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godslino · 5 months

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IN BLOOM | jisung first date series. second chance lovers.

pairing: jisung x fem!reader word count: 13.2k genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!) summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.

a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3

also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!

“All of these had to be pulled.” Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway.

“Again?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. “I don’t understand, they sold so well last year.”

Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. “It’ll pick up eventually, don’t worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.”

He’s being sincere, you know that. But there’s a part of you that also knows it’s a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. He’s being nice for your sake.

“Maybe we could try coming up with other ideas?” he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.

He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones he’s wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges.

“You’ve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since they’re more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.”

You hum in approval. “True. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we don’t have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeongin’s been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so he’ll be home for a bit.” you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. “I could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?”

Hyunjin lights up– he always does when Jeongin is mentioned.

It’s been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But it’s hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields aren’t enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than what’s capable of being pursued here.

That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.

“Can’t believe he’s driving.” Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. “I used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbulls– but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.” he fake sniffles. “By the way, I’m gonna take my fifteen after I’m done snipping these tulips.”

You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.

“Sounds good. Also, don’t let Innie hear you say that. I’m about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.”

“My baby would never do that to me!” Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip.

February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.

There’s still a few supply boxes from yesterday’s shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.

Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron.

Hyunjin’s on break. A necessary one at that. You can’t bother him, especially not when he’s done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what he’s had to sacrifice in the past year now.

“Idiot,” you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and can’t seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind.

If it weren’t for the timing of it all, you’d blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.

But it’s February. And in Jeju— it rains.

By the time you make it back inside, you’re drenched.

“You look like you just got dunked in a pool.”

You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. It’ll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.

Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.

“Might as well have. It’s insane out there.” you sigh. “How was your break?”

You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.

“Yeah, about that…” Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s just–” Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.

You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, “Do you mind if I leave a little early today?”

You scoff, turning to face him. “Hwang Hyunjin,” you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, “You don’t have to ask me that. We’re partners now, remember? We run this place.”

He shifts on his feet, still unsure.

“Besides,” you huff, tying a knot behind your back, “We were friends way before that, too. You don’t have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. It’s slow today, I can take care of it.”

Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?”

When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.

Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.

“Of course.” you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant.

Hyunjin’s ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.

“Have fun. Tell Minah I said hi.”

He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. It’s cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.

“I’m not going to see her! I’m–it’s just a movie! How did you—God, you’re so annoying. I should’ve made you trim the tulips. Hah!”

You giggle. “It’s funny that you think I wouldn’t know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.”

“I am busy.” he mumbles, looking away. “I just emphasize it a lot more when she’s here.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, “Let’s go with that.”

He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper that’s used for wrapping vases.

It’s loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if it’s hard to find.

When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that you’ll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down you’re grateful.

“Love you,” he says, one foot out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

You shake your head, ignoring him. “Love you too.”

And then he’s gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain.

“Herb snips, shears, tape…” you mumble, scanning the supply shelf.

There’s not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. That’s why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.

In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all.

“When I die,” your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, “Sell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?”

“Nana,” you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.

Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of having– you included.

Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. It’s no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun.

“I’m not selling this place. It’s too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.”

She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.

“The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.”

You wish you hadn’t been so hard headed. Wish that you would’ve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.

She’ll be with you in your heart, forever.

Oh, what a lie forever is.

The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way.

Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. It’s a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season.

The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.

Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shop’s best interest– both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.

“I know, I know,” you say around the pen cap between your teeth, “You used to be the brains around here, not me. I’m not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.”

You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.

“Don’t give me that look.”

She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.

“Ugh.” you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.

You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones.

Just as you’re about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.

The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

“Be right there!” you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where you’d thrown it on one of the chairs.

In your haste, the box of seed packets you’d been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.

“Fuck,” you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today.

Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted.

You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.

One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. “How can I help you?”

There’s a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.

You realize, belatedly, that you’d forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.

Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, “It’s okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.”

You freeze. There’s a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach.

Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought you’d see again.

Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.

Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears.

A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung.

“You look…nice.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat.

You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.

“The shop is closed.” you manage on a shaky breath.

Jisung sighs, something heavy. “Listen, I’m—”

“The shop–” you try again, louder, “–is closed.”

Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember.

There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandma’s shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.

His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever you’d enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.

But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your hand— it feels wrong.

“I…” he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides.

“Okay,” he resigns, licking his lips. “I, uh– have a good night.”

He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.

And in Jeju– it rains.

There’s an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time.

Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.

Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them.

Jisung’s parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family.

That’s how it happens. Yours and Jisung’s story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.

Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparents’ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all you’ve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. You’re glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake.

The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.

Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep.

Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurse’s office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own.

Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.

“You could come with me, you know.”

Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world.

The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll be together, we’ll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.”

“They’re not nerdy things, Ji. Don’t you know everything we have now is because of what’s happened before us?” you’d asked. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.”

Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. “I don’t care about the future, though.” he’d said. “I care about right now. You, me, this.”

When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head.

“I love you,” he whispered, “And I want you to come with me.”

Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own.

You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisung’s mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning.

“But I can’t.” you choked.

Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.

It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you.

And in Jeju– it rained.

“I think you should talk to him.”

The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if you’d be willing to accept a drop off even though it’s the weekend. You’d agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.

“And I think you’re not helping.” you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, “This guy sounds like a total dick.”

Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair.

Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after you’d already graduated, and of course, Jisung– Chan is your oldest friend.

Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night.

“Jisung’s not a dick, he’s just–”

“An asshole.” you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles.

Chan sighs. Again. “Yeah okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Listen, I know I’ve never met him, but isn’t it weird that he just, like, showed up?” Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.

“I mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? He’s gone for what– three years?”

“Four.” you correct.

“God, even worse.” he grimaces.

“But yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go ‘oh, you look nice’? Come on.” he scoffs, crossing his arms.

You wince, caught off guard because you’ve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. It’s no surprise that he’s annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. He’d been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Okay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isn’t part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?”

You pause mid-snip, mulling Chan’s words over in your head.

The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you weren’t, though. Not when you’ve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you don’t need to know what Jisung’s been up to, don’t need to know if he’s been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.

“What?” you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you.

“Well?” Hyunjin pushes. “Are you?”

You shrug. “No, not really.”

There’s a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.

“Out! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.”

“But we were supposed to get lunch—!”

“We’re taking a rain check!” Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chan’s sad figure left alone on the other side.

You gape at him. “What was that for?”

Hyunjin scoffs. “You think you’re convincing? Think again.”

He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until it’s resting on his shoulder.

“Tell me the truth now,” he says, soft. “I know there’s more to it.”

Hyunjin’s warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like you’re standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.

“I am curious,” you start, “About him, I mean. I’ve– I don’t know. It’s been so long. I tried to pretend I didn’t care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?”

Hyunjin hums but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going.

“I’m scared, though. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “What are you scared of?”

Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking.

“What if he tells me that it’s true?” you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “What if he says that I was right, that he didn’t care? That he left and didn’t want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?”

“Oh honey,” Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadn’t realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater.

He lets you cry for a while. It’s nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. He’s been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. He’s picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.

Once you’ve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.

“Can you be honest with me?”

You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder.

“Do you love him?”

It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increases— none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.

Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that he’s there.

“I don’t think I ever stopped, Hyune.”

The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasn’t a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever they’d see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandma’s hand when she’d find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs he’s written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.

The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.

“Then you owe it to yourself,” Hyunjin says. “You owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Don’t let yourself suffer forever.”

Forever. That word again. No matter how many times you’ve tried to escape it, it always comes back.

“It’s gonna hurt.” he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. “It’s gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. You’ve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until you’re sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin.

“You deserve an answer.” he says, with conviction this time. “Okay?”

He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditional— that’s what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like it’s too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others.

“I don’t deserve you, though.” you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, “You deserve everything and more.”

When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, you’re ready for it.

Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when he’s been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub.

If there’s one thing about Chan, it’s that he’d rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.

“I don’t know how much of a consolation this is,” he’d said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, “But he’s pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I just– I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this, I guess.”

It’s not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear.

Sure, there’s anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with what’s happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But you’ve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.

“Also, he leaves tomorrow.” Chan smiled sadly. “He really wants to talk to you before then.”

Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly ‘shredded’ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias.

The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out there’s more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But there’s nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by.

Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm.

Five minutes until close. You’ve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating.

Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. You’d told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this.

You’re seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting.

Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisung’s figure comes into view.

He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers.

“Hi.” he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.

You blink. “Hi, Jisung.”

His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. It’s been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance.

“How– How’ve you been?” he chews on the inside of his lip.

You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. He’d make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind you’d wanted it more than anything.

You’d waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.

“I’ve been better.” you say, taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

Good, you think. He’s been good. He looks good. He doesn’t need this place.

“Me too.” he says instead. “I’ve been better.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does.

“I’m sorry that–”

“Is that all you came here to say?” you cut him off.

“What?” he asks, confused. “No, I– no.”

“What, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?” your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that you’ve ‘been better’ I might actually lose my fucking mind.”

The words tumble out faster than you intend. You can’t help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible.

“No, no, of course I wouldn’t do that.” he says quickly. “It's just that I didn’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you’ll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didn’t want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. Not after what I did.”

What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. He’s aware of it, of the pain he caused.

He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until he’s right up against the front counter, an arm’s length away.

Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way he’s grown and changed with your own eyes.

Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust.

“Tell me what your conditions are,” he says quietly, “And I’ll give you every explanation I have.”

The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile.

“I waited four years for you.” you say.

“I know.”

“I trusted that you’d be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.”

“I–” his voice cracks. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.

“I know.”

“So you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.”

When he brings his head down to look at you, it’s unreadable. A mix of emotions that you aren’t familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.

You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” he says after a beat of silence. “Okay. I can do that.”

Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul.

You’re only human, after all.

Best friends from the start– you can’t stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisung’s always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that you’d be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. It’s one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one another’s lives.

The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.

“My flower girl,” the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.

“Mrs. Kim,” you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.

“Halmeoni,” you say, gesturing at him, “Do you remember Jisungie?”

His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,” she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Where have you been? It’s been ages!”

Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back.

“Hi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?”

“Me?” she asks, pulling him away to hold at arm’s length, “Nevermind about me! I’m old! How have you been?”

Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.

“Better,” he says. “I’m doing better.”

Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.

The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.

“So,” you say, catching Jisung’s attention, “Tell me about Seoul.”

He hums. “It’s busy. Stinks. Lots of people.”

“Dream come true, yeah?” you joke, taking a sip of your water.

Jisung chuckles. “You could say that, I guess.”

“I mean, it was yours.”

“It was.” he sighs, looking down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so I’m close to where all the foreigners hang out. I’ve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.”

You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.

You clear your throat, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve– uh, I’ve heard some of your songs.”

He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadn’t expected you to say that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.” A lie. “It usually takes me a second to realize that it’s you.” Another lie. “But they’re good, you’re doing well.”

Pink dusts the tops of Jisung’s cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.

He looks younger like this, like he’s still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

He talks a bit more about his music, about how he’s with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.

His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. It’s equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says he’s been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with.

Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.

Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the company’s cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.

But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadn’t realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished you’d been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that you’d been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.

He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate.

“You run the shop now,” he says, “How’s that been?”

You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.

“It’s good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.” you shrug. “I’m not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, like he can’t find the words to say them.

So, naturally, you do it for him.

“I assume Chan told you so I wouldn’t have to, by the way.”

He looks up then, as if he wasn’t expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.

“He did, yes.” Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he’s walking on eggshells. “I– I didn’t know how to bring it up. I assume you’ve heard it all already but– I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.”

The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.

Suddenly you’re in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt.

“I don’t need an apology for that.” you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.

“It wasn’t sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. That’s what she told me, at least.”

You take a deep breath. “So don’t be sorry about it.”

Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest.

“I know. I just– I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I had no idea that–”

“Nobody did, Jisung. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. You’ve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.

“You’re right.” he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. “She’d probably yell at me for saying that.”

You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.”

The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.

Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. There’s no doubt that if she was here she’d be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.

“She would’ve loved to be able to see you.” you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. “She always wondered if you’d grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.”

He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.

“Well, clearly I don’t know how to listen.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jisung smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll cut it now. You know, since I’m here. And because I know she’d want me to.”

You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you don’t know. All that’s in them are stars.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re here.”

By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set.

The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sun’s fading rays.

“Do you think you’d maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?”

You snort. “Why? So I can embarrass you?”

“Hey!” he puts a hand on his chest, offended. “I’ll have you know that I let you win all those times.”

“How do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?”

“I was being nice!”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t believe me?” he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight.

“I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.”

“Jisung,” you scold, “That’s a computer game. These are coin-ops. There’s way more skill needed.”

“No there isn’t!”

He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.

It’s easy. Nice. There’s a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.

Old Man Park’s arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.

Your grandma’s picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.

“Love you,” you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.

Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesn’t see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets.

It’s still hard to believe that he’s here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.

“Ready?” you ask.

He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.

Something passes across his face– a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.

You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat.

The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.

Forever isn’t promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh.

So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.

The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisung’s palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.

And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.

You. Him. This.

“God, I can’t believe everything is only one coin.”

You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisung’s face.

“Stop acting like you don’t remember this place.”

“I don’t!” he argues, smiling. “We stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!”

Chan’s first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.

You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisung’s hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine.

“Here we go,” you sigh, following after him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.

“Aren’t there, like, I don’t know– things better than this in Seoul?” you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.

Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. “Obviously,” he says, “But I can’t beat anyone’s high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.”

“We’ll see about that.” you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out.

Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. It’s cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.

He’s glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything.

The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.

When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat..

You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him.

“You’re joking.” he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjin’s names sit just below you, respectively.

“What was that again about finally being able to be at the top?” you mock him, smirking.

“Since when did you get good at this?”

You shrug. “Had to find something to do in my free time.”

“No,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.” he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm.

“You might as well give up now. We’ll be here all night.”

“In your dreams.” he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen.

Jisung has always been competitive. It’s one of his more hidden characteristics.

It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old time’s sake.

Fort-five minutes. All he’s managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.

“Ugh!” he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot.

“Look at you throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay fine. I’m throwing a tantrum.”

“Thought so.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is, like, our first date. And I’m sucking. Hard.”

“Our–” you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didn’t mean to say what he did.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesn’t end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.

“I didn’t–”

“I like the sound of that.” you say quickly. “Of this being our first date, I mean.’

He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.

“And the fact that you suck.”

The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.

“Come on you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing his hand. “I know a game you can beat me at.”

He lets himself be pulled, pretending that he’s upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.

The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisung’s mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.

The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points.

When you get there, he frowns. “The only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?”

“I don’t think,” you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. “I know.”

The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.

“Play something good, Jisungie.”

He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.

“You got it.”

In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.

An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.

Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didn’t know if he’d ever come home.

After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

When the game starts, you try your best. It’s hard. You’ve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isn’t easy for you, that much is still true.

“Shit.” you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.

Jisung lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“You wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?” you raise an eyebrow.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.” he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin.

You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.

“If you’re so good,” you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. “Then why don’t you try?”

He chuckles then. “I’d rather help you, if you’ll let me.”

“How are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once he’s done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick.

With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.

“This okay?” he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.

Warm. He’s so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.

It’s more than okay. Great, even. It’s Jisung. Everything and more.

“Yeah,” you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. “It’s okay.”

The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. “Good.” he says, and then hits the start button.

The game begins but you’re barely processing what’s happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

A firm chest, different from what’s observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.

It’s all so intoxicating, so much so that you don’t even realize you’ve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life.

“What?” you blink. “What the hell?!”

You laugh, spinning to face Jisung who’s grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. He’s surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.

“Holy shit how’d you do that!” you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.

“Magic, I guess.” he chuckles.

The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position you’re both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.

It’s been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.

Things are different now.

“Sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t– um, I wasn’t trying to–”

You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like it’s not the thing you want most in the entire world.

Jisung doesn’t react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.

“Hi.” you whisper against him.

One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home.

He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways.

“Hi.” he whispers back.

The apple tree is much bigger now.

Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.

It’s bare. The season is long gone. But it’s okay, because it means that the view of the stars isn’t blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.

It’s the same but it isn’t. There’s gaps– periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover.

But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.

It’s nice. Perfect, even. But there’s a conversation that needs to be had. One that can’t be put off any longer.

“Ji.”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not it’ll stain.

“Of course.”

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“You said that last time.”

“I know.”

“So what makes this different?” you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like he’s scared you’ll get up and run away.

When he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.

It’s white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, you’re met with a tulip.

“Do you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford school in the city?”

You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand.

It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual.

You’d been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.

“You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore.” Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. “That you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.”

You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.

“And I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.”

“So what?” you ask, looking at him. “Did you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“No, Jisung, I’m gonna fucking be like that.” you scoff, rising to your feet.

There’s a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You should’ve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.

Jisung scrambles to his feet. “It wasn’t like I wanted to–”

“Oh like hell you did.” you say, turning to face him. “Four years, Jisung. I waited four years and you just– you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.”

“It wasn’t make-believe to me,” he argues. “It was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.”

“Oh so it’s my fault? I made you leave, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So then say something else!” you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. “Say something else, then, Jisung. Why didn’t you call? Huh?”

“Because I–” he stops, licks his lips. “God. Fuck. I couldn’t face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasn’t fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.”

“Ha!” you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. “So you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because that’s so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.”

He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass.

Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didn’t contact you because he chose not to.

“Did you ever even love me?”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisung’s entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.

“Watch what you say.” he says, his voice low in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just be honest.”

“I’m trying.” he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon.

“I fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And I’m sorry it took me so long but I wanted– no– I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.”

“No, Jisung, you promised me that–”

“I’m not talking about you.” he says then, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t the only one I made promises to back then.”

Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, “I promised her. I told her I’d get you out of here. That I’d give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldn’t.”

You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like you’re drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.

“She told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core that’s been hiding beneath the surface all along.

Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment.

“You should’ve told me.” you cry, beating a fist into Jisung’s chest. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. You should’ve told me.”

Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that it’ll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair.

When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.

“I won’t ask you to come with me.” he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. “I know that things are different. You have a life here that you’ve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.”

He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.

“But I promise it’ll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I won’t disappear again. I’ll call every day. I’ll visit. You’ll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and I’ll get every part of you in return.”

Your heart thrums. The thought of having what you’ve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.

“And when you’re ready, when you feel like you can’t do it anymore, there’ll be a place for you.”

His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than he’s ever sounded before in his life.

When you turn to face him, he’s already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.

Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.

Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I love you.” you say first this time.

He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist that’s still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony.

“I love you, too.” Jisung whispers back. “Forever.”

Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.

There’s less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.

“Every day.” he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. “I promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when you’re on the toilet too.”

The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.

He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisung’s lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.

When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.

You’re too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.

“Jesus Christ Hyune, did you have to–”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, breathless.

“Uh,” you blink, glancing round. “Working?”

“Is Jisung not on a damn plane right now?”

“I mean he’s on his way to the airport. Chan is–”

“Chan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.” Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.

You sigh. “He didn’t want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I can’t just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me and–”

“You are so stupid.” Hyunjin sighs.

“Excuse me?” you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter.

“Come on. We have to go.”

“Go where, Hyunjin? I’m not leaving to–”

He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. “And I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.”

“What is that?”

“A plane ticket.” he says, pushing it towards you. “To Seoul.”

Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious you’ve ever seen on him.

“Hyunjin I– I can’t– where did you even…?”

“Chan hyung has a friend.” he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.

“His name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dude’s super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, you’re leaving.” he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.

“Wait.” you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin.

“I told you I can’t leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.”

He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room.

“Can you be honest with me?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

“Do you love him?”

Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something he’s always been good at. You don’t doubt that it’s written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds.

“So much that it hurts, Hyune.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. “Then you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Don’t worry about this place, I’ll take care of it.”

The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.

“I don’t have clothes.” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.

Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll send them to you.”

“There’s a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?”

“I’ll manage.”

You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.

“I’ll miss you.” you say weakly.

Hyunjin’s throat bobs against the top of your head. “I’ll always be here in our little corner of the world.”

The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjin’s warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like you’re floating. Unreal.

“I don’t have a way to get there.” you say quickly, glancing at the clock.

Jisung’s plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. You’re at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving.

“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’ve got that taken care of.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means when you’re cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize who’s waiting for you.

“Hurry up people we don’t have all day!” Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. He’s parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.

“Innie!” you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around.

“You’re here! Oh my god I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.” you say in disbelief once he puts you down.

He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.”

“Help Hyunjin break into my what–” you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one that’s been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.

“For the last time,” Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.”

He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, he’s smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you guys.”

Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driver’s seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” he says. “Right now, you have a plane to catch.”

The airport is crowded.

There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked.

Thankfully, your gate isn’t far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand that’s curled around your suitcase handle.

It’s scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That you’re finally leaving.

It’s bittersweet, too. There’s an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere.

You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.

Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that he’s probably wondering why you won’t answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored.

Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, “Excuse me? I think you dropped this.”

Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.

“What– what are you doing here?” he asks.

You place the pick in his hand. “I'm on my way to Seoul. There’s a guy there that I’ve been trying to find for a while.” you say.

Jisung catches on quickly. “Oh, really?” he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. “This guy must be pretty great if you’re leaving for the mainland.”

The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. “Hm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.”

He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. “Sounds like you’re excited.”

You nod. “I am. He promised me that we’d do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently he’s gonna write songs and I’m gonna be a nerd.”

Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.

“He’s really lucky.” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You smile into it. “So am I.” you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals.

And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key you’d been searching for finally click into place.

Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips.

Forever isn’t promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jeju– it rains.

And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.

[tags: @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @drhsthl @strwbrrychannie @shays-library @giuliadesu @iknowyouknowminho @linocz @pynchkilledme @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @chans1aptop @liknws @realrintaro @beeracha @vxllxnsworld @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

Text

Practice On Me — Part Three — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s not an Illyrian party without at least one person starting a fight. Azriel is a jealous little shit. Y/N wants to put the smile right back on his face.

(I really don’t want to ruin this chapter for u but I finished writing it and all I could hear was Camilla Cabello in my head singing “I’llll be hooome for chwismois” — you’ll see why)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Some fiiiilthy language. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni 🌶️

It’s not that you and the others are trying to take advantage of Rhysand’s mother’s absence. But having an empty property at your disposal definitely comes in handy.

Particularly on nights like these, two weeks later, when the cottage is packed full with more people than it can reasonably host. There’s drinking and conversation and faces you don’t even recognise, and someone has brought Elpys Vine, a herb grown by someone’s sketchy great uncle on the continent that’s supposed to make you hallucinate.

Judging by the empty chair that a male opposite you keeps winking at, you think it’s probably having the desired effect.

The spot next to you dips down as Azriel takes a seat at your side. He hands you a drink, and so naturally, his arm drapes around your shoulders. It’s comforting — and also a relief, to know that things are still normal after what happened on this very couch two weeks earlier. Not a slither of awkwardness.

But your eyes have most definitely been snagging on every unfamiliar female around you and wondering if one of them could be the target of Azriel’s affections. If Kaeda is here tonight, he hasn’t said so.

Part of you wants to ask, and part of you…doesn’t. For whatever reason.

“This is definitely already way out of hand.” Az comments, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in the volume of people packed into the small space. “I thought it was supposed to be a small gathering.”

“That’s what Cassian told me, too.” You say, and then curiosity gets the better of you. You try to make it seem casual as you study the various females dotted throughout the room. “Is Kaeda here?”

Azriel’s eyes find yours, and he gives a small shake of his head. “No.”

“You didn’t invite her?”

“I didn’t invite anyone. That was Cassian’s job.”

You heave a very dramatic sigh indeed. Sometimes, Azriel is his own worst enemy.

Not that you’ve minded helping him so far — not at all. But surely there must come a point where he directs all he’s learnt at the intended person.

“I will make my move.” He tells you. “I’m just…not quite there yet. Still working on it.”

Fair enough, you suppose. Before you can say anything else, Cassian is suddenly slumping haphazardly into the space at your other side. One of Azriel’s shadows snakes out and clasps your drink before it can slosh down your front.

“Time for a game.” Cassian calls to the room, and you want to groan. Games with Cassian usually ensure chaos. “Let’s play Knife Point.”

There are enough enthusiastic responses that you know your reluctance will be wildly outnumbered. Knife Point is a game that’s used as a ruse to kiss as many people as you like — something you delighted in at fifteen, when kissing was still new to you, but you don’t feel quite the same excitement five years later. It’s pretty simple: a knife is placed in the centre of the table, and the players gather round. One-by-one, everyone takes their turns spinning the knife, and whoever the point settles on when it stops is who the spinner must kiss.

Basic, really. But Cassian loves kissing people.

You and Azriel share a look — one that says he’s no more excited for this than you are. And then you both crack a grin and settle into your seats, because you’ll always go along with Cassian’s shenanigans, even if you complain about them first.

“It seems only fair that the future high lord starts us off,” Cassian says, and slams a dagger down on the coffee table with unguarded enthusiasm. He grins at Rhys, who’s sat in an adjacent armchair with a curvy redhead on his lap. “Rhysand, darling — would you do the honours?”

Rhys flutters thick, dark lashes and gently removes the female from his thigh. “It would be my pleasure.”

The room watches closely as he spins the knife in a sleek way that has a few gazes heating. It spins fast, and then slows, slows, before landing on a female to his right whose name you don’t know. He angles himself towards her, and the smile he gives her most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in love, and the heated kiss he lands on her mouth most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in lust. She looks genuinely heartbroken when it comes to an end.

But then it’s her turn, and she’s kissing Jonan, an ex-fling of yours, and then Jonan is kissing Cassian, and then Cass is spinning the dagger and it’s pointing at you.

Your friend bellows a comical shriek of delight and jumps up so enthusiastically that this time, Az’s shadows can’t stop your drink from spilling. Cass is utterly oblivious as he turns to you with a wicked grin, holding his arms out.

“Come here, sweetpea.” He uses the nickname he’s called you for as long as you can remember. “Come make all my heated dreams come true.”

You snort, handing Az what remains of your drink and pushing to your feet. You intend to deliver a quick peck to Cassian’s lips, but so typically, he clasps your face with enough force to lift you from the floor, and his mouth lands heavily on yours.

Immediately, a chorus of jeers and laughs ring out around the circle. Cassian’s huge hand cups your jaw, and he kisses you like you’ve seen him kiss countless males and females before. It doesn’t matter that you’re his friend, an old comfort blanket — he gives you the exact same energy he gives them. He doesn’t do things by halves.

And the kiss certainly isn’t bad, if not a little strange. You can think of far worse people to be doing this with right now.

It goes on a little longer than necessary, and when you feel it deepen, feel Cassian’s tongue probing yours, you break away. Make a dramatic show of grimacing and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Damn.” Jonan snorts. “You didn’t kiss me like that, Cass.”

Cass smirks. “You’re not half as pretty, nor half as arousing.”

They squabble, and the game continues, and you slump back down by Azriel’s side, already tuning out the noise. You turn to retrieve your drink, only to find Az draining the rest of it.

“Hey.” You knock your arm against his. “I was going to finish that.”

He stares forward, not even looking at you as he quietly replies, “I figured you were too busy.”

Your face creases into a frown as you take in the stiff, rigid set of his body. He’s damn near hunched in that corner of the couch, and it can’t be comfortable with how his wings are a little squished, but it seems almost as if…as if he’s trying to put some space between you.

You try not to think too much about it as you return your attention to the game once more. The knife continues spinning and people continue kissing, and only once does the blade point in Azriel’s direction, to which he tersely announces he was never playing to begin with.

It’s that which makes you realise the reason behind his mood going south. He’s only just started exploring the art of kissing with you, only just started becoming comfortable with it. The last thing he’ll want to do is make a whole song and dance about it and kiss a near stranger in front of a group of people.

Combine that with his natural aversion to huge gatherings, and it makes sense, now, why he’s clutching your empty cup so tightly, and the muscle in his jaw keeps moving.

When everyone else is distracted, you place a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You suggest. “Get some fresh air.”

But he barely looks at you. Just keeps staring forward. He shoots a quick, hard look in Cassian’s direction and rips it away just as fast.

“I’m fine here.” He says. “You knock yourself out.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You know Azriel well enough to know when his social tolerance is at an all-time-low, and being at a party is the worst possible thing for him.

He goes more and more into himself, his brooding, and he seems to emanate an invisible signal that warns people to stay far, far away. Not even the drunken, giggling females approach him. The Shadowsinger is in a dangerous mood, and it won’t take much to set him off.

He doesn’t seem all that interested in talking to you, either, given that all your attempts have been met with quiet, one-worded responses. And so, figuring he’ll come to you when he feels like it, you wander off to get yourself another drink, and you sink into the throes of the party.

At some point, you feel a warm touch on your forearm, and you turn to find Jonan there. He’s a damn nice male — for an Illyrian. A little cocky, maybe, but kind. Not the sexist brute that so many of them turn out to be. You and he had been two eighteen-year-olds, excited about exploring each other’s bodies and sex in general. Realistically, it was never going to go anywhere, but you ended things in good spirits, and you’ve very casually fallen into each other’s beds on a few occasions since.

Judging by the way his dark eyes drink you in, you’re sure he’s hoping that tonight will end in the same manner.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” You say as you pull back from the hug he gives you.

His eyes seem to glimmer with flirtation. “Perhaps you haven’t been looking hard enough.”

You snort. “Or perhaps you don’t train close enough for us to run into each other all that often.”

That’s definitely it. The Illyrian males are sorted into different training groups based on a whole host of different things. Unsurprisingly, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are in the most skilled group. Jonan is in a different one.

And it’s Jonan’s group, you know, that has just got back from a harsh training exercise that takes them away for weeks at a time. Which is the most likely cause of you having not seen him in passing.

Azriel’s group will be the next to go on one last training exercise before everyone breaks for the winter solstice. They’ll be setting off any day now, as soon as they’re called forth by their general. A few weeks without your three closest friends is a thought you don’t want to linger on.

“How was the training exercise?” You ask, genuinely interested. There will always be a part of you that wishes that was you, out there, putting your skills to use.

But you’re female. And females stay behind.

“Fucking brutal.” Jonan answers. “The weather is bad this year, so we were out there a week longer than we were supposed to be. My sleep pattern is still fucked.”

“Sounds like you need to relax.”

“Oh, I do.” His eyes trail down your body. “Perhaps you can help me with that.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you mean to reply. All you know is that you’re not jumping at the offer of easy, mindless sex like you have done in the past.

But before you can respond, Jonan is stumbling forward, into you. Thanks to a huge, muscled body knocking into him.

He whips around to face Azriel, spilled drink forgotten in his hand. You didn’t even see Az‘s approach.

“Watch it, Shadowsinger.” Jonan narrows his eyes at him. “You almost knocked Y/N over.”

Azriel stops and eyes Jonan with clear dismissal. A rare, antagonising expression sits on his flawless features. “Are you talking to me?”

“Do you see any other shadowy fucks around here?”

One side of Azriel’s lips twitch up in satisfaction. So rarely does he waste his time looking for a fight, but he’s looking for one now — and has found one.

“What I see,” he says, and steps closer to Jonan, towering over him considerably, “is an irritating little cunt who’s in my way. Move.”

But Jonan doesn’t move. Like a typical Illyrian, he salivates at the prospect of a punch-up. He looks a little pathetic as he tries to square up against Az.

“Now, now, Azriel,” he sneers. “That’s no way to talk about Y/N, is it?”

And the mention of your name in Jonan’s mouth is all it takes for Azriel to launch himself at him. There’s not nearly enough room for this, and as he grabs Jonan by the front of his tunic and slams him against the wall, all sorts of surrounding objects go flying.

At once, everyone is turning to watch the confrontation. And so fucking typically, of all the people in the room, neither Rhysand nor Cassian are anywhere to be found.

Which means you’re dealing with this alone. Because nobody else will care to break this up.

You curse quietly and jump in just as Jonan goes to land a hit on Azriel’s jaw. He falters as you throw yourself between them as best as you can at the angle. It’s not great, but you manage to wedge an arm between them.

