#I have three classes and six final projects.
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texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3
nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader
bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.
texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2
The rest of the month bled together in that soft, glowing kind of way—every day bookmarked by the same routine. E in the morning. E during class. E when you were brushing your teeth or pretending to do homework. You talked about everything. Or nothing.
She kept you sharp. Made you laugh when your head was splitting from school noise. Kept you just distracted enough to forget you were tired all the time. And somewhere along the way, you stopped wondering who she was. Because it felt like she already knew you. Not the polished version people saw. You.
You’d stopped counting how many pictures you’d sent. Nothing technically scandalous. But enough to make her say “i’m not strong enough for this” at least three times a week.
You were on your phone, sprawled out in your usual seat in English—last sub of the day, last brain cell left.
You:
im on my last sub rn. talk to u later :(
E:
don’t think about me too much while you’re in class
You smirked.
You:
oh i will. especially us doing unholy things rn
E:
i’m blocking u.
You:
no ur not. u love it
You were still grinning like an idiot when the classroom door slammed open. Everyone scrambled to pretend they weren’t just throwing paper balls or stealing someone’s chair.
Ms. Alvarez was already holding a clipboard, face grim. “Alright, settle down. We’re starting a new graded requirement today—your final literature project. Half of your term grade will come from this. I’m pairing you up.”
Groans some cheers exploded. You barely registered it, still texting E something about being the main character in a forbidden library romance.
Until you heard your name.
“...and Ellie Williams.”
Your head snapped up, blinking.
A few snickers came from behind you, your friends catching it instantly.
One of them patted your shoulder, barely hiding a grin. “Oh, girl. Should we start worrying?”
You rolled your eyes and didn’t bother to answer.
Then a voice you hated piped up. Some guy you’ve never liked, probably trying to be funny.
“Maybe you could just show her your tits and she’ll do the work for you.”
You turned. Instantly.
“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped. Loud enough for people to hear.
He put his hands up, smirking. “Just suggesting.”
Ms. Alvarez didn’t seem to hear, or maybe she was pretending not to. “You’ll have six weeks. You’ll be required to sit beside your assigned partner during this class for the entire project period.”
Some complaints, some high-fives.
You grabbed your bag, eyes scanning. Ellie was still seated, alone near the front, chin in hand.
You made your way over slowly. She was on her phone, thumb tapping something out fast.
“Hey,” you said, soft and casual.
Her head snapped up. Like, immediately. Her phone vanished into her hoodie pocket so fast it was almost suspicious.
You raised your eyebrows slightly, not saying anything.
“Hey,” she replied, voice a little rough around the edges, like she’d just cleared it.
She blinked once, then moved quickly—grabbing the things from her desk and tucking them into her bag on the floor, her sketchpad sliding in last. Then, without saying anything, she reached out and dragged the desk and chair beside her, pulling them close in one fluid motion. The legs scraped loudly against the tile.
You cleared your throat, lowered into the seat, and placed your bag on top of the desk. One hand stayed tucked in the pocket of your skirt, curled loosely around your phone.
You didn’t say anything else and neither did she.
You both just sat there as Ms. Alvarez started droning about the project.
“This is a character-driven piece. Something with personal stakes. Introspection. Conflict. Subtext. You have six weeks.”
You barely heard her.
You unlocked your phone under the desk.
You:
i just wanna go home now and talk to you
(not being clingy)
You smirked without meaning to, biting the inside of your cheek.
Then waited.
Ms. Alvarez was saying something at the front—project guidelines, probably. But her voice felt like it was coming through a thick wall of static. You just kept your gaze on your screen. Quiet. Expectant.
Still nothing.
She usually replied right away. Even in class. Even with “busy” in her bio.
You stared at the chat a moment longer, thumb hovering over the screen. Not that you were being clingy. Obviously.
You bit your lip and glanced sideways.
Ellie was hunched over her notebook, scrawling notes in the margin like her life depended on it. Her leg bounced under the desk. Her grip on the pen was tight. Too tight. Like it might snap in half if she pressed any harder.
You sighed, leaned back in your seat, and slid your phone back into your pocket.
Your eyes stayed on the front of the room, but you weren’t really listening. Words blurred. The only thing in focus was that weird thrum in your chest. Like something off-key in a song you’ve heard too many times.
After a moment, your eyes drifted back to Ellie.
Her auburn hair was tied loosely at the base of her neck, strands slipping free at the sides and curling against her cheek. Her eyes flicked between the teacher and her notes, sharp and serious, like she was actually locked in.
You stared.
Just for a second too long.
Her brows were pinched in thought. She twirled her pen once, adjusted the way she sat, and pulled her hoodie sleeve down over her hand like she was trying to disappear into it.
You pressed your lips together, fingers tapping soundlessly against your arm as you crossed them tight over your chest, waiting for your phone to buzz.
Ms. Alvarez finally wrapped up her monologue with something about “use your time wisely” and “brainstorming starts now.” Then she sank into her desk like she was already exhausted by all of you.
Ellie cleared her throat, then quietly turned toward you.
She pushed her notebook halfway across the desk, her handwriting a little messy but precise enough to follow. She didn’t look at you at first—just tapped the edge of the page once, offering it like a peace treaty.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk and your chin on your knuckles. Watching her.
She glanced up, finally meeting your eyes. “Do you have anything in mind?”
You did.
Maybe E.
But you didn’t say that, of course.
Instead, you reached over and plucked the pen from her hand. Your fingers brushed for just a second—warm
You lowered your eyes and started scribbling into the corner of her notes.
Fantasy. Coming-of-age. Drama. Romance. Sapphic.
You underlined the last one.
When you slid the notebook back, she tilted her head at it. Just slightly. Her eyes skimmed the list, and then her lips twitched—barely noticeable. But it was there.
“Sapphic,” she repeated, like she was tasting the word.
You shrugged, eyes flicking up. “Just a suggestion.”
She looked at you again. Not judgmental. Not even surprised.
You raised your eyebrows at her—challenging, almost daring her to say something.
Ellie leaned back slightly. Her voice dropped just a little. “Are you sure?” she asked, voice low and husky. “I mean… you’ve got a reputation.”
You didn’t bother hiding the eye roll that followed.
With one hand, you slid the notebook back across the desk toward her. “You can suggest what you think,” you said flatly. Calm. Measured.
She picked up the pen again and wrote underneath:
Agreed.
You raised your eyebrows again.
That’s it? She just… agreed?
“No suggestions?” you asked, skeptical. “Nothing on your mind? You just agreed we write a sapphic book?”
Ellie didn’t even look up. “Nope,” she said, the pen already back in her hand, sketching something random in the corner of the page. A shape. A line. A loop.
You narrowed your eyes at her, gaze flicking over her blank expression. “Well,” you muttered, scanning her with a mock offense, “I expected something much more from you. I mean, you’re the nerd here.”
That earned a glance—sideways, brief. The corner of her mouth tugged, like she was fighting off a smirk.
“Well, I also didn’t expect you to suggest writing a sapphic book,” she replied, dry.
You tilted your head. “Why not?”
Ellie shrugged. “You’ve got a reputation, remember?”
You didn’t even flinch. Just let out a breathy scoff, leaning forward on your elbows again, voice low but pointed. “I just told our classmate to shut the fuck up because he said I could show you my tits and you’d do the work for me. Do you think I care about reputation?”
That caught her.
Ellie blinked, startled for a beat, then let out a short breath—half laugh, half disbelief. “Jesus,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to yours. “Didn’t know you were like that even in personal.”
You frowned. “Huh? Like what?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just glanced down at the notes again, something unreadable twitching in her expression.
You scoffed softly and leaned back, arms folding across your chest again. Your eyes darted to Ms. Alvarez, who was now busy at her desk, rifling through a drawer.
“And oh, please,” you said, dry. “It’s not like Ms. Alvarez isn’t gay either.”
Ellie looked at you, blinking.
“That’s why she has no husband at her age,” you went on, tone casual like you were talking about the weather. “She likes girls. And the rumors, Ellie—you’ve heard them. She won’t mind reading a sapphic piece.”
You tilted your head, lips twitching.
“I bet she’ll like it very much.”
Ellie stared at you for a moment longer and looked away.
But not before you caught it—that flicker of a smirk, barely there.
She shook her head once, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Unbelievable,” and went back to scribbling.
Ellie tapped her pen a few times against the edge of the desk, then tilted her head slightly.
“So,” she said. “What’s it gonna be? Angsty? Enemies to lovers?”
You squinted at her, lips already twitching. Then, without saying a word, you reached out—snatching her notebook and pen in one smooth motion.
Ellie blinked, caught off guard.
You scribbled one word in bold, all caps:
SMUT.
Then slid it back to her with a raised brow and the kind of smug grin you only pulled when you were being very annoying on purpose.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Smut?” she repeated, slow, confused. “How… it’s not appropriate, I think.”
You bit back a laugh. “Of course it’s not,” you scoffed. “I’m just fucking with you.”
She stared at the word a second longer.
You plucked the notebook back and crossed out SMUT with a dramatic scribble, then started writing again beneath it.
“Anyway, I think something like friends to lovers or whatever,” you said, voice a little more thoughtful now. “It’s the easiest for me to write.”
You kept jotting down rough plot beats, loose ideas—nothing concrete yet. Just bullet points. Your handwriting was starting to drift sideways, slanted and lazy.
When you glanced up again, Ellie was watching you.
Her chin rested in her hand, elbow propped against the desk, eyes steady on your face like she was studying something. Like she was seeing a new side of you. Quiet. Focused.
There was something unguarded about her in that moment. Something soft around the edges. Like maybe—for just a second—she forgot to keep her usual walls up.
You paused, blinking. “What?”
She didn’t answer nor move.
You raised your eyebrows. “Oh,” you said slowly, tilting your head to mirror her. “You’re interested in writing that smut?”
That seemed to break the spell.
Ellie blinked, straightened slightly. “No,” she muttered, her voice low and curt as she grabbed the notebook back from you.
You watched her quietly as she flipped to a clean page and started jotting something down like nothing happened. Like she hadn’t just been staring at you for maybe… kind of a long time.
Her pen scratched against the paper. Her face calm again. Composed. But her ears were slightly pink.
“You’re red,” you said, your voice teasing, a smirk tugging at the edge of your lips.
Ellie didn’t look up. “It’s warm in here.”
You raised a brow. “Right. Sure it is.”
She clicked her pen once—sharp, deliberate—then turned to you with a look so flat it could’ve been carved from stone.
“Better red than desperate for plot-driven foreplay,” she said, completely deadpan.
Your mouth fell open.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, scandalized. “You are thinking about the smut.”
Ellie didn’t respond. Just returned to her notes like nothing happened, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
You grinned, triumphant.
You watched her for another beat, amused. “You didn’t deny it.”
Ellie didn’t look up, but her pen paused. “I’m ignoring you.”
You leaned over, voice lower now. “You’re failing miserably.”
That got you a side glance. Brief. Sharp. But not annoyed. More like she was trying not to smile and losing the battle entirely.
You tapped her notebook with your nail. “So, what is this groundbreaking lesbian epic we’re writing?”
“Plot ideas,” she said, clearing her throat. “Since you keep distracting me.”
You hummed, unconvinced. “Am I allowed to see, or are you gonna bite me if I try?”
Without a word, she tilted the notebook your way.
You leaned closer.
There was a character with too many feelings and a bad temper. Another one with trust issues and what looked like “shitty taste in people” scribbled in parentheses.
You frowned, eyes skimming back over the notes. “‘Shitty taste in people’?”
Ellie didn't say anything at first, just twirled her pen between her fingers, like maybe if she spun it fast enough, she wouldn’t have to answer. But eventually, she shrugged.
“Some people keep going back to things that hurt them. It’s realistic.”
You stared at her for a beat. The way she said it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t dramatic either—just honest, like she’d written that trait from experience, not imagination.
You leaned back a little. “Nope.”
Ellie blinked. “What?”
“Nope,” you repeated, already reaching for the notebook. “Too depressing. I’m not writing about heartbreak or sad girls with commitment issues. I’ve got enough of that in real life.”
She didn’t stop you as you turned to a fresh page, clicking your own pen open with purpose. “Let’s try this again.”
You started scribbling, words forming in fast, slanted loops.
Two characters. Childhood friends who lost touch. One returns unexpectedly. Maybe there’s a stupid school festival involved. Maybe someone’s in denial. Maybe they’re both idiots, and it takes a whole novella of almosts before anything actually happens.
You glanced sideways to find Ellie watching your hand move. She didn’t interrupt. Just kept staring like she was trying to match the rhythm of your pen to the shape of your thoughts.
You paused, tapped the page. “This is better.”
Ellie tilted her head. “Friends to lovers?”
You nodded. “Less depressing. More yearning.”
“Yearning is depressing.”
“It’s a good ache.”
She was quiet for a second, then let out a tiny exhale—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Alright,” she murmured. “Let’s write something stupid and soft.”
Ellie took the pen from your hand without asking and leaned over the notebook again, brow furrowed in thought. You didn’t say anything. Just watched her as she wrote—quiet, focused, occasionally pausing to tap the pen against her chin. The sunlight from the classroom windows had shifted, painting her in a late afternoon haze of gold and orange. It softened the sharp lines of her face, caught in the ends of her lashes and the auburn strands slipping from her hoodie.
She looked like a photograph that could blur if you stared too long.
The bell finally rang, loud and abrupt. Ms. Alvarez raised her voice over the sudden scrape of chairs and chattering students, tossing out reminders about deadlines and word count minimums. Nobody listened.
Ellie shut the notebook with a quiet thud and began gathering her things, slipping the sketchpad into her bag and adjusting the strap of her guitar case. You stood, grabbing your own bag from the desk and sliding your phone from your skirt pocket out of habit.
Your fingers unlocked the screen before you could stop them, eyes drifting to your last message to E. Still no reply. You stared at it for a moment longer than you meant to. The bubble of words just sitting there. Unseen. Unanswered.
You let out a breath, sharp and quiet, then turned to Ellie just as she slung the guitar over her shoulder.
“By the way,” you said, holding your phone out toward her, “I need your number.”
She glanced at you, nodded, and took your phone without a word. Her fingers moved fast, thumb flying across the screen before she handed it back and silently offered her own. You typed yours in, quick and neat, and gave it back with a nod.
The room was already half-empty, filled with leftover noise and footsteps in the hall.
You walked out, phone back in your hand, your thumb instinctively brushing over the screen. You opened your messages again.
Still nothing.
Your eyes stayed on it as you moved with the current of students spilling into the hallway—sunlight flickering across lockers and tile. You didn’t notice when Ellie fell in step beside you until she asked, casually, like it was nothing.
“You waiting for someone to text you back?” Ellie said as she walked past, not even slowing down.
You blinked, glanced up—but she was already a few steps ahead, her guitar slung over her back, hoodie pulled up.
You didn’t answer. Just looked down at your phone again, just as a message from E lit up your screen.
Your chest tightened with that familiar tug—the kind you only ever felt with her.
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#isabelckl#ellie williams#ellie williams x fem reader#tlou ellie#ellie fanfic#nerd ellie#ellie williams x you#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams fanfic#ellie tlou#ellie x reader#friends to lovers#eventual smut#loser ellie#wlw#lesbian#ellie the last of us#the last of us#ellie williams fanfiction
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Spin For Me (Pt. Ten)

She's the quiet girl in class with a secret life after dark. He's the campus heartthrob who's used to getting what he wants— except her. When a class project forces them together, buried truths, blurred lines, and undeniable tension threaten to unravel everything they thought they knew.
→ part one → part two → part three → part four → part five → part six → part seven → part eight → part nine
→ part eleven coming soon
pairing: college au! kim mingyu x exotic dancer f!reader
word count: 4.6k
content warnings: slowish burn, smut, lap dances, adult club setting, derogatory language toward sex workers, internalized shame, emotional distress, subtle? size, possession, and innocence kink. drugs & alcohol. MDNI
You wake up wrapped in warmth—the kind that sinks into your bones and stays there. Mingyu’s arm is draped around your waist, while you stir slowly, the soft weight of him pressed against your back like a quiet promise. His chest rises and falls gently, syncing with your own breathing, steady and warm beneath the cool morning light filtering through the curtains. You’re still tangled in his hoodie, the fabric loose and comforting, like a shield you never want to take off.
His breath fans across your neck, and you can feel the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat against your skin. You shift slightly, and he moves with you, a subtle, protective pressure that makes your heart ease into a calm rhythm. Slowly, your eyes flutter open. He’s not looking at you, face nuzzled into the curve of your neck, eyes closed. But the quiet rhythm of him breathing, the scent of soap and clean cotton, the way his warmth presses through the fabric—it’s enough to make your heart skip.
You shift just slightly again , trying to be careful not to disturb him.
But, he stirs, makes a low sound—half a groan, half a sigh—and nuzzles closer.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “You’re warm.”
You can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re clingy.”
“‘M not,” he replies, tightening his hold just a little. “You’re just soft.”
You glance down, realizing you’re still in nothing but his hoodie and the boxers from last night.
“Gyu,” you say softly, “I have a final in, like, thirty minutes.”
He groans again, dramatic and deep. “The world is cruel.”
You roll over onto your back, and Mingyu follows, curling around you like a sleeping bear. His hand finds your waist, fingertips tracing gentle circles as he presses a slow, tender kiss to your forehead.
Eventually, you sit up slowly, the warmth of the bed reluctantly leaving you. Mingyu pads ahead of you toward the bathroom, and when you step inside, he pulls open the drawer and hands you a new soft-bristled toothbrush.
You take it, smiling at him. The toothbrush feels simple and ordinary in your hand, but the way he looks at you—like this small gesture is the most natural thing in the world—makes your chest tighten.
He gestures toward the sink. “Go ahead.”
As you start brushing your teeth, he steps behind you, fingers threading through your hair. His touch is gentle, patient—tugging the strands back so they don’t fall in your face. The sensation is intimate and soothing, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.
You catch his reflection in the mirror—a quiet, focused look you don’t often see—and it makes your heart flutter.
“This is nice,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice soft. “We should do this more often.”
You grin, toothpaste foam and all.
When you finish, you pull on the sweatpants he hands you next. Before you slip your legs in, he reaches out and lightly tugs at the waistband of the boxers peeking out beneath his hoodie.
“Only I get to see you wear these,” he says with a small smirk.
You blush but don’t argue. The fabric is warm and loose, swallowing your legs, but somehow it feels right.
You glance around the room, grabbing a pencil from his desk. Your bag is still at your place—you came here straight from the party last night—and your final is only minutes away.
Glancing at the clock, you panic a little.
“You’re corrupting me,” you mutter, tightening the joggers as you rush toward the door. “I only have a pencil, and I’m almost late. This is so you.”
Mingyu just grins, keys in hand.
“You’ve never looked hotter.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You’re welcome.”
You follow him out to the car, the soft fabric of his sweatpants brushing your skin as you move. He opens the door for you, his smirk softening into something warmer.
The engine hums to life, and the gentle vibration beneath you feels like a steady heartbeat in the quiet space between you. Morning light spills across the dashboard, painting his face in gold. You watch the way the light catches his lashes, the curve of his jaw, the steady calm in his eyes.
Your fingers twist nervously in your lap. Without thinking, he reaches over and rests his hand gently on your thigh—warm, steady, grounding—more a promise than anything else.
“You nervous?” he asks, voice low and careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet.
“A little,” you admit, eyes flickering to the soft light on your fingers before meeting the road ahead.
His smile is quiet but certain—like he’s believed in you long before doubt ever found its way in.
“You’re gonna kill it,” he says softly. “You always do.”
You want to believe him. You hold onto that thread of confidence, even as your stomach flips with the weight of the unknown. Just hearing him say it, so sure and steady—it feels like a lifeline.
He glances over, catching your gaze for a moment, then leans a little closer, voice gentle but firm.
“Come to mine at seven. It’s important.”
Your heart stutters, cheeks warming as you nod, shy and almost giggly.
“Okay,” you whisper.
The city blurs past the window, but inside the car, time slows. The space between you hums with unspoken promises—patience, trust, something delicate and real that words can’t capture.
You think about how perfect this morning feels—how easy, how quiet, how right. Everything about it makes your chest tighten with a warm kind of happiness, the kind you didn’t expect but now don’t want to let go of.
The thought of the day ahead still makes your nerves flutter, but with him here—steady and sure—it feels like you can face anything.
When the car slows and pulls up outside the brick building where your final awaits, the world outside feels sharper, colder, more real.
Mingyu reaches over and unlocks the door for you, fingers lingering on the handle as if reluctant to let go.
You go to step out, the cool morning air brushing your skin, sending a shiver through you. Your heart pounds—not just with nerves but because he’s there, steady and sure.
Before you can take a full step forward, his arms wrap around you in a quick, tight hug.
His warmth presses against you, anchoring you to this moment, to the here and now.
“You’re gonna ace that final,” he whispers, voice rough and soft all at once.
Then his lips find yours after cupping your jaw to face him—slow, sure, and full of everything he feels but can’t say.
You close your eyes briefly, letting the calm wash over you.
“Go get ‘em,” he breathes.
You nod, clutching the waistband of his sweatpants, your nerves dulling beneath the quiet strength he’s given you this morning.
Turning, you step into the building, carrying more than a pencil—you carry everything he’s given you in this quiet, perfect morning.
⸻
The rooftop always smelled like rain, even when the sky was clear. Concrete and wind and metal railings warmed by the sun — he’d always liked the solitude of it. But tonight, it didn’t feel like a place to be alone.
Mingyu set the last candle down and stood back, heart pounding. It looked… almost right.
The string lights he’d dragged up and taped along the low wall cast a soft, golden haze over the rooftop. He’d laid out a thick blanket and a couple of pillows from his couch. Your favorite snacks were tucked into a little picnic basket he’d borrowed from a friend and claimed was for a “film project.” The tea you always ordered. A tiny Bluetooth speaker that still had sand in it from last summer. A folded hoodie—his—just in case you got cold.
He stared at it all now, hands on his hips, trying to breathe through the nerves clawing at his ribs.
It’s just a question, he told himself.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
It was everything.
He sat down on the blanket, pulled out his phone, and typed:
“Upstairs. Come hungry.”
Then deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted.
He tried a couple times more. Settled on:
“Rooftop. Got something for you.”
He hit send before he could overthink it.
The message went out.
And then he waited.
And as the minutes crawled by, his heart started to race.
This morning had been perfect. You in his bed, curled into his chest, sleepy and smiling and teasing him about “corrupting” your finals prep. Him tugging on the waistband of his boxers that you’d stubbornly worn and saying, “Only I wanna see you in these.” You’d blushed so hard your nose went red.
He had drove you to your exam with his hand on your thigh the whole drive there, stealing glances at you like he couldn’t believe he got to be the one beside you. And just before you ran inside, you’d looked up at him, all nerves and brightness, and he’d cupped your face and kissed you—not on the forehead, but on the lips, soft and full.
“Come back to mine at seven,” he’d said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s important.”
You’d giggled. “Okay.”
That smile had burned into his chest all day.
He’d spent the afternoon buying the snacks you liked. Setting up lights. Sweeping the rooftop clean even though his fingers were freezing. Rewriting how he’d ask you in his head over and over and over.
“I want this to be real. I want us to be real.”
“So... wanna be my girlfriend?”
“I know I’m already yours but will you be mine?"
Every version sounded stupid. But it didn’t matter. He just needed to say it. Out loud. To your face.
His phone stayed dark.
He checked the time. 7:08.
Okay. You were probably just changing. Maybe you stopped to grab something. He sat down, pulled his jacket tighter, and waited.
7:19.
The wind picked up, ruffling the corners of the blanket. One of the candles blew out. He relit it with shaky fingers.
7:33.
He texted:
“You okay?”
7:41.
“Are you still coming?”
8:02.
“Let me know if you’re running late. I’ll wait.”
No reply.
His chest tightened, something heavy and slow blooming behind his ribs. The city lights shimmered in the distance—familiar, but blurred now, like he was watching the world through glass underwater. From this rooftop, he could trace the skyline like a map of memories: the library where you two had lost entire afternoons, tucked between pages and whispered jokes. The quad where you’d run laughing through the rain, letting yourselves get soaked without a care. And farther still—the stadium, quiet and open beneath the stars, where you’d simply existed together. Just breath and warmth and the silent ache of something real.
The sky was so damn clear. It should’ve been perfect.
But you still weren’t here.
He sat in silence, phone clenched in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the blanket like he could steady himself through touch alone.
Maybe you forgot.
Maybe something came up.
Maybe…
His throat tightened.
Maybe you changed your mind.
⸻
8:45 p.m.
The rooftop was cold now.
Not that Mingyu noticed. Or cared. His fingers were red at the knuckles where the wind had kissed them raw, but he didn’t tuck them away. Didn’t move.
He just sat there—motionless—on the blanket he’d laid out hours ago, his back pressed to the ledge, the candles burned out around him like wilted stars.
You were late.
Over an hour late.
But some small, stupid part of him still believed you’d come.
Maybe you got caught up. Maybe you were curled in your dorm room right now, lost in a nap, phone on silent, having completely forgotten.
He'd forgive you. He would. He’d forgive anything.
If you just showed up.
He tilted his head back, eyes drifting upward. The night sky was hazy tonight, just a few stars blinking through the city light.
The food had gone cold. The little bag of snacks he’d packed—your favorites, all carefully chosen—sat untouched by the tea glasses. One had tipped slightly, and the tea inside was staining the edge of the blanket like an old bruise.
He didn’t fix it.
Didn’t clean up.
Didn’t have the energy.
What was the point?
The string lights he’d strung along the rooftop railing flickered softly. Still glowing. Still hoping. Just like him.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, though he didn’t expect anything even after his numerous calls and texts.
No little heart emojis or “on my way!” or dumb jokes about being underdressed.
Just the lock screen. Of you.
His thumb hovered over your name again. That little heart next to it.
He’d called four times. Texted numerous times. Left a voice message. Nothing.
Still, he didn’t leave.
Couldn’t.
He kept glancing at the door. The stairwell. The place you should be walking through with that apologetic grin, that lopsided laugh that always gave you away.
It was freezing now.
But he didn’t go back to his apartment.
Couldn’t bring himself to move.
He thought, What if she’s running? What if something happened? What if she shows up in ten minutes—fifteen—an hour—
He’d wait.
He would.
He’d wait until his bones ached. Until the wind turned his fingers numb. Until the wine froze in the glass and the lights dimmed out and the city slept around him.
Because if you walked through that door—everything would be okay again.
He could tell you it was fine. That he didn’t mind. That you could’ve come a mess and barefoot and breathless, and it still would’ve been the best night of his life.
But the door stayed shut.
The skyline flickered like it was trying to say something he didn’t want to hear.
Below, the campus buzzed softly. Somewhere, music played from an open window. Farther off, a car alarm blinked once and went silent. And Mingyu sat still in the quiet heart of it all, wrapped in silence and the memory of your voice.
You’re not coming.
He didn’t want to believe it.
Didn’t want to stand up. Didn’t want to fold the blanket. Didn’t want to blow out the lights or throw away the food or scrub your name out of his night.
So he stayed.
Even when his shoulders shook from the cold.
Even when the wind bit at his ears and his breath came out in fog.
Even when everything around him said go.
He stayed.
Because some stupid, stubborn, shattering part of him still believed in you.
Still believed that if he waited long enough, you’d appear at the top of the stairwell. That your voice would call out to him. That your eyes would soften when they met his. That everything would make sense again.
But you didn’t come.
Not at 9:00.
Not at 9:30.
Not even when the sky turned violet and the cold sank all the way into his chest.
And still, he waited.
Because if there was one thing he knew how to do—it was hold on.
Even when it hurt.
⸻
The rooftop was empty now.
Mingyu had finally packed it up—if you could call it that. The blanket stayed half-folded. The food, untouched, dumped into the trash bag with shaking hands. He left the lights strung, too tired to unwind them.
He walked down the stairs like a ghost, joints aching from the cold, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He couldn’t feel the key in his fingers as he unlocked his apartment door. Couldn’t feel much of anything.
Inside, everything was still.
Your hair tie that you left was still on the arm of his couch.
The hoodie drawer—his one full of the softest ones, the ones he hoped you’d steal—was cracked open. Waiting.
And Mingyu just stood there in the middle of the room, breathing like it hurt. What the fuck had happened?
He sat down on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, phone clutched like it had answers buried inside it. Still no messages. Not even a "sorry." Not even a lie.
Just silence.
He opened your last text again—his message asking how your final went, your reply soft and modest as always: “it was alright.” So you. He read it like it might hold some hidden meaning now. Like if he looked hard enough, it would explain the silence. Undo whatever had gone wrong in the hours since.
It couldn’t.
The silence got louder.
And finally, his mind began to turn.
Was this too much for you? Did you know he was going to ask?
He hadn’t said it out loud. Not in so many words. But maybe you could feel it. Maybe you saw it in his eyes when he tugged your hoodie in place and tied your shoelaces before the two of you left his apartment that morning. Maybe it was written in the way he held your thigh in the car, soft and steady like he wanted to keep you anchored to him forever.
Just maybe you knew. And that’s why you ran.
He dragged a hand over his face.
“God, I’m so stupid,” he muttered.
He should’ve slowed down. Should’ve noticed the way you flinched when things got too serious. Of course it was too much. Of course you pulled away.
That’s what always happened when he let people in. They wanted the idea of him—the charm, the smiles, the version that looked good in photos. But not the real parts. Not the ones that were messy or too much or too soft.
But you weren’t like them. You saw all of it—him—and still leaned in.
And somehow, he’d still lost you.
A part of him wanted to be angry. At you. At himself. At how perfect the morning had felt, how safe you’d looked curled in his bed like you belonged there. At how everything pointed toward forever and now all he had was a text thread and a tea-stained blanket.
But mostly, he just felt… hollow.
Exhausted. Confused. Bruised in ways he couldn’t name.
He looked at his phone again. The screen stayed dark.
His thumb hovered over your name.
Then—he stood.
Because he couldn’t sit here anymore. Couldn’t keep staring at pieces of you and pretending they added up to something.
He had to see you.
He didn’t even know what he’d say. He just needed you to open the door. To look at him and explain. Or yell. Or cry. Or laugh in his face. Anything. Anything but this.
He knew the floor, the door, the slight tilt of the number plaque that none of the dorm maintenance ever bothered to fix.
He didn’t think about what time it was— just grabbed his keys and left.
Down the stairs. Into the street. Across campus.
His heart beat louder the closer he got. Faster.
He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to crowd you. But he had to understand.
You didn’t look scared this morning. Or hesitant. Or unsure.
You looked happy.
Like he made you happy.
So where had that gone?
Where had you gone?
⸻
You were supposed to be at the dorm. You had to be. Mingyu’s feet carried him across the dark campus, the cold night air biting through his jacket, but he barely noticed the chill. His heart was pounding so loud it felt like it would burst free of his chest. Every step took him closer to the building where you lived, where he thought you’d be waiting for him. Where you were supposed to be waiting for him.
His hand shook as he reached for your dorm door, the wood cold beneath his knuckles. He knocked hard, then softer, then again, voice caught in his throat. “Hey, it’s me.” No answer. No footsteps. No sound at all except the echo of his own pounding heartbeat. He pressed his ear to the door, desperate for any sign—anything to tell him you were inside, alive and okay—but the silence crushed him.
His mind raced, trying to imagine where else you could be, why you wouldn’t answer. Had he overwhelmed you? Was he moving too fast? Was this all just too much? The very thought made his chest tighten painfully. You’d seemed happy that morning, so alive, so full of light. Why now? Why was he left standing here alone?
He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed himself to leave from your door.
Mingyu’s phone was already burning a hole in his pocket, and as he called your number again, hope twisted into desperation. Straight to voicemail. Again and again. His fingers trembled as he left message after message—pleas masked as calm words, but every one of them soaked in worry. “If you need space, I’ll give it. Just please tell me you’re safe.”
Minutes stretched into what felt like eternity. He paced the empty lobby, his breaths shallow and ragged. His mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios, images flashing through his thoughts—what if you were hurt?
The weight of not knowing pressed down so hard that his legs felt like lead. Finally, defeated and exhausted, he plopped down into a chipped chair of the dorm lobby, the paint peeling like forgotten memories peeling away with each passing year. The air was thick with a faint, stubborn scent of bleach mingled with mildew — that sterile, cold smell that clung to the walls, the floor, the very breath he pulled in. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the maze of worry and pain that twisted inside his chest.
He curled his fingers into fists, the rough material of the chair scraping his knuckles. His eyes kept flicking to the phone resting on the scratched laminate table beside him.
Please be okay. That thought had looped endlessly in his head, like a mantra trying to drown out the quiet.
Suddenly, a faint vibration cut through the silence. The phone buzzed against the table.
His heart jumped, wildly hopeful. Maybe this time, maybe this time, it was you. The weight of hours without contact lifted for a second as he lunged for the device, flipping it over like a lifeline.
But the screen didn't light up with your name.
Instead, it was a message from one of his friends.
The sudden burst of hope crashed, and the sharp sting of disappointment cut through his chest. His fingers trembled as he opened the message.
“Bro, you need to check the group chat. It’s blowing up.”
He swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked at the group chat in days — had muted it to keep the noise out, to keep you close in his mind, untouched by the chaos.
His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating, before finally dragging open the chat.
The flood of messages hit him like a wave, crashing relentlessly. Hundreds of texts. Snide jokes, cruel taunts, unrelenting laughter typed out like daggers.
And then—there was the link.
His pulse hit a frantic rhythm.
The link that would change everything.
He tapped it open.
The screen flooded with neon light—harsh blues and pinks that glared against the dim dorm lobby like a spotlight in a dark room.
There you were.
Caught in the glow of the club’s pulsing lights, moving with a fierce, intoxicating grace around a steel pole. Your body curved and flexed with the rhythm, muscles flowing like poetry beneath your pale skin.
Every detail etched itself into his heart: the stray strands of hair falling across your cheek, your fingers gripping the cold metal with a mix of strength and delicacy, your body telling a story no one else was meant to see.
His chest tightened painfully. A raw ache settled deep inside him, twisting cold and sharp.
You wore the black mask, but it didn’t hide the way you moved, didn’t hide the energy pouring off you. Someone had posted a side-by-side: the masked dancer on stage, next to a photo of you outside the club, unmistakably the same person. Proof.
The comments below were worse than any punch.
“Stripping for Mingyu’s attention? Pathetic.”
“Bet she thinks she’s better than us because she has Mingyu. Newsflash: you’re just a stripper.”
“How does Mingyu even date this? Can’t believe he settled.”
“Everyone wants to be with Mingyu until they find out he’s with trash like her.”
“She’s using him to get ahead. That’s the real story.”
“Poor guy doesn’t even know what he’s got himself into.”
“Guess Mingyu’s taste is... interesting.”
“Since when was he into strippers?”
“Why’s he even with her? She’s just... entertainment.”
“Bet he’s embarrassed. Wonder if she even cares what people think.”
The laughter in the text was merciless.
His stomach turned.
His eyes tracked the username of the first comment — the same girl who had shot you that jealous, hateful look at the party. The one who never hid her contempt.
His fingers gripped the phone tighter, white knuckles pressing into the sides. His throat tightened so much it hurt.
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights seemed louder now, mocking the silence between his thoughts. The loneliness of the place swallowed him whole.
He pressed his forehead against the edge of the worn table, closing his eyes as memories cascaded over him—your shy smile the night before, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, the softness in your laugh, the trust you’d placed in him on his couch.
And now—this. The pain was suffocating. He was supposed to be your protector. Instead, he’d been blind to the storm raging quietly around you.
His phone vibrated again—another message from the same friend.
“Dude, you’ve been ghosting the chat. We’ve been trying to get you to see this all day.”
Mingyu stared blankly at the screen, numb, the bitter taste of guilt and anger rising like bile in his throat.
The video had ignited through campus like wildfire, impossible to ignore. Everyone had seen it—watched you as if you were some sideshow, a spectacle to be whispered about and laughed over. What others thought of him barely registered anymore; that need to protect his own pride and reputation had faded the moment he met you. But you—he cared about you deeply. He knew the shame that clung to you, the guilt you carried like a secret weight every time you stepped into that club. And that made every mocking glance and cruel comment feel like a fresh wound. His chest hollowed. The weight of it crushed him, relentless and unyielding.
Even through the haze of pain and rising anger, one thought cut sharper than any blade, searing through the chaos and silence alike: you were out there—alone, aching in a way he couldn’t reach. He had no idea where you might be hiding, no way to know the depths of the hurt you carried in solitude. The old wooden chair creaked beneath him as he stood, every movement weighted with the heaviness of heartbreak and a fierce, unyielding resolve. His fingers curled tightly around his phone as he pushed open the heavy dorm lobby doors and stepped out into the uncertain night, swallowed by the cool shadows and the unknown.
⸻
// feel like im nearing a writers block and can't convey the details and emotions I want but oh well. also I wanted to wait longer till I posted this but whoops!
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anchor yourself to me.



maxine baker x f!reader.
synopsis. 💌 max tries to hide her troubles from you, but you manage to see through her. a change in her laugh, her smile, the way she hangs around you. it’s only when you confront her does she finally confide in you.
tags. 🏷️ fluff, established relationship, kisses, cuddles, soft comfort.
notes. my first request! (found here) thank you sm for requesting, i had fun writing this. i hope you enjoy & its up to ur standard <3 apologies if there’s any typos :(
ᯓ★
Maxine was like an unexpected blessing in disguise, hurling into your life. She was loud, intense, overwhelming.
It started in Biology class.
She’d been assigned as your new seatmate, walking over to you with a smile that resembled the sun. She greeted you excitedly, nerves nowhere in sight. And you, well, you were the opposite of her. Timid. Quiet. Soft. You gave her a tentative smile, and tried to continue with the activity your teacher had given, but it was difficult to focus with Max’s voice in your ear. She never stopped, not even to take a moment to breathe.
At first, you could deal with it. It was only thrice a week you’d have to see Max, but when a project arose, you found yourself growing closer with her as the weeks passed by.
You’d spend time at school working—in the library, out on the field, by the bleachers. Now and then, you’d work at her place. Other times she’d come home with you.
And in those moments, you couldn’t help but notice things about her that you hadn’t before. The way she twisted her lips to the side, the way she tucked her hair behind her ears when trying hard to concentrate. The way she fiddled with her bracelets when she felt nervous, scared. The way she was often forgetful in her own charming way.
Soon, that initial apprehension you felt towards Max faded, and turned in to something else, something that had you lying awake at night, thoughts of her haunting you. It wasn’t long before you were counting down the seconds till Biology, wanting to see her.
The final day of working on the project was when everything changed.
Max was packing up her books, placing them in her bag when you caught onto her wrist. She looked at you, surprised. Frankly, you had surprised yourself too. But you couldn’t back down—not when you made it that far, not when Max was staring at you with a knowing look. So, with a hammering heart and sweaty palms, you went in for it, asking her out to a movie.
It wasn’t a date, at least not yet. Your first date didn’t come until a week later when Max asked you if you’d like to go bowling.
One date turned into two, and two dates turned into three, until you’d completely lost track. Not much time passed before you both confessed your feelings, and two days later, you were official.
That was five months ago.
Now, having spent so many months together, you know Max like the back of your hand. You know what ticks her, how to comfort her. You pride yourself on that, because Max, although eccentric and extroverted, never let parts of herself be known too well—but you did.
“Guess who?”
There’s a pair of hands hovering over your eyes, interrupting you from changing books out your locker. You smile instinctively, the voice and matching bracelet hanging around the wrist being recognized instantly.
You chuckle, deciding to play with her for a bit. “Let’s see, mh.. my imaginary best friend from age six suddenly came to life?”
Max scoffs sarcastically, dropping her hands. You turn around, back facing the locker as you look at the younger girl. Her bottom lip is jutted out slightly, feigning despair. “Sadly not, only your beautiful, talented and gorgeous girlfriend.”
“Shame, I think I’d prefer the imaginary friend.”
“Oh, is that so?” Max raises an eyebrow, gasping. “How unfortunate! You wound me, Y/N.” She dramatically places a hand over her chest, clutching the section where her heart is.
She takes a step back, standing in the middle of the hallway. You easily notice that mischievous glint in her eyes, as she looks at each side of her before her voice bellows out.
“Quick! Someone help me, for my girlfriend no longer loves me!”
Your eyes widen and you quickly reach out to her, pulling her back towards you. You’re laughing at her antics, but your cheeks still flush red from the curious stares of other students.
“Stop it, you dork.” you mumble, flicking her arm.
Max grins like a Cheshire cat, “I hope you know that’s a preview of what would happen if we ever broke up.”
“Well, luckily that’s not going to happen.”
“Mmh.” She hums in response, and leans in to place a soft kiss on your cheek. You head ducks down, not much of a fan of PDA, but you grab onto Max’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
Max lets you finish up switching your books for the next half of the school day, and soon, you’re walking over to her locker, hand-in-hand. She quickly inputs the combination of her lock and the door swings open. You’re leaning against the next door locker, catching sight of the multiple photos decorating the inside of her locker door. It’s a contrast to your own locker, which is bare and lacking any personality.
There’s a few of her, Abby and Norah, a recent one of her and Ginny, another of her and Marcus. Then, your eyes drift to the others. Some are single photos of you, some are of both you and her. They come in many forms too—polaroids, print outs, a strip from a photo booth.
It warms your heart.
Max has always been more…showy with your relationship. Always holding your hand, kissing your cheek or shoulder. An arm slung over you was standard when going out. She needed everyone to know you were hers.
You, on the other hand, loved her in the quiet spaces—the comfort of your home, or hers. Loved her when no one was watching, behind closed doors, or any moment it was just you two.
Max never had a problem with it, she understood you were much more reserved than her. She often relishes in those quiet moments—always with a smile and a heart that beat way too quick for any normal person. Despite your hesitancy at first, you learned to grow to reciprocate her affections. Plus, she knows you have a photo of her tucked away in your wallet, so it’s not like she was completely hidden.
“Am I walking you over to MANG?” you ask her, the name of her friend group rolling off your tongue with ease, even if it makes your insides twist from the absurdity of it.
“It’s only MANG when we’re all together.” She corrects you, and you give her a look as if asking if she was being for real right now. “And uh—no, it’s okay.” Max responds, closing her locker door. “But walk me to AP English?”
You nod, not thinking much of it. Pushing yourself off the locker, you turn back to face Max and offer her your hand. She takes it with a tiny grin, intertwining your fingers and wraps her other hand around your forearm.
ᯓ★
First, it’s a sigh.
What follows after includes a visible slump in her shoulders, a pout present, then a groan of discomfort.
“Okay!” Ellen exclaims, a faux smile in place. Her hands are set on the counter. “Max, honey let’s skip the part where I ask what’s wrong, you lie and tell me it’s nothing, and I pry until you give in. So, clearly somethings going on, mh?”
Max folds her arms over the counter and rests her chin on them. “It’s ANG, they’re being.. weird.”
Ellen lets out a breath and then works around the kitchen, packing out plates and utensils for dinner. “Weird how, sweetheart?”
“They’re distant.” Max says, sitting up and watching her mom. “I can tell they aren’t telling me something, but I just don’t know why.”
Her mom puts down four plates, the sound loud and echoing in the room. “Maybe they’re not ready to talk about it.” She offers poorly, shrugging as if the matter doesn’t hurt Max.
The brunette mumbles a reply under her breath, too low for Ellen to hear. She doesn’t ask Max to repeat it, continuing to move about the kitchen. Max fiddles with her bracelet, and worries on her bottom lip. Maybe she would text them.
She looks at the phone, thinking it over in her head.
Quickly, she reaches for the device and unlocks her phone. She scrolls through her contacts until she finds the MANG groupchat, typing out a message. The blue cursor blinks at her as she rereads what she typed out.
