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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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The breaking point

Part 2 of Beyond the Limit (can also be read as a standalone)

Spencer realizes that being dominant doesn’t always require him to be rough, especially when he has complete control over your body.

warnings: (18+, MDNI) soft dom spence because there’s a lot of praising in this one, reader in lingerie, orgasm control or edging, overstimulation, reader gets cockdrunk (idk how to explain it better), a little cockwarming at the end

Words: 4,3k

a/n: this has been in my drafts for a while and i finally finished it, i don’t usually do a part two for my oneshots but…i’m actually tempted to do more

You were a tease—a goddamn tease. Spencer knew he needed to work on his self-control, but it was hard to keep his composure when you had the ability to stir desire within him. It was perplexing, given that there was a time when thoughts of anything remotely sexual never even crossed his mind.

For the majority of his life, intimacy had been a foreign concept. While he occasionally felt a pang of jealousy witnessing everyone around him find love, he managed just fine without it. He suspected it was partly a defense mechanism, channeling his focus toward other aspects of his life—such as his mother's health, for example—to avoid dwelling on what he lacked.

But then all his beliefs shattered when you came crashing into his life. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew about himself was thrown away. Your presence sparked a fire within him that he never knew existed and he found himself craving the intimacy he had once dismissed as unnecessary.

He wasn't even aware of how touch-starved he was until he met you, and now it was hard to maintain that last thread of self-control he possessed. It wasn't that he didn't want to give in, but rather, he feared the intensity of his own desires, afraid that he might enjoy it more than he anticipated.

Because did he have to be rough with you for him to be satisfied, now that he had once known how it felt like? But how could he indulge in such temptation when you looked so utterly beautiful right now, so delicate, so precious in his eyes?

How could he even fathom ruining your perfection with roughness?

"Spence?" You nervously asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Your confidence was starting to dissipate as his eyes slowly traveled down your body, taking in the lingerie you chose to surprise him. Although this was not the reaction you were hoping for. "Do you not... like it?"

Spencer's gaze lingered on you, his expression was unreadable for a moment before a warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"No, no, it's not that," he reassured you, putting down the book he had been reading on the bedside table before you walked into your shared bedroom. He reached his hand out, motioning you to come closer. "It's just... you caught me off guard, that's all."

You approached him cautiously and as you stepped closer, you noticed the tension in his shoulders easing, replaced by a soft warmth in his eyes. His hand found its place on your waist, drawing you closer and you instinctively fell on his lap, your knees dipping onto the bed on each side of his thighs.

Feeling his arousal right between your legs, you couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips. "So you do like it," you murmured, a hint of satisfaction lacing your words.

"Like it? Sweetheart, that's an understatement," he replied. His calloused palms traveled along your sides as he took in the way the lace material hugged your curves.

The lilac-colored lingerie set on your body accentuated your figure perfectly. Both pieces were see-through, granting him a glimpse of your chest and lower region. The delicate edges of the top were adorned with more of the soft fabric, cascading over your stomach and back in a gentle, stunningly pretty way.

"You're so beautiful," Spencer whispered as he traced the intricate patterns of the fabric with his fingertips. "Absolutely breathtaking."

His touch sent shivers down your spine. You leaned into him, relishing the warmth and tenderness of his touch as one of his hands moved up your arm before resting behind your neck, pulling you closer to him.

His lips touched yours gently, sending a thrill coursing through your body. He nipped at your bottom lip, his touch both teasing and tender and as he sucked on it softly, a low moan escaped you. He then deepened the kiss, his tongue gently pushing into your mouth, and you kissed him back eagerly, your lips moving in perfect sync with his.

When he finally pulled away, you were left breathless, but he didn't stop giving you attention. His mouth made its way down to your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin and you couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself to him completely. He then sucked on the spot below your ear, his lips creating a deliciously pleasurable sensation that made you moan softly in response.

You could feel his smile against your skin as he continued to travel further down, his lips leaving a trail of heat along your neck and collarbone. At the same time, his fingers pulled down the strap of your lingerie top, the material gracefully falling down your body, revealing more of your skin.

"Beautiful," he whispered as if it was the first time he laid his eyes on you, even if the two of you lost count long ago. His name slipped from your lips the moment his wide palms were pressed to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh and your nipples hardened beneath his touch.

Your mouth hung open in a silent gasp, and your breathing quickened in response when his thumb traced over your sensitive peak, sending electric sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. Spencer watched the way your eyes widened with desire, his own filled with a hunger that mirrored yours. And when he leaned closer, wrapping his soft lips around it, you were instantly gone.

The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, eliciting the most sinful sound you weren't even aware of making. It was like music to his ears, fueling his desire to please you even more. He continued to suck on your skin, giving the same attention to each breasts, his movements growing more fervent with each passing moment.

When he felt your hips bucking against his, he let out a low, guttural groan of pleasure. He softly drew back your nipple, your supple skin following his pull before he released it with a soft pop. Your skin glistened from his saliva, and honestly, Spencer had never seen such a splendid sight before.

The way you were grinding against him over his cotton pants frantically sent a surge of desire coursing through his veins. He could feel the thin fabric of your sheer panties pressing between your cunt, and with each movement, he could see glimpses of soft, bare skin glistening under the light, driving him wild with longing.

A primal need surged within him, a need to devour you, to lose control and indulge in the raw intensity. He craved to run his rough hands along your body, to explore every inch of your skin and claim you as his own. But he couldn't—not when you were the one in control as you sought pleasure in the way your hips moved against his.

So instead, his hands found purchase on your hips, guiding you to move faster. "That's it, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Keep going."

You obeyed, pressing your aching heat against his cock, rolling your hips rapidly as a whimper of his name escaped you. You felt yourself growing hot and needy, your arousal dripping through your panties to coat his flesh beneath you, soaking through fabrics.

"Look at how wet you are," he mused, his voice laced with desire as he observed your flushed state and the evidence of your arousal staining the fabric between you. "Does this feel good?"

Your only response was another desperate moan, your body consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of being with him. What started lazy and slow soon turned into sporadic thrusts as you tried to cling to any friction. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your body quivered with a delicious ache. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough.

"I need to feel you," you breathed out quickly, and before he could register what was happening, your fingers were pulling down his pants frantically. Sensing your desperation, he was quick to push the fabric down as his cock sprung free.

You bit down on your bottom lip as you lift your hips above him, taking him by the base with one of your hands while the other pushed the material of your panties to the side. He groaned when you pressed the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice. Spencer always made sure you were fully ready, either with his fingers or mouth—or even with your own fingers. But you were already wet enough, and you couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside you.