“Hey. Enough.” You snap, and it feels like all the times you’ve reprimanded the camp younglings. “Cut this out right now.”

Jonan scowls. And actually says, “He started it.”

It makes you never want to have sex with him again. Never have you been drier between your thighs.

“I don’t give a shit. It stops now.” You stare between them seriously, and then you’re firmly grasping Azriel’s arm. “Az, we’re leaving. Now.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, like Azriel really, really does not want to give up the fight. But then he’s letting go of Jonan’s shirt, more or less dropping him to the floor.

“Fine by me.” Az fucking smirks at the male. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You don’t spare Jonan a single further look as Azriel grabs your hand and pulls you through the thralls of people, all disappointed at a fight not coming to fruition. But their attention is quickly stolen by something else, and you don’t look back as you and Az step out into the cold.

Az begins to walk as though the past minute never even happened. You’re quick to catch up to him and grab hold of his forearm.

“Hey.” Your breath clouds in front of your face in the cold night air. “What was that?”

Azriel shrugs. “It was nothing. He is nothing.”

“You—”

“It’s fucking freezing, Y/N. Can we just go?”

You stare back at him. The urge to pry more, demand an explanation, is a strong one. But it is freezing, and in this frame of mind, you’re not certain he’ll tell you anything, anyway. He’s in a strange mood — probably in anticipation of the upcoming training exercise. Perhaps unwisely, you decide to drop it.

“Go where?” You concede. The biting cold makes the decision to do so much easier.

“Dormitories. You can stay with me tonight.”

Dormitories is a very generous term for the limited accommodation that is offered to each training legion. Most of it sits unused, due to the majority of Illyrians preferring the harsh, toughening dwellings of tents and crumbling old houses in all extreme weathers. But a certain amount of small, draughty rooms are available, and Az tends to make use of his when the cottage begins to feel too crowded, and he needs a break from living on top of Rhys and Cass.

There’s no hammering droves of snow tonight, and you’ve patched up your boots enough to hopefully last you a little longer. A broad expanse of stars glimmers above you, making it a rather pleasant night for a stroll — or it would be, if not for the unavoidable presence of Azriel’s bad mood.

Your attempts at conversation are met with non-committal responses, and by the time you’re kicking through the peeling wooden door to the accommodation, you’re fucking exasperated.

Azriel can be very, very insufferable when he thinks himself into a foul mood.

You could go home, back to your father’s house — you certainly consider it as you follow Az into his cramped dwellings, but…you don’t know. You wouldn’t like to leave him like this. To walk away without seeing him crack a little smile. In nine years of friendship, you’ve never done so before. So you shut and lock the door behind you, and resign yourself to a very silent, very tense night.

You press your back against the door, watching as Azriel perches on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes. Through the walls, you hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin, and the building moans of a female close to climax. This miserable building is more often used as a place for a quick fuck than it is to actually sleep in.

But Az doesn’t seem to notice as he shrugs out of his clothing, quickly slipping on a pair of low-slung cotton sleeping trousers, and sprawls out across the mattress, wings fanning around him.

You’re not sure why you don’t move, at first. Or maybe you are.

Your gaze snags on the toned muscles of Azriel’s torso, and the smattering of dark hair that maps a line from beneath his bellybutton to what sits under his trousers. You’ve seen it countless times before, and yet you can’t stop staring.

Particularly when he stretches his arms above his head, and then drags a hand down his stomach. To him, it’s a subconscious act, but to you—

You can’t stop yourself zeroing in on his hand. The very hand that touched you and bathed you in a pleasure so stunning, so splintering, that you hadn’t dared to try and replicate it yourself since. Such inexperienced fingers had coaxed such expert sensations—

“Are you coming to bed?” Azriel’s voice drags you from your thoughts.

“…Right.” You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“There’s a shirt for you in the armoire.”

You shuck off your clothes, digging out the tunic you often borrow from Az to sleep in. He barely spares you a glance, his eyes glued to the ceiling. You can’t help heaving a sigh as you pad over and slip beneath the blanket. The faelights wink out, and for a while, you both lie there in silence. It’s you who eventually breaks it.

“Are you going to tell me what that fight with Jonan was about?”

Az slings an arm above his head. “You were there. I’d hardly call it a fight.”

“No, I’d call it an overreaction.”

“Jonan’s an arrogant bastard and everyone knows it.”

He brooks no room for argument. And he’s not exactly wrong, either. You know Jonan gets himself into more brawls than the average person. But Az wasn’t exactly justified tonight.

But before you can think of a response, he says, quietly, “Sorry — if I ruined your night.”

You pause. And then roll onto your side, staring at his outline through the darkness. “You didn’t. I didn’t want to go to the party, anyway.”

There’s a tiny, soft snort. “Me neither.” He agrees. “But going along with Cassian’s ideas is the story of our lives.”

“That it is.”

Az says no more, does no more. And you…you hate it. Because it’s not simply that he’s sleepy and dozing off beside you. He’s just as awake as you are. And his mood is still heavy and tense.

You can’t stand it.

It’s perhaps against your better judgement that you inch closer to him, your mind already made up about how you might lift his spirits. It’s dangerous, because your arrangement has simply been about helping him, and he’s always been the instigator, knowing what he needs and when he needs it. Which he most certainly isn’t doing now.

But you would be helping him…in a way. And you can’t lie and say that it hasn’t bothered you, over the past two weeks, that you didn’t get to return the pleasure he gave you.

It would still be a learning experience. That’s what you tell yourself as you press against his side and drape your arm over his stomach.

Az pauses, but this isn’t unusual for the pair of you. You’ve cuddled like this plenty of times over the years — with your other friends, too. And so there’s no hesitation as he slides an arm beneath you and tugs you closer, his wing tucking you in.

You rest your head on his chest, and you murmur, “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

You really, really don’t.

You always miss your friends when they’re sent away, but it seems…heavier, somehow, this time. Like there’s more between you to miss.

That…that is not a good thought to have.

You banish it from your mind rather than dwelling on it.

Az’s hand presses against your back. “I’ll be home in time for Solstice.”

You hear the unspoken promise in that statement; the one Azriel knows you need to hear. Because this isn’t just about simply missing his company.

Solstice is…hard for you, to say the least. Being holed up with your father, him drinking from the crack of dawn until he collapses in a chair by the fire. His unpredictable, volatile moods and tendency to pick at you over every tiny thing. It’s the time of year you rely on your friends the most, and you spend the entire day waiting for your father to pass out so you can sneak away and forget him for a while.

Azriel’s bare skin is so pleasantly warm, lulling you back to the present. You shelve your worries for the time being, press your cheek against his pectoral, and breathe in his frost-and-cedar scent. His wing drapes over you, cocooning the two of you in your own little world.

And there’s no better place than inside that world to ease some of Azriel’s tension. Bring the smile back to his lips.

“…Az?” You whisper, slowly gliding a hand over his stomach.

His body tenses beneath you. There’s a pause before he answers, “Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing…” He clears his throat. “Nothing much. What are you thinking about?”

The question is an opening for you to stop this right here. You could return a similar, half-assed response, remove your hand from his stomach and go to sleep. Like any sensible, reasonable friend would do.

Or you could be honest.

You could tell Azriel that your close proximity has you thinking all about the magic of his fingers, the sensations he wrought from you. You could admit that it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve thought about it since it happened — not at all. You could tell him that you’re still a little stunned, because besides yourself, nobody has ever made you come that hard.

You could tell him how badly you want — need — to return the favour.

And never one to back down from a situation, however daunting, you do exactly that.

“I’m thinking…” you murmur, and your finger begins to just slightly trace lines over his stomach. Your touch is so light, and yet you feel his body react beneath you. “I’m thinking that there’s more I’d like to teach you about touching.”

A little breath escapes him. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” That finger of yours gets a little bolder, making bigger sweeps over his skin and dancing close to his waistband. “But this time, I want to touch you. You made me feel so good, Azriel. I want to make you feel good as well.”

“You…you don’t have to do that.”

Gods, you know you don’t. You know this situation has never been about him expecting anything from you. Just a friend helping a friend out. No big deal.

But who says you can’t both get something out of it?

“I know I don’t have to.” You answer him. Your hand stops its movements, and you stare up at him, your eyes accustomed enough to the dark to make out certain features. “And I won’t, if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

A tiny, tiny little pause.

And then Azriel rasps, “Yes.”

It’s a guttural, gasping sound, and it’s so delicious that you want to swallow it.

You don’t hesitate in moving your hand up to his face. You angle it towards you. Slant your lips over his.

And you smile. There’s a mulled wine that Azriel far prefers drinking over the piss-poor ale that most males around here favour, and it’s not the first time you’ve tasted it on him. It’s pleasing to explore — the spices and berries and damp heat of his mouth a combination that coaxes you to slide your tongue between his lips.

Az seems pretty well comfortable with his kissing technique, now. He leans into it, not at all tentative, his tongue meeting the strokes of yours. And then he suddenly breaks away.

“I like—this.” He pants heavily, breath fanning your face. “I like doing this.”

The words make something glow inside you, because that is precisely what you want. This isn’t just about teaching him the technicalities of physical touch. It’s about liberating him from the barriers he’s built in his mind, and showing him how much he can enjoy it.

And your friend deserves that.

You plan to really show him.

You slide your hand over his hip and haul him closer, eliminating the tiny little gap that existed between your bodies. An act that makes him suck in a breath.

“If I do anything at all that you don’t like, you need to tell me, Az.” You stare at him. “Okay?”

He nods.

“I need your words. Swear it.”

“Gods, Y/N, I swear it.”

He kisses you this time.

He really does like doing that.

The kiss is hot and hungry, loitering on the precipice of being frenzied. Azriel’s hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers kneading the skin there. A dim faelight blinks back to life, bathing the two of you in enough warm light to see each other. His tongue pushes past the seam of your lips.

But you don’t give him the chance to stroke at your mouth. There are a million other places you can think of kissing; a million other places you’re just as desperate to get your mouth on.

Your lips glide along Azriel’s jaw with the lightness of a breeze. He goes still, appearing to wait with bated breath to see what you’ll do next, and how it will feel. He’s never been kissed here before.

Nor at his neck. You kiss the skin gently, at first, and smile to yourself at the little breath that hitches in Az’s throat. Something told you he’d be amenable to neck kisses.

Indeed, he is, as you attach your lips to the column of his throat and suck.

It’s a soft ungh, this time, that escapes him. A noise of both surprise and delight. Perhaps he never before considered the sensitivity of the neck, how enjoyable it might be to be kissed there. It’s one of many things you want to be the one to teach him.

You suck and lave at the area until his stomach is caving beneath your hand, and then you’re moving on, dragging your mouth over his collarbone. Down to his pectoral.

His skin is hot but its taste is cold — cold, like his scent. Frost and snow, icy starlight, the whipping winds and thrill of flying. Gods, it’s all delicious, and you close your mouth over his nipple, desperate to taste more.

Azriel starts, his back arching just a little. Your eyes flit up to his as your tongue teases the peaked flesh.

“This okay?” You check, allowing your teeth to graze just a little.

“Yes.” Az breathes. “I never considered that that might feel good for—for a male, too.”

You smile, repeating the action, fastening your lips totally around the nipple and giving a gentle suck. It earns you another quiet sound in response.

But you don’t want quiet. You want to make your friend feel so good that he can’t keep a lid on those sounds. The muscles of his stomach are quivering under your palm, and you decide it’s unfair to make him wait any longer.

So as your tongue circles his nipple, you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers.

You’re careful, even though you know the sharp intake of breath is a positive one. Nobody’s hands but his own have ever ventured here. You want him to be aware of every touch, every feeling.

Your fingers skate over the dusting of fine, coarse hair. And lower. And then your hand is on his cock.

The mere weight of your touch drags a breathless little noise from Azriel’s throat. And you pause.

Azriel is big, even by Illyrian standards.

From touch alone, you can feel its length, its thickness. You’re not entirely sure you can fit him in your hand, let alone anywhere else.

But gods are you willing to try.

You take your time exploring every detail, starting at the smooth, swollen head — already leaking a droplet of moisture —and circling its rim with your finger. Azriel’s hips jerk, and you smile, removing your mouth from his nipple to kiss further down,

“Still doing okay?” You ask, coasting your lips over his ribs. The pads of your fingers stroke over the head of his cock slowly, casually.

But there is absolutely nothing casual about Az’s voice as he grounds out, “I’m doing great.”

“Want me to keep going—”

“Please.” The word escapes his mouth before you can even finish the sentence. “Please.”

You smile, and you scoot lower down his body, giving yourself the perfect angle to explore the muscles of his abdomen with your mouth, your tongue.

It allows you to feel the exact moment you glide your palm down the length of Azriel’s cock, following the long, jagged vein.

Gods, it feels like it goes on forever.

The skin is velvety, smoothing over every vein, every bump and ridge. You explore it all, as much for your enjoyment as for his. You can’t imagine what it must be like to feel it sliding in and out of you, hitting a spot so deep inside you that you’d have to bite the mattress—

A thought you should not be having. It isn’t going that far.

And there’s a twinge of disappointment at that fact. But now isn’t the time for disappointment.

You trace the length of Azriel’s cock all the way down to his balls, and he’s trembling beneath you. You tug at his trousers, whisper, “Can I pull these down?”

It might be silly to ask, given that your hand is already well beneath the fabric. But you want him to have a choice in everything.

So when he gives a firm nod and lifts his hips for you, you tug the cotton trousers down, peeling them easily from his hips.

Azriel’s cock springs up. And it…it might just be the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen.

You damn near moan at the sight of it.

But before the sound can escape you, you smother it by pressing your lips to Azriel’s stomach. You kiss the skin, lap at it, graze your teeth over it. And your hand returns to his hardened length.

Finally — fucking finally — you wrap your hand around him.

Azriel makes a gasping sound at your touch, his hips canting up into your hand. He’s so responsive to your touch that you have to clench your thighs together to ignore your own arousal. This is about him. Entirely about him.

It’s about him as you slowly begin to pump his shaft, peppering kisses down and down until you’re at his hip. It’s about him as you squeeze gently and hear the hitching of his breath.

“So responsive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hip.

“Is that—gods—” He hisses between his teeth as you pump a little faster, “—is that a good thing?”

“Very good, Az. I want to know that you’re enjoying it.”

“I am. Fuck, Y/N, I am.”

“Good.” Another kiss lands on his skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise drags another noise from the depths of his throat — the loudest he’s made so far. You don’t know whether he’s simply gaining in confidence, or whether he’s losing control. Maybe both. Hopefully both.

And you think you might lose control, too. Watch with rapt fascination as the head of his cock leaks, and it’s swelling, thickening in your hand, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

You really want to taste him before he falls off the edge.

“Holy gods,” Azriel pants, his teeth biting into his lower lip. “Y/N, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“Don’t fight it.” You lick your lips. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

The question makes him fucking groan, and he chokes out an affirmative response, his cock rutting into your hand. You know he’s close, and you want him to finish. Preferably on your tongue.

And when you slide your mouth onto his cock, you know that’s going to happen.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him into your mouth as much as you can.

Azriel shouts, his head falling back, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You suck on him, tongue tracing the length of the vein that’s beginning to throb. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the way he slides his hands into your hair, his hips rolling.

“Y/N,” he pants, your name languid and slurred on his tongue, “m’sofuckingclose.”

You pull your mouth off of him long enough to say, “Look at me. Watch me while you come.”

And then you’re sucking him again, your hand wrapped around the base of his length. You pump and lick him and bob your head in time to Az’s hips canting against you, and you think the sounds he’s making may just be the most beautiful ones you’ve ever heard.

And he watches you so closely, his brow furrowed, his lips parted, his chest heaving. Your gaze collides with his, and you’re hollowing your cheeks and giving a particularly harsh suck.

“Oh, gods, Y/N, fuck!”

Azriel spills into your mouth, shot after shot coating your tongue. You take it all, swallowing greedily, savouring the saltiness and the hint of something else that is just Azriel. It seems endless, and so do his groans, his constant string of curses, the jerking of his hips and the trembles wracking through his entire body.

You damn well suck him dry. Not a drop is spared.

As you finally pull him out of your mouth, wipe your lips with the back of your hand and glimpse his shaking, sated form, you know you’re committing the sight to memory. For when this is all over.

He’s…he’s a vision. Head still tipped back. Stomach and chest still heavily rising and falling. Pleasure still pinching his face. His hands are fisted tightly in the bedsheets.

You leave him to come down from his high. He’s still panting a little when his head lolls forward, and his eyes meet yours.

“That was—” His voice cracks a little. “God’s, Y/N, I don’t have words.”

“It’s okay.” You press a gentle kiss to his stomach, tucking his sensitive length back into his trousers. “Words aren’t necessary. You did so well.”

His arms are suddenly around you, tugging you up and against him, your body slanted slightly over his. All the earlier tension from the night is gone, and it’s just you and him, your love and friendship, your unbreakable bond.

Az holds you tightly, burying into your hair. And you think that this was maybe more than just…you returning a favour. You think this might have been a soul-shifting moment for him. Something that released him from the invisible bindings that have held him back for so long.

And it saddens you a little to think that that might be the end of it. That you’ve done all you can do.

But still, you’re honoured to have helped him this far. To have guided him through it.

“Thank you.” He whispers, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. He’s still trembling, and he tucks himself in tight as if he’s worried he might break. “Just…thank you.”

You don’t quite know what to say. It feels a little…final, and you don’t like that.

So you simply nestle into his side, and you repeat your earlier truth, your voice a whisper. “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

Because you know you’ll miss him more than you ever have before. It’s going to be far harder this time.

What, exactly, that means…you can’t bear to think of it right now.

And there’s no need to as Az holds you tightly, kisses your head again.

“I’ll be there with you on Solstice.” He says. “I promise.”

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

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kookslastbutton · 4 months

Text

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter two

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 6.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from Yoongi's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of body shaming by Hybe executive, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, light fighting between members (literally crack), Namjoon has a little crush, Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions that make them finally start bonding (a little flirty too, hehe) 😉

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: CHAPTR TWO IS HERE! GOD...the slow burn exists outside the series too with me not updating for two months. I'm sorry guys but TYSM for your patience! I'm VERY excited to release this chapter bc I think Yoon & Oc are super cute, hehe. Okay anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Yoongi stands with his hands placed loosely on his hip, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. The seven of them had been practicing choreography for their new RUN BTS song nonstop when Jimin called for a much-needed, fifteen-minute break. There’s a part of him that’s thanking the younger for it and another that’s wishing he hadn’t, as every moment left alone with his thoughts is spent decoding his last encounter with you at the cafeteria.

Why had you made such a beeline for the exit the moment he was waved over by his member?

You also completely ignored his attempts to greet you on your way out. He only stopped by the cafeteria to slip an orange in his pocket before returning to his studio. He didn’t mean to intrude or incite that you had to leave with his sudden presence.

Taehyung assured him that you merely left to tend to work matters, which he’d typically sum as hyper-fixation with one’s work as he’s prone to do the same, but this felt different at its core. Your behavior seemed more intentional than that. The last thing he wants to do is misread the whole situation, but he must’ve done or said something to cause your uneasiness.

“Hyung, how did the album meeting go this morning?” A clear voice comes from Yoongi's left as his fellow band member, Namjoon, strides next to him, water bottle clenched in his fist. Like himself, large droplets of sweat dots around the man’s brow. The minor interruption shakes Yoongi out of his slightly dazed state.

“Went well.” He takes a big swish of his own water before screwing the cap back on. “We reviewed everything in three hours and the album looks better than I anticipated. There are a couple of promotional strategies that still need finalizing, but I’m pretty confident about it overall.”

“That’s great, man. __-nim’s been doing good work with TXT for the last few years, so she’s definitely suited for the job. I thought about requesting her help to promote Indigo but the timing of it all didn’t work.” Namjoon’s voice drops an octave at the last part, as if remorseful for more than a missed professional opportunity.

“Ah, maybe your next album hyung,” Jimin suddenly chimes in, slapping the taller man on the shoulder from the side. “I have a feeling you and __-nim would work well together. Think about it, you’re both natural born leaders and you’re smart too. I bet __ -nim has as high of an IQ as you.”

Namjoon’s cheeks flush with the faintest tint of rose as Jimin flashes a knowingly cheeky grin. Yoongi, of course, witnesses the entire exchange, the slightest part of him feeling uprooted by the thought of his band member and new marketing manager suddenly hitting it off. He decides not to comment on the matter, choosing to remain in ignorance instead. This is all speculation, right?

Now that they’re all on the subject of his album though, it gets him thinking that maybe he’s been too narrow viewed regarding the reason for your off putting behavior at lunch.

D-Day’s release has become a consuming priority lately, with everyone involved worked to the bone. Aside from himself, you’ve been bearing the brunt of it. He’s appreciative of course, considering the album holds a deep sense of meaning to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be perfect. A little pushback during the first proposal is natural, yet he did get more resistant toward ideas during this morning’s meeting than anticipated. Perhaps some of his nitpicking was unnecessary, adding to your already heavy load.

Yoongi’s head feels worse the longer he entertains the possibility. He doesn’t want to make the first time working together a complete whirlwind, especially this early. A strong, healthy partnership starts with trust, safety, and mutual respect. The same philosophy can be applied to relationships of varying natures. That reminds him—since when did Taehyung and you become so close? He’s been ruminating over it all afternoon, like a jigsaw puzzle he can’t solve.

It’s odd how little he knows.

“I heard someone mention __-nim over here. I want in.” A small grumble leaves Yoongi’s lips as Jungkook pushes next to him, displeased by how tiny his space bubble has gotten due to the huddle his members have formed around him. Just why the hell is everyone so interested in his new marketing director? That's what he wants to know.

“Can you introduce me to her sometime hyung?" Jungkook pleads. "I’m thinking about releasing an album in the next year and it’d be great if you could hook us up…yknow?”

Oh, Yoongi knows. He knows exactly what this young buck is insinuating, but it isn’t mating season yet and even if it were he will do no such thing as to “hook them up”. Besides, his conscience tells him that you wouldn't be interested in the company of a younger man anyway—not that your dating life is any of his business or anything.

“Get in line Jungkookie, behind Namjoon. He needs her for his album first.” Jimin squeezes down on Namjoon’s muscular shoulders with both hands, shaking him just enough to hype him up. His hands are removed seconds later when he’s told to knock it off.

“That’s enough about this, okay? I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung is the only one who actually needs __-nim right now because, in case you dumbasses have forgotten, D-Day is set to release in April,” Namjoon scolds the two with a commanding tone. Jungkook, per usual, remains persistent in his original request and keeps his full attention on Yoongi.

“Anyway hyung, as I was saying, I know your album takes priority so I’m in no hurry to meet her. I can be pretty patient as you know-“

“Heh, that’s a lie.”

“Shove it Jimin, no one’s talking to you.” Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch together as Jimin snorts helplessly next to Namjoon.

“You shove it Kook,” Jimin counters. “And stop trying to date __-nim! Find your own woman!”

“I’m not trying to date her! She's my noona for gods sake! Do you think I’m oblivious to how the public reacts to idols dating? Also, __-nim is a Hybe employee, not an idol. I can only imagine the type of scandal the media would spin it as.”

“Right, we all know you actually just want to take her to your bed instead,” Jimin interrupts for the umpteenth time. “Our handsome leader, on the other hand, is interested in her professional abilities. We can learn a lot from him.”

“Why are you always trying to start a fight with me Jimin? Is it because I can take you, now that I've been building up more muscle?” Jungkook’s accusations earn him nothing more than a sea of eye-rolls until Jimin lunges himself towards him, puffing out his chest the best he can to size him up.

Namjoon rubs his face with a hand, a clear visual display of his exhaustion. He’s been moderating these stupid squabbles for nine years now. “Alright very mature, biggest boy band in the world and this is what it’s come to? Amazing, congrats to everyone for winning the award for most-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Seokjin interjects, effortlessly shouting over everyone while waving his hands. “My brothers…why are we fighting over here like a couple of peacocks? We are all beautiful in our own, individual ways. Mine, for example, is my handsome face.”

“For the love of god hyung, we’re trying to settle something. Go take your inspirational pep talk elsewhere!” Jungkook bends his knees, swooping down to throw Jimin over his shoulder but he misses when the man starts tickling him ruthlessly.

“St-ah-stop it Jimin!"

“You stop it, you frickin’ brat! Trying to take advantage of our hyungs for your own selfish gain.” Jimin then slaps Jungkook on the ass which does not go unappreciated as Hoseok cackles from the other side of the room. Up until this point, he’s been scrolling on his phone, completely unbothered by the chaos. As Hoseok nears the action, Jungkook delivers a swift kick to Jimin’s rear end.

“Ow, what the fuck Kook?!” Jimin tries soothing the sting by massaging it with his hands. “You little prick!”

“Oh come on, I barely hit you. Gaining sympathy points won’t help this time, plus I see you trying to hide a grin. You think this shit is funny. You’re sick you know that?”

Jimin makes a move to return the kick to his youngest member but ends up hitting a far taller, and leaner subject instead. Taehyung, who just returned from the bathroom, throws a hand over his abdomen and grunts from the sudden impact.

“What is—shit Jimin that really hurt!” Taehyung’s baritone voice echoes off the walls as he winces from the pain. He takes a few deep breaths, then viciously eyes the two brawlers followed by the rest of the room. “What the hell is going on? I heard you all talking about __-nim from the hallway. Yoongi-hyung here is trying to kick off his album and tour, which we are supposed to be celebrating over drinks this Friday, but here you are arguing with each other and who has the biggest dick. Well, you can all put it away because as __-nim’s best friend, and number one wingman, only I’m allowed to set her up with someone and it won’t be with any of you! Sorry hyung…” he looks at Namjoon who appears to have brushed the comment off.

As soon as Taehyung ceases his mini-speech, eery silence sets in. Hoseok is the first to dare say a word.

“Uh, so what’s this about being her best friend Tae?”

“Yeah, I had no idea either.” Jimin quirks his head to the side, awaiting the details.

“Same,” Namjoon adds in a short breath.

“What happened to us, man?” Jungkook pouts at Taehyung, a total 180 from moments ago when he was in an unsolicited sparring match with Jimin. “You used to share everything with me. Now you’re holding out on me. Since when did you and __-nim start hanging out?”

Yoongi’s ears perk up for the first time since all the commotion began, curious to hear Taehyung’s response. He only recently discovered the blossoming friendship hours ago and even then, it was a brief inside look.

“I didn’t think to mention it but yeah, we started talking since her first day at Hybe. I bumped into her on the way into work, early morning for both of us. I expected her to be a bit on the reserved side, considering she was a new hire, but she was quite friendly. The more we talked, the more I felt like I knew her as if a childhood best friend I’d reconnected with.” Pausing, he wets his lips before continuing. “We share a lot of our meals together now, like our lunches during the weekday. Her food tastes amazing by the way. I think she missed her calling as a chef but it’s more than food— it’s a love language, a labor of love.”

“Wow, you two sure are connected,” Hoseok speaks first again, seeing the rest of his members working to process the new bit of info.

“Platonically, yes.”

“This’ll be good for Yoongi-hyung and his album then! No bad blood exists here!” Hoseok shifts his gaze between Taehyung and Yoongi, pleased with the outcome. The older of the two remains speechless, yet it’s far from a dazed expression. Yoongi is instead deep in thought, the wheels turning in his head.

So maybe it’s true that birds of a feather flock together, he hums to himself. The two of you seem to be social butterflies with a vase full of commonalities. He, on the other hand, prefers his solitude. That’s not to say he’s a hermit or anything though. Hybe hosts a company-wide New Year’s Eve party every single year and he’s made his best effort to attend them all. He mainly mingles with his members, but he still makes sure to small talk with other coworkers. Come to think of it, did he even see you at last year’s New Year’s Eve party?

He can’t remember much from the night except Seokjin scolding him for not wishing him a happy birthday the minute the clock struck midnight. He was a bit tipsy at that point. Taehyung disappeared soon after to make his usual rounds, stopping to chat with everyone in his path. Maybe he took off to talk to you during that time.

Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about you.

"Just to confirm, is everyone still on for Friday night to celebrate D-Day?" Jimin pipes. "I booked us a good place to have some food and drinks.

Taehyung nods, "I am, as long as it's not the same place we saw our CFO and his much younger date feeding each other. I couldn't eat for the rest of that night."

Jungkook fakes a gag before replying. "I'm sorry but does anyone know how is he still working here? Guy creeps me out."

"I swear, I couldn't agree more. Just yesterday he made an egregiously body-shaming comment toward __-nim to someone else on the board. She kept a brave front when she told me, but I'm damn tempted to get him removed from his position myself!" Taehyung's nostrils flare as he shares his frustration, fingers digging into his hips.

Yoongi takes a final chug of his water before abruptly tossing the bottle on the floor. A sharp crack resounds through the space, instantly commanding the authority of the room. “Fifteen minutes is over,” he gruffs. “It might be twenty minutes with all the bickering earlier. We don't have time to be talking about this anymore.”

“Come on now," Hoseok says. "Didn't you hear what Taehyung said? Our CFO really is a class-A jerk. I feel so bad that __-nim has to put up with his bullshit, she doesn't deserve it." His eyes frantically search the room, hoping to rally support.

"Don't worry about that asshole," Yoongi assures, "I'll handle it." He strides over to his choreographed position on the dance floor as if a leader in his own right, the rest of the members following in his steps.

"Just don't kill him, hyung," Namjoon says, resting a hand on the older's shoulder from behind. Yoongi merely snorts lightly in reply.

Yoongi is dead tired, his feet feeling heavier the minute he stands from his studio chair. He could have left hours ago, but here it is nearly 9:30 at night, and he's only just leaving the office.

As he shuffles down the hallway towards the elevator, he notices the eerie silence. It's thick, almost palpable. There's not a soul left in the building this late at night. When the elevator doors open, he leans casually against the metal rail, closes his eyes, and mentally retraces his day.

Overall, it was a decent day, he thinks, productive at best. Skipping dinner to work on his album tracks was an easy decision, but he might be paying for it now given the intense growling of his stomach. Despite his songs being considered perfect by his members, he can't help but tweak each one a final time. It's as if his gut tells him there's still a piece missing from the whole.

All at once, the elevator comes to a sudden stop. Yoongi's eyes shoot open, anticipation flooding his senses. Is someone still here? He listens intently, straining to hear any sound over the faint hum of the elevator. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, the elevator doors slide open to reveal an empty, dimly lit hallway. It's the 16th floor. He hesitates for a second, peering into the shadows, but there’s no sign of anyone. Strange.

Just as the elevator doors begin to close, Yoongi hears a distant, unmistakable voice. "Please hold the door!" you plead, your voice strained with urgency. He responds immediately, stretching out an arm to block the door. "Thank you so much," you say, slipping in beside him, your bag thrown over your shoulder.

Yoongi watches as you enter, curiosity in his eyes. It seems you were of like mind tonight, working late and likely burdened by the extra work he caused for you. The feeling of tension is as clear as it was yesterday, lingering as a reminder of the unspoken discomfort between you both.

But then again, there's that issue Taehyung mentioned, looming in his thoughts. He hadn't realized you overheard the horrendous comment his CFO made about you. No wonder you hurried away from him like a bat out of hell yesterday; you knew he knew. He wouldn't dare shine a light on the situation and risk embarrassing you further; no one needs to relive such a belittling experience. Yet, he's wrestling with the right words to say.

"Heading home, Min PD-nim?" You surprise him by speaking first, voice firm with a touch of gentleness.

Yoongi allows a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips, hoping it'll relieve some tension. "I am, it's been quite a day. What about you?"

You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. "Same here. Just had to wrap up a few things before heading out."

He hesitates for a moment, noting how you speak as if it were only a few minutes past five or six in the evening. "I understand. I was working in my studio up until now. I should be back up there tomorrow too," he says, then chuckles lightly, "Sometimes I feel like I should just live up there."

You return the subtle laugh and smile softly at him, your light brown eyes catching his dark ones. It feels like the same prolonged gaze you shared upon first meeting, yet now, it's somehow become easier; perhaps a hint of familiarity.