For some reason, her chest feels heavy. Heavy with nervousness, and something else Max couldn’t quite name.
She deletes the message, running a hand through her hair. Why was this suddenly so difficult? It takes her another few minutes before she finally settles on a text, hitting send.
max [6:37pm]: are you guys okay? the groups been quiet and im worried
The message delivers. A couple seconds pass by and there’s still no reply. Max places her phone down, closing her eyes for a brief moment.
She doesn’t notice her brother entering the kitchen until he opens the fridge.
“Marcus!”
The dark haired boy looks over his shoulder at her, a mildly concerned expression on his face. He’s mid-sip from a bottle of water when he fully turns to face Max, leaning against the counter beside the fridge. He twists the bottle cap closed.
“That’s my name.” He replies sarcastically, saluting at her.
Max groans, getting off her seat by the kitchen island and stands opposite him. “Has Ginny said anything to you?”
“About..?” He trails off, placing the bottle next to him. Marcus’ hands rests on each of his elbows, his arms crossing over his chest.
Max rolls her eyes. “Anything! Something! I don’t know, but I feel like I’m out of the loop on everything.” She cards a hand through her hair, tugging on it slightly.
Marcus smirks. “Are you worried I’ve replaced you as her favorite Baker sibling?” He taunts her lightly, and she shoots him a blank look.
He thinks back to recent conversations he’s had with the teenager—talks about her mom, her therapy sessions, living with her dad.
“Nah, she hasn’t told me much.”
Marcus walks off after easily lying through his teeth, taking his bottle of water with him as Max feels her shoulders fold inwards. She sighs again, this time it’s much sadder, her voice soft.
“I just.. I want Ginny to know that I’m here for her. As support for her. I want her to know she can talk to me about anything.”
Nothing prepares Max for her brother’s next few words, but it hits her in the chest, hard—like a punch to the gut. It cuts deep, breath caught in her throat. It chips away at her composure, but she pushes it down, buries it far down inside her.
“Let it go.” He sighs, squinting his eyes. “Don’t make it about yourself, Max.”
ᯓ★
The sun is warm against your skin, pages with messy handwriting staring back at you as you read over some notes before class.
Max sits opposite you, eyes on her phone. You can tell she’s invested, looking as if she’s deep in thought. Her lips twists to the side, and thats the first indication that something is bothering her.
The second indication you get is the way she taps her finger against the table. Rapid and steady. She taps them in intervals of three, then stops, taps once, stops again and repeats it all over.
The third and final indication was the way she’s slow in replying to you. You gently attempt to make conversation with her, notebook closed and attention on your girlfriend. Yet Max is looking around you instead of at you, which is rare for her, since she loves to make eye contact with you. She claims it’s because your eyes are so beautiful, how can she ever look away?
So, you tap on her hand, eyes wide with curiosity.
“Hey, are you okay?” you question, eyebrows furrowed together and a frown on your lips.
Max nods almost immediately. It’s quick, too quick. She pulls her hand away and sets it in her lap. You watch her do so as a part of you cracks a little inside you, weirdly confused at her sudden lack of physical touch.
“All good,” she responds. Her eyes never meet yours, and though she smiles, it’s unconvincing.
“Come on, darling. You forget I can tell when you’re lying.” you chuckle smoothly, trying to lighten the mood.
For a moment, Max considers telling you all her problems, all of her worries. She considers letting herself lean on you—emotionally, mentally. You’re staring at her with these soft, concerned eyes. It hurts her when she opens her mouth, only for no sound to come out.
Don’t be dramatic.
The words fly around in her mind, unwanted and unpleasant. It stings her heart when the words repeat themselves, echoing in her head. It’s silent chaos in her mind; her heart and brain at war with themselves.
Don’t make it about yourself.
The words of Marcus come back to her so quickly she almost believes it—almost. And then, as the silence stretches further, and you’re still waiting with those damn caring eyes, her mind running with possible answers, Marcus’ words become less of an opinion and more of the truth.
“Alright, fine. You caught me.” Max swallows down her feelings. She can keep her troubles to herself, focus on other things. “I’m just stressed about a Chemistry test later this week.”
You eye her for a moment, not believing her. You can clearly telling something is wrong, but you don’t pry, don’t press for more. Max would come to you—eventually, when she’s ready. So, you take in her reply as the truth and offer her shrug.
“Oh? That’s understandable.” you give her a tiny ghost of a smile. “Hey, if you want, I can help you study for it later.”
She blinks.
Here you are, sitting opposite Max, offering her your kind heart and sweet words. Staring at her with your gentle gaze and loving eyes. Soothing voice trying to coax the woes out of her. Be a shoulder for her to cry on.
Her heart clutches in her chest—not from the pain of ANG icing her out, not from watching her brother soundlessly destroy himself, but rather from the love she holds for you, and the guilt that eats away at her.
Still, she swallows that lump in her throat again and slowly beams at you, grateful.
“Thanks, Y/N.” Max places her hand over yours, and rubs the back of it. Shyly, and with very obvious hesitation, you lean over the table, placing a kiss on her forehead.
“You sure you’re alright?” you ask one final time. It’s not to pressure her, but rather to give her the chance and the space to open up.
Those thoughts return. And Max, against her better judgment, lets them overpower her.
“Yeah, perfect.”
ᯓ★
It isn’t long before you notice a change in the dynamic. Days go by, you see it in the way they treat Max with blank stares and icy words.
From afar, you’re standing in the hallway talking to some boy—Josh, you think—from your History class about an upcoming assignment, but your attention isn’t on him. Instead, you’re watching with careful eyes as three out of four MANG members sit together by their resident spot. Abby sits on one of the single couch chairs, Ginny in the other. Max is seated on the floor, legs crossed over one another and leaning back against her arms, palms placed on the ground.
They’re talking, but you can tell it’s meaningless conversation in the way Max comments here and there. She’s oddly silent for some reason, her usual outgoing behavior nowhere in sight.
Norah walks over, plops herself next to Abby. They squeeze in together on the single seater, squished but comfortable. She falls into their conversation easily.
You continue watching as Abby leads the conversation, her hands moving in all directions. A couple more minutes go by, and you assume she’s cracked a joke based on Ginny’s laughter and Norah swatting her against the arm.
But Max?
She only manages a tiny smile.
It’s so unlike her to be this reserved, this antisocial. You’re starting to feel worried about her, it settles deep in your bones, and pulls you further away from the conversation.
“Hello, earth to Y/N?” Josh waves a hand in front of your eyes, distracting you.
You blink back at him, gaze now looking up. “I’m sorry, uh, what were you saying?”
He tilts his head in fake disappointment, tutting at you and ruffles the top of your head. You scowl, hastily fixing the mess he’d made.
“Never mind, we’ll talk again in class.” Josh bids you a goodbye and you wave in return, “See you.”
Once he walks away, your focus is now fully on Max. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, a somewhat saddened look on her face, and it pushes you into protective mode. With wary steps, you stride over to them.
“Hey.” you greet, shooting each of them a smile.
You weren’t really friends with Abby, or Ginny, or Norah. Mostly, you hung around them from time to time to be around Max, but you still treat them with politeness, acknowledging their presence.
“What’s up, silly strings?” Abby nods at you. Her tone is teasing, using that godawful nickname from last year when you’d gotten in a play fight with her, spraying each other with silly string cans.
You roll your eyes at her, mumbling at insult back. Abby sticks her tongue out at you as some form of a response. Norah asks you a question that you only half heard, staring down at Max. You didn’t plan to stick around long enough for any conversation to happen.
There’s a beat of awkward silence, Norah’s question going unanswered. Your hand twitches at your side from the anxiety of this social interaction.
You lick your bottom lip, eyes still on your girlfriend. “Walk me to my next class?”
Max’s eyes shoot up. They dart around for a bit, looking at each of her friends. Some weird, silent conversation they’re having, most probably. She musters up a grin, but it doesn’t seem all that convincing.
“Of course,” she voices out a moment later. “Anything for my pretty girl.”
A blush coats your cheeks. Abby takes a chance to tease you again, and this time, Ginny tags in. You roll your eyes, huffing to yourself, but you can feel the heat beneath your skin getting worse. Max stands and slings her backpack over her shoulders, telling them to cut it out, but they manage to add in few more jokes before letting up. Her hand fits into yours with ease, fingers intertwining. You give one final look to the group, and walk off together.
“Everything okay?” you look at her with those same worried eyes once you’re far enough away from the girls. “That seemed.. strange.”
“Ah, it’s just a little tension. Ginny has her moms’ trial and Norah’s.. going through some stuff. And Abby, well, you know how she is.”
It’s a weak attempt at covering up what’s really going on, a poor excuse to keep you in the dark. You believe it, for now, nodding slowly and telling Max about a new video game you started playing recently. She listens, offers you some kind of response here and there, but truthfully, whatever you’re saying goes in one ear and out the other. Her mind is too unfocused, too distracted.
When she drops you off at class, giving you a small peck on the lips and turns away, you fail to notice the way she twists her lips to the side, that somber feeling weighing on her chest once again.
ᯓ★
There’s a knock on the door of the Baker house.
You step back, curled hand dropping to your side while the other holds a mini bouquet of Max’s favorite flowers. You’re greeted with the sight of Ellen, who flashes you a warm smile and opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you in.
“Y/N,” she frowns at you. “What are you doing here? It’s late, honey.” Ellen’s concerned eyes meet your gaze once she closes the door.
“Came by for Max,” you tell her with a smile, holding up the flowers. “We were supposed to meet up at Blue Farm.”
Ellen nods in understanding and gestures upstairs. “She’s up in her room.”
You thank her and make your way towards the stairs, waving at Mr. Baker as he passes you by. The walk towards Max’s bedroom is short, your footsteps creaking under the floorboards. You notice both her and Marcus’ doors are closed, chuckling to yourself at the way they seemed more alike than they thought.
Gently, you twist open the handle of her door and push it open. Max is laying on her bed, back facing you, but she grumbles something about wanting to be left alone, assuming it’s her Mom coming into her room.
You step inside, slow and steady. The door shuts behind you and that’s when Max finally looks in your direction. She’s frowning, confused as to why you’re here, but a second later, her eyes drop down to the flowers in your hand and she gasps out loud, covering her mouth with her hand. Apologies fall from her lips in a rapid stream, coming over to you and wrapping her arms around you.
“It’s alright,” you mumble, reciprocating the hug. You’re really not that mad that she’d forgotten about Blue Farm—you’re more worried about how she’s feeling, and what she’s been hiding from you these past few weeks.
“It’s not!” She proclaims, leaning away from you and dropping her head. “I’m so sorry, baby. Ugh, you must be so upset with me.”
You shake your head. “Hey, no. Don’t think like that. I could never be mad at you, my love.”
Your free hand caresses her face, thumb rubbing over her cheekbone. Max protests at your words, but when she looks at you and still sees that same loving gaze, she sighs loudly and buries her head in the junction between your neck and shoulder, muttering incoherent words under her breath.
You can tell she’s feeling highly emotional, so you guide her back to her bed, placing the bouquet on her nightstand and shuffle onto the bed. Max falls into your arms in an instant, clinging onto you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.
You place a kiss on the crown of her head, rubbing a hand up and down her back and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.
It takes a while for her to calm down, and when she does, comforting words leave your mouth. They’re loud with affection, knocking those insecure thoughts out her mind.
“I know you haven’t been feeling well for a couple weeks now. It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me anything. But I want you to know it’s okay not to be okay, Max.”
And then, the damn breaks.
Max’s eyes fill with unshed tears. Your words are like an anchor that’s grounding her, keeping her in place. She lets out a deep breath, pouring all her thoughts and feelings she’s kept hidden. You don’t interrupt, listening closely as she lets everything out—ANG icing her out, her growing worry for Marcus, the sadness she’s been feeling every day, the weight of having to be fine for the sake of her brother. All of it comes tumbling out in choked gasps and a shaky voice.
The anger you feel at ANG for how they’ve been treating Max lights a fire in your chest, but what comes next’s knocks the air out of you.
“I didn’t say anything because.. I didn’t want to be dramatic. I didn’t want to make it about me, it’s what everyone says. And you have your own problems, you shouldn’t have to deal with mine too.” She confesses, and hiccups from all the crying she’d been doing.
You sit up, facing her. Your stare is hard, but there’s a softness lying underneath. “Max, baby, don’t ever think I wouldn’t deal with your problems—small or big. You’re important to me, and you shouldn’t have to hide your feelings just because you think you’re being dramatic.”
Max sniffles. You cup her cheek and wipe away a few stray tears. “It’s not true, don’t believe what others tell you. Your feelings are valid, and you’re allowed to be angry, to be hurt. But please don’t hide them from me. I’m here for you just as much as you are for me.”
She lets out another ragged gasp, clutching onto you. You let her cry into your chest, not caring that she wets your t-shirt. You simply hold her, keeping her up as her walls crumple around her.
The minutes pass by, her cries now at bay.
“I love you.” She whispers it ever so delicately, and your heart stutters in your chest.
“I love you, too.” you repeat the words like a prayer. It’s raw, tender. The vulnerability in your voice lets Max know you mean it. “Now, c’mon, let me see that gorgeous smile.”
Max lifts her head off your chest, and musters up a smile as best as she can. It’s feint, not entirely there. It isn’t like her usual flashy smiles that make your body feel a rush of excitement. Your lips straighten in a thin line at her weak attempt, and after a moment of thought, with a devious look in your eyes, you place a kiss on her nose, featherlight. Then her cheeks, her forehead, the corner of her mouth. All over and around her face.
Max’s giggles hang in the air, shoving you away from her. “Okay, okay! Stop!”
“There’s that smile I love.”
She rolls her eyes in exaggeration. Her lips fall ever so slightly, and all thats left is a warm grin gracing her features. She leans up, softly capturing her lips in yours. You kiss her back eagerly, having missed these quiet moments of love.
When the need for air becomes too much, Max leans her forehead against yours. Her breathing is slightly heavy, but her eyes sparkle like normal and her cheeks feel warm.
For a short second, you’re looking into her eyes.
They shimmer with happiness, like stars in the sky. They’re bright and colorful, holding so much affection for you in them. You take a moment to breathe before tackling her down and attacking her face with kisses all over again. Max somehow manages to overpower you, laying you on your back as she snuggles into your side. She thinks she’s finally won, but you turn to lay on your side and kiss all over her face for the third time. Hands at her side, enveloping her. Holding her close.
At first, their light and hold so much gentleness. But the longer you go on, the more sloppy and wet they become, smacking your lips against her skin with the fattest smooth you can conjure up. You alternate between sloppy kisses and quick pecks, and another over exaggerated kiss before falling onto her pillow, cheekily smiling at her.
She huffs, throwing some out of pocket insult at you, and before you can respond, she shuts you up with a kiss of her own.
For the rest of the night, Max cuddles against you, tucked away in the safety of your arms. She lets her head rest in the crook of your neck, fingers trailing over your collarbone as her breath tickles your skin. You smile down at her, and pull her closer to you, tightening your grasp.
#maxine baker#maxine baker imagine#ginny and georgia#ginny and georgia imagines#maxine x reader#max baker x reader#maxine baker x reader#gxg#x reader
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Procrastinating my college finals by searching for jobs.
#College#College suffering#Finals#Fuck Finals#I have three classes and six final projects.#Thats math doesnt fucking add up.#Fuck you Mr. D#Im being productive either way.
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WRONG JERSEY
PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| synopsis: you’re a uconn senior who doesn’t do game days—until your best friend finally drags you to one. you show up in an azzi fudd jersey. paige bueckers shows up with eyes only for you. one too many glances across the court and one flirty encounter at ted’s later, and you’re wondering if it’s possible to fall for someone in four quarters and a drink.
| warnings: suggestive content, drinking, flirting, language, college shenanigans, heavy eye contact, one (1) wrist grab
| word count: 4.1k
dina’s been on your ass for weeks.
“just come to the damn game,” she groans, lying dramatically across your twin XL like she doesn’t have two essays due and a scouting report to finish. “it’ll be fun. the vibes will be immaculate. and paige will be there.”
you raise a brow from your desk, mid-scroll through a spreadsheet for your senior business capstone. “and?”
“and,” dina grins, “all the girls love paige. come on. just this once?”
you don’t answer right away, but she sees the flicker in your eyes—curiosity, intrigue, something—and she pounces.
“plus we’re all going to ted’s after. you haven’t had a night out since halloween.”
she’s right, unfortunately. so you groan, shut your laptop, and throw your hands up in surrender.
“fine. but if i miss this project deadline because of you, you’re writing the executive summary.”
“deal,” she chirps.
—
you’ve been to a few games before—dina’s job as one the team manager’s made sure of that—but this season’s been nonstop. between job interviews, papers, and back-to-back presentations, basketball had taken a backseat.
still, when dina texts you a ticket and says, reserved student section. wear something hot, you listen.
your azzi fudd jersey still looks brand new. dina got it for you last year after you said azzi was “cold as hell” during her freshman season. she even introduced you once, saying, “this is my friend. she thinks you’re sick.” azzi had smiled and said thanks, and you swore she remembered you in class this semester—sociology 2312—because she always waved.
you throw on the jersey over some black baggy jeans, lace up your jordan 4s, and brush through your hair until it sits just right. a little gloss, some mascara, and you’re out the door.
gampel is already buzzing when you show up. the crowd is loud, the energy thick, and the student section is packed with navy and white. you spot your seat, right in the middle of the chaos, and slide in just as the lights dim for warmups.
the team jogs out onto the court, and immediately, you feel it.
or maybe—you feel her.
paige bueckers walks out like she owns the floor. tall, calm, braid swaying as she dribbles toward the three-point line. and somehow—somehow—her eyes catch yours.
you blink. she doesn’t. then, slowly, her gaze dips, cheeks flushing ever so slightly before she looks away.
did she just—
“HEY!” dina screams, grabbing you into a quick hug. she’s breathless, clipboard still in hand. “you made it! holy shit. i didn’t think you would.”
“you peer pressured me.”
“and look at you. repping azzi. cute.”
you laugh, but your eyes flick toward paige again—just in time to see her watching. dina pulls away and heads toward the bench, but not before paige intercepts her, grabbing her by the elbow. they speak quietly, and then they both look back at you.
you freeze.
paige says something else to azzi, who turns her head, smirks, and bumps shoulders with kk. ice snorts.
yeah, they’re definitely talking about you.
paige’s eyes are on you all through warmups. it’s subtle if you don’t know better—but you do. you catch it every time she fixes her ponytail, every look she sends your way after a swish.
you try to play it cool. totally normal. completely casual. just a hot six-foot-something hooper staring at you like you’re the only person in the arena.
no big deal.
—
the game tips off and uconn dominates. paige is on another level tonight—no-look passes, step-back threes, crossovers that make the crowd gasp. you’re not a basketball expert, but you know when someone’s cooking.
and she’s cooking.
the student section’s rowdy. you scream with everyone else. paige hits a clutch three and points to the stands, eyes scanning—and for a second, you think it’s for you.
your stomach flips.
—
somehow, dina convinces you to go to ted’s after. she claims “everyone’s going” and you need to “celebrate the win” and also “stop being lame.”
you cave.
the bar’s packed, but familiar. sticky floors, overpriced drinks, and music just loud enough to keep you yelling across tables. you barely make it to the bar when you hear her.
“hey.”
you turn. paige is next to you, black hoodie on now, with a pair of gray sweatpants. waves a little looser around her face after taking her braids out. soft. casual. attractive.
“hey,” you say, pretending your heart isn’t in your throat.
“you had fun at the game?”
“yeah,” you say, turning to face her fully. “you were... really good.”
she smiles, slow and satisfied. “you always this generous with compliments or just for me?”
you arch a brow. “depends. you always this flirty or just with me?”
her grin widens. “guess you’ll have to find out.”
you shake your head, but your smile betrays you. “dina said you’re tired of being a campus celebrity.”
“she talks too much,” paige mutters, eyes never leaving yours. “but she did say you’re best friends.”
“that’s true. she also said you asked about me at the game.” you say teasingly.
she doesn’t even flinch. “guilty. azzi said you’re in one of her classes. said you’re smart. quiet. kinda hot when you’re focused.”
you blink. “azzi said that?”
“no,” she shrugs. “that was me.”
and then she smirks, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
you don’t say anything at first. the bartender slides your drink over. paige orders a dirty shirley. she pays before you can.
“you didn’t have to—”
“i wanted to.”
you look at her, eyes warm and unreadable, and for a second, the noise of the bar fades. you take a sip.
“so...” she says, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch, “you giving me your number or what?”
you laugh, finally, cheeks flushed. “smooth.”
“you like it.”
you type your number in her phone. she doesn’t look away as she saves it.
“i’ll text you.”
“i hope so.”
“and maybe next time,” she says, brushing a hand lightly over your waist as she passes by, “you’ll wear my jersey.”
#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#uconn huskies#ncaa women’s basketball#paige bueckers x reader#paige bueckers smut#paige bueckers x oc#paige bueckers x black!reader#wlw relationship#wlw smut
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Everything You Need
Stepmom!Wanda x Reader
Summary: Wanda takes great responsibility with being your mama. Maybe even too much responsibility at times. She’s determined to be everything you could ever need.
CW: Breastfeeding, Somnophilia (so noncon), loss of virginity, first kiss, fingering, arousal tasting, Wanda is a little freak
Word Count: ~3.5k (I didn’t check)
A/N: The final chapter. It’s very bittersweet. I have loved this story quite possibly more than anything I’ve written before. However, I’m very proud to wrap it up and put a little bow on this series as a finish project at last.
Part 6 of Her Special Girl
———————————————————
Infuriatingly enough, Wanda’s milk came late one morning when you weren’t home. In fact, you weren’t going to be home at all until later that evening, after all your classes were over. It took every bit of her willpower not to text you as soon as it happened. She wanted it to be a surprise.
But all it would take is one text. You could be home in ten minutes. The two of you would have all afternoon to yourselves. She could have Vision pick the boys up from school. Email Natasha and take the rest of the day off. Your father wouldn’t be home until tonight.
No. No, your schoolwork was important. She would let you finish up your classes, and you would be home in six hours, and then she could slip into your room after the boys and your father went to bed. After pumping this morning, she probably wouldn’t have much more milk until then anyway.
It was a noble goal, truly.
She made it 45 minutes. She sat in front of her desk, trying to work through an excel sheet. But she couldn’t focus. All the cells twisted and melted together as her brain swam with daydreams. You were going to be so excited. She imagined your smile when she told you: your eyes would crinkle at the corners, squinting into crescents so tight it looked like they were nearly closed. Your cheeks would form your perfect dimples, 2 on your left cheek, 1 on the right. The one on your right cheek only made an appearance when you were really happy.
Finally, she caved. She shot Natasha a short, nondescript email, Vision a short text, and you an equally brief text, asking if you could come home early because she had a surprise. She paced around your bedroom, obsessively folding and unfolding the throw blanket at the foot of your bed.
She fluffed the pillows, made up the sheets, flattened out the comforter and tucked it in at the sides of the mattress, only to then strip the bed completely and put on new, clean sheets, even though she just changed them three days ago.
She truly hadn’t been this excited in ages. She hadn’t even been this neurotic when she learned you were coming home for the first time in three years. Of course she cleaned in the weeks leading up to it, a lot. But she hadn’t necessarily had time to prepare for the immediate event of your arrival, given that you had arrived a bit unexpectedly a week early.
She felt like a pregnant dog obsessively digging through her whelping box, or a mother bird perfecting every twig of her nest in preparation for her hatching eggs.
Her baby was coming. Everything had to be perfect.
—————
Wanda laid awake, staring at the vaulted ceiling until it appeared to be stretching, tightening the walls around her that threatened to swallow her up. It was well past midnight, probably around 2am, but she hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. She couldn’t stop thinking about today: the twin’s kindergarten orientation.
She held it off for as long as she could, just like she had with every other aspect of their growing up. Every milestone they’d ever reached had been a blade through her heart. They all felt like the world’s cold hands were ripping her babies from her arms.
If it weren’t for Vision, they might not even be potty trained despite having shown signs of readiness very early.
She hated how fast they were growing up. How all the other adults in their life fawned over how “independent they were for their age”. She loved her boys more than anything in the world, but god she wished they were more clingy and needy. They never even wanted to sleep in the bed with her. She had tried to force the habit, but they always managed to wriggle their tiny bodies out of her loving arms.
It didn’t help that they were twins so they could rely on each other for some things instead of just her.
And then there was kindergarten orientation. She watched as all the other children cried and clung to their mothers with desperation. She knew it bordered on sadism, but she felt a slight tinge of hope that her beautiful boys might feel the same desperation at the thought of being separated from her.
But they didn’t.
They pranced into the classroom together, elated by the prospect of new toys and friends to play with. They hardly even gave her a second glance. They were no longer her tiny, helpless babies that relied on her for everything. She tried to tell herself that independence was good. Natural. But her heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Her babies weren’t babies anymore. They didn’t need her like they had before.
She couldn’t have any more children. She had a stepdaughter, but you hated her as far as she knew. Not to mention you were old enough to move out on your own. You didn’t need her at all.
And soon her boys wouldn’t either. She would be left all alone: the empty husk of a woman rotting away with no purpose. No one to care for. No one to love her unconditionally. No one to love her at all.
Alright. She was spiraling. She needed to take a walk.
She threw her robe over her thin pajama shirt and headed for the kitchen. Maybe some tea would clear her mind.
But before she could head down the stairs, she heard something odd. Was that the shower? No one should be in the shower at this time of night. You had gotten in the shower before she went to bed, but that had been hours ago.
She cracked open your bedroom door, finding your room empty. She knocked on the bathroom door. “Honey? Are you okay in there?”
No answer. Her stomach churned. Something wasn’t right. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the key they kept above the doorway in case of emergency and unlocked the door.
“Honey?” She called, stepping quietly into the bathroom. She didn’t want to invade your privacy, but she could feel in her gut that something was wrong.
That’s when she saw you, limp and freezing on the bathroom tile. She flung open the glass door in a frenzy, braving shutting off the freezing water and pulling your wet, naked body into her arms. “Oh! My sweet girl. How long have you been in here? I just woke up to use the restroom and I heard the water still running. You poor thing, have you been in here all night? You’re freezing. Your poor lips are purple! Come on, let's get you warmed up.”
She picked you up cradling you against her chest like a baby. Her baby. She looked down, taking in your face. Your lips were purple, but slightly parted. Your little noises mimicked a baby’s coos, chirps and whines made in place of words. She laid you down on top of a blanket, carefully folding the ends over your freezing body into a comforting swaddle.
When your small, shaking body inched closer to her, wrapping around her waist like a scarf, her heart melted. She pushed the wet hair from your eyes, gently caressing your head. And as she looked into your eyes, something in the universe clicked. She had spent all night feeling so empty, like her very purpose was fading away, but it was all restored by the look you gave her. It was the same look she wished to see on her boys’ face this morning: clingy, needy, and completely reliant on her.
You needed her, and she needed you to need her. “Aww my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m not going anywhere. Mama’s here.”
When you tugged weakly at her nightshirt, pulling her towards you with tiny, desperate hands, she did not hesitate to crawl under the blankets and pull you into her arms. “You poor thing, you're still freezing. It’s okay, mama will keep warm.”
She thought nothing of it when you started to pull the nightshirt over her head, exposing her bare skin to your own. You were still ice cold to the touch, but she pressed your entire body to hers, cradling you to her chest. She held you like she would have if you had just come into the world, laying you bare against the skin of her chest. She cradled the back of your head with her hand, inhaling your smell. The smell of her baby. “Mmm, you’re right this will get you all nice and warmed up. You're a very smart girl.”
“I love you, mama.”
“I love you too, sweet girl.”
She kissed your head, enveloping you with her warmth. She held you tight, even as she finally felt your body go limp on top of her. She sang you sovokian lullabies as you slept, rubbing up and down your back, circling the swell of your ass. You were so soft. You were so little. She pressed her fingers into your palm, watching as your infantile reflexes caused you to wrap your hand around them.
She felt as you unconsciously shifted, nuzzling your face into her neck. She giggled as your warm breath tickled her skin. She held your face, placing her thumb just in between your parted lips. “My beautiful girl,” she whispered, lifting your face to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Your first kiss, completely forgotten by your unconscious mind.
There were other things you didn’t remember. Many nights when she had crept in after you had fallen asleep to explore your soft body. You only ever wore slips to bed, when you wore anything at all. You loved the feeling of soft blankets on your skin. In some ways, she imagined you did it just for her: leaving yourself as a little present to unwrap at the end of the day.
She always treated you so delicately, with the utmost love and respect. She did love you, after all. She would take care of you just as any mother would. So when your body started to yearn for more, responding to her gentle caresses with an arched back and whiny breaths, she couldn’t bring herself to deny you.
“Shhh,” she soothed, positioning her body over yours, “Mama’s got you. Just relax. Let mama take care of you.” She eased her hand down your body, slowly pushing up the hem of your slip and rubbing her fingers over your panties. She could feel a damp spot growing over the thin, silky material under her fingertips.
You whined and bucked your hips against her hand.
“Oh angel,” she breathed, kissing your temple. “You poor thing. So needy for mama. It’s okay baby. I’m gonna take of Every. Little. Thing.” She slipped her hand under the fabric and circled your clit slowly before sliding a single finger inside of you.
“God you’re so tight. I bet no one’s ever touched you here before, have they, sweet girl?” She whispered. You stirred, whining and rubbing your eyes. “Shshsh, go back to sleep baby. Let mama take care of your needy body.”
She slowed down, stilling completely until she was sure you were asleep. Only then did she start to move, slow and gentle. She kissed your temple, soothing your writhing, sleeping body. She cooed praises into your ear as she pumped a single finger in and out of you. Her palm massaged your clit in perfect, gentle circles. It was enough to make your untouched body cum in minutes.
“That's my good girl,” she whispered. “Letting mama take care of you like this.”
She slowly pulled her finger from you, drinking down the remnants of your first ever orgasm. One you would never remember, but she would, forever.
She was gentler with you than anyone else would be, she told herself. You were too good for anyone. She would have to protect you from them. She had to make sure you never wanted for anything. She would be your sole source of happiness and safety, more than your own mother, or anyone else for that matter, ever had been. She would feel your entire life with so much laughter and love you would forget there was even a world outside of her. She was determined to be your mother, your lover, your best and closest friend. She would be everything you could ever need.
—————
When she heard the sound of your keys in the front door, she practically jumped down the stairs. She was in the foyer before you could even unlace your shoes, holding something conspicuously behind her back.
You smiled at her with giddy excitement, bouncing on the balls of your feet. She licked her lip, slowly pulling a small plastic container from behind her back. At the bottom of the container was a small amount of a yellowish white liquid. You looked at the liquid, then back up at her beaming face. “Is that…” you asked knowingly.
She eagerly nodded. You ran into her arms excitedly, beaming from ear to ear. She pulled you into a deep kiss, practically bending you backwards with the ferocity of it. You reached up to grab the back of her neck, holding her face in your other hand. By the time you pulled back, you were both breathless, but you could hardly keep away, following the kiss with several more pecks punctuated by smiles and bits of laughter. You nuzzled your nose against her, rubbing your excitement all over her.
She moved away only far enough to set the plastic container down on the nearest surface available before pulling you back into her arms.
“Can I drink it?” you asked, cradling her cheek once more.
“Not that one,” she responded. She had read it was best to pour the first milk out. As much as she loathed to throw any of the precious liquid away, your health was too precious to risk. “But every other drop I ever make is for you.” She kissed you again, resting her forehead against yours. “All for you.”
You smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and jumping up to wrap your legs around her waist. She caught you with practiced ease, looping her arms under your butt and making her way up the stairs.
You tried to kiss her more, but she chuckled. “Careful, sweet girl. You’re gonna make mama fall.”
It wasn’t until she made it into your room that she gently laid you down on your back and bent over to press her lip to yours.
Your hands slid up under her shirt, pulling it up over her head as she crawled on top of you. Her bra came shortly after, sliding down over her shoulders revealing her perfect chest. She had grown nearly an entire cup size since she had started pumping two months ago. Luckily she was a small C to begin with, so most of her bras still fit, if not a little snugly.
You impatiently moved down to her swollen nipples, trying to secure one between your lips in the awkward position. She buried her hand in your hair, pulling you back firmly. “Be patient, sweet girl. Let me sit down first.”
You nodded, mouth still eagerly open and eyes blown wide with hunger and desire. “Yes, mama.”
She sat at the headboard, adjusting the pillows around her lap. She beckoned you up. You crawled into her lap, laying down with your head cradled in the crook of her elbow. “There you go,” she cooed, easing you into her chest.
Your lips gently closed around her nipple. Despite your prior impatience, your position in her arms eased your eager mind. Your suckling was slow and methodical, keeping a gentle and consistent rhythm. Wanda ran her hand through your hair, cooing gently. “That’s my sweet girl. Just like that.”
There was a tense thirty seconds where she worried the milk would not come. She had just pumped hardly an hour ago. But, in time, she felt the smooth start to flow from her breast. She inhaled sharply. The hand that combed through your hair started to shake as she brought it to her own mouth. She had waited so long for this moment: she was feeding her baby from her own body. Nothing had ever felt so magical.
“Oh,” she sighed, bringing her hand back down to caress your soft cheek. The thin peach fuzz on your face felt so unbelievably soft under her knuckles as she felt the rhythmic pulse of suckling from the outside. “My baby.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, gently rolling down her cheeks and neck onto her bare chest. She was so happy. She could sit here just like this forever, listening to the peaceful sound of your suckling. Your eyelids fluttered blissfully, as if you were drinking some magical elixir that calmed every muscle in your body. You were completely limp in her arms, maybe even more so than you would be if you were sleeping. Your head was emptied of every thought. There was just Wanda and her sweet, warm essence pouring down your throat.
Wanda chuckled softly as a small drop of milk formed at the corner of your mouth. She wiped it away. “Messy girl,” she whispered playfully. Her hand worked its way down to your stomach, lifting your shirt and circling the soft skin there. She imagined it filling, swelling with her milk until you were completely sated. Until you didn’t need anything else but her.
There wasn’t very much milk, at the moment. Between both of her breasts, you were probably only able to get about an ounce. But there would be more. There would always be more for you. She would make sure of it. There would always be as much as you needed.
You moved to pull away, but she held you close. “Not yet, little love,” she requested quietly. Her hand moved lower, trailing down your bare stomach until it slipped its way under the waistband of your pants. “Let me take care of you.”
Her hand slid between your legs, edging them apart slightly. Her middle finger gently traced your slit, stopping to circle your clit. You moaned into her chest causing a small moan to escape her lips as well. She pushed your underwear aside, pushing two fingers past your entrance. The rhythm of your suckling faltered as she pumped her fingers.
The angle was slightly awkward, but it was heavenly. It was the same angle she had used to give you your first ever orgasm, with an extra finger. You didn’t know, as you had no recollection of it, but she surely did.
The base of her palm rubbed perfectly against your clit with every stroke. The pads of her fingers curled so perfectly inside of you. Your eyes, already heavy with relaxation, rolled back. Your body, already limp in her arms, molded perfectly with hers. Your mind, already void of all stress and thoughts, was overtaken with pleasure.
She could feel every whimper and moan amplified with her nipple still tucked securely between your lips. Your pleasure became her pleasure in a perfect combination of two bodies.
When you came on her fingers, the moans and vibrations that rang through her chest sent her into her own orgasm, one she didn’t expect and, quite frankly, didn’t know was possible.
After coaxing every drop of your excitement your body would allow, She brought her fingers to her mouth, swallowing down your essence as you had swallowed hers.
She finally allowed you to pull away, adjusting your body to lay on top of hers. You kicked your pants and shirt off, removing any clothes she had from her body as well. There would be nothing in between. You couldn’t bear to feel anything but her skin against hers. Your legs tangled in with hers as you rested your head in her neck.
“Mmm, I love you mama.” You hummed pleasantly, craning your neck you to kiss her jaw.
“I love you too, sweet girl,” she said, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. “More than all the stars in the sky.” She rubbed soothing circles into your back. She rocked you quietly singing you the same Sovokian lullaby she had all those years ago, coaxing you to sleep.
There was no greater place of peace anywhere in the world. You were sure of it. She was everything you needed. Everything you would ever need.
#wanda maximoff#wanda x reader#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#mommy wanda#wanda maximoff x reader#mommy!wanda#her special girl#wanda maximoff x y/n#stepmom!wanda x reader#stepmom!wanda#stepmom wanda#mama wanda#wanda maximoff fanfiction
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BASED ON CAUSAL UGGH, your mind, is a wonder, please devastate us(please don’t(PLEASE DO)
-🏃♀️
casual. (satoru gojo x reader)
word count: 13.3k warnings: angst, smut, suguru being the goat, 18+ a/n: I didn't intend for this to get so long, but I just kept going :') Inspired by Casual by Chapell Roan, a song that has been haunting me for like two months lol. I can't wait to hear what you all think, and lmk if these longer fics are something you're into! ILY THANK YOU ALL FOR THE KIND MESSAGES AND SUPPORT- every comment and message means the world to me. 🫶🏻
“You’re not gonna fall in love with me, are ya’?”
In hindsight, it should have raised more red flags in your clouded mind. The tone of voice he held was playful though— as it always seemed to be. Laced with a deep baritone that bore witness to the two of you’s activities of the last few minutes, that question should have had you digging your heels right into the ground to brake yourself, but you only found yourself digging your heels further into his lower back. Gasping softly against his shoulder, all you could do was shake your head at what should have been a first and final warning. How could you deny him when his fingers were reaching parts of you you were positive he alone had just discovered for the first time? How could you ever deny Satoru Gojo?
No, god no, anyone but Satoru Gojo.
You silently wallowed in mental anguish as your professor announced your semester partner, just weeks prior to the incident. Glancing around despairingly, you didn’t even see the man in question in any of the cramped seats of the lecture hall. It sparked a small flicker of hope in you; maybe he transferred out of this course last minute but was still showing up in the roster— happens all the time, right? Sure enough though, in typical Gojo fashion as you’ve observed in the two or three other classes you’ve had with him, as well as what his stellar reputation has revealed, the white haired man burst through the doors of the lecture hall not even two seconds later.
Now, you weren’t one that allowed yourself room to be late often. You didn’t have the generational wealth tied to the Gojo name as insurance for your future— you had to work your ass off to scrape up enough for tuition every semester. Still, in the few times you had been running late, it was always mortifying; heads turning your way, the professor’s disapproving stare, and that awkward shuffling as you tried to find any open seat to hide in. Gojo didn’t seem to have an ounce of humility in his six-foot-something body though as he strides confidently into the room, smiling casually at the professor with a nod of his head as everyone turned to watch his theatrical entrance.
His charming personality and fluent family name, paired with the striking, wide cerulean eyes that were constantly hidden behind the dark tinted lenses of his round glasses— everything about Gojo was attention grabbing. You weren’t even sure he seeked it out, though something about his celebrity like waves to the people that called out fondly to him as he walked around campus told you he certainly didn’t mind it.
Even so, it wasn’t his borderline narcissistic behavior that put you off about this forced arrangement, but the fact that he was perpetually ten to fifteen minutes late. In every class you’ve had the pleasure of sharing with him, it’s seemingly been his golden rule. Typically, it wouldn’t be your problem. It wasn’t your grades or attendance that suffered, after all. Now though, if he didn’t care enough to leave wherever he was stumbling back from ten minutes earlier if it meant he’d make it to class on time for once— how much would he really care to contribute to a term project with you?
“What’d I miss?” You heard him mutter not so subtly at his friend, who always knew to save him a seat, as he flopped down beside her.
Sparing a sidelong glance in their direction to find the tired looking girl beside him, Shoko as you remembered from the roster call, nodding her chin toward you. Gojo looked up at you with a dumb expression on his face, and for a moment you caught a glimpse of those famous, sparkling eyes of his as his glasses slipped down his nose. You recalled hearing about his hypersensitivity to light that triggered his need for the constant eye protection.
Your friend, the utter gossip she was, somehow had this information armed and ready in her arsenal to throw at you when you’d backhandedly mentioned to her what an asshole he looked like, always wearing his sunglasses indoors. It made you grumble because, shit, now you looked like the asshole.
The memory slowly waned from your consciousness as he quickly pushed his frames back up his nose before lifting a hand to wave enthusiastically at you. A silent scoff left you at the fact that he seemed so overjoyed to hear about his new term partner, apparent in the shit-eating grin that seemed to take up his entire face. Offering a weak wave in return, you faced forward once again to listen to the rest of the instructions, a migraine already forming at the acceptance that you’d definitely be on your own this semester.
“Gojo, can you please quiet down?” You hushed him for the fourth time that afternoon in the middle of what was supposed to be the quiet, campus library.
He wouldn’t for the life of him sit still; shifting back and forth from the seat to the right of you to the one across from you, tapping his pen obnoxiously on his laptop, sighing dramatically as he crossed and uncrossed his freakishly long legs. It was driving you, as well as the other students in the vicinity, insane. “You’re acting like you’re writing a dissertation— we’re just researching topics.”
Another one of his Oscar-worthy, theatrical sighs slipped past his lips and dissipated into a frustrated groan. Slamming his laptop shut, he looked up at you like a child who was told to get into the shower after he’d just got done perfectly muddying himself up. You stared back blankly at him.
You had never had the chance to observe him so closely. Now that you were though, despite the deep seeds of irritation he was rooting inside of you, you could understand why everyone on campus was so smitten by him. His wispy, white hair splayed messily across his forehead and partly into his concealed eyes, appearing just rustled enough to tell you he didn’t style it, but fluffy enough to tell you he definitely took the time to at least attack it haphazardly with a blow dryer. He always dressed nicely though— nicer than any of the other boys you saw hanging around campus anyway. Still, his style was laidback, casual, cool. You almost rolled your eyes at yourself, recognizing that you were beginning to sound like your best friend, who insisted Gojo was the crème de la crème of eligible bachelors.
“Do you have ants in your fucking pants or something? What is your—”
“All the tuition these people charge, and they can’t afford some curtains?” He cut you off with an exasperated gasp and shoved his head into his hands.
You opened your mouth to tell him off once again for speaking so obnoxiously loud in the library, but the scolding lecture caught in your throat upon seeing the way the sun was shining right in his face from the large windows. Watching his fingers crawl under his glasses to rub aggravatedly at his eyes, a pang of guilt hit your chest for not having realized the cause of his restlessness sooner.
“Oh, um…” Your voice trailed off as you looked around the library for a dimmer area, but it seemed every corner was shrouded in sunlight. Tapping your fingernails anxiously against your laptop, you weighed your options. You’d regret this later.
“Thank god!” Gojo exclaimed as he quickly moved through your small dorm, climbing up onto the bed to draw the curtains over the offending window. Your lips threatened to twitch up into an amused smile, but it stopped as you watched him flop back down way too comfortably on your twin bed and rub at his temples.
“Do you want something for headaches? Um… I should have something in here…” You rambled while rummaging through the small medicine bin you had in the cabinet of your kitchenette. “Here.”
Finally spotting the bottle of migraine relief, you popped it open and fished two pills out. One of your partner’s eyes popped open to find you standing before him with your hand outstretched in offering. He took in your apprehensive stance with a concealed smile; way you shifted from one foot to the other as he stared back at you, lips pursing unsuredly with eyes that wanted to be anywhere but his.
Cute.
Sitting up and leaning forward, Gojo dipped his head down to scoop up the pills into his mouth, plush lips running softly over your sensitive palms. Your eyes widened a bit at his clear lack of understanding of personal space or normal human interactional rules in general. A gasp threatened to spill from your lips when you felt his teeth graze your skin before he finally threw his head back to swallow the pills. He flashed you a dazzling smile.
“Thanks, pretty girl.”