You nodded eagerly, the need for him overpowering any hesitation. "Please," you begged, your voice pleading and desperate. "I need you now."

Both of you watched in awe as his girth stretched your clenched walls, the sensation of being filled to the brim overwhelming your senses. It wasn't the first time this happened, but it felt like a new sensation each time, and you found yourself instinctively clenching around him, eager to feel him even deeper inside you.

"Fuck," you whimpered, allowing yourself a moment to adjust to his size. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as you squeezed yourself around him. With a slow, deliberate motion, you lifted your hips, feeling him ease out of you, only to lower yourself onto him again.

The sensation of him sliding back inside you made you gasp, a rush of pleasure washing over you as you took him deeper. His groan reverberated through your body, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. As his head fell back against the headboard, you couldn't help but whimper, the words tumbling from your lips without much thought.

"You fill me up so good," you confessed, your voice laced with desire as you rolled your hips against him. Your hands slipped under his shirt, feeling his soft stomach clench underneath your fingertips with every upstroke of your hips. "Take this off, baby."

With a low growl of approval, Spencer complied, swiftly removing his shirt and tossing it aside. Without hesitation, your hands trailed over his chest, reveling in the sensation of his smooth skin beneath your fingertips, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

He watched you intently, captivated by the raw display of pleasure that painted your features. The way your face twisted in ecstasy, the way your mouth hung open in silent gasps, the way your breasts bounced with every movement—all of it drove him to the edge of his self-control.

As you quickened your pace, he felt his restraint slipping away, the urge to claim you completely becoming increasingly difficult to resist. Each time you clenched around him, it became harder for him to hold back. And as always, you could tell. You could feel the tension in his grip on your hips, the way his fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive urgency.

You slowed your hips, bringing your hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at you. "You're doing it again."

His gaze met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and frustration. He knew exactly what you were referring to. "I... I can't help it. You drive me crazy."

"I know that," you responded, stilling for a moment as you kept him buried deep inside you. "I just need you to do something about it."

He slowly shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," you assured him, your voice filled with confidence as you leaned closer, bumping your nose against him seductively. "Come on, I know how much you want to be in control."

When he didn't respond, you pushed him even further, your lips tantalizingly close to his as you whispered your seductive taunt.

"I know you want more," you teased. "Don't you want to take control? Lie me on my back and fuck me until I can't think anymore? Until I beg you to stop while you use my body over and over again?"

"Don't tempt me," he choked out, his voice thick with longing and restraint.

But you weren't finished yet. "Yeah?" you challenged, your tone daring as you buried your hand in his disheveled, sweaty hair. "Then I dare you to."

You tugged on his roots.

"Fuck me, Spencer." You nipped on his bottom lip. "Fuck me real good."

His breath caught in his throat at your bold words, his heart pounding rapidly. With a shaky exhale, he met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter than ever before.

And then, in a sudden surge of boldness, he surprised you, flipping you onto your back as you let out an amused squeal. But your laughter was quickly drowned out by the heat of his lips crashing down on yours.

He kissed you feverishly, with a messy and desperate hunger that left you breathless. He clung onto you as if you were the very air he needed to survive. He was devouring you as if you were the most delicious meal he had ever encountered, and he savored every moment, every sensation, swallowing your desperate moans.

And then he pulled out and you whimpered at the loss but any hint of disappointment vanished as you watched him shed his last piece of clothing. Then with deliberate slowness, he reached for your panties, his eyes locked on yours as he dragged them up your leg, savoring the sight of the damp fabric clinging to your skin.

When he finally discarded it on the floor, he wasted no time in grabbing one of your legs. With deliberate tenderness, he began trailing soft kisses along the inner part of your thigh, each gentle press of his lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. Your breath quickened as you watched him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I'm not going to be rough," he whispered, his voice low and husky, his eyes never leaving yours as he planted soft kisses right at the edge of your drenching heat, teasingly close to where you craved him most. He then crawled over your body, settling himself between your legs, his gaze locked on yours.

"But I am going to use you," he murmured, his words sending a thrill of excitement coursing through you. "You'll let me do that, won't you?"

As he hovered above you, his weight supported by his arms, you watched a strand of his outgrown hair fall over his eyes. With a gentle touch, you reached out and tucked it behind his ear, a soft smile playing on your lips as you nodded in response.

"Say it," he urged. "Tell me you're mine to use."

You met his gaze, your own eyes dark with longing and anticipation. "I'm yours," you whispered, and when you felt his tip pressing into your entrance once again, you gasped. "I-I’m yours to use."

In one swift motion, he filled you again with a hard thrust that had you arching your back, a strangled moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you. "S-Spence..."

"Good girl," he praised, his words sending shivers down your spine as he kissed your cheek. His hips began to roll into you, setting a rhythm that drove you wild. "My good, pretty girl."

You whined in response, the sound music to his ears as he continued to thrust into you at a steady rhythm. He relished the way you responded to him, the way you surrendered to the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to use the way you were satisfied, to use the way you wanted him, to take you to the brink of ecstasy.

He wanted to use you in every way possible, to make you his in every sense of the word.

Spencer never considered himself a possessive person, but when it came to you, he wanted to be the one you surrendered to completely. And in this moment, he had never felt more in control. It was intoxicating, the power he held over you, the way you willingly gave yourself to him.

That was why when he felt you clenching around him, knowing you were so close to your peak, he stopped. He wanted to draw out this moment, to savor every sensation, every sound you made, every breath that escaped your lips. He wanted to draw out your pleasure until you were begging for release, until you were completely and utterly his.

"Why—" you gasped. "Why did you stop?"

He smiled down at you. "Because I want to make you feel good, Angel," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "And I want to take my time doing it."

Your head fell back, and you couldn't help but bite your lip to suppress a moan. His use of the term Angel always had a way of melting your resolve, and you knew he was fully aware of the effect it had on you.

"Be patient," he chided before burying his head in the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin gently. Then, he resumed moving his hips, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. It felt incredible, but you couldn't shake the desire for him to fuck you harder.

"More," you cried out, feeling as if you were in a deep haze.

"Yeah? Spread your legs wider then."

You whimpered at his simple command, your shuddering legs gradually spreading a few inches wider. It was becoming harder to breathe from the way he was pushing you into the mattress, but you welcomed the pleasure, craving more of him.

Your hands clawed at his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks from your nails as you desperately sought something to hold onto. The intense pleasure coiled tightly in your gut, making you feel as if you were gasping for air while your head swam with overwhelming sensations.

Your moans became more fragmented with every stroke of his hips, your thoughts clouded by the pulsating ache between your legs. All you could focus on was the overwhelming sensation building within you, traveling along your body. You were so close—and then it stopped.