"By the way," he continues, seizing the opportunity, "feel free to call me Yoongi-ssi. I'm not that formal in case you didn't know." He playfully gestures to his casual attire; tan cargo pants, grey plaid button-down, and sneakers.

You seem hesitant towards the request at first, evident from your delayed response. "Are you sure?" you choke. "I don't want to over step my boundaries."

"There's no need to worry about that," he assures. "We're on equal level aren't we? If we're going to be working side by side for the next eight months give or take, I want us to feel comfortable with each other. Please, call me Yoongi-ssi."

"Okay, I might need some time to get used to that," you say, head nodding, "I'll try calling you Yoongi-ssi from now on."

"There's one other thing too," he pauses, "since we'll be working on D-Day's promotion from start to finish, I'll have many of my own opinions. It's a natural instinct for me, but I don't want to be a hinderance. I don't want anyone else giving you issues either, so I'd like to hear your full thoughts on matters, especially when it comes to important decisions."

"That means a lot Yoongi-ssi, thank you. I'm very grateful that you'd allow me to be a part of this and I'd very much like us to have an equal partnership. This is your album though, so I want to make sure it gets the recognition it deserves in the way you'd prefer."

Yoongi glances at the floor numbers displayed to the right of the elevator doors. Any second now and you'll reach the lobby. He wouldn't mind talking longer, but letting you both get a decent night's sleep is the far better idea at this point.

"I trust that D-Day is in the right hands with you, __ssi," he replies. "It's why I recommended that we work together to promote it in the first place. Bang PD was also confident in the idea. We don't doubt your expertise for a second." He pauses when the elevator doors slide open and allows you to be the first to exit. "Have a good night, okay?"

For the first time, you reciprocate the wish with a full, illuminating smile. It's not a professional one, Yoongi notes, its a real one—as genuine and sincere as his words. He takes it as a sign that the tides may finally be turning for the better. "You too," he hears you say before you push through the large revolving doors and step into the cool night air.

In the evenings that follow, Yoongi finds himself back in his studio as promised, a glass of whiskey in hand. He ultimately decided that if he was going to be here until all hours of the night, he might as well have a cold beverage to keep him company.

As he leans back in his chair, swirling the dark amber liquor in his glass, his mind inadvertently wanders to you. Were you downstairs again? Were you here with him? It would seem that given your unexpected late-night encounter in the elevator, the validity of the idea wouldn't be all that wild or far-fetched.

With each passing minute, as the clock inches closer to the late hours, he finds himself circling back to the same thought. It's as if the possibility of running into you has become a highlight of his night.

Just then, a deep and familiar voice interrupts. "Burning the midnight oil again, hyung?"

Startled, Yoongi looks up to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. Despite it being almost 9 at night, his younger member is nothing short of flawless in appearance.

"Yeah, working on my tracks," Yoongi replies, offering a small smile in return. "What are you doing here?"

Taehyung steps further into the room, hand tucked in his pocket. "I wanted to stay late to keep __-nim company, but I'm not sure how much longer she plans on staying tonight. I was on my way out when I figured I'd stop by to see you too."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me. Want a drink?" He offers, nodding towards the nearby whiskey bottle.

"No, thanks," Taehyung declines politely, shaking his head. "I'll let you enjoy your whiskey in peace. Although, __-nim might take you up on that same offer one of these days. She has a strong taste for it, as you do. Anyway, I'm heading out. Don't overdo it with your music, hyung, they're already perfect."

Once Taehyung leaves the studio, Yoongi's previous string of thoughts return to him tenfold.

So you really are here, he muses, and you happen to like the same throat-burning alcohol. Should he venture downstairs and offer a drink? No, that would probably be too much, and he wouldn't want to interrupt you. Maybe if Taehyung were accompanying him, but not alone; he doesn't share enough rapport with you to merit such a spontaneous drop-in yet.

No, he takes another sip of his whiskey, he'll see you tomorrow morning instead; during your morning meeting. But that gets him thinking—he's still yet to decide on whether or not he'll make an appearance on Fallon's show. He’d done it with his members numerous times, but this would be the first time doing it alone. His album would indeed benefit from the exposure, though.

"Damn it," he curses, raising from his seat. "I work my ass off. I work my ass off for it all!" He then sits back down, finishing off the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn soothing his frustration momentarily. With a resigned sigh, he turns his attention back to his music. "Damn it, I guess I'll do it."

If it weren't for his phone notification reminding him of his 10 am meeting on Friday, Yoongi would have missed it entirely. Normally, he never forgets important events, but several late nights in the studio had predictably caught up with him. He feels extremely sleep-deprived today, his memory more prone to blanking than usual. Waking up with a throbbing headache at 5 am, which hasn't dimmed in the slightest, doesn’t help either. Nonetheless, with only ten minutes to spare, Yoongi has no choice but to pull himself together and head downstairs to the conference room.

"Good morning, Min PD-nim," you greet him as he walks through the door. "We're about to start."

Yoongi drags out a chair and takes a seat. You look nice today, he notes quietly to himself. He makes sure to send a small smile your way before returning the warm greeting. "Good morning __-ssi," he says. "I told you we can speak informally didn't I?"

He waits for your response, easily tuning out the startled reactions from the rest of the team. Most high-ranking officials in the organization expected to be addressed formally by those in lower positions, but here he was, openly requesting you to speak as equals. It was almost unheard of during work hours. He was Min Yoongi, after all.

"Right, of course," you reply, "You'll have to excuse me, Yoongi-ssi. It slipped my mind for a moment."

Yoongi watches as you shuffle a few papers in your hand before continuing. "To get us started, I thought we'd discuss the decision to schedule a spot on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Will we be proceeding with this?"

"After mauling it over I think it's a good idea for the album. Do we have an idea of when this would happen?"

"Ideally after the album releases and around the time the U.S. tour begins April 26th. I say we aim for early May. Given Fallon's show's high demand, we'll need to get a jump on this as soon as we can." You shift your attention to your digital marketing and promotions team. "So-hyun, can you reach out to the producers and see what strings we can pull?"

She nods, scribbling a quick note on her writing pad. "We'll reach out today. I'll let you know as soon as we get a response."

"Excellent, thank you. I'm glad to hear you're on board with this Yoongi-ssi. It'll be a great way to promote D-Day and attract a global audience. The more smartly we utilize our resources, the better your album will be positioned in the current market." You take a brief pause to flip through your notes again. "Speaking of resources, we'll need to start booking magazine shoots and interviews. I'm proposing we run cover pages with Marie Claire Korea and Vogue Japan."

Yoongi would be taken aback by the flood of ideas and schedules you're firing at him, all within the first fifteen minutes, if he weren't already aware of your level of competency. This is exactly why he chose you, he hums to himself, your preparedness is impressive, but not surprising.

"I presume this will take place next year?" he asks. "During their spring issues?"

"Absolutely. We'll submit inquiries soon to get the ball rolling, but having the shoots completed now would be premature. Plus, it'll take some time before there are any openings with the companies. I think we should be consistent with tour dates and have Marie Claire go out in May and Vogue ready in August of next year."

"Okay, I'm fine with all that but we'll need to have something exciting released now, don't we? I know I start my weekly lives tonight, but shouldn't there be something more we can do?"

"I agree," you reply. "That's why I wanted to propose a brand new idea that came to me a couple of nights ago while I was drafting promotional content. Anytime idols release a new album or music, it gets published on YouTube, right?"

He nods, curious on where you're heading. "Right."

"Why don't we start a talk show with you as the host Yoongi-ssi? It can allow your fans to see another side of you, as well as the general public. We can invite your BTS members as guests where you can discuss music or past challenges that you've had to overcome—the choice is yours. To make it more interesting for viewers, you can have these frank conversations over a glass of whiskey or soju."

"I like the idea," he says, weighing it in his mind. "What would the timeline look like for this?"

"If we move forward with the idea, I suggest December 5th and we continue it for a max of two months. I know that only leaves us with just under two weeks to get started, but creating the set shouldn't take more an a day or a day and a half. We can also easily shoot a 30 to 60-minute video in an afternoon and publish it on YouTube the following week. Of course, a preview of the show will need to go out beforehand."

"Would we be able to invite other guests to the show? Outside of my members, I mean."

"Yes, feel free to invite whoever you'd like. We can start with the member for the first several episodes but ultimately, welcoming a variety of guests from the same or differing industries would be the goal."

"If I may." A member of the social media team suddenly joins the discussion, "I think Kim Namjoon-nim might be a good person to feature first since Indigo releases December 2nd."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I can ask him."

"That would be fantastic, actually. If his availability is limited, we could have him guest star for the second or third episode instead," you add. "Hoseok released Jack in the Box this summer so we could have him be the first guest as well."

"Do we have a name yet?"

"Suchwita," you answer without hesitation. "It's a play on words with Daechwita."

"Suchwita..." Yoongi repeats, "Time to get drunk." He chuckles at the last few words, amusing the room, but you remain contemplative.

"How about Suchwita...time to drink with Suga, instead? It's simple and has a slight whimsical nature."

"Sure, let's use that," he answers, noticing that you've already begun jotting down the idea. "Yours is better."

Despite the adrenaline from the productive meeting with you and your team, Yoongi still feels the weight of his sleepless nights bearing down on him. His headache remains relentless and he is in dire need of a moment to himself. Once the team disperses, he slips his phone into his pocket and makes his way outside. The crisp, early morning air should offer him some relief, along with the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.

When he reaches the building's designated smoking area, Yoongi takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag as he leans against the cool brick wall. As he exhales, watching the smoke dissipate into the clear sky, his thoughts drift back to the meeting. The idea of hosting a talk show, "Suchwita...time to drink with Suga," still lingers in his mind. It’s an intriguing concept, and he can already envision the relaxed, candid conversations that could come from it.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground nearby.

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," you say with alarm, obviously startled by his presence. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll come back lat-"

"There's no need for that. Join me if you'd like." Yoongi watches as you hesitate to accept his offer, your feet already positioned to head back inside the building. "Seriously, there's plenty of room, and no matter what they'll tell you, I don't bite."

He allows himself to smirk as you carefully move beside him, only stopping when there is at least two feet of space between you both.

"Thanks," you say, pulling out your own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I needed a break too."

"Rough morning?"

"Just busy," you reply, leaning against the wall next to him. "But the meeting went well. We should be able to get the ball rolling now that we have a more finalized plan. I'm glad you liked the idea of starting Suchwita, by the way."

"I do," Yoongi says, nodding. "It has a lot of potential and I'm sure Namjoon will be more than happy to help us out. He's a natural at this kind of stuff. I guess it's why he's our band leader."

"You know you're good at all of this too, don't you, Yoongi-ssi?" You pause, taking a puff of your cigarette. "Even when you have a lot on your mind and a packed schedule, you have a knack for making people feel at ease. It's why I think producing Suchwita will be such a great way to connect with fans and other artists—you'll be the host."

He chuckles, appreciative of the remark. "You really think that? That I make people feel at ease? It's not what a lot of people assume."

"Nah," you reply, tilting your head up toward the clouds. "They're just on the outside looking in. Those who know you, who are around you and talk to you, will agree that you're a pretty calming presence."

"Well, I think we're not so different then." Yoongi shifts his eyes to your face, still looking up at the sky, and smiles softly. "So, what made you come to BigHit? Didn't you say you worked for Atlantic Records? That's a pretty good gig."

"Yeah, it was. I learned a lot there, and man, I was thrilled when I got offered the job as a brand manager. I've always loved music, ever since I was a kid. I could connect so intimately with the lyrics. Music is one of the few things that could soothe me during rough times, and it still does today. I'm sure you can understand."

Yoongi nods, intent on listening to your every word, intrigued by your story.

"Anyway, sorry about getting long-winded here" you chuckle. "I ultimately decided to move on when Bang PD reached out and offered me the marketing manager position for TXT. It gave me the chance to be a more integral part of bringing music to individuals who need it most. It's like we say, 'music for art and healing.' I'd never had the opportunity to manage a completely new set of musicians before either, let alone a group. Plus, being on the global marketing team? I couldn't turn it down."

"It makes sense why you joined us then, and I have to say, it's a blessing you did too. Music is a way of communication for me, a way I can best express my story. That includes my past, present, and hopefully future. After hearing all you shared, I don't think there's anyone else I'd trust with handling my album promos." Yoongi pauses a moment, unsure if he should ask the next thing on his mind. "How come we never met before? I mean really meet and talk?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But things have a way of falling into place when the time is right, I suppose." You're now looking at him, the intensity of your gaze mirrors his own. A gentle breeze tousles a few strands of your hair and for a split moment, Yoongi begins to understand what Taehyung meant earlier when he said it feels like he's known you his whole life, like a childhood friend he'd reconnected with. While it may not be to that extent for himself, there's a comforting warmth emanating from you that leaves him feeling strangely tranquil.

"Given the circumstances, I feel like we should have at least met through Taehyung by now," he slips out. "Or even at a company-sponsored event."

"Why, do you like me that much, Yoongi-ssi? After five days of working together?" Your playful tease catches him off guard, revealing a side of you he hadn't seen before. It's kind of cute-wait, what?

"I-"

"Sorry," you quickly interject, feeling the need to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"Don't worry, there's no need for apologies. And to answer your question, I like you enough." He hopes you can hear the tease in his own tone as he responds.

You both lapse into a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. He finds all of it soothing in a way he can't quite explain.

After a few minutes, you turn to him, your expression thoughtful. "You know, if you ever need to talk or just need a break, I'm here. We're teammates now."

Yoongi looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. "Thanks, __-ssi."

You give him a reassuring smile before pushing off the wall. "I'll let you finish your cigarette. See you later? And by later, I likely mean at 9 or 10 pm in our company elevator."

"Yeah, see you later," he laughs, watching as you walk back toward the building. He takes one last inhale, extinguishing the cigarette and letting the remaining smoke escape his lips slowly.

Yeah, he likes you just enough.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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lincolndjarin · 1 year

Text

Best Kept Secret ☆

A MANDALORIAN SERIES MASTERLIST

[ COMPLETED ]

✩ a bodyguard!din x princess!reader fic ✩

series summary :

Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

18+ mdni

do you like kitschy, campy romance novels? if you're reading this, I hope so.

behind the scenes & chapter notes + other extras (spoilers) :

chapters 1-5

chapter 6-15

spotify playlists

Lysa & Elaine information

the bks screen adaption

bks q&a

bks what if's

reader is generally not described past being picked up a few times, and having hair long enough to be put up

✩ chapters containing smut!

chapter one : honeymoon (6.7k words)

[ Absurd.

That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “His favorite color is blue.” ]

chapter two : silent treatment (7.4k words)

[ Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. ]

✩ chapter three : the smitten paladin (4.6k words)

[ You’re starting to think the planet isn’t the reason you’re so hot all the time.

You had woken up this morning feeling a bit better than you thought you’d be, your stomach is full of butterflies but you're still standing and considering the night you had you’re gonna take that as a win. ]

chapter four : sarad'ika (6.8k words)

[ Sarad'ika.

You won’t forget it this time, you can’t. So you write it in your book, just under Mando’s favorite color you write the two little words that have been keeping you up at night. ]

✩ chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man (5.0k words)

[ Absurd.

It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. ]

✩ chapter six : torment (5.1k words)

[ Okay, maybe you didn’t think this through.

You didn’t think he’d actually come in and now suddenly the door is shut and you’re alone with him. ]

✩ chapter seven : just friends (3.1k words)

[ Maker it feels like it’s been an hour and you’re both just laying here. He was just inside of you; it shouldn't be so hard to find something to talk about at this point. ]

chapter eight : solar markets (5.3k words)

[ It’s nice to wake up excited again.

You wish you could say that it happened more often but hopefully it will from now on. It’s going to be your first time leaving the castle grounds since you got here. ]

✩ chapter nine : shuk'la rules (5.6k words)

[ You need sex.

Normally you would be satisfied for quite some time after getting off but for some reason with Mando it was different. But it’s only been two days and you need more. ]

✩ chapter ten : lunar interlude : briikase gote'tuur (4.1k words)

[ He’s grateful for the break from you, even if brief.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy every moment he gets to be in your presence but the more time he spends with you the harder it gets to remember that this isn’t real. ]

chapter eleven : he loves me not (4.6k words)

[ Something is wrong.

All day it’s been wrong.

He’s different. Distant. ]

chapter twelve : pretend (4.4k words )

[ Two days.

That’s what you’re willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. ]

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (3.5k words)

[ He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever? ]

chapter fourteen : condemned (4.9k words)

[ You’re having trouble sleeping.

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. ]

chapter fifteen : two tea parties (5.4k words)

[ “What did you do to her?”

Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly.

“Excuse me?” ]

chapter sixteen : absolution (4.6k words)

[ There’s a visceral sense of dread when you wake up, for several reasons.

The glaring obvious culprit of your discomfort would be the fact that today’s your husband's birthday. ]

chapter seventeen : the apostate’s cabin (3.5k words)

[ Just Din.

It’s sinking in as you walk in silence, holding his hand tightly as he pulls you towards his home. ]

chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (5.4k words)

[ It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline. ]

✩ chapter nineteen : reverence (7.3k words)

[ You really want to.

You couldn’t possibly want to more than you currently do.

It’s actually a bit mean. That he’s left you here in this state. ]

✩ chapter twenty : like real people do (8.4k words)

[ Mando and Din.

All you can think about right now is how there must be two of them.

You’re playing with his curls. ]

✩ chapter twenty one : te mirci't (9.0k words)

[ “It means I love you.”

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor. ]

✩ chapter twenty two : it’s you that i lie with (11.3k words)

[ Naboo has several trading ports.

You could get him on a cargo ship. That would be the most inconspicuous form of transport. It would help if he was willing to ditch his armor. ]

✩ chapter twenty three : lunar markets (15.0k words)

[ Sneaking out of the castle gets easier every time you do it.

It only takes a few minutes and you’re walking outside towards the forest trail, Din’s hand in yours, still giddy. ]

✩ chapter twenty four : lunar interlude : riduur (7.8k words)

[ He doesn’t deserve this.

How could he possibly be deserving of you? Yet somehow you make him feel as if he is. With your soft touch and the way your eyes get just a little bigger when you see him. ]

✩ chapter twenty five : wedding bells (11.7k words)

[ Four days of Leo.

You were upset that Din was leaving you but you got over it rather quickly with the promise of his hasty return. ]

chapter twenty six : crucifixion (12.7k words)

[ “My room is too big.”

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” ]

chapter twenty seven : the apostate (6.0k words)

[ Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain.

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. ]

✩ chapter twenty eight : a place for us (8.4k words)

[ You’d spent the better half of the day trying to get on top of him.

Every time you managed to get close he’d simply set you down on the nearest surface with a kiss on the cheek and go back to doing whatever he was working on. ]

chapter twenty nine : the best kept secret (epilogue) (6.1k words)

[ The morning sun is warm against your face, you bask in it, unmoving and only half awake until you feel a tiny hand slapping your cheek. The illusion of tranquility is immediately shattered as you softly laugh. ]

3K notes · View notes

madamechrissy · 24 days

Text

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- Fingering, cunnilingus, blow jobs, explicit sex, rough sex, breeding kink, mentions of violence, descriptions of violence (ANGSTY CHAP)

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 11k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

Chapter 8 - Masterlist

Chapter 9

Books are scattered all over Satoru’s dining room table, as you both are nibbling on food together, papers and pictures, documentation and even… weapon photos, evidence photos. How Satoru and you could both eat while looking at these things really made you both a little questionable, but in a way you feel so comfortable, with your years of eating while watching true crime.

Satoru Gojo is your person.

“Okay, look here, see the wound marks?” Satoru asks, sipping on a drink and leaning over you, his one arm around your waist as the other sets down the glass and points to bruising on the victim’s face.

“Oh.. it’s left-handed isn’t it?” He nods, sighing.

“Smart little brat.” He kisses the top of your head briefly, before bending over to snatch up the other document, with another victim. “Now look at her.”

“Oh shit… left-handed. Wait, there's two victims?”

“No. Two different cases.” He sighs, sitting next to you and frowning, so serious then, you gently rub his back then. “So, I haven’t told you my worst fear.”

“What is it, Satoru?” You murmur, and he looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes for a moment.

“Well, now my worst fear is losing you.” He caresses your cheek, and you melt, planting a kiss on his brow gently, sighing.

“It’s one of my new fears as well.”

“But my original fear? Putting someone innocent up, and letting someone awful go. Considering I’m a defense attorney typically, it’s the latter that haunts my dreams.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and you place your head on his shoulder, brushing your fingers down his back.

“I imagine that’s a horrible fear. And unavoidable in some situations.” He nods a bit stiffly.

“It’s the worst, and I’m worried it happened.” You blink a bit, trying to follow what he was talking about, and his fists clench at his side. “I lose myself with you. Which is beautiful, but when I was alone last night I was thinking of this case, and similarities to the first high case I did… and I think it’s fucked up.”

“Do you think you missed something, Satoru?” You gently ask, and you hate how sad he looks, forlorn.

“I do. There was a case where I saw no way to do anything but get this kid life sentence, because the possibility of parole is fifteen years, right? Better than a needle in the arm.”

“Very true. But you think…”

“Yeah, I had a feeling he was innocent, deep down in my heart, but how could I have done anything? It was all stacked against the kid. He had a shit record, he even had assault in the past, but he was young, younger than you. I thought I was being the best to him I could.” He slams his fist down, and you tense a bit, grabbing his drink and bringing it to his lips.

You watch as he gulps down some of it, sighing. “Satoru don’t beat yourself up over this, isn’t this still a hunch?”

“Nah, baby girl, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve seen this before. It’s been driving me insane. And now I have to defend this person who could actually have been killing for who knows how long!? Fuck me.” He’s slamming his hands down again, turning and walking away, sighing.

“Okay so let’s think logically here…” You pull back out the files, taking a sip of the drink yourself as Satoru is pacing. He’s wearing his dress shirt loose, his chest showing, tie askew, belt slung off and trousers hanging low. He’s gorgeous but you need to focus on this. “The man you put up, he was left-handed, yeah?”

“Yeah, he was.”

“But the women look identical, and the attack is damn near the same. So we have to think, what could connect these two men? Could they have been at the same place at the same time, to meet these girls?” Satoru pauses, then snatches up the bottle of vodka on the table, pouring some in both of your glasses.

“Huh. You’re smart as fuck.” You flush under the praise, and look at him just drinking the vodka without anything.

“Thank you. Satoru… I need a mixer.” He smirks finally, rolling his pretty eyes and batting his white lashes.

“What a baby.”

“Says the man who drinks chocolatinis!”

“You started that, brat. Mmkay, I have mixers, come on let's go find ya something.” You hop up from the table, taking in Satoru’s lush home. It was beautiful, spotless and modern, gray walls with white crown moulding, all the fixtures brand new and beautiful. His bar was impressive, black marble counter and high stools, pretty soft fairy lights hanging.

He opens the black cabinets, pulling out a bright green bottle then. “Ooh, that looks yummy!”

“You like sour apple?” You nod, and Satoru is expertly mixing you up a pretty bright drink, you sip it moaning.

“A girl could get used to this treatment.” Satoru comes to you then, hands on your waist, leaning low, and you inhale his clean scent, intoxicating you. Your body instinctively arches to him.

“You trying to move in already, huh?” You giggle, shaking your head.

“No, silly. That would be too fast, yeah?”

“I’d let you. Aw, you’re bright red.” He teases you, and your entire body lights up at his words.

“You’re so crazy, Satoru Gojo.” You say softly, leaning up on your tip toes, and he leans down, kissing you gently, you taste the liquor mixed with his minty breath, feel his firm lips on yours. “Mmm, didn’t say I never would though.”

“When you’re not in my class huh? We’ll get married too.”

“Satoru!”

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Am I? You probably doodled it already.”

“Did not!” You both laugh then, but the tension is there, the way Satoru casually mentions weddings, babies, moving in. Like it’s nothing. “Satoru, it's hard to know what you really mean. Like the baby thing…”

“What, I meant that. I’d love to get you pregnant.” His words hit something primal, something that makes your tummy clench, his whisper reverberating through every inch of your body.

“The school would love that.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes, hand sliding over your tummy then, making you tremble.

“Fuck them, but you wouldn’t show till after you’re out of my class.” He grins, his white teeth glinting.

“Stop that! Staying on the pill for now.”

“You’re boring.” He’s pouting and you just giggle.

“I have a career you know.”

“Good, have the baby with us all the time. Lawyer by age ten. Our genetics would be killer, yeah?”

“You’re so ridiculous. But yeah.” You both chuckle then again, and you take a sip of your drink, lips puckering just a bit as it hits you. “Something about that vision makes my ovaries ache.”

“You’re ovulating. Perfect time.” He chimes out in a sing-song voice, you bite back a moan, sipping your drink.

“You don’t need to tell me. I think I went insane in the limo.” He’s grinning like the damn mad hatter now, as vivid memories rush through you of earlier.

“You took it all. I think you have sucked dick before mine! And that makes me unreasonably jealous.” You roll your eyes now, snorting and shaking your head.

“Not at all, I just apparently need to be the best at everything.” You take another sip grinning.

“You really are. I don’t think I’ve had someone make me cum so quick, fuck it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re kinda easy, Toru.” He glares and you just grin more deviously, as he picks you up and sits you on the bar, running his hands up and down your thighs, creating a pattern of goosebumps everywhere he touches. You gently run your hands down his shoulders, rubbing the stiff muscles and making him moan. “Turn, I’ll rub your neck, you’re crazy tense.”

“What’d I do to deserve you?” His casual compliments kill you, every minute you spend with Satoru Gojo makes you just fall deeper. Your fingers press into his stiff neck, making him moan, leaning back against you. “Fuck that feels good.”

“I’ll rub your back any time, Toru. As long as you rub mine.”

“I’ll probably just get horny and fuck you.” You laugh at that, breathy and soft, planting kisses on his neck, pressing your fingers deeper in little circles, trying to work on a knot there.

“Fine, you can just eat me out.” He groans, hands on your thighs tightening as he leans back more against you.

“I’ve been doing that since I met you.” His husky voice has you dripping against your panties, and you try to focus on rubbing deeper, loosening his tense body as much as you can. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

“It’s my favorite thing.” You whisper in his ear, watching him tremble a bit, grip tightening, while your hands press deeper, massaging between his shoulder blades now, where most of his tension is. “You’re really tense here.”

“I will pay you to massage me every day. Oh and to dress slutty.” He sips your drink now. “Ooh yummy.”

“You could hire a professional!”

“Nah. I’ll just pay you. With diamonds.” You peek at your bracelet, shaking your head. “Then I’ll just buy you another bracelet.”

“You can get me a bead. That’s it.”

“I’ll sneak things on you in your sleep. Then it’ll be rude to turn it down.” You can’t stop the smile on your face at his words.

“Maybe.” You say softly, continuing to rub lower now, feeling his spine just pop then, and he groans. “There it is.”

“I’ll marry you now, woman.”

“Stop that, do you know what you do to my mentality? So casually.” His hands slide down your calves now, as he tilts his head side to side.

“What? It’s true.”

“You can’t just say things like that. Already feel like I’m dreaming.” Another pop, as he cracks his neck, becoming putty in your hands.

“Fine, brat, I won’t propose yet if you’re such a baby about it.”

“You so were not gonna!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Satoru!” You press really hard and he groans again.

“Never mind, marry me.” You both laugh and then you continue rubbing down his back, to the mid part of it, feeling every stupidly strong muscle through his dress shirt, watching the soft fabric stretch as you press.

“So, my thoughts on that case…”

“Buzz kill!”

“I know, but it’s bothering me now.” Satoru moans again as your hands knead into his aching back. “Any clubs they could have been at together? Both of those women were… um, escorts yeah?”

“High class too, yeah. I had an informant that worked with them on the first case, but no way she’d remember that far back. It was six years ago.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though. Maybe we see if she remembers seeing this guy you’re defending? But in that case, you still have to defend him. Fuck.”

“You’re annoyingly smart.” He glares back at you as he speaks. “You remind me of me in law school.”

“High praise.” Your hands are going lower now, and he’s leaning so close it’s hard to move your arms, so instead your hands slide down his shoulders, wrapping his chest and leaning your chin on his neck. “We should get with her and ask while we’re doing the case.”

“You really wanna meet her? See these things… I don’t know how involved you want to be.”

“I need to see it all, Satoru. I really do. If this is going to be what I do I have to know what I’m in for, good, bad or horrible.”

“This girl was assaulted too, but she couldn’t see him. What if it’s the fucking guy I’m defending!?” You snuggle closer, though his back was less tense his entire body was not.

“How do you act so happy with all this happening?” You ask it softly, and he turns his head to you, nuzzling yours.

“I have to.”

“Not with me you don’t.” He exhales, turning then, hands sliding up your thighs, eyes boring into yours, pain on that beautiful face mixed with clear affection, mirroring your own. You gently brush his hair back, and his eyes flutter shut, lips parting as he sighs.

“That’s the most addicting thing about you, I don’t have to pretend.” Your heart thuds in your chest, and you pull him closer, planting a kiss on his chin, heart brimming with affection.

“You never have to pretend around me. You have a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah, you do too already. I’m putting a lot on you.”

“No, no I want this, okay? I won’t let studies slack, I’m a nerd.” He smirks, planting a soft kiss on your nose.

“You are my little nerdy student, huh? Ace every test.”

“Sure do.”

“I don’t wanna talk about the case anymore tonight. Let’s revisit it tomorrow, yeah? I’m suddenly realizing my student needs some attention.” His voice gets husky, his eyes dilating as he’s slipping your dress up your thighs, and you manage a little nod, then he’s picking you up, like you’re nothing, carrying you to his room.

You’re in Satoru Gojo’s room, huh?

His room is just a little disorganized, a bit unlike the rest of the house, you see his ties hanging on a lamp, his fancy sunglasses just tossed on the sleek black dresser, his bed is a little wild, rumpled and unmade. You peek around curiously, and he’s kissing down your neck, his room alone is twice the size of your dorm.

“Like the room, brat?” He teases, and you nod, leaning back to kiss him deeply, hands enwrapping in his silky white locks.

“It’s more you than the rest of the house.” You murmur between kisses, he hums, easing you down on the bed now, and it’s so comfy you could die, plush and sinking a bit as you sit.

“You mean because the cleaner doesn’t come in here?” He’s pushing your skirt up, pressing you onto the bed, kissing your thighs, his hands sliding your panties off inch by inch. It’s hard to breathe, as you’re consumed by him, by his presence, taking you over with every touch.

“Yeah, it just seems more… Gojo.” He chuckles, planting sweet kisses on your thighs, hot breath making you tremble. “Mnh…”

“We had a deal, yeah? Massage for pussy eating.”

“I also said massage!”

“I’ll massage her with my tongue.” He’s buried himself then, his mouth hot and wet on your pussy, and you’re gripping the soft blankets under you, your eyes rolling back in your head as he licks and kisses and sucks, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Satoru! Oh my god!” You moan out his name, your hips bucking up to meet his mouth, and he just holds you down, his grip firm as he continues to worship you, his tongue sliding up and down your slit, making you gush all over his perfect face.

“So yummy, you’re such a good girl.” He whispers, leaning back, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts under your top. You’re shaking, damn near hyperventilating as you stare down at his beautiful eyes, dilated and bright to the point his eyes alone bring you closer.

“Fucking love you.” You whisper, it’s the first time since your confession that you’ve said it, and fuck it feels so good. Satoru groans, planting a sloppy kiss on the hood of your clit, then sucking on the puffy lips, little smacks filling the room as you cry out, back arching in pleasure.

“And I love you. Hmm am I talking to the pussy or you? You’ll never know.” He says with a smirk, and you giggle before he’s back to devouring you, groaning and making a vibrating sensation you can’t fucking take.

“S’good Toru- ngh f-fuck!” You scream out, you’re so close to cumming, and you know he knows it because he’s looking up at you, watching your reactions, and it’s so fucking hot. Your hands grip his hair, bucking your hips up. “Cumming!”

He just moans, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, and you’re falling apart, cumming with a scream, your body arching off the bed, and he doesn’t stop, even then, no he’s drinking you up. You’re whining now, oversensitive as he licks you through your orgasm into another, his hands sliding to your waist, gripping you so tight you feel him pressing on your ribs, hands enwrapping you.

