, by the way. Will you go out with me tunaight?"

There's only one person that could have written those signs. Not just because of the familiar handwriting, but also because of the words he chose. And sure enough, Inumaki Toge was proudly holding up the middle sign, looking at you.

You clutched the makeshift boquet of roses in your hand. It was him after all.

In all three years of your schooling at JJT, you've found Inumaki Toge to be especially charming. You had a bit of trouble talking to him at first, but you quickly got along after you bridged the whole "onigiri ingredient" gap. Honestly, you don't know how long it's been since you felt... a special way about him.

It took you a while to realise, but you definitely like him. More than a friend.

And knowing it's mutual...

He looked at you with such hope in his eyes that it made you want to hug him and kiss him all over. And so you did.

The sign he was holding fell to the ground as you embraced him tightly and he immediately hugged you back, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to him. As if that is the place where you belong.

"Yes, yes, I'll go to prom with you!" you yelled happily, leading everyone around you to cheer. You didn't really notice it because you were busy kissing Inumaki's cheeks, but all the other third years looked satisfied, knowing their ship has sailed at long last.

"But bad onigiri ingredient puns, really? I'm feeling the second hand embarrasment real hard right now." your face scrunched up slightly, cringing.

He simply giggled quietly in response, squeezing you again.

You can't deny, that is so him.

[thewritingrowlet]

The White Swan, ft. tripleS Ji Seoyeon

tags: first time (with a small twist), creampie, friends-to-lovers (kinda), (a lot of) pet names

word count: 15k+ words

author's note: here it is, The White Swan fic that I've mentioned before. I know that it's a long one and I should probably write shorter fics but I just couldn't help it. Lmk what you think. Thanks for reading <3

-

Ballet [noun; ba-ley, bal-ey]

“A classical dance form demanding grace and precision and employing formalized steps and gestures set in intricate, flowing patterns to create expression through movement.”

“Yeah, so what is that exactly?”, you wonder to yourself after looking up the word’s definition in the dictionary on your phone. “Grace and precision, huh? Interesting”, you continue. You put your phone in your pocket and promise yourself you’ll look up videos of people performing ballet when you get home as you keep walking past the lit-but-empty classrooms—it’s past 7 pm; most undergrads are at home, allowing the time and space for postgrads to do their stuff. You, a 3rd-year student, just finished tutoring Business Mathematics II on the 2nd floor of the F building to a bunch of sophomores and are now on your way home.

At least that was the plan, until you hear music coming out of one of the classrooms on the first floor. The music itself piques your curiosity, as you stop in front of the door of said classroom and look through the tinted glass door. You see that the chairs have been moved to the sides, creating a big empty space for the girl in the middle of the classroom; “wait, a girl?”, you think to yourself as you move your face closer to the glass. You keep your eyes on the girl wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt and grey training pants who’s dancing in that empty space; “that looks graceful and precise”, you mutter under your breath.

If someone were to see what you’re doing right now, they would most likely think you were a creep. You can’t even begin to describe how captivating and supple and charming the girl’s movements are. You also can’t help but keep your eyes on the girl the whole time—that is until the music ends, and she makes eye contact with you and starts walking to the door. It doesn't quite help you that she has a serious face on as she’s turning the door handle. “Hi, can I help you?”, she says. You don’t want her to think that you were stalking her, so you muster up your courage and get ready to apologize for peeking at her through the glass door like that. You start by bowing slightly before opening your mouth, “I was walking down from the 2nd floor and heard music coming out of this classroom, so I decided to see what was going on and ended up looking like a creep—which I’m not, just so we’re clear. I apologize for being so rude”.

You dare not look into her eyes and decide to look at your shoes instead while bracing for pain in case she slaps you in the face—let’s be real; it would be understandable on her part and deserving on yours. To your absolute surprise, she laughs instead; “oh, it’s fine”, she says, “you know, I’m kinda honored that someone decided to stop what they were doing and were fascinated by my routine”. You look up and see that she’s holding out a hand, probably looking to shake yours; “my name is Ji Seoyeon, but some call me Jiyeon to avoid confusion with someone else—you probably know who I’m talking about”, she says.

You nod at her words—she’s referring to Yoon Seoyeon, a fellow 3rd-year and the current president of the student council who also happens to be on the dean’s list; the girl does it all and boy does she do it well. You shyly take her hand for a handshake, and she surprises you one more time; “wait, aren’t you one of Professor Kim’s teaching assistants? I’ve been to one of your classes before. I think it was Business Mathematics II”, she reveals to you. “Funny you should say that”, you chuckle, “I just finished tutoring BM II and you weren’t there—for obvious reasons”. Her big eyes get even bigger due to her shock hearing your words and she runs to check her phone; “oh my goodness, it is Tuesday! I should’ve gone to your class!”, she exclaims and covers her face with her hands in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry, sunbaenim. I forgot that it was Tuesday thus I missed your class”. You shake your head and tell her that it’s not a big deal since TA’s classes aren’t mandatory.

“So, what now? Are you going to practice again?”, you ask. Jiyeon opens her mouth but before the words can come out, her stomach answers for her with a growl. “Oh, you must be hungry. Haven’t eaten yet?”, you are as surprised as she is. “I wanted to get dinner after practicing b-but you got to me first”, she turns her face away to hide her embarrassment. “I know I’m overstepping here but can I treat you to dinner?”, you offer her, hoping that she won’t take it as anything else other than a gesture of kindness and apology. Jiyeon looks down at her shoes before answering, “um, yes, please. Let me wipe myself first, though; I’m very sweaty”.

-

You find yourself walking towards the campus gate with Jiyeon, and you see your friend Suyeon in front of it, presumably waiting for someone or something. You walk up to her and tap her shoulder, “yo, waiting for someone?”. She turns to your direction and gives you a fist bump, “yeah, waiting for my Uber. What about you?”. You tell her your plan to get dinner before going home. “Sounds nice, can I come along?”, as soon as Suyeon says that, she makes eye contact with Jiyeon, “oh, you already have company. I would hate to third wheel”. You take a step back so that the two girls can face each other, “Suyeon-ah, this is Ji Seoyeon—also known as Jiyeon. Jiyeon-ah, this is my friend, Suyeon”. Suyeon shakes Jiyeon’s hand and asks, “Seoyeon? Like the president?”. Jiyeon answers timidly, “exactly like the president, sunbaenim. Please call me Jiyeon”. Before Suyeon starts assuming things, you jump to clarify, “I, uh, was spying on her like a weirdo when she was practicing in an empty classroom so now, I want to treat her to dinner as an apology”. “I didn’t ask”, Suyeon says before laughing, “nice to meet you, Jiyeon-ah. Tell me if he tries anything and I will whoop his ass for you”. You roll your eyes, “I might be single but I’m not a degenerate, Kim Suyeon”. “True, you’re actually nice and respectful—now get out of here, she must be starving already”, Suyeon gives you another fist bump and sends you on your way.

“So, any idea what to get?”, you ask Jiyeon as you two leave the campus area. “I kinda want something warm—something with broth or soup”, she says. “I don’t usually eat that sort of food, so I have no idea, sorry”, you admit your cluelessness. “That’s okay, we can go to my favorite spot if you don’t mind”, she says. “I sure don’t; lead the way”, you tell her. “Can we get an Uber? It’s like 5 kilometers away from here—I’ll pay, don’t worry”, she suggests. Walking for 5 kilometers is not only tiring, but also time consuming, so you agree with her suggestion; “yeah, we can get an Uber. I’ll pay for it, it’s okay—I’m not accepting counter arguments, by the way”.

You two stop in your tracks and wait for Jiyeon to call an Uber. Lucky for you, the app shows her that the car is 3 minutes away from your location, so you try to make small talk as you wait; “so what were you practicing? Your moves looked delicate, for a lack of better words”. You see a light of excitement in her eyes as she answers you, “that was ballet”. “Ballet, huh?”, you say internally. “There’s a ballet competition coming up in like 3 weeks or so and I’ve been preparing for that since last week”, she adds. “Do you think I can go and watch you perform?”, you ask her with as genuine a voice as possible. “You probably can”, she fiddles with her phone, presumably to ask someone about your question, “I’m gonna ask the contact person and find out exactly”. You see the car pulling up to you, so you save the rest of the conversation for later.

-

You’re now standing in front of a noodle soup restaurant and Jiyeon leads you into it. She walks straight to the register and tells the person attending it her order. She asks you what you want to eat but since you’re not familiar with the place, you ask her to order for you. After ordering, she leads you to her favorite table and takes a seat in front of you. “Oppa”, she says while looking at her phone, “the person said you can watch but you’ll need a ticket. How many do you want?”. Your heart flutters when you hear her call you that, but you quickly compose yourself and answer her question, “I’ll just take one, I don’t know if any of my friends would be interested in watching ballet. Can you ask them if there’s a better seat, by the way? I don’t mind paying extra as long as I get better view to see you perform”.

It is when Jiyeon gets off her phone does she realize what she just called you, “I’m sorry, sunbaenim”. You have an idea as to what she’s apologizing, but it doesn't hurt to make sure; “for what?”, you ask back. “I called you ‘oppa’ earlier, but I don’t know if I can call you that”, she says, apologetic. You wave off her concern, “it’s fine, there’s no need to act so formal with me”. You can feel that things are getting awkward, as shown by how Jiyeon speaks way less compared to earlier. Lucky for you, a waiter stops at your table and drops off your orders. Lucky for you again, Jiyeon seems to be excited seeing the bowl of warm noodle soup in front of her; “thank you for the meal!”, she says with excitement in her voice.

-

“Thank you for buying me dinner, sunbaenim”, she says while the two of you stand outside the restaurant. “The pleasure is mine, Jiyeon-ah.Any update about the ticket?”, you say to her. “Oh, right”, she fishes her phone from her pocket again and checks her messages, “okay so, the VIP ticket costs ₩8.000 and ₩10.000 for VVIP. VVIP is guaranteed to be on the first two rows while VIP is 3-5”. It’s a no-brainer for you, really; “I’ll take the 10k one, I need to make sure I’ll be able to see you”, you tell her. You pretend to not see her blush, but it’s kind of hard to do so you look away for a second as her fingers pace around on her phone screen restlessly. “Oppa”, you’re really starting to think that she’s become more comfortable with you, “the person said they need 1 or 2 days to process your purchase. In the meantime, can-can I, uh, have your number?”. You tell her your number digit by digit and manage to peek at the name she gives you; “BM TA-oppa”, how cute. After saving your contact information, she calls your number so that you can save hers on your phone. Your dullness leads you to naming her “Ji Seoyeon”, just like how you name everyone else on your phone aside from your parents.

“May I ask what your plan is after this?”, you ask Jiyeon. “I’m gonna walk home, I think; I don’t live far from here, somewhere in that direction”, she points vaguely to her left. You offer to walk with her to her apartment, and she says yes right away—she most likely heard what Suyeon said about you at the gate and thought that you wouldn’t try anything stupid with her, which is absolutely correct. You also offer to help her carry her tote bag and start walking in the direction she pointed at.

