#why do you hate Mei so much

[teddy-bear-queen]

LMK DRAGONFRUIT FANS

DO you guys know any good romantic fan fictions of them,, the ones I find always have a weird power dynamic and are low key sexist.

If not I’ll deadass make my own I have a plot and everything LMAO

[saudebazi]

.

[papercutsmp3]

bro is inquisitive

[lyriumsings]

personally i don’t want to fuck ramattra but i will admit the way people draw him makes him weirdly pretty??? LMAOOO also he’s voiced by dorian pavus and that automatically gives him real estate in my heart

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

୨ৎ from the grande series

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: based on this ask, small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

────୨ৎ────

Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[chisungie]

.

[cuntyji]

CUPID'S DUMBEST SOLIDER ౨ৎ RYOMEN SUKUNA X READER

summary: ryomen sukuna, king of the school and reigning bad boy extraordinaire, has one rule: prom is for losers. but apparently, his too-good-to-be-true girlfriend (seriously, what are you doing with him?) thinks promposals are cute. so now he’s stuck planning the most over-the-top, cringe-inducing spectacle known to mankind. armed with zero artistic talent, a ton of misplaced confidence, and multiple dumb ideas, sukuna’s on a mission to prove that he’s boyfriend material. will he survive the humiliation of public vulnerability? will his classmates ever stop laughing at him? and more importantly, will you even say yes after watching him trip over his own ego mid-promposal? spoiler alert: sukuna might hate prom, but he doesn’t hate you — just don’t tell anyone or his bad boy reputation is toast.

warnings & tags: all characters except yuuji are high-schoolers [aged eighteen]. 100% sfw and crack. lots of high-school and social media related drama. sukuna is ooc but he's a loverboy. slight angst, misccommunication and misunderstanding, reader gets bullied. mentions of drugs & vaping. reader is sort of preppy [only when compared to sukuna], implied stsg and tomema. mentions of: yuuji, choso, gojo, geto, shoko, nanami, toji (zenin), naoya, yorozu, mei mei, uraume, mamaguro, wasuke itadori, mai and maki zenin.

a/n: i'm writing this because i'm thinking about my last year of highschool a lot. please enjoy <3

‼️i recommend reading on ao3 :) thank you for being here!

chapter one: love at first “you’re kidding, right?”

prom sucks. 

sukuna's decided this long before he even knew what it was, back when he was a kid and thought dances were just for the weak. now? the banners are inescapable, plastered on every wall like wanted posters, except the only crime being committed is how much glitter they used. seriously, who thought this level of sparkle was necessary? he doesn’t even want to look at them, let alone read the overly enthusiastic “prom countdown” in bold bubble letters.

but here’s the kicker—you’re excited. 

you. his girlfriend. the only person he’s ever willingly given his jersey to, the one he pretends not to care about but secretly loses his mind if you’re even five minutes late to meet him after practice. you’re actually grinning at the posters, casually mentioning how it might be “fun.”

fun. the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, much like the time he accidentally puffed on his teammate’s fruit-flavored vape, pretending he didn’t low-key enjoy it. and now, just like back then, sukuna refuses to admit the truth: the idea of seeing you all dressed up, looking at him like he’s worth more than a fistfight and a bad attitude, is enough to make his brain short-circuit.

“you know,” you say one day, glancing over your shoulder at him as you tug on his sleeve. “prom doesn’t have to be a big deal. it’s just one night.”

“then why’s everyone acting like it’s the olympics?” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. he keeps his eyes firmly on the ground, not on the way your smile softens like you already know what’s going on in his head.

because of course you know. you always know. it’s annoying.

but the thing is, sukuna’s always been a fighter. he knows how to take a hit, how to deliver one back, how to keep moving even when his ribs feel like they’re cracking under the pressure. this, though? asking you to prom? it feels like trying to fight blindfolded in a ring full of glitter bombs.

“you’re thinking too hard about it,” you tease, leaning closer, and he has to resist the urge to snap back with something sarcastic. instead, he just grumbles something incoherent, hoping you’ll drop the subject.

spoiler: you don’t.

“come on, it might surprise you,” you add, giving him that look—the one that makes his chest feel annoyingly tight and his brain feel like it’s melting. and just like that, sukuna knows he’s doomed. he doesn’t even know how you managed to turn this whole thing around, but here he is, contemplating how to ask you to prom like it’s some epic quest.

but for now? he’ll just keep glaring at the posters, convincing himself it’s all for you. definitely not because he’s secretly imagining what it’d be like to see you under those stupid lights.

yeah. that’s it. it’s for you.

why is sukuna losing his absolute mind over asking you, of all people, to prom? it’s not like you’re some untouchable deity perched on a golden throne. you’re just you—the one person who’s seen him shirtless and sweaty post-practice and didn’t immediately gag. the one who has the audacity to call him “cute” after he’s just finished smashing someone’s face in and honestly? he still hasn’t forgiven you for that.

and yet, here he is, spiraling like a damn teenager—which, fine, he technically is, but that’s beside the point. this isn’t just prom. this is war. but why does it feel like he’s already lost?

he doesn’t even know when this whole “you and him” thing started. 

oh wait. yes, he does.

cue the flashback: sukuna, bloody and bruised, crouched in an alley after picking a fight with college kids who were built like linebackers. he was sure this was it. the end. game over. then suddenly, you appeared, haloed by the sun.

or maybe that was just his swelling eye playing tricks on him.

“are you seriously bleeding again?” you’d said, hands on your hips like you were scolding a toddler who’d colored on the walls. you looked so annoyed, so unimpressed, so... angelic? he doesn’t know. blame the blood loss.

“what’s it to you?” he’d snarled, expecting you to walk away like everyone else. but instead, you crouched down, pulled out a first-aid kit from god-knows-where, and patched him up right there. like some feral stray, he’d just sat there and let you.

and then, because subtlety is not in sukuna’s vocabulary, he’d yelled at you a few weeks later to “just be my girl already,” fully prepared for rejection. except you’d said yes. casually. like it was no big deal.

liar. it was a huge deal. he’d wanted to cheer so loud they’d hear him across town. instead, he’d just grunted and said, “fine,” as if he hadn’t just won the lottery.

now, here’s the thing: sukuna doesn’t “do” feelings. or labels. or mushy crap like this. but somehow, you’ve made it your personal mission to take care of him, and the worst part? he lets you.

so, yeah, obviously he needs to “man up” and ask you to prom before some other idiot gets the idea. the thought of someone else—someone less deserving—getting to stand next to you in those ridiculous photos everyone takes? absolutely not.

but how is he supposed to ask you?

“hey, wanna go to prom?” no. too boring.

“you and me. prom. be there.” god, no. too aggressive.

“i’ll fight anyone who tries to take you if you say yes.” okay, maybe, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

and what if you say no? …no, scratch that. you wouldn’t. right?

“why do you look constipated?” your voice pulls him out of his internal chaos, and he realizes he’s been frowning so hard his face hurts. 

“shut up,” he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. you just laugh, that soft little sound that makes his chest feel annoyingly warm. “you’re so silly sometimes.”

silly? silly? sukuna’s this close to snapping back, but he bites his tongue. for now. he’ll figure it out. eventually. probably. 

unless someone else beats him to it.

nope. not happening. over his dead body.

chapter two: swipe, stress, repeat

if sukuna from a month ago could see sukuna right now, he'd be frothing at the mouth. the self-proclaimed king of school, the untouchable badass who spent his time punching people and skipping class, reduced to lying in his bed, phone clutched in hand, scrolling through tiktok like some lovesick idiot? 

embarrassing. absolutely humiliating. 

the guy would’ve torn his own future self apart, verbally and probably physically, for this kind of behavior. but present-day sukuna? he couldn’t care less. if past sukuna had a problem, he could take it up with the tiktok algorithm because, damn it, he was busy right now.

sukuna's room is peak sukuna. the walls are painted a deep gray—an edgy, brooding shade that screams “it’s not a phase mom,” and yet the color somehow sets off the aggressively pink hello kitty lamp on his bedside table. don’t ask why he has it. it’s your fault, anyway, since you bought it for him, and when he told you he wouldn’t use it, you pouted. now the damn thing stays on every night. 

his bed is a mess of black sheets, crumpled in a way that suggests he both sleeps like a starfish and fights imaginary enemies in his dreams. the single poster above his bed is of some obscure underground metal band you probably pretend to care about when he rants, but the corner is peeling because he’s too lazy to fix it. 

on the desk? chaos. protein powder tubs, half-used cologne bottles, random dumbbells, and a notebook that’s only ever been opened once—probably because he mistook it for a coaster. nestled among this battlefield of masculinity is his phone charger, tangled in a knot that somehow feels symbolic of his life choices.

but let’s talk about the tiktok doom scrolling session. sprawled on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, sukuna clears out his notifications, which are predictably 90% you tagging him in ridiculous couple reels. “this is us <3,” you captioned one, featuring two lopsided cartoon bananas cuddling. another one? a video of raccoons stealing food with the words “me and you robbing mcdonald’s after your practice :3” plastered over it. he groans loudly but still clicks the tag, because god forbid he misses one.

and then he sees it: the initials trend. he stumbles across a video with the letters r + your initial floating on-screen, surrounded by sparkly hearts. it takes him a solid two tries, but when the stupid thing finally lands on the right combination, sukuna practically slams the save button. the smug grin on his face could rival the one he wears after winning a fight. “got it,” he mutters to himself, as if he’s achieved something monumental. and maybe he has—because nothing screams romance like a tiktok filter confirming your undying love. his phone buzzes again, and it’s you, sending yet another video. he opens it, and it’s a clip of two fat seals flopping in the water together. “this is us,” you text, followed by a string of hearts. sukuna lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “you’re so dumb,” he mutters, even as he saves the video.

but tonight, sukuna is a man on a mission. a stupid mission, in his humble opinion, but one he’s reluctantly accepted because of you.

his night started the same as it always does lately—on call with you while you go through your nightly skincare routine. he pretends not to care, half-listening as you ramble about serums and exfoliators, but if anyone asked why he knows the difference between niacinamide and retinol now, he’d deny it with his whole chest. “okay, goodnight,” you say eventually, and he feels weirdly warm when you pause, waiting for his reply. “yeah, yeah. goodnight,” he mutters, then sends you a five-line-long text he drafts with the precision of a tactical operation. it’s disgustingly sweet, full of things so cheesy he could probably use it as a weapon in a fight. 

of course, he ends it with a selfie—him lying on his bed, shirtless but casual, because he knows you eat up this couple-y nonsense. “cute,” you reply immediately, followed by a flurry of heart emojis that make him roll his eyes and grin at the same time. with that out of the way, it’s doom scrolling time. 

but tonight isn’t about your endless tags of raccoon memes or seal videos. no, tonight, sukuna is diving into the depths of promposal content.

his room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of his phone and the offensively pink hello kitty lamp on his bedside table. the contrast between the lamp and his deep gray walls is glaring, but he’s gotten used to it—he even mumbles a “thanks, kitty” when he turns it off at night. sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by a haphazard array of items—a half-empty protein shake, a stray dumbbell, and a random sock he’s too lazy to find the pair for—he scrolls through tiktok like a man possessed. 

promposals flood his feed, one after the other, and his frown deepens with every video. flowers, posters, confetti—it’s all the same. one boy after another holding a sparkly sign with some cheesy pickup line, and a group of random bystanders shrieking like it’s the second coming of christ. “yuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely noticing when he tosses his dumbbell off the bed with a loud thud! “this is how people live? pathetic.”

then he sees it: a video of a guy holding a giant poster that reads, “are you a parking ticket? because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

sukuna’s jaw drops. “oh, hell no.”

without thinking, he types out a comment: “i can do better.” and when the notifications flood in from strangers defending the boy’s cringe-worthy effort, he actually guffaws, shaking his head in sadistic satisfaction. but then a thought strikes him. what if this is what you expect? what if you want the cheesy pickup line, the sparkly poster, the ridiculous crowd cheering you on? the idea makes him physically recoil, but he can’t ignore the tiny voice in his head whispering, it’s for her.

and when he exits tiktok, his matching hello kitty profile picture with you stares back at him, painfully cute and obnoxiously pink. it’s a sharp contrast to the guy who spent ten minutes this morning threatening his neighbor’s dog for barking too much.

groaning, he sets an alarm on his phone for tomorrow morning. “five hours of sleep,” he mutters to himself, glaring at the clock like it’s personally offended him. with a dramatic sigh, he reaches over and switches off the hello kitty lamp. the room plunges into darkness, but his mind is already racing, plotting ways to outdo every cringe-worthy promposal he’s seen.

you’d better appreciate this, he thinks, punching his pillow into shape before flopping onto it. because if sukuna’s doing this, he’s going to do it better than anyone else.

—

the next day, sukuna wakes up with the vague hope that he’ll somehow embody the effortlessly cool energy of those coming-of-age movie protagonists you seem to fawn over. the universe, however, has other plans. his “cool boy” morning routine includes stubbing his toe on the corner of his bed, swearing loudly enough to make the neighbor’s dog bark, and grabbing a shampoo bottle to wash his face before realizing, mid-lather, that something isn’t right.

by the time he’s dressed in a ratty old lakers jersey his mom gave him ages ago (that’s definitely seen better days), he’s already on edge. he triple-checks that the beaded bracelet you made him is securely on his wrist. one time, he forgot it in the abyss of his bag, and you didn’t talk to him for all of lunch period. the memory alone makes him shudder. high school relationships are no joke; he’s convinced they’re scarier than any fight he’s been in. “yuuji!” he bellows, dragging his seven-year-old brother by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving cat. “we’re gonna miss the bus!”

“but i’m watching powaaaaa rangerrrrsssss!” yuuji wails, kicking his legs in protest. for the fifth time. in a row.

“i don’t care if they’re morphin’ again for the hundredth time,” sukuna snaps, hauling the squirming kid out the door.

once on the school bus, sukuna practically shoves yuuji into the front seat with his group of loud, chaotic little friends—toge, the broody one, and nobara, the one who’s probably already plotting world domination. “don’t cause trouble,” he growls, earning a cheeky grin from nobara and a half-hearted glare from toge. then, sukuna retreats to his rightful throne in the backseat. people probably think he’s texting some gang leader to set up a fight or maybe coordinating a weed deal. but no. you know what he’s actually doing?

writing you the sappiest good morning text imaginable.

with his phone held at a suspicious angle, he types furiously:

good mornin sunshine ❤️❤️❤️ sorry this is late. woke up thinking about you and totally forgot how to function lol. you’re probably already looking perfect but don’t forget to eat breakfast okay???? can’t have my girl passing out and making me look bad 😏. also did i ever tell you your bedhead is cute? bc it is. anyway have a good day baby i’ll see you in school soon. love you.

he stares at it, debating whether it’s too much. but then again, you’re the type who sends him texts like, “did you know sharks existed before trees? good morning !! <3 :3” so he figures he’s safe. after hitting send, he leans back with a satisfied smirk, like he’s just conquered the world. if anyone dares to ask, he’ll lie through his teeth about what he’s doing. but deep down, sukuna knows he’s whipped. totally and utterly.

—

sukuna’s morning ritual of chaos continues as he practically shoves yuuji toward the elementary school section, muttering curses under his breath while dodging questions about his bracelet.

“but when can i get tattoos like yours?” yuuji asks, for the millionth time this week.

“never,” sukuna snaps, ruffling yuuji’s hair just hard enough to mess it up.

“but why nooottt?” yuuji whines, pouting. “they’re cool! toge said they make you look like a bad guy!”

“tell toge to mind his own damn business,” sukuna growls, ignoring the way yuuji’s tiny friends scatter at the mere sight of him. when one of the kids starts crying, he scoffs loudly. elementary schoolers are weak.

with yuuji safely deposited, sukuna sprints—yes, sprints—to the high school section, expertly weaving through crowds of students. if anyone asks, he’ll say it’s because he’s late to class, but really, he’s looking for you.

when he spots you at your locker, a familiar warmth floods his chest, but he quickly shoves it down, replacing it with a carefully practiced scowl. if sukuna could have it his way, he’d profess his undying love for you in the most dramatic way possible—on his knees, quoting some shakespeare nonsense about your ethereal beauty or whatever the old dead guy used to write about. but alas, his bad boy reputation is at stake. 

so instead, he settles for a gruff, “yo,” as he leans against the locker next to yours, arms crossed, trying to look casual. you glance up, smiling brightly. “morning! did you sleep okay?”

“yeah,” he lies, conveniently forgetting the part where he only got five hours of sleep because of tiktok research.

you go on, oblivious to the way he’s fighting the urge to smile like an idiot. “ugghhh, i got up five minutes late today. five whole minutes!” you pause dramatically. “so i didn’t have time to pack my stationery, and now i have to use my backup stationery pouch from my locker. do you know how annoying that is?”

“devastating,” sukuna deadpans, nodding solemnly. “truly, the world is cruel.”

“right?” you huff, pulling the pouch from your locker. “like, what if the backup doesn’t have my favorite pens? what am i supposed to do then?”

he watches you, amused, as you rummage through your locker like your life depends on it. secretly, he loves how animated you get over the smallest things, but god forbid anyone else find out. “wish i had backups,” he mutters, half to himself. “my locker’s just got junk. extra shoes, pants, a charger, and, uh…” he pauses, eyeing you carefully. “a vape.”

you turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “a vape?”

“it’s not mine,” he says quickly, standing straighter. “holding it for a friend.”

“sure,” you tease, smirking. “it’s true!” he insists, trying to look indignant but failing because you’re smiling at him, and it’s making his brain short-circuit.

as you shut your locker, you start rambling about your next class, and sukuna does what he does best—stands close, nods occasionally, and tries to act nonchalant. inside, though, he’s cataloging every word you say like it’s gospel, marveling at how even your complaints sound cute. he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pretending not to care, but the truth is written all over his face: sukuna is hopelessly, ridiculously in love. and it’s a problem he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

as you and sukuna make your way down the hallway, everything seems normal—or as normal as a high school hallway can get. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, lockers slam shut, and a cluster of juniors are trying to tape a "kick me" sign to someone’s back. sukuna’s tuned most of it out, but that’s when the universe decides to test his patience. smack dab in the middle of the hallway, it happens.

“oh my god!” you squeal, tugging on sukuna’s sleeve.

he already hates this.

in front of you both, a whole crowd has gathered. there are girls crying into their hands, boys hooting like it’s a football game, and teachers yelling about how this is a fire hazard, which no one is listening to. and at the epicenter of it all is none other than gojo satoru.

“suguru!” gojo announces, holding up a bucket of kfc chicken in one hand and a bouquet of roses made entirely out of dollar bills in the other. “you’re the butter to my biscuit, the drumstick to my chicken, and the love of my life! if you don’t go to prom with me, i’ll throw myself into oncoming traffic!”

“oh my god, he’s so dramatic,” you whisper to sukuna, but your voice is dripping with excitement. “this is adorable!” sukuna blinks at the scene, trying to process what’s happening. “adorable? this is a migraine waiting to happen.”

meanwhile, geto—poor, unsuspecting geto—is standing there looking like he’s debating whether to run or laugh. “satoru, what the hell?” he finally manages, his voice somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“it’s love, suguru!” gojo declares, dropping to one knee for added effect. “say yes, or i’ll never recover!”

“that’s definitely not true,” sukuna mutters under his breath.

“shh!” you scold, hitting his arm lightly. “this is so cute!”

“it’s cringe,” sukuna grumbles. “he’s holding chicken.”

“the chicken makes it better!”

“the chicken makes it worse,” sukuna counters, crossing his arms. but he can’t deny that the bouquet of dollar bills is kind of genius. if he had to respect one thing, it’s that. geto sighs loudly, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“fine,” he says, shaking his head but unable to hide the small smile on his face. “i’ll go to prom with you, satoru.”

the hallway erupts.

girls start crying harder, like their hearts have been ripped out of their chests. “geto’s off the market!” one of them wails, collapsing into her friend’s arms. the boys cheer, probably just glad they don’t have to be involved in anything like this. and gojo? gojo lets out a triumphant yell, pumping his fist in the air. “i told you he loves me!” their friend group immediately piles on, clapping geto on the back and hyping up gojo like he just won the lottery. you, meanwhile, are clutching sukuna’s arm and bouncing on your toes. “oh my god, that was so cute!” you gush. “did you see the chicken? and the bouquet? sukuna, that was so sweet!”

sukuna looks at you, then at the chaos, then back at you. he feels a headache creeping in. “sweet? that was... loud.”

“you’re impossible,” you say, laughing as you let go of his arm to keep walking.

but sukuna isn’t laughing. oh no, because now there’s a new problem: he has to top that. as he follows you down the hallway, he rubs his temples, muttering to himself. “chicken and dollar bills. great. what’s next? fireworks? a live band? a damn parade?”

you glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “what are you mumbling about?”

“nothing,” he snaps, quickening his pace to catch up.

but inside, he’s panicking. topping gojo satoru’s level of absurdity is a tall order, and sukuna isn’t sure whether to be pissed off or impressed. probably both. one thing’s for sure, though: he has his work cut out for him.

sukuna finally wades through the chaos of the hallway—largely composed of gojo clinging to geto’s foot like a very loud termite—and drops you off at your first class of the day: english language and literature. you sigh dramatically, digging through your bag and muttering about how your lack of highlighters is basically a crime against academia. “how am i supposed to annotate macbeth without my stationary pouch?”

sukuna, leaning against your desk with all the casual confidence in the world, rolls his eyes. “it’s not that deep.” but then, in a move that makes you freeze, he pulls a neon highlighter out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “use that,” he grunts, like he just handed you a scrap of paper, not an intimate act of love. 

you blink at the highlighter, then at him, like he just gifted you the moon. “did you just—where did you even get this?”

“don’t ask questions,” he snaps, already looking like he regrets the decision. (he definitely stole it from someone’s pouch months ago.) but you’re staring at him with so much adoration it’s almost embarrassing. 

“this is... this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me.”

sukuna freezes. “you’re joking.”

