yunalinwrites - Tumblr blog

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

one-on-one dance practice with abby + confession | abs saja/ur fav x idol!reader

scene summary: abby catches you late at night in the studio and helps you master your choreo. as he watches you move, he can't help but be moved himself--enough so that he can't hide his feelings for you anymore (based on this req for my ohshc-inspired series described below but can pretty much be read as a standalone. also think this could b read with any of the guys in mind, esp jinu ^o^)

series summary - saja boys' sixth member is... a girl?: in this story, you are pretending to be a boy. not just any boy--a saja boy. but what will you do when not even your fellow members--the ones you now share a dorm with--can find out you're actually a girl? stay tuned for more!! (heavily based on you're beautiful kdrama + ouran high school host club)

It was sometime in the evening, and Abs had forgotten his water bottle in the dance studio. He planned to just swing by and head back to the dorm to relax, but he was curious to find the lights to the studio still on, the floor thumping with bass notes, and the sound of rubber soles squeaking against the floor.

Pushing open the door, he found you in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, snapping your body to the song you had all been practicing earlier that day. Other than morning rehearsal, it was supposed to be your guys’ day off. But, based on your disheveled hair and empty water bottle next to his, he could tell you'd been here for hours since.

Your work seemed to have paid off; you looked amazing, hitting every move powerfully yet gracefully. Well, for the most part. The second you heard the beat signifying Abs’ verse, your foot gets caught on your other ankle, causing you to lose balance and land flat on your ass with a thud.

“Dammit,” you mutter, lying back on the floor and spreading your limbs like a starfish.

You take in the cool feeling of the lacquered wood panels against your sweaty skin, using one of your forearms to shield your eyes from the fluorescent lights above you.

“Still here?” a familiar deep voice asks you.

You laugh, exasperated, lifting your arm to peek at the familiar head of pink hair hovering over you before covering your face back up out of shame. “Please tell me you didn't see that.”

“Oh, don't worry, I didn't,” he jokes. “Definitely didn't see you put our choreographer to shame. All I saw was the part where you ate total shit.”

You roll over onto your stomach, smushing your cheek on the floor. “Ugh…” you groan.

“Hey, come on, the floor's dirty,” he scolds.

“Whatever. My shirt’s holding more sweat and stink than this floor has ever felt,” you contest.

“I ever tell you about the time Derpy pissed on my sneakers right before I walked in here?”

You shoot up immediately. “Abby! Gross!”

“I’m just playing with you,” he chuckles, crouching next to you. He unscrews his water bottle and passes it to you. “Here, since you lost so much sweating.”

You grab the bottle with a smirk and take a sip. When you wipe your mouth, he extends out his hand.

“What’s got you--the second verse?” he asks, his speech not even the slightest bit strained as he pulls you up with ease.

ou brush yourself off. “Yeah, I don't know. The footwork is tripping me up. Literally. Keep mixing it up with the sequence at the beginning…”

“Maybe get some rest,” he suggests. “You seem tired. There’s always tomorrow.”

“No!” you refuse sharply, not meaning to sound so harsh. “It's gonna keep me up if I don't get this right.”

“Plus,” you add, less bite this time, “Gwi-Ma's gonna, like, trap me in here if he sees me mess it up tomorrow morning.”

It's supposed to be funny, but even you have to force a smile at what is, at the end of the day, the truth. He knows this too, and his signature smirk is nowhere to be found. His brows furrow at the thought of you overexerting yourself.

“Fine,” he concedes, patting your shoulder. “But you're gonna let me help you.”

The next hour proves to be unexpectedly tense. It's quiet; instead of playing the track on the speaker, he sings it for you at a slower tempo, allowing you to break down the moves while he emphasizes the syllables on the downbeats.

Occasionally, he’ll stop to demonstrate the moves. Other times, it'll be to adjust your body. “It's more like this,” he'll say, gently pulling your arms or pushing your legs into place.

Soon enough, he goes from clapping the beat to keep you on tempo to applauding you with a spreading smile on his face.

“There you go,” he praises. Crossing his arms, he lets out another praise under his breath: "That's my girl..."

You're too busy celebrating to catch that last part.

“Ugh, yes! Finally” you cheer, jumping up and down. “W-woah…”

On your way down from another celebratory hop, you had landed weirdly and lost your balance. Before you can reconvene with the ground, you feel something--someone--sturdy wrap around you.

Abby was a good few feet beside you with his arms crossed, so you don't even register that he's behind you until you see him holding you up by your underarms, his forearms bulging in the mirror as they cross over your chest.

You laugh nervously. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you, taking a step back after helping you to your feet. “I'm… really proud of you.”

“Thanks,” you reply sheepishly, staring at your sneakers to try and hide your blush.

A large outstretched palm enters your vision. You look up at him.

“Call it a night?” he offers, his eyes seeming to plead with you.

You bite your cheek, considering it for a moment--not so much tempted by relaxation as you are by the opportunity to walk home with him.

“I…”

But, before you can surrender, you hear the echo of Gwi-Ma's voice in your head.

“I should probably try it to the music…”

You don't mention his name, but Abby acknowledges what you really mean with a solemn expression.

“You don't have to wait up on me,” you assure him.

“No,” he says firmly. “I'm staying.”

You smile. “Suit yourself.”

With a stretch of your back towards the ceiling and a long yawn, you turn on the speaker.

You've barely even gotten into position, but Abby is already watching you with awe. As the music crescendos, you're moving in time with the music with a confidence he couldn't even dream of. Your productless hair is sticking to itself and flopping everywhere, your stupid Saja Boys T-Shirt drowns your body, and you're covered in so much sweat that if it weren't for the smell, it was as if you'd just showered. But to Abby, it's the most beautiful show he's ever seen. It's a thousand times more elegant than any show of tutus and tippy toes you could offer him, and he never wants anyone else to see it.

When the song comes to a quiet, you're panting like a dog, but Abby is completely breathless. Not just in wonder, but something else--something unexpectedly bitter against the sweetness of the sight that puts a pit in his stomach.

You find his eyes in the reflection of the mirror and wait for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares at you with an expression you can't quite place–something between admiration and devastation.

“Abby…?”

You had shown him a perfect demonstration of muscle memory. It made sense–he'd seen the effort to build those reflexes with his very own eyes. But the way he approaches you–the way he grabs you by your waist and turns you to face him–has no such business feeling as familiar as it does. Even so, it can't help but come so naturally to lean into each other.

“Should--Should I do it again…?” you stutter, feeling yourself heat up underneath his touch.

He shakes his head, but there's still something sad in his eyes.

“Did I… do something… wrong?” you ask him.

“No, you… you're perfect. Just… keeping looking at me…”

His hands move upward, cradling your jaw as he leans his face closer to yours. His eyes flicker to your lips--his own just centimeters away–silently asking, begging for permission.

Even when you feel his warm breath ghost over you, your body shows no signs of protest; your eyelids are already drifting shut in expectation. But, albeit weakly, you still resist, not out of aversion but disbelief. “This isn't part of the choreo…”

"It's not,” he affirms.

“Then… what are you…”

His whole career flashes before his eyes–a career that he'd been able to keep because of his precise control over his muscles. The entirety of this painstaking job relied on his ability to puppet every part of himself like a marionette, pulling the strings of his calves to the beat, sucking in his six-pack for the camera, making his vocal cords hit frequencies with all but the mercy of a lozenge. But right now, in this moment, he can't maneuver even a single cell in his body to stop himself--not even the parts of him that know it's selfish, that it's rumors and scandals with your career on the line, too.

That withstanding, “I'm sorry,” is all he can whisper in reparations before he's crashing his lips onto yours.

It's so hungry--so depraved; you're melding against each other so desperately. It's the first time between the two of you, but the way you're pulling him closer by his shirt and he's backing you up against the mirror with his arms around the small of your back--you're savoring each other like it's your last; there's a mutual understanding that it very well could be.

There's another mutual understanding: the both of you have decided there's no need for air or water or food--just the other needing you. Nothing–not even your own lungs’ urgency for oxygen–can separate the two of you. Though, gravity makes a good attempt at it.

Just before you reach the wall with your back, you feel something round underneath your heel. You quickly pull away from him, almost slipping on the plastic crunching beneath you. Instinctively, you throw your hands around his neck as he tightens his hold around your waist.

The both of you catch your breath in heavy synchronised pants. You're still staring at the ground, where the empty plastic bottle had so rudely interrupted you.

“Look at me,” he tells you.

You realize you've spent the last few hours doing everything he said and wanted and yet, now that you were out of the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to do even that. Not with the way your cheeks were burning.

He grabs your chin and forces your gaze towards him. “Y/N.”

“We'll get in trouble if we're not back at the dorm soon,” you utter, but it's not necessarily a contest–it’s really nothing more than a statement with the way you're staring at his lips.

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “Y/N, if you’d let me–”

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes. Just do it. Make it quick,” you interject eagerly, pulling him closer.

He can't help but laugh, sending a rumble through both of you. “No, really, listen–Hear me out.”

“What is there to hear out about you?” you try joking, but your smile drops a bit at his uncharacteristic seriousness.

Gazing deeply into your eyes, he reaches around his neck and grabs your hand, holding it to his beating heart.

“I… I promise to protect you,” he tells you earnestly. “I don’t care about the fans. I don't care about any other godforsaken demon in the underworld. I don't even care what Gwi-Ma might do.”

He squeezes your hand tighter. “If anything--anyone tries to hurt you…”

“I promise I…”

He trails off, not even wanting to fathom the thought of something happening to you. Your eyes soften. He never finishes his sentence, but it isn't any less convincing. He pulls you closer into a hug, his mouth right by your ear.

“I know you don't need me. But I…”

He takes a shuddered deep breath.

“I need to be by your side…”

Pulling back, he holds your face and brings your foreheads together.

“Please. Let me be the one to catch you when you fall,” he whispers.

You bring your hands to cup his jaw. “Abby, that’s…”

Just as quickly, though, one of them leaves to cup your mouth. “...that's so corny,” you laugh.

He smirks. “Yeah, but it's working. I can feel you falling for me right now.”

He tries pulling you up towards him, but you push his face away playfully. “That's me slumping because I'm so tired of you.”

“Ah! Abby!” You swat at his chest as, before you know it, he's lifting you bridal-style.

He gives you a swift peck. “You don't mean that.”

“I don't,” you giggle.

As he carries you out through the door, you let your head rest on his shoulder, giving him the perfect position to plant another quick kiss on your forehead. It's the first time you're seeing outside of the dance studio in more than eight hours, an unfortunate reality for the both of you.

Placing your hand back on his heart, you say one more thing before letting your exhaustion take over.

“Abby?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I promise to protect you, too.”