As you’re walking side by side with Jiyeon, your brain suggests asking her about ballet; “what is ballet to you, Jiyeon-ah?”. She stays silent for a few seconds before taking a deep breath, “ballet is a lot of things, oppa”. You’re not quite sure what she means, so you ask her to explain further. “First of all, ballet has taught me self-control and discipline; you can’t be good at ballet if you lack those two things—how can you convey grace and emotions, which is the whole point of ballet, to the audience if you can’t control yourself and be disciplined?”, she explains to you. You can tell that she has quite the experience and wisdom under her belt judging by her answer; “may I ask how long you’ve been into ballet? Your answer sounds like that from someone with experience”, you say to her. She scratches her temple, “Since I was 8 or 9, I think?”.

You finally arrive at her building after about 5 minutes of walking, so you hand her tote bag back to Jiyeon. She waves at you with a smile before entering her building, so you wave back before walking away. You’re only a dozen steps away from her building when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and see that it’s Jiyeon; “can I help you?”, you ask her. “Um, yes, you can; can you help me find empty classrooms to practice in?”. You do have that sort of reach as a teaching assistant, so you tell her that you indeed can, “when are you looking to practice?”. She pulls out her phone again and looks at her schedules, “Friday evening this week, Wednesday and Friday evening the following week, and finally Tuesday and Wednesday the week after that—each session will be like 2 hours long, by the way. I will miss another class of yours in that 3rd week, so I apologize in advance”. You pull out your phone and write down her practice schedules on the notes app, “I can secure a classroom for you this Friday but I’ll need to talk to some people for the other schedules”, you say to her. “Thank you, oppa. See you on Friday!”, she waves at you again before running back to her building.

-

Friday comes sooner than you anticipated, which means that you’ll be seeing Jiyeon after this tutoring session. You wrap up your class after the 55 minutes are up and send the freshmen on their way while urging them to be quick, stating that you have an important meeting after this—Jiyeon is important to you, so you’re not exactly lying to them. Once the class is clear of people, you send a text to Jiyeon, “I’m in Classroom 2-4 on the F building, it’s clear here”. She replies right away and says that she’s on her way to you, so you start moving the chairs to the side and make some room for Jiyeon.

Her timing couldn’t be more perfect, as you hear a knock on the door as soon as you’re done clearing the room. You tell her to come in and see that she’s in a different practice outfit from a few days ago. “Hiiii”, she says as she closes the door behind her. “Hello, Jiyeon-ah. How are you today?”, you greet the ballerina. “A couple of questions before we start”, she says, “number one; can I actually call you ‘oppa’? Number two; how did you manage to find an empty classroom for me seemingly so easily?”. You sit down on the teacher’s chair, “number one: yes, you can. Number two: did you forget that I’m a TA? I can do these sort of things, you know—Professor Kim gave me this freedom when I became her TA”. Jiyeon nods to your answers, “very cool”. You take your backpack and head to the door. “Oppa, where are you going?”, she asks. You’re caught off guard by her question, “Oh, I don’t know; I just thought I should leave and give you some privacy”. She rushes to you and grabs your wrist, “do you not want to watch me practice? I can give you an exclusive preview for the competition”. That sounds like a fun time as much as it is a spoiler, so you concur and take a seat at the teacher’s desk.

“Start the music on my signal, please”, she hands you her phone and takes the center spot. She mouths the countdown, and you press play right after she finishes it. The same music from a few days ago starts playing, and Jiyeon starts her routine right away. You are immediately fascinated by her movements, and you can’t help but be silent and wholeheartedly pay attention. You find every movement she’s making to be charming and moving but can’t string the words together to describe it; “this must be what a pro looks like”, you think to yourself.

You’re completely entranced by the sight in front of you that you don’t realize that the performance is complete. Only when she sighs do you come back to your senses and feel the tears that are falling out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “That was not as good as I wanted, I’m sorry”, she says. She hears your subtle sniffle and looks at you perplexedly, “are you okay, oppa? Why are you crying?”. You sniffle before answering her, “wha-what do you mean that wasn’t good? Like-like… what?”. You wipe your eyes with your hands before continuing your speech, “that was… sooo beautiful and charming and captivating and flawless and-and-and—oh, God, I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life”. Jiyeon walks up to you and lifts your chin with a smile on her face, “you’re so sweet, oppa; Suyeon-sunbaenim was right”. She then wipes your tears softly with her thumbs, “thank you for the kind words, oppa. They mean a lot to me, you know”.

You take a few deep breaths to compose yourself before sighing, “I swear I’ll cry like a damn baby if I see you perform this at the competition”. She walks back to her spot and assumes a perfect standing posture, “I’m sorry, I should’ve started with something lighter—I’ll do it now, actually. Here, play the 24th song”. You’re surprised to hear the number, “you have 24 routines, dear?”. She blushes and covers her face when she hears the pet name, “ki-kind of—aaaaaah don’t call me that, oppaaaaa”. You lightly slap your mouth, “I’m so sorry; force of habit from my parents”. Jiyeon exhales and focuses again, “press play now, the song doesn’t start until after a few seconds”.

She stands by and waits for the song to start, which takes about 5 seconds after you pressed play. You’re totally bewitched again and brought back to a trance like earlier, as you sit with your mouth open like a dumbass. “Whoa”, you mutter under your breath, “this girl is crazy good”. You wish you were able to come up with a sentence—or a paragraph—that can describe the way she’s moving right now. It just so happens that your brain is too busy trying to comprehend what you are looking at. At some point, your brain decides to give up and tells your eyes to shed more tears. Unlike earlier, however, you can feel your tears rush down your face; “so this is ballet, huh?”, you say to yourself.

Her routine ends with her looking straight at you, so you cover your eyes to hide the flowing tears. Judging by her pants, she seems to be tired—if you’re doing something that passionately the way she is now, you’re guaranteed to be tired after. You turn away from her and wipe your eyes before saying anything. “I’m so sorry, you must think I’m some sort of a loser for crying so much”, you admit your defeat despite feeling embarrassed. “No, I don’t”, she says, “you have a good heart and that’s always a great sight to see”. She walks to her stuff and grabs a bottle of water, ��would you like some water?”. You decline her offer by shaking your head, “with the way I’m crying right now, I’ll just drink my tears”.

She laughs before taking a gulp herself, “you know, I’ve never had someone cry when they watch me practice before, and I’ve practiced in front of people many times”. You look down in shame, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what has gotten into me”. “Thank you, oppa”, she utters. You turn to face her, “huh? For what?”. She exhales deeply before replying, “for showing genuine interest in my craft”. To your surprise, she decides to give you a peck in the cheek, thus forcing you to blush. “I’m just being myself, Jiyeon-ah”, you say. “That’s not my name, is it?”, she giggles cutely, “where did the pet name go? Did a cat steal it, oppa?”. You feel your cheeks get hotter, “are you sure I can call you that? I mean, the first one was an accident”. She shrugs, “I don’t see why not. Accidents aren’t always bad, oppa; they can lead you to great things too, you know”.

-

You stayed with her until the end of her practice, which took about 2 hours in total. With every routine she did, you laid a brick to build up some resemblance of mental toughness to not bawl your eyes out the whole time—you’re slightly worried that you’ll eventually be desensitized by the gracefulness that she’s showing you through ballet, but that’s a problem for another time. “Dear”, you call out to Jiyeon, who is now lying on her stomach while fiddling with her phone, to get her attention, “can I treat you to dinner again after this?”. She rolls onto her back to look at you, “Sure, what are we getting?”. You open your notes app scroll through the list of good restaurants nearby, “tteokbokkiand popcorn chicken? Malatang? Noodle soup like last time, maybe?”. “The first option sounds good. Can we get that?”, Jiyeon says. “We sure can, we’ll take my car and drive there”, you stand up from your seat and help her get on her feet. “Wait outside, dear; I wanna change clothes first”, she says. You rush to exit the room to make sure Jiyeon doesn’t see the blush and shock on your face.

You wait outside as she asked, and it didn’t take long until you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Let’s go, oppa”, she says. “Man, I would love to hear the pet name again”, you silently wish, “yeah, let’s go. My car is in the parking lot”. “I didn’t know you had a car”, she comments as the two of you start walking. “And I didn’t know you were a ballet prodigy—surprise, surprise”, you joke. She laughs enthusiastically at your small joke and suggests a brilliant idea; one you’ve been waiting for her to say, “we should get to know each other better soon, oppa. I like surprises and all that but not when I’m looking for a boyfriend”. You pretend to not hear what she just said and keep walking until you reach your car.

You unlock the doors and get in with Jiyeon. “Why is your car so clean, oppa?”, she looks around the interior and even opens the glovebox—you’re surprised to see her do that but thankfully you barely keep stuff in it so she doesn’t find anything that might raise suspicion. You know you got caught, so you admit to her that you had your car all cleaned up yesterday to prepare for the dinner “date” tonight. “Ah, good job thinking ahead”, she praises you. You head to the exit and call out to your phone to find the quickest route to get to your destination; “8 minutes to destination”, it says. As much as you want to act like you were that famous racer Scott Chegg and beat the estimated time, you have an important passenger next to you right now, so you suppress your intrusive thoughts and drive like a sane person.

-

“Alright, let’s park here and walk. The restaurant is in that alleyway to your left—stay in the car for a sec, please”, you say to her after parking your car and killing its engine. Jiyeon does as you say, and it gives you enough time to rush to the other side of the car and open the door for her; “my lady”, you say, offering her your hand to help her get out of the car. “Aww, so cute”, she takes your hand and gets out of the car. Jiyeon decides that it’s now okay to have more physical contacts with you, as she leans her head against your shoulder while wrapping an arm around yours. As much as you enjoy it, you don’t want to let your horses run out of the barn just yet; there’ll be plenty of opportunities to do so in the future (hopefully). You point to the restaurant that has a bright yellow and blue sign and lead her to it.

“Good evening, welcome to Terrific Tteokbokki. What can I get you today?”, the staff greets you. You’re familiar with this place, so it’s your turn today to order for the two of you, “hi, good evening. Can we get one large bowl of Terrific Combo and two drinks?”. “Absolutely”, the staff’s finger scurries around the computer screen in front of him, “that would be ₩9000 with the drinks”. You see Jiyeon pull out her wallet as you do yours, so you hold her hand back and insist on paying for tonight’s dinner. The staff then hands you two large empty cups for the bottomless drink that comes with the combo. You hand Jiyeon a cup and walk over to the drink machine with her. You fill your cup with iced lemon tea while she fills hers with zero-sugar soda. “You like soda, Jiyeon-ah?”, you ask her. “Only if it’s zero-sugar, otherwise it’s too much sugar—paying attention to what you eat and drink is important, oppa. I suggest doing so if you haven’t already”, she says. You then tell her that you only pay attention to how much you eat and how much you exercise in a day but not to the actual nutritional contents of your food.