It simply stopped right at the edge, and you couldn't feel anything but a raw need. It was incredibly frustrating as you caught him smiling down at you. You whined and bucked your hips, chasing the tight warmth you had so suddenly been denied.

Your breath came out in short, ragged gasps. "You're evil," you managed to say, your voice trembling with need. "I-I was so close..."

"Too soon," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed his lips to yours. "Just imagine how good it'll be once I finally let you come."

Spencer then slowly pulled away, his eyes tracing every detail of your trembling form—the way your mouth was slackened open, the way your hair sprawled across the sheets, the way your eyes fluttered closed yet struggled to remain open. He noticed them glistening with unshed tears, on the verge of falling, and a pang of guilt tugged at his heart.

He knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he couldn't help himself. He was simply using you, just like you asked him to. But seeing the tears welling in your eyes, a wave of tenderness washed over him, and he leaned down to kiss them away, whispering soft words of comfort.

"Shhh, it's okay," he murmured. Although his words were spoken softly, there was nothing gentle about the way he continued to fuck you. "You can take it. Hold on a little bit longer, I promise."

A choked sob escaped you as he pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, murmuring soothing words. One of his hands reached between you, settling on the lower part of your stomach before pressing down gently as he felt the outline of cock moving inside you. He let out a groan, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"That’s it, Angel," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "You're taking me so well."

You whimpered almost pathetically as everything started to blur. You were a sweaty mess, both of you were, his skin gliding along yours effortlessly as he continued to thrust into you. The sound of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room, so sticky, so messy, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

The throbbing between your legs was starting to burn, but at the same time, it felt so good—the way he was stretching you, the way you could feel him moving in and out of you. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, it was all too much but also not enough.

"S-Spence..." you whined, your head spinning with pleasure, almost too delirious as drool seeped down the corner of your lips. "Pl-Please, I-I can't—"

A soft chuckle escaped him as he watched you struggle to form coherent words. "Alright, alright, I got you," he murmured reassuringly. "On three now. Can you be a good girl and come at the count of three?"

You nodded weakly. "Yes, yes," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice filled with satisfaction. "One..."

Your breath hitched as anticipation built within you. Obscene wet noises filled your ears as he continued to fuck you, and with each number, his thrusts grew more deliberate, more intense.

"Two..."

You whined and he swallowed your moans, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. You couldn't form any coherent words. You couldn't even think. It was too fucking much and you were on the verge of your breaking point.

And then, on the final count, he drove into you with such force that it sent you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

"Three," he whispered as he pulled back slightly, a string of saliva connected your parted mouths.

You gasped, holding onto him tightly as waves of pleasure consumed you. Your senses overwhelmed, your vision blurred with white-hot intensity, and tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the edge of overstimulation.

T-Too much—You can't. You fucking can't.

The sensation never seemed to end and you found yourself surrendering to it, your mind going blank. It was as if you were intoxicated by the heady sensation, your senses dulled and heightened all at once, drunk on his touch. Your body felt so wet, so sensitive, so overwhelmed by the sheer force of your climax.

And when you thought it couldn't get any more intense, he proved you wrong by rutting his hips even harder with so much force as he chased his own high. He tucked his head in your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he moaned into your ear. With a few final thrusts, he drove into you deeply, his body tensing as he released himself inside you.

You were tired, so overwhelmingly spent, and as you both came down from the high, you gasped and trembled, your body finally relaxing from the pent-up tension. Your eyes felt glassy and unfocused, blinking slowly as you registered his murmured praises against your neck and shoulder.

He gently pulled away, and you winced as you felt him still throbbing inside you. Slowly, he searched for your eyes, his gaze filled with tenderness, and sighed in relief when you looked up at him with a tired yet blissful smile on your lips.

He smiled softly, relieved by your response. "You're okay."

You nodded, still feeling a bit dazed. "Hmm," you murmured, running your fingers along his damp hair. "I'm more than okay."

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You did so well," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I'm so proud of you."

You giggled. "Me? I never thought you could be tempted to do that so easily."

He chuckled softly, brushing his nose against yours. "You have that effect on me," he confessed. "Besides, it's hard to resist you."

"I am pretty irresistible, aren't I?"

"Absolutely," he replied as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. He shifted his weight and started to pull out, only for you to wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in place.

"No, no," you pleaded. "Stay inside me for a while."

He paused, looking down at you with a smile. "We need to clean up."

"And we will." You ran a hand over his shoulder. "Just... give me five minutes."

He sighed, his resolve melting under your pleading gaze. "Alright, five minutes," he agreed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "But then we really need to clean up."

You responded with a soft hum, snuggling closer to him as he shifted toward the empty space on the bed. With a gentle gesture, he pulled you on top of him, enveloping you in his arms as you sprawled across his body.

You let out a sigh, tucking your face into the crook of his neck with the rhythm of his heart beating against your own. And as you savored the sensation of him still pulsing inside you, you smiled peacefully—you have never felt so complete.

I'm tempted to turn this into a series of one-shots where he and Reader explore new kinks together... or like how they try to navigate their relationship. I'm really, really tempted.

#gifwriting #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction

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yuwuta · 8 months ago

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HOW DID YOU GET USED TO THE HAUNTING, THE WILLING, THE MISSING, THE WANTING — YUUTA OKKOTSU

content, warnings. more of the knight yuuta universe yippee. i got an ask about telling him he’d make a good prince and flustering him, and that struck something in me, though this interpretation of that ask is probably a bit darker/more serious than envisioned... i will publish the ask w the other version of this scenario too. unfortunately for everybody involved i was a theater kid and i did listen to cell block tango and the first half of hamilton before i had this idea </3 i’m sorry if you can tell

more notes. set in the same universe as this drabble, which are all set in the same universe as a full fic draft i have and would love to finish some day lol. anyway, say hello to the gojo of this au

You are not ready to be queen. As much as you resent your mother, your father, the elders in the cabinet, the system you were raised in—as much as you wish to be a ruler that creates change and peace in your court and kingdom, you know that you are not ready to hold that position.

It shows now more than ever, with your parents being escorted to a neighboring kingdom for a meeting, and you in charge of the harvest ball. There is china to be chosen, silverware to be polished, candlesticks to be blessed, gowns to be sewn, a menu to be curated, a ballroom to be prepared—and you are sorely behind on all of your duties.

A lackluster princess does not make for a promising queen. And distractions do not help you become anything of yourself.

“I do not have time to discuss the lilies Sir Gojo. I am aware they are drooping and that they are your favorite, but I do not control the weather,” you sigh, handing back a scroll to a maid before turning to your head knight.