***

this pacing kinda stinks now that i read it all together im sorry im a first draft warrior always </3

i have other ideas in mind for one-on-one rehearsal + confession for the other guys but i thought id upload this one first to give myself a bit of time cuz i can already feel myself burning out LMAO

but can u tell abs is a veryyyy close second fav to jinu :3 sometimes I think I like him better...

masterlist

tags (open ^o^): @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985 @feelya @doodle-with-rhy @fries11 @katzline @iivantablackii @mysteris-things @maybeethan69

229 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

HOLY MOLY 104 FOLLOWERS ?!?!?!?! AHHHH OMG OMG OMG

thank u all sm 🥹🥹🥹 im so happy i never thought id get here

6 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

I LOVE HER my bias 4eva 🫰

man zoey's just too damn real

6K notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

oh my goodness gracious 88 followers ?!?!?! im gonna kiss u all on the mouth mwah

2 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Note

hiiii! can we see the saja boys react to a reader wearing girl clothes? like they caught them at midnight or something getting snacks & they see them in a cute outfit? totally ok if you dont wanna do it

YES I WNTED TO WRITE THIS ONE SO BAD here u go lovely :3

79 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

saja boys' sixth member is... a girl ? - first time seeing you in girly clothes | saja boys x reader

series summary: in this story, you are pretending to be a boy. not just any boy--a saja boy. but what will you do when not even your fellow members--the ones you now share a dorm with--can find out you're actually a girl? stay tuned for more!! (heavily based on you're beautiful kdrama + ouran high school host club)

scene summary: after having always seen you a boy, seeing you in your true form has them feeling some type of way… (lots of possessiveness + a teensy weensy bit of suggestiveness) / based on this req

It was a hot summer midnight in the Saja Boys’ dorm and you couldn't sleep. Between the faulty AC and the release of your guys’ new album coming soon, you found yourself restlessly tossing and turning.

At this point, you'd already come clean to the boys about how you're actually a girl, so you figured it wouldn't hurt to start wearing your more feminine pajamas. After all, if you had to constantly be playing the part of a boy during the day, you could at least stay in touch with your feminine side during the night. Although, it didn't occur to you that none of your roommates had actually seen you in your true form…

💪 Abs caught you on your way out of the convenience store. You had a craving for rice balls, so you threw on a cropped tank top and pajama pants and ran to the nearest corner store. It seems like you weren't the only one, though; just before you reached the exit–a bag-ful of goodies in your hand–the doors slid open with a chime.

“Abby?”

In front of you was none other than your pink-haired roommate, also wearing pajama pants and slides. On top of that–though he wasn't matching crop tops with you today–he had on a Saja Boys hoodie that somehow did little to conceal his muscles.

“Y/N?” he said.

“Abby!” you exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I was on a jog and I got thirsty.” He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie which--unbeknownst to you–was his “lying tic”. What actually happened is that he noticed you sneaking out late and, in order to make sure you were safe, followed you all the way here.

It was dark out, though, so he hadn't really seen you in the light. Until now, where the store’s flickering fluorescent light was shining on you.

To him, it was a beam from the heavens. You weren't wearing a binder--or a bra for that matter--to conceal your chest, and the crop top put the rest of your figure on display. And even though your face wasn't much different in the same sense, your outfit gave it a completely new context that he couldn't look in the eye without blood rushing to his cheeks… and elsewhere…

“You were on a jog at midnight…?” you questioned.

“Uh--yeah. I, uh… do midnight jogs. Along with my morning jogs. And also… afternoon jogs.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, not-so-subtly flexing with a cross of his arms.

You giggle. “Ah, I see. So that's your secret to a six pack?” With his hands out of his hoodie pocket, you take the opportunity to poke playfully at his abs.

At that, his face turns even pinker than his hair.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone,” you promise with a wink, bringing your pointer finger to your mouth in a shushing motion.

He doesn't say anything--which you don't realize is because he's still too occupied with taking you all in–so you take it as your cue to leave.

“I should probably go now,” you say. “Make sure you stay hydrated on your… midnight jog…”

“Wait–” he objects, grabbing your wrist just as you make it through the sliding doors. He looks you in the eye with a serious gaze, but the words struggle to come out.

For a second, neither of you make a move, blinking at each other in silence. Before either of you can come up with something to say, you’re suddenly distracted by the feeling of something cold hitting your shoulder. Using it as an escape from his heated gaze, you take your eyes off of him. Looking up to the sky, you hold your palm out to the falling water droplets.

Suddenly, you feel your other hand being pulled. Before you know it, you're moving away from the rain and your face is colliding with his warm chest, his scent filling your nostrils.

“You should've told me you were going out,” he murmurs, his chest rumbling beneath your burning cheeks.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest. Given his stature as an athlete, you expect his heartbeat to be slower. But, what you hear and feel beneath your ear seems to be thumping synchronously with yours–maybe even more rapid.

“Everyone was asleep…” you manage to respond, a little muffled as you try not to be obvious about the way you're burying yourself into him.

He, on the other hand, doesn't care about being conspicuous. He hugs you a little tighter. “Tell me next time.”

You bite your cheek, now letting yourself snuggle into him without shame. “Okay,” is all you can get yourself to whisper.

You stay like that for a little longer--which is a little strange to the cashier--but you don't care. Even if you wanted to move, the firm embrace he has around the small of your back wouldn't allow it. Eventually, though, you work up a bit more courage to pull back enough to look up at him and ask something.

“Hey, Abby… what’s in your pocket?” you ask with wide eyes. This whole time, you had been feeling something hard, long, and cylindrical in between the two of you.

“Oh,” he says. He takes an arm off of your back to slide it out. “You know, you should at least check the weather before you go out.”

It's a Saja Boys branded umbrella. What did you think it was?

He slowly lets go of you, grabbing your shopping bag and stepping into the outdoors to open the umbrella. Then, he looks back at you expectantly.

You smile. “Thank you,” you say, catching up with him.

As you begin to walk back in the direction of the dorm, you can't help but form another question: “Can I ask you something?”

He swallows nervously. “What is it?”

“If you knew it was going to rain… why did you go out on your ‘midnight jog’?” you ask.

He just smirks, looking down at you.

“That's my secret.”

💐 Romance had caught you on your way to the bathroom. You had stayed up watching make-up tutorials all night, which made you miss doing a proper face. You still wore makeup for performances and shoots and such, but it was mostly just contour and eyebrow pomade to make you look more manly. So, you decided to do a little pre-shower look before you went to bed.

It felt a little weird to get dolled up with no destination, but screw it. You even put on a cute little nightgown to match. You never thought you'd describe glitter eyeshadow and tinted lip gloss as “refreshing,” but it really did feel nice to look like a girl again. Who knew you would miss eyeliner and mascara so much?

Sitting at your vanity, you yawned with a stretch, already feeling your falsies come off--now that was something you didn't miss. So, you got up and began to tip-toe towards the bathroom.

You didn't expect anyone else to be up at this hour, so it scared you half to death when you saw a familiar head of pink hair emerge from the shared bathroom.

“Y/N?”

There shouldn't have been anything scary about your roommate in a T-Shirt and sweatpants, but you still had to cup your hand over your mouth to stop a scream from forming. Instinctively, you pull it back when you feel something sticky; the lip gloss formed a kiss mark on your palm. You feel your cheeks burn, suddenly realizing what you look like right now.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Romance asked curiously.

You stare down at your bunny slippers. “Um… yeah…” you admit sheepishly.

The nightgown itself was revealing enough, but somehow covering your face like this made you feel even more exposed. You prayed he wasn't seeing too clearly given that all the lights in the house were off.

Before you can take a step back, he switches on the bathroom light and grabs your wrist.

“Come to the light so I can see you,” he tells you calmly, the dim glow coming through the doorway illuminating his soft smile.

Reluctantly, you step forward as he pulls you into the bathroom. Taking your chin in his hand and tilting your face side to side, he observes you carefully.

“Pretty,” he comments. He steps back, taking in the sight of all of you. His eyes trace the lace adorning your collarbone. The heat of his stare makes your cheeks flush bright pink--no product needed. “You should wear lip gloss more often.”

You bite your lip again. “Oh, I…” You laugh nervously. “You know I can't.”

“You can do it for our next concept,” he suggested, referring to the softer direction the Saja Boys were going to take for your next album. “Tell the makeup artists.”

“Or,” he began, grabbing your chin and pulling your face impossibly closer to his, brushing his thumb over your lips. “You can borrow some from me.”

He has you pinned against the sink, your back against the counter. You stare up at him through your lashes, fluttering them innocently… until one of them falls off.

“I-I should probably take this off now…” you stutter.

You quickly turn around to face the mirror, trying not to look at him in your reflection. You try to keep your gaze downward, on the sink as you reach for your makeup wipes. But, as you do, you feel a hand instead of the plastic packaging.

He picks up the package and peels it open, the crinkling sound the only thing breaking the thick silence between you.

“Let me do it,” he instructs gently, grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face him. “Sit on the counter.”

You blink at him, the other eyelash falling off. “Oh… Um… Okay…”

You prop yourself up on the counter and allow him to slot himself between your legs. With the wipe in one hand, he tenderly holds your face in place with the other and begins to remove your makeup.

“Am I being too harsh?” he asks.

“N-no, that's ok…”

You sit in silence, staring at the floor and doing your best to focus on the cooling sensation. Every once in a while you look up, and each time he never fails to lock eyes with you. You hope he can't feel your face getting warmer through the wipe.

“What I said earlier…” he starts, slowing down over your lips. “You look good in any makeup.”

He tosses the wipe in the nearby wastebasket and returns, placing his palms on either side of you on the counter and leaning towards you. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and then back up to your eyes.

“Without it, too.”

He leans even closer, and once again, your faces are inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the warmth of his breath. He seems to only be getting closer and closer so you let your eyes drift shut, leaning forward like its second nature, and then–

You feel something fuzzy slip over your head. You open your eyes. Around your neck is a fluffy pink headband with two red plush hearts on it like animal ears. He pushes it up, onto your head, tucking stray hairs behind his ear.

He puts on one of his own–just like yours but with inverted colors–and reaches behind you again.

“Should we do aloe?” he asks, re-emerging with two kinds of sheet masks: one green, and the other pink. “Or rose?”

You take a second to process what just happened. “Um… rose…”

He smiles. “Good choice.”

He rips the top of one of the packages and places it delicately on your face. Then, he does the same for himself, moving away from you to use the mirror.

You watch him beside you. Even through the glistening pink mask, you're desperate to find his eyes. As the two of you wait for the serums to settle into your skin, you don’t realize how hard you’re staring.

“Do I look funny?” he jokes when he catches your gaze.

For a second you take your mind off your pounding heart to laugh. “Y-yeah, a little.”

He chuckles, finding his way back between your legs. After discarding his mask, he slowly peels off yours, inch by inch, as if he’s received a present so precious he wants to cherish its unwrapping.

When he finally sees your face, bare in its truest form, he does all that he can to commit the image to memory. It’s funny, this is probably the part of you that he saw the most–whether it be in recording studios or dance rehearsals or songwriting sessions, you never had so much as a dab of powder on your nose. But somehow, you feel like he’s seeing you for the very first time, and he’s savoring it like it’s the last.