“i’m not joking.”

he looks like he’s questioning every life choice that brought him here, but before he can respond, his phone buzzes in his pocket. it’s a text from toji zenin. the message is cryptic and infuriatingly vague: “grounds. now.”

sukuna sighs loudly, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “gotta go,” he mutters. he leans down and plants a quick kiss on your cheek before bolting out the door, and you both freeze for half a second, equally flustered. “uh—bye!” you call after him as he practically sprints out of the classroom, the beads on his bracelet jingling against his wrist.

by the time sukuna reaches the school grounds, he’s already mentally prepared for a fight. he’s even got his tough guy face on—jaw clenched, shoulders squared, the works.

but when he spots toji zenin and shiu kong standing by the bleachers, something feels off. toji isn’t cracking his knuckles or smirking like usual. instead, he’s pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s stressed. 

sukuna narrows his eyes. “what the hell is this? if this is another one of your stupid pranks, i’m decking you both.”

“relax,” toji says, holding up his hands. “i’m not here to fight.”

“yet,” shiu mutters, earning a glare from toji. sukuna crosses his arms. “then what do you want?”

toji looks around, as if checking to make sure no one else is listening. then, in a voice so low sukuna almost doesn’t hear it, he says, “i need your help.”

sukuna blinks. “what?”

“you heard me.”

“no, i definitely didn’t. because it sounded like you said you need my help.”

“i did.” toji looks like admitting it physically hurts him. “look, it’s about fushiguro.”

sukuna raises an eyebrow. “who?”

“you know, my... my...” he gestures vaguely. “crush.”

sukuna stares at him. “you dragged me out here to talk about your love life?”

toji groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “listen, it’s not that simple. i need your help to... to bully her.”

“...what?”

“bully her,” toji repeats, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “you know, make her life miserable so i can swoop in and save the day. it’s foolproof!” sukuna stares at him for a long moment, trying to process the sheer idiocy of what he just heard. 

“you want me to bully your crush so you can play knight in shining armor?”

“exactly.”

“you’re an idiot.”

“c’mon, sukuna,” toji pleads. “you’re good at the whole intimidation thing! you don’t even have to go hard, just—”

“no.”

“but—”

“no.”

shiu snickers from the sidelines. “told you he wouldn’t do it.” toji glares at him, then turns back to sukuna. “fine. then give me advice or something! how am i supposed to ask her to prom?”

“i don’t know, maybe try not bullying her?”

“wow, thanks for the groundbreaking advice,” toji says, deadpan. sukuna rolls his eyes. “look, just—give her something she likes. flowers, chocolates, whatever. don’t overthink it.”

“flowers? chocolates? what is this, a rom-com?” toji scoffs.

“then figure it out yourself,” sukuna snaps, already turning to leave. “i’ve got better things to do.”

“like what?”

“none of your business.” sukuna snaps, already regretting every second of this interaction.

this is the point where toji is wailing, absolutely wailing, and it’s honestly one of the worst things sukuna’s had to witness, and he once saw yuuji eat spaghetti with his hands. 

“you don’t get it, sukuna!” toji cries, pacing back and forth. “if i don’t get fushiguro—mamaguro, the love of my life—i’ll look like a fool for calling myself toji fushiguro all year! do you know how many people think we’re already married? do you understand the pressure?”

“no,” sukuna deadpans, crossing his arms. “because i’m not insane.”

“this is a matter of marriage or death,” toji insists, dramatic as ever. “marriage! or! death!”

shiu, leaning against the bleachers, snickers. “it’s more like marriage or public humiliation, but yeah, sure, toji. go off.”

“shut up, shiu!” toji snaps. then, in the most embarrassing move yet, he turns back to sukuna, clutching his arm like he’s begging a god for salvation. “please, sukuna. please. i’ll do anything!”

sukuna yanks his arm back with a grimace. “don’t touch me.”

“i’ll pay you,” toji adds, desperate now. “how much do you want?” shiu, ever the opportunist, pulls out a wad of cash from his jacket. “i’ll double whatever you’re thinking.”

sukuna glares at him, then at the money, then back at toji, who’s practically vibrating with nerves. the sheer audacity of these people.

“what do you two think i am?” sukuna growls, stepping closer. “someone you can just buy?”

toji and shiu exchange a look.

“yes,” they say in unison.

“you’re not wrong,” sukuna mutters, snatching the cash out of shiu’s hand.

and that’s how sukuna finds himself storming into the art room, where fushiguro—lovingly dubbed mamaguro by the school fraternity, who is also the unknowing subject of toji’s unhinged obsession—is peacefully painting a landscape. 

“yo,” sukuna calls, making sure his voice sounds just gruff enough to make an impression. mamaguro looks up, confused but polite as ever. “oh, sukuna. what brings you here?”

“uh…” sukuna falters for half a second. then, remembering the script toji forced on him, he clears his throat. “your art sucks.”

mamaguro blinks at him. “excuse me?”

“you heard me,” sukuna says, louder this time. “these clouds? they look like—like… mashed potatoes!”

“mashed potatoes?” she repeats, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

“yeah! and this—this tree? it’s—it’s… ugly!”

he’s running out of insults fast, but thankfully, he doesn’t have to keep going because, right on cue, toji bursts into the room like a man possessed.

“stop right there, sukuna!” toji yells, pointing dramatically.

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard he nearly pulls something.

“how dare you insult her art?” toji continues, marching forward. “you know nothing of the beauty and grace she pours into every stroke of her brush! apologize to her, right now!”

sukuna glances at mamaguro, who’s now staring at toji like he’s grown a second head.

“um…” she starts, clearly confused.

“and not only that,” toji adds, dropping to one knee, “i, toji fushig– i mean, zenin, would be honored if you would accompany me to prom!”

the silence that follows is deafening.

“…what?” mamaguro says, her voice a mix of shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“say yes, please,” toji begs, still on his knee.

sukuna takes this as his cue to leave before his brain cells start dying en masse. as he walks out, he hears a mixture of toji’s frantic pleading, mamaguro’s incredulous laughter, and shiu’s obnoxious whooping from the hallway. “cringe,” sukuna mutters to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. on the way out, he snatches the rest of the wad of cash from shiu’s hand. the guy doesn’t even protest; he’s too busy recording the whole disaster on his phone.

normally, sukuna would use this cash for something like a new vape or a pack of cigarettes. but now? now he’s a man with a mission. he’s going to use this money for your promposal.

assuming he can think of something. preferably something that doesn’t involve dollar bill bouquets or public humiliation.

as sukuna storms off the art room steps, he’s already thinking of how he could possibly top the circus act he just witnessed. whatever he comes up with has to be cool, low-key, and—most importantly—not the type of thing that makes people point and say, "look at ryomen sukuna doing that." because if there’s one thing sukuna won’t tolerate, it’s losing to toji zenin in a battle of charm.

he stuffs the cash into his pocket, muttering to himself, “this better be worth it.” and by "this," he means putting up with high school drama, helping idiots like toji, and figuring out the best way to ask you to prom without looking like a total sap.

little does he know, shiu is already uploading the footage of toji’s “promposal” disaster onto his burner account with the caption: “zenin family downfall: live footage.” 

and in the back of his mind, sukuna knows one thing for sure—he needs to act fast. whatever he does has to blow everyone away, especially you.

—

sukuna leans against the wall outside the school gates, trying to look as nonchalant as humanly possible despite the fact that his brain is doing cartwheels. his day’s been an absolute dumpster fire—between toji’s soap opera, shiu’s cryptic smirks, and some freshman mistaking him for a guidance counselor (how? how does that even happen?), he’s just about had it. and then, like the climax of one of those rom-coms you force him to watch, you step out of the school building. sukuna swears he hears a choir of angels, some harp strings, and maybe even sees a glowing halo over your head.

but of course, he’s ryomen sukuna, and he’s supposed to be the "bad boy." so instead of saying something poetic like, “you’re the light of my life,” he settles on:

“what the hell took you so long?”

your indignant pout hits him like a sucker punch, and he immediately regrets his choice of words. “excuse me, mister,” you huff, hands on your hips. “i was finishing my community service hours.”

“community service?” sukuna raises a brow. “what’d you do this time? steal a library book? jaywalk?”

you roll your eyes. “not everyone’s a delinquent like you, ‘kuna. i was helping clean up the school garden.”

“right. of course you were.” sukuna mutters, trying to ignore the sharp contrast between the two of you. while you’re out here being a model student with a résumé the size of a textbook, sukuna’s résumé might as well just say “can punch really hard.”

you don’t notice his inner turmoil as you launch into your usual spiel about your packed schedule. “so after that, i had drama club practice, then i’m helping with the fundraiser for the library, and then i have to—”

sukuna zones out for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer productivity radiating off of you. jesus, she’s a walking linkedin profile, he thinks, mentally comparing your extracurriculars to his…well, lack thereof. unless fistfights, bad decisions, and looking hot in leather count as extracurriculars.

“—and next week i’m presenting at the school board meeting!” you finish, beaming.

“you know, some of us don’t have time to kiss ass,” sukuna mutters under his breath, though there’s no malice in it.

“what was that?”

“nothing,” he says quickly, reaching out to grab your hand before he can think too much about it. he gives it a small squeeze, hoping it’ll shut up the voice in his head that’s been nagging him all day. you glance down at your intertwined hands, your expression softening. “you okay?”

“yeah, fine,” sukuna lies, looking away so you don’t catch the slight pink tint creeping up his ears. you let it slide, leaning closer as you walk beside him. “you know, you don’t have to wait for me every day.”

“and let some idiot try to ask you out while i’m not around? yeah, right.”

you laugh, and sukuna feels his chest loosen a little.

“you’re silly,” you say, swinging his hand a little as you walk.

“and you’re too good for me,” sukuna blurts out before he can stop himself. 

you stop in your tracks, blinking up at him. “what?”

“uh—nothing,” he says quickly, his brain screaming at him to shut up. but you don’t let it go. you tighten your grip on his hand and give him a look so sincere it nearly floors him. “sukuna, i like you for you, okay? not for some résumé or checklist or whatever you’re overthinking right now.”

“who says i’m overthinking?”

“your face.”

sukuna scoffs, trying to mask the relief that washes over him. “yeah, well. you’re lucky i like you too.”

you grin, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and sukuna swears he hears those angel singing again. maybe you really are untouchable, he thinks. but then again, you’re holding his hand, choosing him out of everyone else. and maybe that’s what true love is—messy, imperfect, and way too good to be true.

—

sukuna stumbles into his room after the long, exhausting day. his feet drag on the floor as he sheds his jacket, but leaves his shoes on—he's too tired to even care about a single thing right now. his bed looks like a warzone, clothes scattered across the floor in what can only be described as a "i’m a badass" fashion, but anyone who’s seen it knows it’s just laziness masked as chaos.

one of his dumbass bandanas is hanging off the lamp, and his hello kitty nightlight still glows faintly by his desk, casting a strange aura around the room. a vape lies carelessly tossed beside his pillow, some loose change, and a stack of junk food wrappers. he’d never admit it, but there’s a half-open box of chocolate chip cookies on his nightstand because, surprise surprise, he bought it for you earlier but kept it for himself when you weren’t looking.

ryomen sukuna, ladies and gentlemen.

plopping down onto his bed, he lazily scrolls through his phone before flopping down, leaving the screen bright enough to nearly fry his eyes. as if the day wasn’t already overwhelming enough, now he’s doing something even dumber. he opens discord. 

and without thinking twice, sends a message to uraume, the e-friend he’s been talking to for months, mostly while they’ve been playing apex legends. he had no clue how this strange friendship even started, but honestly? uraume was sarcastic, annoying in a way that made him laugh, and didn’t take his “bad boy” persona too seriously. 

he leans back, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, holding the vape in his mouth while scrolling mindlessly through tiktok videos, making mental notes about the stuff you liked—stuff like cheesy couple memes, random boyfriend-girlfriend skits, and, of course, the tiktok videos of couples doing those “promposals.” sighing dramatically, he sends the message to uraume.

kingofcursezz: yo kingofcursezz: how the hell do you ask someone to prom without making it cringey kingofcursezz: help me out bro kingofcursezz: i'm trying to avoid looking like an idiot

he exhales a puff of smoke, irritated with himself for even reaching out to uraume about this. this is beneath him. but the thought of you—and how you’re so sweet, how you deserve the best….

yeah... he can’t screw this up. not now, not after all the effort.

his phone pings with a reply, and sukuna, having put it off for a second, glances down at the screen:

starume666: LOL starume666: are you seriously asking me this?

kingofcursezz: if you don’t help istg i’ll show up with a bucket of chicken and a bouquet of dollar bills. that’s my backup plan so you better give me something good.

he pauses to let out a tired, humorless laugh as he wipes his face. god, he’s not gonna survive this.

starume666: lmaooooo starume666: dude you’re way too hard on yourself starume666: just do smth simple but meaningful  starume666: what’s the thing you know will make her smile?

kingofcursezz: uhhhhhhh kingofcursezz: how about not being a weirdo who doesn’t know what the fuck a promposal is?  kingofcursezz: i’ll be the guy in the background who just buys her flowers and does the bare minimum like some jock that’s been forced into this tradition 💀💀💀💀

starume666: yeah but you’re not a jock bro  starume666: you’re a bad boy 😹 so act like it starume666: maybe do something unexpected n go off-script.

kingofcursezz: i mean ig she’ll like it if i show up in a full suit kingofcursezz: but i don’t have a tux so kingofcursezz: 💀

starume666: i swear if you don’t do this right i’m flying to your school and putting a bucket of kfc on your doorstep starume666: figure out what she likes and then do that. just be honest dude.

kingofcursezz: okok fine kingofcursezz: i’ll show up and do smth kingofcursezz: if you could stop texting me like my mom, that’d be great.

starume666: [reacted 😹 to your message]

sukuna rolls his eyes as the conversation ends, staring at his phone for a long while. he can’t help but think about you and the fact that he might actually care enough to make this promposal thing work. he shakes his head and grins at the absurdity of it all. for you, though? he’ll do anything. even if it means figuring out how to pull off the world’s least embarrassing promposal.

with that, he flicks his vape one last time, sits up, and starts brainstorming—maybe a simple bouquet? or, wait—does she even like roses? the inner turmoil continues, but one thing's for sure: he’s committed to this, for you.

chapter three: flowers are expensive, but regret is worse

sukuna’s day is just one monotonous loop of chaos, like some cruelly predictable high school sitcom. the cycle starts as usual: he drags yuuji, still wailing about his half-finished power rangers episode, onto the bus. the kid still begs for face tattoos, and sukuna swears he’s about to lose his mind if yuuji brings it up again. after that, he waits for you by the school gates like some lovesick loser who’s too proud to admit it, walks you to class, and then spends the rest of his day dodging every cheesy, cringe-worthy promposal happening at every corner.

but today? today, he’s got a mission. because apparently, the hellscape of high school doesn’t just end at promposals. no, the school administration has to rub salt in the wound by charging $20 per ticket for prom. 

$20. per person.

“are they funding a space program or what?” sukuna mutters under his breath as he trudges toward the admin desk, a wad of cash in hand. the admin, of course, isn’t at the desk. instead, gojo satoru is standing there, grinning ear to ear, holding a stack of offensively pink prom tickets. sukuna stops dead in his tracks.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” sukuna grumbles, glaring at gojo. “good morning to you too, sunshine!” gojo chirps, twirling the tickets between his fingers like he’s actually enjoying this. “what are you doing here?” sukuna asks, shoving the cash across the desk with zero ceremony.

“volunteering,” gojo says, batting his lashes as if he’s some kind of saint. “community service, you know? unlike you, i’m giving back to the school.”

“you mean they forced you here after you nearly set the chem lab on fire last month,” sukuna deadpans. gojo gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “how dare you? those were experiments! i’m a man of science, sukuna.”

“you’re a man of stupidity,” sukuna snaps, snatching the two tickets from gojo’s hand before he can start twirling them again. the pink nearly burns his eyes.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” gojo says, leaning over the desk like some smug cat. “you excited for prom? oh wait, let me guess. you’re one of those guys who’s too cool for prom, huh? you’re just going for your girlfriend’s sake, aren’t you? how adorable.” 

sukuna grits his teeth, refusing to give gojo the satisfaction of a response. instead, he grabs the clipboard to sign his name and yours, hastily scrawling the details. “oh, and while you’re at it,” gojo continues, leaning further into sukuna’s personal space, “you should totally sign up for prom king. i mean, look at you. tattoos, brooding face, bad-boy aura. the people would eat it up.”

sukuna freezes, pen hovering over the clipboard. “prom king? really?”

“absolutely!” gojo beams. “and hey, if you win, you’ll get to dance with your queen on stage in front of the whole school. talk about a moment, right?” sukuna scoffs but signs his name anyway. not because of gojo, of course. but because there’s no way in hell he’s letting some random idiot stand next to you on stage as prom king. 

gojo squints at the clipboard, noticing sukuna’s addition. “wait, you’re actually signing up? no way! oh my god, this is going to be epic. i can already see the headlines: ‘bad boy turned prom king—how sukuna stole the crown.’”

“shut up, gojo,” sukuna growls, shoving the clipboard back across the desk. “you got it, your majesty,” gojo smirks, giving a mock bow.

sukuna storms off, tickets in hand, muttering to himself about how much he hates this school. but deep down, he’s already imagining you as prom queen, standing beside him, both of you looking annoyingly perfect.

sukuna’s first instinct when he spots you walking toward him is to shove the glaringly pink prom tickets into his mouth and chew. problem solved. except, knowing his luck, you’d catch him mid-act, choke on the damn thing, and die right there in the middle of the hallway like some bad joke. 

so, instead, he opts for plan b: stuffing the tickets into his shirt. brilliant. considering you’re shorter than him and can’t reach his chest, it’s practically foolproof. he adjusts the tickets awkwardly under his jersey, patting them down like some suspicious drug mule as you get closer. totally suave. totally inconspicuous. 

“hey!” you chirp, completely oblivious to his internal crisis.“yo,” he grunts back, hands jammed into his pockets like they’ve been superglued there. 

you squint at him. “...you okay? you’re standing like you’re hiding a bomb or something.”

“nah, i’m good,” sukuna says quickly, shifting his weight like he suddenly forgot “how to human.”

you tilt your head, but thankfully don’t push it. instead, you start talking about your day—something about a community service meeting and a teacher who forgot their own syllabus—and sukuna does his best to nod and grunt in all the right places. but his mind? it’s running a marathon.

how the hell is he supposed to propose?

the obvious answer is to just...hand you the tickets. easy, straightforward, zero theatrics. you’d say yes, because of course you would—it’s not like you’ve been subtle about dropping hints that you wanted him to ask you. but then he remembers the look on your face every time you watch one of those elaborate promposal videos on tiktok. the way your eyes light up, how you gush about the effort people put in, how cute it is.

and that’s when it hits him like a brick to the face: this isn’t about proving a point to the rest of the school, or even about outdoing gojo’s obnoxious stunt with geto. it’s about you. about making you smile, giving you a moment you’d remember fondly for years. he’s gotta do it right. for you.

but how?

his brain is a war zone of terrible ideas:

buy a giant teddy bear and make it hold the tickets? nah, too cutesy.

write a message in the sky? too broke.

pretend to lose the tickets and ‘find’ them in front of you? too stupid.

he realizes, with a sinking feeling, that this is why he’s been spiraling. because this whole relationship thing? it’s uncharted territory for him. you’re his first relationship, his first everything, and the last thing he wants to do is screw it up.

goddamn it.

you’re still talking when he zones back in, noticing the way you’re looking up at him expectantly. “...so? what do you think?”

“uh,” he says, blinking. “yeah. sounds good.”

“sukuna, i just asked if i should shave my head for charity,” you deadpan.

he stares at you, caught red-handed. “...no?”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he feels something in his chest unclench. for now, at least. he’s got until the end of the week to figure this out. totally doable. right?

wrong.

sukuna slumps onto the gym floor after basketball practice, sweat dripping off him like he’s just crawled out of a swamp. he grabs a water bottle, downs half of it, and tosses it aside like he’s starring in a gatorade commercial, all while muttering to himself, “this is a nightmare. i’m surrounded by idiots.”

“what’s the crisis this time, king sukuna?” naoya zenin drawls, leaning against the wall and doing absolutely nothing productive. the guy wouldn’t even break a sweat if his life depended on it, yet somehow he’s always the loudest voice in the room. “none of your business, zenin,” sukuna snaps, trying to ignore the fact that he even brought this up.

“aw, come on,” naoya smirks. “let me guess. girlfriend troubles? did she finally realize you’re all bark and no bite?”

sukuna shoots him a glare that could probably set someone on fire. “i’m trying to plan a prom-posal, dumbass.”

“oh, that’s why you look constipated,” toji pipes up from where he’s sprawled on the bleachers, looking like he’s auditioning for a mattress commercial. “need me to step in? i can bully her a little for you. worked like a charm with my mamaguro.”

“toji, shut the hell up before i make you swallow that smug look,” sukuna growls, though toji just chuckles, completely unfazed. “don’t listen to him,” nanami says, peeling off his sweatbands like he’s had it with everyone’s nonsense. “if you want a genuine suggestion, vogue says simplicity is key. a heartfelt speech, some flowers—”

“you’re reading vogue now?” geto interjects, raising an eyebrow.

“it was for a research paper,” nanami replies, deadpan. “and no, i will not elaborate.”

“you’re all useless,” sukuna groans, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. he turns to geto, the only one who hasn’t actively annoyed him yet. “what about you? you’re practically married to gojo at this point. what worked for you?” geto groans like he’s been asked to relive a traumatic experience. 

“please, don’t remind me. the guy brought kfc and roses made of dollar bills. do you know how many times i’ve had to explain to people that i didn’t say yes because of the chicken?”

“but you still said yes,” toji points out, grinning like the devil himself.

“because he threatened to throw himself into traffic if i didn’t!” geto snaps, throwing his towel at toji’s face. “what was i supposed to do, let him die in front of the school?”

“yes,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a snort from nanami.

“look, you’ve got this,” nanami says, attempting to be the voice of reason. “just think about what she’d like. something meaningful. and maybe, just maybe, don’t get advice from this crowd.”

“i hate all of you,” sukuna announces, standing up and grabbing his bag. “but especially you, toji. never speak to me again.”