“That sounded very queenly, my little lady! You’ve been practicing,” he towers above you, with a growing smile and little care for your position. He bends forward to press the tip of his gloved pointer finger to your nose, “I too mourn the lilies, but I am afraid I agree: we have much more pressing matters to discuss. Come along, shall we?”

You’ve learned to be wary of Sir Gojo’s words over the years. He often leads with a false timbre, or makes otherwise simple conversation into a riddle for his own amusement. Even as you’ve learned when to ignore his games, you’ve also grown appreciative of his light demeanor, and his insistence on speaking to you directly, rather than shielding you away.

You take his arm, looping yours through his, and allow him to lead you down the courtyard steps and into the grand garden. You put your trust in him, allowing your feet to follow the path he sets, and letting your mind wander. You wonder whether you should set the gold or bronze-trimmed plates for the ball, if the curtains should remain closed or open, if the embossed or embellished silverware would leave a better impression on your guests.

“Princess?” your knight calls for you. You focus your attention back to him, apologizing for your lapse in attention.

You expect a smile, perhaps another press to your nose and a light scolding, but Gojo’s expression is much more neutral. “Sir?”

“I said that Lord Hajime is dead. His court will send a representative to the harvest ball, but how would you like to proceed?”

“Dead?” your breath hitches momentarily, “Was he unwell?”

“I do not know. The letter gave no detail. I believe the court sent an apology for not being able to deliver a suitor as promised. The family wishes to keep this private until after the harvest.”

When you look up to him, you see no mischief in his expression. He’s serious, and you feel lightheaded, warm, and icy all at once. “I see,” you say, and pull away from Gojo’s arm, “Excuse me. I—I need a moment to myself.”

“You are sick? So suddenly?” Gojo asks, turning with your body so that his back is never to you.

“No—I… I… I need to be alone,” you confess, wrapping your arms around themselves, curling into your own body. Gojo stands firm, a short nod in understanding. He raises his hand to make a signal; an order for the knights on the periphery who can see but not hear.

You smile, small, grateful for him. “Please, arrange our finest favors, and ask Ieiri for her favorite elixir.”

Gojo’s smile reflects yours, albeit stained with more sympathy. “Of course.”

“And tell the maids that I shall postpone the table placements until tomorrow morning. Should you find yourself with time to spare, let me know if you prefer the bronze to gold trim.”

Gojo nods, taking a half-step to stand in front of you. In times like these, you feel like the little princess under his watch and care from when you were younger. His presence is frightening, overwhelming, and yet, more comforting and welcoming than your own parents.

Carefully, he leans down to whisper, “Yuuta and his fleet have not yet returned, he will not be in the knight’s chambers. I will send him to you when he arrives.” You blink in sudden awe, and Gojo smiles, reaches for your hand and raises it to his lips to press a chaste kiss, “Do not regret too long, princess.”

You hear him before you see him. It’s a bad habit for a knight, you think; you can always hear or feel where Yuuta is, even if you can’t see him. You think he ought to be more stealthy, more secretive, quieter; but then again, you don’t. He reserves plenty of stealth for his motives, stores plenty of secrets in his mind, keeps his words quiet or has a way of keeping other people’s quiet.

The throne room is cold. It’s your least favorite room in the castle, but tonight, you hope it inspires you.

You don’t sit on your throne, you don’t sit on your mother’s or your father’s; you don’t sit at all. You stand, at the top of the stairs, staring at the seats and the tapestry and the paintings of your forefathers that decorate the backdrop. Behind you, at the base of the stairs, Yuuta kneels. You don’t need to see him to know; you can feel it on your palms with your hands behind your back; you can see it in the eyes of your grandfather’s portrait, you can hear it in the way his knee hits the carpet.

“You may stand.”

“I shouldn’t, my lady,” Yuuta replies, “Not here.”

“You do many things you shouldn’t,” you sigh, steady, “Stand, Yuuta.”

You hear the metal of his armor rustle against itself. You can feel when he stands; it feels like he’s right behind you, even though you know he’s ten steps below you.

You inhale, slowly; exhale, slowly. Clench your hands behind your back, and then relax your shoulders the way you’ve seen your grandfather do. Then, you speak. “Lord Hajime is dead.”

You turn, slowly, and wait until your cape has finished its turn, has settled behind you again before you speak again; a tactic your grandmother was fond of. “Lord Hajime is dead,” you repeat, “He is dead, and I asked you not to kill him.”

Yuuta looks up to you. Neck craned, hands neatly behind his back, his helmet on the carpeted floor to his left. He does not look small.

You take a step downwards. “I said this is not how I wanted matters to be resolved.” Another step down, a pause, then repeat, “I said that I do not wish to resort to violence.” Another step down, a pause, “To resort to murder.” Another step down, hurried, “I stood under my balcony,” another step, “and I told you not to murder Lord Hajime. I told you not to kill him,” another step; a pause, hysterical, “And yet Lord Hajime is dead. He is dead because—”

“I did not kill him.”

You pause your descent, four steps above Yuuta. You are only half a head taller than him like this. At this distance you can see the gray of his irises, wide and speckled with brown, without a shred of remorse pooling within them. It makes you sneer.

“You expect me to believe that it is a coincidence that a fortnight after I catch you on your way to murder Lord Hajime, that he dies?” you question, rhetorical, “I am naive, but I am not a fool, Yuuta.”

“You are no fool, my princess, and Lord Hajime was no saint,” Yuuta shakes his head, “He was a tyrant. He took three wives prior and treated them all as whores. He alone was responsible for the destruction of the crops in the north. He had only himself to blame.” Yuuta pauses, and you see something melt behind steely eyes. “It was a murder, yes, but not a crime.”

Yuuta’s lips wobble slightly, but the rest of him remains upright. It always goes like this: first his head, then his heart, then his body following—in everything he does. You blink, slowly, and take another step down; eye-level with Yuuta at this height.

“You did not kill him,” you repeat, leveled with revelation, “You just gave the order.”

Yuuta’s eyelids fall slowly, then his head follows in a shallow nod. He keeps his neck bent, keeps his head hung in front of you. You sigh.

“Who was it this time,” you ask. He does not raise his head; you do not wait for him to speak, you dip your head so that your lips are level with his ears. “Megumi? Surely he would have hated the way Lord Hajime treated his livestock. Maybe Yuuji—he has been impatient to prove himself since recovering from his last injury. Or perhaps Toge, he would’ve done it swiftly in his sleep, without a sound.”

Yuuta keeps his gaze on the floor, keeps his words quiet. “Nobara.”

“Dame Nobara, who strives to replace you as my first blade?” you question, “What, as some kind of test of loyalty to you?”