You feel yourself heating up again, so you try to break the silence. “Do… I look funny?” you ask, eyes darting back and forth between his.

He shakes his head with the lightest of laughs.

“You look beautiful.”

🍼 You knew Baby was awake--you could hear him tapping away intensely on his gaming keyboard from your room as you changed into your cami and shorts. He seemed very engrossed in whatever he was playing, shouting heated insults into the mic of his headset as you passed by his room. So, as you were standing in front of the fridge trying to enjoy the cold air wafting over you, it scared you half to death when you felt your tank top strap snap against your back.

You shriek and whip around.

“Hey,” he says casually, hooking the strap under his finger again and letting it smack your collarbone. “What’s up?”

“‘Hey’ yourself,” you mutter, rubbing the spot. “I'm up because someone can't keep it down when he's playing ranked.”

You turn back around to the fridge with a huff, but you notice that the last can of Saja Soda Pop™ is gone. “Hey! How did you–”

“Quick hands.”

You crane your neck to glare at him, but your eyes instinctively drop downwards at the sight of skin. He’s using the hem of his T-Shirt to clean off the top of the can, revealing his lower abdomen. Through his open zip up and beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, you can see the brand name of his boxers.

Trying to ignore the sight, you force your eyes back to his face and lunge towards him, but he’s two steps ahead, and about half a foot above you. He looks down at you with a smug expression as he holds it up, out of your reach. You get on your tippy toes and reach towards it, your chest beginning to press on his.

“Ugh!” You retreat and cross your arms, giving up with a pout. He cracks it open and throws it back without shame. One hand gives you the finger, and in the other, you see his stupid face plastered on the bright pink can: “Baby's Blue Raspberry”.

“Whatever… “ you mumble, attempting not to focus on the way his Adam's apple bobs with every gulp. “Romance's flavor is better anyway. ‘Lychee Love Potion’ outdoes yours by a longshot.”

He finishes drinking with a swallow and a deep exhale, his expression growing uncharacteristically serious. He looks you dead in the eye, unamused, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He keeps that eye contact as, without a word, he holds the can to your lips.

Before you can protest, he tilts it, forcing you to drink as you stare up at him, wide eyed. When the can empties, he pulls it back and uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your lips.

He leaves you dumbfounded as he goes to toss the can in the recycling.

As he makes his way back, you're finally about to stutter something out–until you're interrupted by his scent suddenly overwhelming you.

“Don't dress like this around the house,” he instructs, draping his hoodie around your shoulders. “‘Specially not around Romance.”

Your jaw hangs open as he then takes his phone out of his pant pocket and begins heading out of the kitchen. You watch his back in awe as he types away on it, acting as if nothing happened.

He's already halfway up the stairs by the time you shake yourself out of it and call after him.

“It's hot out, you know…” you protest weakly, contradicting the way you're pulling the hoodie around yourself. You try to put some bite into your voice. “I'm gonna, like, die of a heat stroke and it'll be all your fault.”

He looks down at you again from above the stair railing, wearing that stupid smug face again.

“There's a fan in my room,” he states matter-of-factly, resuming his walk up the stairs.

“When you come return my hoodie,” he starts, “you can wear whatever you want in there.”

❓ Mystery’s always had a strong nose. His sight is constantly dampened by his signature hairstyle, and as a result, his other senses have become strengthened. So, the chemical scent was particularly unpleasant to him--enough so to get out of bed to investigate.

Following the harsh odor through the hallway, he found himself in front of your bedroom door. The main light wasn’t on, but enough of a glow seeped through the cracks of the closed door to indicate you were awake; a lamp, maybe. Wanting to confirm this theory, he raised his knuckle just under the pastel sticky note with your charming handwriting and followed its instructions: “Please knock! - Y/N”

He stepped back, anticipating a greeting. But, even after a few minutes, the only response that would break the silence was the occasional clink of glass from behind the door.

Now, he knew it was rude to come in. Especially at this hour, when you certainly weren’t expecting anyone, he considered. He also considered that you might not be decent. But, his curiosity got the best of him, and he figured he did technically follow the instructions the note had given him. So, he reached for the door handle.

He was met with the sight of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on your desk chair in an off-the-shouldee T-Shirt and shorts, elbows planted on the table, hands tasked with something he couldn't quite make out; the only lighting was a desk lamp–his theory was correct. What he could make out, though, was the thumping of the bass from your headphones. You hadn't noticed him yet, so he approached you, watching closely over your shoulder.

Your hands were trembling, your dominant one shaking a nail polish brush over the thumb of the other. You had your tongue peeking out and one eye shut, trying your hardest to guide the bristles above your cuticle.

Mystery took a small step back. So, that’s what it was. His one late night curiosity had been solved, and he should’ve been satisfied enough to go back to bed. But, in its place formed another: how long would it take you to notice him?

It looked like you had managed to make a shoddy swipe over your nail bed, which allowed you to start breathing again. Taking that as his window to approach you, he took a slow and quiet step forward. It was only when you went to dip the brush back into the bottle that you caught him out of the corner of your eye.

Well, it didn't register as him at first. It seems late night delirium, dim lighting, and Mystery’s hairstyle are not a good combination.

“Ah!”

You knock over the polish bottle as you flinch.

“Shit…” you mutter, frantically setting it right back up. You let out a sigh of relief--you caught it before it was able to spill.

After returning the brush to the bottle, you move to take your headphones off, but--out of consideration for your wet nails--it isn't easy to do with just your palms. You struggle, the plastic slipping against your sweat, until you feel another set of hands cover yours. They're warm and careful as they move your hands out of the way, and still equally as gentle when they remove your headphones and place them on the desk.

You bit your lip as he stepped away to pick up an ottoman from the opposite corner of the room and set it beside you. The seat is much shorter than yours, but given his usually impressive height, it only lowers him to eye-level with you. Perfectly aligned with the light emanating from your desk lamp, he is no longer whatever apparition or monster you were imagining before; his features are softer than ever as you’re now able to see his smile more closely than ever before.

He also takes advantage of this vicinity. Whatever hairs were messed up by your headphones he strokes back into place. Tucking the strays behind your ear, he reaches over you and grabs a hair clip from the flower-shaped dish on your desk. He takes the bow he picked out in both hands and tilts it back and forth in the light. Smiling in satisfaction, he has to control his excitement as he pins your bangs back.

All you can do is stare at him in awe, your lips parted.

“Mystery…” you whisper.

He waves back at you, as if to say, “That's me.”

“Why are you here? Did I wake you?” you ask worriedly.

He points to the nail polish, and then to his nose.

“Oh… I'm sorry…” You trail off sheepishly. You reach to scratch the back of your neck out of nervousness but quickly retract your hand, remembering the state it's in.

He just shakes his head with a smile. “It's okay.”

He holds his hand out to you. You blink at him in confusion.

“Give me your hand,” he says, softly but aloud nonetheless.

“O-oh,” you stutter, hesitantly doing as he says.

Just like with the bow, he tilts your hand back and forth and smiles to himself. The color you had chosen was a translucent pink; as the bottle advertised, “Your nails but better!™”

Wearing nail polish was nothing out of the ordinary for all of you--so much so that the marketing team had released your own line of “Saja Sparkling Nail Lacquer™” for the “Lovely lion claws™” of “the Pride™” . Right now, in fact, Mystery had on his very own shade of magenta, courtesy of the cosmetics team's nail tech.

He'd seen much more elaborate designs--and much neater designs--done on his own fingertips. So, on paper, he shouldn't be impressed by the shaky brushstrokes of a simple clear pink. But on your hand--on the soft hand he was holding and never wanted to let go–there was something endearing. It wasn't something you’d get at a salon--it was more like the result of a girl's sleepover or hours at a vanity before a date. That image in his mind alone meant more to him than all the years that lady had spent at beauty school.

Though he himself had no such certifications either, he reached for the cap of the nail polish bottle. Bringing your hand closer to him, he began to sweep the brush over each nail.

You watched in awe as, with all ten fingers, he dipped the brush in the liquid and smoothed it over your fingers meticulously, holding your hand close to his face. With every replenishing of the brush, he would back up a bit, but when he resumed painting, you could feel his breath on your knuckles.

You feel it even harder after he finishes, blowing gently on your nails. It probably isn’t doing much to dry them given how hot and humid it’s been lately, but, contrary to the cool air he lets out, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks burn.

With a third, final exhalation, he retracts his hold. Without realizing it, you leave your hand hanging in the air, right where he’d left it. Your body seemed to know what your mind didn’t have the courage to say: you weren’t ready for him to go yet.

But then, just as quick as his touch had left, it returned as he slid his palm under yours and pushed it so your hands were upright, like a high-five. He couldn’t help but breathe out of his nose a brief chuckle at how your fingertips came up a full joint shorter than his.

You hoped he couldn’t feel the way you were trembling right now–prayed that he wasn’t grossed out by how clammy your hands were getting. But he didn’t seem to care, and you didn’t have any thoughts left to think, when, slowly, he curled his fingers until his hand engulfed yours.

You bit your lip. You could feel his pulse under your touch, calm and steady, and you were sure he could feel yours thumping at twice the pace. But, despite your nervousness, you let yourself copy him, slowly lowering your fingertips until they slotted perfectly in between his knuckles.

On the back of your hand, you saw his beautiful pianist-like fingers resting. His flawless manicure wasn’t even a millimeter overgrown–filed unfathomably symmetrical, cuticles pushed back out of sight, and surface perfectly glossy, the light reflecting without obstruction. Meanwhile, on the back of his hand, he saw that, even with his and your best efforts, there were stray splotches of pigment here and there on your skin. In some places–where the light hit your nail beds wrong–there were unblended brushstrokes.

There was no competition. It was clear which one he preferred.

He squeezed your hand playfully. “Do mine next time.”

✨ “Jinu… Jinu, wake up. You shouldn’t fall asleep on the couch, you old man.”

With his arm over the back of the couch and his knees spread open, he continued to snore–a sound so loud it rendered the TV in front of him inaudible. You sigh, wondering how Derpy and Susie were able to stay snuggled up against him on that throw pillow. Really, with the drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth, it was comical how un-Saja-like this was–save for the lion’s roar that escaped him with every exhale.

You shake his shoulder. “C’mon, Jinu. I don’t want to hear about your back problems in the morning.”

“Hrrrgghh, shhhh… Mmm… Huh… Huh…?”

You watch as he goes from snoring to murmuring to mumbling and then… shrieking.

“Ahh! Intruder! Intruder! Derpy, there’s an intruder!”

Desperately, he yanks on the poor tiger’s blue fur. Derpy wakes up, but doesn’t share the same urgency. He recognizes your scent, so he opens his glowing eyes halfway only to side-glare at Jinu before drifting back to sleep.

“Y/N…?” he finally realizes.