“love you too, bro,” toji calls out as sukuna stomps out of the gym, muttering curses under his breath. he’s no closer to a plan, but at least he’s 100% sure of one thing—he’s never asking these idiots for help again.

—

sukuna drags himself into the house, tossing his bag onto the floor like it’s personally offended him. the sound echoes through the living room, but yuuji doesn’t even flinch. the kid’s sprawled out on the couch, a juice box in one hand and the tv remote in the other, utterly engrossed in mean girls. “the hell are you watching?” sukuna asks, toeing off his shoes.

“mean girls,” yuuji replies, eyes glued to the screen. “it’s ‘bout some mean girls, duh.”

“you’re seven, yuuji. why are you watching a movie about high school drama?”

“’cause i gotta get ready for high school. duh again.”

sukuna rolls his eyes but stops when he catches the prom scene on the screen. his brows furrow as he watches. could this help? nope. just people dancing and some heartfelt speech about how everyone’s a queen or whatever. useless. he groans and flops onto the armchair, rubbing his temples. out of pure desperation—and because his brain’s running on fumes—he asks, “hey, yuuji, how would you ask someone to prom?”

yuuji pauses the movie and turns to him with the seriousness of a kid about to give the most groundbreaking advice in the universe. “easy! dress like their favorite power ranger.”

“what.”

“and then you go, ‘will you go to prom with me? hiya!’” yuuji does a karate chop for emphasis, nearly spilling his juice. “and if they say no… boom! mass destruckshin.”

“mass what?”

“mass destruckshin!” yuuji repeats, puffing his chest like he’s just dropped the most foolproof plan of the century. “you gotta show them you mean business!” sukuna stares at his brother, wondering if it’s possible to feel both amused and like his life is spiraling out of control at the same time. 

“yeah, no. thanks for nothing, yuuji.”

“you’re welcome!” yuuji chirps, unpausing the movie. “don’t forget to do the hiya part!”

sukuna groans and leans back in the chair. he’s not about to karate chop his way into a promposal. that’s a one-way ticket to you dumping him on the spot. his mom would’ve been a better bet, but she’s probably halfway through her night shift by now—and even if she were here, she’d skip prom entirely and go straight to planning your wedding. he shudders at the thought. not because he doesn’t like the idea of marrying you—hell, the thought of you in a white dress has his brain short-circuiting—but because his mom would absolutely order a three-tier cake before you’d even said yes to a prom date. “get a grip, sukuna,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. prom first, wedding later. priorities. 

yuuji, oblivious to his brother’s existential crisis, pipes up again. “hey, ‘kuna, if she says no, can i have your power ranger costume?”

“i’m not wearing a damn power ranger costume!” sukuna snaps, chucking a throw pillow at yuuji, who ducks with a laugh.

“okay, okay! fiinnnneee. but if you mess up, can i have your juice money?” sukuna glares at him. “shut up, yuuji.”

“love you too!” yuuji sing-songs, turning back to mean girls like nothing happened. and sukuna? he’s mentally preparing himself for what feels like the most important mission of his entire high school life.

—

sukuna woke up with the enthusiasm of a cat being dragged to a bath. it was the weekend—not the artist, fortunately, but the actual day—and the irony of hearing the weeknd's "reminder" on loop in his brain from all those tiktok promposals wasn’t lost on him. tiktok really had a way of making everything worse, didn’t it? he groaned, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed, his hair a complete mess and his shirt wrinkled from falling asleep in it.

“alright, flowers,” he muttered, standing and grabbing a hoodie off the floor. it was one of those old, oversized ones with some random logo he’d stolen from his cousin choso. paired with his basketball shorts and beat-up sneakers, sukuna looked like he was ready to run errands or rob a gas station—either worked.

the neighborhood was its usual weekend self—kids playing, dogs barking, and aunties gossiping by gates like it was their full-time job. sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb as he wandered from florist to florist, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, trying not to look like he was about to hold the place up.

his first stop was a quaint little flower shop with pastel walls and a ridiculously cheery name: bloom haven. sukuna stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the overpowering scent of roses and lilies. “good morning!” the florist, a middle-aged woman with a bright smile and an apron covered in flower prints, greeted him. “how can i help you today?”

“uhhh… bouquet?” sukuna said, voice low like he was ashamed to be seen in public buying flowers.

“wonderful! who’s the lucky someone?” she asked, practically sparkling with excitement. “just… someone,” he grumbled, glancing at a bucket of roses. “how much for these?”

“oh, roses are $5 per stem!” she chirped.

sukuna’s brain screeched to a halt. “five bucks? for one flower?”

“they’re premium quality!” she said, as if that justified daylight robbery.

“yeah, premium my ass,” he muttered under his breath, leaving the shop before she could try to sell him anything else.

the next place wasn’t much better. a hipster-owned flower truck parked near a cafe, blasting indie music and decorated with fairy lights. the owner had a man bun and greeted him with, “peace and petals, brother.”

sukuna hated him immediately.

“you got bouquets?” sukuna asked flatly.

“absolutely, bro. we handcraft our arrangements using sustainably sourced—”

“how much?” sukuna interrupted.

“oh, a bouquet starts at $45,” the guy said, like that wasn’t insane.

“forty-five?” sukuna’s voice cracked. “for flowers?”

“yeah, but they come with vibes,” man bun said, gesturing to the arrangements like they were ancient artifacts. sukuna turned on his heel and walked away, muttering, “i’ll give you vibes, idiot.”

by the time he’d hit his fourth florist, his mood was sourer than expired milk. flowers were so stupidly expensive. why did people even like them? they just died after a week. he considered the idea of pulling a tree out of the ground—free, big, dramatic. totally memorable. but then he imagined you looking at him like he’d lost his mind and immediately scrapped the plan.

“what are you even doing, sukuna?” he mumbled to himself, stopping on a street corner to rub his temples. the hoodie wasn’t doing much to hide him from people who were now giving him concerned looks as he stood there, muttering like a lunatic. eventually, he caved and called the only person who might understand his suffering: geto.

“yo,” geto answered, his voice muffled. “what’s up?”

“how the hell do people afford flowers?” sukuna barked into the phone.

“uh, normal people have jobs?” geto replied.

“i have a job,” sukuna snapped. “it’s called surviving high school and taking care of yuuji. do you know how much that little monster eats?”

“okay, calm down,” geto said, laughing. “why are you even buying flowers? is this for her?”

“obviously,” sukuna muttered, lowering his voice like the trees might overhear. “just go to the supermarket,” geto said. “grab some from there. they’re cheaper.”

“supermarket flowers?” sukuna sneered.

“they’re not bad,” geto said. “it’s the thought that counts, right? plus, you’re gonna make up for it with the rest of the promposal, right?”

“...yeah,” sukuna lied, glancing at his empty hands and feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “good luck,” geto said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“shut up,” sukuna muttered, hanging up and sighing. supermarket it was, then. hopefully, you wouldn’t mind flowers that came with a discount sticker.

on his way to the supermarket, sukuna didn’t plan to get distracted. but there it was—a tuxedo shop with mannequins that practically mocked him, standing tall in their fitted suits. he told himself he’d just peek. just a look. but somehow, sukuna was inside, staring at a rack of tuxedos, his hoodie feeling embarrassingly out of place in the crisp, polished environment. he ran a hand through his hair, eyes landing on a sleek black tuxedo with satin lapels. it was classic, clean, and exactly the kind of thing you’d probably love seeing him in. just try it on. what’s the worst that could happen?

five minutes later, sukuna was glaring at his reflection in the mirror, fumbling with a tie that refused to cooperate. “stupid, overcomplicated—” he grunted, yanking at it so hard he nearly choked himself.

“you’re gonna kill yourself before prom, kid.”

sukuna turned to see a short, older man with a grumpy face and an air of authority that reminded him of a drill sergeant. the man—wasuke, according to his name tag—walked over and snatched the tie out of sukuna’s hands.

“stand still,” wasuke barked.

“i’m not a kid,” sukuna muttered, but he stood still anyway, letting wasuke adjust the tie with the precision of a man who had probably done this a thousand times. “you’re fidgety. just like i was before my prom,” wasuke said, his gruff tone softening slightly. “you nervous about asking someone?”

“...something like that,” sukuna admitted. wasuke grunted, finishing the tie and stepping back. “i was nervous too. didn’t think she’d say yes. but she did.”

“yeah? how’d you ask her?” sukuna asked, genuinely curious despite himself.

“showed up at her house with a dozen carnations, a guitar, and no plan,” wasuke said, chuckling. “played the worst version of wonderwall you’ve ever heard. still don’t know why she said yes, but she did. forty years later, she’s still here.”

sukuna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. for a moment, he imagined himself and you forty years from now. he hated how much he liked the thought. “cool story, old man,” sukuna said, brushing it off.

“you’ll figure it out,” wasuke said, patting him on the shoulder. “just don’t overthink it. and maybe don’t strangle yourself with the tie.”

with that, wasuke waddled off, leaving sukuna to face the mirror again. the tux fit perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering at the waist. the black-on-black look was sharp, especially with the skinny tie wasuke had wrestled into place. he looked...good.

too good, apparently, because he did the dumbest thing imaginable: he pulled out his phone and snapped a mirror selfie. “what am i even doing?” he muttered, staring at the photo. it was too late to stop himself, though—his thumb hit send before his brain could catch up.

the text went to you.

you.

“shit,” sukuna hissed, panic gripping him as he watched the message deliver. seconds later, your name flashed on his screen. video call. “hey!” your voice came through immediately, bright and excited. “are you trying on a tux? lemme see!” sukuna groaned, holding the phone at arm’s length so you could see the tux. “don’t freak out,” he muttered.

“oh my god, you look so good!” you squealed, and sukuna swore he felt his soul leave his body. “is this for prom? are you finally gonna ask me?” 

his heart slammed against his ribs. “uh, no,” he said quickly. too quickly. 

and then, like the coward he was, he hit end call.

he stared at his reflection, his ears burning. “god damn it,” he muttered, yanking the tie loose. wasuke’s voice echoed in his head: you’ll figure it out. “yeah, right,” sukuna muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket and heading for the fitting room. he wasn’t sure what was worse—your reaction, or his. probably his. definitely his.

—

a hello kitty phone charm dangled from your phone, clinking softly every time you tossed it onto the bed after furiously texting sukuna. you giggled like a maniac, clutching your phone with both hands as his unread replies piled up.

you: omg you’re SO HANDSOME, why didn’t you tell me sooner???!!! you: can’t believe you look THAT good, excuse me while i pass away you: also if you’re dressing like that for prom, consider me yours all over again </33

your fingers flew across the keyboard, unable to stop yourself. there was just something about seeing him all polished up that had you swooning, even if he couldn’t see your reaction. sukuna being flustered? rare. sukuna being flustered and looking that fine? a national treasure.

your room was the perfect mix of chaos and comfort, a little shrine to your personality. fairy lights twinkled around the edges of your room, casting a soft glow over the colorful mess that was your bed—a heap of throw pillows and the softest blanket you refused to part with since middle school. your laptop sat open in front of you, the screen glowing with pinterest boards full of prom dress inspo: sleek satin silhouettes, dreamy tulle gowns, and even some edgy alternatives, because why not keep your options open? stickers covered your laptop’s lid—mostly cute animals, a few doodles of your favorite characters, and a sneaky, ironic skull-and-rose design that reminded you of sukuna.

your room smelled faintly of vanilla candles, the remnants of last night’s study session still lingering in the air. posters of your favorite bands and a few anime characters covered the walls, some slightly crooked but perfectly placed in your eyes. your vanity table overflowed with skincare, hair clips, and makeup products, while a laundry basket overflowed in the corner—a battle you’d deal with later.

you rolled onto your back, phone still clutched in your hand as you refreshed sukuna’s chat. no reply yet. that was fine. you grinned, imagining him struggling to come up with something cool to say.

you: don’t tell me you’re too busy being HOT to reply now 🙂‍↕️😹 you: also hi ily bye 🤭

closing your chat for a moment, you leaned back against your pillows and stared at your laptop screen. prom dress inspo was serious business, and as much as you wanted to keep teasing sukuna, you couldn’t ignore the excitement bubbling in your chest. prom was coming, and with a boyfriend like sukuna, it was going to be perfect—even if he was probably sweating bullets over the whole promposal thing. let him sweat a little longer, you thought with a giggle, clicking on yet another gown that made your heart skip a beat.

chapter four: gossip girls and a guy who can’t communicate

the bathroom was dimly lit, the flickering bulb above one of the stalls doing nothing to make you feel any better. you hadn’t even been planning on overhearing the conversation when you snuck into the last stall, phone in hand, planning to scroll mindlessly through pinterest to distract yourself during the break. but then their voices carried in, sharp and intentional, like knives aimed straight for your heart.

"i mean, can you believe she hasn’t been asked yet?" yorozu’s saccharine tone dripped with malice, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "like, it’s kind of embarrassing at this point. you’d think someone as clingy as her would’ve forced sukuna to do it by now." 

mei mei let out a low laugh, the kind that made your stomach twist. "maybe he’s just not into her like that. i mean, bad boys don’t exactly do promposals, do they? unless it’s for someone worth the effort."

"exactly," yorozu snickered. "like, if he really cared, she’d have already been bragging about it all over instagram. but nope. maybe he’s keeping his options open? can’t blame him." their laughter cut through the air, and you pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to steady your breathing. your chest felt tight, and for a moment, you thought you might actually cry. not here. not in front of them. not where they could hear.

from the sinks, shoko ieiri’s voice came sharp and cutting, a stark contrast to her usual laid-back drawl. "god, can you two shut up? it’s break, not your audition for mean girls 2."

"what’s your problem, ieiri?" yorozu snapped, but there was an edge to her voice—shoko wasn’t someone to mess with lightly. 

"my problem is your ugly-ass voices ruining my smoke break," shoko replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke with practiced indifference. "if sukuna hasn’t asked her yet, it’s probably because he’s not a performative little attention whore like, oh, i don’t know, you two."

mei mei sniffed. "whatever. we’re just saying what everyone’s thinking."

"yeah, everyone," yorozu added, her voice dripping with mock concern. "but hey, maybe sukuna will surprise her. or not."

their laughter followed them out the door, and the sound of it made your stomach churn. the bathroom felt unbearably quiet once they were gone, the only noise the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. you stayed in the stall for a moment longer, gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. their words circled in your head like vultures, each one pecking away at your confidence.

maybe he’s just not into you like that.

bad boys don’t exactly do promposals.

someone worth the effort.

your mind spun in spirals. was it true? sukuna had been acting distant lately—or was that just your imagination? he hadn’t replied to your texts about the tuxedo selfie, and now that you thought about it, what if it wasn’t meant for you? what if it was meant for someone else? maybe mei mei and yorozu were right. why would someone like sukuna—brooding, aloof, undeniably cool—want someone like you? you heard the stall door creak open, and shoko’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. 

"hey. you okay in there?"

you hesitated before opening the door, forcing a tight smile. "yeah, i’m fine."

shoko frowned, her cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers. she looked at you for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, before finally muttering, "those bitches don’t know what they’re talking about."

"it’s fine," you lied, brushing past her. your hands were trembling as you gripped the strap of your bag, and the lump in your throat made it hard to breathe. shoko didn’t stop you as you left, her awkward, apologetic smile lingering in your mind as you walked down the hall, head low, trying not to let the tears spill over.

is he really stringing you along?

does he even care?

two days until prom, and he hasn’t said a word.

the voices in your head were relentless, their whispers feeding your growing self-doubt. and for the first time in your relationship, you wondered if you’d been wrong about sukuna all along.

the day had dragged on forever, the weight of yorozu and mei mei's words pressing heavily on your shoulders. by the time school ended, you were so emotionally drained you couldn’t even think straight. but when sukuna pulled up on his bike, leaning casually against it with that stupidly handsome smirk of his, you plastered on your best smile, determined not to let him see how much you were spiraling. "hey, handsome," you chirped, sliding onto the back of his bike, your voice just a little too bright. "miss me?" 

he glanced back at you as he handed you the helmet, brow furrowed slightly. "you good? you sound... weird."

"weird? no way!" you forced a laugh, strapping the helmet on. "just, you know, long day. classes were boring. people were annoying. the usual."

sukuna didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged it off, revving the engine as you wrapped your arms around his waist. the ride home was silent, save for the growl of the bike and the occasional honk of a car passing by. usually, you’d chatter about everything and nothing, filling the air with your stories, your laughter, your plans. today, though, the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind too tangled in thoughts of prom and sukuna and you. when he stopped in front of your place, you hopped off and handed him the helmet, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "can i ask you something?" his eyes narrowed slightly, his usual nonchalance giving way to something more guarded. "what’s up?" 

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "why haven’t you… you know… said anything about prom?" sukuna blinked, caught completely off guard. "huh? what d’ya mean?"

"i mean…" you trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid for even bringing it up. "it’s just… prom is in two days, and everyone else is, like, getting these cute proposals and stuff, and i thought maybe… maybe you’d—"

"oh, come on," he cut you off, his tone more defensive than he intended. "you know i’m not into all that cheesy shit. i’m not gojo or toji, running around making a scene." your heart sank at his words, and you tried to keep your voice steady. "it’s not about making a scene, sukuna. it’s about—"

"about what?" he snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. "you already know we’re going together, right? so what’s the big deal?" you stared at him, your chest tightening. "the big deal is… i just wanted to feel special, okay? like you care. but if that’s too much to ask, then—"

"you think i don’t care?" he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "you think i’m just stringin’ you along or some shit? what kinda dumbass idea is that?" the tears you’d been holding back all day threatened to spill over, and you quickly looked away. "forget it. i shouldn’t have said anything."

"no, seriously, where’s this coming from?" he pressed, his frustration clear. "you’ve been acting off all day, and now you’re throwing this at me?"

"you’re impossible," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking towards your door.

"wait, hold up—" he started, but you didn’t stop, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond. sukuna sat there on his bike, watching you walk away, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t know how to describe. he wanted to call after you, to explain that he was trying, that he wanted to give you something special, but the words just wouldn’t come out. instead, he clenched his fists, cursing himself under his breath. 

as you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it, tears streaming down your face. your thoughts were a chaotic mess. does he even care? am i being unreasonable? is this all in my head?

meanwhile, sukuna sat outside for a few moments longer, staring at your house with a sinking feeling in his stomach. he’d messed up, and he knew it. but how the hell was he supposed to fix it?

—

sukuna was lying on his bed, arms splayed out like he’d just been KO’d by life itself. staring at the ceiling, he let out a groan so deep it rattled his soul. it’s so over, he thought. this is it. the end. the fat lady’s singing. the curtain’s dropping. i’ve fumbled my way into boyfriend hell. his phone was propped up on his chest, the screen dimmed but still visible, waiting for the one thing that could bring him solace: a notification from you. no cute animal reel, no cheesy meme, no “omg this reminded me of you <3 :3” tag. nothing. nada. silence. sukuna stared at the unlit screen like it was actively mocking him.

so this is how it feels to die inside, he mused, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok, where every other post was either a cringy promposal or a “men ain’t shit” rant. great. he tossed his phone aside, facepalming hard enough to leave a red mark.

"bro, can you NOT," yuuji’s voice boomed through the thin wall, followed by the sound of something heavy slamming against it. "some of us are trying to get good sleep over here!" sukuna didn’t even flinch. "and some of us are trying to figure out why we’re the literal worst boyfriend on the planet, yuuji," he shouted back, voice muffled by his pillow.

there was a pause, and then yuuji called back, "sounds like a skill issue!"

yeah, thanks for the moral support, kid, sukuna thought bitterly, rolling onto his side and glaring at his phone like it held all the answers to his problems. should he text you? call you? grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness? nah, too much. probably. "but what if it’s not too much," he muttered to himself, his overthinking spiraling like a tiktok rabbit hole. he grabbed his phone and opened your chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he started typing:

sukuna: "hey."

no, too casual. she’s probably still mad. delete.

sukuna: "sorry for being a dick earlier."

ugh, too vague. she deserves better than this half-assed apology. delete.

sukuna: "pls don’t leave me i’m stupid and i love you."

god, get a grip. delete.

he groaned again, tossing his phone across the bed and burying his face in his hands. he was spiraling, and not in the cute “omg i like her so much” way, but in the “my life is a flaming dumpster fire” way. the worst part? he couldn’t even properly apologize yet because the grand promposal he’d been planning wasn’t ready. and if he apologized now, you’d probably forgive him, but it’d ruin the big moment he was hoping to surprise you with. but what if waiting too long means she never forgives me at all?

“fuck,” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling again. “why is being in love so goddamn hard? people on tiktok make it look so easy. just dance, propose, and boom, happy ending. where’s my happy ending?”

from the other room, yuuji shouted, "SHUT UP, ROMEO!"

"eat shit, yuuji!" sukuna barked back, even though the kid was right.

god, he needed to get his act together before you realized you could do way better than him. but for now, he just laid there, shriveling up and dying like the dramatic dumbass he was, waiting for a miracle.