You chose, for your own sanity, to ignore that pet name. Shaking your head, you wiped your hand on your sweater before moving to grab your laptop from your bag. Weighing your seat options, you almost opted to sit on your desk chair just so you’d have space from the overly-comfortable man on your bed. You sighed before sitting at the edge of the bed and cast a sidelong glance at the way he remained lounged back, propping his head on his hands so he could see your screen.
“Do you mind taking your shoes off if you’re going to lay in my bed?” You pleaded, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of whatever he may be tracking into your sheets.
He revealed an amused smile, but complied anyway, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge to kick his shoes off. Leaning back on his hands, he tilted his head at you. The innocent motion had your chest swirling with a gut feeling that maybe these people that followed him around all the time were onto something. Quickly turning your attention back to the pathetic list of topics you two had come up with thus far, you bit your bottom lip.
“Any more requests for me, princess?”
“Yeah, how about you actually help me pick a topic now instead of just sitting there?”
“Geez, lighten up a little. Been a while since someone dicked you down or what—”
A sharp slap across his cheek didn’t allow him to finish that sentence. His head swung to the side, glasses almost slipping off of his stunned face. You gasped quietly, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth guiltily. With bated breath, you watched as he brought a hand up to hold his red cheek, his white lashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I—”
“Nah,” Gojo chuckled breathlessly (and a little awkwardly), moving to adjust the frames properly on his face. He flicked his hair from his eyes, looking at you with a sheepish grin. “I deserved that one. My friend is always telling me I needa’ tone it down, so…”
You sighed, mortified by your abrupt actions. Slumping your shoulders, you set your laptop aside as you buried your face into your hands. He was right, at least about your being so high strung (and about the dick part, but that was beside the point). There was always this impossible expectation that you set for yourself— you always had to outdo yourself— your very own, never ending competition. Still, with all the courses you were bending over backwards in to assure your grades stayed high enough to maintain your scholarship, as well as the ass-crack-of-dawn hours you crammed in at work before your classes so you could cover room and board, you didn’t feel like you had a chance to breathe.
“No, no,” You insisted, sparing a mortified glance at the stinging handprint left on his pale cheek. “I mean, yeah, you sounded like a total prick, but I still shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Ehh, who said I don’t like getting smacked around every once and a while?” He quipped teasingly before his smile faltered, and he leaned back just a hair and raised his hands in front of him. “That was a joke— please don’t hit me again.”
For the first time since being paired with this idiot, you actually laughed. It shook your shoulders, it lit up your face— you were a completely different person. Gojo smiled softly at this, nudging you with his shoulder. It was as if he could see the weight being lifted off of your shoulders, even if just for a second. Looking up from your lap, you noted how close he was to you, and how intensely his glittering eyes were boring into you, even behind his tinted frames. His brow quirked up upon seeing the oh-so-obvious signs that your thoughts had also drifted from the research topic you two were supposed to be picking.
“At the risk of getting slapped again— are we about to kiss right now?”
You flushed at his teasing tone, but leaned forward to meet him in the middle nonetheless. He grunted as your lips met his, and, with the newfound permission you’d granted him, Gojo took the reins from there. Grasping your cheek firmly in one hand, he allowed the other to roam down to your waist, where his eager fingers pulled you in closer to him. An embarrassing gasp slipped past your lips as you tumbled into his lap, but he drank it up, not allowing you any room to catch your breath.
“Ohhh…” He rasped desperately upon hearing the little noises you made for him. “I could take such good care of you, hmm?”
Your face and neck were impossibly red at his lewd words, but that heat was traveling right down south and rendering your basic comprehension skills utterly useless. Panting softly, you looked into his blown out, dazed eyes and challenging smirk. You weren’t making it out of this one unscathed.
How did you end up pressed against the wall of your dorm room, your haphazardly placed polaroid pictures falling unceremoniously to the floor with every writhe of your hips? Right— Satoru Gojo looked at you with those magical, cerulean eyes and promised he could definitely help you unwind. And unwinding you were, with your thighs thrown over his surprisingly sturdy shoulders as he kneeled below you and showed you that his mouth could do alot more than talk endless shit.
Your jaw fell slack as his fingers dug into your hips, pulling your core against his face like he’d never eat again. Had you not currently been floating through another astral realm at the moment, you would have been embarrassed at the sloppy, squelching noises emitting from both your sex and his expert tongue.
“Gojo!” You gasped, reaching down to pull at the shoulder of his shirt, desperate for anything to ground you.
He groaned, and you thought you heard him mumble something against you, but the sound of your blood coursing in your ears deafened you. He pinched your thigh before pulling away for a millisecond to look up at you. Lord, you could have fallen apart at the sight. His glasses were pushed up onto his head, his soft tufts of snowy hair caught within the frames and giving you full access to view his face— the one you had never noticed was so delicately beautiful.
The sight of his bare eyes was almost intimidating— no, scratch that— it was definitely intimidating. No man should ever look that pretty with your slick coating his face so grotesquely.
“Satoru.” He insisted, his wide-eyed gaze demanding attention. You gaped down at him, making his fingers squeeze the fat of your thighs harshly once again. “Say it.”
As he dove back in, your mouth trembled open to try his name on your lips, but you were cut off by his obnoxiously loud and peppy ringtone. Grunting in aggravation, he didn’t pull away from you as he aimlessly dug in his back pocket for his phone. Casting a sidelong glance at the screen as his tongue continued to ravish you, his brows furrowed.
“Sorry, pretty girl, one sec’.” And in an instant he was swiping to answer the call, pressing his phone to his ear and his thumb to your clit.
Your hand shot up to conceal the stranglehold gasp that ripped from you as he began drawing lazy circles against your bundle of nerves. Gojo hummed along to whoever was on the other line before chuckling in disbelief.
“Again? This kid—” He shook his head, but there was an amused grin on his face. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Tossing his phone carelessly onto the carpeted floor, Satoru looked up at you determinedly. With a cock of his pretty head, he flashed you a charming smile.
“We’re gonna have to make this quick, pretty girl.”
If Satoru Gojo was anything, you were quickly learning, it was a man of his word, because not only three minutes later he had you tossing the glasses off his head and gripping at the roots of his hair until you were sure it’d come off in clumps between your trembling fingers. His hand reached up to shove his fingers into your mouth in a last ditch attempt to quiet your pitchy whines before you got a noise complaint, though you could swear in the midst of your haze you felt him laugh against you.
Relief came flooding over your system, working its way down each of your tense muscles and even washing away that ever present sting in the back of your head that always said there was something you should be worrying about. All you could worry about this second though was the way Satoru cleaned you eagerly with his majestic tongue, pressing longing kisses against your trembling thighs and hips as he slowly set you back down on the ground.
The ever surprising man before you pressed one last, lingering and bruising kiss to your lips before smoothing your hair down cheekily and shaking his glasses back down to his face. You could only watch breathlessly as he shoved his shoes back on and gathered his things. He wasn’t very subtle in the way he reached down to adjust his erection through his pants, but he was headed for the door nonetheless.
“Wait,” you stammered out, stumbling back into your panties that had been thrown off into the corner of the room. “W-What about you?”
His head tilted back to look at you amusedly. Upon catching another glimpse of your reddened face and blown out eyes, Satoru couldn’t help himself as he stepped back and gave you another kiss.
“Relax, I’ve got all semester to cash in, don’t I?” He quipped with a wink, fingers coming up to pinch your flushed cheek. His words sank into your subconscious, and you couldn’t tell if they excited or scared you. “Besides, you needed it more than I did.”
“What about our research topic?” You hopped toward the door to shout with your head poking outside.
He swiveled around to face you as he continued walking down the hall of your dorm.
“Damn, it’s gonna take a lot more to loosen you up, huh?” His teasing smirk only served to further fluster you, and he turned his back to you once again. “I’ll text you— relax!”
Little did Satoru Gojo know you didn’t think you could ever relax in his presence again. He was unlike the picture you had painted in your head of him. Sure, he was still loud, obnoxious, out of touch in certain things, but he also displayed a side that was understanding, perceptive— and generous.
You thought your best friend would combust when you urged her to come by your dorm to recount the events of the day. She wanted details— mind bogglingly specific details to compare against the mental image she’d created for the man and placed on the altar of her psyche. The reason you really wanted her over, was to get a second opinion on his abrupt departure following the best head you’d ever received in your life— not that you had received much by way of comparison.
She rolled her eyes at your attempt to find a negative here, reminding you how affluent his family was, and that he likely was always getting called back home for matters too rich for our understanding. It gnawed at you though, and you remained unconvinced as you trudged through your week.
Continuing to surprise you, Sataoru did text you that night. You figured he’d send an article he’d read over haphazardly before deciding it was good enough for you to make a final decision on and sending it your way. You received a document with an actual research proposal though— typed, formal, neat, and actually viable enough to commit an entire term project to. Relief flooded you at the prospect that maybe this semester wouldn’t be as miserable as you assumed it would be.
Still, he made no mention of what had transpired between you two that day. Not that you figured he would, but you still couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that struck you. You were getting ahead of yourself. After all, he wasn’t the only attractive man with good tongue game, right? No need to go falling head over heels.
Your nerves leading up to your shared physics class the following week had you in shambles though. Would he pretend like nothing happened? Or worse, would he make it super obvious that something did happen? As the anxiety swirled in your mind, you cursed yourself for not using your time in university to become better versed in hookup culture, because god, you felt pathetic.
When Satoru strolled into class at the usual fifteen minutes past start time that he’d apparently set for himself, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, facing the professor with an intensity as if his lecture on quantum mechanics was the most riveting topic you’d yet to encounter. Just as usual though, he strolled right up to his seat beside Shoko. From your forced attention on your professor, you missed the way he regarded you with a sidelong glance, waiting for your acknowlegement, but none came.
Just as you thought you had escaped the interaction unscathed, bounding out of the classroom after collecting your things— fate revealed other plans for you. A heavy arm draped across your shoulders as you walked down the hallway, determined to get a strong coffee that could keep you up for the remainder of your two classes. You didn’t have to look to know who it was, the scent of his subtle yet somehow still expensive smelling cologne was a dead giveaway.
“Weeeell?” Satoru drawled out, leaning his head down with a tilt and smiling mischevieously as you. You rose a brow at him, determined to keep your cool as you continued your trek into the campus cafe. He let out a disappointed puff at your resolve. “I didn’t hear back from you about the research proposal. Figured you’d be all over that shit.”
You finally tore your gaze away from the menu above you to peer at him.
“Yeah, it was really good actually, Gojo.” You offered the hesitant praise. Leaning forward, you gave your order to the awaiting barista before you.
“You sound shocked. Thought I’d disappoint?” He quipped. You blinked as he nonchalantly pulled a heavy looking, black card from his wallet and swiped it for your coffee. Crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, he smiled expectantly down at you. “And I thought I told you my name was Satoru.”
Your face flushed at the thought of his reminder, thinking of how he was right between your legs when he demanded the name from your lips.
“Right, well, Satoru,” You emphasized, grabbing your cappuccino from the barista with a kind smile. “Color me surprised— I thought you’d be a dumbass. And thank you for the coffee, by the way.”
“Anything for my favorite, stuck up little term partner.” He gushed, pinching your cheek. You began walking toward the exit, and he followed after you. “Anyway, same time, same place?”
Almost choking on the sip of your coffee you’d taken, you stared up at him with wide eyes. God, he just couldn’t help himself, he thought with a knowing smile. It was always so easy to rile you up.
“To work on our first draft?” He finally put you out of your misery.
“Right,” You breathed, looking forward to make your way to your next class. “Yeah, I’ll see you later.”
Despite your nerves, the research session with Satoru had been going surprisingly well. Much to your relief, he sat criss crossed on the floor beside your bed, typing lazily at his keyboard with surprising resolve. As the minutes ticked on though, you could practically sense him growing more and more restless.
In the span of fifteen minutes, he had shifted from his criss cross position to flop lazily down onto his stomach, checked his phone six times, and was now pacing around your small room with his laptop clutched in one arm in front of him. You considered yourself fairly level headed, but shit— he was making you anxious now. Before you could reprimand his distracting behavior, he slammed his laptop shut with a huff.
Looking around your kitchenette, he tossed his laptop onto your bed (way too casually for a device that had to be worth two months of your room and board) and began rummaging through your cabinets.
“Satoru—” You grumbled with pink cheeks as he scrunched his face disapprovingly at your empty shelves.
“Got anything sweet in here?” He questioned, shoving his head into your fridge. “Besides you, of course.”
“No… but if you sit down and focus like you were twenty minutes ago, we could finish, and then you could go and eat your heart out.” You suggested with a mocking smile.
He blew a raspberry in your direction, crossing his arms over the open refrigerator door and looking at you despairingly.
“C’mon, it’ll help me focus.”
The sincerity in his frankly pathetic words was almost endearing, and you found yourself melting a bit at his soft pout. You sighed. Satoru smiled triumphantly as you moved to squat down and dig into your bottom drawer, pulling out a small bin of various candies.
“You owe me.” You laughed softly as he immediately snatched up the box of strawberry flavored pocky that had always been your favorite. He glanced up at you, the pink stick still hanging from his lips as he continued rummaging through your selection with determinedly furrowed brows. “You’re digging into my emergency PMS supply. So, I better see some Einstein level shit coming out of you after this.”
“Sure fire method— never failed me before. Try it.” In an instant, he was shoving the other end of his pocky stick toward your face, awaiting on the other side of it with a devilish glint in his striking eyes.
Your movements faltered for a moment, and you blinked back at him with a quickening heart. The startled expression on your face only made his lips curl up into a smirk around the sweet, pink stick. Hesitantly, you leaned forward and sunk your teeth into the other end of the pocky. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that told you you had fallen right into his trap. As he carefully inched forward, you could feel the cool breath he was slowly releasing from his nose fan out against your flushed face.
Satoru could still see it— the tenseness in your shoulders, the apprehension swirling in your mind, the weight on your chest— and he just craved to be any sort of release for you. Maybe it was your subtle, caring nature that you hid under all that bold mouthed bravado, the little pieces of it that creeped out through your wide eyes. He wanted to dig, find his way to the bottom of it, and let it out so he may see all the beautiful edges and intricacies of it.
Your hand twitched up beside you, but it seemed your anxious mind was working against whatever desires were hiding in the chasm of your mind, and you retracted. He was too fast for you though— too perceptive— and he quickly reached out to grab your hand and hold it mid-air, inviting you to finish whatever motion your subconscious had started. Your lashes fluttered up at him as you reached up to pull his glasses from his face, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
Satoru’s teeth snapped the candied stick between you two, spitting it out haphazardly and crashing against your lips to chase the lingering strawberry cream taste there instead. You hummed in surprise as he ripped the bin from your arms and set it uncoordinatedly on your bedside table before grabbing your face in his large hands.
Suddenly, you weren’t concerned about what it meant or what could possibly be going through his head, because he was hovering over you with such ease that he may have convinced you he was born to do just that. Satoru was whispering sweetly into your ear, flooding out all concerns that lay beyond your dorm room with saccharine promises of I’ll take care of you and that you just needed to relax for me.
And you did, so much so that you weren’t sure when you’d blinked and suddenly lay bare underneath of him, his fingers working into you in a frenzied haze all while his eyes held you captive. You could hear yourself crying out for him, the name he so desperately wanted to hear last time falling from your lips like a prayer onto his ears. Satoru smiled at you.
He smiled, and for a moment you found yourself dumbstruck by the thought that his mind had been just as consumed by you the past week, because none of the other fumbling college boys you’d opened your legs for had ever tended to you with such keen precision. Of all the beds you’d fallen into in the past, none had smiled at you so sweetly as though they wished to pour their soul into you as opposed to just their dick.
But maybe Satoru Gojo simply had that way about him. You pondered, as he rolled a condom onto his intimidating length and stared down at you as if thoroughly pleased with his work, that he protected those eyes because unlike you, he hadn’t the ability to hide his soul like you had grown so expert at. The thought raced down your chest, while he pushed into you with a soothing hand on your inner thigh, that his eyes told a similar story to all the girls that ended up sprawled vulnerably underneath him.
Still, as his hips finally met yours with a slack jaw, and his lips slowly twisted up into a satiated smile— as his forehead braced against yours with that knowing glint in his blown out eyes— as he murmured,
“You’re not gonna fall in love with me, are ya’?”
—you couldn’t help but feel as though you were the only one.
In your lust filled stupor, because Satoru was so carnal in the way he rolled his hips into you, the implications of his words failed to penetrate. The only thing on your mind was the manner in which his lips brushed against yours fervently with every merge of his body into yours, his pitched whines in the back of his throat, and how his hand grasped yours from where it twisted desperately into the sheets to bring it up to his hair, inviting you to pull on him instead to ground yourself.
So, you shook your head at his question and squeezed your thighs around his slim waist— anything if it meant he wouldn’t cease his firm grasp on your jaw as he pleaded for you to just say his name again for him. You sounded it out so beautifully and flush against his ear, after all.
It wasn’t until after his trembling climax, as his perspiring body slumped against you, the both of you squeezed into your twin sized bed with his head resting against your chest, that his words registered. His silken hair tickled your chin, and you reached out to brush it back gently, not missing the way his chest reverberated against yours with a contented hum at the sensation. Satoru was still inside you when you realized that you’d allowed your fantasies to drift too far.
Despite his question that told you you should have been packing all those thoughts up and tossing them out, like, yesterday, he stayed just as he was for some time, allowing you to card your fingers through his hair with contented, lulled eyes as he softened against your walls. For a moment, you thought he’d fallen asleep.
“Satoru?” You called faintly, needing to get out from underneath him before your aching desire to allow him such comfort against you pulled you any further into your delusions. He hummed in question but didn’t look up. You chewed on your bottom lip. “Do… do you wanna keep working on the draft?”
He was still for just a beat longer before pulling himself up on his elbows to look at you incredulously. How quickly you realized that having him against your chest was better than staring head on into those troublesome eyes. The man scoffed with a small smile.
“Was my stroke game that bad that you’re still thinking about that damn paper?”
His jokingly offended tone made you flush furiously, looking instead at the cream walls of your dorm. He huffed out a chuckle, carefully pulling out of you with a soft groan as he moved to squeeze into the spot beside you.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so preoccupied in my life. What sign are you? Are you a Virgo? I bet you’re a Virgo.” He rambled as he propped his head up on his hand to look down at you inquisitively. His casual banter following the mind-blowing climaxes he’d just pulled from you threw you off. In the midst of your surprise, you realized he was actually expecting an answer.
“I don’t… even actually remember.” You mumbled as you racked your brain. In truth, though you always found it nice how the common ground conversation of zodiac signs seemed to bring people together in curious ways, you never kept up with it yourself. Always claiming you’d read more into it, you never gave yourself the chance to— ever preoccupied with other things.
“You don’t—” Satoru gaped down at you as if you’d just told him you killed his childhood pet. In an instant, he was reaching over you and hanging off the side of his bed to grab his phone from his discarded jeans. “How do you not know your own sign?”
“I-I don’t know, it’s not that big a—”
“When’s your birthday?” He insisted as he finally returned to his cramped spot beside you. Seemingly irritated by the lack of space, he crammed his arm under your head and crooked his elbow around your neck, typing at his phone that was now hovering over the both of you. When you didn’t answer, he glanced down at where you laid pressed up against his chest. “C‘mon, this birth chart isn’t gonna fill itself out.”
Truthfully, his casual banter only served to fluster you more, but you couldn’t help but be amused by his insistence on reading every single one of the alignments in your chart, humming along about how yeah, that sounds like you despite his only really knowing you for a few weeks. You told yourself you would snap out of it, but maybe it could be after you finished laughing along with every assumption he would pull out of his ass about you based solely on what he was reading on your chart.
Seriously, you told yourself as you two got up to get dressed. You’d get over it as soon as you got back from the lunch he insisted you two go get, whining incessantly about how starving he was and that he couldn’t possibly be expected to work under these conditions.
You’d get over it, you insisted as he scoffed at your attempt to hand him some cash to cover your portion of the bill.
You’d get over it, you thought as he absentmindedly drummed his fingers along your knee while he tried his hardest to focus his scattered attention on the draft.
You’d get over it, you pleaded with yourself when he stumbled into class the following week and, before climbing up to his seat beside his friend, set a small bag down on your desk.
You’d get over it, you were starting to doubt yourself as you peeked into the bag to find a jumbo box of strawberry pocky to replace the stash he’d depleted that day as you two worked together.
As the term dragged on, and you and Satoru fell into a subtle ebb and flow of exasperated banter that would drift into teasing coos that he knew what you needed. A cycle of bruising kisses and confusing intimacy that would only be further drilled in by the playful wit and glittering laugh that taunted you with the notion that, no— you couldn’t get over it.
“I’m so screwed.” You groaned despairingly as your friend tapped away at her laptop beside you in the library. It was a place you didn’t frequent as often since the last time you’d left it with Satoru.
“No, you’re just too much of a wimp,” She emphasized with a curt glare shot your way. A small smile fell onto her lips at the way you seemed to shrink into your chair. “To ask him what’s going on between you two.”
“Because he wants something casual!” You gasped out in exasperation, blushing when fellow students shot pointed glares in your direction. Leaning in closer to her, you lowered your voice into a hushed whisper. “Do you not remember the don’t fall in love with me debacle?”
“He did not say it like that.” She deadpanned before shutting her laptop to face you. “Besides, that was like six fucks and five dates ago.”
“They weren’t dates.” You emphasized, frustrated with the way that this had to be the third time you’d clarified it to her. “We were just—”
“Going out for lunch? Dinner?”
“Just lunch…” Despite your flushed cheeks, you nodded along. It didn’t really make a difference you supposed, but it did send your curiosity spiraling the way Satoru was always gone by three, throwing out casual excuses about needing to be somewhere.
“That he always pays for?”
“Well—”
“Just like all the coffees and sweets he brings you before he fucks you stupid in that tiny ass dorm of yours everytime he sees you?”
“Will you stop being so gross?” You begged with a violent whisper, gathering your things as she got up to leave. Your head sunk down into your chest with the hope that your hair would cover your burning cheeks as you followed her out the building.
“You can be as uptight as you want about it, but the dude likes you.” She defended with raised hands.
It was starting to become a repetitive conversation, one that never ended well for your endless fantasies that maybe Satoru saw you as something more than just a friend he occasionally screwed. Maybe it was best that you stopped asking her, because you got the feeling she was trying to live vicariously through you to fulfill that aching curiosity she had about whether all the rumors about him were true.
As she continued to drone on about how you needed to tell him to shit or get off the pot and that he can’t have his cake and eat it too, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. That pathetic little spark of excitement lit up in your stomach upon checking the screen.
Satoru: Can you please please please send me a picture of you?
Your brows furrowed, cheeks flushing at the thought of what kind of picture he could possibly want from you. He was so good at leaving you grasping for straws, going days without hearing from him just to receive some outlandish message or a demand to meet him somewhere for lunch because how am I supposed to eat by myself and Suguru is still in class and says I’m too clingy. It should’ve been an Olympic sport— the way he knew just how much attention to give you to keep your mind reeling with possibilities.
“Oh my god, opps alert.” Your friend suddenly announced, and you quickly pulled your phone to your chest, thinking she was referring to the message you had now been stupidly staring at for way too long. Your suspicions were proven wrong when you heard an overly-enthusiastic call of your name, and you looked up to find the man himself jogging toward you with a wide grin and eager wave.
“Did you get my text? You ignoring me?” Satoru whined before offering an abrupt greeting to your friend, who was holding back a knowing smile behind her phone that she busied herself with.
“You texted me two minutes ago, Satoru.” Your exasperated tone was only shrugged off with a subtle pfft as he whipped his phone out and threw an arm over your shoulder.
“Smile!” Faster than you could keep up with, he leaned in to press a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You heard the distinct click of his phone camera shuttering a few times before he pulled away from you with an accomplished smile.
“What—”
“My mom keeps sending me articles about how to come out to your parents.” Satoru explained nonchalantly as his thumbs fluttered across his screen. You let out a cough of surprise when your spit seemed to lodge traitorously in the back of your throat. Looking up with a sigh, he rolled his head around to glance at your friend exasperatedly. “She gave Suguru and I pride pins last time we went by for dinner. I mean, we thought it was funny at first, but it’s getting a little awkward—”
“Satoru, what does this have to do with me?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his rambling, swatting at your friend discreetly as she pointed to the aforementioned pride pin that was attached to his bag with a bewildered expression. Moving to walk between you two, he rolled his eyes dramatically as if it was your fault that you couldn’t keep up with his tangential speech pattern.
“If she thinks you’re my girlfriend, she’ll stop with all the ‘we love you no matter what, Toru’ speeches every time I see her— god, keep up.”
Behind his back, you shot your friend a wide eyed expression that she was already reciprocating, but her’s bore an excited smirk as she gave you a thumbs up.
“Hey, Gojo, you free Saturday?” Her abrupt question confused you, but you slowly caught on to what was going on on Saturday that would require his attention. You desperately shook your head at her.
“I can be persuaded to be free on Saturday.”
“Aw, well, I’m throwing a little birthday party for someone here on Saturday, and you should—”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m sure Satoru has—”
“Birthday party?” He shouted dramatically, whipping his head around to look down at you in offense. “You weren’t gonna invite me to your birthday party?”
“You really don’t have to—” For what seemed like the millionth time, you were interrupted. Maybe it was for the best though, because you could feel your face heating up with sheer embarrassment as you stammered out any excuse possible.
“Well now I’m going just to spite you.” Satoru quipped with finality before turning to your friend who looked entirely too pleased with herself. With his attention away from you, you took the opportunity to throw venom dripped daggers from your eyes right into her. “Can I bring a friend?”
“We could squeeze him in.” She agreed, already knowing, like everyone else on campus, he was referring to the tall, long-haired man that always seemed to be attached to Satoru’s hip at all times possible. It was no wonder his mom was beginning to ask questions, given their relationship used to be the speculation of countless rumors around school as well.
You had met Suguru in passing a few times when catching up with your partner between classes, but you didn’t know him too well. Despite your curiosity about the dynamic he held with his tight-knit friends, you were a little grateful you’d never hung out with both of them. That level of attractiveness could only be handled one at a time as far as you were concerned. Those two were increasingly intimidating when side by side. Even worse, they seemed to feed right off of each other’s energy.
“Then I’ll see you when you’re a year older, pretty girl.”
You could have skinned your dear friend alive in the days leading up to your birthday party. As each day passed, the knot in your stomach grew larger and twisted more erratically than it had previously. It’s not like you were uncomfortable around Satoru. In fact, you had grown quite familiar and warmed to his overbearing, hyperactive, and clingy nature over the past two months. The thought of you asking him to come to your birthday party made you feel like you were acting like a clingy girlfriend. The notion made you want to hurl, even if you weren’t the one that asked.
Still, the time grew closer and closer, and you were now trying not to watch the door as you laughed over the booming music blasting through whoever’s dorm room it was that your friend deemed was big enough to host in. You must have gone into the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror at least three times, and you had only been there for an hour. Sure enough, as you nodded to yourself and turned the light off for the fourth time, your smokey makeup was still perfectly intact, and your boobs weren’t popping embarrassingly out of the starry, navy dress you’d stolen from your friend’s closet.
As you made your way down the hall and into the crowded room, you couldn’t help but wonder who the fuck half these people were. You assumed most of the strangers were plus ones of the plus ones of the people you actually knew and invited there, but, then again, it wasn’t you who had planned it, so it was out of your hands. There were obnoxious whooping calls that grew closer and closer as you emerged, and you spotted the unmistakable yin and yang head’s of hair that towered over the mass of people before you.
A wave of nausea and uncertainty crashed over you, and you turned on your heel to hide in the bathroom, but Satoru was, once again, too fast for the likes of you.
“Birthday girl!” He shouted so loudly, he could be heard clearly over the music that practically vibrated the walls. Slowly turning back around in defeat, you watched as he easily pushed through shoulder after shoulder to reach you with a dumb smile. He surprised you when he pulled you up into a bone crushing hug, your legs dangling helplessly in the air for a moment before he set you down. His shielded eyes regarded you with a smirk, and he whistled lowly. “Old age suits you.”
You were grateful that the LED strip lights were the only things lighting the room, making your flush less noticeable as you smacked his chest with pursed lips.
“You didn’t have to come, you know.” You stood on your tiptoes to shout into his ear. Your small, fond smile gave you away though.
“Then how would I have given you your birthday gift on your birthday if I didn’t come to your birthday party, huh?” As he rambled nonsensically, his hand reached into his pocket to fish out a small, black box and held it up to you.
“Satoru,” You stammered at the thought that he had gone out of his way to buy you a gift, and, from the looks of it, jewelry nonetheless. Once again, a war was raging in your mind against the rational part of your mind that told you that this man wanted nothing serious with you, and the softer, more hopeful part that said hookups don’t buy each other jewelry. “You- you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“You kidding me?” He murmured, a bit softer than his previous tone as he opened the small box and carefully pulled the gold chain out. Your lips parted at the sight of the delicate charm hanging on the end of it. Noting the curiosity on your face as you twirled the symbol between your fingers, Satoru smiled. “It’s the constellation for your zodiac sign! So you don’t forget again.”
He stepped behind you to place the cool chain around your neck, but your eyes were stuck on the space he was just occupying. You wondered with bated breath if he could feel the racing of your pulse against his fingers as he ran his hands gently down your neck to scoop your hair over the chain after he’d secured the clasp. Your lashes fluttered as you looked up to meet the gaze of your friend who was not too far away, seemingly showing Suguru where the drinks were while watching the entire scene pan out. Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to suppress her unbridled excitement for you before she turned to continue speaking with the tall man beside her.
She had given you somewhat of a pep talk as you two got ready together before the party, telling you you had to have Satoru clarify things before you let yourself go any further into this situation. As you anxiously applied your makeup, you thought the likelihood of such a confrontation ending well for you was slim to none. Now though, as Satoru turned you to face him and gazed so sweetly down at the pendant splayed on your chest— a reminder that he remembered even the smallest moments you had assumed were mundane to him— you began to think that maybe looking for more wasn’t such a far fetched idea after all.
“Thank you, Satoru. Really.” You smiled genuinely up at him, toying with the charm between your fingers. He tutted nonchalantly, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “You’re… a lot sweeter than I thought you’d be, y’know?”
“Shuuucks, better quit sweet talkin’ me.” He teasingly gushed, leaning down till his lips brushed against your ear. “Gonna make me wanna give you your second gift early.”
A rushed heat quickly flooded down your core. His fingers traced down your arm with a feather-light touch before lacing together with your own. The warmth of his cheek brushed against yours as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. Satoru was taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and the way your bottom lip tucked timidly between your teeth, and he let out a quiet groan.
“Just ten minutes— they won’t even know you’re gone.” Satoru insisted with a wavering voice as he began tugging you toward the bathroom.
The shame crept up in you, and you knew you should have stopped him— made sure for the sake of your own heart that this wasn’t all you’d ever be before you allowed him to eagerly slam the bathroom door behind you. That all-encompassing question haunted your hazed thoughts while Satoru chased desperate kisses down your neck, dragging his warm tongue over your collarbone and biting down carnally on the area where the charm he’d graced you with met your flesh. He sucked the pendant between his teeth, mumbling indiscernibly about how pretty my charm looks around your neck.
Your trembling fingers raced through the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open to explore the expanse of his chest as he tugged the hem of your dress up past your hips and hoisted you onto the sink. Despite the way your heart yearned so desperately for answers— for safety and solace from the push and pull you had subjected it to for two months— you could only choke out a gasp as he pulled your panties to the side. The feeling of your dripping heat against his greedy fingers had his body lurching forward, nearly sending you crashing into the mirror behind you as a breathless moan ripped from his chest.
So, no— you didn’t ask Satoru if your helpless ideas of real dates and titles and proud announces were lone— only haunting you, because as he curled his fingers into you and panted into your ear that my girl looks so beautiful like this, it was enough for your fizzling, mushed brain. So, you disregarded the fear in the back of your mind and worked to unbutton his jeans.
The ardent pep talk your friend had given you came from a place of love and concern, as even she knew you weren’t built for this kind of relationship. You worried too much, became preoccupied with the little things, your heart, while resilient your whole life as you worked your way to where you were now, was too fragile to allow Satoru Gojo to free reign to swing it open without the promise of ever staying. But you wanted him to stay, so desperately, you wanted those incandescent eyes to remain locked on you so keenly. You didn’t have the right words to plead with him, the only weapons in your comparably pathetic and timid arsenal were the heat between your legs and the hand you worked against the leaking swell of his cock in tandem with his palm’s wet smacks onto your center as he continued bullying your insides.
As he leaned his head onto your shoulder and rutted into your delicate hand, his string of cursed moans and whined praises made you forget that Satoru didn’t love you too.
“You’re so good to me, pretty girl— my perfect girl.” When he said things like that though, so sweetly with faux sincerity while coming undone all over your trembling thighs, you began to think that maybe he did.
You held onto that lighthearted, false sense of hope as he followed you out of the bathroom and stayed by your side that night. The bright smile on your glowing cheeks would have had anyone assuming you’d just met the love of your life, but the man trailing behind you as you took the shots that were thrust your way and refused any that were offered to him. He was entirely sober as he watched you with a wide, glittering smile. He hadn’t had a drop of liquor when he stood proudly beside you with that same smile as you blew the candles out on your heart-shaped cake, blissfully unaware of the fact that you wished for him with that winding breath, despite your delusional mind and heart that told you he was already yours.
“Gojo, c’mon, get in for a picture with your girlfriend!” Someone called out as the flame on the final candle was stamped out.
“Huh? Oh, no— we’re just friends!” Satoru’s playful tone rang out over the chatter of the crowd around you.
The smile on your face slowly faded, but the flashes of the camera still permeated the air as you felt him lean against you to smile for a picture nonetheless, unfazed by his screeching words that made the pendant around your neck seem suffocatingly heavy. You blinked down at the cake in front of you, watching yourself from the outside, slicing into the delicately crafted heart to begin mindlessly passing out to people. You didn’t notice that your hands were trembling, or the way your face seemed to burn with unshed tears until your friend’s fingers wrapped around your wrist gently.
“Come with me, I have to give you your gift.” Your friend lied with a bold face, concern swimming in her kind eyes as she regarded your shell-shocked demeanor. In truth, she wanted to grab the plastic knife from your hands and ram it into the chest of the man standing so obliviously beside you, laughing carelessly along with people surrounding you. You could only nod. Satoru’s hand slipped from your back as she dragged you away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She muttered endlessly as a stream of stinging tears fell down your face as soon as the bathroom door shut. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, but you were pushing against her, trying so desperately to pull yourself together. How could you be so pathetic? “I should have never said anything. I just thought he—”
“I know, so did I.” You whispered, somehow afraid he’d hear you from the bathroom over the blaring music and drunken crowd. With trembling fingers, you wiped furiously at the tears under your eyes. “God— he told me. He told me. I’m such a fucking idiot—”
“He’s a fucking idiot.” Your friend spat with verocity. In a furious haze, she began wiping the smeared mascara from under your eyes, muttering unintelligably under her breath before moving to rustle up your hair. “Listen to me. You are going to go back out there, and you are going to find the hottest man you can fucking find, and you are not going to breathe in that snow topped asshole’s direction for the rest of the night.”
“None of them are as hot as—”
“Well for tonight they fucking better be!” She exclaimed in exasperation as she smacked your ass encouragingly. “C’mon, I know it’s looking grave, but I think I saw at least like two or three solid sevens out there.”
Once you were sure the traces of your tears were undetectable, save for that wet glimmer in your irises that you couldn’t seem to shake, the two of you dispersed with determindely set faces. Maybe you were just pathetic, you began to think as you grazed over the selection of men before you, but none of them seemed to come close to—
“There you are!” Satoru bounded over to you, a slice of cake clutched in his hands. He held it out to you with a smile that indicated he had no idea the damage he’d just dealt. “I saved you a slice. It’s bad luck not to have a piece of cake on your birthday, you know.”
An angel in all senses of the word graced you then, because Lord knows you were about to give in once again to his casual smile and glittering eyes. Your friend took the paper plate from his hands, dropping it carelessly on the side table as she wrapped her arm around his elbow to pull him away.
“Gojo, come here. You have got to meet this dude, he looks just like you!” She excused with a fake smile, tugging harder as he looked back at you indecisively, but he eventually was dragged into the sea of people along with her.
Sighing in relief, you looked up at the popcorn ceiling with furrowed brows. You were determined now, if anything for the sake of your god-sent friend who had planned for you to have the perfect night, to at least attempt her fury-induced plan and find any viable man.
“You look like you need a drink, birthday girl.”
Your head instantly dropped back down, and you turned apprehensively to meet the gaze of the man before you. For a moment, you wondered if whatever higher being was out there was testing you, or maybe they were gracing you with possibly the most diabolical option you could ever dare to choose from in your bachelor line up. This would be too much, right?
“Geto.” You muttered in surprise, watching his near violet eyes regarding you curiously, a small and knowing smile gracing his calm features. He offered you a cup.
“Here, I mixed something up for you. Consider it a birthday gift. I was told at the last minute that this was a birthday party, so I didn’t bring you anything.”
You peered apprehensively into the plastic cup before glancing up at him with a raised brow. He tutted softly with a chuckle, bringing it up to take a swig himself before handing it back to you.
“I feel like I should be offended that you think I’d put something in your drink, but I suppose you can never be too careful.” Suguru shrugged, craning his neck around to look at the crowd of blubbering men you were surrounded by. With a playful smile, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I mean, look at half these circus monkeys.”
A genuine laugh finally found its way past your lips, and he smiled brightly at the sound. Nudging your shoulder, he nodded for you to follow him. You looked around for that familiar head of white hair, letting out a relieved sigh to see your friend still had him busy. The man she had introduced him to was quite possibly more of a yapper than Satoru was— and that was saying something.
She peered over at you subtly, having to control the drop of her jaw upon seeing who you had chosen from the line up. You shot her a concerned look as if to ask— is this really fucked up of me? But you knew it was. She only offered you a thumbs up and mischievous smile that said this is perfect. You saw Satoru follow her gaze, and you quickly averted your eyes to take a seat next to Geto on the couch he’d settled on. The white-haired man’s brows furrowed a bit as he watched you smile up at his friend, but he was quickly being pulled back into the conversation with this dude who would not shut the fuck up for the life of him.
Conversation with Suguru— as he insisted you call him— wasn’t nearly as forced as you had prepared yourself for. In fact, you had almost actually forgotten about the just friends debacle. It began to come back to you though, as he inched closer and closer to you as the night drew on, and you were reminded of what you had sat down with him for. So, despite the unease growing in the pit of your stomach, you didn’t lean back when he draped his arm on the cusion behind you, leaning in to smile smoothly at you.
“You’re in that physics class with Satoru, aren’t you?” He asked with a conscious smirk, following your gaze as it flittered occasionally over to the man in question, who had been stealing cautious glances your way for the past hour, seemingly never getting the chance to go butt in as he so desperately wanted to.
Your mind seemed to fizzle at the mention of him, and you snapped your gaze back to Suguru abruptly.
“Um, yeah,” You murmured, glancing down at the now nearly empty cup in your hands. The alcohol was beginning to catch up to you. In fact, it had begun catching up to you almost thirty minutes ago, and you could feel your tongue beginning to slip with each word you tried to pronounce. “He’s… he’s my term partner.”
“That’s all he is, huh?” The man hummed, the loose bang hanging from his sensuous bun swaying as he dipped his head down, a daring glimmer in his violet eyes. Your brow querked at his comment. “I only mean it's a shame that Satoru can’t get his head out of his ass, is all, but that’s okay.”
Your breath hitched as his silky hair brushed against your cheek, and suddenly all your confidence about this little attempted comeback was flying out the window. His eyes drooped mischievously, glancing down at your parted lips as his hand creeped steadily onto your knee. Suguru was kind— so kind, and witty, and intelligent, and undeniably handsome, but all you could think about was Satoru.
“Suguru,” You stammered, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. Whether it was due to the alcohol coursing through your veins, or the proximity of the man that wasn’t the one who had been plaguing your mind for the past two months— you couldn’t tell. “I don’t want—”
“I know you don’t.” He reassured quietly, not daring to come any closer to you. That mischievous smile was slowly creeping back into his plush lips. “I don’t either, but sometimes Satoru needs a little bit of a push. Do you understand?”
The realization hit you like a splash of ice water. All this time, as you thought you were the cunning one, fooling Suguru while hoping to play Satoru, but you were the one being played. You blinked once, then twice, processing the hand of cards he was placing directly onto your unsuspecting lap.
“I can already feel that idiot’s eyes on the back of my head.” The dark-haired man explained amusedly, twirling a strand of your hair between his black-painted fingers. From the outside, you two looked entirely chummy, leaned into one another with your comparably smaller figure hidden behind his broad shoulders. His dark lashes fluttered up as he grinned conivingly at you. Suddenly, the hand that was tangled into your hair traced over your shoulders and carefully picked up the zodiac pendant hanging from your neck.
From the crowded kitchen, Satoru had been watching the two of you with bated breath. He was trying desperately to focus on the droning conversation he was being forced into, but the closer his friend leaned in to you, and the brighter you smiled up at him, the more incandescent the ball of heat in his chest burned. The guy in front of him was calling his name, but Suguru’s hands had grown too comfortable as they drifted across your supple skin. As another man’s fingers came around to taint the pendant on your neck— the one he’d given to you— the one he’d just clasped on his tongue as he felt you clench around his fingers, something within him snapped.
Shoving past the lingering group of drunken students in the kitchen, Satoru was a sight to be seen as he grasped firmly on his best friend’s shoulder, twisting him to face him.
“Satoru!” Suguru greeted cheerfully, as if he didn’t still have his grimy hand way too high up your leg. To make matters worse, the arm that had since been draped around the cusion settled down around your shoulders. “We were just—”
“What the fuck? That’s my—”
“Your friend, right?”
Suguru’s words pierced into his stomach with a sickening twist. His jaw seemed unable to hold his mouth shut anymore as irritation flooded his system. What was he going to say? He had no excusable reason to be so upset. His eyes drifted from his smug friend over to you, taking in your alcohol flushed cheeks and bleary eyes. The casual position you took next to his friend suddenly made him that much more nauseous.
“You’re drunk.” Satoru gritted through his teeth, gently grabbing your wrist in a firm hold to pull you up. As you stumbled up, he shot his friend a warning glare over your shoulder, indicating that they’d definitely be discussing this later. Suguru’s wolfish grin only grew wider.
“What are you doing? I was—” You grunted in aggravation as he shouldered through person after person, to lead you out the door. Once out in the hallway, you twisted your hand from his grasp. “I was talking to him.”
“Yeah, real nice conversation you two were having while you were shit-faced, and he was practically fucking you on the couch.”
“Fuck you, Satoru!” You spat. Despite your biting words, he was grasping at your shoulders to lead you back to your dorm room that was down the hall.
“Fuck me?” He laughed dryly as he dug into your bag to get your key and swing the door open.
“Yeah, fuck you!” You followed him in, jabbing a pointed finger into his back. His shoulders rose dramatically before drifting down, as if trying to calm the storm brewing in his chest. He turned to face you with a clenched jaw. “You don’t get to just swoop in and ruin things for—”
“He’s my friend!”
“Yeah? Well apparently so am I!” The tears you had sucked back up just hours prior finally made their grand reappearance, welling up embarrassingly in your darkly lined eyes. With a trembling lip, you pushed at his chest haphazardly. All the angry words he had planned to unleash upon you about how fucked up it was that you were getting so friendly with Suguru of all people got caught in his throat, and he watched with deflating shoulders as you broke down. A twisting sting was working its way back into his own chest. “You said it yourself, we’re just friends. So, if you could please stop acting like you give a shit and making me run in circles trying to understand what’s going on here, that would be really fucking nice, Gojo.”
It was becoming unbearable to look at him as you tore yourself down so vulnerably before him. Turning away, you furiously struggled to yank a makeup wipe out of its infuriatingly tight container before haphazardly wiping at your face and eyes. He called your name softly, but you shook your head.