“Toru! Oh my- mmm!” You’re senseless, screaming as your head shoves further in the bed, you can’t fucking take it, thighs threatening to close, but he doesn’t pause, or even breathe no he’s just drinking you up, and you’re shattering again. “Toru, enough, enough! Ah!”

You cum all over his face so hard you’ve soaked him completely, and he’s just groaning, as he laps you up with little flicks of his talented tongue, smacking kisses as he cleans up your mess. You’re so embarrassed at how much there is too, as your legs are shaking and he’s finally leaning up to breathe, his face is shimmering with how much you’ve came.

“Toru…” You swipe some of your arousal off his chin, and he smacks your hand away, leaning on top of you, licking his lower lip. “That’s embarrassing… too much.”

“What? It’s so fucking hot. Stop that.” He’s on top of you, his hard chest on your soft breasts, weight on you so inviting, and you cling to him, still clothed both of you, and he’s so hot you’re just dripping again. “I love how much you cum for me, it lets me know you like it.”

“But that much!?” He chuckles softly, caressing your face softly and studying you. Your hands slide up to his chest, feeling his heart thudding on your palm, pressure in your tummy as your cunt pulses with aftershocks.

“Yes, that much, or more. You always taste so good. It was what made me lose my shit that night.” He kisses you then, and you lick your honeyed arousal, moaning against his full lips, as he sinks you both deeper into the bed.

“I still can’t believe I did that. Yes, stranger, eat me out in a bathroom.” You murmur, and you both grin at each other. “Fuck it feels a long time ago huh?”

“It’d be much longer if I didn’t see you again. Fuck I kept going back to the same bar.” He’s flushed a bit, but it makes you ache more, hips raising to grind on his hard cock between your thighs over his clothes.

“You did!?” You blink rapidly, taking a shaky breath as his presence consumes you, his long body overtaking yours, his eyes getting hooded in desire, just like yours were, as his words sink in.

“I did. Embarrassing huh.”

“N-no… I did too, Satoru.”

“You did!?”

You blush now, nodding, clinging to his dress shirt with your little hands. “Of course I tried. I’m surprised neither of us ran into each other?”

“Maybe I was just meant to have you torture me in class.” His voice drops down to a whisper now, and he leans up on his arms. “I need my student naked. Now.”

“Yes, Professor.” He’s sliding your top off in seconds, and you eagerly unbutton his dress shirt, then he’s unsnapping your bra, freeing your breasts and groaning as he does, pulling you against his bare chest. “You’re so gorgeous, Toru.”

“I know.” You snort at that, and then he grins, sliding his hands up to cup your breasts, kissing down them, making you cry out in pleasure, cunt just wetter now. “You’re gorgeous, Miss Brat.”

“Your prettiest student, hmm?” You whisper, he nods eagerly, before sucking the sensitive peaks of your breasts into his hot, eager mouth. “Ah, fuck! Mnh!”

“The sounds you make, mmm you kill me, brat.” He’s unzipping the side of your skirt now, eyes devouring your body hungrily. He makes you feel so confident, so sexy and beautiful. You whine out just from his gaze, like he’s touching you with his hands, but soon he does, trailing down as he slides your skirt down, and you are unbuttoning his pants, biting your lower lip.

“Your body, ugh.” He smirks, wiggling his brows.

“I know, I’m perfect hmm?” You roll your eyes but it’s true, as you touch every line on his gorgeous frame, every muscle, abdomen, line… the perfect pale skin that is hot to the touch.

“You’re perfect, Satoru. And you clearly have a praise kink, judging by that.” You look down between you both as his cock is rock hard in his boxers.

“That’s part praise kink, part you’re touching me, part you’re beautiful. Take your pick.” He snatches your hand, shoving it down, and you grip him, watching as his cheeks suck in, his white lashes swooping low as he groans softly.

“Let’s get these off.” Satoru has got them off in a blink of an eye, his cock hard and hot in your hand, you stroke him up and down slowly, swirling your hand as you do, watching his pretty face as he moans, grabbing you by your hair and kissing you then. “So hard, aren’t you?”

“Tease.” You just smile innocently, swiping the bit of pre cum that’s started to leak out of his pretty pink tip, and he’s huffing, so sexy, until he lets out the whimper that drives you insane, and then he’s got your legs up, dragging you by your hips. “I’ll teach you to tease.”

“Oh yeah? Teach me, Professor.”

“You’re such a brat, you know my weaknesses and exploit them! You’ll be such a good lawyer.” He flashes a wolfish grin, but when he’s pressed at your entrance you start whining, getting slippery as he barely presses, arching up for more.

“Please, Toru…” Your words hit him instantly, he’s pressing in, sliding even deeper in your tight entrance.

“How can I say no to anything you ask? With that pretty face. Oh… fuck, you’re tight… shit…” He’s groaning as he slides in fully, and your walls are clutching tight around him, he clings to you tightly, eyes slamming shut momentarily. “Fuck, should’ve fingered you, damn it.”

“Too tight huh?” You’re giggling but he scowls at you, slamming in your cunt then, and you feel so full, so much pressure you can’t take it, as he starts stroking, way faster and harder than he usually would, killing you. “Fuck!”

“Learn your lesson, brat.” He’s slamming his lips down, kissing you hungry and desperate, and he’s got your legs higher than you think they should go, pressing them high until they’re on your breasts, making it hard to breathe. You whine out, hips bucking, and he’s smirking. “Aww you okay baby? Can’t take it?”

Satoru Gojo was a sweet, caring, amazing man… until he got that competitive streak, mainly in fucking. Then? He’s a whole demon.

“F-fuck you, I can take it.” You whisper out the answer, but when Satoru’s big hands are cupping your face, and he’s staring at you like that? Your brows knit together, your teeth clicking shut as you feel such intensity you can’t handle it, you’re cumming all over his cock and he exhales, pausing, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his tip grinds too deep inside you.

“Fuck, I love you.” He moans out the words, as he’s tensing, his movements slowing down, rolling his hips. “You’re gonna make me cum quick, fuck.”

“I love you.” He cries out softly, hands now firm on your thighs, as he gently rocks in his hips so deep you feel like you’re gonna fall apart.

“What do you do to me?” His eyes flutter shut, those long white lashes over his cheeks, casting shadows in the soft light of the room over his perfect features, and he’s barely moving, forehead on yours. You cling to him desperately, nails digging into his strong back, and he’s throwing his head back, moaning. “Cum with me, baby girl, can’t even last. Brat.”

You manage a breathless giggle, nodding, your walls fluttering around his thickness. “Please, please… cum in me, Toru.”

“Fill you up.” He’s just whispering though, as he pumps in and out, and you feel him pulsing inside of you, and your body reacts, and you’re falling apart around him, cumming right with him, everything fading but him.

It’s just him.

“F-fuck… take all of it. Good girl.” Your back arches as everything washes through you, every nerve ending lit up as your cunt is pulsing around him. He slams his lips down on yours, finally easing your thighs down, they’re sore as he rubs them gently, pumping life into them as he pumps all his cum in your pussy.

“S-Satoru… love you. Mnh.” You whisper, and he moans, kissing you again and again, deeply and passionate, tongues entwining, messy as you’re dripping down his length, down your thighs, and he leans back, looking down at you. Your hand slides up to caress his face, feeling the sharp cheekbone with your thumb.

“Stop making my bust quick, little brat.” He says, and you just giggle, shaking your head.

“I came though, a few times.”

“You get off on making me cum like a teenager. Be honest.”

“Mmm… maybe?” He tickles your waist then, as he eases out, and you giggle at it, eventually hopping up, completely naked and smacking him with one of his heavy, fancy pillows. He grins like a psycho.

“Oh, it’s fucking on. War.” He smacks the fuck out of you with the pillow, nearly knocking you over, so you pout, and then he frowns, coming up to you, to check you, only for you to grin and smack him with the pillow even harder.

“Hah, fell for it!”

“You’re gonna pay for it.” He gets you again until he’s got you pinned back under him, and he’s grinning down at you, you puff your breath to get the feathers out of your face. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

“You’re pretty, Satoru.” He’s kissing you till you're breathless, and then he pauses, leaning up a bit and studying you carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh… I’m really worried now. You look like one of those girls, your hair, your eyes even… I don’t know if I can bring you.”

“What!? I’m going!”

“But I can’t fucking risk it, what if this guy-”

“You’ll keep me safe.”

He exhales, but you see the worry on his features. “Of course I will, but I just didn’t put it together until now. You’re the same age, obviously not the same profession… but…”

“Satoru I will be fine. I want to help you. We will figure out the possible motivations, okay?” Satoru sighs, caressing your face gently, anguish in his blue eyes making them darken.

“I just fucked you and now I’m worrying about this case.”

“So what? It’s important to you. Do you wanna do more research?” He sighs, nodding then, and soon you’re sliding on your pajama’s you’ve brought, and you two are back out in the living room, pouring over the papers, but you’re yawning a bit after about an hour or so. Satoru notices, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I wanna cuddle with you and relax but now that I’m thinking of you at risk it’s gonna drive me fucking crazy.” He runs a hand through his white silky locks, missing them up further.

“Satoru, I don't mind at all. I want to help anyway I can.” You stifle another yawn, and he looks at you tenderly, you see he’s sleepy too, his eyes a little red.

“You worked today and had classes. Go get some shut eye, Miss Brat. I promise I’ll come to bed soon.”

“Just a little longer.” You murmur, leaning on his shoulder then, as he’s typing on his little black laptop, pouring over more papers now, the clicking of the keys mixed with Satoru’s breathing is oddly even more comforting.

“Baby you’re drooling.” He teases in a few, and you blink a little, bleary eyed as you shake your head.

“No… Toru, m’good… those girls-”

“Don’t let it overwhelm you, please.” You shake your head again, your eyelids feel so heavy.

"We need to look into the escort agency, Toru. Maybe there's something in their past, something that connects these women to each other and to the victims." He smiles at you, holding you against his side, kissing your cheek again.

“Already on it. You’re so smart, you know that?” You smile at the compliment, and soon he’s grabbed a blanket, and you’re in his arms, half asleep on his lap. “You can just sleep on me, I’ll carry you to bed later.”

You hum happily, snuggling up to his hard, hot body, and he pulls you close, arms around your waist, continuing to click away, and your face buried in his neck, he wraps the blanket tighter. You feel sleep tugging at you, you’re just so comfortable in his arms, you can’t imagine how you slept before.

Satoru pours over the case, hearing you lightly snore, making him smirk just a bit, you say you don’t but you do. And it’s cute. Everything about you, from your soft hair falling against his chest, to your warm little body snug on his lap makes him ache more for you. Your gentle breathing, your scent, the way you cling to him and just fit so perfectly.

How had Satoru gone so long without you here?

He focuses back on the screen, and it starts blurring a bit, a mix of exhaustion, stress and the drinks from earlier. But it’s driving him insane, the thought that he could have put someone up wrongly. It’s been eating at him all week since he’s taken the new case, but now you were here, and fuck you’re so smart, it’s so nice to just have you here.

But he’s worried.

If something happened to you? Satoru doesn’t know how he could go on. Without seeing your pretty smile, the little scrunch of your nose, the way your eyes drink him in, the love is so pure in them. The way you love him makes every pain he has so much more tolerable, and there’s so many things he hasn’t told you yet. He trusts you completely, but he’s scared.

He’s not one to be vulnerable, but you make it so easy to be, though he doesn’t know how much he should put on you, how much of the darkness deep inside him he should show. Satoru has always been fun, goofy and silly outwardly, though when alone he’s anything but, and it’s so nice to be able to show that more with you.

He loves you so much it’s consuming, it gets more and more intense every moment, every second that you breathe in his vicinity, every moment he gets to look at you. You sigh a bit, after a good half hour, and Satoru’s back is getting stiff, fuck you massaging it had felt so good. Things are so good with you it’s terrifying, how easy it is to be with you.

But the world has other ideas.

He doesn’t want to hide you, not hold your hand in public, sneak in your itty bitty apartment, as fun as it may be. He doesn’t want you living there, struggling, he wants to take care of you, fuck if you weren’t so passionate Satoru wouldn’t ever even have you work. He loves your talent too much though for that, the genius mind of yours, so open to him.

He wants to open up more to you, but something still terrifies him, his parents' rejections most of his life did a number, as cocky as he comes off it sometimes is just a show, to make up for it. One thing he’s self assured in though is law, the one thing his parents never wanted, no he needed to take over the family business, exploit people and pay them like shit.

But Satoru went his own way, and now they loved to tell him how disappointing he is, when he literally was the top criminal defense attorney there was. But no, nothing was good enough, but you make him feel good enough, don’t you? With every look and every touch, you make him feel like he’s doing good. How in just a few months have you become so precious?

He caresses your cheek, looking down after finally closing his laptop, you briefly open your eyes, long lashes fluttering, your eyes struggling to focus on him. You’re so cute when you sleep, it’s so different from the feisty thing you are when you’re awake. He smiles at you as you yawn, snuggling him closer.

“Let’s get to bed, yeah baby?” You nod, humming a bit and getting up, just for Satoru to snatch your body up in his arms. You smile sleepily at him, little hand coming up to brush his hair back. Fuck every time you do that you break him more and more.

“Sleepy, Toru.” He chuckles, carrying you to bed, watching you snatch his favorite pillow and wrap in the blankets.

He’ll let you use it.

“You know you’re the first girl to sleep in here?” He asks softly, figuring you’re asleep, but you turn to him curiously, eyes lidded and full lips parted.

“Am I really? How?”

“I never let anyone stay.”

“I’m special, Toru, hmm?” You tease, a little grin on your pretty face, and Satoru will do anything to keep it there. He snuggles with you, pulling your rounded ass against him with a groan, an arm around your waist. Fuck you feel so good in his arms, you do run hot but it’s perfect, he adores this feeling more than he’ll admit.

“You’re especially annoying.” You stick your tongue out, he chuckles, pecking a little kiss on your head, inhaling the sweet scent of you that he can never get out of his mind.

“You love me, shut it.”

“Of course I love you.” Your eyes glisten with tears. “Crybaby.”

“Mmm, shush.” You kiss him sweetly, he watches as the shadows in the room play along your delicate features. God you’re so beautiful. “Not even Suguru slept in here? I don’t believe that.”

Satoru grins then. “I mean the only woman. Of course I’ve cuddled with Sugu!”

“Cuddled, huh?”

“That’s what I call it.” You snort at that, shaking your head. “You are just thinking about us both here with you. Freaky girl.” You giggle a bit, shaking your head.

“I only want you, Toru. Ever.”

Your words stop his heart, slurred a bit as your yawn cuts them off, so genuine it makes him ache. His throat closes up as you do what no one has, making him feel like he’s the only person in the world for you. So special. He blinks back emotion and is glad your eyes are drifting and you don’t see the tears threatening to fall.

“I only want you, ever.” He says softly back, but you’re asleep again, you’re a sleepy little thing aren’t you?

Satoru sighs, pulling you close and laying there for a while, the trial in his mind, the worry there of his past mistakes, of putting you in some danger, but you ease it with his presence, enough that it’s not too long until he follows you into slumber.

*****

Two days later

Satoru and you sit in the courtroom together, and the man next to you both makes you shiver, Satoru’s wearing a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit, fitting his lithe body like a glove. His hair is falling soft and silky, a sleek skinny black tie adorning his starched collar, fuck he looks so good, you muse, as one of his hands squeezes your thigh, and he smiles at you.

“Are you doing okay, Miss Brat?” Satoru murmurs softly, and you nod, hand over his, thumb brushing against his knuckles like he enjoys, earning a sigh from his pretty lips.

“I’m excited to see you in action again, Professor Gojo.” You say softly, and he grins at that, teeth glinting under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. Satoru’s fan group has gathered, even though you are hours away, they seem very devoted. “They want a wave I think.”

He rolls his eyes, then looks back at the fans, standing for a moment, you hold in a giggle as they gasp, bouncing up and down as he tugs at his pinstripe jacket, winking over to them, shooting two fingers in a salute. It would be corny if it was anyone else, but since it was Satoru Gojo, it was hot. You can’t lie.

You’d be a fan if you weren’t in his bed, surely.

“Oh my god!”

“Gojo!”

“Gojo is she your girlfriend!?”

At that you tense, because if your relationship got out it would fuck your college and career up so badly. You struggle to keep composed, as you know he has to say no, it’s what has to happen, but you know it’ll sting. Satoru laughs a bit at their question, throwing his head back.

“She’d turn me down.” He winks down at you, and you cover your face in embarrassment at the girls.

“No, no one could!”

“Gojo are you single!?”

“Gojo-”

“Ladies, ladies, calm down. The judge will yell at me.” Satoru pouts, looking far too charming, and the girls hush, with the promise of pictures later. Satoru sits back down, looking at you softly, his blue eyes so bright they’re hard to look at. “I hope I handled that right, I’m an idiot you know.”

“No, handled it perfectly.” You whisper, making him exhale. He was worried about your feelings, it touches you so deeply you get emotional.

“I wish…” He trails off, and you just smile a bit sadly.

“One day. Soon ish.” He sighs, and raises his hand as if to brush your hair back, quickly dropping it, but you could feel the caress regardless. Oh how you ache for this man.

“Yeah.” Is his only response, then the judge walks in, this one is different, she’s a little less stern looking, she has pretty flowing black hair.

“All rise, for the honorable Miss Inoue.” The bailiff says, and you feel the lack of Satoru’s hand on your thigh like a deep emptiness. Your hands barely touch, back to back, and you shut your eyes for a moment at it, before taking a breath and focusing. This was gonna be rough.

Satoru had to defend him, but you both were already gathering evidence to the contrary, to possibly charge him with another offense. It put Satoru in a horrible situation, and he’d barely slept, it had even been quiet in the drive here, you all had gotten ready in adjoining rooms, giving him a little silence. He didn’t want to hurt you but he did need some.

Your heart hurts for him, you wish he would share a little more of his feelings, but he tries to keep you in the loop, without actually revealing too much. You would take all of him, however, without hesitation, whether he wanted to be open or not, you would wait forever for him.

Tonight you all are going to the escort agency, to question an old informant of Satoru’s, and you both would learn more. But for now, he has to save face, and do the best job he can. You can’t imagine how hard it is, you can just feel it in his energy, but he turns on that charm like a flip of a switch.

“Court is in session. Let’s commence.” Miss Inoue says, and she lets the prosecution make their opening statement.

“This man here, Naoya Zen’in, is a rich playboy, has gotten everything he’s ever wanted handed to him on a silver spoon.” The lawyer starts, a stern man with a very good history from what you’ve researched. “But for once, a woman didn’t want him, so what does he do? He rapes, assaults, ends her life. This is what men do like him, men of power, to the powerless.”

Naoya was a blond, tall man with cold, sharp brown eyes, and a creepy grin that you suppose some women would fall for. He was handsome, you guess? But there is something about him that makes your fucking skin crawl. As they go on about him, he’s just laughing softly, leaned back against his chair casually, like this is all beneath him, a waste of time.

The handsome playboy in question smirks over at you, and he sends shivers through your spine, especially when his brown eyes look you up and down, winking. You tense, and Satoru looks at him with a glare, earning a bigger smirk, and you watch Satoru’s hands clench the bench so tightly they’re white. You gently touch Satoru’s arm, shaking your head, but he’s shaking damn near.

“Don’t fucking look at her, got me?” Satoru says in a hush, and the handsome (creepy) blonde just grins.

“Oh? Why not? She’s pretty to look at.” Satoru stands but thank goodness they call for the defense to make opening statements then, but you can tell he’s torn. You smile at him softly.

“I’m good, Satoru. Nothing’s gonna happen. Go kill it, yeah?” Satoru looks at you with his thin white brows drawn low, jaw clenched tightly, so tight you see a vein pop from under his fair skin. Then he looks back at his client.

“You won’t have eyes.” Satoru whispers, and your own widen at that, as he then grins, hands in his pockets, slinking over to the middle of the room. He’s smiling at the judge, who can’t help but smile in return. “Hello, lovely. I mean Judgy. Judge?”

The room laughs softly, aside from the prosecution of course, but Naoya seems to have his eyes fixed on you. You ignore him pointedly, focusing instead on taking notes, watching Satoru do what he does best, but there is an unspoken tension, as you feel the gaze still there.

“How long you been fucking each other?” He hisses, and you glare, furious, wanting to deck the mother fucker now.

“Why don’t you focus on the murder trial against you, and not my sex life, huh Mr. Zen’in?” You ask, and he laughs, leaning closer. Thank God Satoru is facing the jury, you feel there’s no way he wouldn’t punch this guy in the face if he saw.

“Your sex life highly interests me, I wonder how good of a whore you can be. Wonder if you’ve been shown.” His words are a bare whisper, but they terrify you, filling you with such nausea you could throw up right here. Your legs are trembling, and you barely keep it together.

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Zen’in.” He grins, and you turn your attention away, focusing on Satoru now, waves of nausea rolling through you now.

Fuck you hate this dude and you just met him.

Satoru strides across the room, a picture of confidence, and stops in front of the jury now. “This man before you, Mr. Zen’in, is not a monster, but a human being with a heart that beats just like yours and mine. Maybe he is a rich playboy, maybe he does get everything he wants, but he’s not on trial for his lifestyle, but for a crime, that doesn’t have enough proof.”

“Objection!”

Satoru rolls his eyes, head leaning back, and the judge glares at prosecution. “Let Mr. Gojo speak. Mr. Gojo, please continue.”

Satoru smiles, bowing a bit at the waist, and you hear the courtroom swoon. There were more fans now!?

“Thank you, magnificent judge. Your reputation precedes you.” He winks at her, and she’s all pink, before clearing her throat. “Ah, so before I was so rudely interrupted…” Satoru pouts, cutely, earning the hearts of almost anyone. “This guy, yeah he’s kinda a douche…”

Naoya scowls next to you, fists clenched, and you hold in the giggle, but most of the people in the court room fail.

“But just because he’s a pretentious dick, it doesn’t mean he’s a murderer, or a rapist. Surely, he has no issue paying for sex when he needs it.” Satoru looks over to Naoya with his icy blue eyes and snarky grin. You thrill on Satoru in his damn element, in him riling everyone up.

Fuck you love him.

“ I will argue, this playboy has been grossly misunderstood. Let us not be swayed by sensationalism and assumptions, but by the cold, hard facts. And when we do, I believe you will find... lovely members of the jury,” Satoru winks at them, and even the men swoon, “As I have, that there is more to this story than meets the eye.”

Satoru turns then, flashing you a grin that makes your knees knock together, fuck he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? With every eye on the room invested in his every word, every breath, every movement, slinking like the damn cat he is, his dress shoes glinting from the high polish. He tugs at his jacket a bit, loosening a couple of buttons, revealing the starch dress shirt underneath.

“Oh my god-”

“Ladies!” The judge has to calm down the girls, and you do smile then, looking back to see the mess he’s created. Satoru grins.

“So sorry, Judge, I’m afraid my loyal fans can be a little… enthusiastic.”

“No worries, Mr. Gojo. Please continue.” The judge smiles at Satoru, her chin in her hand like she’s in class. You just shake your head a bit at everything, god Satoru really was something else.

“Thank you, Miss Inoue. So… dear jury.” He earns their undivided attention. “Let me show you the truth, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you all.” He winks, and then the prosecution loses it again. “Ah, they’re being so mean! Well, we’ll speak soon, don’t worry. The defense rests its opening statement in the firm belief that we will uncover the truth together.”

Then he’s back next to you, between you and the asshole Naoya, scooching close and leaning to whisper in your ear.

“Did he say anything baby girl?” He asks, and you sigh.

“We’ll talk later, Toru.” He looks at you with concern now, brows knitted, but you just shake your head, as the defense calls their first witness.

“We’d like to call a witness, Mr. Rin to the stand.”

And so the trial begins, and you and Satoru sit, tensely for hours on end, in the gloomy courtroom, as the prosecution questions their witness, and you can feel the gears shifting in Satoru’s head as he pops a piece of candy in his mouth. He hands you on discreetly, and you smile, opening the crinkly wrapper and sucking the little mint into your mouth.

“You’ve got this, yeah?” He nods, smiling a bit, but you could see the toll, as someone possibly guilty sits next to you both.

How does Satoru handle this one?

“We got this, Miss Brat. No worries.” His hand holds yours under the table, and you sigh at how good the little touch feels.

The prosecution finishes with their witness now. “Would you like to Cross examine the witness, Gojo. I mean Mr. Gojo!” Gojo chuckles at the judge, standing as you do, to let him out of the bench, and then he saunters up to the young lady, and you feel his hesitation.

“Hello there, how are you?” He asks gently, to the young lady sitting there nervously at the stand. She sighs.

“I’ve been better?”

“Yeah, courtrooms suck, huh?” Everyone is either laughing or gasping, and the witness smiles a bit.

“They really do.”

“I know, even I get so bored, ugh.” He leans his head back, grimacing then, and you barely hold in your laugh, it’s impossible, he’s so infectious. “But listen, let’s push through it, I’m just gonna ask you a few questions.”

Satoru starts his questioning then, and you notice it’s different, he’s not hitting as hard as he normally would, because he doesn’t even think Naoya is innocent, fuck Naoya could have been doing this. Yet he’s also not going to let this just go, he has to defend him, you have no clue how he’s keeping his cool, not when the man next to you looks so fucking smug.

As Satoru paces, he tosses out questions. "Could it be that the prosecution is more interested in a swift conviction than in the actual facts of the case?" He asks to the jury, his voice rising just enough to make it sound like a challenge.

“Objection!”

“Sustained, Mr. Gojo, could you please reline the question?” The judge says sweetly, and Satoru smiles.

“Sure, judge, could it be that there are others who stand to gain from my client's downfall?"

The witness sighs. “I don’t know if I can answer that.”

“That’s okay, let me explain to you. My client," he says, turning to gesture at Naoya, "is a young man with a lot of money, and clearly getting eyed by a lot of people who want a piece of it. Would you agree?”

“Um… I guess so, some people like that.”

“Did you like his money?” The courtroom gasps, and the girl is bright red, looking down.

Fuck this disgusts you.

You know Satoru would like to call him disgusting and to fuck off, but here he was, having to do his best.

“The money is fine, but he’s a freak.”

“Oh, freaky huh? What’s wrong with that? Whips and chains-”

“Objection!”

The judge is intrigued though. “No, overruled. Continue.”

“Ah, thank you. Listen, what’s wrong with being freaky, in consesnual acts? Are you saying that equates assault? Some smacks on the ass?” The court room is in a tizzy, and you find yourself flushing.

“Well… no. Not necessarily…”

“Exactly!” Satoru chuckles, throwing his head back, and the prosecutor, visibly rattled, tries to interject again, but Satoru waves him off with a casual flick of his wrist. "Let's not forget, kink shaming is bad.”

“Mr. Gojo!” The prosecution is so angry, and the judge sighs.

“Mr. Gojo… is there a point to this?” She asks, and Gojo nods.

“There sure is, forgive me, I got a little… flustered.” He has the audacity to look innocent and cute!

Fucking Gojo.

He’s brilliant.

They’re putty in his big hands.

“My questions are almost over, love. Can you take one more?” He asks the witness softly, and she nods eagerly. “Perfect. What a good… witness.”

You hear his fans swoon, and people behind you giggle. The witness is entranced, and you’re just amazed at this shitshow, and how well Satoru runs this all so fucking well. He butters the girl up to say anything, it was as if he didn’t even really have to try, but he was trying, you could feel it, to not go too far.

“This may be the first case I lose. On purpose, if we can’t find anything on this fucker.” Satoru had said earlier, as you all drove into court, and you hold his hand that’s on your thigh, sighing.

“I know, Satoru. We’ll figure it out together.” He yanked your hand, kissing it, warm lips pressed on your trembling hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“The defense rests on its questioning.” Satoru says then, and soon he’s back next to you, and court eventually ends for the day.

You let out a shaky breath as Satoru walks up to the defense team, conferring with them, then all teams approach the bench to speak with the judge, and Nouya comes up close to you. You cringe internally, but outwardly you steel yourself, putting a blank expression on your face as he grins, eyes lowering to your breasts, downwards, and it feels so disgusting you struggle not to smack him for it.

“I see why he keeps you around, a shame women just aren’t fucking smart, isn’t it? But useful I suppose.” He acts casual, hands in his pockets, your fingers itch to smack him so badly you grip your books tight to you.

“Yeah, you’re real smart, ended up here and all. Me? Just aced every test and in a top law school. Without ‘daddy’s money’ too.” Your lips upturn just a bit, as you watch his stupid grin turn into a glare.

“I’d teach you a fuckin lesson, little slut, right on that pretty face of yours.” You glare, and just then Satoru is back, and he’s pulling you behind him, crossing his arms and leaning forward, his eyes are a storm of icy blue, his face furious like you’ve never seen.

“I’ll lose this case so quick, swear to fucking god. Don’t think for two seconds you’re good enough to breathe her air, got it?” He says it softly, calmly, looming over him, even though he was tall, Satoru is even taller, and you watch him back up just a step, fear in his features.

“You won’t lose, you never lose. It’s why we chose you.”

We?

Your mind runs rampant, you know the Zen’in are some of the richest people there are, and powerful. Satoru’s own family had run businesses with them, you’d found that out on accident. You tried to not pry, as you didn’t need to know what Satoru didn’t want you to, yet, but it was…

Frightening.

Did Satoru’s family…

“Let’s go.” Satoru shakes you out of your thoughts, and you realize you’ve just been standing there, you sigh, nodding and following him out. He doesn’t give his fans attention this time, he’s raging inside and you can see it, you can feel it, when you both are in the car and he’s punching the steering wheel with his fists.

“Toru, it’s okay! Promise.” You whisper, and he covers his face then, shaking his head, making you hurt for him, as you gently touch his shoulder. “Toru…”

“How can I even keep you safe if this fucker wants to-”

“I can handle myself, Toru, I’m tough you know.”

His eyes break your heart, filled with emotion as he gulps. “ Baby girl if anything happens to you… I swear-”

“Toru.” You stop him again, hands cupping his face, and he’s so tense you feel it through the air of the little car. “It’s gonna be okay. We will do this together, I will help you, I swear.”

“I can’t believe I couldn’t just beat the fuck out of him. What did he even say? All I saw was him near you whispering.” You blink then, looking down. “No, no you better tell me, I have to know what we’re dealing with.”

You take a shaky breath, sighing then. “He said I was going to learn a lesson, on my ‘pretty face’. Called me a slut, a whore. Said he’d have fun with me. Satoru!”

He’s out of the car in an instant, and you hop out to chase after him, as he’s stalking his way up the courtroom stairs. Most of the people are gone for the day, but who walks down buy Naoya himself, ankle monitor on his expensive pant leg, staring at his watch, until Satoru is right in front of him. He’s looking batshit insane, and frankly you’re fucking terrified.

“Satoru…” You murmur, coming up to touch him, and Naoya is smirking at the two of you.

“Something wrong, Gojo?”

“Need a word with you.” Satoru shoves him into a concrete pillar, and Naoya is furious, scowling back at him.

“The fuck?”

“Say anything like that again I’ll break your fucking jaw. Got it?” He demands, and Naoya actually just laughs, it’s dark and sinister. “I know who the fuck you are.”

“Oh do you, now? What’s it matter, huh? Worried about your pretty little-” Satoru punches him then, quietly and so quickly surely no one would know but you three, right in the stomach. Naoya hunches over, but he’s grinning.

“Don’t touch her, I swear to god, there’ll be nothing left to find.” Satoru whispers, and then he looks back at you, at your wide eyes, and he takes you by the hand, easing you away from the laughing man.

“See ya tomorrow, Gojo… doll.” He smirks at you and Satoru nearly punches him again, if not for you gently taking his hand.

“It’s fine, Toru, he’s not worth it.” Satoru’s eyes drink you in, and he leans close, your breath mingling.

“I’ll fucking kill him. You gonna get me off death row?” You feel his anger, his rage even under the joke.