You both find a table to sit at and wait for your food to be delivered. Jiyeon follows up on the conversation from a few minutes ago; “can I ask what your exercise is like?”, she asks. “I play basketball for at least an hour on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday and lift weights on Monday and Thursday. On the weekend I usually get on the treadmill to get my steps in”, you explain to her. “You play basketball, oppa?”, she looks at you in disbelief. You’re not quite sure why or how she finds that to be surprising considering your height—anyone who sees your height usually assume that you play either basketball or volleyball, “yeah, I was a role player playing off the bench as a freshman when Yoon Seoyeon’s boyfriend was the captain and I won the national championship with him. I left the team in my sophomore year after he graduated—he got summa cum laude, by the way. My man instantly got a job after graduating at a tech startup after that. He was always the big brain both on the court and in the classroom”, you tell her. “But why did you leave the team? You could’ve taken over as the captain”, she presses on. You sigh at the cheerless memory, “the captain left some gigantic shoes to fill, and no one could fit in them, including myself—no one could replicate what he was as a leader and a player. Team morale started sinking to the bottom of the Mariana Trench as we started crashing out of tournaments as favorites, so I decided to dip and became a TA instead”. You see a bright lightbulb float over her head as she suggests an idea, “can we have a little basketball date one day, oppa? I would love to learn basketball from you”. “We sure can, dear. Just tell me when”, you smile at her.

“Thank you for the meal!”, Jiyeon says with an excited face after a waiter drops off the food on your table. “That is so good, oppa. Do you come here often?”, she says. You swallow your mouthful before replying, “yeah, the captain used to take us here on the weekends. He was such a good guy, no wonder Seoyeon loves him so much”. She tilts her head in curiosity, “you speak so highly of this captain, oppa. Can I ask what sort of relationship you have with him?”. Recounting the cheerful memory helps draw a smile on your face, “he was the true leader for us; his presence alone could lift the spirit of every player around him. Not to mention that he was such a great scorer and facilitator for the team. We all relied on him every time he was on the floor”.

In the corner of your eyes, you see a tall guy start walking up to you and Jiyeon from the cashier area. “Yo, yo”, the guy says, so you look over and see that it’s the captain that you were talking about. “Hyung!”, you drop your jaw in shock, “what are you doing here?”. He gives you a fist bump, “I’m getting some food for me and Seoyeon. What are you doing here?”. You wipe your mouth before answering him, “I’m treating my friend here for dinner. It’s so nice to meet you, hyung. How are you?”. You see that gentle smile that you always liked on his face, “I’m doing very well, man. Would you mind introducing me to this friend of yours?”. You turn to Jiyeon, “hyung, this is my friend Ji Seoyeon—yes, the same first name as your girlfriend—Jiyeon-ah, this is my captain”. Jiyeon stands up and greets him, “hello, sunbaenim. Nice to meet you”. “Oh, there’s always room for more sweet girls named Seoyeon in this world. Please, have a seat”, he says, “tell me something, Jiyeon-ah: is he treating you well? I’ll kick his ass to the ground for you if he ever tries anything dumb with you”. Jiyeon laughs shyly, “he’s actually very kind and sweet, sunbaenim. He even helped me find an empty classroom so that I can practice ballet”. Captain-hyung nods in approval, “Ballet, huh? That’s great to hear; I could tell that he was a good person when he first joined us for practice. I sometimes wish we could utilize him more during that run”. His words make you shy, “oh, c’mon, hyung; you know I was always happy with my role, right?”. “Oh, I know”, he pats you on the back, “we couldn’t have done it without you”.

You hear the staff call out his name, which means that his order is ready to be picked up and it’s time for him to leave. “I tried paying for your food, but I was told that you already paid so your next visit here is on me, you can buy whatever you want and I’ll pay”, he waves goodbye before walking out the door, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”. You don’t realize that you still have a smile on your face until Jiyeon tells you about it, “you like him that much, huh?”. You turn your focus back to Jiyeon and the food in front of you, “I love him”. Jiyeon smiles hearing you say that, “but do you love me?”. Your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets due to the surprise, “o-oh, um, I-I do, honestly—I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me”. Jiyeon looks down at the table to hide her pink hue, “I love you too, dear”.

-

“Oppa”, she says, standing outside the restaurant, “can you take me home, please?”. “Absolutely, dear”, you get in the car with Jiyeon and start it so you can take her home. “Can I play some music, oppa? There’s this group that I’ve been obsessed with”, she says. You give her your approval, so she connects her phone with your car’s speakers over Bluetooth. “This song is called Girls Never Die, oppa”, she says as the song starts playing. You listen and pay attention to the song that’s playing over the speakers as you keep driving. You find the lyrics to be moving and meaningful while the beat is uplifting; “this is a great song”, you think. “What do you think, oppa?”, she asks. “I think it’s a great song”, you offer her your take, “I really like how they say ‘even if I fall, I stand back up’ and ‘I’m going until the end and not giving up. I think such messages are very uplifting and relatable, especially coming from a girl group. Combine that message with the beat that it’s delivered with, and it’s just an amazing song. The title itself is great, by the way. What group is this?”. She smiles in approval of your opinion, “they’re called tripleS and they have 24 members, oppa. I’ve been listening to their songs a lot recently for the messages that each one delivers”. You squint your eyes, “isn’t 24 too many?”. Jiyeon chuckles, “apparently not, no”.

-

“We’re here, dear”, you announce to Jiyeon, who happened to fall asleep during the ride. She slowly wakes up from her peaceful nap, “we are? That’s unfortunate”. You look at her with a confused face, “what do you mean?”. She stretches her arms and yawns, “I would love to spend more time with you”. Your horses start getting excited, but you hold them for now, “we can do that in the future. You should rest, you must be tired from practicing”. She twiddles her finger, showing you some aegyo, “can you open my door like before?”. You get out of the car with a smile on your face and open the passenger door for her, “may I, sweetie?”. “Aaaah, oppaaa”, she takes your hand while her cheeks are on fire—with how often she’s blushing tonight, you might as well start calling her tomato cheeks. You walk her to the door of her building and say your farewell. Instead of walking into her building, she decides to walk closer to you. “Can I help you, dear?”, you ask, unsure of her intentions. “Lean forward, please”, she says. You lean forward as requested and your new height allows her to give you a peck on the lips while being on her tippy toes. “I love you”, she confesses. You get to her eye level and reciprocate her confession while looking straight into her big eyes, “I love you too, baby”. “That’s new”, she giggles before sighing, “I was going to ask you to come up with me but I’m super tired. I’m sorry, oppa”. You pet her head softly, “we’ll get more chances in the future, trust me. I’ll see you for your next practice, okay?”

-

Today is Tuesday in the third week of her schedule. It's been two weeks since Jiyeon kissed you (well, pecked you on the lips) in front of her building. You helped her secure one of the big classrooms on the 3rd floor last week so that she could have more space to practice. She even asked you to record her practices because she wanted to monitor herself after. Just like week one, you brought her to dinner and took her home after each session, all that while getting to know each other better with every conversation and every bit of skinship.

Today’s practice session has just ended, too. “Oppa, I’m going straight home. You don’t have to buy me dinner”, she says while sitting on the floor and leaning against a wall—“she’s not as high-spirited as usual”, you say in your head. “Can I take you home?”, you offer her as you grab your keys. Jiyeon rejects your offer by shaking her head, “I’ll take the bus and walk after that. Thank you for the offer, though”. You come up to Jiyeon and kneel in front of her to get to her eye level, “are you okay?”. You see on her face that she has a lot of things in mind; “honestly, I’m not. Today was rough”, her deep sigh sends a pang of sadness to your heart, “I don’t feel like talking about it right now, sorry”. She signs to you that she wants to be helped onto her feet, so you stand up and help her up. “We can walk together to the gate, though”, she says.

Jiyeon has been silent the whole way to the gate, and it has become very obvious to you that she’s not feeling well at all—depressing sight, really. It’s a shame that you don’t know who she usually hangs out with because otherwise you’d be able to ask what she likes and get it for her as a small gift next time you see her. “Thank you, oppa. I’ll walk to the bus station, get on a bus, and then continue walking to my building”, she says when you two arrive at the gate. You nod, “I hope you feel better soon. Tell me if I can help you in any way, okay?”. You two exchange goodbyes and go in different directions after.

-

You just arrive at your apartment and walk straight to the bathroom after dropping your stuff at the door. You stand in the shower wondering what you can do to help Jiyeon feel better. After exploring potential options, you eventually come up with an idea to buy her some chocolate and chips when you see her tomorrow for her last practice before the competition. You hear a chime from your phone as you’re getting out of the shower. When you go check it, it’s a bunch of text messages from Jiyeon.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 21:24]

Oppa

I just finished showering, in bed rn

I’m so sorry for being a bitch to you earlier

I’ll see you tomorrow for my last practice

Thank you for being so kind to me all the time <3

You rub your eyes in disbelief—there’s no way she just called herself a bitch. You then form your replies and send it to her.

[You | 21:25]

Hi sweetie

No, you weren’t being a bitch

Don’t call yourself that ever again

It’s okay to not feel well sometimes

I can tell that you’re tired and possibly frustrated

Lmk if I can help

I’ll see you tomorrow, dear <3

Jiyeon sees the text that you sent her; “oh, he can tell I’m not feeling well; was it too obvious?”, she says to herself. “Oppa”, she sighs, “what would I do without you?”. Jiyeon tries to come up with another reply, wanting to express her gratitude and love for you, but then decides against it and chooses to say it to you directly tomorrow. She lies in her bed and feels tears flowing out; “if only you know how grateful I am for you, oppa”, she wipes the tears on her cheeks with her hand, “I will make you mine, oppa; no one else deserves you more than me”.

-

Every day you wake up and feel a rush of excitement in your heart at the prospect of seeing Jiyeon. You are, however, a bit sad and concerned as this Wednesday is the last day of practice and you’re not sure if she’ll be down to seeing you again after the competition. You have secured the same classroom as yesterday for her to practice in tonight, so at least you have that going for you. You put your worries to the side and promise yourself that you’ll accept whatever outcome you might get today.

You get in the car after showering and putting on an old jersey and shorts, ready to go to the supermarket to get some groceries since you plan on inviting Jiyeon over for dinner, aside from the fact that you’re running out of some items as well. You sincerely hope she doesn’t see this gesture as an attempt to get in her pants, because it really isn’t; you just want to show off your cooking (read: “pasta boiling and cheese grating”) skills to Jiyeon.

Once you get there, you pull out your phone and start getting one item after the other from different aisles of the supermarket. It doesn't take too long to get everything since you’ve categorized the items into the aisles that they’re in. You stop near the meat and fish section and look at your list again to make sure you’re not forgetting anything: dried macaroni and fettucine noodles, unsweetened milk, zero-sugar soda, smoked paprika powder, instant noodles, bok choys, carrots, boneless chicken thighs, mozzare—someone’s tapping your shoulder from behind; “can I help you?”, you say as you turn around to see who it is.

You see that it’s Jiyeon who was trying to get your attention. “Hiiiiiii”, she says excitedly, visibly feeling much better than when you last saw her. You tuck a stray strand of hair on her face behind her ear, “hi, sweetie. What are you doing here?”. She tickles your waist with both hands, “you stole my line, oppaaaa”. “Ahahaha okay, okay, you win—how did you know I’m tickly there?”, you hold Jiyeon by the wrists to stop her from tickling you. “I didn’t, I was just guessing. Glad to know you’re tickly there, though”, she tries freeing her wrists from your hands, so you let her go with no resistance. “No, but seriously, what are you doing here?”, you ask again. She points to her basket that she left near the soap rack, “I am getting some soap, shampoo, and skincare stuff”.