—

your room was a disaster zone: laptop open on your bed, your playlist stuck on “prom dress” by mxmtoon like it was 2019, your phone precariously balanced on a pile of mismatched socks, and tissues littered around like you were auditioning for a sad indie movie. the death metal hello kitty pajamas—thrifted with sukuna—clung to you like a bittersweet hug, the fabric somehow feeling heavier tonight. you weren’t about to cry over a boy. but also… you might cry over a boy. the duality of woman. and because emotional self-destruction is best paired with a sprinkle of pettiness, you grabbed your phone, snapped a cute selfie in said pajamas, and slapped a caption on it: “cozy nights >>>> everything else 💕”

posting it was an impulsive decision, but it was also calculated. you knew the power of a cute, casual post. it wasn’t technically aimed at sukuna, but you also weren’t about to sit here and pretend you didn’t want him to see it, to notice you, to maybe—just maybe—grovel a little in your DMs. the likes and comments started flooding in immediately because your socials were basically the hub for school tea and wholesome vibes.

mamaguro: our little fashionista!!! thrift QUEEN 😍

god bless that woman. she deserved the world.

shoko: (attached gif of a woman dramatically fainting on a chaise lounge)

classic shoko.

maki: ugh, if i thrifted this, mai would burn it out of spite. cute though. thumbs up. mai: shut up maki. also, not bad. 8/10. maki: don’t rate her outfit like it’s your stupid games, nerd. mai: cry about it.

sibling banter in your comments? worth it.

and then, of course, there was:

naoya zenin: so glad someone else noticed how good you look in pj’s 😏

you rolled your eyes so hard you saw another dimension. of course he had to slither in. you didn’t even bother giving it a pity like.

you refreshed the page once, twice, twenty times. still no sign of sukuna. no like, no comment, no DM. you threw yourself back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow like a banshee. was it really that hard to double-tap? and then, the spiraling started.

what if he didn’t like it?

what if he thought it was cringe?

what if he saw it and scrolled past, thinking about how much of a baby you are for posting this in the first place?

or worse — what if he thought it was for someone else? like naoya? 

ew.

you shook your head violently, trying to physically rattle the thoughts out. sukuna wasn’t that stupid. right? he had to know this was for him. but as the minutes ticked by, and the comments from your friends kept rolling in, the notification you wanted most stayed stubbornly absent.

boys are so stupid, you thought bitterly, scribbling “stupid sukuna and his stupid abs and his stupid everything” in your spiral-bound diary. it stayed locked away in your closet, expertly hidden in the event of an accidental snoop, because some things were too raw to share with the world. you hit play on “prom dress” for the 17th time that evening, feeling the lyrics a little too personally as you kept refreshing the post like a woman possessed. love, as it turns out, was truly exhausting.

—

sukuna had just slumped back in his chair, doom-scrolling tiktok and internally mourning the lack of a “girlfriend tagged you in a tiktok” notification, when your instagram post pinged onto his phone. for a solid five seconds, he froze. like a caveman discovering fire.

you looked ethereal. the death metal hello kitty pajamas, the soft glow of the fairy lights, the cozy chaos of your room in the background—sukuna didn’t even know how to process it. you looked like, uh, a… renaissance painting? yeah. except, sukuna was 98% sure he couldn’t spell renaissance if his life depended on it. 

r-e-n-a…sauce? god, no.

whatever.

like an idiot, his thumb hovered over the comment section for too long, his brain scrambling for something cool but romantic but not cringe but also boyfriend-worthy. and then, because he was absolutely useless under pressure, he panicked and commented:

sukuna: 🔥🔥🔥

the second he hit send, he let out the longest groan known to mankind, slapping his hand over his face. what the hell, sukuna? he might as well have sent a dm saying, “wyd ;)” for how basic that was. wasn’t he your boyfriend? he was supposed to be above fire emojis!

meanwhile, across town, your phone buzzed, and when you saw the notification, your entire soul ascended for half a second before crashing back down. fire emojis? that’s what he gave you?

your reaction was visceral. 

a gasp so loud it nearly knocked the fairy lights off your wall. your heart rate skyrocketed. every fiber of your being screamed, is this what my life has come to? my boyfriend thinks i’m fire-emoji-hot, not love-letter-hot? "oh my god, no," you muttered, pacing your room. this is it. the tiktoks didn’t work. i failed as a girlfriend. what’s next? marrying someone who comments ‘send bobs and vagene’ on my posts?

but before you could plan the ultimate self-roast in your diary, another notification came through. sukuna, clearly in full damage control mode, had added a second comment:

sukuna: my girl. 💪

you stopped mid-spiral, blinking at the screen. the simplicity of it. the possessive undertone. my girl. two words, and somehow your heart went from shriveled raisin to blooming flower.

back at sukuna’s place, he was staring at the new comment with narrowed eyes, second-guessing himself yet again. was that too much? was it cringey? what if she thinks it’s corny? what if she screenshots it and sends it to shoko, and they both roast me? what if—

and then, your like on his comment came through, followed by you pinning it under the post. sukuna let out a dramatic exhale, flopping back onto his bed. ah, love. exhausting, anxiety-inducing, and, somehow, totally worth it.

chapter five: when subtlety isn’t an option

dragging yourself onto campus that morning felt like a herculean effort. you were running on fumes and whatever scraps of serotonin sukuna’s ridiculously over-the-top goodnight message had left you. sure, it was sweet—ten whole lines about how he’d “reshape reality” for you or some nonsense—but was it an apology? was it a promposal? absolutely not. boys were a disease.

as soon as you stepped through the gates, gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice rang out, cutting through your existential crisis like a foghorn. “diva down!” he declared dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him by showing up in less-than-perfect condition. before you could even muster a glare, geto’s hand shot out, smacking gojo square in the stomach. “read the room, satoru,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “ow!” gojo wheezed, doubling over. “i was just stating facts!”

you ignored their antics, trudging toward your locker, when the crackling intercom interrupted the usual morning chaos. nanami’s voice, as calm yet strained as ever, floated over the campus. “attention, students. all of you are required to assemble on the football field immediately. this is not a drill.” a murmur rippled through the halls. was it a fire drill? a surprise pep rally? something worse? you glanced around, half-hoping to see sukuna leaning against a wall with his usual “i don’t care about anything” face, but he was nowhere to be found.

“weird,” you muttered, joining the slow shuffle of students heading outside. on the field, clusters of confused teenagers were gathering under the bright morning sun. you scanned the crowd, squinting against the light. no sign of sukuna. where was that idiot? meanwhile, gojo and geto had caught up to you. “what do you think this is?” gojo asked, clearly already bored.

“hopefully not another motivational speaker,” geto muttered. “or a fire drill,” you added, your voice flat.

“whatever it is, it better be quick,” gojo whined. “my skincare routine does not involve standing in direct sunlight for this long.”

you rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the crowd. something about this felt off. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening, it had something to do with sukuna.

the murmurs in the crowd were growing louder, restless. one of the jocks inhaled, clearly gearing up to yell something stupid—probably “this is so lame” or some other brilliant insight—when the jumbotron sparked to life with a loud buzz. everyone froze, heads snapping toward the giant screen.

there he was. 

sukuna. 

in a tuxedo.

he looked… disheveled, to say the least. his tie was slightly crooked, and his bloodshot eyes gave him the appearance of someone who hadn’t slept in years. or maybe ever. but the way he leaned back in a chair, dressed like a mob boss with the confidence to match, had the crowd whispering excitedly.

“oh my god, is this for real?”

“is he—he’s wearing a tux! is this, like, a movie?”

“is he single?” one girl whispered, earning a sharp glare from her friend.

you? you were just standing there, slack-jawed, because what was he doing?

on screen, sukuna let out a deep sigh, his voice lower and rougher than usual, probably from the late hour. “hey,” he started, glancing off-camera like he wasn’t sure how to say this. “so, uh. this is for… my girl.”

your heart stuttered.

“listen,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, “i know i’m the world’s worst boyfriend. like, bottom of the barrel. absolute trash. no one’s worse than me.”

“i mean, he’s not wrong,” gojo stage-whispered from behind you. geto smacked him again.

sukuna’s voice dropped even lower, making half the girls in the crowd swoon. “but i’m trying. and if i have to humiliate myself in front of the entire school to make it up to you, then so be it.”

your breath caught as the screen cut to black with a simple message: turn around.

you whipped around just in time to see sukuna—your sukuna—riding his motorbike onto the football field like he was in a damn action movie. the crowd gasped, screamed, and scattered as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the field, yuuji riding behind him, holding on for dear life. “this is better than coloring claaaasssss!” yuuji yelled, his little voice carrying across the field. in his tiny hands was a bouquet of… lego flowers? some of the pieces were dangerously close to falling off. behind them, sprinting full speed like his life depended on it, was choso, carrying an actual vintage boombox over his head. half the girls in the crowd were now screaming, but not for sukuna.

“who’s that?”

“he’s so hoott! does he go here?”

“you’re all so basic,” geto muttered under his breath.

as sukuna parked his bike, yuuji jumped off and ran toward you, yelling, “you hafta say yes! otherwise big bro will cause mass destrunkshun!” 

sukuna groaned, glaring at his little brother. “yuuji, shut up!” but yuuji ignored him, shoving the lego flowers into your hands. “here! they never die, just like big bro’s love for you!”

the crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and cheers as sukuna finally got off his bike and walked toward you, his face red but determined. “listen,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “i know i’m an idiot, and i suck at this whole ‘romantic boyfriend’ thing. but i love you, and i want to take you to prom. so… will you be my date?”

you blinked, tears welling up as the boombox suddenly blared heart of glass by blondie. choso gave you a thumbs-up, still holding the boombox over his head like a champ. “say yes! say yes!” yuuji chanted, jumping up and down.

“oh my god, yes!” you finally shouted, throwing your arms around sukuna’s neck. the crowd roared, clapping and cheering as sukuna hugged you back, a relieved smile breaking across his face.

“finally,” gojo muttered. “that was so painful to watch.” but you didn’t care about the crowd, or the noise, or even yuuji yelling, “yay! no destrunkshun today!”

all you cared about was the way sukuna looked at you, like you were the only person in the world.

—

sukuna flopped dramatically onto your bed later that evening, still in his slightly wrinkled tuxedo from the ridiculous escapade earlier, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. “do you even understand what i went through to pull that off?” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “i might as well retire. i’m too old for this.” you snorted, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your gaze flicking to the lego flower bouquet proudly perched on your desk. “you’re eighteen, sukuna. relax.”

“eighteen with back pain,” he muttered, shifting to look at you. “and a vendetta against a certain flower set. do you know how many pieces are in that thing?”

“clearly, enough to drive you insane,” you teased, reaching over to nudge his shin. “so… tell me how it all went down. i need to know what mastermind put this together.”

he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. but just know that i better get some kind of boyfriend-of-the-year award for this.”

“you’ll get a sticker. now spill.”

“okay, first of all,” he started, counting off on his fingers, “i had to beg nanami to bend the rules. i was like, ‘listen, dude, just one announcement. i swear i won’t get detention for the rest of the year.’”

“and he believed that?” you raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“well…” sukuna grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “i might’ve also thrown in a promise to help him clean the chem lab after school for a month. he was this close to saying no, though.” you laughed, imagining nanami’s face at sukuna’s desperate pleas. “sounds about right. and choso?”

“ah, choso,” sukuna said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like he was reciting a shakespearean monologue. “the real goat. he flew in from across the state—i’m talking dead of the night—to bring me that stupid lego flower set.”

“you made him travel for legos?” you gasped, barely holding back laughter.

“hey, it was symbolic!” he defended, pointing a finger at you. “and he didn’t just deliver it; he stayed up with me all night building it. i thought we were gonna lose a piece at one point, and let me tell you, i almost cried.” you couldn’t stop giggling at the image of sukuna and choso frantically building lego flowers in the middle of the night. “okay, okay. what about yuu?”

“oh, he was the easiest to convince,” sukuna said, smirking. “i just told him, ‘power rangers need good deeds on their resume, like helping their big bro.’ he was all in after that.”

“of course he was,” you muttered fondly, shaking your head.

“so, there you have it,” sukuna finished, stretching out on your bed with a satisfied sigh. “a night of blood, sweat, and legos. all for you, baby.” you smiled, leaning back against the edge of your bed. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“yeah, but you love me,” he shot back, his tone smug.

“unfortunately,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed at his words. there was a brief silence before you hesitated, biting your lip. “sukuna?”

“hm?” he hummed, eyes half-closed.

“mei mei and yorozu said some stuff yesterday. about you and… us.”

his eyes snapped open, narrowing. “what kinda stuff?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off, but he wasn’t having it. “they said you were stringing me along. that you’d never—”

“oh, hell no,” he growled, sitting up so fast he almost hit his head on your fairy lights. “i’m gonna—”

“no, you’re not,” you interrupted, grabbing his arm before he could launch himself off the bed. “we don’t beat people up, remember?” he grumbled under his breath, clearly displeased. “fine. but if they say one more thing—”

“they won’t,” you said firmly, giving him a look. “because we’re gonna ignore them and enjoy our nap instead.” sukuna sighed, flopping back onto the bed with a resigned groan. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, tugging you down beside him.

“and you’re lucky i put up with you,” you shot back, settling into the warm space next to him.

the two of you lay there under the glow of your fairy lights, the faint scent of your vanilla candle filling the room. the lego flower bouquet sat proudly on your desk, a quiet reminder of sukuna’s chaotic but heartfelt effort. as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but smile. love with sukuna was messy, dramatic, and over the top—but it was yours.

you tried. you really tried to fall asleep. but how could you, when sukuna had casually dropped an “i love you” like it was just any other sentence? sure, he said it before when he asked you to prom, but that was in the middle of a chaotic proposal involving legos and yuuji screaming about power rangers. this? this was casual. this was deliberate. this was real.

your brain spiraled faster than your pinterest boards during finals week. did he mean it? like, really mean it? was it a slip-up? does he just throw around the word “love” like that? you stiffened in his arms, your body going ramrod straight like a ruler, and sukuna, ever the perceptive one (at least when it comes to you), noticed immediately. “you good?” he mumbled, voice groggy as he cracked one eye open.

you didn’t respond right away, too busy drowning in your thoughts. was this what all those romance novels meant by ‘confessions catching you off guard’? but this wasn’t a confession, was it? or was it?

“hey,” sukuna nudged you lightly, his brows furrowing. “you’re acting weird. what’s up?”

you sat up suddenly, twisting to face him, your fairy lights casting a soft glow on his confused expression. “you… you said you loved me.”

his eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in… well, ever, sukuna looked genuinely nervous. “uh… yeah? i mean, yeah. i did. i do. why?”

“you do?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. you couldn’t help it; the man was notoriously bad at expressing his feelings, and now he was just casually confirming his love for you like it was no big deal? “uh, yeah?” sukuna scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the corner of your ceiling. “i mean… why else would i do all this crap? the flowers, the tux, the boombox…”

“so you’re saying you really love me? like, love-love me?” you clarified, your hands now gesturing wildly because, of course, this needed to be crystal clear. at this point, sukuna’s face was turning an alarming shade of pink—like, my melody type pink, and you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “yes, okay? i love you. love-love you. happy?”

you blinked at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when he looked at you like that, all flustered and frustrated but undeniably sincere.

“wait, why are you smiling?” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “this is so embarrassing. i knew i should’ve just—”

you didn’t let him finish, leaning forward to kiss him, your lips cutting off whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to spew. when you pulled back, his ears were now as red as his eyes, and he stared at you like you’d just stolen his soul. “i’m smiling,” you said softly, “because i love you too, dumbass. and because i think it’s cute when you get all flustered.”

“cute?” he repeated, deadpan. “did you just call me cute?”

“yep,” you chirped, lying back down and snuggling into his chest. “get used to it, my melody.”

sukuna groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes, but you could feel the way his heartbeat quickened under your cheek. and as he tightened his hold around you, mumbling something about how you better not tell anyone about this, you smiled to yourself. maybe you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, but at least now, you’d be lying awake with a warm, fuzzy feeling instead of overthinking yourself into oblivion. love-love really was something else.

chapter six: the painting, the prom, and the prince

the evening of prom was finally here, and sukuna rolled up to your house looking, dare he say it, hot. okay, maybe he wouldn’t say it out loud, but judging by the double-take you gave him when he stepped off his bike in that sharp tux, it was safe to assume you thought so too.

and then you walked out.

he swore his brain short-circuited. he’d seen you in a hundred different outfits, every single one somehow better than the last, but this? this wasn’t just a dress. this was art. 

“you…you look…” he stammered, his usual cocky bravado completely out the window. “uh…you look like…you know…like…a renaissance painting or something.”

you blinked at him, clearly amused. “a renaissance painting?”

“yeah,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, clearly regretting his life choices. “you know, like, those really fancy ones. with, uh, good lighting.” you bit back a laugh. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“you should,” he grumbled, averting his eyes because looking at you too long felt like staring into the sun. “you look perfect.”

as the two of you got on his bike and headed to prom, sukuna felt like he was riding on air. that was, until you turned to him halfway there and asked, “so, do you have the tickets?”

oh, shit.

his mind raced as he remembered exactly where those tickets were: stuffed into his t-shirt so you wouldn’t find them during his promposal planning. and then, last night, in a frenzy of cleaning and trying to look cool, he’d tossed the shirt into the laundry. “uhhh…” he stalled, trying to come up with a lie, but your raised eyebrow told him you weren’t buying it.

“‘kuna,” you said, already exasperated. “please don’t tell me—”

“okay, okay, maybe i left them in the washing machine,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. you groaned, but to his surprise, you didn’t seem mad. instead, you reached into your purse and pulled out two tickets. “lucky for you, i bought these ages ago,” you said, smirking.

“wait, what?” he blinked, genuinely stunned.

“what? i wasn’t about to risk you being unprepared,” you teased.

“okay, wow, first of all, rude,” he said, though he couldn’t help but grin. “second of all, you’re amazing. third of all…can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“not a chance,” you replied, laughing.

fast forward to the gym, where the school had, of course, gone full cliché with the decorations: fairy lights, balloons, and a weirdly overused “enchanted evening” banner that looked like it had been recycled from at least three other events. but none of that mattered when you spotted yuuji and choso standing near the punch table. well, you saw them. sukuna, on the other hand, saw chaos.

“why the hell is yuuji here?” sukuna hissed, his hands already on his temples. “don’t ask me,” you said, equally baffled. “how does a seven-year-old even get in here?”

“puppy eyes,” sukuna muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

sure enough, yuuji was grinning ear-to-ear, his hair plastered to his head in spikes from what must have been an entire bottle of power ranger-branded gel. “big bro! you made it!” yuuji shouted, running up and practically tackling sukuna in a hug. “yuuji,” sukuna groaned, prying the kid off him. “what are you doing here?”

“helping!” yuuji declared proudly. “plus, i used your tickets!”

sukuna’s jaw dropped. “what?”

“he’s surprisingly resourceful for a kid,” choso muttered, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here as he adjusted his tie. “next time, don’t leave important things lying around.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” sukuna grumbled, running a hand down his face.

meanwhile, you were barely holding back laughter, especially when you noticed the cluster of girls gawking at choso from across the room. “looks like choso’s got some fans,” you whispered, nudging sukuna.

“yeah, well, they can have him,” sukuna muttered. “i’ve got everything i need right here.”

and just like that, the stress melted away, replaced by that smug, confident grin you loved so much. prom was a mess, but it was your mess. and honestly? you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—

the night was winding down, and with prom nearing its end, you and sukuna made your way toward the photobooth. sukuna had his arm slung over your shoulder, and you leaned into him, already envisioning how cute your pictures would turn out. but, of course, peace was short-lived.

“oh, look who it is,” came mei mei’s unmistakably smug voice.

you stiffened, turning toward her and yorozu, who stood there with their arms crossed, both looking like they had nothing better to do than spread bitchiness. “figures you’d show up,” yorozu sneered. “thought you’d be too busy fixing your ‘perfect relationship.’”

“is this where you get your weekly drama fix?” sukuna drawled, his voice low and sharp. he glanced between the two with a look that could’ve cut glass. “or did you just run out of things to do since no one wanted to take you?” mei mei opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, sukuna bent down and scooped you up bridal style.

“sukuna!” you yelped, clinging to him in shock.

“don’t waste your energy on people like them,” he said simply, striding past the two women without so much as a second glance.

“you can’t just—hey!” mei mei called after him, but sukuna didn’t bother stopping. yorozu muttered something under her breath, but even she knew better than to push it.

“you really didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your voice. “didn’t have to?” he scoffed. “like hell i’d let them talk to you like that.”

the line for the photobooth wasn’t long, and before you knew it, you were stepping inside with sukuna still holding you as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re not putting me down?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “nah,” he said with a smirk. “you look too good tonight. gotta keep showing you off.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed all the same.

once inside the booth, sukuna finally set you down, pulling you close for the first set of pictures. the two of you posed like a typical couple at first, all smiles and laughs. then sukuna decided to make things interesting by pulling faces, sticking his tongue out in one, and pretending to bite your shoulder in another.

“these are gonna look so stupid,” you laughed, pushing at his chest. “nah, they’re gonna be fire,” he said, grinning.

just as the final photo flashed, the curtain whipped open, and toji’s booming voice rang out.

“move over, lovebirds! we’re crashing this party.”

toji and mamaguro squeezed into the booth, nearly squashing you and sukuna against the wall.

“what the hell, toji?” sukuna groaned, glaring at the intrusion.

“what?” toji said innocently. “you think i’m missing out on free photobooth pics?”

“scoot over, lovelies,” mamaguro chimed in, pushing toji aside so she could squeeze into the frame.

“there’s no room!” you said, laughing as you were squished further into sukuna.

“there’s always room for one more,” came another voice, and before you could even register what was happening, gojo leapt into the booth, landing half on toji and half on sukuna.

“what the—get off me!” sukuna growled, shoving at gojo.

“smile, everyone!” geto called, popping his head into the frame at the last second.

the camera flashed, capturing the chaos in all its glory. by the time the prints came out, you were crying from laughter, holding onto sukuna to keep from doubling over.

“what a night,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes. “yeah,” sukuna said, his voice warm as he looked at you. “what a night.”

—

the picture on sukuna’s instagram was a beyonce level of iconic. the both of you stood side by side, wearing your prom king and queen sashes, though sukuna refused to actually wear his properly—it hung off his shoulder like he was in a fight club. you, however, looked perfect as always, your sash gleaming and your tiara slightly askew from all the dancing. sukuna was leaning just enough to rest his chin on your head (a “power move,” as he called it), and you were holding the bouquet of lego flowers proudly. the caption? equally sukuna.

prom king and queen, obv. any losers who’ve got something to say can take it up with me. she’s the queen, i’m the muscle. try us, idk 🤷‍♂️ also yeah, she's mine. no refunds.

within seconds of posting, the comments started flooding in.

gojo: the muscle? more like the court jester 💀

yorozu: lmao no one even voted for you two 💀💀💀

choso: solid pic 🔥 i’ll be charging for the lego flowers btw

mamaguro: MY BABIES LOOK AMAZING!!! 👑😭💕

toji: me and my girl did it better 😹

“yorozu really can’t keep my name out her mouth,” sukuna muttered, already cracking his knuckles. “ignore her, my king,” you teased, throwing a pillow at him from your desk chair.

your room was a warzone after the night’s chaos. your shoes were discarded near the bed like a crime scene, your fairy lights had a sad strand that had gone out mid-celebration, and your makeup wipes, bobby pins, and jewelry were strewn all over your vanity. you’d kicked off your sash somewhere in the mess, and your dress was neatly hanging off the edge of your chair because despite the chaos, you couldn’t risk ruining it. meanwhile, sukuna was lying sideways on your bed, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place, his tux jacket slung over the back of the chair you were sitting in.