“I’ll be the best attorney ever. I’ll show you how good I’ll be when we get back, yeah?” He stiffly walks away, and then you all are silently driving back home, your arm wrapped around his arm, snuggled close to his strong shoulder.

“I’ll wreck this mother fucker.” He mutters, as he’s driving, you feel all of his muscles so tense against you, his veins popping up around his wrists and hands at how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel.

“We’ll wreck him. Together. Yeah?”

“It took everything not to fucking kill him. Everything.”

“I know.”

Once you’re back at the hotel, you expect him to maybe want time alone, but he’s on you then, kissing you passionately, deeply, your teeth click as he’s yanking you up so close. You can barely breathe, so intense you can’t even take it, lost in him, as his hands are shaking, and you feel his body tremble, you eagerly slide his jacket off him, hands running down his body.

“You’re mine.” He says, through his teeth, his voice is hoarse and his eyes are wild, and you cup his face.

“You’re mine.” He’s moaning, then he turns you, roughly, unzipping the black dress you wore, and the cool air of the hotel room hits your skin. Satoru hungrily kisses down your neck, your shoulders, as his hands wrap around your waist, and your head tilts to the side, for him to have more access to you. “Satoru…”

“I love your body. I love how you feel. I love how you taste.” His husky words are accompanied by fervent kisses, and you melt in his arms, goosebumps everywhere he trails his lips upon. “I’ll kill anyone that touches you.”

“Satoru… don’t say that.” You whisper, but then he’s spun you around, and you’re shaking as you look up at him, at his serious face, so gorgeous and intense that you can’t think of anything else.

“I mean it. I’m sorry if it’s fucking intense, but I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, I’m yours. I love you.” He moans softly, and as he’s kissing you again, you’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing his perfect hard body, running your fingers down his torso, feeling the hot skin, the hard planes of his body, then your’s unbuckling his belt, and watch his eyes dilate, his lips part. “Let me make you feel good, Toru.”

“Fuck…” Is all he bites out, as his sexy moans urge you on, he steps out of his pants and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet beneath you, licking your lips as he frees his cock, slapping against his belly button, and you hungrily take him into your mouth, eyes meeting his.

“You did so good today, Toru.” You murmur, licking the salty precum from his tip, and he huffs, leaning back against the cream hotel wall, hands undoing your bun, letting your hair flow.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby girl.” He murmurs, before moaning, throwing his head back and enwrapping his hand in your hair, starting to fuck your throat with his thick length, choking you in the most delicious way. Your hands grip his strong, muscled thighs, as he pumps his cock deeper, until there are tears in your eyes. “Oh my god, baby…”

“Mmm…” You just moan, sucking him, your cheeks hollowing out, and he’s looking down at you, pupils blown out, and you feel the tension releasing as you pump your hands up and down his length.

“Play with that perfect pussy, baby, get ready for me.” He whispers, and you dip a hand down, feeling yourself slick and hot, crying out around his length, he grips you tighter, groaning. “That’s it, good girl. Good girl.”

You’re crying out now, clit puffy and twitching under your delicate touch, in little circles, so slippery your hand slides off. Satoru’s got your face cupped in his hands, as he pumps his hips, and you’re shaking with need, grinding against your hand hopelessly, craving more friction.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Fuck.” He pulls back then, and you let him go with a pop sound of your lips, and he’s swiping the saliva and precum off your chin. “Need you, need you now baby.”

You stand on wobbly legs, then Satoru’s sliding two fingers in your eager entry, as you wrap a leg around his, and he’s holding you around your waist, slamming his lips down on yours. You’re both a mess of teeth, tongues and lips, you swallow his groans and he drinks your sighs, as he’s hitting that spot so good you can’t take it.

“Please, please, please.” You whisper out, as you gasp with pleasure, and he’s spun you then, pressing you face down on the bed, so tall he has to lift your hips up, and then he’s over you, one hand guiding his cock between your lips, and you’re arching back for more.

“Perfect pussy. Perfect mouth. Perfect body.” He gruffly says those words, one hand wraps around your throat as he bends over, sliding his cock all the way in one thrust, and you scream out loud at it. “You’re mine.”

“Yours, Toru. Yours.” He’s gripping your throat tight, starting to fuck into you, and you hear how wet you are, squishing and slapping sounds in the suite, mixed with his labored breaths and your whimpers. “Ngh, s’good f-fuck!”

“Taking me so good, baby girl.” Satoru’s cock wrecks you now, fucking you harder and harder, slamming against your cervix until you feel yourself close, head falling back as his hand squeezes gently. “Made for me. Aren’t you?”

“Y-yes. Yes.” You can’t stop the moans, the cries, and then you feel the pressure burst, and pleasure washes over you in waves, as he claims you his, as he’s fucking you senseless. You don’t even remember where you are, all you know is Satoru Gojo’s cock is pounding your little pussy, and you’re shattering around it.

“Yes, cum for me… such a good girl, aren’t you?” You can’t take it, you’re too sensitive, and he’s squeezing your throat, making everything fuzzy, hazy, and you’ve cum so hard you’re soaked, dripping down the blanket, down your inner thighs, and he’s slipping easier and easier. “You’re so wet for me, so easy, huh?”

“Easy for you, Toru. You.” His big hands move you then, scooching you over the bed and laying on top of you, prone position, you feel the sweat dripping off his chest as he takes you, taking your hands and entwining them with his, planting sloppy, hot kisses along your shoulder blades. “Oh my… mnh… Love you, love you.”

“I fucking love you baby. You’re all mine. Aren’t you?” You nod, and he’s kissing up your neck now, as he’s slowing, grinding that leaking tip against your cervix until you’re cumming again, and he has to pause it feels so good, resting his head against the crook of your neck.

“You feel too good, too good. Can’t take it.” You whine out, as he’s rolling his hips, feeling your walls tighten around his cock, soaking him even more as wetness gushes from your little hole. “Toru, kiss me. Please.”

He takes your chin in a hand, as the other stays entwined with yours, and he’s drinking all your cries now, with a desperate, sloppy kiss. “Want me to cum in this pussy, paint your insides?”

“Yes. Please, please. Please, Toru. Ah!” He’s cumming right then, as you beg him, filling you up and pushing you over the brink, breathless, blinded, consumed by him.

“Fuck- perfect- so… ah… fuck…” He’s grunting, no sensible words, and you’re lost, seeing black and glitter, as Satoru consumes your soul. He eases now, kissing your sweaty back, running a hand down your spine, and you mewl weakly. “Baby…”

“Mmm… yeah? What is it, Toru?” You blink a bit, and you meet his eyes, pussy drunk off you but something is intense, even more than usual.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you. Got it?” You nod, planting a kiss on his lips, which soften under your caress. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know, Toru. I know.” He exhales, laying his heavy weight on you, but you love it, you love feeling him, feeling the aftershocks make both of you twitch, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs.

“I want to kill him.” You tense then, peeking back at him.

“Toru we’ll do this. We’ll get justice. I promise. We won’t have to…”

“I want to though. If he looks at you again? I…”

“We’ll get him.” He moans, kissing you again, and then he’s pushing deep inside you, where his cum was pouring out the length, but he’s still rock hard inside you. “Toru, again?”

“Again.”

Chapter 10

ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/149180743

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk gojo #madamechrissy #take me home tonight

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fgumi · 30 days

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ꕥ old friend; — sunghoon one shot, wc: 3.5k, genre: angst, fluff

you were nine years old when you first met sunghoon on the ice. both of you were young competitors, skating in the same circles, and it didn’t take long for a bond to form. while the other skaters focused on perfecting their moves under their mothers’ watchful eyes, you and sunghoon found solace in each other. there was something comforting about sharing the ice with someone who understood the isolation that came with the sport.

as the years passed, your friendship grew stronger. you’d spend hours practicing together, pushing each other to be better. when you weren’t on the ice, you were talking about everything from skating techniques to your favorite snacks. you both dreamed of making it big—of competing internationally and one day, standing on the same podium.

when you were fifteen, your mother asked if you’d consider representing the usa in women’s figure skating at the olympics. you had dual citizenship, and the opportunity was too good to pass up. excited but nervous, you told sunghoon about it. he was disappointed, of course—how could he not be?—but he was happy for you, promising that one day, you’d share the ice in an international setting.

“i’m going to miss you,” he admitted quietly one day after practice, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. there was something unspoken in the way he looked at you—something that made your heart flutter. “it won’t be the same without you.”

“i’ll miss you too,” you replied, feeling a strange mix of excitement and sadness. “but i’ll come back every summer. we’ll still skate together.”

“yeah,” he said, offering you a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “we will.”

that was the beginning of a new chapter in your life. you visited russia for training, and although you kept in touch with sunghoon, the distance made it difficult. over the summers, you’d return to korea, and you’d hang out with him as much as you could. each time you saw him, you couldn’t help but notice how he had changed—how he had grown taller, his features sharper, more mature. it made your heart skip a beat in ways you didn’t fully understand.

in 2018, sunghoon told you that he was beginning training as an idol with bighit entertainment, hoping it would benefit his routines on the ice. you supported him, but deep down, you had your suspicions that this might not turn out the way he wanted. you didn’t say it, but a part of you feared that he might drift even further away from you.

your fears were confirmed when, in 2019, sunghoon texted you to say he was quitting skating. you were taken aback, hiding your disappointment as you assured him that you’d back his decision no matter what. “i’m really proud of you, you know,” you said during one of your last phone calls before his final competition. “but i wish i could be there to see it.”

“me too,” he replied, his voice tinged with regret. “it would have been nice… to have you there.”

what you didn’t tell him was that you were flying to korea to see his final performance in person.

the arena was quieter than usual as you slipped into the bleachers, the familiar chill of the ice rink seeping through your jacket. this time, the quiet wasn’t due to the lack of spectators but the weight of the moment—a final performance from someone who had meant so much to you.

as you sat with the small piplup plushie clutched in your hands, memories of the two of you as children on the ice flooded back. you and sunghoon had been inseparable, two kids who found each other amidst the grueling world of competitive figure skating. even as you moved to the usa for training and he remained in korea, the bond you shared remained strong.

now, as you watched sunghoon take the ice for what would be the last time, your heart ached. he moved with the same grace and precision that had always set him apart, but there was something different now—something heavier. the music began, the soft strains of “you are the reason” by calum scott filling the arena, and you could feel the weight of his emotions in every movement.

his jumps were clean, his spins flawless, but there was a loneliness in his routine that tugged at your heart. as he skated, you could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his love for the sport and the decision he had made to leave it behind. each glide across the ice seemed to carry a finality that made your chest tighten.

you held your breath as he approached his final jump, a triple axel that he had executed perfectly a thousand times before. he landed it cleanly, but as he skated into his final pose, you could see the exhaustion on his face—not just physical, but emotional as well. the music faded, and for a moment, there was silence.

then, the arena erupted in applause. the sound was deafening, but all you could do was stand there, your hands trembling as you cheered loudly, pouring every ounce of your support into that one moment. with a quick flick of your wrist, you tossed the piplup plushie onto the ice, your heart pounding as you watched it skid to a stop near his skates.

sunghoon turned, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. for a brief moment, he looked confused, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. then, as recognition dawned, his expression shifted from surprise to something softer, more vulnerable. his eyes widened, and a smile slowly spread across his face, bright and genuine. he bent down to pick up the plushie, holding it close as he scanned the crowd again, his gaze locking onto yours.

it was as if the entire arena fell away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. you could see the gratitude in his eyes, the unspoken words of thanks for being there when he needed it most. as he skated toward the kiss and cry, you could see the weight of his decision settling over him, the realization that this truly was the end of his journey on the ice.

as his scores were announced, you watched him nod, his expression a mixture of relief and resignation. the applause continued, but you could see the finality in his eyes. this was it—the last time he would hear those scores, the last time he would sit in that chair as a competitor.

the moment he stepped off the ice, you rushed to meet him. without hesitation, you threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you in a tight embrace. “you came,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm against your ear.

“of course, i did,” you replied, your own voice trembling as tears threatened to spill over. “i wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, and in that moment, the years of distance, the missed conversations, all seemed to melt away. you were kids again, sharing the ice, finding comfort in each other’s company. you saw the tears in his eyes, mirroring your own, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away.

“you didn’t have to come all this way,” sunghoon said softly, his voice tinged with disbelief.

you smiled, wiping at your eyes. “yes, i did. i wanted to see you skate one last time.”

his grip tightened around you, and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. the silence was heavy with unspoken words, with the realization that this chapter of his life was closing.

over the next few days, you spent as much time together as possible. you reminisced about old times, shared memories of competitions, and even took to the ice together one last time. there was a lingering closeness between you that hadn’t been there before—moments where his hand would brush against yours, or his gaze would linger just a little too long. it was bittersweet, knowing that this was the end of an era, but it was also comforting, knowing that you were there for him during this pivotal moment in his life.

but all too soon, it was time for you to return to the us. the goodbye was harder than you expected, filled with promises to stay in touch, though you both knew how difficult that would be. as you boarded the plane back to the us, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness, knowing that things would never be the same.

your communication with him grew more sparse after that. distance and time had created a gap between you, one that had only widened after he began training as an idol. you tried not to take it personally, but it felt like he was cutting you off, much like he had with figure skating. when i-land aired in 2020, you recognized sunghoon immediately and supported him from afar, voting and cheering him on as he pursued his new dream. seeing him on the ice again during the free day segment nearly brought you to tears—he looked happier than ever, and it warmed your heart.

with multiple competitions lining up, you threw yourself into training, working tirelessly toward your goal: the 2022 beijing winter olympics. it was a grueling process, but it paid off. you won the silver medal, making history as the first american woman to medal in figure skating in nearly 20 years. the accomplishment was incredible, but even as you stood on the podium, a part of you wished sunghoon could have been there to see it.

what you didn’t know was that he was watching—every second of it.

back in korea, sunghoon had made it clear to the other members that they would not be changing the channel under any circumstances. enhypen was gathered in the dorm’s living room, the tv tuned to the olympics, and sunghoon was glued to the screen, gripping the remote tightly as if his life depended on it.

“hyung, we’ve been watching this for hours,” ni-ki whined, trying to grab the remote. “can’t we switch to something else?”

“no,” sunghoon said sharply, holding the remote out of reach. “she’s about to skate.”

the other members exchanged curious glances but didn’t press further. as your name appeared on the screen, sunghoon’s focus intensified. he held his breath as you took your starting position, his eyes never leaving the screen.

every jump, every spin, every glide across the ice was met with a mixture of awe and tension from sunghoon. he held his breath at every attempt at a technical skill, his knuckles white as he gripped the remote. when you landed your triple lutz-triple toe combination flawlessly, he let out a small sigh of relief, his chest tightening with pride.

“she’s incredible,” jake muttered, impressed by your performance.

“she’s always been,” sunghoon replied softly, his voice filled with admiration.

as your program continued, sunghoon watched with bated breath, appreciating every element of your artistry. he knew the dedication it took to get to this level, and he could see it in every movement you made. when you struck your final pose, the applause from the audience was thunderous, but sunghoon could barely hear it over the pounding of his own heart.

then came the waiting—the excruciating moments before your scores were announced. sunghoon leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his heart racing. when the scores finally flashed across the screen, confirming your silver medal, sunghoon’s breath hitched. his eyes filled with tears, and before he knew it, they were spilling down his cheeks.

the room fell silent as the other members noticed sunghoon’s reaction. they watched, concerned, as he wiped at his eyes, trying to compose himself. “hyung… are you okay?” jungwon asked gently.

sunghoon nodded, still struggling to keep his emotions in check. “she… she was my childhood best friend,” he explained, his voice trembling. “we used to skate together. we were always together on the ice. but… we lost touch after i had to replace my phone.”

the members’ concern shifted to understanding, and they offered quiet words of support. they had never seen sunghoon so emotional, so vulnerable, and it was clear just how much you meant to him.

“i’m sure she’d be proud to know you were watching,” jay said, giving sunghoon a reassuring pat on the back.

sunghoon smiled through his tears, nodding. “yeah… i hope so.”

after the olympics, you decided to spend three months in korea to celebrate and reconnect with the country you’d once called home. during your stay, enhypen was promoting their manifesto album, and you thought about how funny it would be if you got the chance to go to their fan sign—until it actually happened. when you called your mom about the invitation panicking, she shrugged and said, “do whatever feels right.”

so you decided to go—you were fans of the other members too. as you approached the table where the members were seated, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. the boys recognized you immediately, their faces lighting up with surprise.

“you’re… you’re the olympic silver medalist, right?” jake asked, eyes wide with admiration.

you nodded, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. “that’s me.”

“sunghoon always talked about you,” jay added with a grin. “you’re the only women’s figure skater he ever watched.”

you laughed, a little embarrassed but flattered nonetheless. “i didn’t know i had such a dedicated fan.”

as you moved down the line, jungwon was next, leaning in slightly with a curious expression. “he made us all watch your short program,” he said with a warm smile. “he wouldn’t let anyone change the channel.”

“he even threatened to hide the remote if we didn’t stop complaining,” ni-ki tattled with a playful grin when you reached him.

you couldn’t help but laugh at the image of sunghoon fiercely guarding the remote. “that sounds like him,” you said fondly.

sunoo, who was next in line, chimed in with a teasing tone, “when you landed that triple lutz-triple toe, i thought he was going to pass out from relief.”

heeseung, who was seated next to sunoo, nodded in agreement. “and when you got the silver medal, he cried. we were all kind of shocked… until he told us about you.”

you felt a warmth spread through your chest at their words, touched by the idea that sunghoon had been so invested in your performance. “i didn’t know he still cared so much,” you admitted, your voice soft.

“of course he does,” heeseung said, sincere and reassuring. “he’s talked about you a lot over the past few months. he was really proud of you.”

after making small talk with each member, you finally reached sunghoon. he didn’t register you at first, focused on signing your album. but when he looked up and saw you, his smile faded into an ‘o’ shape, eyes wide with shock.

“hi,” you said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“h-hello,” he mumbled, still trying to process who was sitting in front of him.

“it’s been a while,” you said, trying to ease the tension. he nodded, clearly still in disbelief, so you nudged his hand on the table to bring him back to reality.

a blush crept up his cheeks as he finally snapped out of his daze. “i… i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“well, i am a fan,” you teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

he stammered through compliments about your short program at the olympics, his usual confidence shattered by the unexpected reunion. you both tried to catch up in the short time you had, but before you knew it, it was time for you to go. just as you were about to leave, sunghoon quickly scribbled his number on your album.

“i’m really sorry for not texting you… all this time,” he said quietly. “i’ll explain everything if you give me a chance?”

you gave him a small, reassuring smile and nodded. “i’ll text you.”

later that day, as you sat in your hotel room, you found yourself staring at sunghoon’s number written on the album. with a deep breath, you typed out a message.

hey, it’s me. it was really good to see you today.

you hit send before you could overthink it. to your surprise, sunghoon’s reply came almost immediately.

it was good to see you too. i missed you.

a small smile tugged at your lips as you read his message. i missed you too. so... what happened?

there was a pause before his next message came through. i’m sorry. i broke my phone during training and lost all my contacts. i didn’t know how to reach out to you after that.

you felt a pang of guilt. i thought you had cut me off after you quit figure skating. i was worried.

no, never, sunghoon replied quickly. you were my best friend. i would never do that to you.

your heart warmed at his words. i’m glad to hear that. it was hard not hearing from you… especially after you stopped skating.

it was hard for me too, he admitted. i wasn’t sure if i made the right choice. but seeing you skate at the olympics… it reminded me of why i loved it so much. i’m so proud of you.

you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. thank you, sunghoon. that means a lot coming from you.

you deserve it. you were always the better skater, he replied, a touch of teasing in his words.

you laughed softly, shaking your head. you were always so competitive. but we were both good in our own ways.

yeah, we were, he agreed. maybe one day we can skate together again, just for old times’ sake.

i’d like that, you typed, smiling at the thought. but only if you promise not to outshine me.

no promises, he teased back. but i’ll try my best.

there was a comfortable silence between the two of you for a moment, and then sunghoon sent another message.

are you free tomorrow? maybe we could catch up properly.

you hesitated for a moment, thinking about your schedule, but then you decided that spending time with sunghoon was worth rearranging a few things.

i’m free, you replied. where do you want to meet?

how about the ice rink? he suggested. just like old times.

your heart skipped a beat at the idea. sounds perfect. i’ll see you there.

the next day, you arrived at the rink a little early, the familiar chill in the air bringing back a flood of memories. it wasn’t long before sunghoon showed up, a bright smile on his face as he approached you.

“i’m glad you came,” he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth.

“i’m glad you asked,” you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

you both laced up your skates in comfortable silence, and as you stepped onto the ice, it was as if no time had passed at all. the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, skating side by side, occasionally exchanging glances that spoke volumes.

“i missed this,” sunghoon admitted after a while, his gaze focused on the ice ahead. “skating with you. it feels right.”

“it does,” you agreed, your voice soft. “i’ve missed it too.”

you skated in silence for a few more minutes before sunghoon spoke again. “i was serious, you know. about being proud of you. when i watched you at the olympics… i was so happy for you. i knew you would make it.”

you looked over at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “thank you, sunghoon. that means more than you know.”

he smiled, a hint of his old competitive spirit shining through. “but just so you know… if i were still skating, i’d be aiming for that gold.”

you laughed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “i wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

as the two of you continued to skate, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for this moment—for the chance to reconnect with someone who had been such an important part of your life. it wasn’t just about the skating; it was about the bond you shared, one that had withstood time and distance.

“so, what’s next for you?” sunghoon asked as you both slowed to a stop, leaning against the boards.

“i’m not sure,” you admitted. “i’m taking a break for now, but i’ll probably start training again soon.”

“you’ve earned that break,” he said, his tone serious. “but if you ever need someone to skate with… you know where to find me.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” you replied with a smile.

as you both left the rink that day, you knew that things had changed, but in the best way possible. your friendship had been rekindled, stronger than before, and no matter what the future held, you were certain that you’d always have each other.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. a/n: i love figure skater sunghoon... but i love enhypen's sunghoon more... ✧ comments are appreciated! ✧ !nanamlist

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #!nanawrites

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potatomountain · 2 months

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CIY- 14

Chapter Fourteen

📍pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader

📍au: detective/mafia

📍word count: 3k

📍network: @pirateeznet

📍Warnings: rated 18+, smut, fingering, fantasized scenarios

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 , @yourfatherlucifer , @yessa-vie and edited by the amazing: @daemour

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“So are you going to tell me what’s up?” San asked from the other side of the punching bag, holding it still for you. You had very much taken out your aggression on the inanimate object, repeatedly, for the last fifteen or twenty minutes or so.

One glance past the receiver of your fists and you could see San’s concern written all over his features. You hesitated your next punch, lacking impact and hitting it with poor form. Hissing you stepped back, cradling your hand to your chest as pain surged from your knuckles. San was before you in seconds, pulling your hand away and examining it closely.

Your frustration had not gone down at all, it just jumped to another fixation. Sure you were no longer thinking about the sounds Mingi had been making- or the fact Yunho was the one pulling them out of him- but instead just how good San looked before you.

The two of you had stopped by your apartment to grab some workout clothes, and some travel sized bath products so you could use the showers here at the gym if need be, and both had changed in the locker room. The tight muscle tank and gray sweats were a sight to behold and definitely had an effect on you.

An effect that you took out on the punching bag of course.

The fact he did have you struggling to focus kept you from outright admitting it to begin with. You could hear what Hyunjin would say about this situation, in filthy detail too. The others were still… well you didn’t trust them enough anymore with any intimate talk, not like you trusted them enough in the first place to come out and say you wanted multiple men to fuck you. And that was when you just had feelings for two. Unable to decide which dick you wanted out of more men than that was… well not a problem you could share.

You could however beat a sandbag to a pulp. “Can you just let me get the stress out please?”

San pouted, but held the bag still as you started working through the routine you had in your head. “What has you so stressed out? Come one Sweetcheeks, you can tell me about it can’t you?” He still wasn’t dropping the subject though.

With a heavy sigh, you rolled your shoulders back, feeling a bit of sweat accumulating on your shirt already. “A lot, San. I’m not exactly past my old unit, and it’s hard to find someone to trust with personal matters.”

“And I’m not one of them?” It was less of a question and more of a dejected statement.

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, staring him down hesitantly. He had been by your side and doing his best to make this unit welcoming to you. He hadn’t once made you feel unwanted, or unneeded, despite that moment when you first met that you were sure he was going to be closed off to you. Did you dare trust him? Open up to him about something you know some of the others might use against you in the unit?

With a huff, you ran your hand through your hair. “It’s just… you’re one of the reasons San.”

“What do you mean? I thought you liked me?” He stumbled back when you started swinging at the bag again.

“That’s the fucking point San. I like you. I’m comfortable around you and you are one really hot fuckable co-worker while I’m so damned deprived your stupid gray sweats have my underwear wet!” You accentuated every few words with a hard hit, harder and harder than the one before, ending with a roundhouse that had San stumbling back onto his ass.

He stared up at you, clearly shocked and muttering out your name.

Realizing just how much you probably just fucked up, you cursed and turned on your heel. “I’m going to take some steam off on a run.” You grumbled, definitely not ready to delve into the bomb you just dropped.

San must have realized it, letting you wander off to the treadmill as he just sat there staring after you. His eyes on you didn’t help at all, putting on some music on your phone and letting it fill up the small gym as if it could somehow drown out the sexual tension.

He didn’t bring it up again, but was eerily quiet. Even once you calmed down from running on the treadmill for a while, he spotted you on several different machines, checking your form and taking note of how much weight you could comfortably lift. You swore you caught him staring at you with a heat in his eyes a few times, body reacting and all that time working the steam off for naught.

Ready to call it a day and hope to whatever God there was that your toys would be enough to satisfy you, you began to head to the locker room.

Just for him to catch up and grab your arm. “Wait, one more thing.”

“Yes?” You swore you did a set on every machine they had available so what could it be?

He pointed to the boxing ring in the center. “Spar with me?”

You were sweaty and worked up and most certainly didn’t think it was a good idea. Yet you found yourself following him to the ring, wiping some sweat off your forehead with the back of your forearm.

He gave you a minute to catch your breath and drink some water, stretching despite already working out for easily over an hour, almost two. “I believe you mentioned taking taekwondo before?”

“Yeah, I stopped in highschool but I occasionally take a class to freshen up on it. Took a few other martial art classes through college that definitely helped me in my days as a uniform.” Talking school and career was a safe topic, stepping more into the ring as he did. “Ready when you are.”

He hummed, circling you and watching you with a predator’s gaze by the time he was back in your eyesight. “I bet you were top of your class. Probably didn’t settle for less at all huh?”

You could remember quite a few other students that complained about how driven you were, how they disliked sparring against you because even if it looked like they won you were far too persistent and always turned the tables when they least expected it. “My dad also gave me lessons growing up. He was a cop too, and would always say he saw too much of what the world could do to a woman alone and wanted me to be able to protect myself.”

“Sounds like a good dad.” He didn’t give you a chance to reply, beginning the spare after that.

Quickly you realized he was stronger than you, and quite quick, but you held your own. More focused on parrying his hits then going on the offensive.

Fuck he was hard.

The constant workout beforehand did put you at a disadvantage, making you weak to his grip when he did grab you. What was truly only a minute or so felt longer now that your ass was pressed back against him while he had you in a chokehold. You tried your usual tactics to get out, finally having to tap out and call the match.

“One for me.” His voice was huskier as he rolled his neck and shoulders, your eyes naturally following the movements as his muscles rippled from the action. “Two out of three?”

“S-Sure.” You weren’t thinking much about actually winning now, something much more predatory about your sparring partner than you had ever discerned in him before. How could you forget that he was also an undercover fighter for the illegal fight rings that the Green Vipers ran? And that he regularly won.

You could hold your own in a fight, but you knew your limitations. If San had actually been a threat, your game plan would be to cripple and run as he was not an opponent you could win against. But this wasn’t about winning, this was about testing how well you can do in a fight.

His tactics had changed this round, seemed more intent on cornering you and trapping you than attacking to cripple or fight. Your smaller stature was useful to avoid a grab here or when he had you physically backed into the corner of the ring, but every time he did grab you, you struggled.

Blinded with a need to escape, you danced around the ring until he had you on the ground face first, sitting on the back of your thighs and arms held behind your back. When he leaned over, you felt something hard against the curve of your ass.

“Sannie- '' You panted out, turning your head to look back at him, but he was staring down at your ass. You couldn’t see it, but you guess he could easily see the way he pressed into the soft flesh of your yoga pants.

With his free hand, rough and calloused, he ran it down your side to your cheeks, giving a soft and slow squeeze, his breath noticeably hitching. Especially when you lifted your ass to not only press back against him, but moved so his bulge rubbed your core, pants slick with your sweat and arousal. His grip tightened on your arms and ass, pulling a needy whine out of you. How easily he could just pull your pants down and fuck you.

You wanted it, but couldn’t bring yourself to jump that final hurdle of asking. “Sannie please don’t tease me-” A warning, hoping he would back off, or go through with it himself.

The low groan of your name that left his lips had you believing the latter, especially as he kneaded your ass more, hips bucking against the wet patch. Even with the clothes in the way, it was enough friction to pull another breathless whine out of you and push back.

“All the times you had me pinned down like this, I thought of it like this.” He muttered to himself, and if it wasn’t the harsh thrust he gave that sent tingles up your spine you might question him.

It didn’t matter, you were finally getting touched… which made you far too desperate for more. “M-more please, Sannie- God I want your cock.”

“Fuck don’t say that, it’s hard enough to hold back.” He growled out, still grinding his clothed cock against you however. “This is not the place I want to have you on my cock. Want to take my time with you. But you’re so fucking sexy being needy like this. You want to get off that badly?”

“Y-yes please!” As soon as the plea was out of your lips your pants were shoved down, exposing your bare ass to him. He released your arms, just to pull your ass up into the air as he leaned back. You braced yourself on the bouncing floor of the ring, glancing over your shoulder to watch him pull your cheeks, and lips, apart and admire you in full view.

Good thing you brought extra clothes. “A-alright.” Slowly you got up and headed for the showers, still reeling a bit from the way he had you coming three times from his fingers. It had been several minutes, and as soon as he had found your sweet spots he used them to drive you crazy.

You were about to whine and beg again when his thumb found your clit, a jolt running up your spin. Slow tantalizing circles as he pushed in a finger, similar pace. You were sure if it was the same hand, you didn’t care, it felt so good but still not enough. Your head fell forward, bracing against the ring and shutting your eyes. “Don’t toy with me Choi San. Either get me off or let me go home to do it myself.”

With a breathless laugh he hoisted you up onto your knees, an arm wrapped around your shoulders to hold you back against him as he grabbed your pussy from the front, two fingers roughly shoved in and thumb back to its ministrations. “Poor baby needs to get off so badly? How badly hm?” He muttered in your ear, nibbling on the lobe as his fingers curled deep in you, making it hard to fully process what he said.

“B-badly please… please Sannie. Do you want me to beg? I will. Just don’t- ah- don’t stop. R-right there oh fu-uck.’ Your head fell back against his shoulder as he found your sweet spot, relentlessly rubbing his tips against the spongey spot while his thumb rubbed just right over your clit. He felt better than your hands, and it was so accurate, more than a toy, you were a moaning mess without an ounce of shame.

It was just you two there, and even if he did decide to impale you on his dick, you wouldn’t care. Hell you didn’t think you would care if one of the others walked in. What kind of face would Mingi make if he saw just how easily you could be putty for him if he played nice?

The thought had your hips jerking, picturing the tall man on his knees before you, watching the way San fucked you and begging for a taste. You must be quite deranged to think about both of them touching and fucking you at once just from San’s fingers inside.

But it had you coming into his hand and crying out his name, your nails digging into his forearm around your chest. You expected him to stop, but only his thumb did as his fingers continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

“That’s it Baby, I’ll make you feel so good.” He pushed in a third finger, moving slowly as you came down from your high before the pace started up again, even more relentless than before, especially since he knew your sweet spots now. Thumb back on your sensitive bud as he was grinding against your ass as well.