Jiyeon moves in front of you and looks at your trolley; “quite the stuff you have here, oppa”, she comments as she picks up a bag of macaroni from it, “inviting someone over for a meal?”. You’ve been caught for the second time in 3 weeks, all thanks to how sharp of a perception Jiyeon has; “I, um, was actually planning on inviting you over for dinner one day”, you say, scratching the back of your head and feeling embarrassed. “Awww, so sweet”, she puts the bag of macaroni down and continues, “what are we having tonight?”.  “I-I’ve been obsessed with mac and cheese, and I wanted to make some for you, as you can tell by the milk and macaroni and mozzarella—oh, I also have some zero-sugar soda for you”, you show her said items you have in your trolley. She nods in approval when she sees the items you’re showing her, “great timing, seriously. I’ve been craving mac and cheese myself. With the way we think alike, we must be meant for each other, oppa”. You turn your head to the right to hide your blush, and you see the assortment of meat in front of you; “oh, hey, I was going to get this”, you pick up a pack of thinly sliced beef before putting it into your trolley, “500 grams a pack, huh? Sounds good”.

You head to the cashier with Jiyeon and pay for your stuff and hers. “I see that you didn’t buy alcohol. Do you not drink, oppa?”, she says. You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, “I hate the idea of being drunk and possibly not having control of my actions—like what if I did something criminal while being drunk? That would be disastrous for everyone. I know people say ‘well, you can drink responsibly’ but not drinking to begin with is my way of being responsible”, you explain to her. She nods in agreement, “that’s a good approach to it, I think. Come on, let’s get out of here”. You chuckle as the splitting doors of the supermarket close behind you, “and go where, my cute ballerina?”. The realization stops Jiyeon in her tracks—where can you two go together after an impromptu meeting? It’s not lunch time yet, either. Thankfully for Jiyeon, she thinks fast and can come up with plans in an instant; “can I come over, oppa? I would love it if I could chill there until class starts”. “So, I guess we’ll go to your place first to get some stuff? That way you can go to your class from my apartment; it’s closer to campus than yours anyway”, you complete her idea with your own.

You put your stuff in the trunk and start driving to Jiyeon’s apartment. She told you to not come up with her so you wait in your car on the side of the street until she comes out. You scroll through social media for what feels like a few minutes, and that’s when she opens the passenger door and jumps back in. You notice that she only has a small laptop bag, so you make a comment referring to it, “not too busy of a day, I see”. “Mm-hmm”, she says, “two classes, 3 credits each. There’s a reason I’ve been practicing on Wednesdays, you see. Start driving, oppa; I want to chill in your apartment right meow”.

-

“Welcome to my apartment. Please make yourself at home”, you say as you open the door for her. She walks straight in after taking off her shoes but not her socks; “oi, oi, not so fast”, you call out to her, “socks off, please—you can wear these sandals”. She timidly jogs back to where you are and grabs the sandals from your hands, “sorry, I got too excited”. “Excited for what? There are barely things here”, you ask her. She pouts cutely and points at the sofa in front of the TV, “that thing looks soooooo soft, oppa. Can I lie down on it, pleaaaaase?”. You pet her head softly to encourage her, “go on, dear. I’ll get you a blanket”. “Yay!”, she enthusiastically runs to the sofa and lies down on it, “my God, this is sooo comfortable”. You return to her with a spare blanket and cover her with it, “it gets pretty cold in this apartment, so I’ll cover you with this so that you don’t freeze—I imagine a frozen ballerina wouldn’t be able to perform well on stage”. She accepts your gesture with a smile, and only now do you realize how sweet Jiyeon’s smile is; “I will do everything I can to protect that smile, sweetie”, you promise to yourself.

You take a seat on the armchair next to the sofa and pull out your phone, “what time is your class? Would you like to eat something now?”. She sighs as she turns to lie on her side, “1 pm, oppa. I would love to eat something but I’m also sleepy so please let me sleep here for a few hours and wake me up at 12:15”. She closes her eyes immediately after saying that, so you make your way to your bedroom and chill there until 12:15. You decide to get some extra sleep after setting an alarm at 12:10 and 12:15 to make sure Jiyeon won’t be late to her class.

In your sleep, you feel like a weight has been put on top of your body thus making it hard for you to breathe. As an attempt to keep your goofy ass alive, your brain shakes you awake. “Huh?”, you mumble softly with only half of your consciousness in your body. “Oh, it’s Jiyeon”, your brain says as it closes your eyes to go back to sleep—“WAIT, IT’S JIYEON!”, the discovery sends shock to your body. You don’t want to disturb her peace, though, so you calm your breathing and stay still. You dare wrap your arms around her body, and she lets out a soft hum in response; “I hope she won’t kick me in the balls when she wakes up”, you quietly pray to whatever heavenly being is looking down on the both of you.

You slowly unwrap your arm and grab your phone to look at the time; 12:02, it says. As soon as you return your arm to its previous position, Jiyeon wakes up from her slumber and looks at you with heavy eyes. “Hi, darling”, you greet the girl on top of you. “Why did you leave me, oppa?”, she rests her head on your chest again. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just wanted to lie on the bed until 12:15”, you pet her head to apologize. She looks at you and pinches your cheek playfully, “well, you should’ve carried me to bed with you. It was cold on the sofa, you know?”. A pang of guilt strikes you—your mom would kill you 3 times over for leaving a girl in the cold like that; “I’m so sorry, dear, but I wouldn’t do such thing without your consent”. “It’s okay, I trust you even in my sleep”, she says before sighing, “what time is this?”. You look at your phone one more time, “um, 12:03—no, 12:04”.

She lifts her torso off your body and pulls you into a sitting position with her still on your lap, “please keep me warm, oppa”. You take her hand and notice that she is indeed cold, so you hug her tighter to keep her warm. “Oppa”, she pokes you in the cheek, “you’re not angry that I suddenly jumped on your body like that, are you? Please don’t be angry, I’m sorry”. “No, I’m not angry at all”, you clarify, “I should be the one apologizing for leaving you in the cold”. She pulls away from the hug and gives you a fleeting kiss, “promise me that you won’t leave me again, ever”. You take her pinky in yours, “I promise, sweetie”.

-

“Oppa, do you not have classes today?”, she says as she puts on her shoes. “I don’t but I’m meeting some of Professor’s Kim students at 5 pm. One of them texted me yesterday asking me to help them with a project”, you walk to the door where she is, “do you want to walk, or do you want me to drive you there?”. “5 pm is still a few hours away so you should just stay here, I’ll walk”, she waves at you, “I’ll see you for tonight’s practice?”. You nod and she walks out of the door right away. You chase her and grab her wrist, “you forgot something”. She turns to you in confusion, “what?”. “This”, you lean forward and kiss her, “you forgot my kiss”. “Oh my God, I hate you so much”, she blushes and starts running away, “I’ll see you later!”.

-

The little meeting with Professor’s Kim students is done, which leaves you one last thing to do tonight: watch Jiyeon’s last practice. “Same place as yesterday, dear”, you send a text to her, and she sends you a thumbs-up emoji as a reply. You continue scrolling through social media until you hear the door swing open. Jiyeon is wearing a black tank top and grey training pants, and you can’t help but drop your jaw; “respectfully, you look so attractive right now”, you comment. She smirks, “that was the plan, glad it works”. Your eyes widen in shock, “pardon?”. “You didn’t hear anything”, she says, “let’s practice, shall we?”. She hands you her phone and tells you to play whatever song because “being predictable is boring” (her words, not yours) so you do as she asks and pick a random song.

It takes her one second to recognize the song and start her routine. It starts with a clap of hands, which makes you jump in your seat a little due to the suddenness. Her moves, combined with how she’s dressed, show you all the details of her curves, but you’re trying to not have a boner right now. As you keep watching, however, you start getting more emotional than horny—you managed to not cry during the previous sessions but it’s very hard not to today for some reason. You lock in and pay attention with every cell of your brain, until you see her make a specific move with her hand and tears instantly drop onto your cheeks like the first time you watched her—unlike last time, however, you’re not shy to cry in front of her. You decide to savor the emotions and cry your heart out until you have no tears left. “My God, I’m such a loser”, you say to yourself.

You’re too busy crying that you don’t notice that the song has ended. “Crying again, oppa?”, she approaches you to check on you. “Ye-yeah, sorry”, you wipe your tears so that you can see her clearly. She pulls you to your feet and hugs you, “I was starting to think that you didn’t like me enough to cry”, she says. You take a deep breath to compose yourself, “you’re out of your mind; there’s no way I can stop liking you”. You feel her pat your back to help you calm yourself, “I like you too, oppa”.

The tears finally stop flowing after a few seconds, so you ask her to let go of the hug. You sit your ass back down while she walks to her stuff. “Here, oppa: your VVIP ticket”, she hands you a ticket with your name and seat number on it, “don’t lose this, please. I’ll never talk to you again if you do”. You sniffle before talking back, “thank you, sweetie. I’ll make sure I arrive early”. She walks away from you and tells you to play another song, so you close your eyes and pick randomly again. “Aaaaah, that���s the same song, oppa. Play a different one without closing your eyes this time”, she says with a pout. “Oh, sorry”, you scroll quickly to the bottom of the playlist and choose whatever. “There we go; now watch me”, she says as she starts another routine.

-

Jiyeon immediately collapses on the floor after that last routine. Sensing that something is wrong, you run to her and see that her eyes are closed but her mouth is open. “Baby, baby? Are you okay? Say something, love—holy shit, what is happening right now?”, pet names fly out of your lips as you panic. You carry her in your arms and run out of the classroom to find help. As you do, you hear her mumble something weakly; “oppa, oppa”. You start running faster after hearing a sign of life from Jiyeon; “hold on, baby; I’m getting some help for you”. You then hear a giggle from her, “oppa, I’m okay. I was just messing with you”. You drop to your knees right away, “oh my fucking—that wasn’t funny, you know? I thought you passed out from exhaustion or something”. She frees herself from your arms and pecks you on the cheek, “I mean I was exhausted, but I’m fine. I’m glad that you were quick to take action, who knows when I might need that”. You get on your feet and pull her up after, “you’re lucky I exercise often, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to carry you and run that fast at the same time like that”. She giggles, “yeah I had a sneak peek at how fit you are thanks to that jersey you wore at the supermarket—very attractive, I must say”.

“Fuck, that was scary—so what now?”, you ask her with heavy pants. “Let’s get our stuff and get out of here. I want to go home and get as much rest as I can”, she says. “Sure, I’ll wait for you in the car”, you walk in the other direction to get to the parking lot.

You get a bottle of water from the trunk and finish it right away to cope with the exhaustion and panic caused by Jiyeon’s little act. “That’s the fastest I’ve seen someone drink out of a bottle”, Jiyeon remarks as she approaches you, “I’m sorry, oppa. I didn’t mean to make you panic like that”. You wave her off, “it’s okay, sweetie. I’m glad that you’re okay because I would’ve lost my shit otherwise. Let’s get you home now, alright?”. You get in the car followed by Jiyeon and start driving to take her home.