“should we clean up?” you asked half-heartedly, already knowing the answer.

“nah,” he said, throwing his phone onto the bed. “it’s post-prom. chaos is mandatory.”

before you could argue, sukuna’s phone buzzed. he picked it up, squinting at the email notification, and then froze.

“what’s up?” you asked, turning to look at him.

he stared at the screen for a second before a grin slowly spread across his face. “i got in.”

“what?”

“sports scholarship,” he said, holding the phone up like it was a trophy. “same college as you.”

your jaw dropped, and then you were practically tackling him onto the bed, laughing and hugging him at the same time.

“we’re going to college together?” you asked, beaming.

“hell yeah, we are,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “best decision ever.”

and as the night wore on, with your messy room, tired limbs, and full hearts, you realized he was absolutely right.

epilogue

the morning sun cast a golden hue on your driveway, and there was a quiet buzz of excitement mixed with nervous energy as the taxi rolled up. your suitcases, meticulously packed with everything you thought you might need for college, sat neatly by the curb. sukuna, leaning against the taxi door, looked as relaxed as ever, though his towering frame and sharp features gave him an intimidating edge. “you ready?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. he was holding your suitcase because, apparently, carrying your own bags was “not allowed” anymore.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you said, patting the strap of your carry-on bag nervously. the realization that you were actually leaving home was starting to hit.

“you’ve been glowing lately, by the way,” sukuna said casually, as if he hadn’t just paid you the highest compliment. “probably ‘cause you’re spending all your time with me.”

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “it’s called a skincare routine, sukuna. maybe you should try one.”

before he could retort, a loud, familiar voice shattered the morning calm.

“WAIT! WAIT!”

both of you turned to see yuuji sprinting toward you, waving something in his hand like a man possessed. “YOU FORGOT THESE!”

you squinted, trying to make out what he was holding. as he got closer, it hit you: your prom queen sash and tiara. “oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “i knew i was forgetting something.”

yuuji skidded to a stop in front of you, panting heavily. “you’re welcome,” he wheezed, thrusting the items into your hands. “how could you forget these? you’re a queen!”

“thanks, yuuji,” you said, taking the sash and tiara from him and trying not to laugh at his dramatic delivery.

“don’t forget to wear it on your first day of college!” he added, grinning ear to ear. “yeah, sure,” you said, ruffling his hair. “and maybe i’ll wear a ball gown to class, too.”

“you’d still look better than half the people there,” sukuna chimed in, snatching the sash from your hand and draping it over your shoulder like he was crowning you all over again. “okay, that’s enough theatrics for now,” you said, adjusting the sash so it wouldn’t wrinkle. “we’ve got a flight to catch.”

yuuji’s face fell slightly, and he threw his arms around you in a sudden, tight hug. “i’m gonna miss you,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“i’ll miss you too, yuuji,” you said, squeezing him back. “but we’ll visit, okay? and you better facetime me every week.” he nodded, pulling back and giving sukuna a pointed look. “you better take care of her, big bro.”

“always,” sukuna said without hesitation, ruffling yuuji’s hair in return. “and don’t eat all the snacks mom buys, okay?”

“no promises,” yuuji replied, grinning.

as you settled into the taxi and it pulled away from the driveway, you glanced back to see yuuji waving wildly until he was out of sight. you leaned back in your seat, holding the sash and tiara in your lap. “i can’t believe i almost forgot these,” you said, shaking your head.

“you packed a literal hello kitty lamp,” sukuna said, one eyebrow raised. “but not your prom queen stuff. priorities.” you laughed, swatting his arm. “the lamp’s for your dorm, thank you very much. i’m not letting you live in a depressing man cave.”

he smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “yeah, yeah. but hey, this is it, huh? college.”

you nodded, the weight of the moment finally settling in. “yeah. it’s the start of everything.”

“good thing we’re doing it together,” sukuna said, reaching over to take your hand.

and as the taxi sped toward the airport, you realized he was right. this was just the beginning—not just of college, but of a whole new chapter of your lives. and with sukuna by your side, you had a feeling it was going to be a damn good one.

thank you for sticking till the end <3 this was a drabble i decided to format into a full length fic because i recently came across my old prom photos and the nostalgia was very real. while i can safely say i did NOT have the ideal high school experience, i am deffo making my reader[s] have it 🙂‍↕️ if you'd like to find out what type of reader are you (based off of my fics), click on the quiz link here <3 thank u for reading !!

[ashedddaisy]

⛥2HA ⛥ 01 ⛥ 25. THIS VENERABLE ONE REALLY CAN'T STAND HIM. ⛥

For the entirety of that silence, the words "get the hell out" were stuck in his throat until, at length, they reluctantly came out as, "Get the hell in."

If he spoke honestly from the heart, Mo Ran was indeed good-looking; he brightened the whole room with his mere presence.

Mo Ran definitely loathed Chu Wanning. But for some reason, a bunch of other complicated feelings were always mixed in with that loathing.

Even though he'd studied and somewhat made up for it later on, he had a hard time wrapping his head around many more delicate matters, especially those relating to emotions.

He only recognized simple feelings: like, dislike, hate, happiness, unhappiness. But if several emotions blended together, they would give the brilliant and powerful Emperor Taxian-jun vertigo, making him see stars.

He didn't want to owe him anything.

For all that Mo Ran disliked Chu Wanning, he couldn't help but mentally bow to him. The Yuheng Elder was indeed boss as fuck. Impressive, truly impressive.

Mo Ran stole a glance at him. "I shouldn't have yelled at you." Chu Wanning continued to ignore him, face indifferent as always. He'd never have said it, but deep inside, he did feel wronged.

Then again, what could he expect from someone who didn't even know how to do his own laundry? Mo Ran sighed, "Shizun, don't be mad anymore."

Mo Ran stared for a bit, and then, for some reason even he himself did not understand, asked softly, "Does it hurt?"

Chu wanning didn't know where his own mind was going, but his earlobes turned a bit red and he got mad at himself again, thinking he must be losing his mind to be entertaining such absurdities.

"What happened at the Chen Manor today? Why did you beat them up?" Mo Ran asked while applying the salve. Chu Wanning was silent for a moment before answering. "I was angry, that's all."

He said impassively, "Do you think I wanted to hit Shi Mingjing?"

Chu Wanning regretted the strike too, but his face was thin, and he was mortified, so he scowled and said nothing.

The sour taste of jealousy swelled without stopping, seeping under his skin.

"Does he need someone else to make him mad? He can even get mad at himself. The guys probably made of wood—he catches fire at the slightest spark."

[muniimyg]

♡ 01: baby, i'm a dog

series m.list // taglist

note: welcome to part 1 !!! this fic is def a diff vibe ,, kinda chill and jus sad LOL … tbh if i hate it i’ll jus edit it as a one shot cos #yolo #idc but also…. i fear this jk is a vibe

//

the cabin's front door slams shut behind jungkook.

his laughter spills into the cold air as he jogs to his car, tossing the keys to taehyung mid-stride. 

the hoseok and nam joon had roped him into a last-minute supply run—apparently, they underestimated just how much beer and snacks a group this size could burn through in one night. the crunch of snow under his boots and the slap of wind against his face brought a sharp clarity, a brief reprieve from the weight he'd felt the entire drive up here. 

he works nonstop all year… he only gets a few days of vacation. yet, this is how he spends his precious leisure days.

a part of him is still trying to figure out why he even came.

"think fast, shithead!" taehyung called, tossing the keys back. 

jungkook catches them effortlessly, smirking as he spins them around his finger.

as he opens his mouth to make a comeback, the sound of tires crunching over ice makes his chest go tight. instantly, he recognizes that it’s yoongi’s girlfriend’s car—but something about the way it’s driven pulls him further into himself.

jungkook is a car guy. 

he’s the car guy and knowing cars means knowing the people behind the wheel.

the way they park, the way they brake, even the rhythm of their turns.

and this car?

it parks too carefully, too smoothly.

it’s muscle memory that makes him stand straighter, his heart stumbling over itself. because he knows exactly whose hands are gripping the wheel before he even sees your face.

taking a few steps back, he watches as the suv rolls into the driveway, something heavy settling in his chest.

the sound of the car door opening snaps him out of his daze.

and it all suddenly feels like a fever dream. 

with the snow falling slowly and the way his heart skips a beat—you step out and completely stop his world.

you’re bundled in a cream puffer jacket and your cheeks flushed from the cold…

and you smile at him.

like, really smile at him. 

and jungkook thinks to himself; 

fuck.

you’re still so pretty. 

so fucking pretty. 

then, his mind blanks. 

he doesn’t know how to move, doesn’t even know how to breathe. all he can do is stare.

“jungkook!”

before he can even respond, you’re walking toward him, arms open.

he freezes when you hug him.

it’s not long—just enough to share a little warmth—but it’s enough to knock the air clean out of his lungs.

three years.

it’s been three years since he’s seen you, and now you’re here, wrapping him in a moment that feels too easy for all the time that’s passed.

is... is this easy for you?

because he can't breathe right now.

“i convinced her to come last minute,” yoongi’s girlfriend, mei, says. she’s practically bouncing with excitement. “the weather grounded her flight, and i told her it’d be way better to spend a few days with us than to sit around waiting.”

you pull back from jungkook and smile up at him like it’s nothing.

like he hasn’t been caught in the shockwave of your presence.

like you aren't the love of his life.

“figured it’d be fun,” you say lightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. you glance around and squeal at the sight of your old friendgroup. “plus, i missed you guys.”

the others swarm in, laughing and throwing their arms around you, saying how long it’s been. jungkook hangs back, struggling to keep up with the reality in front of him. this wasn’t how he thought this trip was going to go.

as jin and yoongi haul your bags toward the cabin, you turn back to jungkook. your shoulder bumps against his as you tilt your head.

“is it okay that i’m here?”

he blinks at you.

“why wouldn’t it be?”

your shrug and look around. “nam joon’s your friend. this is his family cabin… i’m just your—“

“it’s fine,” he interrupts you.

silence.

then, you break it with a question and your signature soft tone.

“did i surprise you?”

jungkook nods stiffly, words caught in his throat.

"good."

... is all you say before you’re gone, following the others into the cabin, leaving him standing in the cold.

it takes a second, but his feet move on their own, trailing after you without a second thought. like a dog, he thinks, tail wagging behind its owner.

his hands clench into fists at his sides as he walks, the cold biting at his skin through his jacket.

you're here.

you're actually here.

they have invited you over and over again to friendgroup trips and you've only attended a handful of times. take note that those specific times were the ones where jungkook had rsvp'd no.

so this...

this?

this is completely beyond him.

you... in the flesh feels like some cruel cosmic joke to him. the kind of joke where the punchline cuts deep and leaves a scar.

three years.

three fucking years of trying not to think about you, of convincing himself he’d moved on.

three years of pretending he didn’t still see you in every corner of his life. he told himself he'd be ready for this moment if it ever came—that he'd have the right words, the right attitude, anything but the mess of disbelief and guilt twisting in his chest right now.

but here you are, running into his arms like none of it matters. like the years apart haven’t clawed at him the way they clearly didn’t claw at you.

he knows he shouldn’t be surprised.

you always were good at carrying things with grace, even when he was busy breaking them—breaking you.

a part of him feels bitter. he wishes you had a mean bone in your body. perhaps, he'd feel better... but you don't and all he's can think about is how good you smell.

“what the fuck," jungkook mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he steps into the cabin.

the warmth inside doesn’t reach him.

not really.

his heart is still somewhere out there in the cold, stuck in that driveway where you looked at him like nothing’s changed.

like he’s still someone worth smiling at.

as you get settled, jungkook and taehyung excuse themselves again and leave for their little grocery run.

when they come back, an hour later—the plastic grocery bags cutting into his fingers as he kicks the snow off his boots.

laughter drifts from the kitchen, light and easy, mingling with the clatter of pots and pans. the scent of something savory hangs in the air, and for a moment, he lets it lull him, the warmth easing the tension in his shoulders.

“finally,” yoongi groans, swooping in to grab some bags from jungkook. “we thought you guys got lost or something.”

“tae couldn’t decide between doritos and cheetos,” jungkook mutters, rolling his eyes as he shrugs off his coat. “turns out we needed both.”

“damn right we did,” taehyung calls from behind him, slamming the door shut with his foot.

jungkook lets their banter fade into the background, his eyes instinctively drawn toward the kitchen. 

you’re there. 

standing near the counter, sleeves rolled up as you stir something in a pot. your hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands framing your face. you’re laughing at something yoongi’s girlfriend says, your hands moving gracefully as you gesture, completely at ease.

the view of you is so clear, yet so vivid in his memory.

it makes his heart ache.

it’s like you’ve always been here, laughing, stirring pots, and looking so effortlessly beautiful it makes his chest ache.

like he’s coming home to you again. 

“earth to jungkook?” jimin snaps his fingers in front of his face, smirking when jungkook blinks, caught. “you good?”

“yeah.” the word comes out too sharp, and he clears his throat, shrugging past jimin. “just gonna change.”

he doesn’t wait for a response and heads upstairs. the weight in his chest grows heavier with every step, a knot tightening in his stomach. when he reaches his room and pushes the door open, he freezes.

his bags aren’t where he left them.

instead, a collection of white baggage are stacked neatly in the corner. irritation flares, but it’s quickly doused by confusion—and a sinking realization.

“jungkook?” your voice calls softly from behind him, and he turns to see you at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath.

you’re holding onto the banister, your other hand fiddling with the hem of your sweater. the soft fabric brushes your fingers as you glance at him, your expression tentative.

“the girls—um—mei, bria, and the others—they thought it’d be better if we moved your stuff,” you say, stepping closer. your voice is calm, and measured, but there’s a nervous energy in the way your eyes dart toward his. “i told them it wasn’t necessary, but they figured it’d be easier if... well, you know.”

jungkook leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“so you’re gonna take my room?”

“it was our room for three years.”

“it’s been three years.”

“that’s true,” you hesitate, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “they put your stuff in jimin’s room. but i was just coming up to say, i can totally switch and room with joon’s girlfriend and make joon and jimin room together. i mean, it’d be a good chance to bond—”

“take the room.” his voice cuts through your rambling, low and firm.

your eyes widen slightly. 

“are you sure? i really don’t mind—”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging. “the only other option would be to share it with me… so…”

you pause, a laugh bubbling out before you can stop it. 

“that’d be crazy, right?”

something flickers across his face, too quick for you to catch. then, he straightens, his expression calm but his words heavy. 

“would it be though?”

the question hangs in the air, your laughter fading as his gaze lingers on you. his tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something beneath it—something you can’t quite name.

you look away, brushing your hand over the doorframe as if needing something to ground you. 

“thanks, jungkook,” you say softly, the words carrying a warmth that feels too intimate. “i appreciate it.”

but before you turn, your hand reaches out, ruffling his hair in that way you used to when you thought he was being ridiculous. 

his breath catches, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as your fingertips graze his scalp.

then you’re gone, your footsteps fading as you head back downstairs.

jungkook exhales, his head tipping back against the doorframe as he stares at the ceiling. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the weight in his chest now impossibly heavier.

by the time jungkook come down the stairs, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the space he follows behind you, catching the way the group immediately perks up. all eyes turning toward you both, and jin yells out, "look who finally decided to join the party!"

taehyung grins, his voice too cheerful for someone who clearly has something up his sleeve. 

“you two are late to the conversation, so you’re being voluntold to go back to town and grab some oil. we forgot to buy oil.”

jungkook freezes mid-step, his brows furrowing. 

“the fuck? i just got back. are you serious?”

you turn and see jungkook’s frustration bubbling up already as he turns to bicker with the guys, his voice rising in playful annoyance. “hyung, you couldn't just... check the damn list? are you fucking serious? i don’t want to go back—”

taehyung laughs, “we were too busy enjoying ourselves. you had fun with me! remember? we got both—”

“fuck that,” jungkook huffs. “i’m not going back—”

“you have to—”

“no, i don’t.”

“jungkook, you’re the youngest too—”

“why does that fucking matter?”

the group chuckles, but jungkook’s not laughing.

you watch jungkook’s face twist with irritation, the way his jaw tightens with every word that’s said. he’s always been like this—quick to snap when he feels cornered. it’s like he can’t stand being told what to do. 

he can’t. 

god, he really hates being pushed around.

you’ve always known that about him. yet, a part of you feels bad for him. 

“no. fuck that.” his voice is sharp, a little louder than it needs to be. “i’m not going back—”

the others try to reason with him even more, but his deflection is clear. 

it’s always the same with him, especially when he feels like he's being challenged. you can’t help but shake your head a little, a sigh almost escaping your lips as you glance at the group, waiting for the inevitable back-and-forth.

he’s the youngest, of course. always the youngest. always expected to just follow along, to do things because it’s “his turn” or whatever bullshit they’re using this time. 

you feel your own resolve settle, the urge to take control bubbling up before you can stop it. without even thinking, you walk over to taehyung, reach over, and grab the the car keys from his hand. 

you do it quickly, not even glancing at anyone else, just deciding in that moment that you’ve had enough of the back-and-forth.

“oil. anything else?” you ask, your tone light, almost too casual, as if this is no big deal.

you hear the group chuckle, but you're not listening to them. 

you’re watching jungkook now, his surprise registering only for a second before the annoyance flickers back into his eyes. 

he doesn’t have a choice now.

he hates this.

jungkook rolls his eyes, but it's too late—he knows it’s happening now. he snatches the keys back from your hand with a heavy sigh. he doesn’t look at you, but the slight dip in his shoulders gives him away. 

he’s still annoyed, but it doesn’t matter.

not if it’s about you. 

suddenly, he’s putting his boots on and slams the door. then, the sound of his car engine starting fills the silence. everyone turns to you in disbelief. 

“huh," you tilt your head. "i guess he's driving.”

the car ride is silent, the engine purring smoothly beneath you.

jungkook’s car is new (to you, at least) and he drives like he’s trying to put as much distance between himself and the group as possible.

his knuckles are tight around the wheel, and every so often, his eyes flicker to you, then back to the road. you can feel the tension building up again, but neither of you says anything.

the store comes up quick, and you both slip inside. jungkook grabs the oil without a word, and as you stand by the aisle, you notice the carton of oat milk in his hand—your favourite brand too. 

you blink. 

“they didn’t ask for oat milk.”

he doesn’t look at you as he sets the carton into the basket, but there’s a quiet, almost hesitant shift in his posture.

“yeah. i know.”

you want to say something, anything, but you swallow the words. 

it’s just oat milk. 

back in the car, you both buckle up in silence, and jungkook starts the engine with a soft grumble. the snow outside is heavier now, falling in thick, swirling sheets, the road barely visible.

the car stalls.

jungkook curses under his breath, his hands working over the wheel like he’s already analyzing what’s wrong. you watch him, knowing he’s not going to admit it, but it’s obvious.

“looks like we’re stuck for a bit,” he mutters. “better wait for the snow to calm down.”

you lean back in your seat, the quiet pressing in. there’s nowhere to go but forward now, and it’s strange, this calm in the middle of nowhere with him beside you, neither of you saying much.

the snow pounds against the windshield. jungkook shifts in his seat, tapping his fingers against the wheel as he watches the storm.

as jungkook stares at the snow pounds against the windshield, you stare at him.

you wait for him to say something. 

anything. 

but jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes.

his gaze is fixed on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel. you can feel the distance between you two—the years, the hurt, the things that never got said. the things you did say… 

“so,” you start, your voice soft, the words almost hesitant. “how are you?”

jungkook scoffs.

“don’t.”

“don’t what?” you ask. “it’s been a while. i only really see what you’re up to via social media. you opened your own shop, right? i’m so proud of you. i know how long you’ve wanted to do that.”

jungkook nods. 

“yeah…” his response is immediate, but detached. “yeah, i mean… it was a lot easier when i got the right clientelle. so yeah, still doing that. luxury car mechanic bullshit. it’s... all right. not much to update you about.” his tone is nonchalant, almost like he doesn’t care, but you know it’s a front. it’s always been easier for him to hide behind that mask of indifference. 

“i’m sure there’s something—”

“i fix up cars people can’t even pronounce the names of. not a lot of excitement there. just... polishing up things people break, and making money for it.”

“okay,” you nod, your fingers tracing the edge of your seat. “jungkook, it’s me. don’t underplay this with me.”

he shrugs. 

for the first time in three years; you feel it again.

you feel this… sense of anger? annoyance?

hurt. 

jungkook is well known in the city. 

he's the go-to mechanic for luxury cars—bentleys, ferraris, lambos—if you've got money and a car that needs fixing, you go to him… and while we’re here; let’s brag about it. 

jungkook is not just any mechanic; he's the top of the game. he’s the most trusted in the industry, and somehow, he's built a reputation that makes even the richest clients feel like they’re getting something special.

most of them don't know it, but jungkook is lucky—unbelievably lucky. 

he didn’t come from money, didn’t grow up with connections or a silver spoon in his mouth. hell, he's still the kind of guy who wears sweat pants and a hoodie to work… but he's got an uncanny knack for fixing cars, his hands working like magic around every engine and every screw. it's a skill that came naturally to him, no effort needed—he was born with it. 

and that, somehow, has carried him through life.

the thing is, jungkook knows he's a loser. 

a lovable one, sure, but a loser nonetheless. 

he might be great with cars, but he's not the type to flaunt his success. his garage is both chaotic and high-end, a mix of organized chaos and state-of-the-art equipment, the kind of place that looks like it’s one bad day away from falling apart, but in reality, it's the most trusted name in the city.

he's rough around the edges, but that's part of his charm. he's got the grit to keep going when things get tough, but he stumbles through life in a way that makes everyone around him laugh—except when it comes to cars.

then, he's all business.

the fact that he's self-made, that he’s built everything from the ground up, doesn’t even fully sink in for him. he never asks for anything. the success just... happened, like it was meant to.

in the same sense, he’s a scumbag.

he’s gotten into trouble before, and he’s made his share of mistakes. but somehow, with the luck he’s got, he always lands on his feet. and that’s why, despite being a mess in every other part of his life, jungkook is the guy you call when your sports car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.

in fact, he’s the guy to be with in the middle of a snowy road. 

yet, with all these thoughts… you figure not to push it any further.

the silence stretches again, but this time it’s not quite as awkward. it’s still heavy, though—thick with the things that were never said. and you can feel it, the weight of all that unsaid stuff, but something else creeps in too. a quiet yearning, a reminder of the closeness you once had.