Yuuta raises his head, eyes stern, brows drawn. “No, princess. To you.”

You freeze. Your anger flares, and then subsides to only weak embers as you understand Yuuta’s motives, and Sir Gojo’s final words to you. You’re careful when you reach forward to brush your knuckle against Yuuta’s cold cheek, only the kiss of a touch between your finger and his face; even, still, he shudders, and you watch him melt from head to toe; from his eyebrows to his eyes to his lips to his shoulders to his knees.

“You are disobedient, and indignant, and ruthless,” you list, voice soft, touch softer as you allow your fingers to graze the top of his ears, adoring the flush that follows, “And kind, and careful, and charming.”

You watch the color stain Yuuta’s cheeks and his ears, you revel in the pout on his lips, and the effort of his breathing. You only wish he were this easy to tame all the time.

Still, he precious to you, so you are careful when you raise your opposite hand to his face, taking advantage of the difference in your status and stature to tilt his head upwards, lean down and press your words against his cheek, “You would make for a lovely prince,” you tell him, “The people would love you. Our enemies would fear you. The soldiers would respect you.” The kisses between your sentences are featherweight, trailed from the high point of his cheekbone to the corner of his lips.

You can feel him quiver when you pull back, moving a palm back to his cheek to pinch his skin between your thumb and forefinger, “If only you knew how to listen.”

Yuuta winces, but he does not pull away. He parts his lips to steady his breath, and then to speak, strained, “Please, princess. Have mercy.”

And for the first time in a fortnight you smile, watching splotched skin stain your knight’s cheeks when you soften your hold on him. You pull Yuuta’s head up further, lean yours down for a careful kiss; short, chaste, the kind you know he hates the most.

“Oh, Yuuta,” you coo, grazing your thumb against his face, endeared by his wide eyes and quiet whimpers, “This is mercy.”

399 notes · View notes

starsstuddedsky · 2 years ago

Text

Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?

genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is

warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any

wc: 18.3k (oops)

a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)

You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink.

There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.”

You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.”

“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”

“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture.

It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try.

Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead.

“That looks like shit.”

“Trust the process,” he says.

“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?”

“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?”

“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit.

“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved.

“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?”

“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag.

“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack.

“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.”

“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?”

You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.”

“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically.

Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.”

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him?

“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic).

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know that?”

His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?”

You don’t trust your voice so you nod.

“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all.

“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does.

You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back.

Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush.

The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can.

By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break.

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.”

“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere.

“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag.

“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once.

It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away.

You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute.

Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can.

Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms.

A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops.

Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?).

“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.”

Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind.

“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him.

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.”

“You can just call me YN,” you mumble.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes.

The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.”

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly.

“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says.

“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you.

“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point.

“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says.

“Did you need a handshake?”

He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed.

“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else).

“Advice?”

“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?”

“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.”

You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?”

“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets.

President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position.

“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at.

“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council.

“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder.

“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?”

Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him.

“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.”

He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.”

“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse.

“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.

But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy.

You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone.

“Are you following me?”

Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.”

“As opposed to by myself at the table?”

He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.”

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.”

“You could–”

“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you.

“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?”

“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him.

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?”

“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.”

“Not yet.”

Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.”

“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!”

“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.”

“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense.

“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.”

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.”

“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you.

What just happened?

Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?”

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?”

Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.”

You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss.

“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun.

“He wants to be president.”

“Of student council?”

“Apparently.”

“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you.

“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!”

Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear.

For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up.

[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin.

You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you.

Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety.

You should have trusted your gut.

You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance.

In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester.

You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.”

Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.”

“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.”

He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.”

You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.

Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?

“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says.

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other.

Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on.

“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper.

Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.”

“Are you even passing this class?”

Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades.

Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.

Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again.

Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class.

Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do.

But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale.

Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something.

“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.”

You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”

“I always do it!” Renjun says.

“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.”

“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.”

“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.”

Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you.

“What do you normally do during break?” You ask.

Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you.

You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?”

“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.”

You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.”

Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand.

You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.”

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would.

He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.”

“Really?” You frown. “Why?”

“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.”

“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows.

“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.”

Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back.

“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.”

“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.”

Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you.

So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone.

“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?”

“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you.

Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.”

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.”

“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen.

The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop.

A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.”

“That’s so much work.”

“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage.

“You okay?” Chenle shouts.

“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you.

He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you.

“So,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?”

“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did.

“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him?

“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.”

“And if I ask you?”

Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.”

“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops.

Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”

“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”

“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin.

“I heard he’s running for president.”

“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily.

“Why are you helping him?”

“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?”

“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says.

“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”

“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.”

“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say.

“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.”

“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.”

“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.”

“You don’t have the power to do that.”

He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?”

You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises.

He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing.

“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room.

You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out.

You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning.

[Na Jaemin] you busy?

For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes.

You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications.

Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait.

But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications.

The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not.

You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.”

“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.”

Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?”

You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it.

“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.”

You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?”

“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.”

“Don’t you have a lab partner?”

“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.”

“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach.

“So are you free?”

Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now.

“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?”

“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?”

“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.”

“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.”

“Bye, Jaemin.”

The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate.

Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way!

Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med.

Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up.

The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage.

“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?”

“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!”

You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene.

“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!”

“Well, you’re not physically possible!”

“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.”

“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle.

“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it.

Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops.

“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.”

“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.”

Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.”

“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications.

[Na Jaemin] in the library [Na Jaemin] lost in the library [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs

[yn] need me to come find you?

[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please)

“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting.

“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.”

“Why?”

Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?”

“Is there any other?”

“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.”

“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation.

“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”

“That’s not at all what I want.”

“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.”

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly.

He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever.

“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more.

[yn] on the way now 👍

Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.”

You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.”

Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought.

Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies).

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone.

“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.”

“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness.

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.”

Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.”

“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.”

“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.”

You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering.

Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.”

“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work.

“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for.

“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.”

“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly.

“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.”

“How come?”

“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.”

“Fresh-tern?”

“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not.

“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says.

“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?”

He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.”

You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him?

You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash.

“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information.

Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.”

“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes.

“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.”

“None of you are poli-sci?”

“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.”

“You really hate them?”

“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory.

“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.”

“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?”

“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.”

“No!”

“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.”

“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you.

Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it.

You eye him. “Do you even need these?”

“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile.

“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there.

That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot.

“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots.

At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces.

“What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts.

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts.

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout.

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts.

“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’”

“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol.

“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?”

“Professor Ahn,” she says.

“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.”

She smiles even wider. “Really?”

You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge.

The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name.

Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute.

You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave.

Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards.

You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms.

“Jaemin.” You grin at him.

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny.

But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips.

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.”

You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.”

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee.

You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.”

He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?”

“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting.

Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers.

Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways.

Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.

Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side.

“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word.

Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass.

“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone.

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.”

You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round.

Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps.

Yeah, you’re definitely staring.

Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist.

“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music.

You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.”

Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?”

“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours.

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free.

He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk.

The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty.

Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away.

The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights.

You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back.

The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from?

So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters.

Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.”

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?”

“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked.

“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out.

He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something.

“You feeling okay?”

It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.”

Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?”

“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.”

“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?”

“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.”

“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?”

“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like?

“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it.

“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?”

You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.”

Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?”

“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry.

“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.”

You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?”

Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost.

“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up.

“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says.

“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?”

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?”

You shrug. “It’s fun.”

“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries.

“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!”

Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves.

Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all.

He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?

“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.”

“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes?

“What?”

He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.”

You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard.

The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too.

“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it.

“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?”

“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he.

“Take me home?”

He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.”

You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling.

The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his.

“Goodnight, YN,” he says.

No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?”

He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.”

You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.

Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed.

“I don’t normally have company,” you explain.

“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?”

You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.”

“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear.

You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total.

“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.”

“The one in red?”

You nod.

Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit.

Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it.

You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him.

He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest.

Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily.

“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.”

You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?”

Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it.

He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?”

[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3

You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been.

No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours.

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin.

“Hey,” Renjun says.

“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching.

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.”

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?”

“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.”

You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.”

“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.”

“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen.

Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time.

An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up.

“God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila.

“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.”

“Do you want toast?” You offer.

He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely.

“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”

“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?”

“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face.

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small.

He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen.

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first

2) he pretended not to know you were running

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone

4) he never belonged in your world

The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand.

Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.”

“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute.

“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.”

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.”

“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?”

“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.”

You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.”

“Okay, I’m not understanding.”

“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”

“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.”

“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.

“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.”

“That would be too easy,” you mutter.

Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you say.

“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.”

You snort.

“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.”

You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?”

Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.”

You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart.

It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start.

Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart.

“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–”

“Did you know that I was running for president?”

Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”

“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white.

He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.”

“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.”

Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob.

Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat.

Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out.

But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all.

And today, Chenle got a puppy.

She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet.

“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed.

“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly.

“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!”

“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.”

“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!”

“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!”

You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?”

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.”

“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head.

“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.”

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand.

“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter.

Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.”

“What are you talking about?” You eye him.

“How was the sex?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.”

Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.”

“That’s not at all what I said.”

“And yet you’re not denying it.”

“Please shut the fuck up.”

For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you.

“Just tell me.”

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.”

“Of school?”

He rolls his eyes. “The election.”

You stare at him. “Seriously?”

“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email.

“But it doesn’t make any sense.”

Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?”

You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze.

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?”

“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.”

You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain.

“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’”

Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize.

And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming.

How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol.

“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.”

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?”

“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.”

Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!”

Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung.

“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says.

“You better be fun, then,” you say.

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in.

The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines.

When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this.

You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go.

He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing.

“Hi,” you say.

He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?”

An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?”

He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?”

You shake your head.

“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest.

When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you.

But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.”

He nods slowly.

“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.”

Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?”

“Do you?”

He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you.

“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me.

“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.”

Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.”

He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?”

You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy.

“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.”

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.”

“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his.

“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?”

“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.”

He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.”

You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?”

“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.”

You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.”

“They really don’t like me,” he says.

You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist.

“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask.

He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s).

Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound.

You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.”

“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident.

“What’re you doing?”

“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist.

“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.”

“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek.

“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.

“Good answer,” you say.

He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.”

“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?”

He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early.

“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball.

“A persimmon?”

“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.”

You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding.

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says.

“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.”

He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.”

“Jay-Z?”

“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.”

You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.”

“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?”

Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him.

“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.”

thank you for reading!

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct fluff #nct angst #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst

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tojiscumdumpster · 1 year ago

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⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ knockout x renji abarai

✧ summary there’s no better way for renji to celebrate a big win than to spend the night with y/n.

✧ content warnings reader described as a black woman who uses she/pronouns. feisty!reader, chubby!reader x undergroundfighter!renji. modern au — no bleach verse. told in first POV — renji’s. mentions of stitches and bruises. usage of profanity, praise kink, cowgirl position, nipple play, facefucking — renji will finish in reader’s, squirting. terms of endearment — baby, sweetheart, angel, etc. reader and renji are in their late twenties.

✧ author’s note hello, hello. i am here with a fic that’s not jjk for once in my life, lmfao. this idea has been in my drafts since january 2023, and it was just sitting there collecting dusts on my old tumblr. but i said i was going to do more bleach characters, so here we go. first time writing renji, so if this ain’t how you see him, oops. still enjoy. also didn't really focus on the underground!fighter portion as much. but maybe i will if there's a next time. support me by liking, commenting, and reblogging this post. i would greatly appreciate it. AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND MINORS— DO NOT INTERACT.

I know she told me not to come by after the fight, but I needed to.

I won.

I fucking won, and there’s no other way for me to celebrate winning ten thousand dollars than to be with Y/N.

Well, that’s if she’s still not mad at me.

Before I left for my match, we got into an argument. A huge one. She doesn’t like that I fight for a living, let alone illegal underground fighting. I mean—I get it. Seeing someone you care about constantly getting his ass beat isn’t a sight worth seeing.

But fighting is all I know.

I had a shitty childhood. Didn’t know who the hell my parents were since they gave me up at birth for adoption. Jump around in foster care homes until the mothers got sick of me and kicked me out in the streets. Survival was basically forced on me.

Fighting is what kept me alive. For food. Clothes. A place to lay my head. Whether I lost or won, I know the reason why I’m alive today is because I’m a fighter.

It wasn’t until I was eighteen when I found out about the world of underground fighting. Ten years deep and I know nothing else.

Y/N knows this about me. She understands I didn’t have it easy and never judged me. But that doesn’t mean she agrees with my lifestyle.

She came to a few fights in the beginning. Eventually, she got tired of seeing me stitched up almost every weekend.

Shit, me too.

However, after tonight, I feel good about my future wins. I busted my ass in training, so now I don’t have to hear shit about anymore losses.

Even if right now I’m stitched up and have a black eye. I feel good.

Great.

Better if Y/N opens the door after keeping me waiting out in the cold for the past ten minutes.

I know she’s awake. She has a habit of staying up late, studying for med school. And plus, I haven’t messaged or called her yet. Despite her not showing up to my fights, she still wants an update afterwards that I made it out alive.