“I don’t— I can’t be in a relationship, okay?”
His words that you assumed were meant to comfort you only served to embarrass you further as you tossed the dirty wipe in the little bin, moving to rummage in your closet for a sleep shirt. Those striking eyes followed your every movement, watching the way you pulled the baggy shirt over your torso before unzipping your dress from underneath it— hiding from him.
“Yeah, I can see that. Thanks for clearing that up.” You growled in frustration as you tried desperately to reach the zipper at the top of the now suffocating dress.
“Let me help—”
“Don’t touch me.” The command shot viscerally from your trembling lips, halting his movements toward you altogether. Had you not been so thoroughly embarrassed, heart utterly ripped up on the floor alongside your bruised pride, you would have felt guilty for the pained expression that flooded his beautiful features. Ignoring him, you finally yanked the zipper down and stepped out of the dress that flooded around your feet. “Go home. I’m back in my dorm, and I’m by myself— just like you wanted.”
“Quit it, that’s not what I wanted, and you know that.”
“Do I know that? Because one day you’re telling me not to fall in love with you, and then you’re buying me lunch every week and remembering shit about me that I don’t even remember. You fucked me in the bathroom at my birthday party then told everyone we’re just friends, but god forbid I talk to someone else, right?” You were stepping closer to him with each charged indictment, traitorous tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. There was a storm brewing behind his eyes, ready to snap with each jab you threw at him, because he knew you were right. “I don’t care what you have to tell yourself. I can’t do it to myself anymore. So, if you won’t cut me from the fucking ceiling then I’ll do it myself. I’m done.”
“I’ve got a fucking kid, okay?” Satoru yelled, throwing his hands out at his sides in exasperation. He couldn’t take it anymore. It felt as though you were reaching into his chest with those delicate little hands he’d come to love just to rub salt in the already harsh reality of his circumstances. “Two of ‘em. You ready to take that on too? Huh?”
Wide eyes stared back at him, unblinking as he panted angrily at you. The dumbstuck expression on your face only served to frustrate him further, knowing it would always come to this. It wouldn’t have been fair to you, he knew that. Just because it was a responsibility he had chosen to take on at his ripe age, didn’t mean it should be tossed upon someone else as well. Satoru didn’t have the luxury of tossing around his feelings flippantly, even if he let this one go too far.
Sighing defeatedly, he moved to sit on the edge of your bed as your mouth opened and closed, attempting to process all that he’d just dumped on you. He pulled the glasses off his face to rub at his eyes.
“They’re… they’re not mine. Not actually, anyway.” He explained quietly, staring down at his lap. “But they don’t have anyone else, so… I take care of ‘em.”
“What?” You finally breathed in disbelief. In all honesty though, it made perfect sense. It explained all his sudden disappearances, all the mysterious phone calls, and fashionably late entrances. How could a guy like Satoru Gojo be taking care of two kids though? “Why— I mean, how?”
He glanced up at your mind-boggled babbling.
“My family thoroughly fucked over their father back in the day. He lost a lot of money because of a shady business deal my dad talked him into. I know it wasn’t me, but… I just felt partly responsible, y’know? They’re my parents, sure, but I feel like their name haunts me. Like I’ve gotta live with all the shit they’ve done— like I’m just as complacent. When I found out their dad had left… I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do anything to help them.”
“Satoru…” You muttered in shock, slowly moving to sit beside him. It was incredible to you though, how he had managed to juggle everything all on his own while maintaining such presence and academic excellence at the university. “That’s… that’s a lot.”
“Yeah, no shit. The kids card isn’t exactly a chick magnet.” He tried to laugh to ease some of the tension that had filled the room, but it came out dry. His insides felt like mush.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I thought…” His hand came up to nervously scratch at his neck, and you realized you had never seen him caught off guard like this. Satoru was always so confident and collected. Now, as he spared you a sidelong glance, as if too embarrassed to look at you head on, he seemed so vulnerable. The humility shifted his features, made his gaze softer and his expression less intimidating. You watched him gulp apprehensively and slide his glasses back on, as if they would shield him somehow. “I thought you would just be something casual. I didn’t think I’d care so much. I’m sorry.”
He moved to get up, but your hand caught his wrist, holding his hand down to the bed.
“I think what you’re doing for those kids is amazing, Satoru.” You emphasized as your brows knit together furiously. Even behind his spacious lenses, you could see the way his eyes widened at your authoritative tone. He needed to understand it though— how utterly wrong you had been about him, and how wrong he was about himself. “What happened to them isn’t your fault, but you’re helping them because you’re a good person. It doesn’t matter what your last name is.”
For the first time since you’d met him, his neck began to flush, the blood racing up his cheeks and to his ears. He quickly looked back down at his lap. You smiled softly at the sight. It felt nice to not be on the receiving end of such humility for once. His fingers twitched under yours, and you realized you’d never let go of his hand.
“You deserve every bit of happiness that I know you bring to those kids. Stop punishing yourself for your last name. And if that’s the only reason we’re just friends then… I think that’s bullshit.”
His head shot up to meet your gaze with an alarming swiftness. The tips of his snowy hair swayed across his forehead as he shook his head.
“I can’t ask you to take that on too. You have enough on your plate without me adding to it.”
“You’re not asking me for anything. I’m offering to be there for you through it.” You leaned closer to him, lacing your fingers through his. His hand squeezed against yours appreciatively. With a soft smile, you nudged his shoulder gently. “C’mon, aren’t you the one who’s always telling me I need to loosen up. Live a little, dad.”
That familiar, cocky smile made its way back onto his plush lips, and he craned his neck around to peer at you in amusement.
“You into that sort of thing, pretty girl? Cause I so would’ve worked that angle forever ago if I knew.”
Tutting softly, you shoved at his face, trying to disguise the smile that couldn’t seem to stop growing infectiously across your cheeks. Your heart soared as he ran a thumb across your knuckles.
“Do you have a picture of them?” You asked softly, unsure if you were crossing a line.
His face seemed to light up in an excited grin though, and he nodded ardently, yanking his phone out of his pocket to scroll through his photos. Finally finding a suitable one, he eagerly shoved his phone into your face. You couldn’t help but laugh affectionately at his enthusiasm, pulling the phone back so you could inspect the photo before you.
The glaring, young boy in the photo looked as though he wished he was anywhere but standing beside the animated white haired man who towered over him with a wide smile that squinted his eyes as he held a peace sign out in front of him. The girl to the left of him appeared a bit older, and a hell of a lot more lively than her younger brother it seemed. She leaned politely into Satoru with her hands clasped behind her back and a kind smile gracing her young features. From the bits of the background you could make out, it looked like they were in some sort of ice cream parlor.
“He looks just like me, doesn’t he?” Satoru retorted with a theatrically dreamy sigh. Raising a brow at him, you smirked before handing him back his phone.
“Sure, when you get past that murderous look in his eyes, I’m sure he’s got your smile!”
“I’m raising a little serial killer, aren’t I?”
You giggled at his fearful tone, and his tense features settled into a fond smile. Reaching up hesitantly, he allowed you to pull the glasses off his face. His gaze fluttered over your face, leaning closer to you until his breath fanned over your face.
“You’re not really into Suguru, right?”
“That depends,” You whispered, concealing your tickled smile at his jealousy. “Are we still just friends?”
Satoru leaned forward until your back hit the bed with a soft bounce, grazing his hand around your neck to toy with your necklace.
“If you’ve got friends that can make love to you like I’m about to, we’re gonna have some problems, pretty girl.”
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among the sheets | jack hughes

SEQUEL TO BETWEEN THE TILES
warnings: unprotected p in v, jealous and possessive jack, dirty talk, creampie, lots of kissing (lfg), trickery, light breeding kink (shh), mentions of masturbation (m & f), fingering, light biting, praise, ignoring the apparent repercussions of taking Plan B (cappy says that it’s bad for your body and to be real? i’ve never taken Plan B so idfk and idfc about the repercussions) pairing: frat!president jack hughes x reader summary: “Frat! Jack getting jealous watching reader get paired with another guy in their shared class together for an assignment 🤭”, “ok but reader talking to another guy in jacks frat bc she’s like whatever ur gonna act like nothing happened so will i and he gets PISSED and finally breaks telling her that he can’t stop thinking about her” wc: 6916

Three weeks. Six classes. Two Mondays, two Wednesdays, and two Fridays. One entire Thanksgiving break. That’s how long it’s been since you and Jack hooked up at his party in the beginning of November.
December comes with a new goal for you: that you’re not going to let Jack Hughes get into your head. After all, he’s just a frat guy. It’s typical for frat boys to get what they want– laid– and then ghost their hookup. You’ve seen it happen to your roommates and close friends in years past, who always seem to fall for the frat guy that can’t commit. He’ll string them along for a fuck, convincing them that he likes them, just so that they’ll come back for more.
Your girlfriends never stay the night, never receive aftercare, and sometimes don’t even get to come. Yet– the boy is always allowed to stay the night at her place. And he always pulls her back in, even when he’s fucking other girls and lying about it. Your mind automatically goes to Jack’s frat brother, Cole, who was the puppeteer of a miserable situationship with your close friend a few years back.
You’ve learned, just through talking with Jack during class, that he and Cole are still close friends. Cole’s his VP of Brotherhood. You don’t share the fact that you know the girl who cried over Cole every week for the better part of sophomore year.
No, that information you keep to yourself. Although, to you, Jack’s friendship with Cole is proof that Jack is doing the same thing to you. If he asked, you probably would fuck him again. After all, he’s been nothing but kind to you since that party. But, at the same time, he’s been kind– not flirty.
The distinction between the two is clear. Heading into finals, you’re going to keep your head down and do your work. You’ll study, you’ll prep for the second-to-last set of finals you’ll ever take, and you will not allow Jack to distract you. He’s just some guy.
You’re a little nervous heading into your first class back from break. Today, your teacher is announcing the pairs for your final project. In this class, there’s an optional written exam. Instead, there’s the required project, where you have to research and present about one of the topics that was covered this semester. With your luck, you’re expecting that your teacher will pair you and Jack together. That way, you won’t be able to avoid him. It’ll be a nightmare.
Like always, you arrive to class before Jack does. Like always, you take out your computer and your textbook, rereading your most recent notes to make sure you’re up to speed on what you’ll talk about in class today. Like always, Jack drops into the seat next to you just before the bell rings, and like always, he peers over your shoulder to look at your computer screen, snooping.
“I see you haven’t changed over break,” Jack says, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping that we’d come back and I’d get to watch you shop for a dress for formal instead of having to look at your notes all the time.”
“I’m not going to any formal,” you reply. “I’m not in a sorority.”
Jack clicks his tongue like he’s just remembering, about to retort when your professor starts class. You shush Jack, then turn your attention to your prof.
She tells the class that today you’ll be meeting with your assigned partner and choosing a topic for your presentation. Everyone will have to move around in the classroom to do so, which is a relief– unless Jack ends up being your partner, he’ll have to leave your side. You won’t be burdened with the weight of having a man who’s seen your face when you come right beside you.
She begins to read from the list on her computer and you get lucky– Jack isn’t your partner. Instead, you get Braden Schneider, who sits across from you in the classroom, close to the back. He tucks himself into a corner every class and you’ve seen him at office hours once or twice. When you’re partnered up, he gives you a little wave and a smile.
Jack is stuck with another boy from the class, a boy named John (you think) with whom he seems to get along.
Once the class splits into pairs, Jack raises his hand to bid you goodbye and goes to join John across the way. Braden comes and takes his seat. You don’t know Braden well, but he’s passionate about doing a presentation about the topic that you know best, so you click almost immediately. You leave class feeling confident that you will get a good grade on this final, so good that it might bump you up from a B+ to an A-... or even an A, if you can speak as well in front of the class as you can research.
You and Braden leave class together, trying to decide when it’s best to meet up outside of class and start working on your presentation. As you walk down the hall, Braden tells you that he can’t meet up on Friday because he’s going to his girlfriend’s formal– you can’t seem to escape the topic of greek life. You decide to grab coffee on Sunday morning. Outside the building, Braden leaves you with another wave and a confirmation of “It’s a date!”
Then, Jack finds you.
“How was Schneider?” He asks, eying your classmate’s retreating figure.
“He’s good. We’re getting coffee on Sunday. I think our project will go well. How’s… John?” You reply, fixing the backpack straps on your shoulders before setting off towards the parking lot where you parked today. This class with Jack is the last of the day, so you’re ready to head home. He walks back the same way, since the parking lot is about a block closer to campus than the frat houses.
“Johnny,” Jack corrects. Then, he shrugs. “He’s fine. Why are you getting coffee with Schneider?”
You almost burst out laughing. “For the project?” You explain, like it’s obvious. “We have to talk about it.”
“Why can’t you just go to the library? Or you could work on it during class time,” Jack says.
Now, it’s your turn to shrug. “We want to get it done and he says he works best in a more relaxed environment.”
“Of course he does,” Jack scoffs. “Those fucking Nups. They never take anything seriously.”
“‘Nups?’” You repeat. “What the fuck is a ‘Nup?’”
“Nu Upsilon Rho,” Jack says. “Our rival frat. He’s one of the brothers.”
“So… because he’s in this frat that you don’t like… you think he’s not going to take the project seriously,” you deadpan. “Do you even know him?”
“I just think he’s going to ditch you with all the work because he’s busy,” Jack says with another shrug. He fixes his baseball cap, turning it so it’s backwards atop his head.
“Well, I have faith in him. We’ve got a plan and he seems pretty into our topic, so I think everything will be fine.” You frown at Jack, narrowing your eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern.”
“Are you angry with me, or something?” Jack asks. “You seem mad.”
“I think you’re really overstepping,” you tell him. “My project isn’t your business. We’re not partners.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you.”
“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” You’ve reached your parking lot, so this is the part where you turn left and Jack continues going straight. You cross your arms over your chest and he stops in front of you, turning to face you. You’re crowded on the left side of the sidewalk. Other students walk past you, sometimes looking at you to express their distaste at the obstacle blocking their way.
Jack looks at you for a minute, holding eye contact without saying anything. He looks confused at your retort, a slight frown tugging at his lips.
Those are the same lips that kissed your earlobe, your cheek, your neck. Behind them is the same tongue that licked into your mouth and slid against yours.
You’re flushing a bit now. It takes a lot of concentration to tear yourself away from him, to look down at his feet. He’s wearing those white AF1s that he always wears, creased and gross after years of wear and tear, and that’s enough to bring you back to yourself.
“We’re throwing a party on the last day of classes,” Jack says. “It’s, like, a final hoo-rah before finals. The theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’ll put you on the list, if you want to come.”
“Maybe,” you say. You probably won’t go. The last time you went to one of Jack’s parties, you ended up losing your head after one drink and fucking him in the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear, just because he asked you to.
“Okay. It’ll start at nine. You can come early, too. I’ll be at the house all day.” If Jack is bothered by your uncertain answer, he doesn’t let it show. He bids you goodbye and turns away, heading towards the house.
You watch him walk away, then you don’t think about him again until class on Wednesday. Wednesday begins exam review. Your optional exam is scheduled on the first day of finals week, in just ten days. You’ll only have two classes to summarize everything you learned this semester, since Monday and Wednesday are reserved for presentations, so it’s imperative that you pay attention. You have to pay attention in case your final project falls apart and goes completely south, the way that it seems Jack believes it will. You want to ace this final exam if you have to take it.
You barely speak with him throughout exam review on Wednesday, nor on Friday. You head to the library to work on other papers and exam reviews after your classes instead of going home, just so you don’t have to walk back with him.
If Jack’s not going to bring up the fact that you fucked, then neither are you. If he’s going to be a dick about the project, and the fact that you’re paired with one of his rival frat’s brothers, then you’re just going to ignore him.
That’s not to say that he doesn’t try to bother you during class, because he does. He’s insatiable like that. It’s impossible for him to go a class period without talking or without poking you and pouting for attention. You’re just the bigger person.
Jack’s presentation is on Monday and it goes fine. He and his partner are relatively monotone and they don’t seem to care much about their topic, so you’d say that they earned a solid C on the presentation part of the project. Hopefully their research and write-up is better and can lift their grade up to a B. You give him a high five after it’s done, just to congratulate him on completing the assignment, and he slumps in his seat.
Your presentation is on Wednesday. You and Braden met for coffee on Sunday, like you said. He told you a bit about his girlfriend’s formal on Friday, then you got down to work. You both pulled through with your end of the research, so organizing your presentation was easy. You were in and out of the coffee shop in less than two hours, feeling fully confident that you’d be able to present well and receive an A.
On Wednesday, everything goes off without a hitch. Your professor looks impressed, scribbling only a few notes on her sheet of paper. You try not to look at Jack, lest he distract you, but he’s staring at you the whole time. He gives you a tight smile after the presentation is over and you breathe a sigh of relief.
After class, Braden comes over and gives you a hug. You’d gotten his number before your coffee date, but he assures you that he’d love to study together in the future. You’ll have a class together next semester, anyway– the same one you’ll have with Jack, since you’re all in your last semester before graduation and everyone always ends up in the same course.
Jack walks with you to the parking lot on Wednesday, heading home in the same direction, but his hands are shoved in his pockets and his expression is oddly blank. When you reach your normal parting point, Jack stops.
“Are you coming to the Ugly Sweater party?” He asks.
“It’s on Friday, right?” You ask, still beaming after your successful presentation. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t think.”
“Do you have an ugly sweater?” Jack asks.
“I think I can find one.”
“I have two. You can borrow one of mine.” Jack kicks a rock to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way. “Do you want to come to the house and grab it? I know coming to frat parties early, like… isn’t fun for most people. I’ll kind of be busy before, too, so. You coming to the house now to grab it would be better. If you have nothing else to do.”
His words are jilted and awkward. You’re just as aware as he is that the last time you came to the house, you came all over his cock and he shot off inside of you. You know Jack’s thinking about that because the tips of his ears have gone red and he can’t meet your eyes.
You’d rather face the frat house now, in the light of day, than go back on a Friday night when there is a huge crowd and you can barely hear Jack.
“Yeah,” you tell him. Your answer surprises Jack, but it makes him smile.
“Okay,” he says, trying to bite back the big grin. “C’mon.”
Together, you bypass the parking lot where your car sits. You walk together to the row of frat houses down the block. Jack swipes into the house with his student ID, holding the door open for you.
You kind of think he expects you to keep walking, but you’ve never been to his room before. You’ve only been in the dancing room– which looks like shit in the light of day, on a Wednesday afternoon– the kitchen, and that bathroom down the hall.
Jack waves at a brother who is sitting in the living room to the right of the foyer, then guides you upstairs with a hand at the small of your back. His touch is featherlight, his fingertips pressing against the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric.
You make it to the top of the stairs, turning towards the left. There are more doors on that side of the hall, so you expect Jack’s room is down there. There are two doors on the right.
Jack climbs the final stairs and hooks a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you gently towards the right. “My room’s over here,” he mumbles, reaching for one of the doorhandles. “The other one is the shared bathroom for the guys. If you need the bathroom during the party, you can go in this one instead of waiting downstairs again.”
You nod, not sure how to reply. You’re not sure if you can face that bathroom without wanting to repeat your encounter with Jack.
It’s even harder seeing his bed– unmade, messy, and looking comfortable. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown around haphazardly, his pillows flat and squished like he was hugging them in his sleep.
“Sorry for the mess,” Jack offers. “I didn’t think…”
“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind. My room isn’t much better.”
That’s a lie. You have a laundry basket for your dirty clothes and Jack seems to drop them in a pile in the corner. He’s got books out, whereas yours are stacked neatly on your desk. The truthful part is that you don’t mind– you didn’t expect a clean room in a frat house.
You take a seat on the edge of his bed, clasping your hands in your lap and bouncing a bit on the mattress when you sink into it. He digs through his closet, moving hangers and pulling boxes out of cubbies to try and find the ugly sweater that you’re going to borrow.
You spot a can of Zyn on his bedside table, which makes you laugh to yourself. You’re looking around the room for more when your phone dings.
You dig it out of your pocket, checking your messages. It’s Braden, who has sent you a picture of a coffee and a donut– and his girlfriend in the background– from the same coffee shop where you met up on Sunday. His message reads: “Thanks for the recommendation! Ordered your fav to celebrate our awesome presentation today. Jos says she’ll get the butter cream next time for sure :)”
“Who’s that?” Jack asks, already facing you when you look up with a truly ugly Christmas sweater in his hands.
“Braden.”
Jack’s face clouds over. His hands drop to his sides, the sweater drooping in his right. “You’re done with the project, though.”
“So what?”
“Why are you still talking to him?”
“We get along,” you explain with a shrug. “He’s nice.”
“He’s a Nup,” Jack says again, deadpanning.
You scoff and shake your head. “Jack, just because he’s in another frat than you doesn’t mean he’s not nice. I’m friends with him just like how I’m friends with you.”
“But we were friends first,” Jack complains.
“Does that mean that I’m only allowed to be friends with you?” You ask, teasing him slightly. The idea is absurd and you need to know if Jack really means what he’s implying. “Heaven forbid I have to tell my roommate that we’re not allowed to be friends anymore because the President of Pike doesn’t allow me to talk to anyone other than him.”
“That’s not fair, you know I don’t mean that,” Jack says.
“Jack, honey,” you begin, an air of patronization lacing the pet name. “You’re overstepping again. Let me see that sweater.” You hold a hand out, making a grabbing motion at the lump of fabric in his hand.
“You can’t just look at it,” Jack says with a pout. “You have to try it on to get the full effect. That’s what my mom always says.”
A short silence hangs in the air as you both realize what he said. It’s not like you can pull this sweater over the sweater you’re wearing– you’ll be sweltering and it won’t fit right.
Jack looks so caught on the spot that you can’t help but burst into giggles.
“Jack,” you laugh. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?”
“Well, you’d put a new sweater on immediately after,” Jack says, trying to make up for his blunder. His ears are burning again, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. “I’ll even turn around.”
“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you say, shrugging him off. You start to pull your sweater over your head, revealing the bra you’d thrown on this morning because it was on the top of the pile in your drawer. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it.
“I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it,” Jack jumps in. “You kept your shirt on when I fucked you.”
It’s so jarring when he says it so bluntly. You’d both been avoiding the mention of your… encounter… for weeks.
“Well, now you’ve seen it, so you’ve collected the full package,” you concede, pulling the ugly sweater over your head and standing to look at yourself in the mirror in the corner of his room.
It’s ugly. That’s for sure. There’s fake tinsel, there’s a stupid Christmas saying on the front, and there’s probably a Santa hat or reindeer headband to match.
Jack comes up behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. “Do you like it?”
“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater,” You reply. “You weren’t lying when you said that.”
Jack seems to forget that the mirror shows his expression, because he bites his lip and eyes you. “Looks good on you.”
You laugh, pulling the sweater back over your head, leaving you in your bra. You go to move past Jack, approaching the bed where your old sweater lies. “I think you just like to see a girl in your clothes, J. You seem to have a possessive streak.”
“Nuh-uh,” Jack refutes.
You fix him with a look, glancing over your shoulder and seeing him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack, you don’t want me to be friends with a boy in another frat. I think you seem to believe that I’m Pike property because you fucked me once in the bathroom.”
Jack’s eyes go wide.
“Not that we’ve talked about it, because we probably should,” you point out. “We’re friends and we’ve fucked, then you acted like it never happened.”
“So did you,” Jack says, defending himself.
“I did because you did,” you tell him with a shrug. “I thought you’d bring it up during class or one of our walks. I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid of me.”
“I just didn’t think you wanted me to bring it up,” Jack says. “I thought you’d want it to be a one and done. I mean, I–” He pauses, wincing a little bit. “I came inside you. We didn’t talk about that. I didn’t know if you’d… be mad at me. So I… didn’t… talk to you?”
“I’m not mad at you for coming inside me,” you reply, shaking your head at him. “I don’t mind that. I took a Plan B afterward and everything’s fine. My period is supposed to come sometime this week. Plus, I–”
You cut yourself off, snapping your mouth shut. Jack’s not someone who you’d share your kinks with under a normal circumstance. He’s not your best friend, he’s not someone you gossip with, he’s not someone who you’re fucking regularly. It happened once, halfway in public, and that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to information about you. He doesn’t need to know that you felt feral over the way he came inside of you, with that low groan that has been replaying in your head every time you pull out your trusty vibrator and take care of yourself.
Jack cocks his head to the side. He raises an eyebrow. “You what?” He queries, expecting an answer. When you don’t answer, he takes a step forward and asks again. “You… what?”
“I’m not saying it,” you announce.
Jack smirks. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Hmm, let’s think,” he teases, tapping his chin with his finger, pretending to think. “You didn’t mind when I came inside you, so I think you might… like that?”
You pull your sweater over your head, covering yourself up again. You seal your mouth shut and look at Jack, who takes another step forward, his smile only growing.
“You… want it,” Jack surmises.
You hope your poker face is good, because he’s mighty perceptive. You would absolutely rather have a man come inside of you than in a condom. But, once again, it’s not something you were planning on telling Jack after just one fuck.
“You might be just as possessive as me,” Jack teases. He’s close enough to touch you now, so he does. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing against your exposed clavicle. He pushes the fabric of your sweater off your shoulder a bit, displacing it. The knitted fabric is stretchy, so it moves easily. He leans closer. “You like when I come inside of you because, well, I’m yours that way, aren’t I?”
With his hand on you and his body so close, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen up.
Yes, you think. That’s exactly it. You hadn’t been able to place your finger on exactly why before now– Jack seems to have opened your eyes. Yes, you like it when a man is so desperate and overwhelmed by the feeling of you that he has to fill you up. He’s yours. He might be marking you up in a way that claims you, but his come is a sign that he’s yours.
“And I like it,” Jack continues. “Because you’re mine.”
A shiver actually runs down your spine.
And then Jack kisses you.
It’s sensual. It makes your brain melt. He’s gentle with it, his tongue caressing your lips until you open up for him. With one hand, he cradles your cheek. His other hand slides along your waist, underneath the bottom of your sweater. It feels like he’s branding your skin with his touch– or maybe all of the ‘possessive streak’ talk is warping your brain.
“Why did you put your shirt back on?” Jack murmurs when he pulls away.
He’s genuinely asking, which makes you laugh and pull him in again. Your laughter has him smiling, which makes it hard to kiss him properly. It devolves into a series of sweet pecks, interrupted by a breath of laughter or a wide grin before your lips meet again.
“No, really,” Jack says between kisses. “Why’d you put your shirt back on? I didn’t get a good look.”
“You are such a goof,” you reply, touching his hip. “Obviously I didn’t know we’d be kissing by the end of this conversation.”
“I think we should do more than kiss,” Jack says.
Again, a bout of laughter escapes you. He is so blatant and honest about what he wants. It’s such a male trait– you can’t imagine being so brash.
“You don’t think so?” Jack asks.
“You’re just so– I don’t know,” you say, feeling flustered. He’s still touching you, his hands are greedy, roaming along your middle.
“Is it– too much?” Jack asks, matching your tone. His face contorts with concern. “If you don’t want to go again, we don’t have to. I would… fuck, I want to fuck you again.”
The sincerity of his voice surprises you. You know that he’s a man and men are often fueled by their desire to have sex with a partner, but Jack’s words blossom in your stomach like a flower opening on the first warm day of spring.
“You do?” You ask, coyly goading him into saying more.
“Baby, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jack reveals, groaning a little bit with want. “I can’t use the downstairs bathroom anymore and all the guys think it’s hilarious.”
“So is that why you didn’t want me talking to Braden?” You ask. “Because you’re jealous, seeing me have fun with another guy, meanwhile you can’t stop thinking about how my pussy felt around your cock?”
The dirty words make Jack keen in the back of his throat, tugging insistently at the hem of your sweater.
You start to remove it, slowly, teasing him. As you watch his pupils dilate, fixing on your newly revealed skin, you continue to talk: “Have you been fucking your fist a lot, Jack? While you think about me?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice merely a whisper.
“Good boy,” you praise lowly, trying to make your voice as seductive and innocent as possible without feeling like a fool. “I’ve been fucking myself to the thought of you, too.”
Your shirt comes off, dropping to the ground, but Jack’s eyes find your face.
He bites his lip, his eyes dancing along your features. “Fingers?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Been using a toy.”
Jack’s blue eyes are starting to look black, shadowed and heady with lust. They’re devoid of emotion– except for one: want.
“Good?” He asks.
Again, you shake your head. “Not as good as the real thing.” You bring your hands to his pants, popping the button on his jeans slowly, to build suspense or even give him a chance to kiss you again. He’s standing still, staring at you with those dark eyes, so you drag the zipper of his pants down and reach in, palming his length over his underwear.
Jack’s eyes stay on you as you touch him, the blue of his eyes matching the navy of the midnight sky.
You stroke him until you’re certain he can’t grow any harder. Then, you push his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach, somehow soft and toned at the same time. You scratch along his abdomen, lifting the fabric. His mouth curves up at the edges when you’re finally able to pull the shirt off of him, leaving his hair disheveled. It’s cute like this, you decide.
The air between you is tense, his gaze weighing on you. You kiss him again, just because you can, and you use the distraction to push at his jeans until they’re falling to the ground. His lips are wet against yours. He must have licked them while he was staring, while you stroked him.
One of his hands works on your jeans, but you’re much more concerned with the hand that’s petting over the clasp of your bra. He’s able to unfasten it quickly. Once your bra is loose, he acts quickly. He brings his hand to your front and pulls at the band of the delicate piece. He drops to a knee, leaving your lips behind, but kissing over your stomach as he tugs at your jeans. They’re tight around your hips, so it takes him a second to get them off, but his fervor and determination aides him.
Once he’s got you in your underwear, completely braless, he rises. He covers your skin in wet, messy kisses as he comes back up. He captures one nipple between his teeth, then moves to the other and sucks. His hands are flush against your ass, squeezing your skin and keeping you close.
“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and breathing in languorous spurts.
“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “But I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”
“So fuck me,” you tell him. “I want you to. I want you to fuck me now.”
Jack smiles against your skin, licking over your nipple one more time before he comes back to his height. “Music to my ears, babe.” He places a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, helping you step backwards until you’re against the bed. “Lay down. Let me touch you.”
You obey, climbing onto the messy bed and making yourself comfortable among his pillows. Jack joins you, climbing up your body and planting another kiss on your lips. He takes a pillow from beside your head and brings it under your hips, tapping your sides so that you lift up for him.
“Good girl,” he mumbles.
His words are quiet, but they still give you a burst of pride.
He’s already moving to pull your panties down, biting his lip in concentration. His eyes are fixed on the point between your legs, even though his face is level with yours. His hair is falling into your space, tickling your forehead. You take a moment to take him in. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you stare at him. You know Jack’s attractive, because you look at him all the time and you like looking at him, but in this moment, he’s a work of art. You might have stopped breathing.
You gasp when he touches you. His fingertips are blunt and careful as they sweep through your wet folds.
The gasp takes Jack by surprise, his eyes flickering to your face, and he smiles when he meets you there. “Are you always this wet when we’re together?” He asks. “I’m imagining you in class, absolutely soaked even though I haven’t touched you.”
“Fuck off,” you laugh, bringing a hand to his hair again and smoothing it back.
“That’s a no?”
“Definitely a no,” you say. “I’m not just wet because you’re around, Jack. It doesn’t work like that. This is because you’re a good kisser. And, well, because you sucked on my nipples.”
Jack brightens. “And I’ll do it again, too.”
You grip his hair before he can dip down and make good on his vow. “Slow down there, cowboy,” you say.
Jack laughs at that, kissing your lips instead of finding your nipple. He swipes a finger against your clit, making you gasp again, into his mouth this time.
“Mm,” Jack hums patronizingly. “Does it feel good?”
He fills you with his middle finger and thumbs at your clit, working the digits in tandem to make you whimper.
“Listen to yourself,” he says. “All that noise for me?”
“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Jack. I need you to fuck me.”
“You need it?” Jack teases, sliding his ring finger inside of you, joining the other.
“Don’t be a dick,” you whine.
“God, and I thought it was embarrassing how bad I want you,” he simpers. “But, you make a good point. We both want it. Let’s not wait.”
He removes his hand from between your legs, the empty feeling foreign and dissatisfying. He shucks off the final bit of clothing remaining between the two of you, throwing the underwear over his shoulder comically. It’s not sexy, but he’s so charming and goofy that you swoon anyway.
Jack fists his cock, stroking himself. He aligns himself with your entrance, teasing your folds and bumping your clit with the head of his cock. He smiles to himself, gaze meeting yours before he speaks. He quirks an eyebrow, coming lower to kiss you again because he just can’t help himself. “Let’s fill you up, hm? Just like you like.”
“Just like you like,” you parrot back.
He murmurs a quiet agreeance as he pushes into you. He goes slow, sinking into you in a direct contrast with how he fucked you last time. “Still so tight,” Jack acknowledges. “You feel just as good as last time.”
You hold his shoulder, one hand twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck.
He dips down to smear a kiss against your jugular, mouthing at the area where your pulse races. Jack starts to roll his hips, feeling you out. Even though it was the whole point, you realize suddenly that he’s bare inside of you. It’s like the piece of information was delayed and that you didn’t understand it until you felt him, felt the way his cock was weeping inside of you.
“Jack,” you moan, pulling him closer. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You don’t let up, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and his stomach is practically touching your own. You need him to be close– you’re drunk on the feeling of having him inside of you, bare and leaking.
“I know,” he soothes, rocking into you. He kisses you again, his tongue lathering your lips and petting whatever area he can touch– teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth… it’s messy, but driven completely by his desire, and you love it.
Your whines and whimpers, musings about how well he fills you, and your trembling touches fuel him.
He fucks you deeply, making sure his cock brushes against your cervix with each thrust. You lose the ability to kiss him when he taps your sweet spot, keening in a way that has him grinning. You clench down involuntarily, which makes him choke a bit on his own breath and stutter his movements.
“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that, this is going to end a lot faster than I want it to,” Jack tells you, grimacing through another thrust. He snaps his hips, showing no signs of stopping even though he seems determined to last.
“I want you to come,” you goad, practically begging. “Please, Jack, fill me up. Need you to come in my pussy, I need it.”
Jack makes a choked moan in the back of his throat, his head dipping to bury itself in your neck. He nibbles your neck, keeping his teeth in place to quiet himself as he quickens his pace. His breath is like music in your ears, panting and turning high pitched when you squeeze him again. “Baby, shit,” he moans, dropping to his elbows, bracketing your head.
You grind up against him, your hips lifting off the bed and the pillow completely.
He rearranges his position, shifting his weight to one arm so that he can reach down and rub circles over your clit with his dominant hand. His fingers, the ones next to your head, toy with your hair. He thrusts as hard as he can, his thick cock pistoning into your heat and making your stomach turn over from the pleasure.
The pressure on your clit sends sparks through your body. You can feel the pleasure in your clenched fingertips, the burning tips of your ears, and in your curled toes. He’s everywhere, and his cum is seconds from marking you.
“Be mine,” you plead. You mean to say, ‘fill me up, put your cum inside me until it spills out of me, come apart like your cum belongs to me,’ but what you hear is different. You hear yourself ask him for more than just a fuck– you hear a slogan from a chalky Valentine’s heart, begging for a romantic connection.
He’s a frat boy. He won’t acknowledge this, he won’t understand what you mean. He’ll take it the wrong way and he’ll never talk to you again, even if you show up to the party on Friday. He’ll say hello, then look over you to find the next girl–
“I’m yours,” Jack replies, breathless. “All yours.”
The relief that comes with his reply washes over you. You cry out, unable to stop yourself from clenching down on his member and succumbing to the pleasure that had been building up inside of you.
You let your release take hold of you, throwing your head back and baring your neck to Jack. He takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, sucking on the skin below your jaw. His nose presses against the side of your face, his breath wet against your skin.
“Good, baby, so good,” Jack praises as he fucks you through your release. “Y’feel so perfect around me, gonna give you what you want, just another minute…”
His hips work in a frenzy, snapping into you with lewd noises that mix with the noises falling from both of your lips. It only takes a few more thrusts before Jack is shuddering in your arms, his lips coming to smudge a messy, passionate kiss against yours. He spills inside of you, filling you with his hot, intoxicating cum until there’s none remaining in his cock.
His hips slow when he’s done, his blinks becoming longer and slower as he regains his breath. He watches himself thrust into you a final few times, his mouth open slightly and eyes trained on the spot like he’s in a trance.
You snap your fingers by his face, drawing his attention. “My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”
Jack bursts into a fit of giggles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. He uses the leverage, and the wide expanse of his bed, to roll over so that you’re laying on top of him. He touches your hips, your ass, the smooth plane of your back, all the way up to your shoulderblades before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you there.
He kisses you silly, cradling your cheek with one hand. Occasionally, he allows you to pull away, but you never go far. He’ll play with the strands of your hair, gazing at you with a satisfied, smug smirk on his lips.
“It’s a date party,” Jack says eventually.
“What is?” You ask, your nose scrunching in confusion.
“The ugly sweater party. It’s a date party. I was conning you into being my date.”
You barely stifle a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak.”
“Hey,” Jack complains, pouting. “Not all of us can just say shit like ‘be mine’ in the middle of sex.”
You pat his chest, clicking your tongue at him to reprimand him for mocking your words. “Says the boy who tried to trick me into being his date for a frat function.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Jack shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss.
It’s slow, like the first one. Your lips move together until you’ve both run out of air. Jack returns to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.
“Gonna get you a Plan B in the morning,” he says. His tone sounds like he’s wondering, still thinking about it, although you know that he’s stating a fact and formulating a plan. “But I think, if we want to keep doing this, we’re going to have to figure something out about birth control.”
Normally, you wouldn’t allow a man to tell you what to do with your body. Today, though, you concede. He’s right. The world isn’t ready for a little Jack, and you don’t want him to stop coming inside of you, so you make a mental note to call your doctor tomorrow.
Still, you can’t resist the chance to make a joke.
“Maybe we’ll get you a vasectomy instead,” you tease, touching his bottom lip with your index finger. “They’re reversible, you know.”

note: i couldn't resist posting this, since i finished it before i expected to. I LOVE YOU FRAT JACK! (am willing to skip the plan b but only if you're also down)
#puck-luck's fics#andy writes anything🍄#jack hughes#jack hughes smut#jack hughes fanfiction#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes x you#jack hughes x y/n#jh86#nhl smut#nhl fanfiction#nhl fic#hockey smut#frat jack!#hi frat jack#good morning frat jack
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Trying II**

HERE IT FINALLY IS! I hope you guys enjoy the conclusion to this AU! If you want more of this pair feel free to request updates on them! Read Part I and related blurb here!
Warnings: dirty talk, P in V (unprotected), breeding kink, free use kink, light gagging, edging and orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral sex (fem receiving), slight pain kink, alcohol consumption, mention of minor fertility issues
WC: 8.2K
Life had taken an extremely eventful turn for both, you and Harry in the last few months. For Harry, the opportunity to expand his business had risen very suddenly. The unit beside the brewery was a boxing gym and they had outgrown the space. Harry worked out there sometimes so he was friends with the owners and when they decided to relocate they asked him if he was interested in buying the space before they put it on the market. After talking about it with you and crunching some numbers he had bought it and now was in the middle of renovating. Obviously, this took a lot of his time and Harry had been really busy with the brewery as of late and it would stay that way for a few more months.
He had big plans for this expansion. He was going to expand his beer selection and also start working on brewing three of his own beers. The brewing portion was the first thing they were getting set up for the inspection and licensing process so that he could start fermenting his own brews on site. You were so proud of him and everything that he was doing but you missed having him around as much as you had previously. His expansion project pushed you to become an adjunct for an art class at the community college to bring some money in and also stay busy, so you truly hadn’t been smothering each other as much as you normally were.
On top of things shifting in your work lives, you had learned that you weren’t ovulating every cycle. You’d always assumed that if you had a period you had ovulated, but apparently that was not at all the case. It took you nearly six months with no success at pregnancy before you went to the doctor and had some tests done. Your hormones were a bit out of whack, thankfully no abnormalities had been found, so you had just been taking some medication to help block estrogen receptors and encourage the release of an egg each cycle. You had been on this treatment for three months now and you were very optimistic about it. More than ever before you felt and recognized the phases of your cycle more markedly, especially when you ovulated or were getting close. Sure, you were a naturally horny person to begin with but this was something else. It was like you had no resolve whatsoever. And despite the decrease in scheduled baby-making time because of your busy schedules, these changes had led to far more spontaneity in your sexual life with Harry. Like now…
“Baby…” Harry laughed breathily as you pulled him into the bathroom of the little bridal cottage of the vineyard you were currently at for a friend’s wedding. “Wh-what if Darci comes back for something and-”
“She’s not. She’s busy fake-crying at the toasts.” You assured him as you reached for his belt buckle. Harry chuckled into your kiss and his laugh morphed into a raspy groan as you slid your hand down the front of his slacks and groped over his semi-erection. You loved the way his cock fattened up so fast for you. As much as having a taste made your mouth water, you needed him inside of you and rearranging your guts more. “Please fuck me, daddy. I’m so fucking horny for you.” You said in a small voice as you peered up at him. Those, pretty eyes holding such an innocent look in them absolutely melted him to his core.
He smirked at your request, “Need my big cock, baby?”
You nodded in response, “Yes, daddy. So bad.”
“Alright, but we have to be quick, okay? You can come the first chance you get, alright?” You nodded in understanding.
Before you knew it Harry had you bent over the counter, your hands holding your bunched up dress in tight fists with your thong stuffed in your mouth because you could not keep it down while Harry fucked into you impossibly deep from behind. Your legs were trembling so much that Harry was basically holding you up. It was hard for you to come standing up and when Harry realized that you were struggling to come he quickly picked you up and set you down on the empty counter space and plunged back into you.
“Fuck…I’m obsessed with your tight, little pussy, baby.” Harry muttered as he thrust in and out a few times. He then started swiveling his hips a bit more and it was making your head spin. The tip of his cock was rubbing into your g-spot with each gyration of his hips, it was making your eyes roll back as you rubbed at your clit steadily. “Shit, you squeeze so fucking tight! Fuck baby, squeeze m’cock…yeah, come for me. Come on daddy’s big dick.” He encouraged you through your muffled curses. Your body shivered as these tingling feelings radiated all over your body from the deepest part of your core, right where the tip of Harry’s cock was colliding and out towards your extremities. It was causing your orgasm to draw out far longer than you were accustomed to.
“H-Harry!” You mumbled against the fabric in your mouth as the overstimulation made your legs start to visibly shake. Harry smirked down at you devilishly, his eyes dark with lust and excitement over wrecking you like this. You had the most worn out and tortured look in your eyes, it was going to push you over the edge again. “Fuuuuck!” You groaned in desperation. You couldn’t help but let out a whine, thankfully it was muffled. But he literally saw as your mind went blacn as the sopping, velvety walls of your pussy constricted his throbbing erection. Your eyes rolled back before your body started to tremble as your orgasm started to take you out.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Squirt on my cock…” he encouraged as you literally burst at the seams from the pleasure that was coursing through you. You were just seeing white hot ecstasy behind your closed eye lids. Your skin was covered in goosebumps as he continued fucking into you in long and deep strokes as he sought after his own orgasm.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come so deep inside of you. Gonna flood your little cunt with my cum.” He mumbled as he pressed his forehead against yours. He moaned from deep in his throat as his rhythm started to falter until he was blowing his load inside of you. “Fuck, there it is…” he mumbled softly as his orgasm started to course through his body. Harry’s knees were nearly buckling as he came undone. You were clinging to his shoulders, nails biting deliciously into his skin through his silky dress shirt. Your head was rolled back as you just saw spots on the bathroom ceiling. Harry grunted lowly as he gave a few more thrusts before holding himself inside of you. He gently pulled his upper body back and tucked your hair behind your ear with one hand before plucking your thong out of your mouth with the other. “You alright?” He asked softly.