You don’t respond. You just sigh and cross your arms. Unintentionally, you push your breasts up a bit as you do. You don’t notice but, as he continues to register what he’s looking at, he definitely does.

“Wh… what are you wearing…” he trails off.

Quickly, he darts his eyes somewhere else–anywhere else. Your satin button up and shorts set isn’t really by any means indecent, but he feels his cheeks get hotter with guilt for every second he stares. He turns his face away, but let's face it–at any angle, he’s red as an apple.

“What? Four hundred years and you haven’t seen a PJ set?” you retort.

You put your hands on your hips and weight on one leg, striking a sassy pose. “You might be, like, a gajillion years old, but you’re not my dad. I’ll wear what I like, especially when it’s hot.”

“R-right,” he agrees, not realizing you were referring to the weather.

“What are you watching, anyway?” you ask, turning around to the screen. “Oh, wait! I know this show. This is a good episode…”

You start going on about characters… or something–he feels bad for not listening, he really does, but he can’t help it. He hasn’t the slightest clue of what you’re talking about; he fell asleep in the first ten minutes of watching. It’s an easy fix; if he really wanted to, he could look at the screen and find enough context clues to put together a response. But then, he’d have to take his eyes off the real show in front of him.

The dim glow of the TV lights you up from behind like you’re an angel greeting him at the gates of heaven–something he thought he’d never see. He follows the glow around the edge of your silhouette, slowing down from the hem of your shorts to your waistband. He’s really not trying to make it pervy, he swears, but he still burns with shame–though, the feeling is somehow different than the sharp purple patterns Gwi-Ma sends through him; it has quite the pleasant side to it.

When his eyes reach the back of your head, he decides that’s the most respectful place he can rest them. It’s not any less of a sight than the rest of you–your hair has grown out a bit ever since your DIY pixie cut, enough so for you to tie the teeniest little ponytail to try and beat the heat. As it sprouts from the colorful little scrunchie, it reminds him of a pointed paintbrush. But in this form, he thinks, you should be a framed painting.

He’s snapped out of his trance when he feels the weight of the couch shift; Derpy crawls off the couch with Susie on his back, meowing a farewell.

“Get a room,” he seems to say.

Frantically, before you’re able to turn around, Jinu grabs the cushion they were on and holds it over his lap.

“Good night, Derpy. Good night, Susie,” you say with a wave. You turn back to the couch, making eye contact with Jinu.

“Sorry. I’m blocking your view, huh?” You apologize nervously, your eyes taking refuge on the empty spot Derpy left. You plop down next to Jinu, his arm still around the back of the couch behind you. But while you keep your eyes on the screen, he keeps his eyes on you.

“Wow… what a beautiful dress,” you comment, pointing at the wedding scene before you. “I wish I could wear something like that…

“Me too,” Jinu whispers, watching the way your eyes light up when you see it, lined by lashes he never realized were so long.

He flinches backwards a bit when you turn to him with a smirk. “I don’t think they make those in your size,” you joke. “Not if you’re eating enough for you and Derpy and Susie,” you say, gesturing to the empty family-sized bag of Saja’s Mild Spicy Shrimp Chips™.

“Th-that’s not what I–” he stutters, hoping you didn’t catch onto his stare. “Ugh, just shut up and watch.”

He feels you vibrate through your touching knees and shoulders as you laugh. “Okay, okay,” you surrender.

The both of you return your gazes to the screen. Jinu has to employ every muscle and nerve in his body to keep his head facing straight ahead and his mind on the plot. But a few minutes later, just as he thinks he’s able to squeeze out that last thought of the flowy satin draping over you, his aforementioned nerves detect an unexpected weight and warmth on his shoulder.

He looks down and finds your cheek smushed up against his shoulder; his ears–their tips now pink–pick up the most hushed of snores drifting from your plush lips. He thanks the stars above that your eyes are shut–putting your soft lashes on full display now–because now you can’t see how he’s blushing even harder than before.

He instinctively lifts the arm resting behind you, but just before it reaches your shoulder to shake you awake, he stops it above your head. It’s as if his muscles have a mind of their own–he tells himself–as his hand slowly lowers to your hair and begins to stroke it gently.

He immediately tenses up when he feels you stir, freaking out briefly until you snuggle closer to his chest. He lets out a deep breath of relief, but takes in a few more; he needs to slow down his pounding heartbeat right now, or else you might wake up, he worries.

When it’s as steady as he can get it, he lets his lungs go on autopilot. But, even so, he’s suddenly very aware of his body. He knows he’s not a lion, and he knows he’s not a tiger or bird. But, tonight, he doesn’t feel like a demon. Somehow, he feels strangely human. And he’s suddenly aware that he’s a man, and you’re a woman. And you are much smaller than him.

He takes his hand off of your head for a moment to pull slightly at the back collar of your shirt. Before the satin slips between his fingers, he’s able to catch the size on the label.

He’s an old man, as you like to tease him, so he’ll probably forget by the time he wakes up. But still, he leans his head on you and lets his eyes drift shut without a worry.

He’ll remember, he promises–and he hopes you can somehow hear that promise telepathically when his head meets yours.

He’ll remember when he buys you that dress.

***

erm idk how to feel cuz i kinda like what i wrote but i also somehow feel like i didnt go in the right direction in terms of whats expected from the prompt?? idk also sorry jinu's and baby's aren't the most developed i just wanted to get this out cuz it was taking so longggg

jinu is my fav but i struggle to write him :(

but anyways im so excited this was my first req ever so ty ty ty anon i luv u guys im gonna try to work on the other req i have asap but plz b patient w me :') dont b afraid to send in more req tho tee hee

masterlist

tags (open ^o^): @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985 @feelya @doodle-with-rhy @fries11 @katzline @iivantablackii

1K notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

HI MY DARLINGS IF U SENT IN A REQUEST THANK U SO MUCH I LOVE U ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ IVE NEVER GOTTEN REQUESTS B4 AHHH

ILL B A BIT BUSY THE NEXT FEW DAYS BUT I WILL GET TO THEM ASAP !!!!!!

saja boys' sixth member is... a girl ? - scenario prompt ideas | saja boys x reader

post summary: what scenes do u guys want me to write :3

ik my last post (the prologue) suggested a larger, more fleshed out story for this series with an actual connecting plot, but I might just post little scenarios like this for the most part to keep it snappy :) skip the plot for the juicy parts yk 😈 butttt plz lmk what u prefer bc i do have ideas for the bigger picture i just wanna keep u guys entertained 💔

masterlist

tags ^o^: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985

108 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

saja boys' sixth member is... a girl ? - first meeting/moving in | saja boys x reader

You arrive at the Saja Boys’ dorm. As soon as you open the front door, you're greeted by five handsome men–your future roommates.

Y/N: Um… hello everyone. I’m Y/N. I look forward to working with you. *bowing politely*

Jinu: Y/N? Isn't that a girl’s name?

Y/N, realizing she already messed up: I-it’s just a nickname! I mean… *gesturing to Abs* they call him Abby, don't they?

Abs: Dude… she's kinda got a point…

❓ Mystery sniffs you. Two short bursts of inhalation–exactly like how you'd expect out of the wet nose of a dog. You flinch backwards, but after that, he seems to let down his guard. When he reaches out his hand to shake yours, he makes sure not to grip too tightly. His smile is warm, but you feel like even behind his bangs, he can see right through you…

💪 Abs takes no such precautions. He enthusiastically goes in to dap you up, yelling, “Welcome to the team, bro!”. The force of his hand against yours is nearly enough to send you tumbling. “Shit, my bad…” Immediately wants to take you on as his fitness-fixer-upper (i.e. he's scanning you and mentally building protein recipes and workout routines). You make note to not piss him off…

🍼 Baby isn’t rude per say, but he just figured everyone else makes up for his lack of enthusiasm. When he sees you, he looks up from his Switch for a second, and when his bubblegum pops, all he says is “‘Sup.” Doesn't even take off his headphones or wait for a response. Heads to the nearby couch and goes right back to his game. What a warm welcome…

💐 Romance greets you with a smile and immediately starts taking your stuff to your room. He offers to help you unpack, but you assure him it's fine; you don't want him to find anything incriminating but he keeps insisting. When you finally spell it out to him that you want to keep your belongings… private, he just says, “Ah, I see.” and smiles knowingly. You wonder what he thought you meant…

✨ Jinu you had met before you moved in; he had overseen your “audition” of sorts. Now that he's your leader, he tries to put on a tough guy front and is all like “Don’t forget we have rehearsal at 8 am sharp” or “This is my room. Keep out.” It convinces you for the most part, but you can't help but giggle when he tells you “not to leave food out, or else Derpy and Susie will start bouncing off the walls.” It gets even harder to take him seriously when he starts getting particular about what belongs to him in the fridge (DO NOT TOUCH!) and whose slippers are whose. You immediately straighten up when he threatens to quiz you on it, though.

And that’s the other thing–as if the five boys didn’t occupy the space enough, there’s also the giant tiger and the skeptical bird, neither of which seem to have any enclosures. Though, they are quite cute and somehow less threatening than your other roommates.

The rest of them retreat to their own rooms, leaving Jinu to give you the tour of the biggest, most beautiful compound you've ever seen. There's a fully stocked kitchen, a cozy living room, and state of the art bathrooms. Lining the exterior are floor to ceiling windows, a balcony, and a beautiful view of the city.

Once again, Jinu appears much less intimidating when he nearly slips on an empty Saja Boys™ Soda. As he leads you up the stairs to the bedrooms, you swear you hear him curse Baby under his breath.

Thankfully you get your own bedroom. Although, you can't rest too easy since all of your rooms are joined by the same hall. Yours is right next to [your fav]’s. Despite being the smallest out of everyone's (it used to be the guest room) no one can deny that it's massive. There's a king sized bed, plenty of closet space, and a desk waiting to be used. The only thing you would've liked is a private bathroom, but given everything else this place has to offer, you decide to just be grateful you get to live here at all.

Still, as you would come to find out, none of the amenities here made your life living with the boys any easier.