-

“Oppa, we probably won’t see each other until after the competition is finished”, she says when you two are standing outside her building. You pet her head, “it’s okay, sweetie. You know where I sit so look at me if you can, okay?”. She gets on her tippy toes, and the height difference makes you laugh. “Aaaaaah, kiss me alreadyyyyyy”, she complains cutely. You grab her chin and pull her closer to you before kissing her passionately. “I love you, baby. See you on Saturday, okay?”. She seems to be satisfied with the kiss, as seen by how she’s blushing, “I love you too, oppa. See you on Saturday”.

-

Saturday has finally come and there’s only one thing in your mind right now: watch Jiyeon perform at the competition. You grab your phone as soon as you wake up and text her right away.

[You | 08:03]

Good luck, baby

I’m rooting for you

If it wasn’t obvious already

<3

She replies to your messages as soon as you send them.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 08:03]

I’m nervous, oppa

Pray for your baby girl

Love you too

You smack your forehead at the realization that you forgot to say “I love you” but you know—or hope, rather—that she knows that already. You jump off the bed and get ready to get a shower, and that’s when you hear another notification.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 08:03]

You owe me dinner btw

[You | 08:03]

I know

I hope you like mac and cheese

-

You have about 10 hours to kill before you need to leave to watch Jiyeon, so you decide to clean your apartment first. You make sure to that everything is spotless because you plan on inviting Jiyeon over for dinner tonight, and should everything go smoothly, formally confess your love to her, in case it hasn’t been made clear multiple times.

After cleaning everything, you decide to hop on your laptop and catch up with the outside world. Email from Professor Kim about your payment as TA; answered, email from a sophomore apologizing for missing your class; answered, email from Professor Min thanking you for helping her students; answered. You scroll through your inbox and see that none is left unanswered, so you decide to play some video games—you want to rank up on TFT but haven’t got the time to play that much recently.

You eventually got sick of playing after 3 games, so you decide to get some nap since you have plenty of time left in the day. In your sleep, you’re shown a dream where Jiyeon is running to you with a trophy in hand before jumping into your arms for a hug. “Oppa, we did it! We won!”, she says, and you can’t help but bawl your eyes out—such pleasant dream, isn’t it? You hope that it’s a good sign for what’s coming today.

-

You arrive at the venue at 18:06 and head straight in. A staff greets you at the entrance of the hall and asks you to show him your ticket. You do as he asks and he then escorts you to your seat—“must be VVIP treatment”, you think as you’re led to your seat. You take a seat that he points at and pull out your phone; less than an hour left until the show starts, your phone tells you. Your phone also tells you that you have some incoming texts from Jiyeon.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 18:10]

I see a pretty boy in a suit sitting in the front row

He’s soooo cuteeeee

Very tall too, my God

No one else has arrived yet so you know that she’s referring to you, but you can’t see her anywhere so you give up trying to spot her instantly. You smile at your phone while reading her texts and she follows up with some more.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 18:10]

Look at him, he’s smiling!!!!

Omg I love him so damn much <3 <3 <3

His bae is a lucky girl for sure

You cover your mouth with a hand to muffle an excited squeal. You finally manage to form some replies of your own after calming yourself down.

[You | 18:11]

I can’t with you

You’re driving me insane

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 18:11]

Oh, it’s you!!!!

Thank you for coming!!!! <3

You shake your head and shove your phone back in your pocket because one more exchange will surely send your heart to overdrive. You need to lock in soon so that you can wholeheartedly and wholebrainedly—that’s not a word, is it—pay attention to her performance later.

-

15 minutes before the performances start and the venue is now packed with people. You hear from the MC that Jiyeon will be the last one performing; “favorites go last all the time”, you say to yourself. Before you forget, you pull out a handkerchief from your suit jacket and set it on your lap because it’s guaranteed that you’re going to weep while watching her.

One by one contestant performs and now it’s Jiyeon’s turn to take the stage and make everyone weep (yes, you are that confident of her skills). Your jaw drops the instant she walks out; she’s wearing a white tutu and matching pointe shoes—a literal embodiment of a swan. She makes eye contact with you for a second before turning her gaze to the rest of the crowd, and that’s when the cheering erupts; “oh, she’s famous, huh?”, you hear your brain say. She then moves to the side and waits until the song starts; “I’m so fucking cooked”, you think to yourself.

The truth cannot be any further right now, as you feel tears gather in your eyes as soon as she starts her routine. She’s barely making expressions, but you really feel the emotions that she’s conveying through every small movement. As you keep paying attention, you’re promptly reminded of how hard she’s worked for these sorts of moments, not only in the past few weeks, but also in her entire life. Combine that with the way she’s moving on stage, you can’t help but open the dam and let the tears flow. She’s not making eye contact with you because she wants to stay concentrated, and that’s helpful for you because you’re not presentable at all right now.

You wish you weren’t such a crybaby because you otherwise would be able to enjoy her performance, but you’re also glad that you’re able to feel these emotions and savor every second of it. You wipe your eyes with your handkerchief before looking back at her and murmuring to yourself, “I’m so proud of you, my little swan. Thank you for being in my life and thank you for showing me such gracefulness that very few can see with their own eyes”. You ball up your fists to cheer for her, but your brain manages to bridle your body in time before you can start shouting, thus saving you from embarrassment; “this ain’t basketball, you fucking idiot”, it yells at you.

Her performance ends with her getting on her knees while bending back, and the crowd instantly erupts behind you. You feel a surge of emotions in your heart, and you decide to let all the tears go into the handkerchief; “what is this feeling and who am I to be so lucky?”, you say. You feel the elderly man next to you put a hand on your shoulder and pat you on the back, “I wondered the same thing when I was your age, son, and I still don’t have an answer to this day”. You sniffle before saying anything back, “I can’t describe what I’m feeling right now, sir”. He pulls you to him and makes you rest your head on his shoulder, “There’s no need for that, son. Just enjoy it as much as you can, for we are a lucky bunch”. You’ve never heard such wisdom from someone before, so you ask him who he is. “I’m no one important, boy—definitely not as important as that girl on stage to you”, he says. “I love her, sir”, you reveal to him. He rubs you on the back with his palm several times as he laughs, “I know, son. I know”.

You look up and see that Jiyeon is looking back at you, so you do your best to give her the sincerest smile you’ve ever shown to anyone; “I’m so proud of you”, you mouth to her. She returns your smile twice as splendidly before heading backstage. The MC comes back out and announces that we’ll be taking a 10-minute break before announcing the winners, so you take this opportunity to leave your seat and head to the bathroom to freshen up after weeping your heart out.

You were a bit late to return and see that all the contestants are now standing next to each other on stage, so you rush to your seat and tune back in. “We will now be announcing the 3rd place, 2nd place, and the 1st place winners”, the MC says. You close your eyes and pray to whatever sacred being that might be listening to you right now. “Coming in the third place”, she pauses, “Miss Noh Yunah!”. You sigh in relief, “oh God, okay, top 2, baby. Let’s go”. The MC suggests an idea to announce the 2nd and 1st place; “would the attendants prefer to hear the 1st place winner before the 2nd?”, she says, and the crowd seems to agree with that idea.

“Right, so here’s what we’re going to do, Miss Ji Seoyeon and Miss Choi Jihyun: I’m going to say the name of the first-place winner and whoever doesn’t hear her name is the second-place winner”, she explains, and the two girls nod in acknowledgment. “The winner of the competition is”, she fucking pauses again, “Miss”—for the love of God, do it already—“Ji Seoyeon!”. You open your eyes and see that Jiyeon has dropped onto her knees while crying, and you have no choice but to cry again with her. “Congratulations, son”, the elderly man says as he shakes your hand, “treat the miss to dinner after this, okay?”. Your brain can’t come up with words to say, so you just nod while shaking his hand emotionally.

-

The contestants went backstage a few minutes ago, and some people in the crowd are now talking among themselves while some others opt to leave. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, so you pull it out and see that Jiyeon has sent you some texts.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 20:24]

Oppa

I’m glad I could win it for you

Can I come over after this?

Pretty please?

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 20:24]

Congratulations, love

I’m glad I got to watch you perform

You slayed btw

I’ll wait for you in the car, bby

You turn to the man next to you and bid your farewell, “thank you so much for tonight, sir. I will be taking my leave now”. “Thank you to you as well, son. May I offer you some advice?”, he says, and you nod in response, “try not to obscure your feelings; embrace them, savor them, share them with those you love. Believe me when I say that you won’t regret it—emotions are the colors of life, you see”. In your heart, you envy and yearn for such wisdom, but you realize that it takes a lifetime to be that wise. “Thank you, sir. I will keep that in mind. Have a good night”.

You stand up from your seat and start making your way to the parking lot after talking to the man. When you get to the parking lot, you see that Jiyeon is already waiting for you. She drops her stuff on the ground and hugs you; “oppa, I love you. I love you so fucking much, oppa”, she confesses in case it wasn’t clear already. You take the man’s advice to heart and embrace the emotions you’re feeling right now, “I love you so much as well, baby. I’m so proud of you”. She presser her head against your chest and conveys her request, “take me to your place, oppa. I want to spend the night in your embrace. Let’s leave now, oppa—please, I’m begging you”. You peck her forehead and pull away from the hug, “alright, sweetie. Let’s go now”.

-

You enter your apartment with Jiyeon and swap your shoes for the indoor sandals. She pulls your hand, forcing you to turn to her direction before kissing you. Jiyeon goes further and fight your tongue with hers. You find her passion to be overwhelming, so you break the kiss to take a breather. “Oppa, why did you pull away? You didn’t like it?”, she asks. “I did like it, but I first need to know how far we’re going tonight”, you tell her. You can’t tell what the smile on her face means when she says that you two are going all the way.

“Can I take you to the bedroom?”, you ask her, and she nods to your question. You carry her bridal style like that time she “passed out” after practice. You set her down on the bed and that’s when she makes another confession; “this is my first time, oppa”, she tells you. “Are you sure that you want to give your first to me?”, you ask her. “Only if you promise to never leave me again”, she says. You tell her your promise and start kissing her lustfully, as it’s now your tongue that’s fighting hers. She takes your hand and guides it to her crotch; thus, you feel her wetness through her jogger pants. You pull away from the kiss once more and ask her, “on a scale of 1 to 10, how ready do you think you are?”. “24”, she says, “now please take care of me”. You’re not sure why she picks such particular number, but you roll with it anyway.

You grab the waistband of her pants and pull down after getting her consent, and you’re met with her bare pussy. “No panties, hm? No wonder I could feel how wet you were through your pants”, you ask her. She shrugs, “I figured it would be faster this way, and it is. Continue, please”. You then move your hands to the hem of her white sleeveless T-shirt and roll it over her head, exposing her covered tits to the bedroom air. “It would be even faster if you weren’t wearing bras as well”, you tease her. She pouts cutely, “and what if someone saw? Do you really want your girl to run around while being exposed like that?”.