What if you were filled in both holes? Maybe someone’s cock in your mouth as you were used for their pleasure but not as much as they wanted to give you. You let the deranged, completely filthy scenarios fill your head, to the point you moaned out someone else’s name.

San wasn’t even surprised, chuckling against your ear and working you through yet another orgasm while Mingi’s name tumbled from your lips. “I knew you wanted him. Bet you want a few of them, hm? You know- you could ask them too.” He was breathless, panting against your neck as his own hips were erratic behind you. “Wouldn’t mind one, or even all, watching you come undone for me.”

The idea of them all watching as you bounced on San’s cock filled your mind, helping him roll one orgasm into the next. You made a mess of his hand and your yoga pants, even the ring beneath you, your cry echoing in the small private gym, mixed with a soft cry of San’s own.

You could vaguely feel his cock twitching against your ass, a sticky wet spot that was indistinguishable even among all your own sweat. Just from humping against the curve of your ass he came, or did your own pleasure and filthy thoughts add to it?

He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and groaning at the taste while he loosened his hold on you. “You should probably get a shower, sweetcheeks, we can talk about this after.” He gently rubbed your back as he leaned back, reaching for your pants and pulling them up for the moment.

While you were in the shower you had plenty of time to think over the implications of what just happened, of the things he said and what you thought. You were disrupted from your thoughts as San called out your name.

“Wooyoung needs me asap so I’m leaving you your key in your locker and heading out. We’ll talk about this later, I promise.” His voice echoed in the room, but he called out again when you didn’t reply.

“O-Okay San. I’ll see you later.”

You heard him actually leave and let your shoulders drop. No reason at all to feel dejected over this, you got exactly what you wanted.

Maybe you just had too many other questions now.

—-----------

San had just finished cleaning up when he got the call, frowning since it was Captain’s other cell. “Choi speaking.” He answered, tossing the dirty rag into the hamper before throwing on clean clothes. One glance towards the showers and he knew you were still in there.

“They reacted to the bait. Wooyoung needs you on sight for backup asap.” Hongjoong answered, causing San to sigh. He didn’t want to leave you, not when he had gotten to finally touch you after so long.

But he did leave, knowing this was even more important. Couldn’t blow his cover after all.

Still he thought of you, of how sweet your moans sounded and how your pussy clenched around his fingers. He couldn’t help but smirk, knowing he could rub it in Wooyoung’s face, or even Mingi’s. San knew them all well enough to know he wasn’t the only one who was being wrapped around your finger. He heard the two in the bathroom earlier, knew they thought of you just as you apparently thought of them.

You were perfect for them, San was even more sure of it now more than ever. The way you blossomed over the years, and some parts of you were still the same if not more set in stone.

He wanted to tell you, remind you of who he was but he couldn’t. Not without so many questions being asked of him he wasn’t ready to answer.

Some day though he would, when you were his… no when you were theirs.

Taglist (form): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse

Taglist will be continued in a reblog!!

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zoropookie · 28 days

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SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter fifteen — you need help (🎂)

Even if you felt an eery aura linger in the air, you counted on the warmer part of who you know to dispel it. Beidou was always that answer to you.

It’s been a while since you and her had some time to reflect on the weight of their shared past. The bakery was too busy nowadays to fathom the concept of meeting each other’s time together, any real conversation or emotions that wasn’t over text. Finding time was a simple rarity you didn’t even know you had, even lost in your own thoughts.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Beidou paused, her eyes stared directly at the road, unmoving even once. She leaned back, the soft shuffle of her seat and clothes breaking the silence. Expression hardly there but a small smile, you turned towards her. “Not everyone is lucky to get this far.”

You looked back to the dashboard of the car, “I don’t think I’m following, I’m sorry.”

“When was the last time you got the chance to revisit your past…say, in a more effective way?” Beidou’s smile faded, more thoughtful and pondering. “Is that letter even helping you?”

You swallowed as the lump built in your throat. “Kazuha’s voice isn’t there anymore when I read it, but it’s still his handwriting.” You tried to rationalize, even though you knew Beidou was right. This letter was the only thing you could even date back to or his voice without revisiting baby photos and videos.

“I don’t know your situation,” Beidou said, still in mere wonder. “I don’t even know if this will help you in your hunt, but there’s a reason why you won’t go through your mom’s room. Don’t want to question it. I took the job of helping you out.”

“It’s okay, you were here when I needed it the most, I at least owe you an explanation.”

“Stop doing that, you owe yourself something none of us need, at the end of the day. When was the last time someone’s ever heard you out on how you feel other than your therapist?” Beidou’s tone was rough, but with little malcontent.

“I feel like that’s where I should put it anyway, all the meaty things,” You lowered your head. “It doesn’t take anything except my thoughts away, which was the point, I think? I don’t know…I think it’s better than letting someone else handle that baggage.”

Beidou didn’t answer you right away, allowing the silence settle between the both of you. A low hum of the car’s engine filling what was left of their thoughts. When she finally made out her words, she spoke quietly, almost contemplative. “You’re a very kind person to me. The least I can do for you is listen to what you have to say. It’s not like anyone else has the thought to.”

You didn’t know much about what people around you thought, having been so nestled in your own head that everything else you had going on seemed too much to ask from people. So as you began to hard focus on your thoughts, you began feeling the weight of grief settle over you. A heavy fog of regret, what’s been lost along with the heart you had, sharp and twisting in your wake, sensations that made it harder to forget now that it was back to the surface.

Your eyes welled, brain sending sharp signals to your fingertips, wet tear ducts, heart clutching in ruin. “Kazuha asked me…once she died if I wanted to leave her room alone or look through it so we could keep things in it. Looking at her room was really painful, but it was the way she left it and I didn’t want to change it. My mom really liked painting and would always paint every photo she took of us, even when the both of us wouldn’t pay attention to the photo. In those moments, mom would find strength to raise us again, even when she was still dying.”

Beidou reached over, hand finding yours on the console and giving it a squeeze of support. “We left it the way it was. I can’t go in that room ever again, not while she’s not there.” Your words poured out in liquid babble, unable to control your running lips. “I lost most of my forevers.”

Beidou squeezed at your hand ever so slightly after pulling up to her home, anchoring the weight of the situation with just a sympathetic sigh. “You’re too hard on yourself, kid. It’s disappointing,” She steadily said, “I just hope this tape makes you feel better.”

“Tape?” You blinked your wet lashes, looking up. You had to admit, your heart started sinking.

“Come inside.” Beidou could only answer with, opening the car door and locking it once you exited.

You weren’t a frequent guest of Beidou’s house, mainly because Kazuha was the sole one to come over here, but when you did have the access you venerated at the work. The home stood at a more narrow street and it was painted with a navy blue, almost black, the coating of the home standing proud and alive with the weathered fading giving it a story to tell. She walked you through the uneven path of cobblestone, moss lurking and steadily growing in the crevices.

Leading to the porch, a broad and sturdy platform that could have easily been the bow of an ancient ship dated back from centuries creaked under your feet. You entered the room to Beidou’s home, looking in amazement at tacked up world maps that were aging gradually in the living room. “Wow…” You couldn’t help but drawl.

“Like it? Things didn’t really change in the past few years, just got older.” She met in front of the shelves after setting her things down on the couch. Shelves crammed with books extending floor to ceiling, spines of the tomes cracked, faded. She took out a box, labeled with big red letters something you couldn’t exactly make out, but became ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ once she got closer.

“No, yeah! It looks amazing! Now I know why Kazuha always used to come here.” You chirped, admiring the work that was done compared to when you were last here. You sat down on the soft couch, your heart full in your body, but you didn’t know if it was from anxiousness or general expectancy.

“Here,” Beidou said, her eyes meeting yours with a more serious outlook. “Me, Kazuha, and a few other friends made this time capsule in high school. It was time to open it up, and…none of us wanted to touch his stuff, so we wanted to give his tape to you. He recorded it a long time ago, just thought maybe they’d help you remember some things.”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers trembling while you reached your hand out to open the now cleaner box that was probably buried. You looked in, there were multiple tapes that he put in this box, some looking more wear and tear than others.

Fingers grazed against the plastic of the tape, with the words in your brother’s handwriting of his name. Beidou moved the old cassette player sitting in the corner for you to put it in. With a heavy heart, you picked up one of the tapes and entered it, deftly sliding it into the player and pressing play.

The TV lit up automatically, a moment of static in your veins, as your eyes glued to the screen. Your shoulders dropped at the familiar sight of your and Kazuha’s old school.

The camera in the moment was moving aggressively around until an unidentified voice started calling. “Kazuha, this is your tape! Say something funny!” The voice caught his attention on the screen.

His confused eyes looked around, almost expecting more of an answer. “Well, I need more than that. Give me something to make a joke about.”

“That’s the thing, it’s supposed to be on the spot!”

“I know nobody who’s able to make a joke on the spot without getting made fun of.” Kazuha replied, his soft voice ringing in your ears.

“You know damn well Kazuha has no capability of writing anything on the spot other than HAIKUS ABOUT LEAVES.” Beidou’s younger voice rang in the footage, “Leave him alone! Go find someone else to torment!” She said, her hand covering the screen.

“I DIDN’T EVEN SAY ANYTHING—”

The tape ended, your eyes were slowly filling with tears as you scrambled to take the tape out and put another one in. Each tape you watched, Beidou would make certain comments or give a laugh, letting you know of the good times they had, but all you could think about was how fortunate you were to be listening to these right now. Revelry of your brother’s successions, watching him to find a way to cope while he’s gone.

“(Y/N)! Li— listen to me,” Kazuha said in the tape, him looking at the screen while in the background there’s chaos of a New Year’s Eve party. It caused you to widen your eyes, distraught. He looked a little tipsy, his cheeks reddened in the video, but his look still remained soft. “You had a hard time tonight without your ex. You’ll be older one day. And when you do get there…realize that happiness is the most fundamental element of finding who you are. You are anything but a facade of the people who came before and after you, but an amalgamation of why you’re respected among many. Keep your dreams, keep your mind. You’re the strongest person I know…! I love you. Be that person through all tribulations.”

After that, Kazuha stared at the screen, spaced out from how much he drank at that party. But eventually someone called him over and he shut off the tape. Your body wracked into shambles, crying out after the tears built up so much in your eyes that you spilled oceans.

Everything, and you mean everything came back to you. You remembered the Sunday mornings that you two would take care of the old oak tree, you remember when your mother would join you two to bake tiny treats together, there was a rule in the home where if you wanted to have sweets you must make them yourself. You remember the laughs, the smiles, Kazuha’s joy seeing you, your mother’s joy knowing you were happy.

You remembered how soft Kunikuzushi used to be, even if it was a now fleeting memory in your heart. You had to move on.

You wailed once the tape cut off. “Beidou,” Your voice trembled helplessly, moving your body over to claw at her shirt, feeling yourself get lightheaded. “Beidou, we have to find him! We have to!” You panicked, shoulders shaking from how hard you cried. “He’s out there somewhere…he wants me to find him!”

Beidou sat there stunned as she wrapped her arms around you, who was clawing at her shirt valiantly. Steadying your shaking frame, she rested her chin gently atop your head. “Yeah,” She said, knowing the floodgates were opened at last. “We’ll find him.”

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THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @xionri @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

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@franaby @vicslz @kamiboo @thegalaxyisunfolding @morgyyyyyyy

@feikyuu @tamikahoshiko @kissingkzuha @bbysatoruuu @rvoulte

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@mywillt0live @lxkeeeee @sundays-prince

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joelscruff · 1 year

Text

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART THREE

part three!!!! thank you for all the amazing messages and feedback on this fic, it means so much to me. you can catch up on previous parts here, and here’s my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip💕 summary (for this chapter): after your first "lesson" with joel you're already dying to see him again, but he only has a bit of time before work. what better time than to start you on your second one? this one is pure filth lbr rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings (for this chapter): age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it’s consensual), praise kink (joel calls reader babygirl, sweetheart, etc), dirty talk, mentions of religion (reader’s family are very catholic), fingering, lap-sitting word count: 8.1k ao3

Lying has never felt so good.

You tell your parents later that evening that you're tired, exhausted from the heat and hoping to get a better sleep than you did last night. They've always been privy to early bedtimes; impressed by your obedience to follow the rules they don't assume anything is amiss as you walk upstairs around eight thirty with a fake yawn and a stretch.

The second you're in bed you've got your pajama pants around your ankles and a hand inside your panties, rubbing your clit just like Joel had taught you. You start slow, tender, prodding and tapping the way he'd done and then building into more of a furious pace, firm and steady. You have to bite into your pillow to keep your moans at bay, eyes rolling back as you writhe in your sheets.

"Mr. Miller," you find yourself whispering as you come down from your second orgasm of the day, breathing in and out and trying to calm your body down. All you can see behind your lids is his face, his soft brown eyes, his scratchy beard, his wrinkles...

About ten minutes later you're on round three, hair sticking to your forehead with sweat and legs trembling as you picture his handsome face, that charming smirk, his thick fingers. His voice murmuring in your ear, praising you, calling you his babygirl. You come a third time.

You're going to hell.

You wake up early, so early that the sun has barely risen yet, streetlamps still on outside as you climb out of bed and tiptoe to the window. Your parents are still home, most likely still in bed.

You consider going back to sleep but only for a moment. Your thoughts are too muddled with the idea of seeing Joel again today and getting another lesson that you head straight for the shower, unabashedly looking down at your body as you wash yourself and wondering what he'll think when he finally sees the whole thing. Will he like your breasts? Your soft tummy? You've never thought of yourself as being particularly beautiful but maybe he'll see something you don't. He certainly seems to already.

The dress you'd worn yesterday is still on your bedroom floor; you pick it up after your shower and bring it to your nose, breathing in Joel's heady masculine scent and feeling yourself throb under your towel. God, you're like a crazy person now. Obsessed. You need more.

You find that your nerves are nowhere near as bad as they were yesterday, now that you know Joel actually wants you that way. You dress a little more casually, choosing a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt. You grimace at yourself in the mirror, hating how the shorts seem baggy and unflattering, not tight and perky like your friends back at college. You're beginning to realize that your entire wardrobe has essentially been hand selected by your parents your whole life, something else that needs to change.

The clock says it's almost six in the morning and you know there's no way Joel is awake yet; you'd gotten to his house around ten yesterday and he'd looked like he'd only just woken up maybe fifteen minutes before. Still, you can't just sit around and wait for the sun to come up. You've gotta do something.

You masturbate until seven.

You're pretty sure you've had more orgasms in the past twenty four hours than anyone has ever had in their entire lives. How the fuck have you been missing out on this for so long? Your friends had talked about how good it felt, how annoying it was when a guy couldn't make them come, and you'd just listened and nodded along and pretended you were able to understand - even just a little bit - despite never having had one yourself.

"You're so lucky," your friend Tasha had said to you one morning after she'd come home from a failed one night stand where she'd had to fake it, "I'd rather have never had an orgasm than deal with these stupid boys who have no clue what they're doing, seriously."

You hadn't felt very lucky, only jealous that you were missing out on something every woman seemed to be in on. But now you're no longer on the outside, and better yet it happened with an experienced man, not a stupid boy - you almost want to scream it from the rooftops: Joel Miller made me come.

You hum to yourself as you flip some chocolate chip pancakes, it's the first time you've bothered to make anything for breakfast that isn't cereal or toast since you've been back home. Your parents sit at the table, your father reading the newspaper while your mother makes adjustments to her schedule.

"You're chipper this morning," your father says, ruffling the newspaper and raising an eyebrow, "Anything happen?"

You shrug, shaking your head, "I don't know, just... just feeling good today."

"She's gonna start volunteering at the soup kitchen," your mother informs him with a smile and you try not to wince, "She met with Bethany and Alice yesterday."

"Oh, that's nice," your father goes back to his paper, "It's good to keep busy."

"It is," you say, feeling your cheeks warm a bit as you transfer the pancakes onto a plate, "It really is."

You haven't driven your car much since you've been back but you decide to bring it out of the garage today, deciding that if there's ever been a time to buy some new clothes, today is the day. You head to the mall like a woman on a mission, wasting no time in dashing directly to the lingerie store.

You freeze outside the store, eyes widening when you see the types of things the mannequins are wearing; crotchless panties, leather bras, things with straps and spikes on them. You stare, transfixed, unsure what exactly you're even supposed to buy. You'd been so powered up by your newfound pleasure that you'd completely forgotten that you still don't know anything.

What does Joel like? What would he want to see you wear? You stand there, biting your lip and fidgeting a bit as your eyes trail back and forth between the different lingerie sets. You haven't even gone into the store and you already feel overwhelmed. You can't even picture yourself wearing half of this stuff, even looking at it makes your skin itch.

"Can I help you?" a woman asks, fixing hangers near the front of the store and giving you a smile, "Looking for anything in particular?"

You shake your head and take a step back, "Um, no. No, sorry. Not today." You turn around and walk in the opposite direction with your head down, feeling beyond embarrassed.

Okay, no lingerie. Stick to what you know.

You end up heading to the stores you're more familiar with, although you avoid the more conservative ones; you know you won't find what you're looking for in there. You end up with a few new outfits that still manage to feel casual without being too much outside your comfort zone. Some new shorts that accentuate your curves more, a few tank tops, some dresses. The dresses are similar in length to your old Sunday School dress, but this time they aren't squeezing your chest painfully or threatening to expose your breasts to the world. They're comfy but sexy and you hope Joel will like them.

The thought of Joel sends your brain into that muddled state again, sending pulsations through you as you pay for your new clothes and head back out to your car. You have to practically force yourself not to shove your hand down your shorts in a public parking lot.

On the way back home you decide to turn down Joel's street, just to see if he's up yet. You slow down as you near his house, peering out the passenger side window and squinting against the sun. You practically slam your foot down on the brake when you see him sitting on his step, strumming his guitar again.

He looks up at the squeal of your tires, looking just as disheveled as yesterday with his hair sticking up in all directions and his beard still scruffy and untrimmed. He smiles when he sees your face, instantly sending those familiar butterflies into your belly.

He mouths something to you and you quickly roll the window down, "What?"

"I just said good mornin'." he says with a chuckle, leaning against the wooden banister of his steps and giving you a boyish grin, "Where you comin' from, darlin'?"

"Went shopping," you say with a smile, gesturing to the bags in the backseat, "Got some new clothes."

He raises an eyebrow, assessing the bags and then looking at your face again without replying. You sit there awkwardly, waiting for him to say something else, nervousness suddenly pooling inside you; what if he's just waiting for you to leave?

"Well, I guess I'll-" you begin, but not before Joel interrupts you.

"Wanna come inside and show me?"

Your heart slips to your throat, thrumming wildly as you stare at him. He smiles crookedly, tilting his head in that way you love.

"Y-yeah," you say, voice so squeaky that you have to clear your throat so you don't sound like a lunatic, "Yes please."

You'd thought walking into Joel's house after yesterday wouldn't feel as nerve-wracking or as scary, but somehow it's even worse. As soon as the door closes and he doesn't immediately wrap you in his arms, you feel unsure of what to do. He gives you a small smile as he passes you in the foyer, then crosses the room in a few long strides and goes to dispose of his empty coffee mug in the sink.

"How was your night?" he asks, rinsing it out as he faces away from you.

I made myself come twice, you want to say, and then I came four times this morning. But the atmosphere doesn't feel the same as yesterday; there's no sex buzzing in the air, no flirtatiousness emanating from Joel like last time. Something feels wrong.

"Um, it was fine," you say, biting your lip, "Yours?"

"Same old, same old," he says, drying the mug and putting it back inside its cupboard, "Had a few people over to watch the game."

For some reason it's hard for you to picture other people being in Joel's house; it's almost hard to picture him having friends, which you know should make you feel ashamed. But part of you wants him all to yourself; you don't want to share with anybody else. And another part of you wonders if maybe he had any women in his house last night, which makes your skin feel itchy again.

You watch as he walks into the living room and settles on the couch, putting his feet up and looking at you expectantly. You stand there, not sure what he's waiting for.

"So let's see those-"

"This is weird."

You both stare at each other, his brow furrowing at your interruption. You feel your cheeks go heat up, feeling small and ridiculously young as you stand there with a bag of clothes in each hand. You drop them both to the floor and take a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with him.

"What's weird?" he asks, seeming genuinely confused,

You shrug awkwardly, hesitantly taking a few steps toward the living room, "I don't know," you say quietly, feeling embarrassed, "It just...it feels weird."

He sits up and you allow yourself to look at him, feeling butterflies again when you see the look of concern on his face.

"Are you uncomfortable, sweetheart? ''Cause that's okay, I won't be upset. You can leave." His words are so soft and reassuring, it makes you want to cry.

"I don't wanna leave," you shake your head quickly, "I just... I've never done this before. I don't know what it's supposed to be like."

"What do you mean, babygirl?"

There it is, the name you'd been waiting for him to call you. It's almost a confirmation in your heart that he still feels the same way, isn't regretting what happened yesterday. You take a breath and slowly ease yourself onto the couch beside him, biting your lip.

"You're acting so... normal," you mumble, trying to figure out how to articulate how you're feeling, "Like we didn't... like yesterday didn't even happen."

His face settles into an expression of understanding; he smiles slowly, nods and moves a bit closer to you on the couch. You feel his finger tilt your chin up, urging you to look into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, "I wasn't thinkin'," he leans forward and presses a soft and gentle kiss to your lips, exactly what you'd been expecting when you first walked into the house. You sigh against him, relief flooding you. "That's what you needed, isn't it?" he whispers, "I'm sorry, I didn't wanna assume."

"Assume?" you ask as he pulls away, scrunching your brow in confusion, "I kissed you yesterday, why wouldn't I want to kiss you today?"

He smiles, "I'm tryin' my best to make this easy for you, sweetheart. I only found out yesterday how inexperienced you are," he reaches forward to push a strand of hair behind your ear, "I don't wanna push anything on you that you don't want."

"I want everything," you say immediately, shaking your head, "I want all of it with you, I already decided yesterday."

"Okay, well that's why communication's important," he chuckles, "I shoulda asked you yesterday before you left but I was, uh-" he looks down at your body and back to your face, "A bit distracted."

You feel almost naked underneath his stare. This man has seen you come; it shouldn't make you as self conscious as it does when his eyes rake you up and down, but it still does. He smirks at your shyness, leans back in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

"You're so sweet, babygirl," he murmurs, "Thought about you all night."

"Me too," you whisper like it's a secret, "Thought about you while I touched myself."

He groans and pulls back from you, eyes dark, "Don't say that, sweetheart, you'll get me hard."

You bite your lip and fight back a giggle. Part of you wants to ask what would be so bad about that, but you're also dying to show him your new clothes, especially the dresses. And you're not sure you're ready to see his cock yet, to touch it and learn what to do with it; the thought makes you feel more nervous than before.

"Can I show you my new clothes now?" you ask softly, "I bought it all for you."

He smiles and seats himself back against the couch again, nodding, "Of course, sweetheart. Lemme see."

You pick up the bags again and shuffle into the kitchen, out of sight. You hear Joel laugh lightly and you wince; should you have just changed in front of him? Would that have been the more adult thing to do? Probably, but he still hasn't seen you naked yet and you're not sure you want this to be the setting.

You don't bother with any of the more practical outfits - the shorts, the tops. Instead you go right for the dresses, starting with a short pink one with some ruffles on the shoulders. It's not exactly the sexiest thing in the world, but you know if you turned up to church wearing it you'd get an earful from your mother, and that makes it sexy in your eyes.

You walk back into the living room and a wide smile appears on Joel's face, eyeing you up and down.

"Wow," he says softly, eyes bright, "That's pretty."

"You like it?" you ask shyly, twirling a bit, aware of the way it flows up above your thighs.

"Yes, sweetheart, it's beautiful. Like you."

You can't look at him anymore, feeling beyond overwhelmed at the compliment. You quickly shuffle out of the room again to go put on another one, smiling to yourself when he laughs again, gentle and kind. You've never had anyone pay attention to you like this before; it feels so nice.

You change into a yellow one, more simple with some little daisies embroidered along the edges. Joel's eyes soften even more when he sees you.

"Babygirl, you're so gorgeous," he says softly, "You really bought these for me?"

You nod, still shy, "I did."

"Gimme a twirl," he says with a wink, and you laugh and do as he says, loving the feeling of his eyes on you, "Beautiful."

"One more, I saved my favorite for last," you say, spinning around and practically sprinting back into the kitchen, heart pounding. You mean it - the last one is by far the sexiest, the one you know he'll like best. It's the shortest, white and lacy with a deep cut in the front and looks best without a bra, which you quickly discard into one of the bags.

Standing in Joel's kitchen without a bra on makes you shiver, not just from being so exposed but because you feel so sexy. Being in a man's house half naked, knowing he's only a few feet away...who even are you anymore? You smile to yourself as you pull the dress over your head and fix it so your breasts are on display as much as possible. You take a deep breath; it's now or never.

The atmosphere changes the second you enter the living room. It's palpable; one moment you've just been having a silly little fashion show for Joel, the next you're essentially inviting him to stare openly at your breasts, which he does immediately.

"Jesus," he mutters, jaw tensing as you walk toward him and twirl slowly, showing him the back as well, the way the hem of the dress barely covers the tops of your thighs, "Fuck."

You're already wet at the roughness of his words, the reminder that all he wants to do is put his hands on you. With your arousal practically leading you, you slowly find yourself bending over in front of him, feeling as the hem of your dress rides up over your ass, exposing your panties.

"Do you like it?" you whisper.

His hands wrap around your thighs like they weigh nothing, pulling you toward him and placing you on his lap. You whimper pitifully when he pushes your legs open with his knee and cups you with his palm, noses your ear.

"You know I do," he murmurs, low and deep.

You watch as he traces the shape of your pussy with his callused fingertips, inhaling your perfume as he does it and pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You buck up into his touch, biting down hard on your lip.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?" he whispers, circling your clit lightly, "This why you came back, babygirl? Need me to play with your pussy for a little bit?"

You nod, swallowing tightly and whispering back, "Yes, please."

"Well, I have somewhere I need to be in about an hour," he murmurs, and you watch as his hand slips inside the loose stretch of your panties, the feeling of his skin against your pussy making you squirm, "But until then, why don't we try somethin' new? Just to see if you like it?"

"O-okay," you breathe.

You watch as he pulls your panties down your thighs again but keeps them around your knees, almost like he enjoys the sight of them still visible; he probably does. Your eyes stay glued to his hand as he brings it back up and slips two fingers past your puffy lips, rubbing your clit gently.

"Mmmm," you hum in satisfaction, tilting your head back a bit to rest in the crook of his shoulder, "Feels so good."

What he's doing isn't new; it's almost exactly what he did yesterday, except now it's with two of his fingers instead of one. You open your legs a bit wider in his lap, wishing you could see better like yesterday with the mirror.

"You know, when you were bent over like that..." he breathes, fingers rotating a bit faster, "I coulda put my hand on your back, like this," you suddenly feel the firm weight of his hand pushing against your lower back and you shiver, "Coulda bent you over just a little bit more, pulled aside those pretty panties and...."

His fingers suddenly stop their movements and you peer down, confused, "And what?" you whisper.

He slowly thumbs your clit, trailing his two fingers downward to settle lightly on where you're throbbing.

"And stuffed this little hole with my cock," he murmurs, and your mouth pops open as he slowly and carefully slips his index finger inside, just the callused tip. You freeze in his arms, eyes going wide at the sensation of having just a small part of him inside of you, "But that woulda hurt, wouldn't it?" he continues, holding his finger there and continuing to circle your clit with his thumb, "Never had a cock inside there before, right? Never been full."

You shake your head and sit up a bit in his lap, turning to look at him. He's peering at you with a calm expression, mouth upturned into that crooked smile. You bite your lip, meeting his gaze.

"Are you gonna put it in there now?" you whisper, unable to hide the way your voice shakes; in fear or in anticipation, you're not sure.

"No, babygirl," he says quickly, moving the hand that's on your back upward to cup your face tenderly, "Not today."

You feel relief flood through you; in theory you do like the idea of having Joel inside you, even though you have no idea what it would even feel like - or how he would even fit. But it's too soon, you still barely have any idea what you're doing. And he knows that, respects it, which almost makes you want him more.

You lean forward to kiss him, loving the way he thumbs your cheek and pushes his warm tongue inside your mouth. He still tastes like coffee today; it's safe and soothing.

"Know what we're gonna do today?" he asks you quietly once you pull away for breath.

"W-what?" you whisper.

"Well, as I said, we don't have much time," you look down again and become transfixed with the way the tip of his finger prods your hole, moving back and forth just a little bit, "So we're gonna see how many fingers i can fit inside you 'til it's time to go, okay?"

You nod, feeling a rush of warmth flood through you at his words, but also a tense feeling of nervousness in the pit of your stomach. He seems to sense it and he brings his hand up again to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Hey, don't be scared, sweetheart. I'll only put in however many will fit," he tells you comfortingly, "How many you think we can get in there?"

"I... I don't know," you feel stupid again, that inexperienced part of you on full display, "Two? Maybe?"

"Okay, we'll try for two," he murmurs, then leans forward to kiss you sweetly, "You don't have to be afraid, babygirl, I won't hurt you."

Somehow, you believe him.

A moment later he's pulling you off his lap and carefully laying you back on the couch. He pulls up your dress a bit more, exposing your pussy to his empty living room again, and dips his fingers back down to rub along your center.

"See how wet you are?" Joel whispers to you, kneeling down next to the couch and kissing your cheek gently, "You're drippin' all over my couch."

"I'm sorry," you whimper, trembling beneath his touch, and he just chuckles.

"It's not a bad thing," he reassures you, "When you get wet like that, it makes things easier for us," he slowly begins to push the tip of his index finger inside your hole and you bite down on your lip in anticipation, "Watch," he murmurs.

You watch as he slowly pushes his finger further inside; you're beyond surprised to discover that not only does it not hurt, but you can barely even really feel it.

"Hurt?" he asks you quietly, stilling at the first knuckle.

"Not at all," you breathe confidently, feeling a smile spread across your face, "Just feels like pressure."

"Good, that's good," he kisses your temple, beard scratching pleasantly against your skin, "I'll give you a little more."

You watch with bated breath as he pushes his digit all the way until it's fully sheathed inside your heat. It still doesn't hurt but the shape of him is palpable. His finger is thick and long inside of you and your breath is already coming out quicker at the fullness.

"There you go," he murmurs, and you turn your head to see him looking at you with dark eyes, "I'm inside you, babygirl."

Your cheeks warm at his words and you bring your hands up to cover your face, feeling overwhelmed. He brings his free hand to one of yours and pulls it away, smiling at you softly.

"Don't hide, sweetheart, you're doin' so good," he says quietly, reassuringly, "Pussy's so tight around me, can feel your heartbeat."

Your eyes widen a bit, "Really?"

He nods and very slowly pulls his finger out, just until only the tip is pressed lightly at your entrance. Then he pushes back in even slower, smiling wider when your brow furrows at the sensation.

"So tight and wet for me," he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, "She was made to have me inside her, babygirl."

You're slowly losing your ability to form words as he plunges his finger in and out at a steady pace; it didn't feel like anything before, but the more he moves, the more he fucks you with it, the better it begins to feel. You feel your jaw going slack, eyes going hazy when he circles your clit again with his thumb and kisses the side of your face.

"You're such a good girl," he whispers, "Lettin' me do this to you."

He teases a second finger at your entrance and you feel yourself freeze up a bit, unsure how it's going to fit alongside his index. You trust him though; despite barely knowing one thing about this man you trust him inherently to take care of you. God, if your parents could see you now, laying on his couch with his index finger stuffed inside of you while he kisses your face and whispers praises in your ear. Not even God can save you now.

"Givin' you another one," he breathes, carefully pushing the callused tip of his middle finger inside you.

It's different this time, there's an odd burning sensation as he pushes your hole open with two fingers. You find yourself crossing your legs unintentionally, making a face.

"It hurts, Mr. Miller," you breathe, shaking your head, "I don't think it's gonna fit."

He stops immediately, stilling both fingers inside of you and leaning forward to nose against your cheek, "I know, baby, it hurts at first but that's just because you've never had anythin' in there. Your pussy has to get used to it."