***

this kinda sucks but I luv u anyway. there are better scenario prompts that I plan to do that u can see here so plz lmk which ones u wanna see !!!!

masterlist

tags ^o^: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985

#fanfic #jinu #jinu kpdh #jinu x reader #kpdh #kpdh abby #kpdh baby #kpdh fanfic #kpdh mystery #kpdh romance #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja baby #saja boys x reader #baby saja #mystery saja #saja boys #romance saja

345 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

saja boys' sixth member is... a girl ? - scenario prompt ideas | saja boys x reader

post summary: what scenes do u guys want me to write :3

masterlist

tags ^o^: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985

#fanfic #jinu #jinu kpdh #jinu x reader #kpdh #kpdh abby #kpdh baby #kpdh fanfic #kpdh mystery #kpdh romance #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #saja boys #saja baby #mystery saja #baby saja #romance saja

108 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

masterlist of mediocrity

i love fanfiction i love making things up

kpop demon hunters

- SERIES: saja boys' newest member is... a girl? | you're beautiful/ouran high school host club inspired au | saja boys x reader

* story:

prologue

* scenarios:

scenario prompt ideas (request ur favs!)

how they discover you're a girl and their reactions

first meeting/moving in

first time seeing you in girly clothes

one-on-one dance practice + confession w/ abby

jjk

- kids on christmas eve | gojo x reader

- saved by the bell series masterlist | toji x reader

- misc fic ideas

thank u I love u all

71 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

saja boys' sixth member is... a girl ? - prologue | saja boys x reader

series summary: in this story, you are pretending to be a boy. not just any boy--a saja boy. but what will you do when not even your fellow members--the ones you now share a dorm with--can find out you're actually a girl? stay tuned for more!! (heavily based on a kdrama called you're beautiful + ouran high school host club)

this part is mostly exposition w no romance to set up for a larger plot (i wanted to stay loyal to the source material, meaning i started from the beginning) in the form of an awfully formatted screenplay but if you would like to skip to something more juicy, here are some hcs on how the boys would discover your secret and react :) also will probably get into the real stuff next chapter which may include reader moving in with and meeting the guys !!!! anyways enjoy

thank u thank u for reading my luvs. honestly not totally committed to continuing or finishing this but plz lmk if u want me to !!!!!

hope you enjoyed and thank you for the support on the previous post :) really means a lot to me!

especially @ch1cky-093 ^o^ you made my day when u asked to b tagged :)

masterlist

386 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

guys i might b 6 pages into a google doc about this teehee :3 stay tuned maybe hope it isnt garbage or else i actually wont post :(

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

#jinu x reader #kpdh #jinu kpdh #kpop demon hunters #jinu #kpdh x reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #fanfic #kpdh fanfic #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh romance #kpdh abby #kpdh mystery #kpdh baby

1K notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 month ago

Text

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

UPDATE !!! PROLOGUE OUT NOW 🤑

also masterlist

#jinu x reader #kpdh #jinu kpdh #jinu #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #fanfic #kpdh fanfic #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh romance #kpdh abby #kpdh mystery #kpdh baby #kpdh bobby #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 year ago

Text

jjk fics i'll never write (but maybe you will!)

i have a bunch of fic ideas i dont think i'll ever get to bc saved by the bell is taking rlly long and i don't have a lot of time (╥﹏╥)

i still wanna see them come to life tho so i think im just gonna throw them out there for anyone who wants to use lol

idk maybe ill write these eventually but even in that case im not gonna stop anyone else from using them as well

go ahead and alter however u like, but tag me if u use!! im letting u peek in my brain >:)

and even if ur not a writer these can just b like imagination prompts for when u go to bed LMAO

"love is work" - nanami kento x reader

summary: title is self-explanatory tbh--the idea that nanami kento views love as work could be applied to any scenario. but, i think it would be interesting for the reader to be the person he meets at the bakery. maybe the bakery is a family business, so the reader's work is literally driven by familial love. although, im not sure if that means they agree or disagree with nanami about love being work.

alternatively, the reader could be a co-worker of nanami's.

conflicts/themes:

serving oneself vs. serving others

what makes love/work worth it?

"meet cute" - fushiguro megumi x reader

there are so many canon strangers to lovers opportunities with megumi lol.

like, being the person "hitting on" (asking for directions from) fushiguro during that one juju stroll.

or the person getting robbed and saved by the 1st year crew, also from juju stroll. (also applicable for yuji and nobara x reader)

there's also the light novel chapter where megumi and yuji stalk gojo at a maid cafe, so maybe the reader works at the maid cafe, and the very stoic but handsome megumi catches their eye. this scenario could also be applicable to yuji x reader or gojo x reader.

there's also an original scenario i was thinking of cuz megumi likes reading (specifically non fiction) so what if the reader was a worker at a book store or a librarian. maybe they know about sorcery already because they read a non-fic book about it and recognize his uniform when he walks in.

also i haven't seen a megumi x tsumiki's friend!reader, esp considering that one girl when tsumiki is confronting megumi about bullying lol. this one could have an interesting conflict bc that girl urged tsumiki to do the test of courage that ended up getting her cursed! so then how would megumi deal with his love interest (the reader) also being the person somewhat at fault for his sister's demise?

not a meet-cute prompt but generally i think it would b interesting in any megumi fic for gojo to be a conflict. like, as megumi's father figure, he doesn't want megumi to end up like him and suguru, so he's very hesitant about letting megumi fall in love with someone since "love is the most twisted curse of them all." but i think in the end, he might realize that love/the reader is exactly what will stop megumi from turning into suguru, so gojo ends up giving the reader his blessing.

"sugar makes blood thicker" - geto suguru x reader

tw: spoilers for gojo's past/hidden inventory/star plasma vessel/premature death arc, angst, DARK CONTENT, self-destructive behaviors, self-harm, eating disorders

summary: reader is a student at jujutsu high in 2006, alongside geto and gojo. reader is from the kamo clan and uses blood manipulation. they've been taught to keep a very strict diet to optimize the viscosity of their blood. just like how geto hates the taste of cursed spirits, reader hates the taste of their diet. they fall in love with each other, because they've finally met someone that makes them feel understood.

if you want to go even darker, the reader's technique may involve cutting (kind of like marie from gen v)

conflicts/themes:

what's the point of fighting for a world that's done nothing for you in return? ("what has the world done for me lately?")

sugar makes blood thicker, which i can imagine is harder to control for a blood manipulation user

gojo satoru is the opposite of the reader: he eats however he pleases, which includes lots of sweets, so it's hard for the reader to be around him/doesn't like him. as a result, it's also hard for geto to have to pick sides between his best friend and the reader

ending: canon ending; geto chooses reader over gojo; they turn evil and run away together with nanako and mimiko. although it could also be interesting for geto to choose gojo over the reader, or if there's somehow a happy ending for everyone here.

I have no title for this one but gojo x megumi's older sister reader

self-explanatory. during the 2006 arc, after gojo kills toji. they raise megumi together <3

"if only i could go back" - any character x reader

summary: this is pretty self-indulgent lol this one's for everyone who wants to heal everyone's trauma and just have a happy ending lmao. i had this idea of the reader either being a sorcerer or a curse who has the power to grant one wish but in doing so sacrifices themselves (they die). so, obviously, they're in high demand by everyone:

megumi wants to heal his sister

gojo wants to bring suguru back

geto wants to rid the world of non-sorcerers

toji wants his wife back

shoko wants her friends back

etc

some situations the reader may find themselves in are being held at the school so that nobody can use their power unless absolutely necessary. or maybe they were captured by the curse users.

technicalities about the reader's power: they can't grant their own wish, but they have full autonomy over whose wish they can grant, meaning the only way that someone could get their wish granted is through befriending and persuading the reader.

conflicts/themes:

characters having to choose between their wish (which kills the reader) and their fondness of the reader (wanting the reader to stay)

will they truly be happy if their wishes are granted?

how does the reader feel about being the method of people's desires but not actually being the desire?

***

alr im done yapping

23 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 year ago

Text

saved by the bell (chapter 2) | fushiguro toji x reader

previous | series masterlist | next

available on wattpad

summary: fushiguro toji never makes first moves--until he happens to meet the teacher of the son he hasn't seen in years.

strangers -> fwb -> lovers

takes place in 2006 around the star plasma vessel/hidden inventory/premature death arc; megumi is a first grader

about reader: female, around 30 or older, teacher, has a soft spot for megumi, speaks kind of formally, has daddy issues + abandonment issues

warnings: eventual smut, cursing, alcohol, smoking, daddy issues, abandonment issues, mention of child abuse/trauma, toji is initially kind of an ass, spoilers for the season 2 arc mentioned above

"Don't get how a puny thing like him can burn through a gallon in a week," he'd complained, watching the infant chug his bottle eagerly in his lap. "Damn FamilyMart workers are starting to know my name."

His friend turned back to face him, looking inside from the balcony as he took a drag from his cigarette and adjusted his tie.

"If you want him to look anything like you by the time you sell him off, you better get used to it," his friend advised. "Probably the cheapest source of protein out there."

Finally, the little boy lifted his mouth from the bottle, but only to let out sharp wails. At this, the man's friend put down his cigarette and came back inside.

"Not like they'll give me any extra money for it," the man grumbled, handing his son awkwardly to his friend. "He'll be strong enough. And fuck if I help the Zenin clan more than I need to."

Patting the baby's back gently, his friend made a suggestion: "You could always keep him. Learn how to raise him yourself. Spite 'em that way."

The man didn't appear to be listening, already having shifted his attention to the glitchy TV he'd gotten off the street and sinking into his cracked leather couch. Sighing, his friend laid down the now quiet baby beside him and headed towards the balcony to continue where he left off, his suggestion met only with the sound of footsteps as he was followed out.

"They'll make sure he's strong," the man guaranteed, taking a cigarette from his friend's pack. Once he'd successfully flicked the lighter at the end, he continued: "Probably gonna breastfeed him till age fuckin' eight."

And though he was met with no contest from his friend, he went on, with a breath of nicotine concluding, "'Just not something I'm made to provide."

***

Tossing the cap behind himself, he took a long swig straight from the jug.

He slammed the refrigerator door shut and leaned back against the counter, but--thanks to the lack of distance between everything in his cramped unit--this move forced him to meet the reflection of himself in the glass of the balcony door.

His friend seemed to have been right all those years ago. The incorporation of milk into his diet gave the man a body that he was, for the most part, proud of--mountainous biceps, chiseled abs, bulging pecs; the works. The only thing that irked him about his appearance, though, was his face--that scar, that fucking scar.

He vaguely remembered hearing somewhere else that protein was good for building tissue, which was a claim sufficiently evidenced by his body--from the neck down, that is. So it was both confusing and disappointing when he'd wake up in the middle of the night to take a piss and that nasty mark of his past would be the first thing he saw in his dirty mirror. Still, not really knowing what else to do about it, he took another sip and tried focusing his attention through the glass door rather than on it. In doing this, his eyes found refuge on the polka-dot umbrella he'd left out to dry.

It had been a little over a week since that night at the bar. It was still quite rainy here and there, so he found himself still using the item almost every night. It's not nearly as romantic as it sounds, though--at least not for you. He had mostly been using it to escort other women home.

To be fair, he had some self awareness. He felt worse every time he saw your name and number whenever he opened it for someone other than himself. But what was he supposed to do, return it? You hadn't been back at that bar since. Not that he was really checking he just figured if he was going to go out to do his nightly ritual, he might as well do it at that same joint. You know, in case you wanted your umbrella back.

And before you ask, no, he couldn't call you. He almost never, ever called first; it went against his morals, if you can even refer to them as that.