You pull her into a hug and unclasp her bras before letting go, and you’re shown her perfectly perky bare tits. “They’re yours, oppa”, she says as she guides your hands to her tits. You start fondling her tits in your hands and it causes her to start moaning softly. Seeing that she’s enjoying it, you latch your mouth onto one of them and start sucking without letting up the stimulation on the other one. “Oppa, you like them—AHHHH, OPPA”, she screams when you not-so-lightly tug her nipple. “Can’t let the other one go forgotten”, you say as you move your mouth to the other breast. She holds the back of your head with both hands and press your head against her tits; “that’s-that’s—ahh, ngh”, her words are cut short by a moan.

She finally pushes your head away from her tits after letting you play with them for a few minutes. “You-you’re not fair, oppa”, she says, panting, “why aren’t you naked like me?”. You look down on yourself and see that you still have all your clothes on. “Apologies, my love. I got carried away”, you get off the bed and take your sweet time to take one item off at a time, unveiling your muscular body little by little for the girl in your bed. You’re finally done taking everything off but the boxers, “would you like to do the honors, princess?”, you ask Jiyeon. “Uh, umm, I-I think you should take them off yourself”, the antsy girl says before biting her lips. You do as she says and take off your boxers in one smooth motion, and Jiyeon immediately turns her gaze to look at the big, erect parcel between your legs. She looks away to get your cock out of her sight and asks you to make another promise, “pro-promise me you won’t hurt me, oppa”. You rub the back of her hand to soothe her, “I promise, love. We will do this on your pace, okay? Make yourself comfortable, please”.

She lies flat on her back and opens her arms, “come here, oppa”. You enter her warm embrace and pepper her face with pecks. “Aaaaah, oppa, stoooop”, she tries to halt your barrage of pecks. You hover your face above hers and offer her some sweet words, “I love you, baby. My baby. My white swan”. She blushes as she puts her hands on your cheeks, “I love you too, oppa. I love you with my life”. “Baby, I want to tell you something”, you make a confession of your own, “I have never done this before—I didn’t speak accordingly because I wanted to help you not be nervous. I apologize for pretending and I also apologize should my naïveté shows”. “Awww”, she coos, “we’re each other’s first, aren’t we? That makes this even more special, oppa”.

Since the confessions are now out of the way, you dive into another kiss—a kiss so heavenly and heartfelt to tell Jiyeon how much you love her. She smiles warmly after pulling away and breaking the kiss, “I love you, oppa, and I know you love me too. Now please take care of me”. You move a strand of hair from her face, “I’m so sorry but I don’t have a condom, love; I’m a virgin just like you”. She runs her thumb back and forth on your cheek, “We won’t need that;you’re my only one, oppa—my first and my last. Just promise me that you’ll be gentle; make me yours and I’ll stay by your side until the end of time”. You feel a stray tear on your cheek and wipe it right away, “I’m sorry, cutie. Your words are just so sweet—you are so sweet”. She smiles gently hearing your words, “we’re about to find out what having sex with the person you truly love is like, oppa. I’m excited but also nervous to give you my first”.

You peck her forehead before straightening your back to get ready for the action. “Do you consent, precious?”, you ask as you line up your cock with her untouched entrance. “I do” is response, nice and concise. You start moving forward into her pussy, and as soon as your cock is 1/3 of the way in, Jiyeon screams from the top of her lungs. “Oppa, oppa—ngh, fu—hold me, please—hug me, oppa”, she says to you with troubled breathing. You lay on top of Jiyeon and hug her tightly, “I’m here, baby; I’m here for you. I’ll stop moving so let’s relax a bit, okay?”.

After taking a few seconds to catch her breath, she signals to you to start moving again. You move your pelvis forward until you feel the entirety of your cock lodged in her pussy, as you take her virginity and give her yours in return. “Ngh, ngh—op-oppa, you’re so big—oh my God, you’re tearing me in half”, she says. You peck her temple as you start pumping her, “you’re so tight, baby; you’re literally squeezing me”. She yelps when your cock hits her deepest end, “I th-ink that’s my cervix, oppa—ahh, fuck—how are you so fucking deep, oppa?”. You’d be lying if you said her words didn’t inflate your ego, but you just want to keep fucking her right now and this position doesn’t really allow that. Jiyeon panics when you try to pull away from the hug; “no, no, no—oh, mmh—keep me in your arms, oppa. I’m begging you—fuck—plea-please”, she says.

You latch your mouth onto her neck and start sucking and nibbling as you maintain the pace and depth of your thrusts, earning moans from Jiyeon that sound like a melody from the heavens. “Op-pa—aah, hng—some-something is coming. I-I can feel it”, she says after taking a lot (like, a lot) of pumps from you. You unlatch your mouth for a second so that you can answer her; “yes, baby. I feel it too, I think”.

“AH, OPPA, I’M-I’M GOING TO EXPLODE!”, she shrieks with all her might as her pussy puts you in such a chokehold (or cockhold, rather) that it’s almost painful to you. You remove your mouth from her neck and see that Jiyeon’s entire body is shaking and trembling as she keeps screaming her lungs out. She finally stops screaming after her high has subsided; “hah, hah—wha-what was that? I-I felt like I was on cloud nine and then I’m back in your arms”, she says, her breaths mixed with pants. You chuckle at her description of what just happened, “is it better to be on cloud nine or in my arms?”. She pulls you down for a kiss before giving you an answer, “I like being in my boyfriend’s arm much, much better”. “Boyfriend, hm?”, you smile at her, “I love the way you say that; it makes me feel loved, you know”. “That is because I truly love you, oppa, and nothing can sway me from loving you”, she says.

“Jiyeon, my baby”, you say to her, “I’m sorry, but can we continue? I think I’m pretty close as well”. “We can, oppa, but first”, she holds your head and looks at you in the eyes, “I want you to start calling me Seoyeon from now on; it’s not like you’ll mistake me for Yoon Seoyeon-sunbaenim, is it?”. “No, there’s no way I’ll ever mistake you for Yoon Seoyeon. My heart is yours, not Yoon Seoyeon’s”, you say before resuming your rhythmic thrusting. Jiyeon—or Seoyeon, rather—starts moaning again and it serves as fuel for you to keep going and chase your own orgasm.

“Seoyeon, my swan—fuck, so tight—do you want me to pull out when I cum?”, you ask her. “If you pull out, I will cut your penis off and feed it to a cat”, Seoyeon threatens you. “Oh, fuck, please don’t. We wouldn’t be able to do this again if you did”, you say, intimidated by her words. “Good, now don’t—OH MY GOD, THAT IS SO FUCKING HOT”, her words are cut off by your cock’s abrupt explosion and the sudden flood of semen in her pussy. “My God, I just came in her pussy”, you think to yourself as you pant from the high that your orgasm is giving you. “Oppa­-oppa, was that—whoa, fuck—was that your orgasm?”, Seoyeon wonders. In your exhausted and high state, you just nod to her question; “you gave me your first ever orgasm, oppa? You’ve never watched porn and had an orgasm before, have you? Please say no”, Seoyeon says. You shake your head, “I have—hah, fuck—I have never watched porn ever in my life. What the fuck kind of question is that? Sure-surely you don’t think that low of me—oh my goodness, I’m tired”. “Sorry, please don’t be mad”, she rubs your cheek, “it was a genuine question, oppa. I’m-I’m glad that you’ve never watched porn—”. You cut her off by placing a finger on her lips, “please, let’s not talk about that right now”.

You pull away from her embrace and straighten your back to look at your work; “wait, there’s supposed to be blood, isn’t there?”, you ask yourself as you look at your cock and her leaking pussy. “Oppa, I know what you’re thinking”, Seoyeon says with a tiny voice, “you must be wondering about the lack of blood considering that it’s my first time”. You turn your gaze to her without saying anything, which makes Seoyeon nervous; “I-I can explain, oppa, but I need you to trust me because I am not lying at all”, she says. You take a moment to calm your pants before talking back, “of course, darling. Fire away”. “Where do I start—ah, fuck it, I’ll just tell you the end bit”, she says, “I lost my hymen in an accident, oppa. Please, please believe me when I say that you’re my first, because you really are”.

You stay quiet and take a second to process the news that she just delivered, and that’s when she starts shedding tears. “You-you don’t believe me, do you? You’re disappointed because it’s your first, aren’t you? It-It’s okay if you don’t believe me and want to leave me, oppa; heaven knows I’m being honest”, she says as tears are freely flowing out of her eyes. The instant surge of guilt in your heart leads you to jump and take her into your arms again. “I believe you, my love—I really do. I just wanted some time to process your words; I’m sorry for not saying anything right away”, you say right to her ear. Her crying makes it hard for her to speak but she pushes through anyway, “please, please don’t leave me, oppa. I-I don’t know what I would do with-out you. Please, oppa, I’m begging you to stay with me”. You hug her tighter and give her your promise, “I will not leave you, baby; not now, not tomorrow, not next week, never. I need you as much as you need me, precious. Trust me, please. Let’s calm down, okay? I’m here for you, honey”.

-

It took a while for Seoyeon to finally calm down and stop crying. It was really painful for you to see Seoyeon cry from such a close distance, but it didn’t stop you from giving her the assurance and comfort that she needed. “Baby”, you call out to Seoyeon after noticing that her sobs have died down, “feeling better?”. She hums in response, “feeling hungry, too—wait, you promised me you’d make mac and cheese for me. Can we have mac and cheese now, oppa? Pleaaaaaase?”. “There she is, back to who she really is”, you say in your head. “We can, baby. Let’s get dressed first and then I’ll make some for us, okay?”, you pull her off the bed and onto her feet before heading to the wardrobe to get some clothes. You hand Seoyeon an old set of jersey and shorts as you’re reminded of her underwear situation, “I know you didn’t wear panties earlier but surely you brought them with you, right?”. Seoyeon chuckles in response, “of course I did, oppa; it’s in my bag. I’m not that naughty, you know?”. “Right”, you scratch the back of your head in awkwardness, “I’ll, uh, start cooking now”.

You head to the fridge and take all the ingredients necessary: milk, cheese, sausage, and broc—wait, not broccoli; mac and cheese isn’t supposed to be healthy. You take the scale out of the cupboard and weigh 100 grams of macaroni (taken from the cupboard as well), 50 grams of grated cheddar, and 50 grams of cubed mozzarella. You hear Seoyeon’s sandals approaching, so you call out to her, “baby, there’s zero-sugar soda in the fridge for you”. “I’ll save that for later, oppa. I’ll just get some water right now”, she says as she walks to the dispenser and refills her bottle. “Can I help with anything?”, she asks after taking a gulp of water. You point to the milk and ask her to pour out exactly 250 ml into a measuring cup. As Seoyeon does that, you pour some water into a pot and wait for it to boil.

“Love, go have a seat. I’ll take care of this”, you tell Seoyeon who’s still hovering near the stove area. “Promise me you won’t burn this place down”, she jumps and pecks you on the cheek before sitting at the table. “You’re making me make a lot of promises today, love”, you tease her. “Aaaaaah, but they’re for our own good, oppaaaaa”, she whines and crosses her arms, “I hate you so much, hmph”. Seeing that you’re not responding to her stunt, Seoyeon walks up to you from behind and tickles you. “Baby, I’m cooking—ahahaha, okay, okay; you win, I’m sorry. Now please get back to your seat”. Seoyeon does as you ask and sits down at the table again.