You nod slowly, eyes searching his; he seems genuine, honest, sincere. You believe him. Your parents always taught you to see the good in people and Joel hasn't given you a reason not to trust him. Plus, all your college friends must have had similar experiences at some point and they all seem to enjoy sex; you have to trust the process.

"Okay," you whisper, "But go slow, please."

It takes a bit of time for you to adjust, all the while Joel presses kisses all along your face, tells you how good you're doing for him, how you're taking it so well. You feel hot and completely overwhelmed, strange whiney sounds slipping past your lips every time he pushes in just a little bit more. He moves his free hand to grip yours, squeezes it reassuringly as he fills you up.

"There," he finally murmurs when both fingers are sheathed inside, leaving you feeling stretched out and more full than you could have even imagined. Your eyes are hooded and bleary, lip jutting out in a pout that he leans forward to kiss, "You did it, babygirl. I'm so proud of you."

It feels so good to hear those words, to hear someone show even the tiniest ounce of appreciation for you, even under the sinful circumstances. You're beginning to realize that despite everything you've achieved in your life you've never actually had someone tell you they're proud of you; it makes tears well in your eyes.

Joel's brow furrows when he sees the tears, lets go of your hand to thumb your cheek again, "Does it still hurt?"

You shake your head quickly, sniffling a little bit, "No, it feels good, just like you said," you take a shaky breath and bite your lip, "Are you actually proud of me?"

His expression softens and he nods, leaning forward to kiss you again, "Yes, sweetheart," he whispers, "You did so good."

You kiss him again, bringing your hand up to tangle in his grey curls. You slip your tongue past his lips and feel the undeniable rumble of a moan in his throat as he kisses you back with fervor, his hand traveling down your face to settle near your mouth, thumbing the corner. When you part he traces your lips with his thumb and slowly starts to fuck you again, making your jaw drop.

"That's it," he whispers, watching your expression with desire-filled eyes, "That's it, baby, you take it. Take those big fingers."

You cry out immediately when he starts rubbing your clit again as he fucks you, completely overwhelming your whole body with a brand new sensation; you're so full, so sensitive and wet, throbbing around his long digits. It's so much and you feel the tears spill over, this time for a completely different reason.

"Shh," he coos, and carefully slips his thumb inside your mouth which you immediately suckle, eyes closing on their own accord as tears begin to stream down your face, "I've got you," you hear him murmur, "There you go, just suck, babygirl."

You feel the callused tips of his fingers brush against something deep inside you, not hard enough to make you cry out again but enough for you to feel your orgasm begin to build in your tummy. You moan pitifully around his thumb, sucking hard on it as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Somehow he knows you're almost there, can feel the way you tighten in anticipation around his fingers. He carefully pulls his thumb out of your mouth, smiling when you moan in protest, then brings it down to thumb your pussy open a bit more. You look down at where he's touching, see the way his thick fingers are stuffed inside you, and the sight alone leaves you gasping as you start to come.

"Theeeere she is," he says soothingly, plunging his fingers in and out steadily, a wet slapping sound filling the room as he fucks you through it, "There you go."

You writhe on the couch, obscene sounds spitting past your lips. Your eyes roll back and you feel him kiss you again, shoving his tongue inside and fucking you with it the same way he fucks your pussy with his fingers. You're so full of him, he's everywhere. And you don't want it to stop.

But it has to. You're soon too overstimulated, body twitching with every touch. You feel Joel slide his fingers out of you with one final tap to your clit, still kissing you slow and deep. His hand travels upward underneath your dress and palms your belly, leaving a sticky and wet residue all over your skin. You're still so out of it that you barely register him reaching up to squeeze your bare breast, thumbing your nipple and covering it with your juices.

"Mr. Miller," you breathe when he finally pulls his mouth away, "Felt so good, Mr. Miller."

Your words make him laugh; he grins at you and squeezes your breast again under your dress, pinches your nipple slightly between his fingers. You freeze up, mouth popping open again.

"Relax, baby," he slowly reaches for the hem of your dress and pulls it up, exposing your naked body to him, "We're done for the day, just wanna see you."

You don't protest, watching his face as he pulls your dress all the way up to your chest, eyes trailing up and down your body at your hips, your belly, your breasts. He hums to himself, reaches down again to toy with your left nipple and smiles when you tremble.

"You're so pretty, darlin', just beggin' to be played with" he murmurs, clicking his teeth, "Shame I can't stay longer."

"Where are you going?" you ask quietly, "Maybe I can come."

He smiles at that, then pulls his hand away to bring your dress back down again, settling it over your thighs once more. He picks up your legs and sits down on the couch, pulling you toward him so you're half-seated in his lap, legs bent over his thighs.

"As tempting as that is, I gotta go to work," he tells you softly, stroking the bare skin of your thigh with his thumb.

"Where do you work?"

"I'm a contractor so pretty much everywhere," he smiles at you, "But you wouldn't have much to do, babygirl. Just watchin' me measure things and order my crew around."

You nod, "Can I see you tonight?"

He laughs breathily, pulls you further up into his lap and wraps his arms around you, "You're insatiable, aren't you?"

"For you, yeah."

He laughs again and you're suddenly very aware of the hard length of his cock against your ass, straining against his jeans. Your lips part and you look down, opening your legs a bit and peering at the long shape of him beneath the denim.

"You're hard," you whisper, brows scrunching together, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, angel. It's impossible not to get hard after doin' all that to you," he says with a chuckle, noticing that your cheeks go hot with the pet name, "Oh, you like that name too, don't you? Angel?"

You nod, feeling slightly embarrassed, but he just leans forward and kisses you again, holding you to him.

"Babygirl and angel, I'll keep those in mind," he murmurs against your lips, "For next time."

"And when is next time?" you pull back and bite your lip, looking at him with a pitifully wanton expression, "You didn't answer my question about tonight."

He rests his forehead against yours with a smile, "I'll be takin' my crew out for drinks tonight. And we'll be pretty busy over the next few days, so I'm not sure when I'll get to see you next."

You frown, disappointment flooding you. He notices your reaction and his brow furrows as he brings his hands up to cradle your face and peer down into your eyes. You lean up and kiss him again, twisting slightly in his lap so your legs settle on either side of him, melding yourself against him. His cock twitches against your ass, throbbing lightly, and you can't help but smile against his lips.

"Why don't I give you my phone number?" he groans, pulling back from the kiss to look at you with darkened eyes, "So you can text me whenever you want, tell me all about what you're doin', brighten up my workday. Maybe send me some pictures."

Your brow furrows, "Pictures?"

He thumbs your thighs and smirks, "Yeah, babygirl. Pictures."

"Of what?"

He shakes his head and laughs to himself, "Nevermind, angel."

You preen at the name again but frown when he carefully pulls you from his lap and seats you back onto the couch, standing up and adjusting his length in his jeans. Your eyes stay glued to it immediately, lips parting unconsciously at the size; is it the jeans making it seem so big or is it really that huge?

"Can I...?" you trail off, and he doesn't have to be a rocket scientist to understand what you're talking about. He follows your gaze and smiles, nods.

"You wanna see my cock, pretty girl?"

You nod quickly, pushing your legs together as he immediately reaches for his belt. It jangles in the quiet room, slapping against the floor when he drops it. You watch as he unbuttons his jeans and brings the zipper down, then pulls his cock free from the confines of his underwear and puts it on display.

You feel your jaw go slack, eyes widening at the sheer length and size of it. It's somehow even bigger than it looked in his jeans, large and thick and rock hard. The tip is wide and dark, dripping in a similar fashion to the way your pussy does, and you can't help but notice the veins lining the entire length of him, accentuating its size. This is your very first time seeing one that wasn't in a health textbook, and the vast difference between what you'd thought it would look like versus what it actually looks like is staggering.

"Th-that's big," your voice is barely a whisper, squeaky and surprised, "It's so big."

He carefully brings his hand down to hold it in his fist lightly, pulling it up a bit to give you a better view. "Big 'cause of you," he says softly, "It's all for you, angel."

You feel the tips of your ears get hot, still staring with wide eyes at where he's completely exposed. You can see the hint of his balls still hidden inside his underwear and for some insatiable reason that you can't even explain, you feel yourself begin to salivate.

"How's it gonna fit?" you breathe, brows scrunching together as you shake your head, "Mr. Miller, that's not gonna fit inside me."

He just smiles, reaches down and thumbs the wet head lightly, "We'll make it fit, babygirl."

You leave Joel's house with the image of his cock still imprinted at the front of your mind. He hadn't asked you to touch it, hadn't expected anything at all, just let you look at it for a few moments before telling you he had to take care of it in the shower or he'd go crazy. He'd tucked himself back into his jeans and given you one last kiss, written down his phone number on a piece of paper and then headed upstairs to shower. You'd changed back into your regular clothes quickly and left the house a few moments later.

Now you're driving aimlessly back home, weaving up and down different suburban streets while you think about the sheer size of him, the thickness, the veins. We'll make it fit, he'd said; the thought gives you goosebumps.

You can't put off going home forever; you finally pull into your driveway and hop out with your shopping bags. You'd shoved the white dress to the bottom after changing out of it, you just hope your mom doesn't ask to see what you bought.

"Hey there," your mother says as soon as you walk in the door, standing in the foyer almost like she's been waiting for you to come home; speak of the devil.

"Hi," you say quickly, "I went shopping, I'm just gonna put these up in my room."

She puts her hand up, "Not yet. I need to talk to you."

You feel unease in the pit of your stomach as you slowly place the bags on the floor, looking at her expectantly. Her expression is hard to read; her lips are set in a firm line, eyes assessing you up and down. You're not sure what's going through her mind.

"I was just talking to Joyce on the phone," she says, crossing her arms, "You remember Joyce?"

You nod slowly; Joyce is one of your mother's neighborhood gossip friends, the ones who keep abreast of everything going on in your little suburban neighborhood, who's fighting, who's getting divorced, who's kids are getting into trouble, etc. You feel a lump growing in your throat the longer you stand there waiting for her to speak. It's like you already know what she's about to say.

"She says your car was parked in Joel Miller's driveway," she raises an eyebrow at you, looking stern, "Is that true?"

You swallow around the lump and awkwardly shrug, "Um, yeah, I guess."

Her brow furrows, "You guess? Either you were parked there or not, which is it?"

Your face suddenly feels hot and uncomfortable as you shift your weight from leg to leg, trying to figure out what to say. Stupid. How could you have been so stupid as to park your fucking car in his driveway, knowing the way the ladies in this neighborhood talk?

"I was," you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, "I just stopped by for a bit to say hi."

"To say... hi?" your mother is still staring at you with a stern expression, eyebrows narrowing more and more the longer you both stand there, "Why would you stop by Joel Miller's to say hi?"

You shrug, "I was just being neighborly. He's new, I thought I should properly introduce myself, like you taught me."

Her brows unfurrow a bit at that, expression softening. There we go, hit her with the life lessons, that'll get her off your back.

"Honey, that's very nice of you, but I don't want you going back there, understand?"

Now it's time for your brow to furrow, looking at her with a confused expression, "Why?"

She backs down a bit at that, seemingly uncomfortable by the question. She looks down at the bags and gestures to them quickly, "You go ahead and bring those upstairs, I'm heading out to run some more errands."

"Mom," you say, trying to keep your voice soft despite the frustration you feel, "Why don't you want me going back to Mr. Miller's?"

She sighs then, bites her lip and darts her eyes around the room quickly, almost like she's looking for your father who you both know is at work. She takes a step toward you and grabs your hand, pulling you into the living room.

"Is this about what you were talking about at dinner the other night?" you ask, "When you said he was rude to you?"

She exhales deeply again and turns to you, scratching her neck awkwardly, "Listen, your father doesn't like me talking about people like this so please don't tell him I said anything."

Oh, interesting. You nod quickly, excited to hear whatever deep secret is about to be revealed, what Joel could have possibly done to offend your mother who's notoriously offended by everything, "I won't, Mom. Promise."

She takes another breath and twists her mouth into a frown, "He's... well.... honey, he's an Atheist."

You stare at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to drop the bomb. It takes you a moment to realize that Joel being an Atheist is in fact The Bomb in question, and you quickly have to pretend to be shocked, widening your eyes and raising your eyebrows in faux surprise.

"Oh, that's too bad," you say, nodding slowly, "What did he say to you?"

She shakes her head, frowning even more, "Well, I invited him over to have dinner with us after church, told him we'd love to see him at the service and then have him in our home, and what did he say in response?" she makes a sneering expression, imitating his deep southern drawl, "Sorry, lady, I'm not into all that religious s-h-i-t,", she spells it out like you're five years old, "Can you believe that? The absolute nerve!"

You can tell she's getting heated again just thinking about it and you know that laughing certainly won't help the situation. But that's all you want to do: laugh. Because picturing the way your mother's face must have looked when Joel said that to her is enough to make you want to burst. Of course he would have said that in response. Of course he would have turned down that offer immediately; it sounds like a nightmare.

You wonder if his answer would have been different had he known about you then, if you'd already been back from college. He probably would have seen you around the neighborhood and known you were the daughter of the woman asking him to come to dinner. Would he have come? Would he have even showed up to church just to get his hands on you? The thought makes you shiver.

"I think..." you bite your lip, trying to think of how to word it without sounding ridiculously obvious that he had his fingers inside you less than twenty minutes ago, "I think maybe he just had a bad day. Because I actually just loaned him my bible and he seemed really interested in it."

Your mom stares at you, disbelief flooding her face. Oh shit, maybe that was too crazy of a lie.

"N-not my bible, my hymn book," you clarify, shaking your head, "There I go, mush mouth. I meant my hymn book."

Her mouth slowly turns upwards from her frown, peering at you thoughtfully, "...Really?"

You nod, "Yes! I told him I liked the way he played and that it would be nice if he learned some hymns, maybe, um, maybe even teach me how to play them," God, you hope this is coming out naturally, "He said he'd love to."

Your mother slowly seats herself on the couch, lost in thought, "Huh," she states, staring at the wall, "That's...weird."

You shake your head quickly, "I don't think it's too weird, I think maybe we just need to go about it a different way. Maybe asking him to come to church was too much, he needs us to guide him more gently than that."

She nods slowly and you can't believe she's actually believing the lies coming out of your mouth, flowing surprisingly easily the more you talk. You know you're just doing damage control but you're slowly realizing that this is actually a great cover, a way to see Joel without having to hide from the neighbors or be sneaky around your parents. Guitar lessons. He could be your guitar teacher.

"And I think I'd be good at guitar," you continue, "I know a lot of guitar music is bad but Mr. Miller could teach me some hymns and I could even play them at church."

Her eyes light up at that, a look of positive realization appearing on her face, "That would be lovely," she says thoughtfully, "Who came up with this idea?"

"Me, of course," you say, giving her your signature fake laugh that you've perfected over the years of pretending to be someone you're not. You realize there's one more thing you can say to really bring it home, and you almost feel the fire burning at your heels when you say it: "I felt like... I really felt like God was speaking through me, Mom."

Your mother claps her hands together and stands up again, tears suddenly shining in her eyes, "Oh, honey, that's so wonderful," she walks toward you and wraps her arms around you tightly, a rare example of intimacy, "Do you need us to buy you a guitar?"

You shake your head as she pulls back from the hug, "No, that's okay, Mr. Miller's gonna let me use his."

She clasps her hands together again smiles fondly at you, "Excellent."

You still feel that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach as you walk upstairs with your bags, but this time you know it's because of what you've just done. Sure, you've lied to your parents before, but never like this. Never.

As soon as your bedroom door is closed you fling the bags across the floor and flop onto your bed, pulling out your phone and the piece of paper with Joel's number on it. You add him as a contact and open a new message:

just told my mom you're my guitar teacher.

You send it and spin around to shove your face against your pillow, not sure if you want to squeal out of joy or scream out of dread. You settle for a long droning noise that sounds muffled and distorted.

Your phone buzzes only a moment later and you quickly sit up again, grabbing it and opening Joel's response:

insatiable.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*#fic: feelings on fire

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eggyrocks · 7 months

Text

☆ on repeat ☆ t. kageyama smau

⋆｡°✩in which yn just got out of a bad breakup, and the only thing helping her is this one song on repeat ⋆｡°✩

main masterlist

tags: tobio kageyama x f!reader, university au, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: foul language, gross jokes, sexual jokes, conflict, violence, cringe; everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

rules: blank blogs will be blocked !! minors dni

taglist: closed

[ignore all time stamps]

status: complete

pinterest board by @garden-of-bri

yn style guide

introductions: oh my god they were roommates | roommates to lovers

part one: is she hot part two: body shots [✐] part three: pathetic men part four: girl time part five: blood oath part six: breakfast part seven: bed bugs part eight: my bisexual prince part nine: linked up part ten: tsukkinoyahinyamyn [✐] part eleven: something shifted part twelve: a bet part thirteen: weird and serious part fourteen: antonios part fifteen: bothered. unmoisturized. anxious. part sixteen: toothpaste and iodine [✐] part seventeen: okay i love you part eighteen: mini epilogue

daily click for palestine 🇵🇸

moodboard/description for on repeat from @causenessus

"the actual definition of domesticity. just pure love. definitely love languages are in this aesthetic. i'm getting a lot of gift giving vibes. BUT AGAIN DOMESTICITY!! just kageyama being in love and a sucker for y/n. he's behind her at every moment in case she needs anything, holding her bags for her and always there to be a scary guard dog to anyone looking despite being a sweetheart and melting the moment y/n is looking at him or asking something. the kind of people who would both come up to a grandma and help her cross the street or carry things for her <3 they're happy as long as they're together. they remind me of this one video i've had saved for years in my phones that goes along the lines of "when you're a kid you think your parents are soulmates. my kids are going to be right about that." (ik that isn't always applicabale to family dynamics like i would rather die than have kids but i personally think it's even more impactful thinking about it as "my parents were so messed up but i'm going to meet my soulmate. i'm going to be with someone that people see us together and think that we're soulmates. i'm going to find someone that loves me.") songs that come to mind are the cuco's wannabewithu and songs4u albums but also work song simply bc of how lovesick it is and loverboy"

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st-eve-barnes · 8 months

Text

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 5

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

This chapter: You and Michael spend more and more time together, making you forget all about the reason for your arrangement, until Ben reminds you...

Word count: +4300

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male & fem receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol)

Read the first chapters Here

(I FINALLY watched Saltburn over the weekend and I finally get why people are going crazy over it, I loved it so much!)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans quiet,”Please…right there…oh god, Michael, please.”

Your hands were gripping the sheets, back arching off the bed. Not yours but Michael’s bed. You were in his room, his small but immaculately clean room. And you weren’t here to study math.

The nerd you had never spoken a word two barely three weeks ago was now nestled comfortably in between your legs, half naked and with his tongue so far up your cunt you were close to your 4th orgasm of the afternoon.

“Fuck”, you whined again,”Michael, I…I can’t…it’s too much…please.”

He looked up at you through foggy glasses, his hair a mess, cheeks burning red and his mouth covered in your arousal. The sight alone was too much for you to take and you could feel your walls spasming around nothing.

“Come on, baby, you can give me one more, can’t you?” he asked, but before you could answer he was licking your clit again.

You moaned out loud, hands now tangled in his hair, torn between pushing him away or pulling him in even closer. You were completely overstimulated, yet desperate to come one last time. You were so close yet so far.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Focus on my mouth, nothing else matters, just feel me,” Michael pleaded, his large hand covering yours in a gentle squeeze while he started fucking you with his tongue again.

How was he the one in control all of a sudden? When did this happen?

He’d been nervous as hell when you came up to his room earlier that day, he was fidgety and more quiet than usual. He had asked to meet you for another tutoring session and you’d agreed to meet up in his room.

When you asked him if there was something specific he wanted to try he had blushed so deep and turned into a stuttering mess right before your eyes. The whole thing had made your heart melt for him again.

It had taken him about fifteen minutes to get the words out and ask you for what he wanted, his voice a trembling mix of nerves and hunger combined with curiosity.“I want to eat you out,,” he’d eventually confessed,” I want…to kiss you there, lick you until you can’t stand it no more and then…I want to feel you come on my tongue. Is that…can I, please?”

You had swallowed hard at his words, wetness pooling in your panties at his request.

“Can you teach me?” he begged, insecurity and eagerness in his pleading blue eyes.

He’d been too rough at first, too eager and too nervous to let himself enjoy it but once you guided him through it, told him to focus on your body and the way it reacted to him, he’d gotten the hang of it so fast.

That was two hours ago and apparently it had been enough to turn Michael into a pussy eating champion.

Right now he was kissing your clit, slowly, giving you some time to calm down and prepare you for your next climax. He knew your body couldn’t take much more but he was determined to make you fall apart for him one last time. The feeling of you surrendering to him, soaking his mouth in your arousal, made him feel all powerful. It was addictive as fuck, and it only made him want more and more.

His one hand was firmly placed on your inner thigh, keeping you open for him while the other explored every part of your body he could reach, caressing your skin and moving up to squeeze your tits every now and then.

He’d been hard the moment you had taken off your clothes but he was happy to ignore his own needs to focus on yours today.

You moaned when his mouth moved down and he pushed his tongue deep inside of you, nose pressing up deliciously against your clit, encouraging you to grind against him.

“Fuck,” you whimpered,”Oh god, please…please…”

Michael looked up at you with a smirk,”What are you begging for, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“Can I…grind against your face a little, please?” you begged, taken aback by the desperation in your own voice. He had you reduced to a whimpering, pleading mess and you didn’t even care.

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” he answered with a satisfied grin and he grabbed both your legs and pulled them over his shoulders, dragging you even closer.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered hesitantly.

“You won’t,” he reassured you and he gave one slow lick over your folds before sucking gently on your clit.

“Oh god,” you whimpered,”Don’t stop…please. Please, Michael, don’t stop…shit…”

He halted his movements to lock eyes with you for a moment,”I won’t stop until you come in my mouth, okay? I want you to…take what you need, ride my face, do whatever….okay?”

You had lost the ability to speak but you nodded quickly, biting your lip.

Just before he put his mouth back on you, you stopped him. “Wait!”

“What?” Michael asked.

“If I’m hurting you just…double tap on my thigh here, okay? And I’ll stop.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he smiled softly,”Relax for me, okay?”

You nodded again and then all your hesitations fell away when his tongue pushed deep inside your walls.

It didn’t take long for you to do what he asked of you and grind yourself against his face. His nose rubbing your clit in the most perfect way and then you were falling apart. Your entire body started shaking and Michael didn’t relent, licking you through every last wave of it until you thought you had ascended to a better place. Your body, and soul, were completely spent afterwards.

Michael’s hand found yours again, locking your fingers together and gently rubbing your skin with his thumb while he kept slowly kissing your folds and then your inner thighs and stomach, his kisses slowing down with the rhythm of your heart. Your hands found his hair and you caressed his scalp gently, his name a quiet whisper on your lips, putting a smile on his face.

He stayed in bed with you the rest of that afternoon, never pushing for anything more except to hold you and talk to you. Michael may have grown bolder in his pillow talk during these last two weeks you’d been seeing each other, but outside of that he was still a closed book and a mystery to you. You were still trying to get him to come out of his shell and get to know him better, page by page.

“Tell me about your parents,” you asked as you both lay against the head of the bed, his head on your stomach and your hands gently tracing patterns over his shoulders and back.

“Not much to tell,” he shrugged,”They both have mediocre jobs and a mediocre life, working for rich cunts that make all the money while my parents work their buts off and barely make enough to get by.”

The bitterness in his tone was harsh and unforgiving.

“My dad works overtime every week and they still can’t afford a nice holiday or a bigger house,” he continued,”And they never will, because the system fucks people like them.”

You caressed his hair and he sighed softly before looking up into your eyes.

“That’s not going to be my life,” he then said, determined.

You gave him a warm smile,”There’s nothing mediocre about you, Michael Gavey.”

His lips curled into a gentle smile when he met your eyes.”My mum noticed I was different very early on, I was always smarter than all the other kids, especially when it came to numbers and stuff. I could just do it, without even thinking. But…other kids didn’t understand, they thought I was a weirdo. It got worse in high school, got bullied a lot.”

His eyes left yours and he gently pressed his face into the crook of your neck while he closed his eyes, pushing away those memories. Your arms wrapped around him to hug him closer.

“Kids can be cruel,” you spoke softly,”Especially at the age where they should know better.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, coming back to you and looking at you again,”Anyway, I know I’m smarter than all those pricks and my future will be brighter than theirs, and better than mum and dad’s. That’s why I don’t believe in wasting time with stupid distractions like drinking and partying. Graduating is the only thing that matters.”

”So…what is this then? You and me? Is this not a distraction from your big studies?” you teased.

He smiled bashfully and moved to place himself on top of you, caging you between his arms,”This is not a distraction, this is…gaining some much needed experience and useful skills that will serve me well later on in life.” He softly kissed your jaw and you laughed.

“Is that so?”

“Hmm, you are an amazing tutor and you’ve been really good to me ,” he continued while moving his kisses down your neck and pressing himself up against you. He was hard again. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders while his hands moved to push up your top, to reveal yourself to him again. “So, so good to me,” he repeated in a whisper before his tongue circled around your nipple and he bucked his hips, letting you feel his full clothed erection against your bare center.

“Michael,” you moaned.

“Can I fuck you now? Please?” he breathed against your skin.

You nodded instantly, pushed his sweatpants over his ass and welcomed him in between your tight, wet heat.

***

During the next few weeks you kept meeting up with him as often as you both could, sneaking off to either his or your room to spend the night in bed together. He was still a little insecure at times but the awkward virgin from the beginning was slowly starting to transform into someone bolder and more confident, not just in his actions but his words as well.

You had gotten to know him better than anyone in this short period of time. Sometimes you still wanted to kick him in the head for how blunt he could be, but he always made up for it with his sweet, adorable side. And with sex, of course.

You were starting to forget what started this whole thing between you and him.

But of course Ben was there to remind you.

You had just picked up some books from the library and were on your way out when he intercepted you in one of the corridors. He blocked your way out, arms crossed over his chest and a smug grin on his face.

“What?” you sighed annoyed.

“I underestimated you, I didn’t think you could actually do it,” he simply stated.

“Do what?”

“Fuck him stupid.”

“That’s not…that’s not what happened,” you sighed impatiently. You just wanted to get to your room and get some studying done before meeting up with Michael later and most of all you wanted to get away from Ben but he wasn’t budging.

“Are you sure?” he teased,”Because he messed up so bad in class today, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing with my own two eyes, Michael Gavey lost for words and unable to answer a question, I never thought I’d see the fucking day. It was so awesome, you should have been there.”

He laughed and your stomach turned.

“What happened?” you asked, worried.

“I don’t know, you tell me, it was a basic question even I could have answered but he totally fucking short circuited or something. What did your pussy do to him, darling?”

It took everything in you not to hit him for real this time but you took a deep breath and looked into his eyes,”First of all, I’m not your darling, don’t call me that, ever again. And secondly, you’ve lost all rights to talk or even think about my pussy so shut the fuck up.”

He just shrugged,”Fine, whatever, it wasn’t that great anyway.”

Now it was your turn to laugh,”Your dick obviously disagreed with that, if I recall correctly he couldn’t get enough of it.”

He rolled his eyes but you could see a little crack in his armor,”I can’t talk about your cunt but you talking about my dick is fine? Double standards much?”

“You are the dick, Ben,” you pointed out, earning you another laugh from him before his eyes rested on yours.

“He fucks you as good as I did then?” he asked.

“Better,” you answered with a smug smile on your face,”So much better.”

Finally he had no come back and stayed quiet.

“Now, if you please get out of my way so I can go see him,” you asked but you didn’t wait for him to move, one hand pushing his shoulder so you could step past him.

“The test for that job is next week,” Ben pointed out, making you stop in your tracks.

“And?”

“And? You know what our deal was, don’t you? You distract Michael so he fails the test and I can take his spot.”

“Look, I’m not responsible for what happens with that test. I’ve fucked him, like you asked.”

Ben just shook his head,”And it all means nothing unless I win that position.”

You turned back to look at him, your newly found confidence fading quickly when you met the determination in his eyes and realized you were completely fucked in this scenario.

”But…there’s nothing I can do about that,” you pointed out hesitantly,”I’ve done what you asked of me, what else can I do?”

That smug annoying ass grin was back on his face,”That’s not my problem, darling, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Don’t sweat it, there’s still time.”

And with that he was gone.

***

Michael noticed your teary eyes as soon as he walked into your room that night. You were sitting on your side of the bed, trying very hard not to show him how upset you were.

“Oh, hi,” you tried to give him your best smile but he saw right through it.

Having spent more and more time together he could read you better than anyone by now.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you tried to brush it off, shrugging your shoulders and looking up at him, fake smile plastered on your face,”How was your day? Did you do anything fun?”

Michael snorted.”Fun? No, not really,” he stepped to your side of the bed and sat down, a little grin spreading on his lips,”But I’m about to do something fun now.”

The tone in his voice made you laugh and you could not be more grateful for it, because for a moment you forgot your tears.”Oh, you are?” you teased.

Michael crawled onto the bed until he was lying on your pillow, his hand reaching out to grab yours and pull you with him. You followed eagerly, straddling his lap.

“But first,” he interrupted you,”You’re going to talk to me. What happened today? What got you so upset?”

“I’m not upset,” you lied, annoyed,“And I don’t want to talk, I want to fuck.”

“We’re not fucking until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Oh really?” you teased him and you rolled your hips against his crotch, feeling him instantly harden beneath you.

Michael pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to bite back a moan, his hands grabbing your waist to try and hold you still,”Stop that, that’s not…fair..shit.”

You continued your efforts, dragging your clothed pussy over his cock while your hand sank underneath his shirt to caress his stomach. His cock was so hard already you barely had to do anything else. The power you held over him was intoxicating but then Michael grabbed your hands, a bit more forcefully this time while he stared into your eyes.

“I said fucking stop that and talk to me,” he insisted, raising his voice a little but that only spurred you on and when you bucked your hips against him harder his protest died in a needy moan.

“You were saying?” you teased him again, biting your own lip now.

You were only wearing panties underneath your long t-shirt and you could feel him press up against your clit too perfectly. You could probably come just from doing this, he wouldn’t even have to take his pants off.

Michael’s fingers sank into your hips and you could see the dilemma playing in his head. Does he give in or does he keep pushing for you to open up to him? You could tell he was close to losing the battle.

“You’re the student,” you reminded him, placing your hands on his chest,”I’m the tutor. I decide what happens next.”

Before you could make your next move Michael grabbed your ass and moved you off of him, then pushed you down onto the bed and switched positions with you. He was pinning you down to the bed now, a look of victory in his beautiful blue eyes.

“You were saying?” he teased with a smirk.

You were too stunned to speak for a moment. You tried to move your hips again, trying to regain control but he was the one in the position of power now, his weight strong enough to hold you down on the bed without even trying.

“And thus the student becomes the master,” Michael teased with a dorky grin.

“Master?” you scoffed,”Please, you are so full of yourself.”

“No, I’m not,” he denied and he leaned closer to press his lips to your ear, ”But you’d like to be, wouldn’t you? Full of me.”

He pressed his dick up against your clothed pussy to accentuate his words and you knew you were leaving a wet stain on his cargo pants when he started dry humping you.

“Michael,” you whined.

“Are you sure you’re in charge here, sweetheart?” he continued his teasing, biting your earlobe,”Rubbing that wet little cunt all over my dick like a pathetic needy whore that can’t wait to be filled.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered,”Hey, that’s not…that’s not fair! We haven’t covered dirty talk yet, you can’t…fuck…you can’t run ahead of the lessons like that. How did you…?”

Michael just laughed into your neck,”I’m a fucking genius, did you forget? Self study. Now stay still.”

He tried to hold you down with one hand while the other unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to free his cock.

Now it was your turn to feel victorious and you smirked up at him.“I thought we weren’t fucking before I talked?” you reminded him.

“Change of plans,” he simply stated while spreading your legs and pressing his leaking cock against your folds,”I’ll fuck you first and then we’ll talk.”

Without any further warning he sank his cock deep inside your tight heat, shutting you both up.