Again, he had some self-awareness. He knew he was kind of a piece of shit, so much so that even through the gray clouds and even among the 8-billion-some-odd people on His earth, he supposed God recognized him as such. So, just like how God decided whether or not the boats he bet on would get him out of this apartment, he assumed God also decided which women ended up in his web, and which would come back for a second night. By this logic, so long as he didn't make too many overt first moves, all broken hearts could simply be attributed to and excused by fate. It was a sort of heavenly restriction, if you will; he would sacrifice his initiative for the ability to keep being an absolute fucking asshole.

His sacrifices also included curiosity, he tried reminding himself; if he was meant to know something, then he would just know it already--so there was no point in wondering about you or, by association, his... that little boy.

Yes, there was no point in wondering how he managed to look that much like him, or where he got the balls to just follow curses around whenever he pleased, or why his name was Fushiguro, and not Zenin

Or, for that matter... fuck, what was his first name?

He headed towards the couch and took a seat, jug still in hand.

Shit. I don't even remember what it started with...

Forcing out a low laugh at this realization, he fished for the TV remote in between the cracked cushions.

Whatever.

He flicked through the channels with occasional sips from his drink, letting clips of people talking, singing, and laughing play no longer than a second before he cut them off with the press of a button. He kept spamming it, tapping and tapping, faster and faster, sounds merging together until:

Wasn't it an M...?

Placing the milk jug down on the dusty coffee table, he stared at the characters on the remote's number pad, his attention focused on a singular key in particular.

Fuck.

Putting the remote down beside him, he rubbed his eyes in distress, trying to massage the thought out of his head.

Goddammit...

He cursed His name, but as he used his arms to push himself up off his imprinted spot on the couch, hoped that God would forgive him just this once.

Hastily, he headed towards the balcony door and shoved the stubborn thing open. Snatching the umbrella with one hand, he punched in your number with the other, a firmness in his thumb. As soon as the phone rang with his outgoing call, though, whatever resolution that was just occupying his body had completely vanished. By the second ring, he was tapping impatiently on the rusty railing. By the third, he was trying to steady himself against it, which only resulted in a concerning creak. By the fourth, he'd headed back inside out of fear that he'd drop his outdated device, something that he couldn't afford. The fifth ring had his thumb just millimeters shy of the red button on his keypad, getting dangerously close due to his trembling, but then:

"Hello, this is Miss L/N speaking."

He exhaled after what felt like an eternity of holding his breath. As his lungs regained their rhythm, he felt his shoulders melt back down into relaxation, and soon, a smirk found itself creeping onto his lips. "Jesus--you really do talk like a princess."

"Um... I'm sorry, could I ask who this is?"

Still smirking, he took another deep breath and spoke up: "Think you left your glass slipper with me at the bar the other night," he started, absentmindedly studying the item. "But you made my job a lot easier by putting your number on it, Miss L/N Y/N."

There was a short pause, but then she realized: "O-oh! It's you--Oh my God, um... Hello..."

He chuckled lightly at her stuttered response. "It's me."

"So," he began again, "What are you doing tonight?"

For a while, nothing came through the speaker. He bit his cheek.

When she finally did speak, her tone was lowered: "I can't stay out late. It's a school night."

He placed the umbrella on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch, putting his free arm over the back.

"Won't take that long to return an umbrella," he pointed out. "Didn't realize you had something else in mind."

"N-no, that's fine, you can just--"

"I'm just pulling your leg," he interrupted. "How about now--what're you up to right now?"

That came out a little more eager than he meant for it to be. In an attempt to fill the awkward silence, he grabbed the milk jug from the coffee table and resumed his drink, gulping as he held the microphone away from his mouth.

"I'm out running errands."

"Where?"

Slamming his drink down--again, a little too eagerly--he reached for the remote and switched off the TV.

"Um..."

The hesitation was discouraging at first, but as her microphone betrayed her, it would seem that the aforementioned God was on his side today. In the background, he heard the familiar chime that indicated someone had come through the automatic door.

"Which FamilyMart is that?"

This time, there was surprisingly little hesitation: "...the one by the station."

And with that, he finished off the last few ounces left in the container and tossed the empty jug on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Don't move," he instructed, grabbing the umbrella with one hand and pulling the phone from his ear with the other. Bringing his thumb back to that red button, this time with returned unwavering confidence, he finished, "See you there, princess."

***

The door chimed welcomingly as it automatically slid open, causing you to whip your head around in anticipation. To both your disappointment and relief, it was just a gaggle of teens looking for some after school snacks.

As you turned your head back to your shopping, your eyes caught on to something right next to the entrance: a bin of umbrellas, for only a couple hundred yen each. You sighed as you took your eyes off the salt in your wound. Your mother had taught you well enough to know how bad this was: a stranger knowing your name, number, and current location. So, really, the too-late sight of an alternative was just unnecessary on God's part.

But then again, as much as you didn't love the pattern she'd chosen, it would've been cruel to replace a gift from your mother. She also always said herself to pick public spaces for first dates and, given that the local high school usually wrapped up clubs around this time, more than enough people were coming in by the second. Just now, for example, a young couple walked in holding hands in their uniforms.

And this wasn't even anywhere near a first date anyway; he was just coming to give you your umbrella, that's all. But, also... Even if he were to stick around for, say, a cordial conversation about the weather, and, hypothetically, he did so long enough that it would only be polite to ask for his name... Well, you always did preach both manners and curiosity to your students.

Deciding that you'd overthought enough, you tried to direct that curiosity to the crackers, chips, and cookies in front of you. You scanned over the rainbow of packaging, searching for something that looked both appealing and healthy. Nothing in particular jumped out at you until you looked to the top shelf, focused on a specific bag. At first, you couldn't tell why you recognized it, especially considering you couldn't see all of it due to its height, but then you realized: Megumi's brought that one to lunch before...

The shelf was well over your head, but it seemed like the only employee around--the cashier--had gone to the bathroom, so you reached your arm up as best as you could. The bag brushed your fingers, which only pushed it farther back, so you had to employ the help of your tippy toes. You could feel it just within reach of your fingertips, as the crease in your flats dug into your feet.

C'mon, just a little closer...

"Need a hand?"

Suddenly, a muscular arm emerged from behind you, reaching over you and grabbing the bag with ease.

Planting your heels back down on the floor, you spun around and smoothed out your pencil skirt, only to look up and find him--him and his scarred face--startlingly close to you.

"Thanks..." you obliged, trying to look away as you gently took the bag of sweet potato chips from his hand.

Even after you had placed the product in your basket, he didn't back up, so it was almost hard to see his entire body. But, you were still able to recognize he was wearing the same thing as when you saw him for the very first time: a black short-sleeve shirt and gray sweatpants.

As you had learned to make note of in your students, wearing repeated outfits that didn't fit the season or didn't fit the wearer was typically an indicator of a low-income background. In this case, it wasn't so much that the clothes were ill-fitting... it was just that the waistband of his pants were hanging loosely, dangerously low on hips, and his shirt was.... Tight. Very tight. And thin, which was interesting considering the chilly breeze that came through the door with every customer. Along with that, you were feeling the air from the heavy exhales of his nose.

"My eyes are up here, Miss."

You didn't realize how long you'd been watching his chest rise and fall rather quickly.

"Sorry," you corrected shyly. "You didn't rush to come here, did you?"

He shrugged. "Said you couldn't stay out late. Wouldn't wanna keep you from your royal duties."

"Oh, I see... Well, I didn't mean to hurry you. You could've at least put on a coat."

He looked down to where his compression shirt hugged the grooves of his abs. "Didn't realize there was a dress code, Miss," he teased. "Am I being indecent?'

"I-It's not that," you stuttered. "It's still cold out, you know."

"Cold? It's spring."

"Yes, but you could still get sick. Especially if it rains. You know the saying, 'In like a lion, out like a lamb'?"

"With all due respect, Miss, I'm not fucking stupid."

As soon as the profanity left his mouth, he winced at his own words. He was hoping to keep up his gentleman facade a little longer, but he supposed couldn't hide his true nature forever. Taking off the wrist strap of your umbrella, he began preparing to never see you again.

But then you spoke, surprisingly calmly: "I never said you were. But you never know. People aren't born knowing everything, are they?"

He froze in his place, thinking about your words--about how they didn't hold even a hint of anger or hurt in them. He couldn't tell if that made him feel more or less guilty.

Hearing his silence and seeing the solemn expression on his face, you felt the need to apologize for your preaching: "Sorry... I guess I'm still in teacher-mode. I swear, it's what being in this uniform does to me."

Suddenly, he smiled, and his eyes were almost soft as they looked down at you and your dainty button-up. "It's alright," he rasped. His pupils definitely darkened, though, as they drifted lower, down to your form-fitting pencil skirt and your pantyhose-clad thighs. "Yeah, no, it's... it's fine."

Feeling you remove the umbrella from his hands, he snapped out of his gaze on your body as you spoke again: "Thank you for coming all this way to return it. I wasn't really expecting you to."

Cockily, he put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, well, I just happened to run out of milk, so you can thank God for that. I mean, I'm a busy man, you know? Part of why I rushed here."

You laughed. "Physical therapy, was it?"

He paused for a second, almost as if he forgot what he did for work, but resumed the banter soon enough. "Right, yeah. Got appointments left and right. Seriously, I mean, you should consider yourself lucky."

"Well, I appreciate you squeezing me in."

"I'll let it slide just this once, princess, but you'll have to pay a fee next time."

Your stomach fluttered at the prospect of seeing him again, but you still tried to hold your guard up around the near-stranger. "Next time...?" you questioned.

"Yeah. Next time you need physical therapy."

You laughed nervously. "I don't think I... understand..."

"C'mon, Miss. You're smarter than that."

You blushed, putting together that he probably wasn't talking about yoga balls.

"I'm flattered, but... we've only just met, haven't we?" you argued, though unsure if it was to him or yourself.

He shrugged again. "Don't usually meet my clients before I meet with 'em."

You were given an opportunity to turn away when you heard the door chime again. A young man and woman had come in to shamelessly ask for where the condoms were, though they weren't holding hands. And despite it being only around 5 p.m., they were obviously somewhat inebriated, which brought up a good point--you two had met before, and you'd done so at a bar, where it was common for such shallow appointments to be made. In context, it was a little less weird when you thought of it as him picking up where he left off, underneath that bar awning.

Still, you looked down instead of back at him, imagining how he probably did this often. "I don't see why you can't just find another one, then."

He sighed through his nose and shoved his hands in his pockets. For a second, you thought you'd said something wrong--he looked uneasy, dreadful almost. But just as quick, he combed his hair back and painted a charming smile across his face.

"Yeah, I guess so," he pretended to consider. "But I noticed something about you." He crossed his arms, showing off his veiny forearms.

"When you were walkin' away from me that night, you had this... sway in your hips." He looked you up and down, squinting his hooded gray eyes.

"Could sense an underlying condition, beneath that little dress of yours." His tongue peeked out of his pale lips, teasing the scar at the corner.

"Just sayin', in my professional opinion, something oughta be done about that."