“how’s work for you?”

you clear your throat and chirp up.

“it’s good. great, actually. dior signed me to be their permanent event planner. i got to work with ysl and chanel last year so that was cool… lots of travelling… i don’t know. it’s been… fun. i think i’ve done a lot since...” 

“that’s good,” jungkook breathes. “i’m happy for you.” 

“really?”

“really.”

you let out a relieved breath.

“you know, i always refer my clients to your shop. truth be told, i found out about your shop through them before you even posted on social media.”

he flicks a glance at you, but it’s fleeting. 

“why?” he scoffs, but there’s no real anger behind it, just frustration. “you shouldn’t have…”

you wince slightly, but it’s not a judgment. you get it. you always have. the way he pushes people away, like he’s afraid of being too close to anyone, like caring might break him.

“we were in it together,” you reply, your voice quiet but warm. “life. our careers… everything. just because it didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean i was going to leave it as it was. i couldn’t help it. i thought of you whenever my clients complained about their cars. i thought of you whenever your favourite model drove past me. i thought of you, jungkook. how could i not? we spent three years together… so, don’t do that please. don’t act like the past three years haven’t been good to you… because as much as i could, i tried to send you some good. there was good.”

“okay,” he huffs out a breath, his shoulders tense. he’s quiet for a beat too long, and just when you think he might shut down, he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. “i appreciate it. all of it.”

“you’re welcome,” you smile. 

then, you turn and watch the snow falling heavier now, the world outside becoming more and more a blur. 

“you know,” you say, your voice almost teasing, trying to ease the weight of the moment, “your mom calls me on my birthday every year.”

his eyes flick to you again, almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. a flash of something in his eyes. a crack in the cool mask he’s built up. 

“sorry,” he apologizes. “i… shit, ___. you know, you’re her favourite.”

“don’t be,” you smile, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “she’s my favourite too.”

then, he’s quiet again, but this time, there’s a softening to his expression, the edge of defensiveness slipping away. 

you let the silence settle again, the two of you wrapped in the quiet of the car and the storm outside. but this time, it feels different. not easy, not perfect. but it feels like maybe—just maybe—this is the first real conversation you’ve had in years.

and that’s enough for now.

the cabin feels smaller when you get back, and the weight of jungkook’s presence only makes it tighter. the group’s immediately apologizing, teasing him about the oil run, their words sharp but light. 

“we totally forgot, man,” taehyung says, looking guilty. “guess you guys are our personal delivery service.”

jungkook doesn’t respond, his face already scrunching into an exaggerated grimace as he heads straight to the kitchen to help. you’re unsure if it’s from irritation or just sheer exhaustion.

maybe both, you think as you follow him. 

but the moment passes quickly, and you’re both swept back into the warmth of the group’s energy.

it’s dinner time soon after, and the room is buzzing. the conversation is loud, comfortable, with everyone laughing and sharing stories. jungkook and you sit across from each other, the space between you both thick and quiet. your presence seems to be the only thing that pulls him from his usual nonchalance—every time you speak, even the smallest comment, he cracks a smile, almost like he can’t help it.

yoongi catches it first, raising an eyebrow at jungkook. 

“what’s up with you, kid? you only smile when ___ talks. what? the rest of us aren’t funny enough for you?” his voice is teasing but his gaze lingers, as if looking for something more.

jungkook rolls his eyes, brushing it off with a half-hearted scoff. 

mei, sitting next to yoongi, shakes her head. she nudges you and you laugh it off. then, you lift your face and meet jungkook’s eyes. he offers you a short-lived smile. 

you take it. 

the jokes keep coming, but the way jungkook’s eyes flick to you each time you speak doesn’t go unnoticed. 

it’s subtle, the way his lips curve just a little, how his eyes soften just a fraction whenever you make a joke or offer your thoughts. but it’s enough. the others catch it, too, exchanging glances behind their drinks, a quiet realization settling between them.

after dinner, everyone migrates to the living room, pulling chairs and sofas closer to the fire. taehyung sets up the drinks, jin and hobi are already messing with the fire, adding logs with unnecessary dramatic flair, and namjoon is flipping through a deck of cards.

“we should play charades,” jimin suggests, his voice light as he pours more wine into his glass.

“charades? yeah, we could use some entertainment,” jin agrees, his gaze drifting between the group. “but i’m not going easy on you guys.”

you end up on the same team as jungkook.

when it’s your turn to act out a word, you both fall into an easy rhythm. your gestures are sharp and exaggerated, and jungkook picks up on your cues instantly, his movements smooth and fluid. there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, the way your eyes meet for half a second before you both act out the next part of the clue. 

honestly, it’s like no time has passed since you last did this, and everyone else watches with mild surprise, the chemistry between you two almost palpable.

nam joon and taehyung share an amused glance, their eyes widening slightly, while jin snorts quietly. 

“okay, okay, we get it. you two are too good at this,” jimin says, shaking his head with a laugh.

“they’re like a team built for charades,” namjoon mutters, and yoongi, always perceptive, smirks.

“it’s like they can read each other’s minds,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you both. “almost makes me uncomfortable.”

you can feel the weight of their glances, the way they subtly watch every interaction, waiting for something to shift. and when the game finally wraps up, everyone is drunk, laughter louder and voices more relaxed.

conversation moves from silly jokes to more serious topics, the kind that happens when the alcohol hits just right. somehow, everyone feels like they’re safe enough to let their guard down.

hoseok mentions work—how it’s been a mess lately, how nothing seems to be going right, and the conversation shifts into the stress of adulthood, of managing expectations and responsibilities.

“sometimes it feels like i’m drowning in it,” hoseok admits, rubbing his temples. “i mean, we’re doing okay, but god, it’s like every time i take a breath, there’s another problem.”

“sounds about right,” taehyung agrees, sipping his drink. “adulting sucks.”

the conversation flows around you, but then someone cracks a joke, and you reply with your usual snark. jungkook chuckles, and it’s a real, honest laugh, something that sounds familiar, something that feels like the version of him you used to know.

bria, who’s been quiet for most of the night, turns her gaze to jungkook, her eyes flicking between him and you with a raised brow. it’s obvious she’s drunk, so jungkook mentally prepares for the worst. 

“jungkook?”

“what do you want?” he sighs. “you’re drunk so choose your words carefully, bria. last time we talked while you were drunk like this, i made you cry for an hour.”

bria rolls her eyes at jungkook. 

“guess it’s my turn then,” she inhales deeply. “my turn to make you cry.”

jungkook gulps, but he tries his best to mask his fear. 

he knows exactly who she’s gonna target. 

“yah, do you think you’re slick or something?” bria asks. “why do you always laugh at ___'s jokes but no one else’s? you look at her and practically salivate. are you a dog? do you like her or something?” 

the group goes quiet. 

it’s then everyone realizes that it’s bria’s first cabin trip. even yoongi, who’s usually too aloof for moments like this, pauses, his gaze sharp as it flicks between you and jungkook. there’s a tension, thick enough to make your chest tighten, and you feel the eyes of the group on you.

it’s like the breath has been knocked out of the room. bria’s words hang between you and jungkook, heavy and unwelcome.

for a second, no one says anything.

you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the way everything seems to slow down. 

your mind races. 

“we’re exes.”

bria’s voice cuts through the silence again, softer this time. “oh, shit… fuck, right. yeah. i remember now… i guess it never clicked because i’ve only known you for a few months…”

“yeah,” jimin pulls bria close. he gestures towards the direction of their room. she shakes her head, refusing his obvious cue. “babe, let’s get you to bed—”

“no, wait… just w-wait. you and ___? but you two... are literally perfect for each other. what happened?” bria blurts, her tone genuine and almost searching.

you catch the way jungkook’s body tenses up.

from across the group, you chase for his eyes. they meet for the first time all night and you swear—there’s a flicker of something there. 

something soft and promising. 

something almost like love, but a lot like loss. 

as quickly as you see it, it fades away. so, you offer him a soft smile. then, shake your head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. it’s a signal.

don’t answer.

but he doesn’t look away.

and then, as if the silence is unbearable, jungkook speaks, his voice low but steady, almost like it’s been waiting to come out for too long.

“i fucked up,” jungkook admits. “i fucked up like everyone said i would.”

[another-goblin]

I've seen a lot of interesting opinions about Dr. Ratio. Some of them I disagree with. So I decided to compile a little list of why I disagree with them. The first part will be about things that seem factually incorrect, and the second part is about things that are rather a matter of interpretation and context.

As always, I might be wrong, so feel free to correct me.

1. Things that seem factually incorrect. 

"Ratio is an egoist and does everything for attention and recognition" - I don't remember him ever saying or doing anything that would indicate that. He saved these researchers secretly and made our TB take all the credit. He later even calls himself a "supporting character". He gets angry if we ask him for an autograph.

"He doesn't care about people" - yes, if you skipped his passionate speech to Screwllum about how much he cares about people. But also, everything he does in the game is helping people (saving these researchers on Herta station, offering us his help later in the express dialogues and messages - offering us to enroll in university, participate in devates, turn the express into a weapon, later helping Aventurine with his plan, helping him to find information, and so on).

"He hasn't achieved anything in science" - the list of his scientific achievements is easily available, I wouldn't say it's nothing. But I'll also leave this here:

Even his dedicated hater disagrees with this.

"Ratio's note did nothing to convince Aventurine to stay alive, it was all Acheron" - from how I see it, he was fully determined to end his life up until he read that note. Otherwise, why would they introduce the note at all? Why did Acheron feel the need to remind him of it?

"He never wanted to draw the gaze of Nous" and "He still wants it" - we can deduce that it isn't true from different parts of the game (he actually wanted it in the past but doesn't anymore), but that is a direct confirmation:

(I trust Screwllum's opinion.)

"Everybody hates him in-universe" - this is interesting because I even heard this from his fans. And it might sort of feel intuitive, but I don't remember any evidence of that. He literally has an in-universe fan club. People who knew him closely talk about him warmly in his character stories. The only person I remember ever expressing any negativity towards him was some shcolar in the Simulatred Universe, but I don't think it counts. I'll talk more about his students in particular later, but short version: I don't think they hate him either.

"I hate it when he tells me 'Zero points, get out' and throws chalk at me, that's mean" - that's so weirdly specific, but I've seen it a dozen times already. And, like, why??? He tells it to his enemies, not to us. I mean, nobody's angry at Serval for electrocuting her fans with her guitar just because that's what she does in her fighting animation.

Speaking of combat voice lines, if we wait too long, most characters get irritated and try to hurry us up. Meanwhile Ratio:

'That's okay, take your time, it's a turn-based game after all.'

"He's physically abusive to his students, he throws chalk at them" - similar to the previous point. I don't remember any mention of him doing that. The only case of him using physical force against a (potential) student was when, as a TA, he threw away a rich asshole who tried to buy a degree. And yes, in the boring real world, I wouldn't approve of that, but in the world of the game - well done, good ridance!

"He doesn't tolerate people disagreeing with him, he thinks he's always right"

"He's responsible for the crisis at Herta Station" - how though? I saw this opinion several times, and I'm really curious what people mean by that. Did he himself endanger these researchers by teleporting them who knows where, then faked the video from Duke Inferno, and so on? But why stop here while we're at it , maybe he also impersonated Ruan Mei, left the bug on the station, abandoned the poor cat-creatrures and drugged us with a cake?…

"He's worse than Dottore from Genshin" - technically it's a matter of opinion, but I think nobody will mind if I put it in the 'just wrong' category. But yeah, that's an opinion I've heard. I've got no idea what they meant, but it made me think, how many people did he help and save, both in the game and in his past? Probably more than most of the characters we've met so far. And he doesn't seem to discriminate, it's not 'I'll save my people'. He cured that disease for everybody's benefit, he saved Herta's researchers, he helped TB unravel the events on the station and then proceeded to pester them offering his help, he cosideres some troubled IPC executive 'his responsibility' and so on.

"He actually betrayed Aventurine" - no comments. Come on, play the game, read the dialogues.

1.5. A little intermission.

The thing that's hard to deny is that he definitely doesn't mince his words. Whether you see it as him being a rude asshole, being justifiably angry, brutally honest, sarcastic, or snarky, or showing tough love, or just being incapable of expressing himself in an adequate and socially acceptable way, it's up to you. I can understand how some people might be uncomfortable with that. I personally find it an interesting character trait. (I mean, he isn't even capable of expressing positive feelings in a normal way, what did you expect of him?):

There is also a very interesting (but rather confusing) thing that can be missed if you are unwilling to see further than the initial shallow impression, but it is impossible to unsee once you've noticed it. He sees himself as a teacher in two very different ways. It can be missed at first because both ways are described in very similar words. These ways are: 

a teacher in a traditional sense (let's call it 'academic teacher'); 

and as something akin to a 'life coach', just helping people and making them realize that they shloud (and can) rely on themselves.

The thing is, we never see him in his 'academic teacher' role. As far as we know, he only acts this way with his university students. We never see him teaching anybody any scientific stuff, or berating people for their lack of knowledge and education. Yet he says that he considers everybody his students. But what does he mean if it's not about knowledge? He means it in the second 'life coach' meaning. Therefore, he sees literally everybody as worthy of his help and support.

BTW, I feel like his main problem as a character is that people tend to settle on the first impression they get of him and are unwilling to see further than that. Meanwhile, the game continues to explore his personality, revealing that most things about him are actually the opposite of what they might seem at first. That's why so many people think that he calls everybody idiots for being less smart than him, that he's egoistic and unfeeling, that he values knowledge above all, and so on. So if you actually have interest in him as a character, I'd encourage you to look at him more closely.

2. Now to the things that are more open to interpretation.

"He uses mean words" -to be honest, I'm not a big fan of writers making him use these words (idiots, fools, stupidity, and so on) because, first, they are usually used as just empty insults. (I'm curious whether he uses similar words in Chinese or something more nuanced). So I can understand how it can put some people off. And the second problem is that it feels like he means different things every time he uses these words. It's quite confusing. Here is a post where people helped me find different cases of him using these words; you can check it out yourself.

Let's look closer at some of these cases: 

-'While geniuses wander among the stars, the ordinary can't even trace their footsteps. Those less gifted have no choice but to walk alone, enduring a lifetime of tumbles and triumphs. But even a life marked by failure is a life worth living — it is only in moments of solitude and despair, when help is absent, that fools grasp how to pick themselves up' He seems to contrast geniuses with fools here, so fools are everybody who's not a genius. So if you are inclined to see him this way, if you squint, you can technically see it as him insulting people based on their intellectual abilities, right?… Except, he includes himself among these fools, so no:

So it's basically 'all who are not geniuses are fools, including me'. Which is an interesting way to put it, but it definitely doesn't mean ''you are all fools for not being as smart as me''.

But he mostly uses these words when he talks about his fellow scholars:

-'First, with the headpiece on, isolated from my five senses, I can think without interference. And second, I don't have to set eyes on stupid people' - we only see him wearing the plaster head on Herta's Station, a place full of the most brilliant minds in the universe. We never see him using it again with normal people, so the word 'stupid' here can't be about people's intelligence.

There is also an interesting little detail:

He admires her intelligence (although in a sarcastic manner) in his 'about Herta' voiceline. He doesn't wear his 'anti-stupid' mask when he's with TB or Aventurine, but he always wears it with Herta. Which is very telling, and indicates again what he means by 'stupid'.

Some other examples:

-'(…)the fools from the Guild with ambitions beyond stars should be banished from my sight and thereby mind' -'Don't invert priorities like these dolts from the guild' -'I cannot stand fools, idiots, or imbeciles. Seeing them fills me with dread. Regrettably, this space station is just like the Intelligentsia Guild — devoid of geniuses and filled with mediocrity' -'Ah, the Technology Department. Charming little place, isn't it? Madam Yabuli does possess some semblance of competence, but her subordinates? Oh, they're a riot — brimming with enthusiasm yet utterly devoid of intellect. It's as if evolution halted prematurely for them'

He is absolutely RUTHLESS when he talks about scientists, because he expects a lot from them.

So no, I don't think he'd call you an idiot for not being an A student, or having learning difficulties, or just lacking an interest in learning. He absolutely would though if you were a brilliant scientist, priveledged with great education, resources, and a personal lab, squandering your talents and funds on a useless vanity project, or hoarding potentially life-saving knowledge for yourself, to use as a commodity.

"But he does call people idiots!" - I've noticed that most of the time he uses these 'insults' he talks about some groups of people.

I could only think of 3 times when he called an individual an idiot. He calls Aventurine an idiot because he 'lost' the stones (but it doesn't count because he plays a role and pretends that he hates Aven). A scholar in an event in SU complains of Ratio calling him an idiot (I'm not sure it actually happened, it's just a story in SU).

But there is one case of him calling somebody an idiot and actually meaning it. And who is this poor victim of his terrible verbal abuse? It's himself. Whoops. (speaking of how he's supposedly full of himself and thinks that he's better than the others.)

"He would call me an idiot because of my supposed lack of knowledge/education/intelligence" - I showed in the previous point why I think he wouldn't (he never seems to use these words to mean that).

But also consider this. During his interactions with Aventurine on Penacony Ratio mostly plays a role for Sunday, pretending that he despises Aventurine. That's why we can't draw any conclusions about his personality from most of their dialogues. But the moments when he breaks the role are extremely telling.

Let's look at one of them from the beginning. They argue; Ratio calls Aventurine an idiot for 'ruining their plan'. And then Aventurine mentions that he didn't go to school and lacks formal education. If there ever was a good time to call someone an idiot for being uneducated, that's it! That's what Sunday expects to hear (because his plan hinges on Ratio valuing knowledge above all else).

And what does he do? He fucking apologizes! Even for the role and for the sake of their plan, he can't bring himself to insult someone for being uneducated.

"He's mean to TB" - it's a matter of interpretation, but his behavior with us didn't strike me as mean or demeaning. He was just being sarcastic and snarky as always (and I understand that it's not everybody's cup of tea).

The situation was time-sensitive and precarious. We don't know how much control he had over it. He tried to make us realize what's going on as fast as possible, pretending that he himself is clueless. Because his goal was to show the recearchers that despite the presence of 2-3 geniuses on board, none of them were able to save them. If he just publicly saved everybody, it would be just another genius appearing out of nowhere and saving the day, which would go against his goals and his philosophy.

And later, our TB seems to regard him with a mix of respect and amusement (calling him Professor, asking for an autograph), no resentment here. So TB didn't think he was mean either.

"He values knowledge above all, he's obsessed with teaching people stuff, and he doesn't understand/accept that other people might have other priorities" - I'd argue that literally the opposite is true. He doesn't impose his knowledge on anybody against their will, and we never see him berate anybody for their lack of knowledge or education.

Sunday isn't the first person to misunderstand him that badly, and he's not having it. Even though at this point in the story, his and Aventurine's plan hinges on Sunday's misunderstanding. But I think his position is very clear: pursuit of knowledge above all is a matter of petty pride.

He says it when we ask him why he doesn't nag us about getting our act together, before a party. So basically "if learning makes you feel bad (doesn't enhance your living) then you are doing it wrong, go and have fun".

This probably isn't considered canon, but it illustrates how he sees knowledge. Here is an analogy. If I had an apple orchard, and I thought my apples were awesome and they'd make a great gift, and you should feel free to ask me if you want some. It doesn't mean that I shove my apples into people's mouths against their will and then call them idiots and spit on them when they don't like it.

"He's a bad person because he didn't help us fight the big bug" - he knew who we are. It's not in his habit to directly involve himself where he's not needed, it would go against his philosophy ('you should count on yourself; you can do it'). It's not like he left us to die; he must have known how capable our TB is. BTW, he was still looking after us, seemingly ready to come to our help:

Besides, currently nothing indicates that (outside of the turn-based gameplay) he's anything more than a normal human being. He would be a hindrance in a fight. 

"He's a bad teacher" - (first, here is an interesting post about this from the point of view of an actual teacher)

So yeah, it's about the 3% passing rate. Yes, it can mean that only 3% of his students end up learning something. It's possible that he's such a bumbling idiot of a teacher that he doesn't even understand how bad he is. It's possible that he's somehow still allowed to teach despite being THAT bad.

But I think it's much more possible (and consistent with his philosophy) that he just has very high standards. A 3% rate doesn't mean that only 3% know anything. Students might benefit enormously from his classes, even without passing. They still have all their valuable skills and knowledge.

But also, let's not forget that he doesn't teach children. He teaches at the university. And I don't think it's some 101 basics; it's likely something related to his research and discoveries, some extremely advanced cutting-edge stuff. So his students are already extremely well educated adults, who want to achieve more. He would probably see lowering his standards as a betrayal of his students.

"His students hate him" - I didn't get that impression. On the contrary, they seem quite interested in him (some times in really creepy ways):

The only indication that they might have something against him is this:

It's either a literal roll-call of actual adults who shed literal tears during his classes, or it's just students being their normal cheeky selves, being overdramatic about a strict teacher. 

An example that came to mind: I can whine about how ruthless my gym trainer is and how I couldn't walk for a week after the last leg day. And his other clients would agree. But everybody understands that it's an expression of approval, not contempt. And maybe a bit of a humble brag.

Besides, if we decide to take that post at face value, then we'll have to take this literally too, meaning that his students consider him an actual God. And I don't think it's true:

-------------------

There are still a lot of hot takes I disagree with that I haven't mentioned, but I'm too tired. This took WAY too long. Other cases are mostly quote-mining and deliberatly taking what he says out of context, which isn't very interesting to argue against (just read the full dialogue and consider the context). And also different variations on 'he's an asshole, he hates people, he thinks he's better than others, he'd call you an idiot for this or that, he's elitist, he only values knowledge and intelligence' and so on, but I think I addressed it sufficiently.