The water is now boiling, so you throw the macaroni into it and start a timer on your phone for 8 minutes. Since you have some time to kill, you decide to kiss Seoyeon and do more skinship with her and talk about some stuff until the timer runs out. Before you know it (because you’re so absorbed in the moment), you hear your phone ring, and you rush to turn the timer off and drain the macaroni.

You throw a tablespoon of butter into the pot and let it melt before adding in a tablespoon of flour. You then quickly but gradually add milk into the mix before it sticks to the pot. You turn your gaze to the counter and notice that the cheese is missing. “Seoyeon, darling, do you know where the cheese is?”, you ask your swan. “Oh, I brought it with me to the table, sorry. Here, oppa”, she hands you the two cups of cheese and you throw them into the pot and stir rapidly until it’s nice and smooth. “Here go the mac and sausage”, you announce to yourself, earning a chuckle from Seoyeon. Once everything is mixed together, you turn off the stove and mix in a tablespoon of salt, pepper, smoked paprika, and chili powder. You then take two bowls and split the mac and cheese into two as equally as you can and bring it to the table.

“This looks good, oppa”, Seoyeon says as she takes a spoonful of mac and cheese and shoves it into her mouth, “oooh, very nice. Not as salty as when I made it myself that one time”. You follow her and put a spoonful into your mouth. The taste makes you let out a satisfied moan, and it triggers a comment from Seoyeon, “we’re eating, oppa, not having sex—do you want to have sex again, by any chance?”. As tempting as it sounds, you choose to ignore her comment for now, “this is nice, no? I love it”. You miss a glare that Seoyeon sends you because you’re too busy eating, but that’s a problem for later.

-

“Thank you for the meal, oppa. Can I borrow a toothbrush now?”, Seoyeon says. You tell her that you keep spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet and that she can get one from there. She heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth while you wash the dishes.

As soon as you’re done, you hear Seoyeon call out to you from the bathroom, so you knock on the door, and she opens it for you. “What is it, baby?”, you ask her. She says nothing and shoves you backwards until you’re seated on the toilet. “Really, oppa? I offered you to do round 2 and you just ignored me? Is that how we will do things from now on, oppa?”, Seoyeon interrogates you and you can’t help but feel like a criminal. A short “I’m sorry” is all you can come up with, and Seoyeon is visibly not satisfied with your apology. “Take off your shorts and boxers, now”, she says. You never thought a girl so cute could be so intimidating, but here you are. You do as she commands and take them off, revealing your cock to her for the second time tonight.

“Please don’t ignore me like that again, oppa; it makes me sad, you know”, she says as she gets on her knees and holds your cock in one hand. “Can you get hard again, please? I want to make you orgasm again”, she strokes your cock with both hands to compensate with the girth. “Baby, what are you planning to do?”, you say with a sigh at the end. “This”, she says as she takes you in her mouth, her jaws are as wide open as they can be. You thought that this sight couldn’t get better until Seoyeon looks at you in the eyes as your cock is in her mouth. “Seoyeon-ah, you’re so good”, you forgot to say the pet name so she bites your cock slightly to express her dissatisfaction. “Oh, fuck, fuck. I’m so sorry, love. Please don’t kill me”, you say.

She gives you a wink and starts bobbing her head up and down your shaft, making you throw your head back and moan in bliss. She gets impatient as she goes down too deep and chokes on your cock. The little accident doesn’t seem to deter her, though, as she keeps going up and down a little bit more carefully this time. “You’re doing so good, dear—my fucking God, that’s so nice”, you praise her efforts, and she gives you a thumbs-up in return.

“Can I ask you to go faster, baby?”, you ask Seoyeon, whose mouth is full of your cock. She gives you a subtle nod and starts moving faster and gagging occasionally. You hold the back of her head when she tries to pull away and start fucking her mouth—not too hard, though. You don’t want to take things too far just yet. “God, baby; your mouth feels so good—oh, I’m getting so close again”, you tell her. You feel her repeatedly tap your thighs, so you pull out of her mouth in response. “Are you okay, sweetie?”, you ask the panting girl as you pet her head. “That was too much, oppa. Let me do it at my own pace, please”, Seoyeon says as she wipes her mouth.

You agree to let her do as she pleases and sit back. Seoyeon pecks the tip for your cock—which sensation makes you gasp in surprise—and goes down on your cock again. You lean back against the backrest of the toilet and close your eyes to fully savor the sensation that her mouth is giving you. You can tell that she’s focused and determined to make you cum for the second time tonight, and you don’t miss your chance to praise her efforts. “Love, you’re so good; such a good girl, aren’t you?”, you stroke her head before letting out a groan.

“Oh, God—baby, I think I’m gonna blow again”, you warn her. At your warning, she removes you from her mouth and strokes your cock. “Give it to me again, oppa”, she says to you. You moan loudly as the second load of the night jets out of the tip of your cock. Seoyeon collects as much of it as she can with her hands; “how do you still have so much, oppa? How much do you have in there?”, she says, fascination and curiosity woven in her voice. “I think that’s all I have today”, you tell her, “thank you so much, baby. I really enjoyed that”. She dips a finger in the pool of cum in her hands and puts it in her mouth, “it tastes weird. I’m not putting this in my mouth, sorry”. You weakly point to the sink, “you don’t need to; go wash your hands, honey”.

-

You carry Seoyeon back to bed after the little bonus session in the bathroom. She’s now lying limb on top of you like that afternoon when she jumped on you. “Oppa”, she begins, “I love you. Don’t leave me ever, please”. You weave your pinky with hers and say your pledge, “I will never leave you, my beautiful swan. I love you”. “Oh, yeah, about that”, Seoyeon lifts her head off your chest, “why swan, oppa?”. You hold her chin in your hand, “the way you were moving so gracefully and elegantly, combined with how you were dressed, made me think of a white swan that’s pacing peacefully around a calm lake”. Seoyeon rests her head on your chest again, “I like that idea, oppa. Thank you”. You shake your head in disagreement, “no, love; thank you. Thank you for letting me enter your life and love you like this—I’m so grateful for us, baby”. You feel a tear drop from her cheeks and onto your T-shirt, “I’m so grateful for us as well, oppa. My world is bleak without you next to me”.

[starstruckmoony]

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

thank you for this request anon!! i am so so so sorry for taking longer than i should have but i've just been all over the place with requests and in just general this past week 😭 so yeah i am a little late but i hope you're feeling better and that this meets your expectations <333333

in between.

masterlist , requests

pairing - theodore nott x slytherin!reader

trope/tags - fluff

word count - 1.7k

warnings - descriptive period pains

waking up in time for class was always difficult for you. not even because you were lazy or didn't care about your grades enough, but mostly because theodore, your boyfriend and number one favourite person in the world, had an annoying little habit of staying inside of your room until pansy chased him out because she wanted her beauty sleep. most of the time, that would be somewhere around two in the morning. and you had to get up at six. four hours of sleep. wonderful. usually, you didn't mind. you didn't like getting out of bed, anyway.

but this morning, you very much minded. your eyes snapped open, you weren't entirely sure what had woken you up. you grunted, irritated, and disappeared under your two blankets to shield yourself from the cold of the dawn, sighing when your realised you that you'd have to get up in no less than ten minutes. with transfiguration as your first class, too. how you loved having to turn tables into chairs first thing in the morning.

but then you felt it. a terrible sensation in your abdomen, so harsh it felt like sharp knife was slicing through you. it took everything in you not release a pained moan. the discomfort spread almost all the way to your upper thighs, coming in constant strong waves. you groaned, hiding further under the covers and curling yourself up into a ball.

you wanted to cry. not only were you exhausted, but you were also in a tremendous amount of pain. you had got your period the night before, and it was going kind of smoothly... as smooth as they go... so you weren't really expecting to wake up with a dying wish to pass the hell away barely five hours later.

pansy's footsteps sounded throughout the room, and you heard the bathroom door shut. you didn't move a muscle. a few moments later, it opened again, and she paced around for a bit, shuffling through her trunk and then your own when she couldn't find a clean pair of socks. she was humming some tune as she got ready, seeming to be in an okay mood, but then she scoffed. her steps got louder as she neared your bed, pulling the covers off of you.

"bitch, you'll be la– oh merlin, are you alive?" she was a little startled seeing you resemble the appearance of an ill victorian child, but nevertheless took a seat at the edge of your mattress, "no." you dragged out, retrieving your precious blanket. you couldn't recall the last time you felt this bloody awful.

"period cramps, huh?" she made a sympathetic face at you, very familiar with that struggle. you only nodded. she hugged you and stayed like that for a bit, before standing up and walking over to her drawer. she dug out a few chocolate frogs and tossed them over to you.

you muttered a strained thank you, collecting them all. you placed them onto your night stand, grunting. you knew that they probably wouldn't help as much as you wished for them to, but you still appreciated your friend for trying. it was the least she could do in those circumstances.

she sighed, picking up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder, "i'll tell mcgonagall you won't be coming in today." you sat up immediately, getting a bit stressed, "don't tell theo."

"huh?" she deadpanned, eyeing you like you had gone mental.

"i don't want him to worry." you explained with a shrug, wincing when the cramps got stronger. you knew what your boyfriend was like, meaning you were aware that he'd come running right to you if pansy were to tell him about the dreadful state you were in. you didn't really want him to see you like that. your head was beginning to hurt, too.

she rolled her eyes, "as if he won't come looking for you the moment he sees you aren't with me." she bent down and picked up a dirty stocking, throwing it at you. and she was right. theodore loved you more than all of his friends combined, so you could already picture him bolting through the dungeons and straight through your door after seeing that you were missing. he wouldn't even have to be told why you weren't present.

pansy left then, leaving you to suffer all alone. you were barely able to get out of bed to clean yourself up. even moving around was hard. it took you about two minutes to drag yourself to the bathroom and and another fifteen to leave it. managing your hygiene had never been more exhausting.

just as you collapsed back into your bed, ready for a few more hours of torture, the door of your room opened. there went theodore, holding one of his hoodies, a bunch of period products you weren't sure how he acquired, and some chocolates he had stolen from lorenzo's drawer. your heart may have simply melted.

"hi." you peeked at him from beneath the covers, your voice small and tired.

"oh, love." his face twisted with concern as he took in the sight of you. he quietly shut the door and was next to your bed in a matter of seconds. he clumsily set all of the things he brought onto your nightstand, eager to have you in his arms as soon as possible. he shrugged off his robes, kicking his shoes away too. you tried to sit up, and once you did, he took the opportunity to take the shirt you had slept in off of you. he replaced it with his hoodie before settling down next to you. it smelled like him, which was also one of your favourite things in the world. you sighed, a warm feeling overwhelming you.

"tell me if you need anything and i'll get it for you, okay?" he brought the blankets all the way up to your neck, throwing an arm around you and pulling you close. he was willingly missing out on classes for you. could you just let that slide?