“Course.” You whispered with a smile. “Sorry for…kinda shoving you in here.” You chuckled breathily and he grinned.
“That’s alright. It’s not like I didn’t want to…” he hummed and you giggled before kissing him gently. Your kiss deepened and after a few minutes you were pulling apart when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He sighed and ensured you were steady before stooping down to grab it. “It’s Ted.” He mumbled.
“Mmm…” you smirked and he chuckled. Ted was one of Harry’s friends who had moved out of state and returned for this wedding. They weren’t close according to Harry but Ted apparently had an entirely different perception of their friendship. You could’ve sworn he had a crush on him, but Harry didn’t think so because he was sure he was straight. Regardless of what Ted was, he was really intent on reconnecting with Harry and he’d agreed to go to the bourbon and cigar bar which would open after the toasts. “They’re probably about to open the bourbon bar.” You reminded him.
“God…I shouldn’t drink any more or we can’t get back to the hotel.”
“I’ll drive. I’ve only had three glasses of wine and don’t want more. With a little dancing later I’ll be good to go.” You assured him.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, honey.” You smiled and he leaned in to kiss you again, “Jus’not too much, ‘kay? I need you to fuck me again when we get back to the room.” You added and he smirked.
“Mmmm, if anything, being a little buzzed for it would make it better.” He said and you rolled your eyes, “You don’t believe me but you’ll see.”
“It’s just you do this thing where you try to find the sweet spot and when you arrive there you don’t hold off long enough before you start up again and next thing you know you’re passed out in my lap for an hour and my arms and chest are itching all over for the next week from being in the sun too long.” You explained. Harry might own a brewery but he was a complete lightweight when it came to alcohol.
“That was one time.” He chuckled.
“Actually, that was just one example. I’ve got five more.” You said with a smug smirk.
“Alright, I’ll be mindful, baby.” He appeased you.
“Thanks.” You hummed as you wiped your smeared lipgloss from around his mouth.
You quickly cleaned up and Harry got back into his trousers before you were rushing back to the reception tent. It had cooled down pleasantly and you were enjoying the short stroll back with Harry, hand in hand. As soon as you were within eye-shot of your assigned table Ted stood and waved you both down as if you’d been gone for ages or lost.
“He’s so fucking eager.” Harry mumbled as you approached the table.
“He missed you.” You said sweetly.
“I’m telling you, we weren’t that close so it’s a little weird.” Harry reiterated.
“It’ll be fine.” You said.
“Where’d you two wander off to?” Ted asked with a chuckle as soon as you two stepped up to the table.
“On a little stroll so we could make out.” Harry said as he squeezed over your hip and you scoffed before playfully rolling your eyes.
“Harry.” You mumbled and he just smirked down at you.
“That’s understandable.” Ted responded as he smiled at you when you looked over at him. When you realized that he had really just said that you chuckled a bit uncomfortably before averting your eyes and Harry was stunned into silence for a few seconds before you squeezed over his hand on your hip and he glanced down to you.
“Well ummm…have fun at the bourbon thing.” You said and he offered you a soft smile.
“Sure you don’t want to come?” He asked you.
“That’s alright.” You assured him and tip-toed to hug him. “Just take this man with you.” You whispered to him and Harry chuckled as he kissed your cheek.
“C’mon on Styles, no need for the formal send off! S’not like she’s gonna get snatched away.” Ted said and you were glad you were facing away from him because the face you made would give away your slight annoyance at this comment from Ted.
“Take him. Please.” You implored and he giggled before you two pulled away. As they headed off with Fabian, the other guy at your table, Ted briefly glanced back at you. You saw it from your peripheral vision.
“I think Ted’s got a crush on you.” The woman beside you, Gaia, said.
“Oh god…I thought he had a crush on Harry. I’ve been teasing him about it all evening.” You said and the other ladies giggled.
“It’s because you kinda look like his ex. She was like, the one that got away.” Heidi, the woman across the table explained.
“Oh…” you hummed in understanding.
“Yeah, so sorry about him. He’s not usually like that, he’s just had a bit much to drink.” She explained.
You could understand that, so you didn’t want to make too big of a fuss but it had made you a bit uneasy in the moment. When Harry returned almost an hour later he was pink in the cheeks with a dopey smile on his face, and lidded eyes. You couldn’t help but shake your head as he approached.
“Baby, lets dance.” He said as he extended his hand to you and you immediately stood and shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your bag on your chair before walking off with him.
Harry pulled you out onto the dance floor and you immediately started to sway to Tony Bennett’s rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight”. You were both singing softly as you swayed together, gazes glued to each others. You often felt lucky to have him as your husband and it was happening right now. You giggled before reaching up to grab his face and kiss him. Your lips met in a deep and loving kiss before parting.
“Love you, honey.” You mumbled and he pecked your lips again.
“Love you too.” He whispered. “So…Ted asked me if we would be open to a threesome.”
“Jesus.” You scoffed and he chuckled.
“So…is that a no?” He asked and you rolled your eyes at his feigned disappointment.
“Shut up…” you muttered and he laughed lowly.
“I actually almost hit him over it. Had to remind myself he’s piss drunk to stop myself.” He explained. “And well…don’t want to do anything to fuck up Darci and Tim’s big day.”
“Well, I’m proud of you for having that self control.” You smiled. “Besides, Ted’s not even my type.”
“I know. Too straight.” He said and you laughed aloud, disturbing the romantic environment of the dance floor. A few of the couples around you shot you irritated glares and you whispered an apology as Harry shook with laughter.
“Oh, you’re too funny, baby. That was very clever.” you assured him through your soft giggles.
“I know…” he said smugly. “It’s true though.” He said and you giggled.
“Would you ever want to do that? Have a threesome?” You asked quietly.
“My body tells me yes, but my gut says no.” he said, “I just don’t think I could handle it. I don’t want to see anyone else on you. And I would hate for you to see me with someone else like that.” He explained, “I just wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself.” He added.
“Yeah…same.”
“Why did you hesitate, then?” He called you out with a knowing grin and you giggled.
“I mean, I’d feel guilty fucking someone else in front of you. But I wouldn’t mind seeing you fuck someone else.” You explained.
“Oh…didn’t peg you as a cuck.” He chuckled and you scoffed. “Hey, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re inadequate. It just means that it turns you on to watch me fuck someone else.” He explained.
“Oh…well, wouldn’t that actually make me a voyeur?”
“No, because it’s not watching anyone that turns you on. It’s that watching me fuck turns you on.”
“Oh…then yeah, you’re right.” You conceded and he smirked. “But it doesn’t even necessarily have to be fucking someone else. I mean, it’s just you. You turn me on. A lot.” You giggled, “To the extent that if you ever feel like getting yourself off around the house feel free to do so.” You said with a grin.
“Noted.” He smirked.
“You better not fall asleep tonight.” You warned him lowly. You were still very turned on and you needed more from him.
“I won’t.” He assured you and you tutted, “Honey, I won’t.” He insisted and you smiled.
“Okay…” you hummed with some reservation.
Sure enough, Harry passed out on the drive back to your hotel from the venue. It took nearly five minutes to get him lucid enough to get up to the room and washed up before he undressed and plopped into bed. When you finally got into bed after a quick shower, you leaned back into the mountain of pillows and turned on the TV. The noise seemed to make Harry gain some consciousness and he requested that you play with his hair. That’s how you ended up with Harry’s head on a pillow in your lap with your fingers threading through his thick curls as you mindlessly watched some Lucy Show reruns until you passed out.
After you and Harry hadn’t been as sexually active as before it wasn’t odd for you to have spicy dreams when you’d been left sexually frustrated. So when you felt a lovely little flame of pleasure licking away in the depths of your core you just eased into the feeling. You were teetering between being awake and asleep which made it feel all the more real. But when you felt your legs being parted by Harry’s hands you started to stir. And then, Harry was smooching down your stomach, making you a bit impatient as he hovered over your mons and continue nuzzling up against it as his fingers rubbed against the crotch of your shorts.
“Hurry up.” You mumbled groggily and he chuckled but proceeded to grip the band of your shorts and pulled them down. You helped him a bit by raising your hips and once they were out of the way he delved in eagerly. His tongue felt magnificent on you, it didn’t take long before your pussy was becoming all slick and fluttery with the things his mouth was doing to you.
Every inch of you was on high alert and feeling each and every wave of pleasure that started to ripple from your core and towards the rest of your body. The closer you got to your climax that more intense it felt until your muscles were growing tense and you reached the peak and then he waited a second too long and your almost orgasm slowly started to fizzle out. You couldn’t help but whine out at the loss, but it was just another second before he was back to your clit and flicking it over and over with his tongue until you were right there again, you were expecting it this time so it didn’t upset you as much, but you were still annoyed. Edging? At this hour? Especially when you had gone to bed so horny for him, it was criminal, but he could use you whenever and however he well pleased, so you decided to not complain about it until you couldn’t handle it any longer.
“Daddy, please…” you whined after your fourth almost orgasm. You were lamenting the loss as the euphoria just faded from your reach…all that potential gone.
“I’m going, honey. I’ve got an aching boner so m’not gonna last too long. I wanted to let you have your fun before I get in there. Still owe you for last night.” He reasoned and you smiled down at him.
“You are forgiven, just make me come.” You huffed.
Harry smiled before pressing himself up and well yeah, his cock was standing straight up, despite it’s size and weight. It was also looking a slightly painful shade of deep pink. Your mouth watered as he stroked his foreskin over his tip and then back down. You nearly whimpered as his lovely, fat tip came back into view. You wanted to suck on it until you were slurping the cum right out of him. You had always been a bit of a cum slut, but now that your hormones were acting more or less how they should, well your craving for his cum was something else entirely. You wanted to taste it, or feel it pooling at your lower tummy, or squirting on your face or breasts. You liked how much he came and how you could feel each twitch of his cock shooting it inside of you when he fucked you from the back. You loved how warm it was and how he did the most to ensure it tasted as good as it could for you. You love the consistency of it and got turned on by seeing it slowly oozing from your stretched out little hole. The thought of him busting inside of you made you so feral so you did not care if it was fast or not, you just wanted to feel him inside of you.
“How do you want me?” He asked you.
“Do it from behind.” You requested and you both grinned at each other before you flipped over.
Harry stuffed a pillow beneath your hips before guiding his hot and stiff cock between your slimy and warm folds a few times to let your arousal coat his cock. You were desperate to feel his girth stretching your entrance. And when he finally pushed the tip in you braced yourself for him to plunge the rest of the way in but he stopped. You could feel his fingers digging hard into your hips. You were just about to tell him to stop teasing but then your felt his cock start to twitch hard as a breathy and slightly distressed “fuck” slipped past his mouth.
“D-did you just come?” You asked in shock through a giggle and Harry groaned.
“Yep.” He admitted with a huff, “M’sorry hon, it just felt so good inside of you. Was edging myself for a while before I woke you.” He explained.
“Oh…well now you have to keep going ‘cause I haven’t come.” You said as you glanced back at him.
“I know.” He assured you, “Just…just gimme a minute here, it’s so sensitive!” He yelped and groaned before smacking your ass playfully. You had squeezed your walls nice and hard around his sensitive cock and it completely caught him off guard. You laughed a bit as you relaxed your muscles completely and he sighed in relief. “So fucking mean.” He grumbled. “Fuck you.” He chuckled lowly and you giggled again.
“I had to. S’pay back for last night.” You reminded him.
“This is me paying you back for last night.” He reminded.
“Really? Blowing your load the second you put it in?” You teased and he chuckled.
“Touché.” He replied and you grinned.
“S’alright, very amusing though. Just go slow.” You said softly and he hummed and pushed his length in a bit further into you before drawing out. You could feel him shivering a bit as he tried to keep himself composed but you loved that. “Give me more, daddy. Want to feel your big cock all the way inside. Love it when I’m stuffed with you.” You uttered seductively and he groaned as he fought against the sensitivity he was feeling in order to sink back inside your pussy.
You felt nothing but relief when Harry started setting a steady pace, still a bit slow for how horny you were so you started to push back to meet his thrusts. Then you wedged your hand between your body and the pillow and with your own movements started humping your clit against the heel of your palm to get some friction to the throbbing little bundle. Harry felt your hips moving beneath him and held still to allow you to take over and go at your pace. Your heart started to pound faster and your moans to climb in pitch with each prod of Harry’s fat, leaking tip to your g-spot.
“Oh fuck, you’re so good, daddy. Your cock is so good.” You slurred, starting to get drunk on the pleasure you felt simmering in your blood. He had pushed past the point of the sensitivity now and just needed to come again. He needed you to go faster, he was going to lose his damn mind.
“Faster, honey. Go a little faster for me.” He encouraged you and you started to shift back a bit faster.
Harry’s hands smoothed up the sides of your thighs and over your butt. He squeezed and groped a bit before gripping around your waist and then leaning forward to grab your jiggling breast in his right hand. You moaned as he started to tug and gently pinch your nipple. In moments your breath started to shallow as you started to approach your climax. That lovely pulsating feeling that was running through started to increase in intensity. Your body started to grow hotter and your limbs to tense. You moaned and let your upper body just fall into the pillows before you as you started to give in to the feelings. Harry watched the way your spine curved so beautifully as you kept your ass up for him. He watched your free hand clench the covers tightly while you played with your clit with your other hand. Harry groaned and reached into your hair, grabbing a fistful and gripping it tight to keep you in that position. He mustered up whatever strength he had left and pulled your ass tighter against his front as he plunged deep into your dripping cunt with the most brutal and unforgiving thrust. Your brain blanked for a moment and gasped as he you felt him collide with what to you felt like a totally new spot.
“Fuck me hard, daddy…Make me ache!” You supplicated and Harry moaned at the whiny tone of your voice and the light slur you spoke with.
With your body bent the way it was it was already a little hard to breathe, but he had effectively knocked more air out of you with that first thrust. He released your hair and gripped your hips hard as he continued his merciless domination of you as you rubbed your clit in quick but precise little swipes. Side to side, side to side. So fast that the tingle in your core started to travel down your legs until your toes were curling for a second as your body tensed up. Then you felt it traveling up, making your tummy and chest tighten impossibly. When the feeling finally made it to your head you completely lost yourself.
“I’m coming!” You gasped before you buried your face into the bed to muffle your lewd and uncontainable moans.
Your were feeling relief and ecstasy as your body rode this perfect wave of euphoria. It was so easy to overdo it and you had. Your legs had started to tremble but you couldn’t stop rubbing, it felt too good. Even more so with Harry giving you his cock as hard as he was. It hurt so good that you were drooling. You were going to come again. And surely enough, just moments later you shrieked in shock as Harry held you down on his cock while he started to come with a deep grunt. You were a goner in that moment, completely fucked out. The feeling of him being that deep all while you rubbed your clit past the point of comfort was making you dizzy as you came on his dick. He could feel your pussy throbbing hard around his girth, it was dragging out his orgasm. He needed more of you. He wiggled in a little deeper until he brushed again your cervix, you tensed up and then he pulled back before he did it again and again as you held so perfectly still but remained so tense at the overwhelming feeling. He then shifted a bit and laid over you and you gasped as this made him drive in as deep as was possible.
“T-too deep!” You winced and he smirked and dropped more of his weight over you causing you to whine lowly and tighten your fist around the covers again.
“You said t’make it ache. So that’s what I’m doing, baby.” He said lowly, lips swiping your shoulder before he planted a gentle smooch to your warm skin. He then dropped the rest of his weight over you and your eyes squeezed shut as your brain went blank in response. “You’re gonna feel me for days, baby. Thoroughly fucked. Cute little cunt all wrecked.” He mumbled and you nodded. “Pussy bred.” He added. You could hear the smirk in his voice and smiled as well.
“Thank you, daddy.” You mumbled, drunk on him and his cock and the cocktail of pleasant neurotransmitters firing around in your brain.
“You’re welcome, baby.” He hummed in satisfaction.
And as you laid there in the postcoital bliss you were glad that you’d be staying an extra day before flying back down to LA. You’d rented yourself a vintage luxury car for the weekend and were just treating this as a romantic getaway since you’d both been so busy lately. When you looked at the clock you saw that it was barely 7:30am, you had your first wine tasting reservation in a couple hours and then an early dinner planned before settling in the for the night since you’d be flying out the following morning. You had agreed to get really into this wine tasting afternoon when you’d booked it so you two had dressed up in a vintage, old-money aesthetic. Plus, driving the sleek, light blue, topless, 1963 Mercedes 300 SL roadster through the seemingly endless sea of vegetation really fed the aesthetic you were going for.
“God, I love California so fucking much. Never gonna leave.” Harry had said to you as he drove you two to your next destination.
Your had so much fun at your activities with Harry without a care in the world for anything else that was going on. It was just you two again talking, making memories, and sharing things you hadn’t gotten the chance to talk about yet. The way he ogled you and touched you and flirted with you was reminiscent of when he was first trying to get you to fall in love with him. All all throughout dinner he’d been asking about you and how you were doing now that you were working again and you had just finished telling him that you felt that it was going well and that you really liked all of your students.
“I’m glad your class is going well, baby. Just…don’t fuck a student.” He cautioned, “Bad idea.” He added lowly and your eyebrows furrowed.
“Okay…I’m gonna need to press for more information regarding this sudden, unsolicited advice?” You probed with a smile.
“I just…have experience in this area.”
“What?! Since when have you taught?” You asked him in surprise.
“Not me.” He scoffed, “Well, yes me, but I was the student.” He said. Your jaw dropped, you were genuinely gobsmacked for a few seconds. Learning that little Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes here had fucked a teacher was not on your bingo card.
“I need you to tell me all of it.” You said with an excited grin when your brain finally proceeded the information. Harry chuckled but got to sharing the anecdote.
Apparently, during the summer before Harry’s second year at university he turned into the statuesque, god-like being he is now. All baby fat gone, bone structure and musculature carved immaculately by god herself. And in turn he got very confident very fast, he had said cocky, but you couldn’t picture Harry being unironically cocky. He then shared that he had been single for nearly a year after his first relationship and really just wanted to fuck so he got on an app and started seeking someone out. He was in a college town, it was a small community, so he lied and said he was not a student at the local university. And well, she lied about not being a professor at said university and they met up and hit it off quickly so they hooked up.
They were a consistent hook up, maybe once a month, two or three if they were particularly needy, but they had agreed it was just sex for a few reasons. First and foremost their age difference, she didn’t intend to be dating a teenager. He was 19 and she was 35. But as time went on she started to like him more. Suddenly she didn’t mind that he was 19, in fact, she found it more refreshing because he listened to her, respected her, and apparently men in their 30’s and 40’s could hardly keep it up for twenty minutes. They were a good match sexually and after five months of getting to know each other and hooking up she told him she was in love with him. Obviously, Harry let her down gently but she took it very hard. A few weeks of radio silence later she tried to start things up again, despite her knowing Harry had no deeper feelings for her. He rejected her multiple times because he didn’t want to lead her on but it was getting hard to because he really was attracted to her. So he was glad that school was starting up again and he’d be more busy and he’d have more excuses to avoid her.
That was all going to plan until the Thursday evening of the first week of school. Harry shared that he hadn’t been paying too much attention when he’d walked into the lecture hall because he was walking in right at starting time. He quickly found a seat in the aisle seat of the second row since everything else was quite full. He still had one AirPod in as he waited for the last minute of his podcast episode to end as he started to settle in and unpack his things. Simultaneously, she had started going down the class roster so he hadn’t clearly made out her voice either, he had the time anyway since his surname started with S. Harry recalled that he had just glanced up to the front of the class at the sound of his name and when their eyes met she just froze for a moment before glancing down at the sheet in her hand again. She apparently barely got through his name from the mere shock and mortification of it all. Apparently after that class ended she resigned, so he had no idea what had come of her.
“Jesus…you’re a whole ass career ruiner!” You exclaimed and he nodded.
“Yeah. See, bad idea.” He reiterated.
“Welp, there’s not any cute students in my class anyway. Well…maybe they are cute, but just cute, you know? They look so small and juvenile, s’not really my type anymore. I quite like how manly you are.” You said and he chuckled.
“You mean mature.” He said and you rolled your eyes.
“Yeah, that too I guess. But regardless, you do it for me just fine.” You assured him and he smirked.
“That’s what I like to hear.” He hummed before kissing the top of your hand. “Look, I know that we’ve been a little distant lately.” He started, “But I will make more time for us.”
“Well, we’ve both been busy and-”
“It’s not that.” He said and your brows creased as you nodded, urging him to finish, “I know that we’re trying to start a family, but when we’ve had sex I feel like I’ve just been using you.” He expressed and you pouted, “Like yesterday, it’s been all fast and spontaneous, like whenever the opportunity arises. And I know you gave me the permission to do that but because I’ve been so busy it just feels…different.” He explained, “It’s hot, I mean it always is with us, but I want to be more intentional about it. Specially when we’re also doing it to make a family together.” He said and you smiled. “So I will try to be more present and to make more effort for us.” He promised.
“Thank you, baby. But believe me, I understand that what you’re doing with this expansion is also for our future.” You assured him and he smiled and nodded. “Like, I know it’s also for your self-fulfillment and with your own beers it’ll be something you’re doing for fun too, but that’s alright with me. Seeing you happy professionally is also important to me.”
“Thank you for being so supportive and understanding, my love. As always.” He smiled and you squeezed his hand in yours.
In the end, this is what you loved about your relationship with Harry and also why your marriage worked. You were both so considerate of each other, so thoughtful. You had no idea when you would finally get pregnant, but you were just so excited for it because Harry would be the most incredible dad. He showed you every single day how much love lived inside of him, you were certain it would be boundless with your baby whenever they came.
…. A COUPLE MONTHS LATER ….
Harry had kept his word and did prioritize making more time for the two of you. You’d decided to do a sort of book-club thing together. You both read the same book and would have a date every Thursday night to talk about it and how your week had been going. You usually helped out at the brewery on the weekends, but had started to do more of that in the last few weeks since Harry was starting to work the flavor profiles for his beers and was quite consumed with that a lot of the time. Like this particular weekend, Harry was out visiting a few brewing labs around so-cal with Jeremy and you had stayed behind to run the brewery.
On Monday though, he would have the opportunity to make a small sample batch of possible types of beers and flavors he wanted at one of the labs. You were bummed about missing this part of Harry’s process but you had an appointment to check your hormone treatment that you could not miss. Any imbalance in hormones could tip you back into not ovulating as you were supposed to and you didn’t want to risk that which he fully understood, so you both agreed that you were okay with missing these things for each other.
Your appointment was early so that you could get back home and hop on zoom for a few hours to hold some virtual office hours and grade a bit. You were just waiting for Dr. Zelaya to come in and when she finally did with a big smile you immediately perked up.
“Y/N, guess whaaaat?” She sang as she came in and closed the door behind her.
“It worked?” You asked with an excited smile and she nodded.
“Oh, it worked! You’re pregnant!” She shared with an excited smile and your jaw dropped.
“I am?” You asked in disbelief.
“You are, lovely. ” She confirmed and your eyes immediately welled up.
“Oh my god!” You finally exclaimed and cried tears of joy. Dr. Zelaya chuckled as she grabbed the tissue box and handed it to you “That’s such excellent news!” You sniffled through your chuckles of excitement.
“Yes. Congratulations! Now, if you don’t have more time today we can set another appointment for an ultrasound and see how far along things are. But if you can push things off I had a cancellation for 11:30 and can squeeze you in?” She offered.
“Oh yeah, I’ll come back! Besides, I skipped breakfast because I woke up late.” You confessed.
“Happens to the best of us.” She assured you. “So I’ll let the nurse know you’ll be back in a little while. And may I recommend you try the Marmalade Cafe, it’s on Ventura, right after Kester. They have a delicious chorizo Benedict, there’s a vegan chorizo option too if you’re of my persuasion.”
“Ooh, I’m not vegan but you guys do seem to have some the best foods.” You said and she giggled.
“Yeah, things have gotten really impressive on that front.” She nodded as she finished typing a few things on the computer. “Alright, I’ll see you back in about 2 hours for your first ultrasound. Will your husband join?”
“He’s actually out of town on a business trip. But I want to have pictures for him for when he gets back tonight.” You explain.
“Oh, he’ll love that. What a nice surprise for him to come home to.”
“Exactly.” You added with a smile. You chatted a bit more before you headed off.
It was genuinely so hard for you not to call Harry right away and tell him the good news, you were bursting at the seams. You also wondered how everything at the flavor trials was going, you were genuinely disappointed that you were missing such an important milestone in this process for him. He really wanted you to be a part of this because despite being married to him, you weren’t necessarily a beer girly. So he had said that he’d want your input on the three beers he wanted to have so that he could get a novice’s critiques on the beers. He also really valued your input as his life partner and you often helped him ask the difficult questions and things of that sort. Not that he wasn’t able to stick up for himself, but he never wanted to come off as insecure or maybe even difficult to work with, but you were so diplomatic about everything that he loved when you’d bring up the difficult or challenging things before he did. Regardless, you wanted to make up for not wanting to reschedule this appointment and this would definitely be the best thing to share with him to make it up.
Before you knew it you were back at the doctor’s office and watching the monitor with tearful eyes again as the doctor pointed out the embryo to you.
“I’d say you’re about six, almost seven weeks along.” She shared with you and you nodded, “Have your periods been more or less regular?”
“Yeah, they vary a bit with the medication but honestly I have just been so busy that I lost track of my cycle this time around.” You explained.
“Okay, just making sure.” She said, “Everything is looking as it should. I know you’ve been taking such good care of yourself, so keep that up, s’good for the future baby.” She said and you nodded with a smile.
Once you had your photos printed you headed off to get a dessert to share with Harry and a little picture frame for your sonogram picture. You were sure he’d want to keep his copy with him so you’d just break the news to him with your copy. You were just getting in when you saw Harry, freshly showered and making himself a sandwich in the kitchen as you came in from the garage.
“Baby, hi!” He greeted you cheerfully.
“Hi!” You greeted with a bright and surprised smile, “What are you doing here?” You asked happily as you put everything down and hurried over to hug and kiss him quickly.
“We got to the tasting and I just couldn’t do it without you there. It just didn’t feel right to start the process without you. I rescheduled for two weeks from now and we can make a little weekend out of it? We went to this incredible sushi restaurant that I know you will die for.” He said and you giggled.
“Speaking of beer and sushi…” you said through a small chuckle, “I have some good news for you.” You teased and he smiled wide.
“Your treatment is going better than expected?” He asked and your brows raised.
“More than…” you said with a smile, “I’m pregnant!” You shouted with a huge smile and Harry’s features softened.
“Honey…” he said tenderly as he came up to you, “Yeah?” He asked for confirmation as he grabbed your face gently and you nodded. Your eyes started to well up when you saw the tears forming in his own eyes.
“Yeah. You’re gonna be a dad, H.” You confirmed and he dipped down to kiss you deeply before pulling back to hug you and hold you close.
“Oh, you just made my whole fucking year. My whole fucking life…” he hummed “I’m so happy I don’t even know what to say.” He chuckled as he swayed your bodies a bit and you laughed.
“I mean, same! I was so surprised when the doctor told me. It was very unexpected.” You explained through a happy giggle as you rubbed over his back, “I bought a slice of chocolate cake and framed a picture of the sonogram for you to see. Had a whole thing planned since I thought you were getting in later.” You disclosed and he let you go to allow you to grab the image of the sonogram. When you handed it over to him his tears definitely started to fall.
“I don’t even know what the fuck I’m looking at but I just know they’re already perfect.” He said through his sniffles and you laughed and then brought your hand up to the image.
“It’s right…shit, was it this thing or this one?” You questioned as you pointed between two different areas on the sonogram.
“Baby…” he huffed.
“I’m kidding! It’s this little smudge. I’m almost seven weeks along.” You shared as he set it down and then picked you up and spun you around happily as it finally hit him. You shrieked as your sandals were flung off by him spinning you.
“We did it!” He chanted a few times as you spun before he set you down on the counter. “Oh baby, you’re going to be phenomenal. Everyone at the brewery is going to be so happy when they see your bump coming in!” He said as he squeezed your thighs in excitement, “And well, I mean, I don’t care what we’re having, I just want to buy stuff and look at baby names immediately!”
“We can do all that.” You giggled as he started to get a bit hyper over this but he was just so fucking pleased with the news. “We’re gonna be good at this.” You said softly and he nodded.
“Undoubtedly so.” He hummed as you ran your thumb over his cheek bone. “You’re really pregnant.” He chuckled again in slight disbelief. “I’m over the moon. I feel like I have super powers, like I could fly.” He chuckled.
“Please do not test that theory.” You joked and he sniggered.
“And here I thought I already loved you as much as I could.” He hummed and you grinned.
“Wait until we meet the baby.” You said and he sighed and smiled.
“It’s going to be so cool.” He hummed and you nodded and then your smile faded a bit.
“Thank you for being patient.”
“Oh, no…” he said, “Like any of that was in your control…”
“Well, if I had just listened to you from the beginning and gone to get checked we would’ve caught this sooner.” You acknowledged and he shook his head.
“None of that…it happened when it was supposed to. If it had happened sooner you’d be in the middle of that while we’re in the middle of this expansion. It would’ve been a lot of stress to deal with. I mean, maybe I would’ve even passed up on the opportunity if you were pregnant when they offered the unit to me.” He said and you sighed, “Besides, it can be scary to go and get these things checked out. There’s always a risk of receiving bad news and that’s anxiety-inducing. I understand, baby. But we finally did it.” He said and you nodded before kissing him deeply.
Harry wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. Your legs wrapped around his body and you slightly pulled back from his lips.
“Baby?”
“Yeah, my love?” He asked.
“Can we eat the cake now?” You asked with a little grin and he chucked.
“Yeah, we can eat the cake.”
“I just have a simple request.”
“Shoot. Anything for m’girl.” He said with a smile.
“Put it in the microwave for like 20 seconds. Like when it’s all warm and melty.” You said and Harry smirked.
“You know what I like all warm and melty?” He said suggestively and you giggled and kissed him slowly for a moment.
“Promise me we’ll be like this with each other forever?” You asked and he smiled, “Kids can be great but they can also change things with us.” You pointed out.
“You’re right.” He agreed, “But I want you to know that to me, you’re the top priority. Always.” He shared and your gaze softened, “Everything I do, I do with you in mind.” He shared, “I exist because you do.” He said and your heart melted in your chest as he said this, “And as long as you’re alive I will choose you every day. I’ll always be in love with you.” He assured you and as your glossy eyes met his you saw his sincerity and believed him. You grabbed his jaw and pulled him in for a searing kiss before pulling back, “Believe me, we were meant to do this together.” He assured you and in that moment you knew everything was going to be alright.
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Off-Script
chapter 1: scene 11, take 1



celebrity!sirius black x celebrity!reader
synopsis: in which one audition changes everything, and you find yourself growing up in the spotlight—alongside sirius black, a boy with a voice like smoke and a name the world won’t forget. the fame is loud, the rumors louder, and somewhere between the endless cameras and the harsh media, the lines begin to blur: between who you are and who you’re expected to be.
and, along the way, everything goes off-script.
warnings: anxiety, nervousness, cringe movie scripts (i tried my best), panic attacks, overthinking, and emotional vulnerability. disclaimer: this chapter features minors as characters since it’s intended as a flashback to how they first met; in later chapters, the characters will be older and adults.
wc: 4.8k next chapter
“Hi, I’m James Potter.”
Your head snaps up, eyes meeting a pair of round glasses and a grin so effortless it almost annoys you.
He’s tall, charming in that boyish way that makes you think he’s never had to try too hard at anything. And he’s holding out a hand like the two of you haven’t been sitting in the same holding room for the past hour, like you didn’t just watch him high-five every casting assistant and crack a joke with the lighting guy and befriend the green-screen lady.
You blink, gather your breath, and take his hand. “I’m Y/N—”
You hesitate for half a second, but it’s more instinct than insecurity.
“You look nervous,” he says, dropping into the seat beside you without waiting for an invitation.
He doesn’t say it unkindly—it’s more of an observation, like he’s stating the weather or that you’ve got a pen tucked behind your ear.
“I’m fine,” you say, but your thumb is still pressed against the margin of the script, smoothing over the same corner you’ve been folding and unfolding since you walked in.
“It’s the lines, isn’t it?” James leans over, peeking at your script.
“Everyone always gets stuck on that one monologue. It’s a beast. I couldn’t get through it without sounding like I was about to cry. Still can’t, but maybe that’s the point.”
You glance at him, surprised. “You struggled with it?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he says easily. “I’ve been in this industry since I was in diapers and I still choke on the heavy stuff. My parents keep trying to convince me it’s all about breathing and honesty. But I think sometimes it’s just about surviving the scene.”
You try not to look visibly shocked. Of course you know who he is. Everyone does. Euphemia and Fleamont Potter—famous for their string of Emmy-winning series and flawless box office runs—are the brains behind this very show. Stranger Things. The dark, nostalgic, terrifyingly brilliant project that people have already started calling “genre-defining.” The Potters are its creators, directors, and executive producers. And James? He’s practically royalty.
You wonder, briefly, if he knows how impossible it is for someone like you to be here.
Because you didn’t grow up on studio lots. You didn’t take acting classes at age three or have your face printed on casting calls by age six. You came from a town where dreams like this stayed dreams. No famous family. No connections. Just a voice in your head telling you to try.
Now you’re here. Sixteen years old, freshly cast as one of the leads in the most anticipated show of the year, with a role that’s raw and strange and full of psychic powers and bleeding noses. You’re not even sure how you got it.
They haven’t officially announced the cast yet. There’s still one final audition round left, but the assistant told you it’s more of a chemistry read—just to see how you and the others move together. Still, the thought of it makes your heart pound.
This isn’t just a dream come true. It’s a dream with teeth.
James nudges your elbow lightly. “You’re gonna be brilliant, by the way.”
You blink. “What?”
“The scene. The whole thing. I can tell.” His smile softens, less flashy now, more real. “You’ve got this look in your eyes. Like you’ve already lived it.”
You don’t know what to say to that. So you just nod, and for the first time since you arrived, the room feels a little less sharp. The walls stop closing in.
James grew up with cameras in his face and scripts in his hands. This is his normal.
But he doesn’t make you feel small. He doesn’t throw it around like it means more than your quiet, trembling hands or your desperate need to belong.
“Are you nervous?” you ask, half-joking.
He grins. “Always. That’s how I know it matters.”
You smile back, the knot in your stomach loosening just a little.
“You want to run lines?” he offers, already pulling out his own copy of the scene, edges covered in messy ink.
You nod.
And for the first time since you got the call, the weight lifts. A little.
You’re still the only one who didn’t come from a famous family. Still the only one whose name means nothing in a casting room.
But James Potter is sitting beside you, reading your name like it belongs here. And maybe that’s a start.
You and James run lines for what feels like both forever and no time at all.
He reads with an ease that doesn’t feel showy. There’s no smugness, no performance for the sake of impressing you—he just lives in the scene.
He trips over words sometimes, laughs at strange directions, makes faces when something doesn’t make sense. It makes you feel lighter, like maybe this isn’t so impossible after all. Like maybe you don’t have to be perfect to be good.
At some point, your shoulders stop tensing at every noise. The studio hallway grows louder as more crew members shuffle past—assistants with clipboards, stylists with tangled garment bags, someone dragging what looks like a lighting rig across the floor—but their movement blurs into the background. You’ve got a rhythm now. A steady back and forth between pages, voices, breath.
Then a voice cuts through the hallway: “Remus Lupin? Scene ten, take nine—you’re up.”
James looks up and grins. “You’ll like Remus. He’s good. Kind of freakishly good, actually.”
But you don’t really hear James. Because after Remus, it’ll be you.
You try not to stiffen, but your fingers tighten around the script in your lap. You glance toward the casting room door—the one they’ll call you through next—and suddenly it’s harder to breathe.
James must notice, because he bumps your shoulder lightly. “Hey. You’re fine. You’ve got, like, twenty minutes.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll step out for a bit. Get some air.”
“Good idea,” he says easily, already gathering the pages between his fingers. “Don’t go far, and don’t psych yourself out.”
You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
The hallway is more crowded than when you first arrived, a blur of unfamiliar faces and tangled equipment. You walk briskly, turning toward the exit sign at the far end—except when you get there, it leads to another corridor, not outside.
The studio’s layout is a maze of white-painted walls, steel beams, and swinging doors with production labels. Voices bounce from room to room. The air is warm with stage lights and static.
You try another hallway. No exit. Just more people—tech crew, assistants, actors already in costume. Someone offers you a bottled water. Another brushes past you with a headset and a frown.
Still no fresh air.
You keep moving, further from the noise, until you find a stairwell tucked between two heavy doors. You climb, following the scent of dust and metal, up past the wardrobe floor, past the locked rehearsal studios, up to a plain gray door that hums faintly with the wind behind it.
It opens to the rooftop.
It’s quieter here—distant sirens, a low hum from the city beyond the studio walls. The sky is overcast but soft, the kind of light that makes everything look washed in nostalgia. You step forward slowly, as if not to disturb it.
From up here, the lot looks small. Even the casting room—the one that holds your future inside its four thin walls—seems like it couldn't possibly contain something as heavy as your dream. You sit down against the ledge, script still in hand, the pages fluttering slightly in the breeze.
You close your eyes for a moment, just to remember how it feels to breathe when no one is watching.
You close your eyes for a moment, just to remember how it feels to breathe when no one is watching.
But when you open them again, you realize you aren’t alone.
There’s a figure already at the far end of the rooftop, perched at the edge, his back to you. His legs dangle over open air, casually swinging like the hundred-foot drop beneath him means nothing.
You blink, startled. He hadn’t made a sound—not even the creak of movement on the metal ledge.
Your breath catches. “Hey—careful, you’ll fall off.”
The boy doesn’t move. For a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you.
But then he sighs—loud and pointed—and turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face.
His eyes are red. Not tired, not irritated—red. The kind that only happens when someone’s been crying for a long time and didn’t have time to fix it before being seen.
“I’m fine,” he says flatly. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just… blunt.
You take a step closer, slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a wounded animal. “You’re not really supposed to be sitting like that.”
“Then don’t look,” he mutters, eyes flicking back toward the skyline. His voice isn’t sharp, but it cuts anyway.
He’s dressed like someone who was supposed to be somewhere important earlier—pressed shirt, blazer half-slipped off one shoulder, tie loose and crooked. But his hair’s a little messy, and there’s a scuff on one of his shoes, and he looks like he got into a fight with the day and lost.
“I just—” You hesitate, but the words come anyway. “I didn’t think anyone would be up here.”
“Clearly.”
You bristle, despite yourself. There’s a part of you that wants to walk away. Let him stew in his rooftop silence and whatever disaster he’s currently avoiding. But there’s something in his posture—how rigid his shoulders are, how he won’t look at you—that stops you.
So instead of stepping back, you step forward. Right up to the ledge.
And then you climb onto it.
His head snaps toward you. “What are you doing?”
You settle beside him with more stubbornness than grace, gripping the edge for balance as your legs dangle beside his. “If you get to sit here, so do I.”
He frowns, the sharp line of his jaw tightening, a muscle twitching as if caught between restraint and something more volatile. “You could fall.”
“So could you,” you answer without hesitation, your voice calm but firm.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” you tilt your head, meeting his eyes. “How?”
He opens his mouth like he has the answer ready—like he always does—but nothing comes. His jaw locks again, and for a moment, silence stretches between you, taut as wire.
“Because—” he starts, and then falters. The words catch in his throat. And when he speaks again, it’s thinner, almost like fear is threading through it. “Because I’ve been up here before. I know where the edge is.”
You glance out at the city skyline, the wind brushing against your cheek like a warning, and then back at him. “Then show me.”
He looks at you for a long second, a storm flickering in his gaze. Like he’s weighing the urge to lash out, to say something cold or careless to make you leave.
But something in your expression stops him. Because you’re not backing down. And maybe that’s what makes him pause. Maybe that’s when he sees it—the same quiet storm behind your eyes that mirrors his own. That same mix of anger and aching, of being brave when all you want to do is run.
His shoulders drop slightly, the tension bleeding out in a slow, reluctant breath. When he speaks again, it’s not angry anymore.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” you say, your voice soft but unwavering.
He huffs, a half-laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. Still, he doesn’t look away. “You’re impossible,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
“And you’re not?” you counter, the corners of your mouth tugging upward just a little.
His eyes flick to you again, sharper this time. Curious. Like he’s trying to make sense of you, to figure out why you keep showing up in all the places he thought he’d locked away for himself.
“What are you even doing up here?” he finally asks, voice low, frayed at the edges.
You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual even though your hands are starting to feel numb from the wind. “Auditions. I needed air.”
That gets his attention. He turns to you more fully, brows pulling together. “Wait—you’re here for Stranger Things?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
His stare sharpens. “Who are you cast as?”
You hesitate, just for a breath. “The girl. With the powers.”
His mouth drops open slightly. “Fuck.”
You blink. “What?”
He lets out a humorless laugh and rubs a hand over his face. “Just… of course. Of course it’s you.”
You narrow your eyes. “Why? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just tips his head back toward the sky like it might answer for him. Then, with a sigh, he mutters, “I’m her love interest, Mike.”
There’s a beat of silence. A breeze cuts through, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of how close you’re sitting, how this rooftop feels like a stage you didn’t mean to step onto.
“Wait,” you say, squinting at him. “So… who are you?”
He pauses for just a second too long. “Sirius. Sirius Black.”
You blink again, harder this time.
“You’re—Sirius Black?”
He grimaces. “Unfortunately.”
And that’s when it hits you. The name. The face. The headlines.
The Sirius Black. Probably the most well-known teen actor of his generation. Star of a dozen indie films, two major franchises, and one Oscar-buzz drama that made everyone collectively lose their minds when he was fourteen.
His mother, Walburga Black, hosts one of the most watched reality TV empires in the country, her name basically synonymous with Hollywood gossip.
His father, Orion Black, was once a golden boy actor in the 80s, now the executive force behind Black Pictures—one of the biggest production companies in the industry. The entire family reads like a film credits list. His uncles are actors. His aunts are Oscar-nominated. His godfather is the face of an entire perfume brand.
And you… you had to pick this rooftop.
“Oh,” you say faintly, the word barely brushing past your lips. “That makes sense.”
He snorts, bitter and tired. “Does it?”
You look at him again—really look. There’s a glassiness to his eyes, a kind of weight that doesn’t come from call sheets or cameras but from something older, quieter, and heavier. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s laughing at you or at himself.
“I mean,” you murmur, gaze steady, “it explains the dramatics.”
That earns the faintest twitch of a smile—subtle, almost like it slips through before he can stop it. “You’ve got guts,” he says, the words curling just slightly at the edges, “I’ll give you that.”
You don’t know who laughs first.
Maybe it’s him—Sirius Black, perched on the edge of a rooftop like it’s just another stage, muttering something dry that slices through the silence and all your tension with it.
Or maybe it’s you—because everything suddenly feels absurd. The audition, the pressure, the hours spent holding your breath, the way the city breathes beneath your feet.
You glance at him. He’s not smiling wide, not beaming, but there’s something there now—something pulled from beneath the stormcloud eyes and sharp cheekbones. A warmth that could almost be mistaken for light.
And then it hits you.
Your entire body jolts with the realization.
“Shit,” you breathe, the word tumbling out before you can stop it.
He glances over, one eyebrow lifting. “What now?”
“My audition,” you murmur, eyes already darting to the crumpled script poking out of your dress pocket. “Your name’s on my pages.”
He stares at you. “What?”
“You’re in the scene I’m auditioning with.” You fumble for the paper, smoothing it open between your hands. “It’s the one with the girl and the boy in the woods—the flashlight, the whole speech about being scared and doing it anyway.”