So yeah, that was my little character research. This wasn't written for his haters (I dislike some characters myself, and I wouldn't probably read 3K words about how I should change my mind). It was rather for the people who kind of like him, but who feel sad thinking how he'd probably call them idiots or something. I hope I was able to help you see him in a different way. He wouldn't call you an idiot, he'd support you.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy winter solace ❄️☃️ I NEED more of the fake slave Ed and Mustang PLEASE!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Ed wants to end this farce before he gets caught and thrown in jail, or worse, loses his Amestrian citizenship.

From everything he can tell, Mustang is being perfectly sincere in his dealings with Pakor. He's sincere about almost everything, actually. A terrible quality to have in a leader, which Ed has to remind himself several times to keep himself from admiring it. The man's Xingese has improved from conversing with Ed, at least, and that's why he doesn't think anything when he walks into the man's office, nose buried in a book, and hears him speaking it.

Then he looks up to see to the surprised face of Ling staring at him and practically flies across the room.

"Ed?" he asks incredulously. "What are you-"

He slaps his hand over Ling's mouth, glaring for everything he's worth. Killing him will cause a war between Xerxes and Xing. It's truly a shame.

Everyone is looking at them, Mustang half risen out his chair and Maes making an aborted gesture between them. Ed would actually pay money to know what kind political gymnastics are going on in their minds right now.

"Prince Ling and I are acquainted," he says in Xingese. Ling snorts beneath his hand at the formal address, which he honestly can't remember if he's used before. "One moment, if it's not too much trouble."

He yanks Ling to his feet and drags him out of the room. Lan Fan only waves, which seems to be reassuring to Maes if no one else.

Ling at least keeps himself from laughing until Ed shoves him in the closest broom closet. "What," he gasps, face red and tears leaking out his eyes, "are you wearing?"

"I hate you so much," he hisses. "If you fuck this up for me I will assassinate you, I'll fucking do it, you know I could get away with it. Mei would even thank me."

Ling keeps laughing.

[pha55ed]

Kodoku | F2 (kimi bday celly!)

type :: angst tw/cw :: gn!reader for most part, only like 3 gendered-terms and "wag", suicide joke (ollie), stalking (pepe), sa (pepe) contains :: kimi!, ollie, pepe request :: kodoku by mei semones, he reassures you after fans attack you with Ollie, Kimi (ofc) and Pepe. You're making me a fan of him (OMGG so many pepe fans! id like to thank httpiastri for introducing me to him LOL, also sorry for no banners, i could not find any good photos for the fucking life of me that actually matched... so just deal with it. ) link to kimi bday celly!

Kimi Antonelli | 04

The newest star in Formula is Kimi. The new prodigy with higher expectations than a fucking mountain. You always wonder how he can handle it all so well. Of course he got hate from time to time, but it's basically nothing compared to all of the praise and love he's gotten.

So when he shared that you were his girlfriend, the expectations were also high for you. Although you weren't a racer and just a random WAG, people wanted the world and more from you. And if you didn't deliver that they expected, not only would it hurt your reputation but also Kimi's. Everything you did was being watched, 24/7.

Wearing a cheap outfit? Why are you so poor, does Kimi's job not pay? Your makeup is smudged? Did you kiss someone else, how could Kimi be so dumb to like a cheater? You yawned once at a race? How dare you not support Kimi's career and his hard work, he needs a better partner.

It was so much pressure on you, it was as if you did one wrong thing then a new article would be released. You wanted to just tell the media to fuck off, but you knew that would ruin Kimi's image and make you be seen as a dickhead. So you were forced to sit and look pretty, tummy constantly sucked in, eyes locked onto the race, and smile locked onto your face.

After every race, you and Kimi would be exhausted. Kimi was drained from the race, while you were exhausted from the brutal camera-crews who were doing their best to catch you off guard. You'd argue that you even do more interviews than him at this point. But you didn't want to tell him, he was able to handle all of his problems so easily yet you were struggling to even do one portion of his job.

But he knew something was wrong, he was great at reading you. Instantly, you weren't able to hide it any longer and you admitted everything to him - the mean comments, the articles, the camera shoved in your face, even the hidden cameras they placed on you.

Instantly, he was upset and hurt. "I had no idea, why didn't you tell me?" He said, but he wasn't blaming you but more ashamed he didn't noticed faster. "I would have done something,,, everything to make you safer"

And he did exactly that. He talked to his team, and they listened to all his concerns. Instantly, at the next race you felt 100 times safer. There were no news reporters sneakily filming you from behind, no new articles were made, and there weren't even any microphones shoved into your face for a small interview. It was so peaceful for once, and you loved it.

Ollie Bearman | 87

Everyone knows Ollie is cute, it's more of a fact than a statement. His brown hair, cute smile, and polite manners made him charming to anyone. He's the dream boy of every teenager and the dream son-in-law for all the creepy mothers. So when he finally posted you on his Instagram, you expected some hate - but not to this degree...

Fans flooded the comments with negative things, calling you awful things. Saying you had poor fashion taste, you were too chubby for him, you were just a gold-digger, your eyes are too close together, your lips look like a bad lip-filler job... There's more mean things, but you didn't even want to continue on.

Your entire mood was ruined, you tried to ignore them but they found out your deepest insecurities. All you could do was cry and mope, feeling more insecure than ever. It has only been one day with the post being up and you already gained 3,000 followers on Instagram. But not in a good way...

Girls flooded your comments with even harsher comments that were supposed to be nice. "You're so confident! I love that!" Which had a sweet intention, but only made you feel worse. "You have such unique features! You're still beautiful!" Also very sweet intentions, but the wording made you want to learn how to tie a noose.

Once Ollie came home, he saw you sitting at the dining table, poking at your cereal. You didn't even want to eat, the comments have scared you from eating. Instantly, Ollie could tell everything going on through your brain.

He ran up to you, dropping all of his gear onto the floor. Rushing to you, he engulfed you in a huge hug. He ran his hand up and down your back while the other was in your hair, combing it to soothe you. Instantly, you broke down into tears yet again, even though you thought you ran out.

"I'm so sorry, love. I don't understand what they're saying at all." He said with an emphasis as he withdrew from the hug slightly to look you in the eyes. He used his thumb to wipe your tears while the other hand stayed on your back. "Don't you dare listen to them,"

You simply looked at him with tears in your eyes. Although he was comforting you, you knew it would take so much longer to heal from all of the hate you got. All you could do was give a weak nod as your leaned forward into him to cry on his shoulder more.

"I'll get my PR team to delete everything, don't worry. They're all so stupid, so so stupid to not see how stunning you are." He said, letting you sob into him.

You couldn't help but ask him, "Do you agree with them...?" You asked weakly. "Maybe you are too good for me," you said in a moment of weakness.

Ollie instantly looks at you with wide eyes, as if you just said a slur. "What!?" He said, unable to hide his shock. "I always think that you're too good for me! I could never ask for someone better than you."

He continued, "Where else will I find someone so understanding of my busy life? Where else will I find someone as beautiful as you? Someone with your pretty smile? With your humor, intelligence, and abundance of love???" He pauses, "I'll answer that, no where."

Pepe Marti | 21

Who doesn't love Pepe? Maybe his car,,, but that doesn't matter - the whole world can't help but smile when Pepe smiles. So when it got leaked that you two were dating, the entire fandom was in shambles.

Fangirls were crying their hearts out, moms were wishing they were younger, and dads were wishing their son's could pull someone as stunning as you. Surprisingly, the fanbase accepted you with open arms. The only issue, is that their arms were way too open.

They quickly became obsessed with you, arguably more than they are with Pepe. Everything you wore sold out in minutes, everywhere you went became a hot-spot, even the small phrases you said became new slang. Although you loved the support, it seemed like too much for just a WAG of a driver.

It got even worse. A bunch of men online made you their new "it girl". You got thousands of followers from random men online, making you have more followers than Pepe. They all shot their shot at you, made TikToks wishing that you gave them a chance, filled your comments with "Can Pepe fight?" and more. It was a bit funny though, seeing Pepe get jealous and seeing all of the love did boost your ego.

But it turned sour so fast. Now you were unable to go outside without a camera in your face, your address got leaked, even your family was being stalked as well. You never could have expected this all, it was so overwhelming for you. Now you were unable to do the most basic things. Getting groceries, hanging out with friends, and even going to watch Pepe race was impossible.

These men were creepy, stalking you all the way to the race locations. Some even snuck past security and tried to take photos with you and hug you. You tried your best to be nice and handle it all, but it became even worse as the men started to get more handsy.

Hugs turned into surprise kisses on the cheek. Hi-fives turned into hand holding, and they refused to let go. Even if you weren't around them, they would take creepy photos of you from behind or side, watching your every move. The FIA did their best to protect you, but since it was Formula 2 and you were just a WAG, they didn't try to do much.

You couldn't take it anymore, after a rough race day you bursted out into tears to Pepe once you were alone in your shared apartment. It was so much pressure on you. So many hands on you, so many eyes on you, you never wanted this life style - you just wanted to be a normal person with their sweet boyfriend.

Instantly, Pepe felt awful. He felt guilty for putting you out there into stardom. He could feel himself fighting his own urge to cry, feeling too empathetic to you. He listened to all your stories, all the touches, and more. You never told him about it since you didn't want to inconvenience him, so him hearing this all was so shocking to him.

After he heard everything, he was furious. He vowed to be by your side from then on, making sure to keep you safe in either his driver's room or in the garage. He even asked his PR manager if he could make a new Instagram post where he states how uncomfortable you've been. You said it wasn't needed, but he didn't care - he wanted you to be safe.

So he did exactly that: made sure his team kept you in the garage or his driver's room, got security guards to escort you around the paddock, and he made that Instagram post. The post went viral, even people who weren't fans of Formula saw it and felt awful for you. The post stated something along the lines of:

"I know my girlfriend is hot, but she's mine. Thank you for all of the love and support you've showered her in, but please keep in mind that we're both still young. There has been lots of actions from fans that have been been extremely inappropriate, which means there's going to be more precaution to ensure her safety. Thank you for understanding and supporting us, much love from (Y/N)'s boyfriend."

[oppopotamus]

hear me out on my glorious king sukuna, but more specifically, megkuna, after the gojo vs sukuna fight ryomen decides to show off by fucking his slut (the reader) in front of everybody thru the eyes of mel mei’s crows, forcing everyone to realize who the real strongest sorcerer is, the reader is like uraume in a sense but instead of being a personalized chef/assistant the reader is sukuna’s lifelong cocksleeve, btw ur work is absolutely BEAUTIFUL keep it up handsome 🫶🏽

Cocksleeve

THIS WAS SO SCRUMPTIOUS TY

srry it took so long I took a MASSIVE break from writing

also TYSM ily <33

Warning: NSFW, sukuna calls you cockwhore, cocksleeve, etc, you can't say no, you don't know the crows r watching

You were breathing heavily, rushing around to find Sukuna, you had no idea where he was an you were scared.

You ran for what felt like ages until you found him, "Sukuna!" You called you to him as you ran up to him, looking up at the tall curse.

"Ah, you're here." Sukuna didn't even look at you, keeping his eyes focused on some crows that were observing you both while perched on the trees.

"Why are you looking at the birds?" You ask, tilting your head curiously.

"Oh..." That's when Sukuna smirks, suddenly getting an idea. "Yes, they're just birds, don't worry about them."

You raise an eyebrow at his suspicious behaviour but choose not to comment on it, instead you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

"Why don't we have some fun, hm? I'm awfully stressed after my fight y'know." Sukuna asks, but really you don't actually have a choice, although he always asks, you can't refuse him.

"Right here? But... what if someone sees...?" You ask nervously, still fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater.

"Nobody is around, no-one will see." Sukuna smirks, looking directly at one of the crows.

"Plus, you know you can't say no to me."

You nervously shuffle your feet, you know you can't refuse, an although you're used to sex with Sukuna, you always get nervous.

"Alright then..."

Sukuna doesn't need anymore encouragement before he's spinning you around, pushing you down onto the ground in a downward dog position.

You yelp and quickly place your hands in front of you to support yourself as Sukuna presses down on your lower back, forcing you onto your knees.

He wants to do it Doggystyle I guess...

You let out a quiet whine and stay still waiting for Sukuna's next move.

He smacks your ass with his large hand, making you jump, it didn't hurt much since you were wearing jeans but it still gave you a slight shock.

Sukuna slowly drags your pants and underwear down, making them bunch up at your knees. He grabs the butt plug you have in an wiggles it around, making you whine.

"Mm, Kuna..."

"Yes, my little pet?"

You wiggle your ass impatiently, you hate being teased.

He drags the plug out, making you hiss and shiver.

"You're so loose, did you wear this all day?" He asks while shoving the plug into his pocket for later.

You whine and nod as he rubs his thumb over your whole, not pressing in, just teasingly rubbing it.

"That's what I like to see, what a good boy."

Sukuna smirks and pulls his cock out, slapping it against your ass.

Before you know it he's thrusting in and out of you at an inhumane pace, you scream and dig your nails into the ground.

"Good little cocksleeve, huh?" Sukuna asks as he smacks your ass, his other hand holding onto your waist to keep you still as he relentlessly fucks you.

"Bein' such a good boy for me, yeah? You gonna be a good cockwhore and take all my cock?"

"Mm! Y-Yes! I-I'll be good... m' promise-"

Your arms give out, forcing you to fall onto your chest with your ass in the air.

You look back over your shoulder at Sukuna but he's not paying attention to you, rather to the crows.

You find it odd how focused he is on them, but you pay no mind to it, you're too focused on how fucking fast Sukuna's fucking you.

"Kuna! Kuna!" You whine and moan, your hands digging into the ground as your legs shake.

"You gonna cum? Yeah? Cum for me, baby." Sukuna groans as he feels your hole tighten as you cum, squeezing around his cock making him fill you up.

The second Sukuna pulls out your entire body falls limp onto the cold ground, breathing heavily and sweating.

"Good boy." Sukuna chuckles and gives your ass a tight squeeze before pulling the plug out of his pocket, he shoves it back into your ass, making sure all his cum is kept in your hole.

The feeling makes you whine and squirm, but you have to admit, it's really hot.

"I hope they had a good show." Sukuna smirks, looking up at the crows.

"Huh? You hope who had a good show? The crows?" You ask in confusion.

"You could say that."

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse v); s.g.

synopsis: it's utahime's birthday and you play spin the bottle... bonus, you're tipsy! content: canon divergence (teen!gojo era), fem!reader, hopeless romantic gojo, underage drinking, seven minutes in heaven (probs done wrong? idk), semi-first kisses, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: here's another one shot for my gojo anthology series! I found out it's utahime's birthday (2/18) so I managed to pull something together for this lil series (happy birthday utahime)! wanna be tagged? lmk in the replies!

"Happy birthday, Utahime!" Shoko exclaimed, wrapping an arm around the dark haired girl, clinking her beer with hers as the two chugged. There was an obvious buzz in the air, not only them, but everyone else. Mei Mei managed to get a private room where no one would question what was going on inside, seeing as some of the attendees were underage—yourself included. Your interest had always been piqued by it, this not being the first time your friends had beer around you. However, this was your first time having it... And you weren't the only one.

"Who would've thought you were a lightweight," Mei Mei piped as she nudged Gojo with her shoulder. "You never bothered to drink with us before, what's changed your mind?" Smirking at him, already knowing the answer, the older woman gazed at the white haired boy as his cheeks burned a bright pink. His eyes shifted in your direction—where you had been huddled up with the birthday girl and Ieiri. "Oh, trying to impress someone, huh?"

"Shut up," Gojo mumbled, rubbing his cheeks as his body slightly swayed. "I didn't want to be a party pooper..." Eyeing you as you laughed, Satoru felt his heart race faster than it ever had in his life. He blamed it on the alcohol. "It tastes like shit."

"Then why do you keep drinking it?" Geto asked, now settled beside his best friend. "You hate beer, the first time you tried it at Shoko's birthday was enough to stop you."

"It's because he's trying to impress little miss sweetheart over there," Mei Mei nudged her head in your direction. Suguru looked over, not surprised that he was doing this just to look cool in front of you. 

"She's not gonna care if you hate it, Satoru," Suguru nudged him. "This is her first time, too."

"That's exactly... why," Gojo hiccuped. "If she can do it, so can... I!" He nodded, lifting his bottle to take another swig. Instantly hissing at the taste, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head, Geto laughed beside him before patting his back. "I'm trying to find a way to enjoy this but, god it's aw—"

"Satoru!" You exclaimed, waving at him before stumbling over. Falling to your knees in front of him and smiling wide, waving your own bottle before him. "This is really good, right?" You asked, realizing he had chosen the same beer as you. 

"Y—" choking on his words, Suguru smacked his back. "Yeah! To— Totally!"

Giggling, you made your way beside him as Mei Mei crawled away to sit with the other girls. "This is so much fun... what a great party," you beamed, leaning your head on his shoulder. Gojo grew stiff, grip on the bottle tightening as his free hand clutched onto his knee. Geto sat there with a smug grin, an idea coming to mind as his focus shifted towards the empty bottles. 

"Hey, I've got an idea," he spoke up, moving onto his knees to grab an empty bottle. "Let's play spin the bottle, hmm?"

"Yes!" Utahime nodded, tugging on Shoko's sleeve and waving for Mei Mei to move over so they could form a circle. 

"That'll be fun!" You nodded after lifting your head from Gojo's shoulder, grabbing his wrist so he could join you. 

He wasn't sure if it was the liquid courage, or maybe he was hyper aware, but you were being more touchy with him. Normally, you kept things cordial, constantly smiling or laughing with him as he was the one finding ways to touch you... Now with the tables turn? His heart was basically at the pit of his stomach, slightly trembling as you sat practically thigh to thigh with him. 

"Okay, let's do truth or dare," Suguru said as he settled the bottle, "whoever it lands on has to answer. Got it?" Seeing everyone nodded, the dark haired man grinned as he eyed his best friend, who basically looked like he was disassociating from the world. 

"Let's go!" Utahime exclaimed before clapping. 

"Birthday girl has the honor," Suguru nodded as Utahime beamed before reaching over to spin the bottle. 

Everyone watched with curious eyes, and like that, one by one everyone took a turn to spin the bottle. Most answered with truth, only to earn an annoyed groan from Mei Mei saying how things need to change up. 

Spinning the bottle, Mei Mei smirked as it landed on Gojo, "truth or dare, blue eyes."

Gulping, he eyed everyone as they eagerly watched him. Sucking in a sharp breath, he sat up, "dare."

"Finally," Shoko mumbled as Utahime stifled her laughter. 

"Perfect, I dare you to play seven minutes in heaven with cutie over there," Mei Mei nudged her head in your direction. "No take me backs, get in there," she pointed at the tiny supply closet behind the two of you. Gojo looked over with hesitation as you blushed. 

"Okay!" You nodded, standing up and grabbing his hand to join you. 

He felt like he had no control over his body, following you along the way and nearly tripping over his own feet as you practically shoved him inside once opening the door. Watching as you followed inside, shutting the door behind you as you were pressed against one another, Satoru held his breath. Looking down at you with wide eyes as your own looked up at him, hooded, he felt his heart thudding against his ribcage. 

Pressing your hands against his chest, you smiled up at him. "We've got seven minutes in here..." you said. 

"You— you think they'll make us... stay that long in here?" He stuttered as you shrugged, only to shyly look away. 

"I hope so..." you admitted, nibbling on your bottom lip. 

Eyeing you and wanting nothing more than to touch you, Gojo clenched his fists at his sides before throwing his head back. His mind was racing, thoughts rushing around as he felt not only your hands on him, but your whole body. It took his entire being—and willpower—to fight the blood rushing towards a place it shouldn't be. Not in a moment like this. Even if it was meant for that. "You... Uh..."

"Hm?" You looked up at him as he lowered his focus to meet yours. 

"N— Nothing, heh..." he awkwardly looked away, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. 

"Satoru..." you spoke up. 

"Yeah?" He mumbled. 

"Please look at me..." you begged but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the wall beside him. "Toru..." you quietly spoke as the man shivered at the sound of his nickname. "Please..."

Feeling your hands snake their way up to his face, you gently turned his head to look at you. "I— I—"

"At a loss for words?" You tilted your head, teasing him as he blinked. "Can I kiss you?"

Feeling his heart sink as you gazed up at him with lazy eyes, Gojo took in deep breaths, "you— you want to... kiss me?" He asked, gulping. 

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to..." you nearly whispered, causing Satoru to shiver yet again. The feeling of your nails gently caressing his skin as you didn't bother to look away, Gojo squeezed his eyes shut. How were you being the bold one? How did you have the power to always turn him into mush? Sure, you had liquid courage, but even when you weren't tipsy you had him so easily wrapped around his finger! "Toru?"

"Yes," he nodded. 

"Yes... I can?" You asked as he nodded again. 

"Please..." he whispered, begging. He knew this wasn't the right time to get his first kiss from you (or ever) but he was so desperate and so needy. He should've said no, should've said another time. However, he was a teenage boy. He didn't entirely use common sense...

Tiptoeing as you tugged him down gently, hands moving to the back of his neck, your lips pressed against his. Feeling his heart in his throat as he gazed at your closed eyes, Gojo's shaky hands settled on your hips as he kissed you back, indulging in this (what felt like) once in a lifetime opportunity. Surely neither of you would never forget. 

"So, how was it?" Shoko asked as she sat beside you on a bench, enjoying a pair of strawberry milk boxes during your break from training. 

"How was what?" You tilted your head. 

"Your seven minutes in heaven with Satoru," she chuckled, only to earn a confused look from you. "Y'know, last night?"

"Seven minutes in heaven with Satoru?" You asked as she nodded. "I don't remember that..."

tag list: @bakananya @strangehuman101 @thirtykiwis @sillygoosegoose @mandysfanfics @pinksaiyans (some of u I sadly couldn't tag!)