“Y/N, let me in,” I say, knocking loudly on her apartment door. “You know I don’t care about making a scene.”

After a few more obnoxious knocks, the door finally swings open and I am met with deep russet skin, tight curls, and chocolate-colored eyes that pierce an annoyed look in my direction.

“What do you want?” She bites out. “I’m busy.”

I smirk and hold the bag of money in the air. “I won.”

“Congrats.” Her tone is flat and she tries to slam the door in my face, but I placed my foot to stop it from closing. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Are you really still mad at me?” I teasingly ask.

“You won. I said congrats. What more do you want?”

I shrugged. “I’m locked out of my apartment.”

She arches a brow at me, already recognizing my bullshit ass excuse of being locked out of my apartment.

Y/N knows me. She knows I would do anything to be in her presence, so going back and forth in forty degree weather is pointless.

Her pretty brown hues travels across my face and body, examining the stitches and bruises that probably has her wondering, who the fuck treated him?

Me. But that’s besides the point.

A deep sign escapes her mouth when she realizes I’m not going anywhere until she lets me in, so she opens her door wider and turns her back to me to walk further inside her apartment.

“Sit,” she orders, which I happily do so while chuckling to myself.

While Y/N goes to the bathroom (assuming she’s getting a med kit to fix my shitty patch job), I take advantage of staring at her round ass that’s barely covered in those tiny boy shorts. Every step she takes it jiggles, creating an ocean of waves I’m eager to swim in.

I get comfortable while I wait, taking off my skully, sweater, and any other form of heavy clothing that would cause me to sweat in her heated apartment.

“I’m going to start charging you if you keep fucking coming to my apartment like this, Renji,” Y/N snapped, walking with the kit in her hand as expected.

“Outside of paying for your tuition, I can think of other ways to repay you.”

She rolls her eyes at my suggestive comment. “Get over yourself, Abarai.”

I let out a snort before she stands in front of me and tilt up my chin to start making work on my face.

She’s cute when she’s mad. Huffing and puffing while whispering slick comments under breath. But how she’s handling my face by moving it around with force rushes blood straight to my groin.

I’m getting hard.

Hard as shit, and it’s not helping that I’m in close proximity with her.

That jasmine lavender scent that circulates through my senses. Looking up at her full lips that’s coated with gloss. Then, lowering my gaze to her tits that’s big, naturally saggy, and pretty. My mouth is watering at the sight of her nipples hardening.

And I don’t know if it’s because she feels that I��m checking her out or the coldness outside is affecting her.

Either way, I’ll act on it.

Taking it upon myself, I grab the back of her thighs to pull her on my lap. As if she’s used to my antics, it doesn’t catch her off guard and she continues to clean up my wounds.

“You’re all bloody up with a black eye and somehow you still have the energy to be a pervert,” she retorts.

I move one of hands to her ass, massaging comforting circles. “For you? Yeah.”

The quiet between us was comfortable until she opted to speak again. “So… who’d you fight?”

“Some huge motherfucker. I thought I was going to die.”

She leans back to grab more alcohol and dabs it above my brow. “Maybe that’s what needed to have you stop fucking fighting.”

I throw my head back to laugh, but she grabs my chin to bring my face forward. “Like you want me dead.” My hands creep beneath her cheeks to pull her closer to me and apply more pressure to my cock. “That’s what you want?”

“That came out my mouth, Abarai?”

“Why are you still mad at me?”

She scoffs. “Why am I mad that you’re practically coming to me everyday with a busted face and broken ribs?” That’s one thing I love about Y/N—her feisty personality. It turns me on so fucking much because I know when I fuck her, it’ll be a different story.

Continuing, she says, “I think I would be a little more satisfied if you did this professionally as opposed to underground. Underground doesn’t come with insurance, Ren.”

“Aw, you care about me that much?” My question was supposed to be posed as a joke, but the look on her pretty face says otherwise.

“Fucking asshole. I don’t know why I still deal with your ass.”

“Probably because you love me.”

“Probably not.”

Gripping her hips, I pull her with me and lean back into the headrest of the couch. We’re inches away from our mouths cooling and I take advantage of this proximity by basking in her sweet smelling breath and beauty.

Simply because Y/N exists, my cocks hardens for her. Holding her in my arms. Feeling her pussy against my erection and breasts suffocating pressed on my chest. Girlfriend or not, she’s mine.

And she knows it.

I can see how she looks at me, even when mad, that she cares and loves me. Y/N is a tough girl. I can only imagine what she’s been through. Still, she manages to soften up just for me.

We never made it official since she doesn’t approve of the underground shit, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking.

“So when are you going to say yes to being my girlfriend?” I whisper.

She tries breaking from my embrace, but I tighten my grip. “Renji…”

“You feel my dick pressed against you, right? It only makes it harder when you say my name like that, Y/N.”

“Be real with me… will you keep doing this shit forever?” Her eyes waver as she awaits my answer and I can’t help the guilt from pinging my chest.

“If it lessens my chance of being with you, no.”

She searches my face for hesitance or deceit, however, she finds nothing because I meant what I said. Y/N is the only person that looks at me like I’m a human, and I wouldn’t let my obsession with fighting get in the way of our future together.

How she tucks her coil behind her ear and nips down on her lower lip shows me the bit of vulnerability she reserves for me.

So—I take advantage of it.

In less than three seconds my lips were on hers. I take my time relishing those sweet, plump and plush, strawberry flavored lips.

I can feel the skepticism from Y/N while kissing her, maybe because she’s trying to put on this show that she’s still mad at me. But soon, her rigid body melts into mine and returns the kiss.

Our heavy breaths mingle, increasing in speed the more aggressive we lock lips. She begins rolling her hips onto my cock and I let out a grunt, feeling the moisture of her pussy liquefying on me.

The slaps I leave on her ass are harsh, causing her to bite my bottom lip and suck it into her mouth. Y/N is so fucking aggressive it drives me nuts. She gives me a high and adrenaline not even a fight could give.

“Pull your dick out, Ren,” she orders through muffled moans and our kiss.

“Fucking bossing me around to give you cock? Not mad at me anymore?” Y/N ignores my taunt and works her hands between us to untie my sweats. I hiss at the feel of her cool hands engulfing my dick to give it a few pumps.

She must not know what her touch does to me. She handles my cock like she owns it, and gosh, I fucking love that shit. My fingers gently tangle into her coils to deepen our kiss, but she soon gets up to strip her clothes.

Fuck… Fuck, she’s so goddamn sexy. I’ll never get tired of her thick body, filled with soft dips and curves. I look at her, observe her like she’s an expensive piece of art hung up at a museum because that’s what I see her as.