He leans slightly to peek at the page, and then groans. “Oh, that one.”
You nod. “That’s you.”
He shrugs, utterly unfazed. “Great. You’ve got it covered.”
“No, I don’t. I need to run it, with you.”
“I don’t rehearse,” he says simply, like it’s a personal philosophy.
You blink. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t rehearse,” he repeats, dragging a hand through his hair. “Never really needed to. I show up, hit the mark, say the lines. People seem to like it.”
You just stare at him.
“Sirius fucking Black,” you mutter under your breath, turning toward him with a look that could split the moon in half. “You are going to rehearse with me.”
He looks almost amused. “Am I?”
You’re already climbing off the ledge, your white dress catching in the wind as you move fast, fueled by panic and adrenaline and something that feels dangerously close to raw determination.
“Whoa, whoa—hey!”
Before you can plant your feet back on the gravel safely, a hand grabs your wrist—tight, steady, pulling you back just enough.
“Fuck, be careful, angel,” he mutters, the words rushed and low like they’ve leapt out of him uninvited.
You pause.
Not because of the nickname (though it sparks something strange in your chest), but because he said it like he meant it. Like for half a second, the idea of you falling scared him more than anything else in this moment.
He’s still holding your wrist when you look at him.
“I’m fine,” you say, softer now. “I’ve got it.”
He lets go, slowly.
And then you square your shoulders, adjust the pages in your hand, and lift your chin. “We’re doing this scene.”
“I just said—”
“You are going to rehearse with me!” you repeat, voice sharper now.
“Because I am going to get this fuckass role. I don’t care how many Emmys your uncle has, or how many magazine covers your face is on. I didn’t crawl my way into this building to have some nepotism prince brush me off like I’m decoration!”
His eyes go wide, a flicker of something wild and admiring sparking in them.
And then he bursts out laughing.
Full, deep laughter. The kind that echoes off the rooftop walls and makes your blood boil.
“Stop laughing!” you snap.
He just keeps laughing, wheezing now, hands on his knees. “You—you just said fuckass role.”
“I’m serious!”
“No, I’m Sirius.”
You groan, glaring.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay. You’re terrifying.”
“Good.”
He straightens up, brushing off the edge of his jeans. “Fine. Let’s rehearse. But only because you threatened me.”
You cross your arms. “I did no such thing.”
“You dragged me off a ledge like some kind of homicidal fairy.”
You shrug. “Desperate times.”
He looks at you for a long moment. The wind plays with the edge of your dress, your hair, the papers clutched in your hand. And you swear he softens—just slightly. The edge in him easing, curiosity replacing arrogance.
“All right.” He tugs a folded script from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and waves it in the air. “Let’s see if you’re any good, then.”
Your eyes narrow. “I’m excellent.”
“We’ll see.”
You step back, flipping to the right scene, clearing your throat. The wind tugs at the corners of your script and your dress, but your hands are steady now. He leans against the ledge, eyes half-lidded and unreadable, and waits for you to begin.
The rooftop isn’t a stage. The city doesn’t quiet for your lines. No one’s watching.
But you speak like someone’s listening.
And when you finish the scene—when the last word hangs between you, raw and electric—Sirius doesn’t say anything for a long time.
He just looks at you.
Like he sees something he didn’t expect.
Like maybe, you belong here after all.
Sirius taps the edge of your script with a knuckle. “Alright, angel. Scene 10. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
You raise a brow. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he says, dropping into an easy stance like he’s done this a thousand times before.
His posture shifts, the smirk tucks itself away, and suddenly he’s someone else entirely—Mike, the boy trying to hold a flashlight steady while the world around him falls apart.
You take one breath, then another, then step into the moment.
Scene 10. Forest. Mike and Eleven, side by side in the dark.
The lines you’ve memorized a dozen times spill out, but this time they don’t feel rehearsed. Sirius listens like he’s never heard them before, and when he speaks, it’s with a weight that grounds the scene.
The words aren’t magic—but they do something close. The space between you vibrates with the rhythm of shared silence, tension, emotion. It’s short, but by the time you reach the last line—“It’s not about what we lost. It’s about what we’ve still got.”—the quiet that follows feels earned.
Sirius exhales and gives you a crooked smile. “You’ve got timing.”
You shrug, but your heart beats louder than before.
Without a word, he grabs the scripts from your hands and plops down cross-legged on the rooftop floor. “Let me see.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Are you always this—”
“Collaborative,” he cuts in, uncapping a marker from his jacket pocket. “Now sit. We’ve got work to do.”
His annotations are a mess of arrows and looping words. He circles beats, draws dashes for pauses, and jots little notes like don’t rush this or breathe here. His handwriting is barely legible, but the edits are precise, focused.
“Pause here. This line’s too heavy to throw away,” he murmurs. “And this? Keep your voice low. Not scared—just… holding back.”
You watch him, amused. “You always direct your scene partners?”
“Only when they can actually act,” he says, glancing up.
You snort. “Is that a compliment?”
“Don’t push it.”
The corner of your mouth quirks, and he flips to the next page.
Scene 11.
He hums. “Ah. That one.”
You know immediately. The basement scene. The one where Mike—Sirius’s character—fake proposes to Eleven, your role, just to get her to talk again. You’ve read it so many times that the dialogue is practically carved into your bones.
He reads over the first few lines and chuckles. “This is so dumb.”
“It’s not dumb,” you argue lightly. “It’s sweet. In a stupid, manipulative way.”
Sirius makes a face. “Exactly.”
Still, he stands, brushing dust off his jeans. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”
You both take position, scripts half-forgotten at your feet.
He steps into the part quickly, voice shifting into something earnest and awkward—Mike trying to coax Eleven out of silence with a ring made from a candy wrapper and desperation.
“Okay,” he says, kneeling dramatically. “Since you clearly won’t talk to me like a normal person… I guess there’s only one thing left to do. I hereby propose. Like—on one knee and everything.”
You fold your arms. Stay silent.
“Wow. Rejected without mercy,” he mutters, then softens. “You haven’t talked to me in. Do you hate me?”
You look down, breathe. “No.”
“You’re mad?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m scared.”
The words slip out soft, but true. And Sirius looks at you differently this time—more like Mike, less like the boy who called you angel and handed you his marker.
A silence follows that isn’t awkward, only real.
Then Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You’ve got this.”
You let yourself smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Please,” he grins. “I’m Sirius Black.”
You roll your eyes, but something in your chest loosens. For the first time, the role doesn’t feel like something you're chasing. It feels like something already yours.
Sirius plucks your script off the ground again, flipping back to Scene 11 like he isn’t still grinning from your fake rejection five minutes ago.
“Well, angel,” he says, stretching out on the rooftop like it’s his living room, “if you’re gonna turn me down, at least let me immortalize it.”
He grabs his marker—still uncapped, still bleeding slightly at the edges—and scribbles something in the margin next to your line: SAY IT LIKE YOU’RE LYING TO YOURSELF.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder.
He shrugs. “Exactly what it sounds like. Don’t act like you’re scared of him—act like you’re scared of what he means.”
You blink at him. “Since when are you an actor and a psychologist?”
He grins, toothy and easy. “Since five minutes ago. I’m multitalented.”
You’re still laughing when the rooftop door slams open behind you.
A crew member stands in the doorway, breathless and wide-eyed. “There you are—we’ve been looking for you for ten minutes! Are you out of your minds? You’re both up next!”
Your stomach drops.
Sirius just stretches, calmly dusting off his jeans. “We got a little carried away. It’s fine.”
“It is not fine!” the woman shouts, already dialing someone on her headset. “Come on, let’s go!”
You scramble to your feet, panic rising like a tide you can’t swim against. Ten minutes. That’s forever in this world—enough time for a casting director to change their mind, to offer your role to someone shinier, someone with the right last name.
You clutch your script to your chest as you follow Sirius down the narrow stairwell, and your thoughts spiral with every step—they’re going to hate me, I ruined it, I lost it, I lost it—
“Hey.” Sirius’s voice cuts through the static, and then—his hand on your wrist.
He stops midway down the stairs, turning you to face him. “Hey. Look at me.”
You do. His eyes are steadier than you’ve seen them all day, quiet in a way that feels almost reverent.
“You’re fine. You haven’t lost anything. Just breathe, alright?”
You shake your head, heart pounding too loud in your ears. “They’re going to be mad. They’re going to say I’m unprofessional—”
“Shh.” He shifts his grip, then with his free hand, pulls the marker from his pocket again.
And slowly, gently, he starts drawing stars along the inside of your wrist—five-pointed, slightly smudged, looping together like constellations only he can see.
It takes you a second to notice that your breathing’s slowed.
The panic eases.
You glance down at the ink-dusted trail of stars blooming across your skin. “How did you… know to do that?”
Sirius freezes for a beat too long.
Then he looks away, tucking the marker back into his pocket. “My brother. Sometimes he… gets like that.”
You want to ask more, but something in his expression tells you not to. His shoulders stiffen, the familiar armor sliding back into place. The charm, the cool detachment—it’s all back by the time you reach the studio door.
But the stars stay on your wrist.
The second the studio doors swing open, chaos swallows you whole.
It’s brighter than you expect—overhead lights casting a sterile glow across the soundstage, voices overlapping as crew members rush to and from set, someone shouting about blocking, someone else dragging a lighting rig across the floor. You blink against it all, suddenly unsure where to look, where to stand, how to exist.
And then—
“There you are!” James.
He jogs over, looking mildly out of breath, strands of his messy hair falling over his glasses. Relief flashes across his face when he sees you, and then it shifts—warms—when his eyes land just beyond your shoulder.
“Sirius,” James breathes.
And Sirius lights up.
Like a switch flipped. The edges of him soften, melt. That cool indifference disappears entirely as he grins, almost boyishly, and throws his arms around James in a way that’s too fast to think about and too real to be scripted.
“God, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Sirius mutters into James’s shoulder, and you swear—for half a second—he sounds like a different person.
“Thought you were ditching the project,” James teases, clapping him on the back.
“Almost did.”
James pulls away, looking over at you. “You met Y/N, yeah? She’s playing the girl with powers. She’s incredible.”
You smile, shy under the weight of his praise. But before you can say anything—
“Hello, darling.”
A voice, smooth and warm and unmistakably in charge, cuts through the air. A woman strides over, sharp black heels clicking on the floor. Her hair is pinned up perfectly, lips a red that looks expensive, and the way everyone parts around her—it tells you everything you need to know.
Euphemia Potter. The director.
She reaches for your hand like you’ve already earned the role and says your name like she’s been waiting to meet you for months.
“I’ve heard about you,” she says, voice honeyed. “And I just want you to know—don’t worry about a thing. You’re here because you belong here. Okay?”
You nod, not trusting your voice. But something in your chest eases.
“And this,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, “is my husband, Fleamont. Producer. He’ll pretend he’s not a softie, but he cried over Scene 9.”
He gives you a polite smile and a knowing wink.
Before you can process any more, a crew member in a headset appears beside you, clipboard in one hand, clapperboard in the other.
He looks between you and Sirius, then lifts the board slowly.
“Alright,” he calls out, voice carrying across the set, grounding the room in sudden stillness.
A spotlight clicks on overhead.
The crew goes quiet. Everyone freezes.
You take your mark. Sirius takes his.
And the board rises.
“Scene 11, take 1.” Snap.
The clap cuts through the silence, sharp and final.
And in that breathless second after the sound dies—everything begins.
Sirius turns to face you in the darkened basement set, his expression already shifting. The cameras roll, the lights hum, and the line between fiction and reality dissolves like sugar in water.
And just like that, the scene begins.
-
a/n: idk why i cringed so much writing this (i promise pt 2 is much better) anyways, thoughts?
oh and, before anyone comments it; no reader won't be bald like eleven, she has hair.
#colouredbyd#off script#sirius black x reader#marauders x reader#sirius black fluff#sirius black angst#sirius black x reader angst#sirius black x reader fluff#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#marauders era#anon request#sirius x reader#sirius black fic#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black#sirius orion black#sirius black x self insert#sirius black x you#sirius black x y/n#sirius black oneshot#marauders fic#maruaders x you#rockstar!sirius black#marauders modern au#sirius black singer
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TEENAGE DREAM! KWON JI-YONG / M! READER
↳ pairing: kwon ji-yong x male reader
↳ warnings: pre-debut. reader is a trainee on yg. just cute stuff. first date. ↳ word count: 4k.
↳ angel youth series pt. 1!
Your shoes slapped against the pavement as you sprinted down the street. A few people turned to glance your way, but honestly, that was the last thing on your mind right now.
The last block felt endless, and you were terrified that by the time you got there, it would already be too late.
“Please, please still be there” you begged silently, legs moving like you were in the middle of a marathon. You'd always thought people looked kind of ridiculous running with a backpack. And yep — you had one bouncing against your back. But looking dumb was a risk you were willing to take if it meant getting there before he left.
"National Traditional Arts High School."
The letters finally came into view, and you picked up your pace even more.
That's when you saw him.
He was standing with his back turned to you, chatting with two other boys in the same school uniform. You guessed they were his classmates or friends.
Relief washed over you, and you exhaled a shaky breath as you wiped your sleeve across your temple in case there were any traces of sweat. You had to look somewhat decent. You hadn't called it a date when you invited him to grab ice cream and shop for clothes, but the way Ji-yong's cheeks had turned red the second you asked definitely made it feel like one.
"I'm sorry!" you called out as you approached, and Ji-yong turned toward you. His eyebrows were furrowed for a second — until he recognized you and smiled.
"Hyung!" he grinned. "I thought you forgot the way. Or just... forgot to come."
"No way! The teacher made me stay fifteen more minutes to finish a worksheet I missed the other day. I'm really sorry I made you wait," you said, catching your breath and trying to stand up straighter after what felt like a ten-minute sprint.
Ji-yong looked like he wanted to say something else, but his two friends seemed a bit thrown off by your sudden appearance. They clearly didn't know who you were.
"Ah—right! This is Y/N," Ji-yong said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, realizing he forgot to introduce you. "He's a trainee at the same agency as me."
You'd met Ji-yong when you joined YG three years ago. He'd already been there for a while, but he was kind and didn't hesitate to be your friend.
You still didn't have any news about your debut — not since YG announced a new group project a few months ago. There were six trainees in the running, but only three would actually debut. You didn't have a solid contract yet — not like Ji-yong did. That's why you'd been giving it your all lately in training. Still, no matter how packed things got, you always made space for moments like this — to see Ji-yong.
"Nice to meet you," you said politely to his friends, giving a small bow.
"Nice to meet you too," one of them muttered politely, and the other gave a tiny wave before glancing suspiciously at Ji-yong.
Ji-yong cleared his throat. "We're, uh, heading out. Got plans," he mumbled, eyes flicking to you and then back to them.
"You guys have fun!" one of the boys said with a smirk, elbowing Ji-yong and wiggling his eyebrows. Ji-yong rolled his eyes.
"Let's go before they start saying weird stuff," he said under his breath, nudging your arm gently.
You bit back a smile and followed him as he started walking down the sidewalk, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his uniform pants.
"So... you ran all the way here?" he asked, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
You gave him a look. "Would've been faster if I didn't have this stupid math workbook in my bag."
He laughed under his breath and nodded toward the road. "Glad I don't have to deal with math anymore since I started at this school."
Ji-yong had been attending an arts high school ever since his contract with YG got more serious. His classes focused mostly on singing, dancing, and performance. Meanwhile, you were stuck in a traditional school, still buried in regular academics.
"That's not fair at all," you huffed. "I wish I didn't have to do math. It's so boring."
He looked over at you. "You should transfer," he said.
"YG said I was going to get transferred to an arts school, if I get my place in the group."
Ji-yong's steps slowed a little. "Yeah? That's soon, right? When do they decide?"
You shrugged, your fingers tightening slightly around the strap of your bag. "They didn't give a date. Just said... soon. You know how they are."
He nodded, quiet for a second. "You should be in it," he said simply. "You're better than most of the guys in that lineup."
"You think so?"
He looked ahead, like he hadn't just complimented you. "Yeah. You work harder than all of them. And you don't act like you're better than anyone, even though... you kinda are."
A warm feeling bloomed in your chest, and you tried to hide your smile. "Coming from you, that actually means something."
He gave you a small sideways glance. "Coming from me?"
"You know. Mr. 'I've been here since I was basically a fetus.'"
He laughed at that, the sound making you grin even wider. "Hey, I earned that title. I did come here when I was twelve."
"And look at you now," you teased. "Old and wise."
Ji-yong made a dramatic face. "Seventeen. Practically a grandpa. Soon I'll start giving long speeches and telling kids to stretch before dancing."
"You already do that" you grinned.
"Exactly. I'm growing."
You nudged him playfully with your shoulder, and the two of you walked a few more steps before you glanced up at him.
"So," you asked, "do you wanna get ice cream first or check out the clothes?"
"I just ate a bag of chips, so maybe we can go to get the clothes first."
You nodded, and together you made your way to the bus stop. You didn't have to wait long — just a few minutes — and the ride to the shopping center was short, only three stops from Ji-yong's school.
It wasn't a fancy place. No flashy signs or brand names in the windows. Most of the stores were second-hand or sold older stock, but the prices were low, and that made it the perfect spot for both of you.
You pushed open the door of one of your favorite shops and held it, letting Ji-yong walk in first. A soft chime rang above your heads.
There were racks stuffed full of clothes, hooks with jackets hanging off them, and piles of t-shirts and jeans that looked like they hadn't been organized since last season. It was the kind of place where you had to dig for your treasures — and both of you had gotten pretty good at it.
"Hyung," Ji-yong called searching on a cloth pile beside you. "Are you searching for something special?"
You shook your head, lifting a shirt that was three sizes too big before dropping it back onto the pile.
"Not really," you said. "Just something I can wear for practice. All my hoodies are falling apart."
Ji-yong nodded, then held up a gray zip-up with a half-broken zipper, a grin tugging at his lips. "This one has character."
You laughed. "That one has holes."
"It's called ventilation," he said, still grinning as he tossed it back into the pile. "You wouldn't get it."
You rolled your eyes, fondly, and went back to digging. A few minutes passed like that—quiet. You were both focused, but every so often, Ji-yong would hold up something completely ridiculous just to make you laugh. A sparkly pink vest. A turtleneck that looked two sizes too big. A pair of shoes that looked like they belonged to someone's grandpa.
Moments later, you finally found two hoodies that fit. They were black, simple—exactly what you needed. You were at the counter paying when Ji-yong suddenly shouted, "Yah!"
You turned around immediately and saw him holding up a hoodie. It looked practically brand new, one of the ones hanging neatly on the hooks.
"Why is it so expensive?" he groaned, squinting at the tag.
"That's an original Bape," the woman behind the counter said while placing your clothes into a bag. "They go for about ₩180,000 in-store."
"Right..." Ji-yong muttered, gently putting the hoodie back on the hook before coming to stand beside you. "You ready?" he asked.
"Yeah." You turned to the woman and gave a polite bow. "Thank you." Then you stepped out of the store with Ji-yong, the paper bag swinging lightly at your side.
The two of you walked side by side.
"You wanted that one?" you asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah, but I'm not paying ₩117,000 for it," he said with a small grin. "Maybe when we debut."
He smiled at you as he said it, then looked ahead again, his steps easy and unbothered.
That's when you remembered—Ji-yong's birthday was just a couple of weeks away, and you hadn't gotten him anything yet. Sure, the hoodie wasn't exactly cheap, but your birthday had been a month ago, and you still had some money saved up from then.
You didn't say anything. Just laughed quietly under your breath, tucking the idea away in your mind.
After that, the conversation slipped into a comfortable silence. The only sounds were your sneakers tapping against the pavement and the low hum of traffic in the distance.
You walked side by side, your steps naturally syncing without trying. A breeze passed by, gentle against your skin, and for a moment you let yourself just enjoy the silence. Just being next to Ji-yong.
Then—light, barely there—your hands brushed.
It wasn't on purpose. Maybe. Probably. You couldn't tell.
But neither of you moved away right away either.
Ji-yong glanced down, his hand still hovering close to yours. He didn't say anything, but his fingers twitched slightly, like he was thinking about something and hadn't decided what to do with it yet.
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
You looked ahead, pretending to focus on the street signs, on the crosswalk coming up, on anything except the warmth creeping up your neck.
He cleared his throat. "Are you cold?"
You blinked. "Huh?"
"I don't know. Just..." he rubbed the back of his neck, "you're not wearing layers. You might get chilly later."
You shook your head. "I'm okay. Thanks, though."
A beat.
Then you felt his pinky finger bump against yours again.
You bit the inside of your cheek to hide the smile trying to take over your face.
"Yah," you said softly, almost teasing. "Are you trying to hold my hand or something?"
Ji-yong gave you a side-eye, a faint blush crawling up the tips of his ears. "Who said that?"
"No one," you said, the smile winning now. "But you're not being subtle."
He scoffed quietly. "I'm subtle enough."
"Mhm."
A few more steps.
Then finally, his pinky finger hooked with yours. Just barely. Light, shy.
And you didn't pull away.
He exhaled, long and slow, like he'd been holding his breath without knowing.
"...You wanna get vanilla or chocolate?" he asked casually, changing the subject like nothing had happened.
"Strawberry," you said.
Ji-yong looked at you, grinning now. "You're weird."
"What? Is the best flavor."
"You'd probably get mint choco too."
"I like mint choco."
He groaned dramatically. "You're the reason they keep selling that flavor."
"And proud."
Ji-yong laughed again, bumping your shoulder lightly. "Fine. Strawberry. But you're paying."
You raised an eyebrow at him. "It was your idea to get ice cream. I wanted burgers."
He gave you a smug look, the kind only he could pull off while still looking annoyingly charming. "But you're older. That's how it works, hyung."
You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but your lips were twitching upward at the corners. The truth was, you didn't really care about paying. In fact, if he asked for it, you'd probably buy him the whole ice cream shop without a second thought.
The shop was just around the corner, a tiny place with pastel-colored tiles and a chalkboard sign out front with today's flavors written in messy handwriting. The bell above the door jingled softly when you stepped inside. It was quiet—no other customers, just the hum of a freezer and a girl behind the counter.
You both approached the glass display, peering through at the rows of ice cream tubs. Ji-yong leaned forward a little too much and his forehead almost smacked the glass, making you snort.
"Smooth," you said.
"I meant to do that," he replied, straightening up.
You crouched slightly, eyes scanning the choices. "There's your vanilla and chocolate," you teased. "Oh, look. Mint choco too. Guess I'm not alone."
You gave your order—strawberry, with a small scoop of vanilla for balance—and Ji-yong went with classic chocolate after all his fuss.
As you paid, Ji-yong tugged on your sleeve and nodded toward a small booth near the window. It was old and a little squeaky, but it gave a perfect view of the street. You slid in across from him, your knees brushing under the table.
Ji-yong poked at his ice cream with the little plastic spoon, lazily swirling it around before glancing up at you. "So," he said, resting his chin on his hand, eyes warm with curiosity, "what's your group name?"
You took a bite of your strawberry ice cream, the cold sweetness sitting on your tongue for a second before you reached for a napkin to wipe your mouth.
"We don't have one yet," you said, tapping your spoon against the cup. "Or maybe they do, and they're just keeping it from us for suspense or something. Who knows."
Ji-yong nodded like he understood all too well. You took another spoonful and tilted your head toward him.
"Yours?" you asked.
He leaned back in the booth, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table before answering. "I still want to debut as a solo artist. Or maybe a duo with Youngbae."
He paused, his tone thoughtful, like he was still sorting through the possibilities in his head.
"But... YG said he has a group in mind for us. He mentioned the name BIGBANG." He said it with a small shrug, like the word hadn't settled comfortably on him yet.
You looked up from your ice cream. "BIGBANG?" you repeated. "That's actually kind of cool. Sounds... strong."
Ji-yong gave a tiny smile, lifting his spoon again. "Yeah... I guess. It's just... I've been here a long time. I thought maybe I'd debut alone, you know?"
You could hear it in his voice—the mix of ambition and uncertainty, a thread of vulnerability under the usual confidence.
"But a group could be cool too," he added quickly, like he didn't want to sound ungrateful. "I'd just want to do it right." He took a bite of his chocolate ice cream, and his lips curled into a little grin as he added, "If I do debut with a group, I want to be the best one in it."
You smirked, spoon hovering mid-air. "Obviously." A pause. "You know? I think you'd make a great leader."
Ji-yong's eyes lit up as he quickly swallowed the ice cream in his mouth, nearly choking in the process. "YG actually said that! That if I debut in a group, I'd be the leader." His smile grew wide, proud but not cocky—just genuinely excited.
You blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. You knew Ji-yong had signed with YG and had been training longer than most, but to be promised a leadership role? That wasn't just talk. That was real.
"No way," you said, leaning in across the table, your hands loosely cradling your cup. "So it's already confirmed? You're gonna debut?"
He shook his head, scooping up more ice cream. "Nah, not confirmed. I still wanna try for solo first. But if YG decides to go with a group..." he shrugged casually, "I guess I'll be leading it."
You sat back slowly in your chair, letting that sink in. "Woah. That's crazy."
Ji-yong looked down, stirring the melted edge of his dessert with his spoon, then glanced up at you with a small smile. "Yeah," he said softly. "It feels crazy."
A few minutes passed. Or maybe twenty—you couldn't really tell. Time had this strange way of slipping through your fingers whenever you were with Ji-yong. You talked about everything and nothing—music, training, school, your friends, your families. He had this easy kind of energy, one that made you forget the world outside the moment. Like the two of you existed in your own little bubble.
You were mid-laugh, feeding him a bite of your vanilla ice cream with your spoon when your smile faded just a little. The thought hit you out of nowhere: the hoodie. The one he liked. What if someone had already bought it? What if it was gone?
Ji-yong caught the shift in your expression instantly. His eyes narrowed with concern, and his hand gently closed around the spoon you were holding out to him, stopping it just before it reached his lips.
"Hey," he said, tilting his head slightly. "What's wrong?"
You hesitated. You hadn't thought this far ahead. You needed to get back to that shop before someone else claimed the hoodie, but you couldn't just blurt it out—he'd figure it out in a second.
"I..." You glanced down at your lap, stalling. Then the excuse came. "I think I left my dad's card at the counter. In the clothing store."
Ji-yong was already rising from his seat.
But your hand pressed lightly on his, guiding him back down. You gave him a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay. I'll go. Just stay here."
He frowned. "Are you sure? I can come with you—"
"No, no," you said quickly, already grabbing your wallet and sliding a bill onto the table. "Do me a favor instead? Order us another ice cream. A vainilla one for me."
He still looked a little unsure, but eventually he gave in with a soft sigh. "Alright. Don't take too long."
You nodded and slipped out the door, the bell above it chiming faintly as you stepped into the afternoon sun.
The second you were out, you ran. Again. Like you had earlier when you showed up at his school, breathless and a little too eager. But this time, your heart pounded for a different reason.
When you reached the store, the woman at the counter immediately recognized you. Her smile widened as you walked in, eyes flicking toward the back wall where the hoodie still hung, untouched.
Relief swept through you.
"I want that one, please," you said, pointing to it.
She nodded and took it down, carefully folding it into a bag. But then you paused. You couldn't exactly walk back into the ice cream shop with Ji-yong's birthday present in your hands.
"Can I pay for it now and... pick it up later? It's a surprise."
The woman smiled knowingly. "Of course. We close at seven."
You thanked her and handed over the cash. She tucked the hoodie under the counter, out of sight.
With that done, you turned around and made your way back to the icecream store.
Ji-yong was sitting on the bench outside the store, with an ice cream resting beside him. The moment he saw you, he stood up.
"Hyung!" Ji-yong exclaimed, walking toward you with a bright smile. "Did you find it?"
You nodded.
"Yeah, I did. The lady saved it for me," you said. Then, glancing around, you asked, "You have to go home now?"—noticing he was no longer inside the store.
"Yeah, I need to go change before practice," he replied. "Don't worry, I can go by myself." He smiled, trying to sound casual.
But you shook your head right away. "No, no. I'll walk you."
Ji-yong hesitated for a second, then gave a soft nod.
The two of you began walking side by side through the quiet streets. The sun was starting to set, casting long golden shadows, and the air had that peaceful stillness of early evening. It felt too late to let him walk alone.
As you walked, Ji-yong offered you spoonfuls of the ice cream, sharing bites between stories. He talked about new songs he was working on, his voice filled with excitement. At one point, you took his backpack from him without saying a word. He protested weakly but let you carry it, cheeks tinged with pink.
By the time you reached his house, a quiet sadness had settled in your chest. The thought of not seeing him for a couple of days tugged at you—but you brushed it away.
You stood in front of each other, unsure of what to say. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye.
"Hy—"
"Ji—"
You both spoke at the same time, and it made you laugh softly. You gave a small bow, gesturing for Ji-yong to go first. He smiled, his eyes curving into little crescents, and then opened them again—only to find himself briefly lost in your gaze.
"When will I see you again?" he asked, suddenly a little shy.
"I have practice tomorrow," you said, knowing he already knew. The two of you shared nearly the same schedule most days.
"Cool! I'll come by after you're done," he said, perking up. "Well, if you want me to. Me and Youngbae are gonna watch that dance contest. A few friends are coming too—you might wanna come."
"Yeah," you said with a smile. "That sounds good."
Then came another silence. The kind that wasn't awkward, but heavy with the feeling of not wanting the moment to end.
You blinked—and before you could open your eyes again, you felt the brush of soft brown hair against your face.
Ji-yong's arms had wrapped around you in a quiet hug. You embraced him without hesitation, your hands resting gently around his shoulders. Being taller than him, your chin naturally fit just over his head. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds.
Then Ji-yong pulled back just slightly, his arms still around you but his face now lifted to yours.
Slowly, carefully—almost hesitantly—he leaned in. His gaze flickered to your lips, but midway, his nerves got the best of him. Instead of a kiss, he pressed a soft peck to your cheek and smiled shyly.
He looked like he was about to step back, but you didn't let go.
Your index finger gently found his chin, tilting his face back toward you. His breath mingled with yours as his eyes fluttered closed, lips parting just slightly as your mouth hovered over his.
With your thumb, you caressed his chin, and he leaned into your touch like he could melt right there in your arms.
And then—soft and sure—you kissed him. Just a gentle press of lips. A quiet, tender peck. When you pulled back, he was still close, smiling like he didn't quite know what to do with the happiness blooming across his face.
He blinked once, then gave a small cough, clearly trying to play it cool.
"Well..." he said, his voice a little higher than usual, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
Your arms stayed around him just a moment longer.
"I can't wait for tomorrow," you said, your voice soft.
Ji-yong smiled again, and finally took a small step back. You watched him walk toward his door, glancing back at you one last time with a grin that made your heart skip.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
[ … ]
taglist. @kvvonji
#bigbang x male reader#kwon jiyong x male reader#gdragon x reader#gdragon x male reader#bigbang x reader#kpop x male reader#kpop x reader#kwon jiyong x reader
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Han river lullaby chapter five | myg

Chapter one, Chapter two, chapter three, chapter four chapter six
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance.
Chapter warnings: Sassy uncle Jin should carry his own warning honestly, other then that I don’t believe there are any. If I’m wrong please let me know and I will happily add them.
Word count: 4.8k approximately.
Authors notes: I hope everyone had a great Easter, and I am still so amazed and thankful for the love my story has gotten every comment, like and reblog has meant the world to me, but finally we are here, half way through this story already! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
That Thursday you found yourself standing in Han's preschool hallway, surrounded by tiny art projects and bright construction paper decorations. Parent-Teacher interviews always made you nervous, but this time felt different—because this time, Yoongi was coming too.
You spotted him before he saw you, making his way down the colorful hallway. Even in casual clothes—a simple black sweater and jeans bucket hat pulled low—he looked slightly out of place among the finger paintings and alphabet charts. But the moment Han spotted him, none of that mattered.
"Appa!" Han broke free from your grip, racing toward him. "You came!"
Yoongi's whole face softened as he caught Han, lifting him easily. "Of course I did, I Wouldn't miss it."
Your heart squeezed at the sight—at how natural they looked together, at how Yoongi's eyes crinkled with genuine joy as Han babbled about his artwork on the walls.
"Mr. Min?" Han's teacher, Ms. Park, appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly in recognition before she schooled her features into professional warmth. "And Ms. Y/L/N. Please, come in."
Inside the classroom, Han proudly showed Yoongi the cubby where he kept his school bag, his favorite reading corner, and the plant he was helping to grow. You watched as Yoongi absorbed every detail, asking questions and responding with appropriate enthusiasm to each new discovery.
"And this!" Han dragged Yoongi to the wall of family pictures Han and his pre-school class had drawn. It was an array of stick figures and bright crayon chaos. "This is my drawing of us!"
Your breath caught as you looked at the crayon masterpiece—three stick figures, one tall with black hair (clearly Yoongi), one medium with your hair color, and one small figure between them, holding both their hands, all with big smiles on their faces.
Yoongi went very still beside you, his eyes fixed on the drawing.
"That's beautiful, Han," Ms. Park said gently, sensing the weight of the moment. "Why don't you show your parents what you've been up too in the reading corner?"
As Han tugged you both toward his favorite books, you caught Yoongi discreetly wiping at his eyes
“damn, the little Picasso got me”
“Softy” you teased nudging his shoulder playfully
The parent-teacher conference itself was surprisingly smooth. You and Yoongi sat side by side, your knees occasionally brushing as Ms. Park went through Han's progress.
"Han's doing wonderfully," she assured you both. "His social skills are excellent, he's very creative, he loves to draw as you saw, and his reading level is actually a tiny bit above average for his age." She smiled warmly. "Though he does have quite the stubborn streak when he sets his mind to something, and sometimes has trouble relaxing at nap time."
You and Yoongi exchanged knowing looks.
"Wonder where he gets that from," you muttered under your breath.
Yoongi scoffed quietly. "Oh, like you're not just as bad, the kid didn’t stand a chance."
The familiar banter felt... nice. Natural. Like maybe you could really do this, that the ease so far hadn’t been a fluke, you could be parents together, support each other, create something stable for Han.
After the conference, as Han showed Yoongi every single book he'd read in the past month, Ms. Park pulled you aside.
"I just wanted to say," she began carefully, "that Han seems... happier lately. More settled. Having both of you here, involved..." She smiled. "It makes a difference."
You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat. "Thank you. We're... we're trying."
Looking back at Yoongi and Han, you found them deep in conversation now, about a particularly elaborate block tower Han had insisted on building. Yoongi was crouched at Han's level, listening intently as his son explained his architectural vision, complete with dramatic hand gestures.
"Eomma!" Han called out. "Come see what Appa and I built!"
As you joined them on the floor, watching Han direct Yoongi on proper block placement with all the authority of a tiny construction foreman, you couldn't help but smile.
This was what mattered. These moments, these small victories, this careful dance of building something new while honoring what was.
One block at a time
Later that afternoon, the school reported that Han had taken the best nap he’d had in weeks. And if you and Yoongi shared a smile when picking him up for a park playdate, well, that was just good parenting in your book.
Bright and early the following Saturday morning saw you bleary-eyed, barely caffeinated, and desperately second-guessing your life choices as you pulled into the parking lot of the children’s boutique Yoongi had told you about. According to him, Seokjin insisted it was the place for anyone serious about decking out a kid’s room just like his nephew deserved—and Seokjin had many opinions, especially when it came to his self proclaimed and honorary role as favourite Uncle.
The store was all soft lighting and whimsical displays—tiny clothes that cost more than your entire outfit and themed nursery setups that looked plucked from Pinterest fever dreams. You were still shaking off the fog of sleep when Han, warm little fingers gripping your hand tightly, suddenly lit up with recognition.
“Uncle Jin!!!” he squealed, his voice echoing across the store like a cannon blast. Before you could blink, he let go of your hand and bolted across the polished tile floor, launching himself straight into Seokjin’s waiting arms.
Yoongi’s steps faltered beside Jin. He watched the scene unfold with an expression that could only be described as mild betrayal. You had to bite back a laugh.
“Wow,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “The little traitor, et tu Han.”
A soft chuckle slipped from you. “Drama queen we just can’t compete with the magnetism of Worldwide Handsome up there, I’m afraid.”
Ahead of you, Jin lifted Han easily onto his hip like he did it every day, beaming with pride as the little boy chattered away animatedly. Jin caught your eye and gave you and Yoongi a wink over Han’s shoulder before disappearing further into the store with your son, already pointing at some space themed bedding display.
Yoongi sighed, falling back into step beside you as you wandered down the nearest aisle filled with cloud-shaped nightlights and hand-stitched throw pillows.
“I’ll remember this next time he begs for Dino nuggets, and insists I’m the only one that makes them right.” Yoongi said, mock bitterness in his tone.
You nudged him playfully. “You’ll still cave. You always do.”
He didn’t argue, just smiled in that soft, private way he sometimes did when he thought you weren’t looking.
A few aisles later, you and Yoongi found yourselves crouched in front of a display of bed linens, deep in a heated debate that had somehow become more intense than necessary. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, a sure sign he was taking this decision far too seriously.
“I’m just saying,” you argued, picking up a plain navy-blue comforter set, “he’s three. He changes his mind more than he changes his socks. Plain is safer.”
Yoongi held up a comforter set covered in astronauts wearing different coloured space suits. “Okay, but this? This is epic. Look at this little guy! He’s riding a comet!”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re such a pushover for him.”
He grinned, unabashed. “Not denying it.”
You were just opening your mouth to tease him further when a sudden burst of animated voices reached your ears. One of them was unmistakably Han—high-pitched, passionate, and growing louder by the second. The other, deeper and equally dramatic, was Seokjin.
Yoongi stood up, peeking over the display. “What the—?”
You followed quickly, and the sight before you nearly had you doubling over with laughter.
In the middle of the store stood Han and Seokjin, fully locked in what could only be described as a theatrical, borderline operatic debate in the middle of the glow-in-the-dark sticker section. Hands were flying, eyebrows were raised, and both parties looked like they were seconds away from presenting PowerPoint slides to back their claims.
“I told you, Uncle Jin, the star ones are cooler!” Han insisted, clutching a packet of star and planet stickers to his chest like they were a rare treasure.
“But dinosaurs, Han, you like dinosaurs.” Seokjin countered, holding up his own pick with flourish. “They roar. These stickers will make your room prehistoric chic.”
Han crossed his arms, glaring up at him with the fiery resolve of a kid who’d watched too many courtroom dramas. “But uncle Jin, space is cooler. Dinosaurs are for babies!.”
Yoongi choked on a laugh beside you.
“Told you his mind changes more than his underwear, but should… should we break that up?” you asked, eyes wide as Han stomped his foot for emphasis.
“No, no,” Yoongi said, biting back a laugh as his eyes crinkled with delight. “I wanna see how this plays out.”
The argument escalated into a flurry of sass, dramatic sighs. Seokjin whipped his hair for emphasis. Han mimicked him with a flick of his whole head. You could’ve sworn you saw a store employee peeking around the corner to spectate.
It ended, of course, with Han triumphant, the galaxy and star stickers clutched in one victorious hand while Seokjin sulked dramatically beside him. But in true Jin fashion, he still tossed the dinosaur stickers into the basket on the way to the register.
All because he was apparently physically incapable of leaving a store without buying just one more thing, Han decided to push his luck by picking up a moon shaped night light, and with nerves of steel turned the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d seen him give up to seokjin, who ruffled his hair and called him a ‘little rascal’ while putting that night light in the cart too.
As you and Yoongi approached, Han was already bragging.
“I told you space was better, Uncle Jin’s just a sore loser isn’t he Appa.”
Seokjin gasped like he’d been mortally wounded. “You wound me, child!”
Yoongi snorted, scooping Han up as he beamed in victory.
“You absolute little hustler,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head with a grin. “We’re all doomed.”
You couldn’t disagree
Back in Yoongi’s apartment, the three of you had barely stepped inside Han’s room before he clapped his hands in joy and launched into full explanation of his vision.
“Okay! Appa, you do the moon. Eomma, you do the stars. Uncle Jin, you can help me open the stickers,” Han said, already climbing onto his little stool to sit like he was presenting blueprints for a spaceship.
You couldn’t help but laugh, exchanging a glance with Yoongi as you started remaking Han’s bed. The new navy-blue comforter set contrasted perfectly with the pale walls, giving the room a cozy, dreamy vibe that made it feel more like home.
Once the bed was made, Han handed Yoongi a large, glow-in-the-dark moon sticker with a sense of ceremony.
“This one right above my pillow, please,” he said with the utmost seriousness, like its placement determined the success of the entire galaxy.
“Right here,” Yoongi murmured, already stepping up onto the bed to reach the spot Han pointed to.
You turned, just in time to catch Yoongi mid-stretch.
His black crew neck had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned skin and the subtle dip of his waist. His jeans—worn in and soft—fit him like they were tailored, perfectly hugging his frame like sin as he reached for the wall.
You froze, your mouth suddenly dry.
God. Really? Your brain chose now to betray you like this?
You tried to look away, tried to focus on something—anything—else, but your eyes wandered on instinct, tracing the lines of his back, the definition in his forearms, the way his shoulder blades moved beneath the fabric.
The way those damn jeans made it impossible to not look.
Your jaw clenched as you quickly shook your head, trying to banish the thoughts before they spiraled any further. Focus, focus. Stickers. Your child. Room decorating.
But when your gaze drifted sideways, you immediately regretted it.
Seokjin was already watching you, leaned casually against the doorway with his arms crossed and a slow, cat-like grin spreading across his face.
You’d been caught. And Seokjin, of all people, was the last person you wanted clocking you checking out Yoongi’s ass.
Your eyes narrowed, fixing him with what you hoped was your best Don’t you dare stare.
Seokjin raised one teasing eyebrow.
“Not. A. Word.” you mouthed, but it only made him smirk wider.
Thankfully, Han was far too busy trying to peel a sticker off its backing to notice the silent exchange happening above his head.
Yoongi stepped down from the bed with a satisfied hum, brushing his hands off. “Moon, secure and glowing.”
“Perfect!” Han beamed, giving a proud nod. “Now stars everywhere!”
“Everywhere?” Yoongi asked with mock dread.
Han nodded solemnly. “They go all over, Appa. Even the closet.”
Yoongi chuckled, already peeling another sticker. “Guess we’re building a universe huh.”
You smiled as you watched them, heart twisting in that painfully sweet way it always did when Yoongi and Han were like this—effortless. Familiar. Like no time had passed at all.
And then, from behind you, Seokjin muttered low enough for only you to hear, “Staring’s free, you know. But touching will cost extra.”
You elbowed him hard in the ribs.
He only laughed harder.
You stood back and took it all in — the glowing constellations scattered unevenly across the ceiling, the oversized moon sticker positioned perfectly above Han’s pillow, the navy comforter smoothed neatly over the bed now crowned with a dozen mismatched plush toys. It was chaos, yes, but it was Han’s chaos. Bright and expressive and entirely his.
Your chest swelled with quiet pride — not just for the room, but for you and Yoongi. Somehow, between awkward co-parenting schedules, you’d managed to give Han this little piece of magic. A space that felt like home in both places.
You started gathering your things, folding Han’s jacket over your arm as he lit up his new moon night light and busied himself assigning names to every single sticker on the wall. You were just reaching for your bag when Yoongi touched your elbow lightly, pulling you aside, his voice dropping low so Han wouldn’t overhear.
“Y/N,” he started, and already his tone was heavy with guilt, “I know I was meant to have him from Thursday through to Monday, but—” he paused, exhaling through his nose. “There’s an event in Japan. It’s important. I really tried to get out of it, but…”
He didn’t need to finish. You saw it in the way his eyes flickered with regret, the way his fingers tapped absently against the palm of his hand.