[luvismenu]

here i go — pjm one shot

pairing: childhood friend!jimin x fem!reader

warnings: lots of scream (movie) references, virgin!jimin, teasing each other, smut.

summary: your virgin bsf wants to have a look at your boobs and you.. let him.

note: kind of like a bday + spooky szn special !!

wc: 2.2k+

♡ — permanent taglist: @https-mei @ari420sstuff @blaricee @jksctrl @blluee28 @jkvias @wnteraezz @whoa-jo @wobblewobble822 @jkslvsnella @clxssy1997 @nikkinikj @kayleesaltzmann @rrosiitas @naurnonope @lola75111 @somehowukook @redcherrykook @parkinglot-nights @deluluisdasolulu @minghaosimp @hyeon-yi @ririkookiemonster @svtrighthereworld @jmscaffeine @trinityxsope @taetaecatboy @butnotmontana @joyofbebbanburg @elinaki92 @sweetmimosa28

“hello? who—”

“hello, ___. what's your favorite scary movie?”

“w-who are you? that's not funny, i swear i will c-call the cops—”

the voice on the other end laughs, the voice effect slowly dropping, revealing the familiar sound behind it. you immediately relax.

“fuck you.”

“come on!! it's spooky season.”

you roll your eyes.

“let me in, sweets. it's cold outside.”

you scoff and hang up, heading to the front door. you swing it open, glaring at the figure standing there.

“you're an asshole, you know that? you could've gone to prison!”

he steps past you, grinning, as he pulls off his gloves and jacket, his laugh barely under control. “y-you should've heard yourself!”

“seriously, jimin, that wasn’t funny. i almost peed my pants,” you grumble, closing the door and turning to him with your arms crossed.

“aw, poor ___, scared of the least scariest character ever.” he mocks you, sticking out his lower lip in a fake pout, then heads straight to your living room.

“what!? a serial killer is scary! especially if he's after me,” you follow behind him, still fuming. “and by the way, did you get a new number?”

“yep,” he says, collapsing onto your couch. “and you know i can't pass up an opportunity to scare the shit out of my favorite loser.”

“why am i even friends with you again?” you ask, plopping down next to him. he quickly pulls you in, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“hmm, lemme think.” he pauses for effect. “maybe 'cause we've been neighbors since birth, went to the same school, same uni? oh, and probably because i'm the only guy who knows every embarrassing detail about your life. yeah, that’s gotta be it.” he nods

you shove him playfully, laughing. “you're so annoying. i hate you.”

he chuckles, “oh come on, sweets, you know you love me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, but a small smile betrays you.

“so, you got a boyfriend?”

“why? you wanna ask me out on a date?”

“maybe. do you have a boyfriend?”

“no.”

“you never told me your name.”

“why do you want to know my name?”

“because i want to know who i am looking at.”

“boo!!! casey had zero survival skills,” jimin suddenly exclaims, making you flinch.

you’ve watched the scream movies with jimin ever since you were kids. he loved them, but you were never a big fan. still, he insisted you’d watch at least one every year during “spooky season.” eventually, you got used to it. it doesn’t feel that scary anymore when he’s beside you.

your arm is linked through his, and your head rests comfortably on his shoulder as you continue watching the movie. the tension of the scene doesn’t bother you much, maybe because you’ve seen it too many times, or maybe because jimin’s presence keeps you calm.

well, except for the moments when he randomly yells at the screen and scares you half to death.

“so, you thought you’d climb through my window and have a little raw footage?"

“no, no. i wouldn’t dream of breaking your underwear rule. i just thought maybe we could do a little on-top-of-the-clothes stuff, just to make it pg-13.”

“you are a tease.”

“he doesn’t want you!” you boo at the screen, making jimin chuckle.

he glances at you from the corner of his eye, smirking. “___, why don’t we have a pg-13 relationship, huh?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, no, i’m not flashing my boobs.”

“but you’ve seen my dick!” he exclaims, his voice almost accusatory as you pull back, ready to fire back immediately.

“that was because you were proving it’s not small!” you remind him, your eyes narrowing.

“let this virgin have a look,” he pouts dramatically, sticking out his lower lip like that will convince you.

“i never asked to look at your dick when i was a virgin!” you shoot back, crossing your arms. he opens his mouth to counter, but before he can get a word in, you cut him off. “that doesn’t count. you were the one who showed me. i said i never asked for it!”

his lips twitch into a small smile as he tries one last desperate attempt. “pretty please, ___?” he pleads, giving you the full force of his puppy eyes.

you scoff, a small laugh escaping despite yourself. “fine!”

his eyes light up, and he sits there expectantly, waiting for you to pull your shirt off. you hesitate for a moment, your fingers lingering at the hem, but eventually, you tug it over your head, exposing the light pink bra with a small bow in the center.

his gaze drops instantly. he licks his lips. “pretty bra,” he murmurs

“thanks, pervert,” you joke, he's smirking like you just gave him the world’s weirdest compliment.

his grin widens, not even the slightest bit ashamed. “can i take it off?”

you bite your bottom lip, feeling your heart race as you nod. his hands come up, gentle and slow, as if he’s savoring every second. his fingers brush along the edges of your bra and trace the sides of your breasts, making your breath hitch.

then, with a quiet click , he unclasps the bra.

“okay?” he asks softly, his eyes meeting yours, giving you a chance to change your mind.

you swallow hard and breathe out, “okay.”

he hooks his fingers under the straps, sliding them down your arms and letting the bra fall away. his eyes darken as your breasts are fully revealed to him. the sight of your soft skin and perked nipples leaves him speechless, his chest rising and falling a little faster now.

“oh fuck...” he breathes, like the words slipped out without him realizing.

you feel the heat spreading through your body, an ache growing between your legs as you watch his reaction. the way his gaze lingers on your chest, the hunger in his eyes. it makes your core throb.

“touch me, jimin,” you say without a second thought. the words leave your mouth so easily, and the moment they do, he’s on you, not wasting a second. his hands cup your breasts, the warmth of his palms sending shivers down your spine as he starts rubbing your nipples with his fingers.

you squirm under his touch, your eyes fluttering shut when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, pinching them just enough to make you gasp.

“does that feel good?” he asks, his voice low.

you nod, biting your lip. the answer comes in the form of a soft moan when his mouth closes around your right nipple, sucking gently and teasing it with his tongue.

you glance down, watching the way his lips wrap around you, and it makes you dizzy with pleasure.

“sorry, couldn’t resist,” he mumbles against your skin, pulling back just enough to grin before trailing kisses along your breasts.

you let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the way he’s touching you. “are you sure you’ve never done this before?” you manage to ask between gasps.

his lips curl into a playful smirk. “love it too much?”

“i hate you,” you whisper, but the amused smile on your face tells a different story.

he chuckles softly and moves up to kiss your neck. “can i fuck you, ___?” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse.

“yes.” the word slips out of your mouth almost too quickly.

but then it hits you, and you pull back slightly. “w-wait, are you sure? i mean, do you really want me to be your first—”

he cuts you off with a kiss, his plump lips pressing against yours.

“mmmh...” you hum into the kiss, melting against him as his lips move against yours. it’s everything, soft, warm, and somehow exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, “i wouldn't have it any other way.”

“why do you even have condoms?” jimin asks, positioned between your legs as he rolls the condom on. you’d told him they were in your nightstand, so now the two of you are on your bed, getting ready.

“uh, because i don’t wanna get pregnant?” you reply. “plus, i’m not the virgin here.”

the corners of his mouth lift into a teasing grin. “damn, there are actual people who wanna fuck you?”

you raise an eyebrow, matching his playful energy. “yeah, and you’re one of them.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “touché.”

then, with a serious expression, he grabs your hips. “alright… here i go”

you burst into laughter, the words catching you off guard. “h-here i go? jimin, we’re not in kindergarten!” you laugh uncontrollably, and he frowns, making you laugh harder.

“shut up, i was just letting you know!” he glares you.

you try to stifle your laughter, barely holding it together. “right, right. sorry... you got this, champ!” and just like that, you lose it again, dissolving into more giggles.

he rolls his eyes dramatically, trying to look annoyed. “you’re turning me off, you know.”

you grin, glancing down between his legs. “so why’s your junior still standing, then?”

he blinks, surprised, before laughing along with you. “junior?” he echoes

“okay, okay, my bad,” you say, catching your breath.

“for real this time… here we go.” you give him a mischievous smile, and he shakes his head, biting his lip to hide a grin.

“you’re impossible,” he mutters under his breath, but his hands slide back to your waist, steadying himself.

the playful mood shifts into something more intimate as you relax into the bed beneath him. with one slow, deliberate motion, he pushes inside you.

he groans at the feeling, his hands tightening on your hips. you gasp softly, biting your lip as the warmth spreads through you.

he moves slowly at first, soft gasps and low moans falling from his lips with every thrust.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his hips starting to pick up speed. the sound of skin against skin fills the room, and it has you gripping the sheets tighter, trying to hold onto something—anything—because he’s driving you insane.

“jimin— y-yes, fuck!” you manage to stammer, though the words are slurred with pleasure. it barely even matters. all you know is that he feels fucking amazing inside you.

he grabs your legs and lifts them onto his shoulders without missing a beat, the new angle making his cock hit deeper.

“mmh, you're so fucking tight, baby,” he rasps,

as if you weren’t already lost in pleasure, his fingers find your clit. he starts rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles, all while his hips keep thrusting into you. the sensations are overwhelming; his cock filling you, his fingers working you.

you gasp, whimpering uncontrollably. every thrust, every rub, every movement sends shocks of pleasure through your body, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“j-jimin—” you choke on your own words, barely holding on as the intensity builds.

“that’s it, baby,” he groans.

you cry out, feeling your orgasm crash over you. your body tenses, back arching off the bed as you cum hard, soaking his cock. the pleasure is so overwhelming it borders on painful, leaving you gasping, crying, and writhing under him.

“so fucking pretty,” he breathes, mesmerized by the sight of you falling apart beneath him.

watching your cum drip down onto him only pushes him closer to the edge. with a few more frantic thrusts, he groans deeply, burying himself inside you as he spills into the condom.

his movements slow down, but he stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath. you lie there, panting and basking in the afterglow, bodies still pressed together.

“holy shit,” you whisper, heart pounding in your chest.

he chuckles softly as he pull out, “yeah... holy shit”

“are you sure this was your first time?” you chuckle breathlessly, your chest still heaving as you try to catch your breath.

he laughs along with you, the sound low and a little shy now that the heat of the moment has passed. “yeah, pretty sure,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “unless i’ve been sleepwalking through sex.”

you giggle, “well, you didn’t exactly perform like a rookie.”

“natural talent, i guess.” he grins, but there’s a flush creeping up his neck that makes you laugh even more.

you both lie there for a moment in comfortable silence, the room filled with the sound of your soft breathing. there’s no awkwardness. just a weird sense of ease, like this was exactly how things were supposed to go.

“so… you got a boyfriend?” he breaks the silence, glancing over at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

you smile to yourself, and speak up. “why? you wanna ask me out on a date?”

“maybe. do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, with a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“no.” you reply, meeting his gaze.

for a moment, you both hold the stare, and then it breaks as you burst into laughter, the room filling with the sound of it, light and carefree.

“so i did great, right?” he asks

“mmh, not bad,” you hum, pretending to be unimpressed, though the smirk on your face gives you away. “maybe a solid 8 out of 10.”

his jaw drops dramatically. “only an 8?”

“you lost points for saying ‘here i go’.” you tease, biting your lip to hold back your laughter.

“oh, come on!” he groans, covering his face with both hands. “i’ll never live that down, will i?”

“nope,” you say smugly, shifting closer to him on the bed.

he drops his hands, a grin spreading across his face.

“okay, but seriously sweets… you’re amazing.”

“you're too, jimin”

[watercurtaincave]

Sun wukong dating headcanons? ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

𖤓 !! — I [love] you like the sun! Sun Wukong (LMK) / reader

𖤓 !! — For as long as you knew Wukong, there has been this odd constant about him; and it wasn't the fact that he took everything, seemingly, at face value and joked about a lot of what he was doing (whether he knew what he was doing or not). No, that was just something you come to accept of Wukong, it was the fact that he hated to be alone. For as much as he puts up a front, deeming he is okay alone and he doesn't need anyone by his side, you knew the opposite was true. It always had been; Wukong just wasn't one who could talk about his emotions in a proper manner, and you guessed it was due to the fact he had so many apologies he could not give.

𖤓 !! — Or maybe they were apologies he just can't give due to his own stubbornness and pride, either way for as much as he hated being alone you also knew Wukong hated hurting his friends. Despite the fact that he tends to do it a lot without realizing it. Time and time again he will just get so absorbed within himself, within trying to correct a problem (he most likely caused) and trying to protect his friends that he ends up hurting everyone else instead. From the brotherhood to his student, Wukong has never learnt how to talk to people. Nevertheless, you would suspect he has a habit of thinking if he where to tell people how he was actually feeling they would think different of him; possibly less, possibly weaker.

𖤓 !! — Oh, for how much you love Wukong he always seemed to burn everyone next to him. That's why you have to take a little extra care of his heart, and of him. For despite how long you know him, it'll take a hot minute before he realizes that he's as stuck with you and you're stuck with him.

𖤓 !! — No literally, you're both stuck with each other and there's no getting out of it.

𖤓 !! — You were first introduced to Wukong through the whole godly latter, that and by what MK, Mei, Tang, Chang'e and Ne Zha has told you about the proclaimed Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. You may or may not have spoken to Macaque once or twice as well before you ever met MK's mentor, which really stuck wrong with you at first. If you were meeting one of this "Great Sage's" enemies before you met the "Great Sage" himself, then what did that say about the "Equal to Heaven", huh? That he couldn't be bothered to be around to protect MK? That he's too lazy sleeping somewhere on a fluffy cloud to get up and kick his emo cousin's ass? Yeah, you had been really bitter towards Wukong at first. Even stand-offish when you first met him.

𖤓 !! — Even more creeped out when he used to stare at you for no reason, holding this odd look in his eyes. You had a feeling he wanted to say something, something that seemed to really bug him because even MK pointed out how weird his staring habit was. But he never did. He always kind of bit his tongue and tried to stay his distance from you.

𖤓 !! — You kind of noticed that rather quickly. I mean, how could you not notice when Sun Wukong would dance around MK and Mei to get away from you whenever you walked over. Or how he suddenly went quiet, like he was trying to disappear, when you pipped in on a conversation. Or the way he would actually disappear whenever when you came by and make up some awkward excuse like he left the stove on at home or he needed to feed his pet bird.

𖤓 !! — "I don't even think he has a pet bird.." MK mumbled at that one, not having noticed that you had just walked into Pigsy's until you sat down next to Tang; Who greeted you accordingly with a smile. You simply smiled and nodded back. "Yeah, well what do you expect from a two-timin' schemer who always just happens to disappear when someone comes in." Pigsy commented, shooting his eyes towards you with a cock of his eyebrow. You couldn't help but give in an unamused look, MK and Mei quickly giving you very esthetic hellos. Yet they soon hushed as you shook your head, "If you're saying I had anything to do with the 'Great Sage' suddenly getting cold feet whenever I come by, I don't know what that's about-" "Yeah!" MK suddenly appeared at your side, Mei in tow, "Before we introduced them, the Monkey King said he never has met them before. I just think it's some weird god stuff, that or maybe he's always just conveniently busy when you come around." And with that MK shrugged, giving the group a small smile. "Yeah, no, I think there's more to it." Tang mumbled between slurping his noodles.

𖤓 !! — Yeah, no, I think there's more to it. Why did those words stick in your head? Yeah, no, I think there's more to it. What more could be to Monkey King, Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, have to avoiding you like you were a plague other than him just not liking you for whatever reason? I mean, you've heard all the stories that MK and Tang have dug up about the Monkey King and nothing really ever struck a cord in you. You've listened to them gush about this great hero, a powerful demon that has revealed and bested so many, and none of that gave off the energy that Wukong did when he was around you. So what is his deal?

𖤓 !! — Later that week, after a tired shift of serving costumers, you didn't have the energy to do much other than slug your way back to Pigsy's; And you couldn't help but half-pray to anyone that Wukong was there. "And then I was like!-" And yet you instantly knew the gods were not on your side that day when you heard the Monkey King himself boosting about another fight he conquered. Yet, by the sounds of it, this was an older fight. Not that you were surprised in any way, that was just how the Monkey king seemed to be. He would use voice-sound effects, as well as big dramatic motions, to show how he defeated whichever enemy he was fighting in his tale. All the while, you managed to slip into the shop and quietly sit next to an overly excited Tang (as MK and Mei were sitting front row to hear the story). Yet, just as Wukong was about to get to the climax his eyes met yours and he faltered; His mouth went dry as his whole dramatic disposition came to an abrupt halt. You swore it he looked at you like he saw a ghost, and something about this surely ticked you off. After a day of serving rude costumers and frantic mothers with missing kids, you were about two seconds from smashing Wukong's face into the table.

𖤓 !! — "What? Why do you always look at me like that?" You would retort to the Monkey King with a scrunch of your nose, folding your arms firmly across your chest. Despite the disappointment from Mei and MK seconds before, as Wukong had stopped his dramatic retelling, they paused upon hearing your voice and turned around. You were sure they now understood why Wukong had stopped so suddenly. "I don't look at you like anything," Wukong instantly tried to deny, throwing out a 'pshh' from his mouth and a dismissive wave to drive his claim. Though he turned his back towards you to check the fake watch on his wrist, "Oh, well you look at the time! My cat must be so lonely-" You were tired of his dodging act, "I thought it was a bird." "Well a king can't have too many animals!- pets?" Wukong shot back almost instantly and you swore you could see some sweat rolling down his hidden face. He rubbed the back of his head, keeping his eyes on everything but you. "Yeah, uh-huh, because all your pets looks so real when I went to your little cave of a home with MK that one day to babysit." You would cock an eyebrow up at Wukong, watching as he stiffened in place. You were sure he was glaring daggers at the ground, maybe even thinking of escaping with his fancy god-like magic, "Yeah, uh-huh, as I thought. You have no pets do you, Great Sage? So, do you mind telling me why you've been avoiding me?"

𖤓 !! — For as long as you knew Wukong, you never realized how long you had actually known him for. Centuries of memories you could no longer recall, countless lives that you never knew you experienced, and it all seemed such an artificial answer when it came from Wukong. It felt like another outlandish tale of half-truths he was feeding to you to keep some sort of peace. But it wasn't:

𖤓 !! — At the start of it all, you had been a goddess (immortal like the rest). You hadn't been anyone important, no one that the mortals would remember anyways, you were simply one of the maidens that picked the immortality peaches in the orchard. You had been one of the few immortals who caught Wukong as he stole a peach, and oddly enough (from his recounting) you had let him go. Which made him curious about you. All too curious for his own good. You both would spend evenings and nights in each other's company upon any private setting you could find. In the orchard, in a garden that was rarely occupied, in your own room even. You both talked about everything and nothing, spent evenings somethings just laying and enjoying each other's company. Yet you could not leave the Celestial Realm, you were not on the approved list to do so. And yet when Wukong had left his post to return to his kingdom he still made the dangerous journey to come see you. He tried to convince you to come down with him many times, to come see the mountain of flower and fruits with your own eyes. Even when you told him no, he continued to come back. Until one day he just decided to kidnap you entirely.

𖤓 !! — It wasn't a bad kidnapping, one more like you were about to face sever punishment for associating with the Monkey King despite the status you held among the immortals. He proclaimed he was your hero as Wukong explained how he busted into the room, sweeping you off your feet and escaping the guards that had been sent to capture the two of you. Though it had been the worst mistake of his life.

𖤓 !! — What he hadn't known at the time, what you hadn't know either, was that the Jade Emperor had cursed you upon your assignment to the Peach orchard. If you were ever to escape the confines of the Celestial Realm, if you were to ever eat any of the peaches unauthorized, your divinity would be stripped away as punishment. You would have basically fell from heaven, becoming a mortal, if Wukong hadn't been holding (kidnapped) you during the decent down. And the way he described the anguish you had gone through while losing your divinity, despite having explaining this while sitting on a wooden table in a small and cramp noodle shop, made some sort of shiver rush up your spine. He couldn't even look up at you, this time out of pure guilt, as he explained it all; "I watched as your divinity was stripped from you, balled up at your chest before shooting up towards the Celestial Realm. I heard the Jade Emperor's laughter, his maniatic laughter and dammit-" Wukong punched the table, and you were surprised he didn't break it with the force he had used, "-All I wanted to do was go up there and beat his ass for being so cruel to you; for making you endure so much pain..." And something inside of you told you, like it was some sort of faint whisper, that Wukong was tormented by the thoughts of your screams until this day. That no matter what he has gone through or what he will go through, your screams will be the one thing that truly shakes him to his core.

𖤓 !! — "Ever since that day everything felt like some corny mortal and immortal love story that's written about now-a-days." Wukong would explain as his eyebrows frowned together, "When you first died it hurt so much, I was tempted to go up to the Jade Emperor himself and force him to take my immortality to be with you. "I debated on that for years actually, yet none of my old friends would let me near the Celestial Realm. And so I kind of sat and waited, I didn't know what to do with myself and it felt like I was always going to miss a part of me forever. Corny for the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, I know!" Wukong smiled, trying to lighten the mood with his usual antics. Yet he flattened, "But.. it really felt like it. "Until I was on a mission one day and I saw you again and you didn't know me, and I knew you didn't, but you drew me in all the same and well I fell in love with you all over again. And you fell in love with me and that cycle kind of repeated itself..."

𖤓 !! — Wukong paused, a small frown grew on his lips. He seemed hesitant to continue his train of thought yet he took in a deep breath and let it go. "Well, until you told me to stop with this mad chase. You had found all of past life you's memorabilia and pictures in that big closet of important things I own... and you told me to move on. "And you told me if I ever find you again in the future to not pursue a relationship with you because. . . well you didn't want to see me hurt."

𖤓 !! — But after all these lives, after all the time you have known Wukong, you should have known better that he couldn't keep his mind from you no matter how hard he tried. He hated being alone as much as he hated this horrible cycle he's put you through, yet still in every life he has chosen you above everyone else. He continued to choose you and you continued to choose him.

𖤓 !! — And, hey, that has to mean something. . . right?

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