You let out a shaky breath, staring up at him, eyes wide and cheeks pink. He certainly did have some expert words to say. Meanwhile, your teeth had a deathly grip on your bottom lip, so you couldn't come up with even a single consonant to respond with. Figuring that you weren't going to respond any time soon, he began to back off.

"I should probably get going," he told you, "but don't be a stranger, yeah? Ain't got a business card or anything but my number should be in your Recents."

Even as he walked away, you couldn't say anything, and the only movement made by you came from your lip managing to escape your painful bite. All you could find in yourself to do was watch, mouth agape, as he made his way to the fridges at the end of the aisle, not even realizing you didn't yet have a name for his contact.

As he grabbed the cold handle of the refrigerator door, he could see his now frowning reflection in the glass.

He was probably going to beat himself up later over all the creepy and corny things he'd let himself utter to you, but right now, he didn't think about that; he was just glad the conversation was over. Making a number of first moves and doing so in a FamilyMart snack aisle before it was even dark out--he couldn't even focus on why he'd come here in the first place. Whatever he was trying to do-which he himself wasn't even exactly sure of-it was stupid. He felt like a fish out of water, and all he wanted to do was jump out of his skin and drown himself in the current, never daring to swim against divine intervention again.

But as if he didn't regret coming here enough, he recognized another familiar face as he moved toward the registers.

"Ah, Fushiguro!" the elderly woman would always greet. "Just milk again, Fushiguro? That's good. Lots of protein. Helps build tissue. Huh? What's that, Fushiguro? You want a pack of Marlboros? Oh, you're just like my son, Fushiguro..."

He tsked. He always hated how that old hag managed to fit his name in at the end of every other sentence, loud enough for her half-deaf ears--along with the entire store--to hear. And of course, just his luck, she lived another day to work this specific shift.

He put the milk jug back as quickly as he could and searched for the most inconspicuous route to the exit. Of course, that just happened to be through the aisle you were still in. With little time to think, he swallowed his pride. Making his way over and brushing past you, he mumbled something about having forgotten his wallet as he briskly made his way to the door.

"Wait!" you called. Head darting between the milk fridge and the back of his figure, you moved quickly after him.

Frantically tossing bills at the cashier on your way out, you bolted out of the store, this time darting your head left and right as you searched desperately among the sea of other dark-haired pedestrians. You were considering giving up as you began to get dizzy, but then you saw him--the only tall, muscular figure outfitted in a T-shirt in this weather. You continued to run after him and, thankfully--since you opted for flats over heels today--you were able to catch up with him before the pedestrian light turned red again. He was already halfway through the crossing, but he stopped in the middle of the road, eyes widened in shock as you were bent over, leaning on your knee as you panted and held the jug of milk up towards him.

Realizing that you'd bought it for him, he took it from your hand and awkwardly obliged: "...Thanks."

You were able to stand up straight now, but your breathing was still somewhat labored as you spoke: "At least... let me know... your name..."

He hesitated for a moment, as if he didn't even know what his own name was.

"You know mine," you reminded him, impatiently putting a hand on your hip. "It's only fair."

His face was grave, but his eyes were narrow as they jumped everywhere around you: at the passing taxis and vans, at the salarymen flocking from their building, at the park fenced in. It seemed he found his name somewhere, but it wasn't as comically artificial as you might think: "It's Zenin. Zenin Toji."

"Zenin?" you confirmed.

"Yeah," he replied, swallowing away the dryness in his throat. "But what do you say we skip the formalities? Just call me Toji."

"Oh, um. Okay, then. Toji," you repeated, testing it out on your tongue.

A loud honk brought the two of you back to the reality of where you were, prompting you to finish crossing the street. Now back on the curb, you turned to him again.

"Um, Toji," you spoke, still getting used to the syllables.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"I, um... I want to make it clear I'm not looking to do anything tonight," you enforced, projecting as much as you could muster. "But I have one more thing to take care of, if you'd like to come along."

You had your eyes focused on the tips of your flats, so if he was in disapproval-which you assumed from his silence-he didn't need to do much with his expression to hide it. But eventually, you heard his voice, relenting with an exhale that could've been interpreted as both disappointed and relieved: "Sure."

And so, silently, he followed behind you as you traversed the city, inferring it was a path you traveled often as you didn't stop your pace once to look at a map or even the street signs.

It wasn't far from where you'd started; a few corners later, the two of you were in a residential area that he didn't recognize, although the shady alleys between dingy apartment buildings weren't much different from where he lived. He knew teaching didn't pay much, but he was still surprised that you brought him here.

"Just wait here a moment," you told him, and he did as you knocked on the nearby door with the small bag of groceries in your other hand. He waited patiently and, watching you do the same in front of the grimy door, he considered the possibility that you two weren't so different after all.

But then the door opened, and you said something, and you were only a couple feet away so he heard, but it was as if all of a sudden there were miles between you two.

"Hi!" you'd chirped. "Is Megumi home?"

Everything else faded into muffles. He watched, paralyzed, as you handed over your groceries to a young brown-haired girl who looked vaguely--uncomfortably--familiar, but he didn't process a single thing either of you said. All he could hear was that M-word ringing throughout his head.

Meanwhile, you continued to converse in front of the drab doorway, telling the girl that you had to get going because you had some business to attend to, unconsciously pointing your thumb in the direction of where you had left Toji. You bid farewell to her with a smile and turned to where you were just pointing but, immediately, your smile dropped, as did your eyes to the corner on the pavement where he'd just stood-as if you'd find him there, hidden among the weeds sprouting from the cracks in the sidewalk. But, no-it would seem that the man named Toji was already long gone.

***

previous | series masterlist | next - should b available by next week :')

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #my writing #writing #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you

54 notes · View notes

yunalinwrites · 1 year ago

Text

saved by the bell (chapter 1) | fushiguro toji x reader

series masterlist | next

available on wattpad

summary: fushiguro toji never makes first moves--until he happens to meet the teacher of the son he hasn't seen in years.

strangers -> fwb -> lovers

takes place in 2006 around the star plasma vessel/hidden inventory/premature death arc; megumi is a first grader

about reader: female, around 30 or older, teacher, has a soft spot for megumi, speaks kind of formally, has daddy issues + abandonment issues

warnings: eventual smut, cursing, alcohol, smoking, daddy issues, abandonment issues, mention of child abuse/trauma, toji is initially kind of an ass, spoilers for the season 2 arc mentioned above

He'd only just stepped out of the FamilyMart, been on the street for all of two seconds before he heard the call of his name.

"Fushiguro?"

It was tempting, given the desperation in the repeated shouts, but he didn't bother looking towards their source. It's not like he really recognized the voice, and he sure as hell wouldn't recognize her face; he made it a point to never look them in the eye.

"Fushiguro?"

It was starting to become irritating, though. It was nasal, kind of sounded like the one from last week... No, a broad like that would know better; she played the same games he did. So, maybe the one from last night? Yeah... Didn't seem like she knew how to keep her strings to herself.

"Fushiguro!"

Well, whoever it was, she was only getting closer. The calls were getting louder, and so was the splash of her heels against the wet concrete. Realizing this, he shut his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose, letting the rain run down his dark hair, over the scar on his lip, and into his mouth as he opened it and whipped his head around in annoyance.

"Thought I told you not to--"

"Sorry, excuse me!"

You shoved past him, catching his widened eyes with yours for but a moment before continuing to run frantically and nearly slipping when you came to a halt and crouched down.

"Fushiguro!" you exclaimed, adjusting your umbrella to accommodate the little boy. "There you are. I told you not to run off like that!"

The boy kept a fixed gaze ahead of him, only interrupting it to wipe his eyes as the rain dripped into them, his usually spiky black bedhead weighed down completely against his face.

"Where on earth did you go?" you asked, examining him for clues.

"There's a monster," he replied plainly.

Finding nothing of note, you checked your watch with one hand and used the other to hastily grab his, barely registering his claim.

"Well, there certainly aren't any monsters on the bus. Not to mention, it's warm and dry. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Your phone vibrated in your coat pocket with a wave of texts--the faculty group chat, you figured--as you moved to obstruct his view with a smile. "Your classmates are wondering where you went."

Still unfazed, he tugged on your blouse and pointed. "Can't you see it?"

You didn't really have time to humor him--the incessant pings now replaced by your melodic ringtone--but still, your eyes followed the end of his little pointer finger, looking hard for a monster but finding only a man.

You scanned the sight as much as the umbrella would let you, the spokes ending just below his eyes. There wasn't any "big purple worm" that you could see, like the boy was mumbling on about, but you weren't really listening; what you were looking at at the moment didn't make you feel much safer--a bulky, brick wall-like frame hidden behind a black T-shirt and gray sweats, a fist clenched tightly around the handle of a milk jug, and, most notably, a rugged scar running perpendicular to scowling lips.

Quickly, you pushed the boy's hand down, not even thinking to correct his rude gesture as your voice darkened, "Come on, we need to go."

You stood up from your crouch, pulling the boy along with urgency and speeding up as you passed the stranger, the umbrella angled so it sheltered the boy and covered your face.

The man watched you walk away, staring at your polka-dotted umbrella, trying to burn holes into it, but to no avail; you simply disappeared into the crowd of the street without so much as a glance back. When he was sure you were gone for good, all he could do was look down at his clenched fist. All he could do was look at the milk jug it held, and think about what just happened, how comical it was.

He'd only just stepped out of the FamilyMart, been on the street for all of two seconds before he heard the call of his name--his son's name--for the first time in three years.

***

There were very few things as draining as manning a four-class field trip of seven-year olds, but the walk you found yourself on the following weekend was proving to be up there.

It could've been a word problem: "If there were 6 couples on every block and 2 blocks to the bar, how many sickeningly sweet smiles did Miss L/N see on her way?" Or, alternatively: "If there were 11 restaurant windows with 3 nuclear families in each one, how many drinks will she need tonight?"

You grabbed the bar entrance's handle and swung it open, the resulting wind moving the flowy skirt of your maroon dress. Searching the place briefly, you decided on one of the leather barstools in the corner. You made your way over and tucked your coat under yourself before freezing at the ashtray in the corner of your eye. Sighing deeply at the revelation, you ran your fingers through your hair.

You tried reminding yourself about how it was a Sunday. How, tomorrow, bright and early, you'd have to begin multiplication; how one would turn into two and two would turn into four, and no duration of showering would solve the smell following you all the way to the chalkboard. It was wrong. It wasn't the right answer at all. Shaking the idea out of your head, you turned towards the bartender to try and catch eye contact.

But then you decided that actually, the correct answer was 13 couples, not 12, because the bartender was leaning into that customer's ear too close for comfort. And so, reaching into your purse was definitely the right answer because you needed some kind of relief--one that the bartender clearly wasn't going to be giving you anytime soon--if you wanted to get through grading those tests later tonight. You'd already pulled out your lighter by the time he came over to take your order.