"theo–" he placed a finger against your lips to hush you, "i can take one day off, it's not like it's gonna kill me." he retrieved his hand.

"but–"

"no buts." he made you get closer, and you let out a startled giggle, momentarily forgetting about the pain you were in.

you laid there in silence for a little while. theo was rubbing comforting circles into your back, pressing a kiss to your forehead every now and then. it eased you a little bit, and you weren't feeling so terrible anymore. the pain was still there, but whatever he was doing made it a little easier to bear.

"is it really bad?" he questioned after seeing you had scrunched your face up. you hummed and he sat up, reaching under your bed. "where is it– oh." he pulled out the hot pack he knew you sometimes used in similar situations, heading for the bathroom to fill it up with warm water. he returned rather quickly and reclaimed his position on the bed. he adjusted your pillows and placed the hot pack against your stomach, throwing an arm around you again. it made it a little difficult for him to pull you completely against his chest, but your own comfort mattered more to him.

"thank you." you sighed. he gave you a look, not a particularly annoyed one, but one that told you that you didn't have to thank for him doing things like that. he pecked your nose, the urge was too difficult to resist. you exhaled comfortably, taking a hold of his hand and intertwining your fingers.

he began massaging your knuckles, and you shuffled closer, as close as it was possible, burying your face into his chest. he kissed your hand this time before releasing it, and tangled his fingers in your locks instead. you loved it when he played with your hair, and he loved it just as much, mostly because you were giving him a fantastic excuse to touch you.

"what explanation did you come up with for missing classes today?" you questioned, suddenly feeling curious. your cramps slightly reduced in their intensity, so you didn't mind talking or even getting up for a bit.

"i just told it as it is." he shrugged, continuing to play with your hair. he tucked a strand behind your ear, smiling at you.

"what?" you chuckled in surprise.

"i told mcgonagall my girlfriend wasn't feeling well and that i wanna take care of her." he was so, very causal about it. you were surprised he actually knew what to do to help you. you did assume he asked pansy, but it at least meant that he cared. and it made you that much more happy to have him there with you.

"really? what did she say?" you raised an eyebrow.

"she was a little annoyed but she understood what i was getting at," of course she did, she couldn't not, "and then she told the other boys to take notes," he grinned proudly, "draco especially."

you burst out laughing, "that did not happen."

"yes, it did," he snickered against your cheek before placing a big, loud kiss against it, "you can ask anyone." he pulled back, but did not move away. you were so close that your noses were touching.

"hm, i think i'll take your word for it." he smiled again, and you pecked his lips, another way to thank him for doing all of that for you, "i love you." you whispered.

"i love you more." he gave you a cheeky grin.

"wrong." you retorted playfully, poking at his chest.

"that's up for debate." he put his hand over yours, holding it in place.

"do not argue with me." you warned, not very seriously, though.

he snorted at your teasing reply, but didn't push the discussion any further. on a different day, he probably would have. that one adored getting on your nerves more than anyone else in the world, but he wasn't so stupid to do it when you were having such bad period pains. there were other things to be done. he said he'd give you cuddles, and kisses, and hugs, and snuggles, and even more kisses and everything in between. and he did just that. that one time, and all the other times.

[sturniozo]

Could you maybe do a fic where Matt or the reader has a panic attack?

I’m Right Here

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Masterlist

(A/n: sorry this is short lol)

it’s been two weeks. Two weeks since my letter of either rejection or acceptance should have been here. I’ve been chomping at the bit, biting my nails waiting for it.

There’s no way I got in if it’s this late. There’s just no way. They probably forgot about me and that’s why it’s not here. They didn’t even look at my application, it was so bland I bet. They just knew it was bad looking at it and just tossed it to the side.

I lay in bed crying, breathing heavily. My entire body shakes as my heart beats so loudly it’s all I can hear. I begin choking and coughing as tears stream down my cheeks.

Matt comes through my bedroom door. “Baby, I’m taking Nick and Chris to Sonic do you-“ he stops when he sees me. “What’s wrong baby?”

“They hate me.” I mumble.

Matt sits on the bed next to me. “Who hates you baby?” He asks as he rubs my back soothingly.

“UCLA. Everyone’s gotten their letters now, I haven’t even gotten so much as an email saying ‘no you suck’”

“You don’t suck baby.” Matt leans down and kisses my forehead.

I sit up and breathe heavily. “You- you don’t under-under stand Matt.” I sob as the anxious knot in my stomach grows. My throat forms a lump as tears fall down my cheeks.

“No, baby, it’s okay. I’m sure it just got lost in the mail or something.”

“They didn’t even look at my application.”

“That’s not true, baby.”

“It was so bland they threw it out without even reading it.”

“Y/n, look at me.” Matt says. I look at him and breathe shakily. “You are amazing and they loved your application. You’re going to get that letter of acceptance soon, I promise. It just got lost, that’s all.”

I nod my head hesitantly.

“Let me take you with us to get Sonic, huh? You live sonic. Let’s go, baby.” Matt helps me up off the bed. “Let’s wash off your face baby, then we can go.”

I nod and follow Matt to the bathroom. He grabs a wrap and wets it with warm water before gently rubbing it over my cheeks and eyes to get rid of my tears. He sets the radio down on the sink.

“Is that better?” He asks and I nod. “Good.” He takes my hand and leads me downstairs and to the van where Nick and Matt wait for us.

“Everything good?” Nick asks as I get in the van.

“Yeah. Everything’s good.” I reply.

TAGS: @bernardenjoyer @sturniolosreads @mbbsgf @xxsadlovexx @whicked-hazlatwhore

[caramel1mochi]

cOULD yOu write a fic where fem reader and (some agent) stay at valorant hq while others are at the mission and its summer, super hot outside, and when they come back they see reader and (agent) at the pool playing loud music and having fun, and gekko gets jealous of agent😁😁😁😁😁

Heya, thanks for the request! I wasn’t sure how to wrap it up and I felt bad letting him stay jealous so I added a little extra at the end hahaㅤ

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On the Poolside! [ Gekko x Reader ]

Words: 900+

Please don't copy or steal my work and pass it off as your own! If you'd like to use one of my headcanons or something, I'd love it if you tagged or asked.‎ ‎‎ ‎  

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。+❤ฺ·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ· +❤·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ·

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It was two in the afternoon. The perfect time for a team of agents to return from a mission a few minutes ago.

The sun shined brilliantly amidst the bright blue sky, and there was naught of a cloud that dared stand in its way. Unfortunately, this meant that the rays that engulfed the protocol, Gekko and Neon were uncontested, heating them up like they were pastries in an oven. And to those unfortunate enough to go on a mission during all of this, they suffered the most out of all of them. Which was also Gekko and Neon.

Despite having opted to go to the swimming pool a while ago, swimsuits didn’t really cool them as they marched down the hallway. Thrash in hand, each step heavier than the sound of a jackhammer, the two were ready to flop into the pool like pancakes.

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“It should be a crime to send people out to war in the middle of summer, man.”

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Gekko complained, promptly earning a nod from Neon.

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“Exactly. And to Bind, too? What was Brim thinking?” She huffed. “I just hope the pool’s empty. If one person tries to talk to me on my way there, I swear I'll zap them with my suppressor off!”

ㅤㅤ

Though he aimed to respond to that with something witty, Gekko choked on his laughter once he heard the final sentence.

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“Chica, chill. Everyone else left after us; I’m positive it’s empty.”

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“Yeah, it better be!”

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The halls were quiet and empty of the chaos they’d naturally be riddled with. Mostly because the younglings were out and about, suffering just like the duo were about an hour ago. But this very silence was what made their ears perk up at an awry sound.

Despite the conversation serving as a good enough distraction from the heat, the closer they marched to the pool, the louder the music had gotten. And Gekko just couldn't help but notice it. Especially the genre.

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“Yo, do you hear that?”

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“Huh? Oh. Music." She sighed in disinterest. "Yeah, they're probably playing some stuff back there. Looks like we won’t be alone, huh?"

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“Guess not.”

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It was borderline impossible for Neon to sound any less irritated, but I digress.

However, Gekko couldn't stop himself from playing detective in his head in regards to the genre, aaannndd... They turned the corner and finally arrived at the pool, being blinded by the strong sunlight just as they stepped outside. But he was able to finally see who was in the pool when their vision cleared. Yeah, it was Iso who picked that song. Of course it bloody was, who else would pick underground rap? Gekko took a moment to observe Iso as he sat on the edge of the pool, laughing away at something neither of them could hear. Seeing him wear something that didn’t conceal his broad figure was very out of place. But his heart dropped once he saw who he was talking to.

It was you.

Despite being submerged in water, he saw you don some kind of colourful swimsuit with a peculiar design he just couldn’t observe. But something else was on his mind. Beyond how much those colours complemented you, of course. Why was Iso with you in the pool? Neither of you hung out much, if he recalled correctly, so... However, his heart dropped when he saw you suddenly grab Iso's wrist and gleefully pull him into the pool with all of your might. He swore that he saw his arms wrap around you for a second underwater, but he was quick to let go just as the two of you resurfaced.

Ugh…

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“Finally. Fresh air. Come on, let’s go.” ㅤㅤ

Gekko didn’t really catch what Neon said. He was too distracted by the sound of you calling Iso’s name in between laughter. He huffed and firmly clutched Thrash in his arms.

ㅤㅤ "You know what? Nevermind.” ㅤㅤ

Thrash immediately grumbled at this.

Neon's eyes widened in surprise once he turned on his heel. However, just as he was about to move back inside, she was quick to grab his shoulder to stop him.ㅤ

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"Woah, hey, what’s going on?”

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“Nothing.”

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Gekko shrugged her hand off, and Neon couldn’t help but tilt her head in confusion.

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“Nothing? Why’re you leaving, then?”

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“I’m… uh, I’m not in the mood.”

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“Okay, that’s clearly a lie.”

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“Look, I’m just not in the mood anymore, alright? It’s not that deep.”

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He unwittingly glanced at the two of you, getting further aggravated at the contagious joy that kept increasing between you two. Neon obviously followed his gaze, but she looked back at him in disbelief once she caught on.

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“Iso and A/N? Is that what this is about?” She crossed her arms. “Gekko, who cares? Just ignore them, or whatever.”

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“Are you for real? I’m not sitting here on the side lines just to watch A/N and Iso live it up.”

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“Hey, you promised Thrash we’d check out the pool when we get back. Are you seriously gonna go back on your word because of some guy who probably sucks at picking date locations compared to you?”

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Neon scolded him as she playfully poked at his chest. And with the encouraging grumble Thrash let out, it was very clear that the little radivore was very much agreeing with her words. She'd know that, wouldn't she?

So… Gekko rolled his eyes with a wide smile he just couldn’t control.

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“Okay, fine. I’m staying.”

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“About time! Now get a move on, I’m melting out here!”

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Neon grabbed Gekko’s wrist and pulled him towards the pool. Due to her strength however, it gave Thrash an escape from his previously firm hold. Thus, Thrash immediately jumped out of his arms and terrorised the pool… much to Gekko’s delight. Even though you were also both inconvenienced at this, not just Iso.