Michael pressed his forehead to yours and let out a shaky breath, his gaze locking with yours, taking a few moments before he started fucking you slowly.

Your legs locked around him, forcing him in deeper and he whimpered against your neck.“God, fuck.”

“Go on then, master,” you teased,”Show me what you’ve learned.”

His one hand came to rest on your hip, caressing you softly while his mouth hovered over the curve of your neck. His breath was like fire on your skin, his thrusts slow and patient. Too slow, too shallow, you needed so much more of him and he was holding it just beyond your reach. He was purposely teasing you. And by god was it working.

“Please,” you begged.

“Please what, baby?” Michael breathed.

“More,” you whispered,”I need more of you, please.”

You sighed in relief when he finally started kissing your neck. His hand travelled up and under your shirt to caress your tits, thumb brushing over your nipples when he squeezed softly. You couldn’t hold back your moans any longer.

Your hips were moving along with his, urging him on to speed things up.

“Shhh,” Michael shushed you with more kisses and pushed your shirt up higher,”Take this off.”

You obliged so eagerly it put a satisfied smile on his face. Then his kisses moved down lower until his mouth wrapped around your nipple.

“Michael,” you whined, arching into him and running your fingers through his hair.

He continued giving your breasts his full attention until he felt your walls starting to squeeze around him.

“Oh, you like that a lot, huh?” he grinned proudly, continuing his slow torture with his tongue, all the while keeping eye contact.

You nodded and bit your lip,”God, yes…don’t stop.”

“Am I a good student, miss?” he asked with a teasing smile.

You no longer had to answer him with words, your pussy was doing it for you, clenching hard as your first orgasm started. Michael’s hand moved down to your clit, circling it fast and helping you to fall over the edge with a desperate moan, face buried into his neck.

It didn’t take long for Michael to pick up the pace after that, there were no more teasing words, only desperate little moans as he fucked you into the mattress until you both came again.

“Fuck, you’re becoming way too good at this,” you breathed as you were both lying on the bed afterwards, coming down from the high.”Soon you won’t need my tutoring anymore, huh?” you teased.

Michael looked at you with a sudden serious expression on his face,”No, but…I…I still need so much practice, I was just kidding around when I said that master thing, you know, I didn’t mean…”

“Chill out, I’m just messing with you,” you reassured him.

He gave you a hesitant, hopeful smile,”So we can keep fucking?”

You laughed and nodded your head,”Yeah, we can keep fucking, if you’d like.”

“Cool,” he smiled, more confident now and he turned on his side to look at you,”Yeah, I would like that.”

He was wearing nothing but his boxers, you were only wearing his t-shirt and it surprised you how comfortable you felt around him like this. There was no need to pretend with Michael, he accepted you exactly as you were. He wanted you exactly as you were.

Michael noticed your thoughts drifting off.

“Hey, talk to me,” he urged you.

You looked into his eyes with a sigh, knowing you couldn’t keep avoiding it forever.

“It’s Ben, I ran into him earlier,” you confessed.

“What did he do now?”

“The test for that job is next week.”

“Yeah, and?”

“He felt the need to remind me that…if you get the job, me and him don’t have a deal and he’s going to spread that video,” you told him.

Michael looked at you for a moment before he gently took your hand in his, locking his fingers with yours while his thumb brushed your skin. “Then I won’t take the job,” he simply stated, making you look up at him in shock.

You shook your head,”No, what? Are you mad? You want that job.”

He shrugged his shoulders,”Not if it’s going to ruin your life.”

“No,” you insisted,”I can’t let you do that for me, this is your future, everything you’ve worked for.”

“It’s my decision, okay?” Michael reminded you with a little smile but you just hit him on the shoulder.

“You’re not thinking straight right now, you’re thinking with your dick, Michael! The Michael I knew a few weeks ago would have never…”

“The Michael you knew?” he laughed,”You never even looked at me twice before then, babe, you sure as hell didn’t know shit about me a few weeks ago, don’t act like you knew me,” he interrupted you, his gaze meeting yours in a serious look. You stayed quiet.

“He said something else as well,” you then spoke softly,”He told me you messed up in class.”

Michael rolled his eyes,”That was nothing, it happens to anyone.”

“But not to you though, does it?”

Your eyes locked with his and he nodded his head with a sigh.”Not usually, no,” he confessed.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“It’s me, isn’t it? I’m a distraction.”

“No, you’re not,” he tried to reassure you,”I was just tired.”

“Because I kept you up all night!” you pointed out but Michael kept shaking his head, not allowing you to take any blame.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed.

”I don’t want this, okay?” you spoke firmly,”You being distracted in class, passing up on the biggest opportunity in your life? For me? I don’t want that responsibility, Michael. You told me just last week how important this all is for you, how it’s everything that matters and you’re going to make a better life for yourself. How can I stand in the way of that?”

He sighed and nodded his head, finally letting your words sink in.

“Promise me you’ll take the test and get that job,” you asked him,”Promise me, Gavey.”

“Okay, fine,” he nodded, finally caving and letting his eyes meet yours,”I promise, I’ll take the job and we’ll just…we’ll find another way to deal with Ben.”

You laughed bitterly,“What other way?”

“I know someone who might be able to help us, it’s a bit of a long shot but…”

“I don’t know, Michael, maybe I should just accept my fate," you sighed defeated.

“No, come on, don’t give up,” he grabbed your hand again and placed a quick kiss on your knuckles,”We can think of something, we can still find a scenario in which we both win.”

You gave him a smile but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe there was a way out of this.

But you just couldn’t see a scenario in which you could both win.

There was one in which you both lose, and it was closing in on you sooner than you’d like.

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x you #michael gavey #ewan mitchell fanfic #michael gavey x fem reader

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sopebubbles · 1 year

Text

Master List

Fifteen

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: You and Hoseok might be missing each other during his heat, but you get the opportunity to become closer with another pack member.

warnings: mentions of past trauma, fire, death, assault (nothing detailed), tbh aside from some pining, this chapter is pretty fluffy.

wc: 6k

When you woke up on the fifth day of your heat, you felt almost normal. Your limbs didn't weigh quite so heavy, and the ache between your legs was gone. Yoongi laid beside you in bed, his cheek pillowed cutely on his arm. He looked so peaceful, you couldn't help staying a while to watch him. You had few moments to look at him like this when he wasn't looking back at you. You'd never noticed how lovely the dip above his cupid's bow was, even though you'd spent so long admiring his smile. His black hair was disheveled from sleep, cutting dark black shards against his pristine white cheek. It took every ounce of restraint to not brush his hair back, but you wanted nothing less than to wake him. He'd earned a good sleep after giving you anything and everything you needed for the past five days.

Jimin was absent from bed already, you noted, and after indulging in several minutes of watching your alpha sleep, you decided it was time to attend to your bladder's needs. You slipped off the bed as gently as you could and quietly opened the door.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you went down stairs, hoping you would run into Hobi, but no one was there, not even Jimin. Maybe your brain wasn't working as well as you'd assumed because you could smell every pack member but Jimin in the house, but there wasn't a person in sight. Coffee hadn't even been made. You shrugged it off, guessing everyone was sleeping in like Yoongi. You wouldn't be going to work since your hormones were still above normal, and it could attract unwanted attention even though you were feeling better. So you looked around for something to occupy you until the others got up or Jimin came home.

You found baskets full of laundry in the room connected to the kitchen and debated for a minute whether it was intrusive to do the pack's laundry for them. Ultimately, you decided that Hobi wouldn't mind and got to work. There were towels left in the dryer from last night and you folded them, looking around for anyone before you indulged in burying your face in a particularly soft and fluffy one. It reminded you of how Jungkook smelled, even though you hadn't been particularly close to him since you moved into the house. You weren't afraid of Jungkook like you were the others, maybe because you'd already been close enough to him when you first met to know he wouldn't hurt you or maybe just because he wasn't an alpha. But you were afraid he was going to arrest you anytime you saw him in uniform, and that feeling would take time to fade.

When the folding was done you decided to have a bowl of cereal to fill your grumbling stomach until everyone else woke up. You had to drag a chair from the kitchen table to the fridge to be able to reach the boxes on top. You didn't realize Jimin was home until you heard him laugh. You froze, your hand still reaching for a box of sugary cereal, and turned your head to look at him.

"I get it now," he chuckled.

You dropped your hand. "Get what?"

"Why people always laughed at me for being short. This is objectively funny," he explained as he walked over and grabbed the box you were going for with ease.

"I had it," you mumbled as the box floated past your face, and he set it on the counter.

"Sure you did. Come here before you hurt yourself." Jimin grabbed your waist and lifted you from the chair, and put your feet on the ground.

"Where were you?" you asked softly.

"Did you miss me?" he teased, and you looked away without responding. "I just went to the grocery store. Can you help me bring stuff in?" he asked, and you eagerly nodded.

"I didn't know you could drive." Although you normally would have tried to carry several bags at once, your limbs were still a little weak, so Jimin only handed you light things like paper towels and bread.

"I can. There are just so many people in this house who prefer to drive. It's never really been my thing, but I can do it when I need to."

"Isn't grocery shopping usually Taehyung's thing? Why didn't he go with you?" You wondered as you walked back into the kitchen.

"Hobi's in heat," Yoongi said from the bottom of the stairs, his hair wild and his eyes still droopy from sleep.

"Oh," you breathed. You should have realized sooner. You couldn't explain why that left you feeling disappointed.

"He started yesterday. He tried to tell you but you were–"

"Yeah, it always gets deepest at the end."

"How do you feel today?" Yoongi asked. Coming closer, he pushed your hair back to look into your clear eyes. You had to tilt your head back to look up at him.

"I'm fine," you answered as he wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back, and he hummed happily. "Shouldn't you be with him?" you asked softly.

Yoongi pulled back to look at you. "No, princess. We're yours."

"But…" you huffed air through your nose, trying hard to get a grasp on your own feelings. They should be with him, right? You shouldn't be keeping them from that. Hobi needed and deserved them. "He needs you."

Jimin shook his head. "He doesn't. He has more than enough alphas to get him through it."

Your face scrunched in frustration as you picked at your nails. Yoongi might be able to appreciate how adorable you looked more if he wasn't concerned. "What's on your mind, princess?" He prodded softly.

"I know you're my pack. But you're his pack, too. And–" you looked at Yoongi and he gave you a nod to go on. "All three of you made my heat better, and I want Hobi to have the best heat, too, so I think you should be with him."

"Sweet thing," Jimin cooed, unable to resist patting your head.

Yoongi reached for your hand and pulled you close. "It makes me really happy to hear that your heat was better. It's still not over quite yet, so we will stay with you. We want to stay with you. Hobi wants us to as well. So you don't need to feel bad about it. He's just fine."

Your lips still pouted as you mumbled an 'okay.' Yoongi watched you as you tried to blink away the moisture in your eyes, but you had to look away from him. The washing machine sounded like a church bell calling you to service. You turned and wiped the last of the unshed tears from your eyes.

"Okay. I'll just put in another load of laundry and then I'll make some breakfast, okay?"

"Baby, you don't have to clean," Yoongi said, but you shook your head at him.

"Is this my home or isn't it, Yoongi?" You questioned, voice stronger than he expected.

"Of course it is, but–"

"Then it's my home to clean. It's what I need to do."

He smiled lovingly at you. He couldn't be more proud that your omega instincts were calling you to take care of the house. It was like a special omegan way of claiming ownership, and nothing could have made him happier. "I get it. I only meant you shouldn't overwork yourself. You're still recovering."

"I'll be fine. I like doing housework," you assured him as you pulled away and went to the laundry room.

By the evening, you had all of the laundry washed, folded and sorted. You'd even been able to iron Yoongi's uniform before he left. He was reluctant to do so, but you assured him that you would be fine with just Jimin for the night. It would feel weird though, to sleep in your nest without Yoongi after so many nights together. But you didn't let it show.

After dinner, Jimin convinced you to settle down and watch a movie with him on the couch, so that was how Jungkook and Taehyung found you, cuddled and happy in front of Jimin as you both laid facing the TV. When you saw them, you tried to get up, but Jimin held you down, unwilling to let his personal heater go.

"Is everything okay?" you asked.

Jungkook nodded. "We just came to get food."

"I made two trays for you for dinner. I wanted to take them up but Jimin said to wait."

"That's sweet, pup. Thank you. But you don't have to," Jungkook said as he went to the kitchen.

"You're watching Harry Potter?" Taehyung asked as he came to sit on the edge of the couch near your feet. He wore sweats and a sleeveless shirt, and his blonde hair fluffed around his head, making him look softer than ever.

Jimin hummed. "The pup has never seen them."

"How is that possible?" Tae chuckled.

"My parents were really strict about us not reading or watching things about magic or anything like that. But I read all the books last year," you explained.

Taehyung nodded his head. "Are you enjoying it?"

You smiled and nodded eagerly before Tae reached out to ruffle your hair. He did it easily as if he'd done it a thousand times before, but it left you wide-eyed with heated cheeks. He didn't seem to notice though. He merely leaned over to kiss Jimin on the cheek, lingering a little to appreciate your scent, and then left to help Jungkook in the kitchen.

"You like Tae Tae, little pup?" Jimin whispered in your ear when he was gone. His teeth nipped at your throat and you wriggled away from him, finally escaping his grasp, but only because he let you.

"I hope this is okay," you said softly as you walked into the kitchen. "Do you need me to make anything else? Jimin said light stuff is better, but I'm not exactly an expert."

"This is great, Y/N. Thank you," Jungkook replied as he gathered water from the fridge.

"What do you like to eat when you're in heat?" Taehyung asked. Lucky for him you didn't seem to notice the intense interest of his inquiry.

"I don't know. I don't usually eat much," you shrugged. Taehyung frowned, remembering the time two months ago when you passed out from not being taken care of. It was packmates' jobs to take care of an omega in heat, and he felt relieved you'd had a pack to help you this time.

"She'll eat anything as long as Yoongi feeds her by hand," Jimin said loudly from the living room. The two men watched as your face darkened with embarrassment.

"I-is Hobi okay? Does he need anything?" You asked after you were able to compose yourself again.

"You are a sweet little thing, aren't you?" Taehyung said. There was something in the way you lowered your head, maybe to hide a smile, that he found heart-poundingly endearing.

"Hobi is doing fine. Happy as a clam. We'll take all this up, and he'll be even happier," Jungkook answered.

Seeing that they were short a few hands with all the bottles of water and other drinks, you quickly grabbed one of the trays and took it upstairs. Your steps halted at the top of the stairs and you waited for Jungkook to open the door. When he did, you couldn't help taking a glance inside, to see if you could get a glimpse of Hobi and know he was okay. But when you did, it suddenly felt intrusive, like you shouldn't be there. Even after the two men entered, you could only bring yourself to the threshold of the door and wait for them to take the tray from you. Once he did, you disappeared back down the stairs before Taehyung could thank you and shut the door.

"How are they?" Hobi asked when Taehyung came back to the bed. He was relatively lucid for the moment.

"They're good, hyung. Y/N made some food for us," Tae told him, helping him get up into a sitting position to eat. "It looks like she's been keeping busy."

Hoseok whined softly, causing Jin to wrap his arm around his back to comfort him. "I'm sure Jimin would come cuddle you for a bit if you asked."

When Hoseok didn't say anything and merely frowned, Taehyung answered for him. "It isn't Jimin that he wants, hyung."

Hobi sighed. "I didn't know what it would be like to be with her. I've been with my sisters during heats, but it was different. I miss her scent and the way she fits in my arms," he said, sounding bereft.

"Maybe she could give you a pillow or something," Jungkook suggested.

Hobi looked to Jin, not knowing how the pack alpha would react to an outsider's scent in the nest. "It's your nest, my love," was his answer to his husband's longing eyes.

He turned to Namjoon, who was still lying on his other side. The alpha shrugged. "It's not like we're not used to her scent now. It's all over the house. And it's nice. I don't mind, especially if I would make you happy, darling."

Hoseok smiled slightly and turned onto Jin, burying his face in his neck. "We need to eat," Jin reminded him with a kiss to his head.

The remaining days of Hoseok's heat left a lingering weirdness. It felt like just at the point when you were wanting to see more of them, especially Hoseok, but even Taehyung too, everyone was suddenly occupied. Even Yoongi was working a lot, taking extra long shifts with only 8 hours in between to get a little sleep and some food before he went back. You felt guilty, knowing he was trying to make up for all the time he'd taken off with you, but you couldn't say that to anyone. He had to do it, and you were grateful he had, but you hated seeing him suffer for it now, even more than you hated not being able to see him much at all.

Jimin has been sleeping with you in your nest every night, but you were finding it hard to sleep without Yoongi, especially when you awoke from your nightmares. Jimin didn't wake easily, and you could cuddle into him without causing any disturbance. But tonight, your nightmare had been so upsetting that you didn't want to go back to sleep, so instead of turning in toward Jimin you rolled toward the edge of the bed, sending a quick text to Yoongi to see if he was busy.

While there were times when he wouldn't be able answer because of an emergency, there were also long stretches of time when he didn't have anything to do at all. He always told you that you could text him anytime while he was working and if he could answer you then he would, but not to worry if he didn't. You'd been lucky a few nights ago when you woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. You'd texted him and since he wasn't busy he texted with you until you got sleepy again. Tonight, you weren't so lucky. A few minutes ticked by while your message sat unread. Finally, you decided to get out of bed since you were feeling awake and didn't want to lay in the darkness, lest your nightmares should catch up with you.

You descended the stairs, expecting more darkness, but light filtered softly down the hall from one of the rooms at the front of the house. You knew that was Taehyung's studio. Other than the pack's room, it was the only other room that was omitted from your post-heat cleaning frenzy earlier in the week. You'd never been inside of it, but you found yourself walking quietly down the hall to the cracked open door. Low-fi music played softly inside, quiet enough that you couldn't hear it until you were just outside. Within, Taehyung stood behind a canvas propped on an easel. You couldn't see his face, but even if you didn't know it was him, you would know him by his heady scent that even the smell of paint couldn't smother.

"You can come in," he said loudly enough for you to hear. Without leaning around the large canvas to see you, he had identified you by your apple scent, too.

You crept cautiously around the door to stand just inside. "I didn't mean to bother you."

His head poked around to look at you, smiling. "You're not. You can have a seat," he told you, pointing to the couch against one wall. You sat and curled your knees to your chest, picking at your nails as you took in the room. Odds and ends scattered about, quite the opposite of the rest of the house. "What's keeping you up, sweet little?"

You blushed at the nickname he had begun to call you a few days ago. "It's 'sweet thing,'" you corrected him the first time with Jimin's pet name for you. "Maybe to Jimin, but to me you're a sweet little thing," he'd argued.

"I had bad dreams."

Taehyung nodded with a thoughtful frown. "Me, too." He applied a careful stroke of paint before he looked at you. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

You shook your head. "I don't really remember it. But you can tell me about yours," you prompted.

Taehyung shrugged. "Mine are pretty similar most nights. I dream about a fire, and the screaming, and when I wake up it feels like minutes before I'm able to move. When I can move, it feels like I have to get up. So I come here."

"When were you in a fire?" you wondered.

"I wasn't. My birth pack's house caught on fire when I was away at art school. I wasn't there, and they all died," he explained distantly.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Taehyung looked at you and smiled softly. "Nothing for you to be sorry for."

You wrang your hands together, not sure what to do with the uneasy feeling in your stomach. "You must miss them a lot," you said softly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Is that why you don't like to leave the house much?" you asked before you could stop yourself. You wished you could stuff the words back into your mouth.

Taehyung huffed and then chuckled. "Yeah, that's part of it. If I go out somewhere for too long, I get worried. Like I won't make it back in time if something goes wrong." He sighed, "I know it's kind of silly. I just–"

"It's not silly," you assured him. "It's good that you have people you loved, who loved you. And now you have more people who love you. Was your birth pack big?"

He shook his head and put down his brush and paint in favor of sitting down with you. "It was just my parents, my mom's sister and her husband. They didn't have any kids, so I was an only child. They spoiled me, but I loved them a lot."

"It's nice you had so many adults to raise you and teach you."

He hummed. "Yeah, but I always wished I had some siblings or cousins to play with. When I first met Jungkook and he introduced me to the others, it really felt like I had gained those brothers I always wanted. It wasn't until almost a year later that I started having deeper feelings for them."

"Jimin told me once that when you joined the pack you were looking for family," you said.

"That was what I needed back then," he agreed.

You fixed your eyes on your knees. "I wish I could have been adopted by a family like yours instead," you said gently. "I could have been your sister."

Taehyung smiled sweetly at you. "That would have been great. But then we wouldn't be together now. And I like you being here now." At his words, you hid your face, but it only endeared him more. "I can be like a brother to you, if that's what you need. But I'd rather–" he cut himself off and shook his head.

You lifted your head just a bit to peek at him. "Rather what?"

He blushed slightly and put on a strange kind of smile. "I would rather be your alpha—one of your alphas. I know you're probably not ready for that, and that's perfectly fine. I'm not like Yoongi or Jin, but I do want to make you comfortable and happy, and I want to protect you as best I can. I know it's not an enticing offer but…" he rambled and you unconsciously put out a hand and touched his arm to soothe him.

"I'm sure you're a great alpha. I…I don't know if I can…one alpha is a lot for me already and Yoongi…I don't know. But I could use an older brother," you admitted.

Taehyung tried not to show the tinge of disappointment he felt and gave you a boxy smile. It didn't hurt too much though. As long as he got to be around you, he didn't care. As a big brother he could still protect you and help you, and maybe someday, your feelings would open up to something more. The silence stretching between you was broken by a rumbling in your stomach.

Taehyung's eyebrows rose with a question. "Are you hungry?"

You smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."

He took your hand and pulled you to your feet. "Let's find you something to eat."

He dragged you to the kitchen before you could say a word to stop him. When he opened the refrigerator, he frowned, discovering what you already knew. Supplies were limited. There wasn't even milk for a bowl of cereal.

"There's stuff for breakfast tomorrow," you assured him. "And Yoongi said he would stop by the store on the way home and grab a few things in the morning. We didn't realize how bad things were until we'd finished making dinner. Eight people is a lot of food and–"

"It's okay, sweet little. You don't need to stress about it," he smiled down at you. "But it doesn't exactly help our current situation." By the look in his eyes, you could tell he meant you.

"I'm fine. It's no problem for me to miss a meal or two." You had missed more than that before and been fine.

His eyes narrowed at you. "Did you skip dinner?"

You shrank from his gaze. "I just wanted to be sure you all had enough. You've been–'

"You don't need to do that for us. Ever. We will always work something out. It's our job to make sure that you are provided for. Not the other way around," he said, an edge of anger in his voice that had you pulling away.

"You're not my alpha. Yoongi is…"

"And how do you think Yoongi will feel when he finds out?" He continued.

You grabbed his arms in your hands and shook your head. "Shh. Keep your voice down. You don't have to tell him. It's really not a big deal, Tae."

"How can you say that?"

"Alphas eat first. That's most important," you told him matter-of-factly.

Tae's heart broke, and he took a deep breath before he could respond to you. "The alphas who told you that were wrong. That's not how things work here. You're never going to be last. Do you understand?"

You knew you wouldn't get away with saying no, so you didn't say anything at all for a moment. "Are you going to tell Yoongi?" you asked softly.

"That depends," he answered vaguely.

"On?"

"What do you want to eat right now?"

You shrugged. "I'm really okay."

"Tell me what you're craving," he said, but it sounded like a demand.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and thought. A smile tugged at your lips when an idea came to you.

"Name it," he said. His smile grew as yours did.

"Mcnuggets and fries," you answered.

"That's it? You can have anything you want!"

"I'm a simple girl, Taehyung!"

He chuckled, enjoying the way you said his name. "Fine. I think we can still have it delivered."

You scoffed. "It's less than a mile away. Let's just go."

"It's late," he mumbled.

"It won't take long. I promise we'll be back soon," you said, thinking that leaving the pack was the source of his hesitation.

"It's not that. I…I don't go out at night," he admitted.

You leaned in to whisper to him. "Are you afraid of the dark?"

He pushed you away gently. "It's not that…exactly." You looked at him, waiting for further explanation. He dropped onto a stool and sighed, looking for the words. "You remember how you knew my painting from the one you saw on the building downtown?" You nodded. "Well, I used to do a lot of stuff like that. Street art. And of course the best time to do street art is in the middle of the night. Once I was out alone and I got jumped by a group of saps. Ended up in the emergency room. Since then, I don't like to go out at night, unless I'm with other people."

You frowned. "That sounds really scary," you admitted. "But I'm other people."

He scoffed. "Hardly. I meant other alphas."

"Psh! You think they can protect you better than I can? I bet Jin doesn't even know how to fight, but I do!" You punched him playfully in the chest. With a laugh he stood and put his hand on your head, holding you at arms length so that your punches only hit air. You pouted at him so easily thwarting you. "No fair. But we'll be safe! We can go through the drive thru. We won't even get out of the car." He looked at you doubtfully. "Pleeease. You made me think about food and now I really am hungry," you whined.

"Fine," he relented, "but you better make sure you text your alpha and let him know. I don't want him finding out later and getting mad."

"Deal." You followed him to the door and pulled out your phone as you both got your shoes on.

You failed though.

You didn't see him or smell him as your shift ended, although perhaps you could have been on your guard for it. He usually came in at this time of day, between school getting out and picking Jimin up from work. But you hadn't seen Namjoon at the library since you moved in several weeks ago. He always made sure to go at a time when you weren't working. You couldn't help seeing him now as you waited outside for the purple minivan that almost always picked you up these days. Namjoon strolled casually out of the library, and you hid yourself behind a pillar as best you could, hoping to escape his notice.

You hadn't recognized his presence inside, but he had noted yours. He knew you would be there, after all. Although you two hadn't ever spoken directly to each other, Namjoon didn't hate you the way you—or anyone else—thought he did. Most of the time he tried not to think about you too much, one way or another. He felt more secure by now that you weren't going to fundamentally change his relationship with Jin, or with anyone else for that matter. But he also didn't want to dwell on the unwanted thoughts you aroused in him when he least expected it. Wonder if she's warm enough in that sweater, he thought over his morning coffee as you moved around the kitchen with Hobi before work. Wonder if she's doing okay today, he thought one day last week during your heat while standing in the hallway as students passed from one class to another. Isn't Taehyung supposed to pick her up? Omega shouldn't be out here all alone, he thought as he watched you duck out of sight. He could've kept walking and pretend he didn't know you were there when you clearly wanted to avoid him. But then again, it seemed he couldn't.

"Hey, Y/N," he spoke softly, coming out awkward and stilted.

"Hi," you responded so softly he almost didn't hear it.

He cleared his throat. "Is Taehyung coming? Do you need a ride home?"

You shook your head vigorously. "He's already on his way. They should be here any second."

As if you summoned him, Tae's car pulled up only a few awkward minutes later. He put the car in park on the curb and hopped out.

"Hyung, what are you doing here?" Tae asked, an edge to his otherwise friendly tone. Maybe it was an automatic response to the way you curled in on yourself, looking scared and shaking like a leaf.

"Just the usual," Namjoon answered, gesturing to the books in his hand. "I saw Y/N, and I thought I'd wait with her."

Taehyung nodded. "Ah. Sorry I'm late, sweet little. Are you ready to go?"

To answer him, you simply nodded your head and walked toward the car. You climbed into the front passenger seat, where Hoseok would normally be sitting and buckled in before Taehyung had even gotten to his door.

"Where's Hoseok?" You asked as soon as he got in.

"He's at home resting. He's pretty worn out, but he's excited to see you when we get home." Tae put the car in drive and pulled smoothly out into the street. "Your alpha is there, too."

"Let's go!" You urged, forgetting your mood from a moment ago.

"We'll be home in a little bit. We need to go grocery shopping first." He couldn't help smiling at your eagerness though.

"Namjoon meant well, you know," he said after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

You looked at him briefly before turning forward again and sat on your hands to keep from fidgeting with them. "I know," you admitted reluctantly. Whether Namjoon hated you or not, you believed no one in the pack wanted to tempt Yoongi's wrath. "I'm sorry it's taking me so long to adjust."

"Hey. There's no rush. I just wanted to reassure you since you seemed a little shaken up."

"I'm okay," you replied, a little unconvincingly.

In the grocery store, Taehyung let you push the cart while he loaded it with the pack's usual supplies. As he did, he explained which brands Jin preferred (he was picky), what vegetables each member liked and hated, and each member's favorite snack. You made mental notes and hoped you could remember them all. By the time he was finished, the cart was loaded so full, you had to keep a watchful eye for things falling off the top, and you could hardly push it. You'd never seen so much food in your life. But with seven fully grown men, all of this would barely last a week. When the price was tallied up at the register, you could only frown.

"What's that for?" Taehyung asked when he got inside the car, looking down at your outstretched hand and the bills you offered.

"For the groceries."

He scoffed and ignored your offering as he put on his seatbelt. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. I don't want to add to your burden. You have enough mouths to feed already," you argued.

"You eat like a bird. Do you think it even makes a dent?"

"Don't be so stubborn!"

He looked down at the money still in your hand. "Do you want me to tell Yoongi about this?"

You groaned, "You can't always use that against me!"

"I can when you're being an idiot," he replied and flicked you in the forehead. You sat back with an astonished look on your face, mouth wide open until it closed into a pout. You stuffed the money back into your pocket. "Wait until I tell Yoongi about you."

"Be my guest," he laughed as he finally backed out of the parking spot.

You walked into the house carrying multiple bags in each hand despite Taehyung's scolding. As soon as you walked in, Yoongi was up off the couch where he had spent the last few hours cuddling with Hoseok.

"Hey, princess," he smiled as he wrapped his arms around you and smelled your head.

"Hi, alpha," you hummed, but you couldn't hug him back since your arms were still weighed down.

He chuckled, "Let me take those before your arms fall off."

"There's more outside," you told him as he pried the bags from your blood deprived fingers.

"I'll get them. You go cuddle with Hobi," he said before you could leave the room.

"It's okay. You can stay. I know you've missed each other."

Yoongi shook his head. "We've had plenty of time. And I think he's missed you more."

The way your eyes lit up and a smile covered your face made his heart swell. You didn't waste any time turning toward Hobi. His hair was a fluffy mess and he looked like he could sleep for another day, but he was waiting for you with open arms. You felt happy and relieved that he still wanted to cuddle with you and it hadn't only been a heat privilege.

"There's my little pup," he grinned lazily as you crawled into his makeshift nest. He was warm when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap.

"I'm stinking from work," you complained, pulling away slightly.

He stuck his nose in your neck and sniffed deeply. "You smell like pup to me."

You rolled your eyes as he pulled you close again, until your head rested on his shoulder. Taehyung came in carrying grocery bags, followed by Yoongi, but neither of them paid attention to you. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great, just worn out and a little sore."

You nodded. "That will happen when you have three alphas," you said quietly as the two currently home left the room once again. "I bet you don't get any sleep at all."

Hobi laughed loudly. "Not much, but I love it. I wouldn't have it any other way." You could tell by his smile that he meant it. He looked thoroughly satisfied.

"Then I'm sorry for taking Yoongi from you."

Hoseok clicked his tongue at you. "Never say that to me again," he scolded. "I've got more than I need and I'm happy to share. I know someday we'll be one pack. One way or another."

You know that was what everyone expected to happen, what they hoped for. You wished you weren't making it hard on everyone. If only you could get over your reservations. But you were trying, slowly.

"Taehyung told me he wants to be my alpha last night," you whispered to Hoseok. He already knew this. Tae had told him and Yoongi in the morning after you left.

"Do you want him to be?" Hoseok wondered. You said nothing but turned your face into his neck to hide your heating cheeks. Hopefully Hobi wouldn't notice how hot they were against his own skin. His grin spread ear to ear, and he stroked down your back without forcing an answer out of you. He knew it would come out soon enough.

a/n: idk about yall but I made myself so soft with this chapter. What do you think about her relationship with tae? we got a little peak in joonie's mind too. Are things coming together?? I kinda felt unsure about this chapter, but I think it turned out okay overall. Please let me know what you think <3

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