You shook your head quickly, brushing off the concern before it could settle between you. “Yoon, it’s okay. I don’t want or expect you to halt your career, or any obligations you have.,” you said sincerely. “I’ll talk to the hospital about the crèche schedule or book a sitter during my shift. We’ll make it work — it’s fine, really.”
But Yoongi didn’t look reassured. He looked like a man caught between two worlds — one where his dreams lived under spotlights, and another where they giggled while naming glow-in-the-dark stars. His jaw tensed like he had more to say, like he wanted to argue or apologize more deeply, but all he managed was a quiet, “You sure?”
You nodded with a soft smile. “Positive. He’ll be okay, Yoongi. You’re doing fantastic, we're doing fantastic with him.”
That seemed to break something loose in him — the tension in his shoulders dropped slightly as he looked past you, watching Han hold court almost with his stickers, babbling animatedly about a galaxy he’d created on the wall to his toys.
“He really does love it here,” Yoongi said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You followed his gaze and smiled. “No Yoongi, he loves you. This place is just a bonus to him, a place he sees you.”
Yoongi glanced back at you, eyes softening with a gratitude he didn’t quite know how to voice. And you weren’t sure he needed to.
You’d both managed to placate Han about the change in plans, sweetening the disappointment with the promise that Appa would come to your house for dinner next weekend. It had thrilled him enough to bounce right past his sadness. And now, as you moved through your small apartment tidying the last few things and adjusting the lighting in the dining nook, you realized something: it felt right having Yoongi here again. Not just dropping Han off or picking him up at the door—but here. Inside your home. Moving through your shared space. Not as two exes cautiously orbiting around past wounds, but as parents who were trying.
It had been too long since he’d existed in this world of yours. The lived-in clutter of Han’s books and toys, the candle flickering softly near the TV, the music humming gently in the background. You wanted him to see it—how you and Han lived. To feel the warmth of this home you’d built. Not perfect, but full of love.
The banchan were already laid out: crisp kimchi that snapped lightly with each bite, seasoned bean sprouts glistening with sesame oil, and fluffy white rice steaming in its bowl. The rich, garlicky scent of marinated pork drifted from the oven, its sweet-salty glaze of soy sauce caramelizing to a glossy sheen. The entire apartment felt wrapped in comfort.
A sudden knock, sharp and eager, rattled the door. It was all the warning Han needed. He tore through the room, feet pattering wildly across the wood floors, his voice a shrill squeal of joy.
“APPA!” he shouted, practically vibrating as he skidded to a stop.
Your heart skipped—whether from Han’s excitement or your own nervous flutter, you couldn’t tell. Calm down, you told yourself, smoothing your hands down your sweater. This wasn’t a date. It was dinner.
Still, when you opened the door and saw him—really saw him—you felt like someone had knocked the wind out of your lungs.
Yoongi stood there dressed simply but devastatingly well: a crisp white button-down that skimmed the sharp lines of his shoulders, sleeves casually rolled to his forearms. Dark jeans hugged his legs just right, worn at the knees in a way that made him look effortlessly cool. His black hair was slightly styled, pushed back from his forehead, a few pieces falling rebelliously into his eyes. And those eyes—deep, dark, and warm—met yours with a quiet familiarity that pulled something taut inside you.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice like a slow glide of velvet.
You cleared your throat, trying to hide how your pulse leapt. “Hey. Come in.”
As he stepped past you, his cologne curled around your senses—clean, woodsy, and subtle. Something that smelled like skin warmed by sun and just a hint of spice. Your breath caught for half a second as the scent lingered between you.
Han grabbed Yoongi’s hand before the door had even closed.
“Appa, Appa! Come play in my room! I wanna show you my new cars, the green one zoomed so fast, you won’t believe it!”
Yoongi chuckled, a deep, warm sound from his chest. He ruffled Han’s hair with one hand, his other still clutching the boy’s fingers.
“Of course, buddy. But we’ve got to listen to Eomma—when she calls us for dinner, we come, okay?”
Han nodded with cartoonish enthusiasm. “Okay, let’s go!” And just like that, he tugged Yoongi down the hallway, already rambling about engines and race tracks.
You shook your head with a fond smile, watching them disappear. The soft sound of Yoongi’s low laughter trailed down the hall as you turned back to the table, laying out utensils with slightly trembling hands.
When you finally called them to the table, Han came barreling out, and Yoongi followed at a more leisurely pace, that same amused smile tugging at his lips. He moved with a kind of grounded calm—shoulders relaxed, movements fluid, always slightly slower than the world around him.
You gestured to the seat across from you, and he sat, carefully, like someone easing into unfamiliar territory. His long fingers rested loosely on the table’s edge, thumb brushing against the grain.
“I hope you still like dwaeji bulgogi,” you said, placing a generous helping of the glistening pork on his plate.
Yoongi’s lips twitched into a smile, eyes crinkling slightly. “You know I do.”
You offered a smile of your own, then handed him the rice bowl. “I figured I’d cook something you taught me how to make.”
That made him pause. His dark eyes flicked up, catching yours for a long second. Something unreadable—nostalgia, maybe, or something heavier—glinted there. But he didn’t speak it aloud. Instead, he reached for the bean sprouts, and his hand brushed yours. Just a graze. A whisper of skin. But it set your nerves buzzing like struck wires.
Your eyes met. And for the briefest second, the air between you tightened, a quiet electricity humming in the space that hadn’t existed here in years.
“Eomma makes the best food, right, Appa?” Han said suddenly, his cheeks puffed out with rice.
Yoongi broke the stare first, chuckling softly. “She really does.”
You swallowed, the air still thick around you.
Dinner went on like that. The food, the laughter, Han’s endless chatter. But beneath it all, those touches kept happening. Small. Fleeting. The brush of his fingers passing you the kimchi. The nudge of his knee under the table. The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking.
By the time dinner ended, you were flushed, your heart refusing to calm.
As you cleared the table, Yoongi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, watching you with that quiet attentiveness he always had. His voice, when he spoke, was warm, unassuming.
“Want me to help you clean up?”
You shook your head, waving him off. “No, you’re a guest. Don’t worry about it.”
He let out a dramatic yaa, rising to his feet, and made his way toward you, leaning against the counter like it was second nature.
“Ouch. A guest? Is that all I am?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing, but the smile tugging at his lips was boyish, charming.
You paused, mortified, glancing at him with wide eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant, you jerk.”
His laugh was low, honeyed and rich, and without thinking, your hand dipped into the sink, scooping up a handful of soapy bubbles. In a flash, you flicked them at him, white foam landing squarely on his perfect white shirt.
Yoongi’s eyes widened. He stared down at the soap on his chest, then looked at you like you’d just declared war.
“Oh, you are so in for it,” he said, mock-serious, already dipping his fingers into the sink.
“Yoongi, don’t—!”
Too late. He flicked water in your direction, smirking as you tried to dodge. Bubbles flew, giggles spilled from both of you like you were kids again, caught in the sheer joy of play.
At some point, you lunged forward, towel in hand, intending to retaliate. But instead, you collided with him—your bodies pressing close. His hands landed at your waist to steady you, warm and strong through the fabric of your shirt. Your fingers curled instinctively around his wrist.
You froze. And so did he.
You were chest-to-chest, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. The warmth of his skin seeped through the layers between you, the scent of his cologne so close now it was dizzying. Yoongi’s eyes searched yours, the humor draining into something quieter, something heavier. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then returned to your eyes.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.
“Eomma! Appa! Are you okay?”
Han’s voice was a lightning bolt, jolting you both back to your senses.
You stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, brushing stray bubbles from your arm. Yoongi’s hands slipped away, and he cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered, though that mischievous smile still tugged at his lips.
“Yeah, we’re okay Han,” he called out, loud enough for Han to hear, “Eomma just decided to splash me with dishwater for no reason at all!”
You scoffed, glaring at him. “No reason? You started it!”
“Slander,” he said, grinning.
Han appeared a moment later, clutching his stuffed bunny and looking very serious. “You have to say sorry, Eomma.”
You sighed. “Okay, okay. Sorry, Appa.”
“Can we have dessert now?” Han asked, voice hopeful.
Yoongi chuckled, ruffling his hair. “I think that’s fair.”
You turned back toward the kitchen, and as you reached for the dishes, Yoongi’s voice dropped low behind you.
“Nice apology… Eomma.”
You turned just enough to see that familiar spark in his eyes—and with no hesitation, flicked another bubble at him.
“Oops.”
Yoongi’s narrowed gaze told you this wasn’t over.
Dessert was simple but sweet—dairy-free ice cream with strawberries for Han, while you and Yoongi had regular ice cream topped with fresh fruit. Han happily dug into his bowl, swinging his legs under the table as he hummed in delight at the treat.
After cleaning up, the three of you settled into the living room, Han immediately climbing into Yoongi’s lap as you put on a Disney movie. The room was warm, filled with the soft glow of the TV and the rhythmic sound of Han’s little breaths as he started to relax against Yoongi.
Halfway through the movie, Han’s sleepy voice broke the comfortable silence.
“Appa, can you stay the night?”
Yoongi’s body stiffened just slightly. You felt it before you saw it—the way his fingers tensed against Han’s back, the way his jaw tightened just a fraction before he schooled his features into something softer.
He smoothed a hand over Han’s hair, choosing his words carefully. “Han, son… not this time, okay? Appa has an early morning tomorrow, a really big day.”
Han blinked up at him, sleepy but sharp, studying Yoongi’s face as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. You held your breath, unsure how he’d react.
Finally, after a long pause, Han let out a tiny, resigned sigh and burrowed further into Yoongi’s chest. “Okay,” he mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut.
Yoongi let out a breath of relief, his hand still rubbing slow, soothing circles over Han’s back. He glanced at you briefly, something unreadable in his gaze.
You offered him a small smile, knowing this was something that would take time—Han’s little heart was so eager, so full of love, but this wasn’t a wound that could be healed overnight, but was healing slowly.
Han’s little snores filled the quiet space, soft and steady, a reminder of how completely at peace he was in his sleep. You watched his tiny chest rise and fall, his hand clutching his well-loved bunny, and you felt the familiar warmth of love and protectiveness bloom in your chest.
Gently, you reached out and tapped Yoongi’s shoulder to get his attention. He turned to you, and you nodded toward Han before gesturing for him to follow. Together, the two of you carefully maneuvered Han into his room, mindful not to wake him as you laid him down and tucked the blankets around him.
Standing in the doorway, both of you lingered, watching the way Han snuggled deeper into his blankets, his bunny still firmly held against his cheek. The sight made you smile, but there was also something bittersweet about it.
“I’m sorry about that, Yoon,” you murmured, breaking the silence.
Yoongi shook his head, his voice soft but certain. “It’s okay. I really do have an early day tomorrow. You know… he snores like you.”
Your lips quirked up at the corner, amused. “Yeah? About the only thing he got from me, though.”
Yoongi hummed, his gaze lingering on Han before flickering back to you. “I don’t know… he has your eye color.”
You turned to meet his gaze and found something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place—soft, searching, something close to nostalgia. It made your breath catch for just a moment.
Instead of answering, you simply smiled, letting the moment settle between you. Then, with quiet steps, you walked Yoongi to the door, the air between you charged but gentle.
“Good night, Yoon,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Drive safe home”
Yoongi hesitated, his fingers brushing yours for just a fleeting second before he pulled away. “Good night, y/n”
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#Min Yoongi x reader#Min Yoongi x you#Min Yoongi x y/n#Suga x reader#Suga x you#Suga x y/n#Bts fanfic#Bts fanfiction#Han river lullaby#Min Yoongi angst#Min Yoongi fanfic#Min Yoongi fanfiction#Yoongi#Min Yoongi#bts fanfction
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fight for my way!



pairing: best friend’s brother!heeseung x reader x bff!jungwon, ft lee chaeyeon as your best friend
summary: you’ve harboured a huge crush on your bff’s brother, heeseung for quite a bit. each encounter with him has you stuttering and blushing like a mess much to the dismay of your best friend, jungwon. it’s summer vacation, but unfortunately you won’t have the time to relax as you battle with your newfound feelings instead of kicking someone’s ass in training for taekwondo. you certainly did not sign up for this
genre: f2l, best friend’s brother trope, crack??, coming of age, jungwon and mc practice taekwondo
warnings: making out, fighting, angst, fluff, swearing, mc beats up someone, mentions of blood, mc is super embarrassing and a major simp teehee, flirty heeseung(as always), i know nothing about taekwondo so please excuse me if i made any mistakes related to it
note: nothing based off the drama ahaha. this was originally a txt fic, now republished as an enha one(it's edited). i wrote this like a year ago and idk why but some parts of it give off disney movie vibes💀 enjoy!!!
word count: 8.1kish
If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3
you knew it’s wrong to simp over your friends, but you couldn’t help it.
since when did yang jungwon get so hot?
you hadn’t even worn your dobok yet and you were already sweating just looking at him box with that punching bag. his arm muscles flexed and rippled deliciously, and his face which was contorted into a focused expression, glimmered under the studio lights due to the layer of sheen sweat that coated his body. a drop rolled down the bridge of his nose and was about to land on his lips when he stopped and wiped it off. the sudden change in movement brought you out of your daydream and you mentally punched yourself for drooling over one of your best friends.
you need to stop simping over anyone who is even the slightest bit hot.
slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked towards the locker room to get changed. shuffling through your belongings, you tried to find the plastic in which you had kept your dobok, when you were startled by the feeling of someone's hand on your back. you looked behind to see your best friend chaeyeon grinning at you.
“you’re a bit early today.”, she stated.
“yeah, my mom kicked me out of the house at six in the morning.” you sighed, “i was wandering around till class started.”
chaeyeon patted your shoulder sympathetically. ever since the summer holidays for your senior year had started, your mom had been making sure you didn’t laze around the house and be productive everyday. this was the last year for your taekwondo training and then you would finally receive your black belt. so, your mom felt it was important for you to go for training.
every. single. day.
honestly, you were a bit pissed in the beginning because you couldn’t join the rest of your school friends on their month long trip to kyoto. but, jungwon and chaeyeon were staying back as well for their training, so it wasn’t that bad.
you wore the white jacket on top of your t-shirt and slipped your belt through the white loops. your pants were almost up your calves when chaeyeon spoke again.
“do you wanna come over to my house in the evening? we should get started on our physics project.
you jumped in excitement at her offer, “is your brother gonna be there?”
chaeyeon slapped your arm, “why does that matter? we have to do our work, i’m not going to sit there and watch you fangirl over him.”
ah yes, chaeyeon's brother, lee heeseung.
the man you were absolutely smitten with.
the perfect, handsome, smart and talented golden boy of the school.
your crush of three years.
and lately, it felt like he was reciprocating your feelings as well because he had started flirting with you back. you didn’t care if you were being delusional, you would take any chance to interact with him, which is why you were always ecstatic to visit chaeyeon’s house.
“just tell me please”, you dragged out your sentence in a whiny voice, making chaeyeon hiss at the annoying sound.
“okay okay, he’s going to be there. he has nothing to do this week.”
you squealed and pumped your fist in the air. chaeyeon just rolled her eyes at your actions and pulled you out of the locker room to join the training.
you lay spread eagle on the blue foam mat. your arms felt like wet, heavy ham and the muscles in your thighs felt like they were stretched to the maximum. you really shouldn’t have skipped your warm up, but you had no idea how rigorous today’s training would be. your coach was hellbent on making sure you perfected your double roundhouse kick and only let you take a break when you got the hang of it. these were probably the most tiring four hours of your life.
suddenly, a handsome face came into your view as the person loomed over your body and blocked the light, making you jolt up. after getting a closer look you realised it was just your best friend, jungwon. you stomped on his feet out of annoyance.
“you startled me man.”
“i thought you fell asleep”, he huffed at your actions “let’s go home now, my stomach is gonna digest itself if i don’t feed it anything soon.”
you rolled your eyes at his exaggeration and went towards the locker room to get your belongings.
chaeyeon had already left before you both, so you took the shorter route towards your house. usually, you both would drop her off along the way and then walk back together since you lived right next to each other.
the walk back home was rather silent, filled with occasional slurps of the popsicles you both had bought. your walks home were usually always filled with a comfortable science accompanied by some type of snack. lately, you both had been trying to eat all the popsicle flavours of the new trending brand. so today, you both tried the cherry lime flavour and honestly, it was absolutely disgusting. you stared at the bright red and green ice on the stick and grimaced.
“this tastes really bad”, you stuck out your tongue in disgust “especially the cherry side, it’s just frozen cough medicine.”
jungwon shrugged his shoulders, “i kind of like it, the combination is nice.”
you wrinkled your nose at his remark, “you have bad taste.”
he turned to look at you with mock hurt on his face when you noticed a red stain from the popsicle on the corner of his lips. you walked up to him and tried to rub off the insistent stain from the corner of his lips, making jungwon freeze in his spot. you looked at him to be met with his eyes already staring at your face. his face looked flushed and his eyes were wide open. his eyes.
they were so mesmerising, looking like pools of freshly brewed coffee that always held a sparkle in them. you quickly moved away when jungwon suddenly spoke up.
“w-what are you doing?”
you cleared your throat and looked away, “you had a red stain on your face.”
these types of awkward encounters had been frequenting a lot between you both lately and you felt slightly bothered by it.
he rolled his eyes and tried to play it off, “your lips are green, eat the cherry part also. you look like mike wazowski.”
“shut up.”, you muttered while wiping your lips.
you handed your half eaten popsicle to him and resumed walking. feeling disgusted by the sight of him gorging down both of the disgusting frozen treats you decided to change the topic.
“i’m going to chaeyeon's house later to start our physics project.”
jungwon nodded absentmindedly at that.
“hee is gonna be there too”, you sighed dreamily, making him glare at you.
“why are you still obsessed with that bastard?”
you gasped in offence, “how dare you call him that? he’s an amazing guy.”
jungwon chucked the ice cream sticks in the nearby dustbin a bit too forcefully for your liking. every mention of heeseung’s name always riled him up. both of them were academic rivals, always competing for the top spot, which was why they were never nice to each other and always bickered. but you were not letting their issue meddle with your non-existent love life.
“he’s annoying and not a nice guy”, jungwon walked faster making you break out into a slight jog.
“just last week i saw him walking around with a new chick.” he threw his hands in the air, “how could he do that when he just dumped his girlfriend!”
yeah that was true. heeseung was a bit of a playboy. you weren’t surprised though, his good looks and personality had girls throwing themselves on him right and left and he just accepted it. you didn't mind, you were ready to forgive him for that.
“i don’t care, i know he would never hurt someone intentionally.”
jungwon shook his head at your obvious lovesickness. you were too blinded by your crush to notice the possibility of getting hurt. you waved him off when you reached your driveway.
“bye won, i have to pick an outfit for the evening.”
jungwon didn’t bother looking at you and just simply reminded you that it wasn’t a date. but who cares? definitely not you.
the shiny silver doorbell was waiting for you, inviting you to press it, but you just stood like a fool at chaeyeon’s doorstep. why were you getting nervous for absolutely no reason?(heeseung). it’s not like this was your first time visiting her house.
you dismissed your worry with a nervous chuckle and smoothened your hair down one last time. the summer heat was making it frizzier by the second and you had to look your best for heeseung, which meant you had to enter the house soon. taking a deep breath, you finally pressed the doorbell.
a few moments later, the door swung open, unveiling the most beautiful sight known to mankind—heeseung's beaming face. he gave your outfit a quick once-over, and his smile evolved into a teasing smirk. glancing down at your sage green tank top and acid-washed denim shorts, a hint of uncertainty crept in. were they not to his liking? despite your attempt at a casual look, a moment of self-doubt lingered in the air.
“what’s up?”
his voice broke you out of your dilemma. now you felt too scared to respond. taking another deep breath you tried to keep your voice steady.
“i’m here to study with chaeyeon.”
for some reason, his smirk grew even wider as he checked you out once again, casually leaning against the doorframe. wait, was he actually checking you out? you really sucked at this love stuff because you had absolutely no idea what was going on. were you reading into things too much?"
“studying during summer break?”
he raised his eyebrows as if reminding you to speak. you cleared your throat, “yeah we have to complete a physics project.”
he nodded. “chaeyeon is out running errands though. she won’t be back for another hour.”
you frowned at that information, “but she told me to come over.” heeseung shrugged his shoulders, motioning for you to come in.
“you can wait in her room.”
you had no choice but to agree because he had already started walking in. you sighed and mentally sent a prayer to all the gods to prevent you from embarrassing yourself further.
suddenly, he stopped in his steps and spinned around to face you. you immediately forced your feet to stop walking to prevent crashing into him. “do you want to watch a movie with me instead?”
your heart dropped to your toenails at his words. as much as you wanted to jump at the offer, there was no way you would survive an entire movie with him without embarrassing yourself.
tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you tried to look as apologetic as possible, “actually i should get started on my work, maybe another time?”
heeseung shrugged, “yeah sure.”
you gave him a sheepish smile and started your ascent up the stairs to chaeyeon's room. the entire time, you could feel a pair of eyes burning into your back. the outfit was a good choice. smirking to yourself, you pushed the door to chaeyeon's room open.
it had been over an hour and so far you had listed out all the main points and subheadings to be included in your project. you had no idea when chaeyeon would come back; every time you called her she would say that she'll be home soon. there was a lot of rush at the supermarket she had forcibly gone to with her mom. you had thought about going back home but your mom wanted you to study as much as you could and it wasn’t evening yet, so here you are.
your face was almost going into the laptop screen because of the amount of concentration you had on finding the perfect template for your ppt. the opening of the door shortly distracted you, but you deemed that it was chaeyeon.
"bro, what took you so long?”, you spoke in a exasperated tone “was it actually that crowded? it's not even a weekend today." you didn't bother looking behind and continued doing your work.
you immediately stopped what you were doing as the feeling of two arms wrapping loosely around your collarbone made you stiffen up. a warm breath fanned your neck sending chills down your spine. "it’s me."
heeseung.
how and why were his arms wrapped around you? you weren't complaining because this was your dream come true but at the same time this was not good for your heart, which at this point was about to beat its way out of your chest.
you rolled your chair away from his hold and stood up, almost about to trip over nothing. you were sure you looked redder than a tomato right now, but you somehow managed the courage to look up at heeseung, who was already staring back at you. his head was tilted slightly and his pink lips were scrunched up in a pout.
brushing a non existent stand of hair away from your face, you decided to question him about his previous actions.
"why did you do that?"
he looked at you innocently in question, as if asking you what?
"the hug, why did you just hug me out of nowhere?"
a look of realisation crossed his face and he just chuckled softly at your question. "i was pretending to be chaeyeon." he smirked, "why? don't friends hug each other?"
if he was flirting with you or friend zoning you, you had absolutely no idea. you had to change the conversation quickly.
"why did you come up, is chaeyeon back now?"
"she's on the way now," he pointed towards the door, "i just made some rose lemonade. let's go drink that while you wait."
you nodded and followed him down to the kitchen. you leaned against the marble counter, trying to look as calm and collected as possible while heeseung fetched the pitcher full of the pink drink. suddenly, he turned around and started walking towards you, making you instantly freeze at your spot with an awkward smile etched onto your face. he got closer and stopped once his feet were almost touching yours. giving you a dashing smile he slowly leaned forward. was he going to kiss you?
your dream is finally coming true! you closed your eyes and puckered your lips slightly in anticipation for his to land on them. but that never happened. you opened your eyes to see a wide eyed heeseung staring back at you with two glasses in his hand. oh, he was only reaching for the glasses behind you.
embarrassment washed over you, making your cheeks flame up in shame as heeseung chuckled. you really wanted to melt away into a big puddle of nothing right now. clearing your throat you snatched a glass from his hand and poured yourself the lemonade. heeseung watched you with an amused smile as you chugged down the entire glass in one go to cool down your burning cheeks.
“was it that good?”
you nodded enthusiatically, “you have to send me the recipe!”
heeseung laughed at your reaction and poured you another glass. he probably had the most beautiful laugh and you could hear it on replay for hours. you smiled dreamily at him. by now, literally everyone knew about your humongous crush on him.
the thing was, you had horrible flirting skills and were always oblivious if someone showed interest in you. your exemplary skills in taekwondo and bubbly personality had attracted many but you ended up friendzoning them unintentionally. you only had eyes for heeseung, who was currently washing the dishes you both had drunk from. he was such boyfriend material. you stood up straight once he spoke up.
“my friend is hosting a party this friday.” he turned off the tap and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. “i’m sure you know who jake is.” you hummed in reply.
“you should come, it’ll be fun.”
you were usually never interested in parties, in fact you never had the time to even think about it while juggling school and taekwondo together. but, you had a bit of free time now since school was off. and heeseung’s offer kind of seemed like he was asking you on a date? you can’t just straight up ask him that so maybe you should just go and find out. this could finally be your moment to directly confess your feelings. you were getting tired of holding them back.
“okay,” you smiled, “i’ll be there.”
heeseung’s face brightened up at your words. “that's great-”
“can i bring jungwon as well?”
his smile dropped, but he nodded somewhat enthusiastically, which didn’t really show on his face. oh right, they hate each other. the air turned awkward at the mention of his name and you were brainstorming things to change the subject when you were saved by the doorbell.
you immediately perked up the sound, “ah, i think chaeyeon is home.”
heeseung gave a forced smile back, “yeah, have fun with your project. i have some work to do. i’ll see you on friday.” with that, he walked back to his room.
your face fell at his sudden change of behaviour. you knew he had no work to do this week because chaeyeon had told you so. it was kind of weird but you assumed it was probably because you mentioned jungwon. he shouldn’t dislike him so much though, afterall he was one of his sister’s closest friends. shrugging it off you walked to the door to let chaeyeon and her mom in.
it was the day of the party and jungwon(who had agreed to attend after much of your insistence) and you stood right outside the door, waiting for someone to open it. chaeyeon had decided not to attend the party and had gone out with her other friends to the amusement park instead. you would have joined her as well because parties were not your thing and you’d rather spend your time riding roller coasters, but this was a matter of love. you had to make sacrifices for your dear heeseung .
the door opened to reveal a beaming jake, “oh hi guys!” he motioned for you both to come inside, “the drinks and snacks are over there and we’re playing games in the living room.” he patted you both on your backs. “have fun!” both of you smiled back at his warm welcome and walked inside the huge bungalow.
the kitchen counter was lined up with all sorts of colourful sodas and delicacies. the living room stretched far and wide, making you gaze at it in awe. colourful fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, setting the people’s face aglow with multiple colours. trending pop songs blared through the speakers and you could feel the bass thump to the beat of your heart. people were spread across the entire house and some of them were gathered outside in the lawn.
jungwon pointed at the people playing games, breaking you out of your trance.“i think they’re setting up a game of twister, let’s go join them!”
you shook your head, “i should go find heeseung first.”
jungwon’s jaw ticked at your words. he rolled his eyes as he spoke, “i don’t think you should do this, he’s not a good guy.”
you frowned at his words, “how do you know? you just hate him because he is better than you in academics.”
he grasped your shoulders and his eyes turned serious. “that’s not the problem. i’ve seen how he treats people. he may act all nice and sweet in front of you, but he’s actually really shallow.”
he sighed at the perplexed look on your face. “he’s a walking red flag and i’ve been trying to get you to understand that for a long time.”
you remained unfazed at his words because just like he had mentioned, he always said the same thing. no matter what happened you were going to try to shoot your shot.
flashing him a sympathetic smile, you patted his shoulder. “sorry buddy, nothing is going to stop me. unless you have feelings for me or something.”
you snickered at your ridiculous thoughts, missing the blush that overtook jungwon’s face. he looked away at your words and shrugged his shoulders.
“okay then, i gave you enough warnings.” rolling your eyes at this dismissive behaviour you grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the group of people setting up the game of twister.
“calm down drama queen, let’s play this first then i can go accomplish my mission.” he sighed and accompanied you as you said.
the game was going pretty well and you were confident in your chances of winning. you were in a fairly easy position compared to others, who had their limbs twisted in all sorts of hilarious ways. especially jungwon, who was basically in an upside down table pose. you tried not to notice the way his biceps were bulging out from under his black turtleneck, but it was hard to do so.
looking away from him, you accidentally made eye contact with heeseung who seemed to have just arrived at the party. you waved at him and motioned that you will talk to him later. he gave a bright smile and flashed a thumbs up at your actions. soon after he looked away, a girl with bright red hair walked up to him and kissed his cheek. your heart shattered at her actions. does he have a girlfriend?
he proved your assumptions incorrect when he pushed her off of him. getting a closer look, you realised it was his ex-girlfriend. she was probably just a psycho. you were planning to spy on them more, but annoyed shouts of your name brought you back to reality.
“what are you doing? you’re the only one left to finish your move, everyone is already done.”
apologising, you looked at the wheel that had decided your next move. looking back at the twister mat, you realised that all the good required spots were taken. the spots that were left for you were only reachable if you bent over jungwon, which meant you would be leaning over him until the next move. you had no idea why you were feeling so nervous about it though. he was your best friend after all, you were the closest to him. you’ve been together since childhood. it was stupid to feel nervous over something so trivial.
putting on a cool exterior, you leaned over him to take your position. both of your arms were placed next to his torso and your face was directly hovering over his. you were shocked to see his cheeks turn red because of the close proximity of you both. he was avoiding eye contact with you and you frowned. one nudge of your elbow brought his eyes back to yours.
deja vu hit you as you couldn’t help but get lost in his mesmerising eyes once again. that one twinkle that was always present in them no matter what, the colour of his orbs and the warmth they held every time they looked at you made you lean in closer. you were so close to each other that you could see your own reflection in his eyes. butterflies filled your stomach and you felt warm and fuzzy all over at the realisation of your close proximity with him. jungwon could now feel your warm breath on his lips, making him close his eyes in anticipation of his next move.
but instead of that, your face crashed onto the expanse of his neck with an embarrassingly loud smooch. some idiot had kicked your leg by accident, which made you lose your balance and bring down jungwon with you. you don’t know what demon possessed you to do this, but you took a big sniff and the smell of vanilla and cologne invaded your senses, making you sigh out in content. the feeling of jungwon’s body stiffening under you brought you out of your stupor and you immediately scrambled to get up. why did you act like a creep, you want to cry now.
you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck when everyone started clearing away. the game had ended because the idiot who had tripped you had also ended up rolling down the entire mat merrily like a bowling bowl, knocking everyone down.
that wasn't the issue right now though. were you just going to kiss your best friend? there was no way you had any sort of feelings for him. just a month ago you had given him a friendship day bracelet and told him how your friendship had to last forever or you would bite his nose off. so now why were you so curious to know what his lips felt like? you spinned around to see jungwon clutching his chest like he was a heart patient.
trying to push away the recent embarrassing encounter into the deep, dark pits of your brain, you walked up to him and stood silently, gazing at his lips. they were a light rosy shade of pink and looked glossy due to the coat of transparent lip gloss you had applied on them before coming to the party. they looked so soft.
you were shaken out of your thoughts when jungwon flicked your forehead. you gasped and clutched your forehead in pain, “ow, what was that for?”
jungwon smirked as he pulled you closer by your shoulders. “you seem kind of obsessed with me lately. those looks haven’t gone unnoticed by me you know.”
he raised an eyebrow cockily, “are you sure it’s not me you have a crush on?”
you sputtered and coughed like a broken car engine at his words. how did he already guess what was going on in your mind?
shrugging his hands off of you, you gave a firm whack to his chest. “h-how can you even say that! i only have eyes for heeseung, you’re nothing compared to him.”
jungwon snickered and just pulled you into his side, guiding you towards the table full of food you both had been eyeing. he leaned towards your ear and whispered in a low voice.
“i’m pretty sure we were about to do something else back in the game though.”
your face burned with embarrassment. nothing can save you now, jungwon was in his cheeky mode. he was oozing with confidence and you were blushing as bright as a beet.
you huffed in annoyance and pushed him away to speed walk towards the table. not bothering to wait for him to catch up, you picked up two humongous cupcakes, ready to stuff your mouth. suddenly, a hand came up to your shoulder making, you almost drop your food in surprise. thinking it was jungwon, you put the ugliest scowl on your face and turned around to face him.
“what do you-”
you paused midway through your sentence when you realised who was in front of you. it was a smiling heeseung, who looked smoking hot today. he had adorned a tight fitted black shirt with a grey patterned jacket and his hair was styled to show off his gorgeous forehead. you immediately dropped your scowl and put on your most charming smile.
“oh hey heeseung !”
his smile widened at your greeting but all of a sudden, his eyes turned dark when he looked at something behind you. you looked over to see jungwon standing there with two cups in his hand, his expression as cold as ice. they both were practically shooting lasers from their eyes and you could almost feel the heat from it. gulping, you looked away and tried to think of what to say.
“i have to tell you something important.” you blurted out. heeseung finally broke his staring contest with jungwon and smiled at you.
“sure, go ahead.”
okay, this was the perfect time to confess your feelings.
although, for some reason you hesitated before speaking. you could not stop thinking about what happened between you and your best friend today. were you doing the right thing or should you ponder on it more? unfortunately, one raise of heeseung’s eyebrow had you spilling everything out.
“i have a crush on you.”
is this how it feels like to have a heart attack? because suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore and your heart was pounding erratically. maybe it wasn’t a good idea to confess if you felt this scared after it.
before you could comprehend heeseung’s reaction to your confession, the feeling of something cold and sticky being poured over you made you scream in shock.
your mouth was hung open in shock as you turned around to see who the culprit was. it was the same girl with cherry red hair who had kissed heeseung on the cheek before.
“what the fuck was that for?”, you spat in anger.
she crossed her arms with a stupid smirk painted onto her face. “you were shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend, i obviously had to do something.” you were about to retort but heeseung beat you to it.
“lena we broke up a week ago, can you stop doing things like this! i’m so sick of you.”
lena just chuckled and shook her head frantically. pushing you out of the way, she walked up to heeseung and cupped his cheeks with her manicured hands.
“no baby, we’re just going through a bad time. we’re still very much in love with each other.”
letting out a tired sigh, he pushed her hands away from his face. “stop being so delusional,” he looked towards you with an apologetic gaze, “why would you pour your drink over her? she’s like a sister to me. that’s not acceptable..”
ouch.
this was worse than getting friendzoned, he sister zoned you.
that too right in front of his ex.
after you confessed your feelings for him.
you tuned out the rest of his words as anger bubbled up inside you. you knew you were not as delusional as the mosquito of a girl in front of you. heeseung had reciprocated your advances sometimes and had even initiated flirting with you. then why would he say all that?
a warm hand clasped around your forearm that was now sticky from the soda that was poured over you. jungwon pulled you towards him gently with a concerned look on his face.
“are you okay? do you want to leave?”, your face softened at his genuine concern.
a mischievous glint appeared in your eyes as you decided on what you were going to do. “give me five minutes jungwon, i'm going to make sure someone pays for ruining my dress.”
jungwon’s eyebrows raised as he understood what you were about to do.
you moved towards lena who was still yapping about how much she loved heeseung, and tapped her shoulder. she pushed her tongue against her cheek when she realised it was you.
“what?”
giving her a condescending smile you motioned towards your outfit that was drenched in the sticky soda. “you’re going to have to pay for the damage you did.”
lena scoffed in disbelief, “and what makes you think i’ll do that? get lost, don’t waste my time.”
she waved you off and turned back to heeseung . even though it was against your morals to fight with someone weaker than you, you were not going to be civil with her anymore.
grabbing a fistful of her obnoxious bright red hair, you yanked her towards you making her yelp in pain. turning her around, you repeated yourself.
“are you going to pay or not?”
she looked at you with a crazed look in her eyes. “of course not you psycho.” she punched you weakly on the jaw making everyone around you gasp in shock.
“you started this”, shrugging you let go of her hair and punched her smack on the nose, making her stumble backwards. a loud crack resonated throughout the room. lena shrieked in pain as her hands became red from trying to stop her nose from bleeding. one of her fake eyelashes(which was about half the length of your fingers) had fallen onto the floor due to the impact of your punch.
you pouted mockingly, “i guess you’ll have to get a nose job again.”
wiping away the blood from her face she charged at you with her fist ready to strike, but you easily grabbed her arm making her stagger to stop. you twisted her arm around till it was painfully bent behind her back. she whimpered in pain and tapped on your arm.
“ow please, that hurts.”
you scoffed, “this is nothing, i can do much worse if i want.”
she looked up at heeseung with pleading eyes, “h-heeseung please stop this psychotic bi-”
you tightened your grip on her arm making her groan out in pain. heeseung paid no heed to her words, in fact he was watching the entire scene play out with an amused look on his face.
you looked to your left and tilted your head at jungwon, silently asking him what to do next. he was watching you with a proud smile and nodded his head signalling you to do what you wanted. you gave him a thumbs up and returned back to your situation.
you gave her a firm kick to her shin, making her fall on her knees. she raised her free hand in defeat.
“alright i’ll pay you for the drycleaning i promise!”
you huffed loudly and left her arm causing her to completely collapse on the floor. you nodded towards heeseung with a blank face. “you’re going to leave him alone as well.”
she squeaked out a yes, handed you a fifty dollar bill and scurried away, probably leaving the party.
everyone else cheered loudly for you for standing up to her. you grinned and jogged over to jungwon and grabbed his hand, “how did i do?”
his eyes held affection as he looked you over, “awesome.”
that one word of praise cheered you up instantly, much better than any amount of ice cream would have.
you both were just about to leave the driveway of jake’s house when the shout of your name made you both halt. you turned to see none other than heeseung jog towards you with a set of keys in his hands. he held them out to you and looked at you with an unreadable expression.
“i think you dropped your keys behind.” your eyes widened and you grabbed them from him, thanking him in a small voice.
he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down, the action making jungwon’s grip on your hand tighten. “you were really cool back there. i’m glad i got to see you in action.”
you hummed, not knowing what to say. can he not read the room? it felt so awkward to even look at him anymore.
he cleared his throat and his confident persona dropped for a minute as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.
“actually, what i said back there about you being like my sister.” your head shot up at his words. “i didn’t mean any of that.”
he looked at his feet. “i only said that to get lena off your back, but if i knew you would’ve taken care of it yourself, i never would have done that”, he trailed off in his sentence.
jungwon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere, making you feel relieved as he questioned what you weren’t able to, “cut to the chase.”
heeseung ignored him and looked directly into your eyes. “well i don’t exactly have feelings for you right now, but i really want to make it up to you. you’re a really cool person,” he stepped closer towards you, “i want to take you out for dinner this sunday.”
you could almost feel the anger radiate off jungwon as he spat out his next words, “did you start finding her cool only because she beat your psycho ex-girlfriend up.” he scoffed, “you don’t owe her a favour, she did what was right.” your shoulders slumped at his words. is that how he actually felt?
heeseung rolled his eyes, “please don’t bring your jealousy into the middle of all this. she can make her own decisions.”
both the boys looked at you intently, waiting for you to make your decision. the urge to crawl in a hole and live there forever was extremely strong right now. you really couldn’t handle the pressure. wanting the best of both worlds, you said the first thing that came up to you.
“i’m okay with the dinner.”
heeseung ’s face brightened up in victory whilst jungwon dropped his hand from yours in defeat.
why was he so upset about it now? it’s not like you were going on a date with heeseung, he made it very clear he doesn’t like you. and why were you so adamant on making sure jungwon understood that?
being born as a dolphin would’ve been so much better at this point. at least you wouldn't have to deal with physics and this romance shit.
it was the day of the dinner and you were currently lacing up your doc martens on your front porch. you had decided to wear a black skirt with a white top and a dark brown coat since it was raining today so it was a bit chilly outside, even though it was the middle of summer. you had only just finished wearing your shoes when your phone started ringing, indicating a video call from chaeyeon.
you furrowed your brows and picked it up, “hello-”
“you absolute moron!” she screamed from the other side making you flinch.
“what happened? since when did you start insulting me, jungwon was enough-”
“this is about him! how could you be so heartless?”, she cut you off once again. you frowned, what did you do to him?
“stop making that face, you look like a pug,” she rolled her eyes, “why are you going out with heeseung today?”
oh so that’s what this is about.
you shook your head, “it’s not really a date, he just wanted to take me out to dinner.”
chaeyeon's lips formed into a thin line at that. “you mean my brother, who’s basically a casanova, is taking you out to a casual dinner?” she shook her head disapprovingly, “i didn’t think you could be so clueless."
you squinted at her in confusion, “just tell me what you want to. don’t beat around the bush. there’s no time for that, he’ll be here any moment.”
pinching her nose in frustration, she let out a deep breath. “jungwon told me the full story of what happened at the party since someone else forgot to.” you gave her a guilty smile at that. chaeyeon caught a horrible flu a few days ago, so you didn’t really get the time to update her on all this.
“he likes you a lot. he’s been hopelessly in love with you since the past five years.”
your jaw hung open at that. there’s no way your suspicions were right. jungwon actually liked you? you felt gooey and warm like a freshly baked brownie right now. you could feel the heat spread through your entire body at the idea of jungwon liking you, something which you noticed was opposite of what you felt when you were around heeseung.
“close your mouth, i can see your internal organs.” you really wanted to slap her right now because her sarcastic commentary really wasn't helping you with the whirlwind of emotions you were going through.
you let out a deep sigh, “i really don’t know chaeyeon. i feel so happy and excited at the thought of that? but also kind of scared. he’s my best friend, you know, i don’t want to mess things up.”
she shook her head at you with pity, “it’s too late for that, you already did.”
“what do you mean?”
“are you kidding me?”, she scoffed. “jungwon is competing in the interstate taekwondo championship today!”
you stood up from your seat in horror, “what! why didn’t you tell me before?”
she wiped her runny nose into her tissue and glared at you, “you’re his closest friend, i didn’t think you would forget something so important.” she sighed, “i can’t attend the fight because of my cold, but you should.”
the honk of a car horn made you look in front to see heeseung waving at you. you mirrored his actions and looked back into your phone. “there’s still time till the fight right?”
she nodded, “kinda, it starts in thirty minutes.”
muttering a ‘shit’, you thanked her for giving you a reality check. she only nodded and coughed into her tissue once again, “it’s up to you to pick between your amazing and sincere best friend or my brother who’s probably only interested in you for your fighting skills.”
nodding solemnly, you cut the call and stuffed your phone into your side bag. by then, heeseung had walked up to your doorstep with an umbrella in his hand.
“are you ready to go?”
your hands were sat on your lap as you watched the rain fall outside of the car window. you were sitting in a rather rigid manner on your seat as you listened to heeseung blabber about some olympiads he had won medals for. you felt bad because you weren’t paying any attention to what he was saying. you couldn't get jungwon off of your mind.
the warmth he made you feel everytime he smiled and when the dimples on his cheeks showed. the way your heart fluttered when you watched him execute taekwondo moves with perfection and the way his face lit up with joy each time he was successful. the butterflies that swarmed your stomach every time you hugged him or held his hand. all of this, you had been brushing them away for so long thinking that this was a normal thing for friends. there was no way you could be more than that. but now realisation seemed to dawn upon you; you had been in love with him all along, perhaps even longer than he has been.
looking next to you, you observed heeseung. he still made you feel nervous and excited, but you realised that this was a different kind of feeling. the kind you feel when you receive updates from your favourite celebrity. it was nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, the one where he was just good eye candy to admire. he didn’t make you feel the comfort and love you felt with jungwon. and you didn’t feel the same way about him either.
you have to see jungwon, right now.
shuffling through your bag for your phone, you frantically checked the time. you still had fifteen more minutes to go before his match started.
“heeseung can you please take me to x stadium instead? i’m so sorry, but i can’t have dinner with you today, i have to go.”
heeseung frowned, “what happened all of a sudden? is it that urgent?”