It had been all of two seconds since he sat down at the bar, and a female voice was ringing a bell:

"I'd like a beer, please. The cheapest you've got."

He could just barely hear the short sentence, but even so, he found his gray pupils darting as far left as they could go. At the edge of his vision, he was met with a considerably pretty, though still unfamiliar sight: your dainty fingers tracing the rim of your freshly poured pint, your collarbones somehow still pronounced under the dim lighting, and your lipstick, your dark red lips were as far as he would let his eyes go.

He continued to observe quietly as you leaned your head on your free hand, the thin strap of your dress threatening to slip down at the movement as you stared off and took a drag. You didn't seem to recognize him, at least not yet, and he could say the same about you. But he just couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen you somewhere before. Usually, that was his cue to find a different seat, sometimes even an entirely different bar, but he figured you were easy enough on the eyes that he wouldn't mind taking you home, even if it happened to be for the second time. Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, tonight he was a little restless--maybe even desperate.

He cleared his throat. "Mind if I bum one?"

Tensing up, you straightened your back and turned to him. "Um, yeah, sure," you answered dismissively, reaching into your purse and extending the pack towards him, one stick peeking out.

Grabbing it with a grumbled thanks, he further considered the possibility of you two having slept together before. You were clearly uncomfortable around him, continuously shifting in your seat and avoiding eye contact, whereas female strangers in places like these often did the former but not the latter, starting on his muscular chest and ending with their eyes looking lustily for his, batting their lashes with a lick of their lips. It was only the non-strangers that would try to be one.

Now, if it were any other day, he'd let the poor girl go back to playing her role like she was supposed to. But, again, tonight was different--he was different. It had been a strange past few days.

He brought the lighter to the end of the cigarette and slid it across the counter when he was done. Taking his first inhale, he began his attack.

"I'd buy you a drink," he began, "but if I could afford that, I think I'd be smoking my own cigs."

You perked up at his unexpected joke, struggling to decide on how to respond to that as your cheeks began to heat up. "Oh, um... that's alright," is what you managed to come up with. "I'm... I'm not really that kind of woman."

He squinted his eyes at you. So, you definitely hadn't slept together, then--unless you were really dedicated to the stranger bit. Although, it would make sense if you hadn't; crude as it was, he wasn't familiar with the way your lips enveloped the cigarette, nor with how your fingers wrapped around your glass. But that only fueled him further; if he wasn't already familiar, then he wanted to become familiar.

"Yeah?" he challenged. "What kind of woman are you, then?"

You sighed. "The kind that shouldn't be here."

The man looked around the bar--it was late enough that all the lively celebrants and sports enthusiasts had left already, leaving only corpses slumped next to their empty rounds. He shrugged, returning his gaze to her.

"Don't see anyone that should," he countered.

You took a sip from your glass. "I suppose that's a good point."

"So what's different about you, then?" he asked, bringing the cigarette to his mouth.

Caught off guard once again, you looked at him with your mouth open, about to say something but then closing it, deciding against it. Instead, you took your time to examine him carefully. The dim lighting made it a bit difficult, but you could make out enough thanks to the sharpness of his features; his jawline keen and his eyes hooded, fine black hair falling into them. It wasn't the only thing fine about him--that you couldn't deny, but you also couldn't help but feel uneasy. Even through his hoodless jacket, and even through the gray sweatshirt beneath that, you could tell how hefty his build was, an assumption that was further supported by the sheer size of his hands. It was the exact kind of man your mother told you not to talk to.

"You there?" His voice was deep, alluringly nonchalant as a long cloud escaped his mouth, your attention caught on his sensual breath.

You took another sip--or, rather, a gulp--and set the glass down with a clink, drinking away the consideration of your mother. "I have an image to uphold."

He scoffed with a smirk. "What, you some kind of princess?"

"No," you laughed lightly. "I just... want to set a good example for my kids."

His eyes flitted to your left hand, brows furrowing for a moment. You noticed and, in hindsight, probably should've just let him believe whatever he was thinking. But, alcohol on your breath, you elaborated anyway: "My students, I mean. I'm a teacher."

"Oh," he acknowledged, looking straight ahead again. "Good to know."

An awkward pause followed.

"It's not like they'd ever find out," he suggested, eventually. "You didn't bring 'em here, did you?"

"Oh, God, no. I just..." You bit your lip. "I don't know. I still feel guilty about it."

You traced circles on the dirty counter, feeling each groove of the wood with the pad of your finger.

"I know it's a little stupid, but... Sometimes I worry that they can still smell it. That somehow, the nicotine's still on my skin, and that they can inhale it." You dug your painted nails into your palm. "And I hate imagining them growing up and coming to a place like this and doing these same miserable things because of me."

"I can't imagine you're paid enough to care that much," he argued. Gesturing up and down to your figure, he continued: "You could be a model, you know. Don't know if the pay's much better, but you'll feel like a saint if cigs and beer are all you do."

You chuckled briefly, a softened expression following. "Don't get me wrong--it's as thankless as you've probably heard, but I love my job more than anything," you assured. "But even if I didn't, I'd still do it for free."

"Well, damn. Being around brats all day must be messin' with your head, 'cause that's fuckin' crazy."

"Hey, someone has to show up for those kids," you defended, a firmness in your voice. "I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't."

He didn't say anything to that. Just pondered it.

You tilted your head to the side, relaxing against your palm. "And what about you? What do you do?"

He sat up a bit, blinking away his train of thought. "Physical therapy," he lied. He took a drag and began another falsity, "And I don't have any--" but stopped at the pang of guilt in his chest.

He bit his cheek, stilling as images of that little boy flashed in his mind--in particular, the picture of him pointing at the man accusingly with a woman by his side.

He looked down and cleared his throat again. "I... I have a son."

This time it was your eyes shooting to his ring finger as he lifted the nearly finished cigarette to his lips. And like before, he noticed your glance as he exhaled. "His mom's not around anymore."

"Oh... I'm sorry," you reacted, though admittedly a bit more at ease at both the fact that he had a son and that he was... available.

Another awkward pause sat suffocatingly between the both of you, but not for long.

"Hey, you two," the bartender warned, swiping a wet rag over the counter. "Wrap it up."

In unison, you and the man looked up and realized that the only other person there was the woman the bartender was courting, waiting patiently as he began to put the barstools up.

With one final puff, the man stubbed out his cigarette and you copied, grabbing your coat from your seat and following him out as he held the door for you. Outside, you were met with blinding streetlights and a chill breeze. You moved under the awning, throwing on your coat and, upon realizing he was still there, you took advantage of the better lighting.

It wasn't much you hadn't seen already--again, his features were razor-like--but during your time in there, considering that your seat was to his left, you had only gotten about three-quarters of him, not to mention his lower half. But when you saw him, his face in particular and it in its entirety, one glaring detail caught your eyes, making them go wide: there was a scar across the right corner of his lips.

Your heart dropped, beating and breathing speeding up at the realization of who he was. Your chest got tighter and tighter as you examined his, recognizing the scary figure from three days prior. He turned in the other direction, pretending to look for somewhere to go, so he didn't see the color drain from your skin.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced briefly at the ground. "So, how 'bout it?" he asked, looking up at you smugly. "You waiting on a carriage or are you gonna let me take you home, princess?"

Whatever color had escaped your face before rose right back to your cheeks at his question, burning with both arousal and fear, the two feelings sharing a common denominator of panic. You were seeing his whole body now, and he looked even bigger than before. Standing instead of sitting, and doing so right next to you, he towered over you, just like he did over your umbrella that day. And you couldn't help but remember how icy his glare had been when you bumped into him, and how, equally as cold, he'd barked something angrily at you for it.

And then your mind started to drift into events you couldn't have possibly recalled but could only imagine: perhaps it was from an ugly knife fight on the street, or the shattered glass crossfire of his own bank robbery, or even him taking assignments from the Yakuza and, somehow, through some unimaginably horrific mission, earning that scar. You inferred the likelihood of there being other wounds--other stories that you couldn't see--and that, this time, your mother was probably right.

"I-I," you stammered. "I can't, um..." You swallowed thickly. "I should really go home."

The neon "Open" sign behind you had flickered into nothingness, and, slowly, a drizzle had begun tapping rhythmically against the awning.

Moving closer to you, he persisted. "But it's already past midnight, isn't it? And you're only getting prettier."

That, as soon as it left his lips, he couldn't help but cringe at. He knew he was desperate tonight, but, jeez, he wasn't even drunk and he was saying things he wouldn't be caught dead saying in the daylight. But he couldn't tell if that meant his act was too strong or the opposite: that it was slipping.

Either way, you clearly didn't like it, because you flinched at his approach, and now you were beginning to take slow steps back.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," you said before turning your back to him and picking up your speed. You kept your strides long as you dug into your large purse feverishly until, finally, you felt the nylon of your travel umbrella.

Thanks to your pace, you'd made it a substantial distance by the time you pulled it out, stopping to fiddle with the clasp that kept it shut. You tried catching your breath, your thoughts bouncing around your skull until they landed on a realization. His jacket had no hood.

Yes, that was right, you recalled against your will. When you were talking, when he was saying all those subtle-but-there flirtations in his low voice, eyeing your figure with those hooded eyes and smoking your cigarette so sultrily, you were eyeing him right back in that perfectly fitted black jacket. But, unlike yours, it didn't have a hood.

The shower was coming down harder--it was spring, after all--but you were frozen. Your stilettos were seemingly glued to the sidewalk. Licking your lips before sinking your teeth into them, the taste of rainwater and lipstick mixed with the flavor of alcohol and smoke in your mouth. Slowly prying your heels from the ground, you began to make your way back to him, still standing in front of the bar window and waiting for you with a satisfied grin. Back under the awning, you planted yourself next to him, daring to look at his face, his eyebrows raised.

You pulled up your hood with one hand and extended your umbrella with the other, speaking one final time:

"Don't worry about buying me a drink, okay?"

And with that, you had already taken off, having placed the umbrella against the wall next to him long before he even registered your question. He gawked at the back of your hooded head as you scurried away, heels splashing against the wet concrete as you tried not to slip.

When he was sure you were gone, he bent over and picked up the umbrella. He ran his fingers over the polka-dotted nylon and studied it incredulously, knowing--for certain this time--that he'd seen it before. And yet, he was acting like he didn't even know what the object was, tilting it back and forth as if it weren't the same pattern and shape all around.

The bar door rang with a bell as the bartender and his girl left hand and hand, and the man tried to convince himself he was done studying the item in his.

Eventually, he went to open it, having to fuss with the mechanism that kept the spokes contracted, but as it would turn out, his hunch was right; he hadn't seen all of it. For, when he opened his closed palm and revealed the plastic black handle, he found two lines of cursive handwriting written in silver permanent marker:

If lost, please return to L/N Y/N

xxx-xxx-xxxx

***

series masterlist | next

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #my writing #writing #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #fushiguro toji

68 notes · View notes