“yes it is, please turn the car around.”
he nodded, still confused. he was about to question you but stopped when he saw you hold up your phone to your ear, trying to call jungwon so you could tell him you were coming to his match. he received missed calls after missed calls from you, but he didn’t pick up any. his phone was probably with the coach.
soon, heeseung stopped the car at a red light right across the stadium. you asked him to unlock the car door and thanked him for the ride.
his eyes widened, “are you going to walk in the rain? it’ll just take me five more minutes to make a u-turn.”
you shook your head, “there’s no time for that, i’ll miss jungwon-”
“you’re going to see jungwon?”
“yes, i’m sorry for leaving you like this but i can’t miss out on his match. i forgot about it till today,” you sighed, “i also need to tell him something.”
you breathed out in frustration when heeseung just stared at you blankly, not complying to your request. reaching over him you turned off the door locks. you had just stepped one leg out when he stopped you by grabbing your wrist.
“i thought you liked me.”
you looked at him with surprise. what is he playing at? judging by the pissed off expression on his face you could conclude that he was jealous because you were ditching him for his rival.
you gave him a small smile, “i was wrong.”
slamming the car door shut, you dashed off into the rain and crossed the road towards the stadium entrance. you always found the main leads in movies crazy to be running in the heavy rain towards their lover, but you finally understood their situation today. a stupid smile was graced upon your features and you couldn’t wait to tell jungwon everything you felt about him.
upon entering the stadium, you immediately ran towards the direction of the changing rooms and were met with your coach standing in front of it. his eyes widened momentarily upon seeing you all soaked.
“y/n you’re here? what hap-”
“is jungwon inside?”, desperation laced your voice as you questioned him. he nodded, “yes, but he has to be out soon-”
you cut him off once again by thanking him and entered the room behind him. the slam of a door being shut, startled the man standing in front of you, making him drop the water bottle he was holding. he faced you with eyes as wide as saucers, clearly not expecting to see you here.
“you came? but what about your dinner?”
you paced towards him and smacked his shoulder, “screw that, why didn’t you remind me of your match even if i forgot?”
he winced as you whacked him once again, “you know this is equally important to me as much as it is to you!”
he caught your hand when you were going to hit him again. “i didn’t want to disturb your date, i know how badly you want to be with him.”
he tried to mask the hurt on his face by putting on a small smile, but you could see it in his eyes. “this is just one match, i would have told you the results anyways, you didn’t have to-”
you cut him off by grabbing the collar of his white uniform and smashing your lips onto his. jungwon froze for a few seconds but then slowly closed his eyes and cupped your face as he kissed you back. he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and moved his lips with more fervour. the kiss soon turned messy and heated as you both let out your years of pent up feeling you couldn’t say. his lips were cushiony soft and tasted like vanilla and peppermint. your brain felt like it turned to mush as you moved your lips against his addictive ones. damn, if you knew he was such a good kisser, you would’ve asked him out yourself long ago.
your knees were about to give out from the intensity of the kiss, so he wrapped one of his hands around your waist and pulled you flush against him. when you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore you pushed him by his chest away slightly, but he only chased your lips for more, muffling the squeal that came out from you with his lips. he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your nose, your cheeks and continued to pepper kisses all over your face, making you giggle in glee. he pulled away and held your face as if you were the most precious gem in the world. you felt your cheeks heat up as you looked at his lips which were swollen and glossy from kissing.
“i like you so so much y/n”, his cheeks bunched up and his eyes crinkle at the corners from smiling so happily.
you kissed the dimple that appeared on his cheek and grinned at him.
“i like you a lot, too pretty boy.”
𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr
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#ady 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀...👩🏻💻.ᐟ#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen oneshots#enhypen fics#enhypen fic#enhypen x reader#jungwon#yang jungwon#jungwon x reader#jungwon imagines#jungwon fics#jungwon oneshots#heeseung#lee heeseung#heeseung x reader#heeseung imagines#heeseung fics#heeseung oneshots#Kpop fucs
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five dates to fall in love


part one. part two. part three (here). part four. part five. part six coming soon.
pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader
summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?
wc : 2.7k
cw :actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), not proofread, descriptors of insecurity and stuff, internal struggle but nothing serious
a/n : finally... its here... sorry for this taking long, i was traveling for holidays and then classes started but its here! lmk what you guys think :3 this chapter is a lot chiller imo... just trying to set a Vibe of emotional conflict... ALSO im not trying to paint hyunjin as the bad guy.,.,, but i think its also important to show that people will form opinions no matter what and will inevitably pick a side. so yus...
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Tears cascaded down your warm cheeks as you tossed yourself in your bed, the frustration and anger you were holding back finally catching up to you as quiet sobs escaped your lips. You hated how horrible the feeling of pure anger, as it always felt you were on the verge of bursting at the seams from how violent and erratic the emotion was as it overran your body. You had no idea what to do with it, always allowing it to linger til it overwhelmed you to the point of tears and surrendered to its burning grip. Your phone began to vibrate, which your hand mindlessly reached over for and picked up without second thought, as you knew it would be no other than Chan calling you at such a moment.
“Y/N… Are you okay?” concern dripped from Chan’s voice, while all you could muster out was a muffled grumble as you stuffed your tear-stained face into your pillows. “Right,” he responds, acknowledging your groan, “Well, I heard what happened through Changbin, so I called to check in on you.”
You take a deep breath in to soothe your hoarse throat from your onslaught of tears, praying your voice wouldn’t be too shaky as you spoke, “Well, I’m upset.”
“I don’t blame you one bit, I’d be just as upset as you are,” he reassured you gently, “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you need some more time to figure your feelings out?”
“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning your face away from the pillows so your voice was clearer, “I don’t know how to feel. It’s just a lot. It’s such a stupid reason for him to have just been so shitty to me for so long. He literally could’ve just asked me or talked to me about it instead of assuming.”
“Right, I agree. Even Changbin didn’t know about that being the reason,” added Chan, “I’m sure he lectured him on it because that is a crazy conclusion to jump to.”
“And I’m even more upset that was the conclusion he landed on! Why did he just assume I’d do something so terrible? Why did he not consider that I was trying to help him secure the role?”
“Sounds like he has an insecurity issue, if I had to guess, but who knows. You have every right to be upset, but there is another pressing matter we do need to address.”
You sigh, rolling onto your back as you use your free hand to rub your temples, “Yeah, I know. As upset as I am right now, I do still want to keep doing this project, but…”
“But…?”
“I don’t really… know if I can do that because I don’t wanna see his stupid face or go out on any other practice dates,” you huffed angrily, feeling a bit relieved to verbalize some of your feelings.
“Well, I won’t force you to go on another date if you still need time to cool off, but maybe it will help you get used to seeing his stupid face after this. Plus, Changbin did tell me that you have permission to yell at Hyunjin if you wanna get that out the way.”
You let out a small chuckle, unsurprised to hear that Changbin said such a thing, “I’m not going to yell at him, but I appreciate the offer. I don’t know, I’m still really worked up from the whole thing.”
“Give yourself time, you can let me know in the morning how you’re feeling and we can go from there, okay?” Chan asks, the gentle tone of his voice bringing you a sense of comfort.
“Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks Chan.”
“Of course, take care, Y/N.”
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The next morning rolled by rather quickly and while it would’ve been a lovely day to stay in bed, your stubbornness caused you to find yourself walking to your third date of the week. You were still terribly upset at Hyunjin and forgiveness was not in the cards at this point, yet you had other pressing matters that did not allow you to wallow up in hatred and resentment for him. You had to set your feelings aside for a moment in order to make some sort of progress on this current acting project, as you were way too excited for how the final product would turn out and truly believed in the success of the film.
Although, you didn’t have high hopes for today, as you expected it to be a similar outcome to your previous dates. Today’s day was Chan’s idea, which was attending a local farmer’s market in your area that provided all sorts of family-owned shops to look through, including a variety of food to choose from. It was a bit last minute, but Chan knew your love for these small events, so he hoped this would bring you some joy, but also give you the opportunity to wander off from Hyunjin if needed, while also giving you both the chance to talk about something.
You were approaching the entrance to the park it was being hosted at, checking the time on your phone relieved to know you were on time. Honestly, while Hyunjin would probably be late once again, you didn’t mind the chance to enjoy bits of the market alone, especially on such a sunny day during these winter months. However, you were completely stunned to find Hyunjin waiting by the entrance as well, nonetheless waiting five minutes earlier than the time Chan had told you. He stood there awkwardly, both hands in the pockets of his coat as he bounced on the balls of his feet nervously, his eyes widening when his gaze finally lands on you.
You approach him with caution and a raised eyebrow, not completely believing the sight before you, “I didn’t expect you to be here so early,” you state curtly, trying your best to remain civil and cordial despite yesterday’s events.
“Well,” he stammered, his fingers jittering in his pockets, “I think I owe you an apology, and I thought showing up on time for once was one way to show that I am being genuine.”
“An apology?” you question, your ears not believing his words.
He sighs nervously, brushing a hand through his hair, “I have… realized I was entirely wrong about the situation, and I am truly sorry for that and for treating you so horribly the past two years we’ve known each other.” You wear an unconvinced expression, unsure what could’ve caused him to have a change of heart overnight, especially since he was just in deep denial the day before. He continues his statement after picking up on your apprehension, “I ended up reaching out to director Han about the situation and he… he told me how much you vouched for me when he spoke to you.”
You nod your head as you take in his words, “I see, well, I’m glad you’ve come to that realization and I accept your apology,” a hopeful look appears on his face, “But, I do need time before I can forgive you because the way you’ve treated me has really hurt me. And the fact that you thought I’d ever do that to you hurt me a lot too.”
His expression falters, but he offers an understanding smile, “I completely understand, I honestly do not even deserve your kindness right now, so thank you for being kind about this.”
You return his smile with a tightlipped one, still not entirely believing the sudden change in him, but you couldn’t lie, it did feel a bit nice to see him so timid and meek, and hearing an apology come from him did help loosen the knot of rage that laid dormant in your stomach. “Well,” you clear your throat awkwardly, trying to find a way to continue the day, “Do you want to head in?”
“Sure, lead the way,” he responds, his hands returning to his coat pockets as he anxiously trailed behind you. Eye bags hung on his face, indicating the restless night he had suffered due to the guilt he had been digesting since his phone call with the director. Hyunjin felt horrible after the revelation he had, feeling nothing but the heavy, deep seated weight of anxiety and guilt resting atop his chest. Even the sight of you made the feeling worse, facing the reality of how his actions have affected you all this time was a whole new hurdle he had to learn to conquer. The least he could do was try to be as kind as he could be from here on out, and brace himself for whatever angry slurry of curses you had for him, but how could Hyunjin forget?
The volatile version of you he had become used to these past two years was not who you truly were, but something he provoked out of you through his incessant insults and stale attitude. In reality, you were an extremely kind and patient person outside of the context of your relationship with him, and your reaction to his apology was evidence of that. He couldn’t help it, he felt like such an idiot for thinking you, of all people, would have ever sabotaged an important role for him, and he only further deluded himself in that belief by pushing you to the point of petty toxicity.
The best he could do was remain quiet as he followed your course through the various stalls, the shame only intensifying when he would witness your eyes widen with joy whenever you found an item that interested you, and how you even took the time to converse with each stall owner about their products. The genuinity in your nature was something he couldn’t believe he had denied for so long, disillusioned himself so far to have forgotten it. All for what? Because he couldn’t accept his own failures, or face the daunting insecurities about his talents that he held so closely to his heart? Perhaps it was your self-assuredness that caused a hint of jealousy to brew into this mess he had concocted today, your very confidence that struck a chord of envy within him. He didn’t quite understand what led him to act in such a manner, he could only guess why he was the way he was, but all he knew was that he owed you a lifetime of favors.
At the moment, he stood uncomfortably by your side as he watched you peruse through a few crocheted trinkets a stall had, afraid to disrupt the bits of peace you could’ve had with him tagging along. In all honesty, to an outsider, he probably looks like a child who got dragged along with his parents on a day out. You sigh as you place the trinket down, turning your head to catch his eyes darting around nervously, “Hyunjin,” you speak. He startles upon hearing his name, not expecting you to ever pay him any mind today. “I get this is awkward, but you can loosen up a bit. I don’t bite,” you chide with a hint of playfulness in an attempt to lighten the mood.
He lets out a strained exhale, acknowledging your words, “You’re right, I just don’t want to make you feel weird or uncomfortable,” he confesses.
“Well, I think staying quiet doesn’t help that cause much, does it?” you ask rhetorically before adding on, “It’s okay. Have you seen anything you like from any of the stalls? I really like what this one has,” you muse, a gentle smile taking your features as you hold up a small crocheted keychain of a jellyfish with a wobbly smile on it, “He’s kinda silly looking, I think I might take him home with me.”
Hyunjin lets out an airy chuckle, his shoulders relaxing a tad, “He definitely is funny looking,” he replies, “Ah, I don’t know. There’s so much here, this is my first time going to something like this.”
“Oh, this is your first time? You’ve never been to the farmer’s market ever?”
“Nope, never been, but this is nice. It’s a lot better than I imagined.”
“You’ve been missing out, I love going to these. I try to go every now and then whenever I’m free,” you took out your wallet, handing the vendor cash to pay for the keychain, “There’s always fun knick knacks here, and everyone is so sweet. You sure there’s nothing you wanna stop by before grabbing some food?”
His eyes scan the stalls surrounding you both, but you notice them lingering at a small jewelry stall that sold handcrafted rings, ones that definitely fit his aesthetic. “Come on,” you motion him to follow you to the stand, “Maybe you’ll see something you’ll like.” He follows behind you, still in a timorous manner, but you could see the way his eyes brighten once he realizes where you were dragging him off to. Although you were far from friends, it didn’t mean you weren’t aware of how particular he could be when it came to fashion, and you wanted him to at least get something out of today after suffering intense awkwardness.
It was now your turn to watch Hyunjin look through the assortment of jewelry the owner had laid out and of course, he was gravitating towards the silver rings, each with their own intricate designs that demonstrated the amount of artistry and talent the owner held. He looks overwhelmed with the amount of choices before him, indecisive as he holds two different rings in his hands, modeling each to figure out which one he liked best. “Why not just get both of them?” you ask.
“Both?” he ponders on the suggestion, “I guess I could do that.”
“Or,” you start, picking up a ring that you thought would suit his taste, “get this one instead,” you hand him the ring, a knowing smile on your face.
His mouth fell in surprise at it, slipping it on his finger as his eyes marvelled, “Wow, this one is so nice,” he mumbles while now placing the two previous rings away, “How did you know I’d like this one?”
You shrug nonchalantly, turning away from him, “You know, we were friends once,?” you remind him, “Just get it, find me by the food stands once you pay for it.”
He stays in his place as he watches you walk away, once more left speechless by your kindness as he begins to wonder how you were able to treat him as such. The guilt that made its home in his stomach began to rumble, the bitter taste of it overpowering his sense as he comes to terms with just how wrong he was all this time, and how awful he had been to someone as gentle as you.
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The day had come to an end, and surprisingly the latter half went better than either of you could have expected. In a way, it was like time hadn’t passed as you both chatted effortlessly over food from whatever food truck caught each of your attentions. You both caught up on what you missed in each other’s lives during your heated rivalry, and somehow, every part of the conversation felt natural, nothing felt out of place and it was almost as if the past two years didn’t exist.
It was incredibly unsettling for you, and you started to feel a bit conflicted on where your anger lied with the boy as the time you spent softened your heart. Although, you knew you couldn’t allow him back into your life that easily, as his behavior deserves some sort of consequences, so you decided you couldn’t allow yourself to surrender that easily. Not all because you found yourself missing the friendship you once had with him, that wasn’t a good enough reason to overlook his actions. You cursed yourself silently as you arrived home, yet there was a small voice in the back of your mind that tried to convince you that perhaps it was best to let this happen in the name of the acting project you were both on.
No, no, you remind yourself, he definitely doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or trust that easily.
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taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon @lestayzone @vixensss @cupidcures taglist cut off at 20 people :)
#cinnamostar writes#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz fanfic#skz imagines#skz scenarios#stray kids hyunjin x reader#skz hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin fanfic#hwang hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin#stray kids fanfic#skz angst#skz fluff#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#stray kids angst
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amortentia
Jude Bellingham story, action placed in the Harry Potter world crazy ass idea I've gotten in February and posting it now, yikes warning: smut (oh, but of course..) if there are any misspells - I'll fix them later pure fiction, I do not claim the background of the OG Harry Potter series by J.K.Rowling
As y/n strode through the long and darkened corridors of the east wing, she wondered if tonight’s cheek-on meeting would be the final one. The end of the semester was just one month away and it became difficult for her to hide her nervousness. She was a proper student, almost top of her class, but she was not much ambitious and bumptious to make it her educational mission to compete with other classmates. She was simply punctilious, exemplary and responsible. Traits she could not really attribute to her class partner, who was assigned to her for the semester paper for the Alchemy class. Her part of the work was done two months ago, while he found it difficult to find enough time to even finish the few opening paragraphs in three! The longer she thought about it, the more furious she grew. That’s what you get when you are being partnered up with a pompous Gryffindor. She hoped tonight he will finally present to her his finished work. Hoped.
Truthfully there were times when she pondered if there had been a misplace and Jude Bellingham should have been put in the Slytherin house instead those six years ago. He emanated elitism with his head always held so high and laziness when it came to true school responsibilities. Posh guy with a pretty face. A menace. She snorted.
She entered the empty classroom and shuddered when she felt a cold breeze flowing over her body. One of the high windows was slightly ajar. She was just reaching for her wand to close it in one swift movement, when a strange setup, few feet away from the windows, caught her eye. There was a meagre cauldron standing on an old and rotting stool, not a stove, not in a middle of a brewing process, still there was a gentle steam rising above it. She squinted her eye in scrutiny and without taking another step it’s way, took a long and prominent sniff. Mint, grass…
“Don’t have much time. My training starts in ten minutes” the silence and stillness of the room was abruptly interrupted. She jumped up in her spot and turned on her heel to meet with Jude’s tall and broad silhouette.
She realised the beating of her heart increased. He startled her, that’s for sure. Tossing his quidditch equipment on one of the tables he shot her a questioning look, before reaching under the vest he was wearing to pull out a few rolls of paper. Well, much more material than last time, she presumed. Most of the times she chose to scowl at him for being so frivolous and negligent, but this time she simply reached for the paper he handed her with just a quick glance at his face.
She hummed while scanning the text. Yes, there was much more work. But, not enough.
“The citation is great. Excellent choice of source” she murmured. Yes, in fact she was quite impressed. He did a marvellous job on picking the right books for those chapters.
“Yeah” he picked up with a intonation of awaiting for her upcoming criticism.
“The topic is profound and significant. You’re cutting the paragraphs before even delving into it. It’s very hurried and inattentive” her voice low and monotone as she voiced her opinion.
She did not have higher hopes for it, honestly. Maybe it was alright, but not living up to her projection of her final essay to be. It has to be proper and worthy of at least Exceeds Expectations.
“If it’s bugging you so much you can rewrite it as you see fit” he announced, leaning back on the table in front of her.
That is when she finally graced him with one of her scolding looks. She hesitated after spotting a lively glint in his gaze as their eyes met. He blinked quickly and it disappeared. She was startled by the fact that she even noticed that.
“I’ve done my part of the job. If I must remind you again, this is our work and it needs mutual effort” she voiced out, clearly emphasizing the last two words in case his bludger beat up head could not comprehend the obviousness.
“It’s only semester grade” he shrugged, one corner of his mouth slightly rising up as he gazed down at her.
They were few feet apart but she was small and his chin upturned.
“And it has a great impact on the final one” she drawled, feeling her fingers tingling while holding the papers straight.
First she heard him intake a breath, a pause, and then she heard his next words.
“Have you changed your hair?”
She stalled trying to process this unusual question. To her further surprise, she noticed his eyes wander as if inspecting the state of her hairstyle. There was nothing different about how it looked today, or was there? Maybe the wind travelling behind her back made it dishevelled and out of place. Maybe she presented a funny image of blowzy and visibly annoyed tiny witch. Maybe it amused him. She tried with all her might to not reach for those few loose strands framing her face.
“Are you mocking me?” she asked with her voice strained.
After this he finally looked away, clearing his throat in sign of embarrassment. Strange.
“I’ll just make a few notes on it for you to revise it” she muttered looking down on the paper and turning around to face the big marble table in the centre of the room.
Her eyes quickly glanced in the direction of the mysterious cauldron. It was still there, the misty and almost sparkly steam dancing elegantly and peacefully above it. There had to be a particular charm risen around it, she could see a fading mist shimmering in the sombre light of winters afternoon falling through the dirty windowpane.
“Be quick about it, please” he called from behind her and she rolled her eyes, bringing her attention back to the paper.
Moist and fresh scent of grass, warm essence of a minty breath, musk and citrus, leather… Her fingers stiff while holding the pen, she tried to focus on her task, but her thoughts and reflections were strangely disturbed. She felt bitter cold just when she entered the room few minutes ago, now it seemed as if someone has lit the fireplace. She pushed few strands of hair away from her neck, the heat started bothering her. Where did it come from? Another disturbed look at the cauldron in the back of the class.
“Are you done?” and once more she jumped in terror in her spot as his voice seem to appear just from above her head.
She turned around, not more than a one feet distance between both of them.
“Not quite” she spat bitterly, somehow feeling caught.
The scents… Stronger, occupying her senses entirely. She gulped looking up into his dark and demanding eyes. Something was off. Why would he approach her this close?
“Wrap it up, y/l/n” she observed the clench of his jaw as he chewed on a gum.
“Well, if you gave me some space…” she shot back, her voice coming off more gingerly than she would expect.
Suddenly he leaned in and reached with his hand to grab the papers laying behind her back. She shuddered at the proximity and in astonishment of such boldness. He did not pull back, simply kept looking at the paper.
“That’s incorrect, this reference is not about Aqua Vitae…” he murmured near her ear and she tensed as soon as the strikingly hot sensation flew from her left ear down her flushed neck.
She was not looking at him, her gaze fixed on a non-existent spot in the right side of the room. Her skin prickled with sharp goose bumps, her muscles weakening while she tremendously fought the tension building in the shaken limbs. She could hear the gentle rustle of paper and then… he hummed lowly in acknowledgement, still very close to her ear, and the sound of it rumbled violently in her own chest, falling lower down the centre of her body, and she almost… gasped. Her whole body tensed and her spine stretched sharply and he seemed to notice her struggle. What would happen if she looked at him now? She was terrified, but not of him, it was not about a male invading her space in such manner, it was about her reaction and willingness of it to proceed even further.
“What is going on?” he asked gently, still not a single part of their body touching.
“I don’t know” she aimed to shout it out but instead her voice came out husky and weakened.
He moved so he could stand in front of her vision, but she abruptly turn her head even further to the right. She was intensely shaking by now, she could feel the shudders radiating from her palms wrapped tightly around the edges of the table.
“What are we going to do about it?” he continued, his voice low and alluring.
Oh, was he…? Was he trying to…?
She took a big and uneven breath, her chest expanding desperately.
Still not looking directly at him.
It could be salvageable, if they part right now. Leave this room as quick as possible, without a single glance at each other. But Jude committed a tremendous mistake – he reached with his fingers for her jaw, turning her head delicately so she would look at him.
Oh, dear.
There he was, looking down at her, the deepest shade of black of his irises darkening even more as their gazes met, a gentle, little crease appearing between his brows as he observed her, trying to deal with the all-consuming sensation of absolute elation she felt as well. She was drinking him in, for the first time in her life so attentively, so… hungrily. She licked her lips as soon as her gaze fell lower to his and there was a ghost of a smile when he noticed it. It was bad. The temperature in her veins noticeably increased, she wanted to rip the excessive amount of clothing off her skin. It wasn’t them, it was the cauldron, the potion inside it, the essence of an aphrodisiac influencing their senses, hormones.
His fingers moved along her throat and she gasped. Her eyes landed on his face again, he seemed to consider their next move, gentle confusion painting on his features as his breathing increased while his gaze followed the trace of his fingers.
She wanted to. Should she? Could she?
Instinctively she rose up on her toes to lean into him, their lips inches apart and she actually hesitated in the very last moment, wondering if she wasn’t acting too forward. Warm, minty breath fanning over her cheeks. Jude was the one to close this last minuscule distance, placing his lips on hers, urgently, fervently. Her critical thinking abilities were silenced, any thoughts and warnings were blocked from her mind as she indulged in the pleasant feeling of his lips caressing hers in this mystifying state of elation. He pressed onto her, pushing her further onto the table behind her back, his mouth much firmer now as the kiss grew wetter, rougher, filthier. He bit her, she squeaked in surprise and pain.
“Oh, I’m sorry” he murmured, but there was not much of regret, rather teasing, and before she could make more of it, his palms disappeared under her skirt, unhesitatingly gliding up, resting on her arse just like that. She gasped as it was unexpected.
“And all this time I believed you were such a prude” he commented, definitely referring to the choice of underwear she was wearing. His warm, hot fingers cupping her bare cheeks, she almost smiled at the sight of delight painting on his face. He gripped her back roughly and she defensively put her hands on his chest.
And he gazed down at her, considering his choice of action, something close to doubt flashing over his face for a moment and that’s when she used her fingers to get a good grip on his tight sports shirt and sharply pulled him closer to her. They once again connected in a frantic kiss. They moved. His hands still placed on her backside, her front flushed against his. She gasped into his mouth as she found out about something prominently hard pressing against her stomach. Jude groaned in answer, apparently bothered that he was not meeting her in the place he wished to. She figured as soon as he used his grip on her to pull her up, to the point of her feet funnily dangling few inches above the floor. The pressure felt sweeter that she expected it to be. And everything turned on a quicker pace now. Sat on the high table now she rose her bum up so he could slide her underwear down her legs easily.
She was observing him. Jude was a handsome boy, she knew it all the way. She enjoyed glancing at him during moments she knew he would not notice, drawing her own conclusions about her colleague. He was smart, just unbothered, focused more on his sports career than education. She found pleasure in watching his fingers move along the papers while he was taking notes in class, the muscles on his forearms flexing. Or his back relaxing when he leaned against the chair, his thighs apart, legs spread wide. She accused him of ignorance a few times during the Defence Against the Dark Arts class and he turned his head to mock her, all the time wearing the smug grin as he bit back on her comments. She found herself tormented by the depth of his dark eyes. She remembered as he grabbed her wrist as she raised her wand at him, his grip firm and the spark in those eyes dangerous and… promising. He smirked down at her then. She wanted to spit on his face.
She now followed the movement of his fingers as his hands landed on the belt of his trousers. He stalled. A question in his slightly uncertain eyes. Lost. Unsure.
The pulsing in her veins warming her limbs, the pulse audible in her ears. A subliminal act as she parted her legs further, all the while looking into his eyes. She noticed him intake a breath.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked in a low voice. She payed attention to how his voice flew through her body, accumulating in one place. She loved the sound of his voice.
“What if I said no?” she hummed, actually fearing after, that her words would stop him. It stroke her deeply, that if he did not step into her to ravish her on that table, she would collapse.
Her pulse rising on the sight of terror forming on his features.
“I did, you nutjob”
“Who?” he asked much more at ease now, resuming on working off the belt.
“Not your business” she spat in impatience. He noticed her grimace.
He stepped closer into her, their noses inches apart. He smiled.
“So who, then?” he continued before she rolled her eyes at him.
“Jackson” she whispered and his eyes widened in amusement. She regretted telling him. Yet she just wished for him to proceed faster.
“Jackson Whitewheat?” he asked acting very much surprised “Well, not much of a challenge, I see” and just as he finished the sentence she realised he’s placed his fingers on her warm centre. She gasped in shock and the feeling of a violent pull that stroke over her muscles.
“Whitewheat is a twat” he whispered, his gaze focused on her face when his fingers kept on rubbing on her, she could not really fathom his movements, her senses fully focused on all the rough sensations taking over everything “I doubt he even knows how to handle a woman” he rasped into her ear.
She smiled.
“Do you know?”
In this moment his fingers entered her and she bit on her tongue, pressing harder into him. After another push inside, she could not hold it in anymore, she simply moaned out loud.
“I’m more into action, than words” before his lips trailed lower, down her neck.
A smart answer. As always, she though to herself.
She was feeling a lot, a lot of things she could not wrap her consciousness around. She begun moving against his palm, reactive to every change of rhythm and angle. Her hands grasping on every part of him, after a while she realised she started being more vocal. She could not care. She let herself fall into the depths of ecstasy that controlled all of her thoughts and senses. She tried to reach for the building pressure inside of her, let herself drown into this absoluteness. His smell… was everywhere. Prominent, overtaking, she was shaking under him, holding onto him. Magic tingling inside her veins.
Her gentle whines transformed into a rough scream as he pushed into her, stretching her much more than his fingers before. He entered her, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his middle and opened her eyes to look at him.
“I’m going to fuck you now, y/n” he was as much out of breath as her. And the glint in his eyes was feral.
Drugged.
“Any wishes?” he added softly.
She was so full, she felt the pulsing inside of her almost painful. Striking.
“Be gentle” she managed to blurt out, absolutely enraptured by the sight of his face in front of her, full of emotions, desire.
“I’ll see about that”
Prat.
He moved again, her hand squeezed on his nape. The table under them screeched, the sound of their hard breathing and gentle groans filled this abandoned chamber with life, the cold air warming with energy and magic they exuded. Her body itched wanting more. She could not reach it yet.
She mewled and tensed, making him slow down. She breathed against his neck, feeling overwhelmed. He drew into her gentler now and she hummed, feeling the pleasure intensifying. It grazed over her, she could feel the sweet taste of it on the tip of her tongue. So he continued like that, leaning back to watch her.
So she gave him something to watch, leaning back on her palms resting on the rough table top.
His name softly leaving her lips, making him grab her hips surely, his fingers harshly digging into her skin, but he did not sped up. He let her have it. So she hugged him, intentionally, making him moan. She smiled at it. He whispered something, she could not really make out what exactly, and when she opened her eyes to look at him there was something so strange she found trouble to name it. Delight?
She was close, she could tell now. And she guessed he could tell as well, moving his hand to where they were joined, placing his finger on this lovely little button, making her jump and whine. He knew how to guide her, she was reaching for it. Stronger and intense now, she awaited the powerful shatter. His low moan reached her ears and she realised he might simply get off on her pleasure. On watching her, feeling her orgasm around him. She wanted to have it now, yet she did not want all this to end. He pressed his fingers gentler, yet the next push of his hips was rougher and she screamed, her delicate muscles caging him in, closing on him, her outstretched hands shaking pressed on the table. Her body floating, her eyes blind, the only thing she could feel was waves washing over her over and over again. Moist, flowery and grassy scent lingering around her, her lips tingling. The room begun turning quieter, with only their slowing breaths audible. Another gentle breath and she tensed, scared to open her eyes. Why was she scared? What has just happened here? The room turned strikingly cold once again.
He stepped away from her and she nervously opened her eyes. Jude was fixing his clothing. His eyes avoiding her gaze. He seemed uncomfortable, just as she felt right now. Wetness pooling under her.
“I’m late to training” he simply stated and she nodded.
There was no reproach in his features, just tension. Few minutes have passed since he stormed off the room and she still sat there, on the cold and rough table top, her thoughts raging and battling. She gently turned her head in the direction of the big window slightly ajar and she slid off the table. Swallowing something sour down her throat she took a look at the cauldron, still present in this room, and took a step in it’s direction with a heavy heart. The familiar scents hit her senses back once more, paralyzing her with every other step she took. She realised her fingers started to tremble as she noticed the delicate, rosy and pearly glimmer. She halted in horror.
“Amortentia” she whispered into the silence.
~~
“Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. With addition of tribulus terrestris and a pinch of ginger, known as potent aphrodisiacs, can entail a strong craving and desire between lovers. It’s effect only encouraging the senses after application directly to the digestive tract. However, if mentioned lovers are already infatuated with one another, the simple aroma itself can awaken a strong arousal, since it is already mutual and existent by nature.” ~ October, Professor Forya, Potions class.
#football imagine#football fics#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham#bellingham x reader#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham one shot#jude bellingham fic
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Sober Buddies Ch.1 Help lines and cults
Summary: Y/n is new at college and trying to find a footing in everything. When she meets a guy who introduces her to something that could really help find her path.
warnings : Swearing
WC/ 2.3k
AN/ Hey Ya'll welcome to my serious I'm so excited to make this series. So it will use some plot lines from season six but a lot will change including CJ but his key character notes will still be there. Without further ado enjoy Sober buddies.
I got the divider from
Firefly Graphics
College, was an escape from my life at home, something I had always wanted. And in Boston: my dream since I was a freshman in high school. At Worthington, I had worked so hard to get here, and I finally did. It's about two weeks away from the start of school and today I get to check out my dorm that I’m sharing with two other girls- which should be fun, hopefully. I walked into the room where three beds were barely fitting together. I put my things on the middle bed when the door bursts open. “Uh, who the hell are you?” I turn and a pretty blond girl is standing there.
“Um, I'm Y/N, your roommate, nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand and she looks down at it like it was covered in shit. “Okay, I'm just going to assume that you're a germaphobe.”
“Don't mind her, she's Audrey, and I'm Joey.” This girl, a brunette, actually shakes my hand. “Y/N, I'm so happy this worked out!” Audrey looks confused. “Well, she needed a place and thought, why not us?” Joey explained to Audrey, who looked like you had killed her dog in front of her.
“I promise I won't be annoying. I will even let you have the first shower of the morning Audrey.” I tried to appeal to her queen bee side.
“Fine you can stay, but don’t touch my clothes, okay?”
I raise my right hand in the air as if swearing an oath. “I promise and cross my heart and all that.” Hopefully these girls and I can become friends and Audrey won't kill me in my sleep for accidentally grabbing her dress.
It had been a couple of weeks- and it was now one week before school started. Audrey and I hadn't really been besties, but Joey and I had a pretty great rapport going on. I was looking at my classes and trying to get a handle on what I should be studying, when Audrey came bursting in. “Omg oh my gosh, do you know where Joey is?”
I looked around. Clearly not, I thought. “I don't know Audrey, I think studying at the library, maybe.” Audrey sits down on her bed with a huff.
“Why is she studying? School doesn't even start for another week,” Audrey sighs. I knew that Joey’s English class was stressing her out.
“Um, probably for her English class, I heard it's super hard.”
“Right, little Miss Perfect does the super hard class and will probably get all A’s.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that this was mostly a projection of whatever had happened that she needed to talk to Joey about.
“You know, Audrey, you could always talk to me. I can guarantee you that I've faced a similar problem.” She gives me a dirty side eye but gives in.
“I guess since you're the only one here.”
“Great, I love being the last choice.” I set down my books and sit down on the ground criss-cross applesauce style. She rolls her eyes at me.
“Shush my problems, remember.”
“Yes, I do,” I reply.
“Well, I was at the bar with my boyfriend. His name is Pacey.” I nod my head trying to keep up. “And we were playing pool when this gothic hot chick came walking up- and this is the woman that he wants to live with!” Audrey threw her arms up in a dramatic flare.
“I'm confused, Audrey. Number one: what do you mean by living with her and two: why would that be a problem?” She looks shocked by my answer.
“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? She's hot, he wants to move, and she has space in her apartment.”
“Okay, but I'm still confused as to why it would be bad to move to a better place.” At my response, I notice Audrey is becoming more impatient.
“Because Duh! Y/N, she's hot!”
It seems like this girl has a whole lot of issues- but I'm not one to talk on that. “Look, Audrey, do you trust Pacey?” She doesn't even hesitate.
“Yes but-”
“There's your answer.”
“But-”
“But, you trust your boyfriend, and that’s what matters, even if the girl is a supermodel. If he's as good as you make him sound, then he won't even look in her direction.” Audrey takes that in.
“I guess you're right, you know, you're not half bad L/N.” She gives me a little respectful nod.
“Same to you, Lindell.”
School was happening tomorrow, and I had thankfully gotten all things done. Now, I had more time to get to know Jen and her grandma, who were really sweet so far. They are sitting at a table and I go to them. “Hey Jen, Evelyn.” I greeted as I sat.
“Oh please sweetheart, call me Grams, everyone does.” She smiles at me warmly.
“Okay great! If it's okay with you, what are we talking about?” Jen has no problem catching me up.
“Well, Y/N, Grams here has only picked up a math book because of a certain someone who teaches it.”
“Aww, I think that's cute.” Jen did not agree with me.
“l think it's a slippery slope. l mean, one minute you're taking an interest, and the next...you're sublimating your own thoughts and desires, and for what? For a chance to participate in the great patriarchal heterosexist fraud…”
“...that is better known as monogamy?” I answer in her pause. She gives me a quick look.
“ls that how you wanna spend your golden years? Folding some man's laundry and pretending to share an interest? l mean, haven't we come further as a sex--?” She stops and looks behind me. And she stares for a second.
“Hi. I'm sorry, are we bothering you?” Jen asked the stranger behind me. I got curious enough and turned to see one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. “Because if it's not too much trouble, you could get your own conversation.”
“No. Sorry.” He apologized but I had a feeling he wasn't done yet. “I've been sitting there trying to figure out where l met you before… and suddenly I realized I've never met you before.” I chuckle at that.
“Great. Well, I'm really glad that we got that figured out,” Jen states, blandly.
“I've heard you on the radio.” I knew he wasn't done.
“Jen, you were on the radio? I never knew!” I exclaimed while hitting her arm in excitement.
“Ow! And you didn't know because it's not important. And you.” She turned back to the guy. “Okay, you got me. I'm busted. l was on the radio. But I'm not anymore, so thank you very much for listening, and bye-bye.” She tried to end the conversation.
“So, did you get fired, or what?” The man continued.
“What is this, an interview?” Jen looks annoyed.
“I'm just curious.”
“Well, let's just say that l had some artistic differences with the new management.” Well, that sucks she had to give that up because of a dick in a suit, I thought. “Fine. Then we'll just say that,” Jen concludes.
“Fine.” The man replies. Then Grams comes in for the clutch.
“Excuse me, young man. Would you care to join us?”
Grams had gone, I assume, to talk to the particular professor teaching math. While the guy had joined us.
“I'm CJ.”
“Y/N, and this radio host is Jen.” She rolls her eyes and I nudge her.
“It's nice to meet you two.”
“You too, CJ.” We had gotten on the subject of where we were living, and Jen mentioned that she is currently living with her grandma.
“No, l think it's nice.”
“Yeah, that's what everybody says. ‘Oh, you live with your grandma. That's so sweet,’. How do they know l don't beat her and leave her tied to the radiator all winter?”
“Ah, so that's the screaming I hear when I come over.” I added in. CJ laughed at my joke.
“ls this a cry for help?” CJ asked Jen.
“Do l look like l need help?”
“No. Actually, you look like someone who'd probably be good at giving it.” Jen hears that and immediately gets up and begins leaving, practically running for the hills.
“This has happened to me before. This religion thing is not really–” She is already halfway down the stairs.
“Ha, just one Second CJ,” I say. He gives me a friendly smile.
“Sure.” I went after her.
“Jen, wait- we should hear him out.”
“Y/N, he was totally giving weird vibes. Are you coming?” I looked back and I felt something.
“I think I'll stay.”
“Well, call me if you need help out of the cult and remember nine for Joey’s surprise.”
“Gotcha.” With that, she leaves. I turn back to CJ trying to think of some good reason.
“Hey, uh, so she had to leave for a class.” We sat back down.
“No she didn't, class doesn't start till tomorrow.” I give a small smile.
“You're right, sorry.”
“It's okay I know everyone isn't for the whole ‘helping thing,’ but you're still here.” I looked around and he was right, I was, which was weird for me too.
“I guess I am- uh, you said something about helping people?” I question.
“Right- um… no matter how I say this I'm going to sound like a dork. Have you ever heard of The Stand?” He looks at me like he expects me to run away.
“No, no, I never have. I just moved here from Cali so I don't know a lot of stuff here. What's The Stand?” CJ gets this look of confidence.
“It’s a peer counseling program.” I think about it.
“So I help people.”
“Yes yes exactly! There's an information session tonight at seven.” He hands me a pamphlet on it.
“I'll be there and maybe I can convince Jen that this is not a cult,” He says, with a small chuckle.
“That would be great! I can't wait to see you there.” He pats my shoulder in a friendly way and he leaves. I felt a sensation of butterflies rising up from my stomach, but I quickly grabbed a fly swatter and squished them.
I had walked over to Jen’s house. “Hey, was escaping the cult hard?” I sat down on the couch laughing at her joke.
“Very funny Jen, actually he was talking about the stand. Have you heard about that?” She gives me a comical look.
“Yes, it's a call line where people call to complain about who's dating who and if the professor is going to give them an A or not.”
“I thought it was a little more serious than that,” I replied. “Well, whatever it is, I'm going to go to the information session tonight. You should come; if CJ was right about anything, it is that you would be good with helping people.” She sighs and glances down.
“Ok fine I'll go. We can pick up Joey’s gift after. And are you sure that you're not doing this just because CJ is ungodly hot?”
“No, I mean it helps, but he's not the reason I'm going to go.” I wish there was something like this when I was going through… no, I'm not going to think about that. I'm here to move on from that.
Jen and I went into the building and it was covered in inspiring posters and quotes. “On the nose much?” Jen commented, scanning the room.
“I like it, let's get a good seat.” Which wouldn't be hard. There were tons of spots; I guess the word didn't get out. The speaker started and I was trying hard to listen, but Jen- not so much.
“So as l was saying, most of what we do around here. is simply information and referrals. And 99 times out of 100 just reminding someone to take a deep breath and to keep on breathing is enough. Tomorrow will be another day. For you too. Which brings me to our number one rule around here: Never be afraid to ask for a hug at the end of a tough day.” At that Jen left. I leave my bag.
“Jen, wait, wait!”
“I'm sorry Y/N, I can't do that. If you want to stay, great, but I can't. I'll see you later.” She turns to leave.
“Jen!” I sadly go back to my space on the couch. I go to look at my notes when the space next to me gets seated.
“You came.” I swung my head and CJ was right there.
“Yeah, I did.”
“So, there's the coffee maker, and here's the mini fridge that definitely is working.” CJ tells me as he shakes his head, indicating sarcasm.
“Ha, and I definitely won't smell any weird smells from here.”
“Yes definitely.” We both laughed and I looked at the window and it had gotten dark.
“Wow, time really does fly.”
“So, what made you want to stay?” He looks at me with those piercing green eyes.
“Because I know a place like this would have been amazing for me when I was younger, so If I can help someone avoid those feelings that I went through, then I'm for it a hundred percent.” CJ heard me and truly felt I meant it.
“That's the same reason I did it.”
“Really? That's so cool!” I exclaimed happily. “So, what do you do for fun? I haven't been here for long, so if you know of any places...” He thinks about it.
“Yeah I mean the typical places like bars, clubs, parties.”
“Would you want to go to one together?” I asked abruptly which I never did, especially with people I just met.
“I totally would, but it wouldn't be much fun.”
“Why?” I asked. He hesitates for a second, pondering something.
“…I don't drink.”
“Oh my gosh, that's amazing!” I heard what I just said and felt embarrassed. “I'm sorry, that sounded super weird, but I don't drink either.”
“Wow, it's hard to find a college girl not drinking.” CJ searches my eyes.
“True, but it's what's best for me and I'm sure for you. What about this: we’ll be each other's sober buddies.”
“Sober buddies?”
“Yeah, when we are at the same parties, we’ll make sure the other won't even look at drinks.” He thinks about it for a second and I look at the clock. “Shit I'm going to be late and then Audrey is going to kill me.” I grab my stuff and run to the door but before I leave I turn back. “CJ sober buddies?” He gives me a smirk and nods.
“Sober buddies.”
I will get chapter two out as soon as possible thank you for reading!
#cj braxton#dawsons creek fanfiction#cj braxton x reader#cj braxton x female reader#cj braxton x y/n#jen lindley#Audrey liddell#Sober Buddies#fanfic writing#fanfiction#jensen fucking ackles#jensen ackles#supernatural
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