Pretty pussy leaking arousal and I smirk to myself, thinking how she had all that attitude earlier while being wet for me like she didn’t want me inside of her.

“You’re fucking beautiful. You know that?” I ask, massaging her tits and looking up at her. “You still have that attitude or are you going to come ride my cock like a good girl?”

She gently pushes me back against the couch with her lips on mine and straddles my lap. “Depends on if you’re going to be a good boy and take this pussy.”

“Shit, angel. I will.”

Y/N hums while reaching around to align my cock with her sex. Two seconds later, she slowly sinks down my length until I’m buried into the hilt. That soft lingering fuck that slips past her pretty lips sounds sexy as hell and has my dick twitching in response.

I can’t bust now. Not yet. Even if the tightness and heat of her pussy pushes me off the edge of a mountain. Her pussy is so warm, so fucking warm, fat, and wet. Gosh, I don’t ever think I can be without this pussy.

I throw my head back and savor this feeling, but Y/N had other plans for me.

“Remember to look at me when I’m riding you, Ren,” she coos. “Eyes on me, baby. I want you to see how much I love this dick inside my pussy.”

Fucking Christ. “Tell me how much you love it while bouncing on me.”

And she does just that. Telling me how big and girthy I am, that she’s sorry for giving me attitude and admits that she just wanted dick. But no. I want her to fuck me like she’s mad. I need that type of energy pumping through my veins after this win tonight.

I reassure Y/N and tell her to fuck me harder. Her pace quickens and slaps her ass fervently against my cock. I can’t stop moaning her name. The wet slippery noises coming from her pussy increases in volume and it creates a mess between us.

This is where I belong, deep in her pussy and feeling her walls squeeze the hell out of me. I don’t even hold her hips or waist. I relax comfortably with my arms sprawl over the top of her couch, watching how gorgeous she looks while fucking what’s hers.

“Oh, fuck, Renji,” she moans, tugging her lips inwards and lolling her head to the side in complete pleasure.

Those perfect, full tits bounces in my face and I can’t help but stare and become mesmerized. Light marks that resemble tiger stripes decorated the valley of breasts. Her nipples, pebbled and straining underneath my gaze, look desperate for my touch.

I take it upon myself to pinch them between my fingers and a soft shriek escapes her mouth, further arching her back.

Y/N keeps getting wetter by the second, every bounce she makes. And hearing her sticky arousal, I know and see how she’s creaming my cock. Purposely, I sit myself on the couch, thrusting up in her a bit to feel my head hit her g spot.

“Ren, help me little,” she begs through a whimper. “Fuck me back.”

I caress her cheeks with the back of my head. “Yeah? You want me to help you, sweetheart?”

“Please.”

God, I love it when she’s needy for me like this.

In no time, my hands are at her waist and my thrusts meet with her jumping movements. Y/N isn't loud when it comes to her sounds of pleasure. Vocal, yes. But right now, her moans and whimpers are louder than usual.

It’s like she needed my dick inside of pussy just as much as I needed it.

I see the desire in her brown hues. I feel the heat radiating off Y/N’s skin while my fingers dig into her flesh, holding her in place to pound upwards into her pussy.

This is what I wanted—to fuck my girl after a well deserved win. And she’s going to congratulate me how I want.

My lips are at her neck leaving wet kisses and sucking her flesh until purple specks form. “Coming home to this good fucking pussy. Gosh, I love how you feel, angel. Going to fucking mean it now when you say congrats?”

“Congratulations, baby,” she purrs, slamming harder on my cock. “You did good… so damn good, Ren.”

I hum, dragging my tongue along her neck. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Y/N continues to gasps out her pleas for me to fuck harder. I comply… I comply in helping my pretty girl come and savor the look when she washes over me. My grips are firm on her waist, betting that’ll leave marks when she wakes up the next poor, and drive my cock deeper into her pussy.

I’m in pure awe. I feel my own releasing catching up to me the more I watch her take me. This is my woman. My fucking girl. I come home to this every night after every fight to hold her in my arms and fuck her.

Her name from my mouth sounds like a broken record when I moan her name. This fat, gushy, slick and tight pussy has this power over me. She won’t stop fucking squeezing me, I can’t prevent my face from growing hot. It’s intense how I feel right now, and it’s all because of Y/N.

“Good, good fucking pussy. God, you’re so fucking good to me, angel face,” I rasp, pecking her lips. “You’re going to come for me?”

“Yes, Renji, baby. I’m going to come. Keep giving me that dick. Please don’t stop, please.”

“Put your fingers in my mouth.” She does quick with my command. I suck on her digits and coat them well with saliva before pushing them out of my mouth. “Now rub your clit, pretty girl. I wanna see you squirt everywhere.”

Because she’s overwhelmed with arousal, Y/N stops bouncing on my cock and allows me to fuck her while she plays with clit. Her mouth hangs gape, drool slightly coating the side of her mouth and breathing heavily.

My balls slap her ass. My head kisses her soft cushion repeatedly. Her velvet walls transfer warmth to my cock and the bubble that rests in the pit of my stomach is on the verge of explosion.

I’m about to come. Hard.

But I need her to come first.

“Fucking come for me, Y/N. Keep playing with that pretty pussy and moan my name,” I grit out, pushing past all my thrusts.

“Right there, Renji. Keep fucking me right there… I’m–oh, fuck–I’m coming.”

She’s so pretty when she comes. Dark brown porcelain complexion, slick with sweat. Eyes rolling to the back of her head. Pussy clenching and unclenching around my cock. Moaning, whimpering my name back to back.

She’s breathless. Flawless. I have this image of her painted perfectly in my mind. Watching Y/N come, makes me come, so I make quick work to pull her off my lap. And she knows exactly what I want–to fuck my release down her throat.

Her mouth is as warm as her pussy, and I let out hitched breaths and harsh grunts when she swallows me whole. I’m relentless when forcing her head down on my cock as I facefuck her. The gurgling noises she makes are obscene. Pornogrpahic, even.

And what caused my come to shoot through her mouth is seeing that she’s still massaging her clit, eventually squirting all over her wooden floors.

My hips stutter and I throw my head back to moan into the air. “Fuck, Y/N! That’s my fucking girl. Look at you making a mess while choking on my cock and swallowing my come.”

Y/N takes it upon herself to wrap her lips tighter around my cock and massage my balls, ensuring every single last of my nut has released in her mouth. I take it for a while, but I soon become sensitive, practically feeling my skin being sucked off.

“Easy now, angel,” I say through an airy chuckle. I pull my cock out and her mouth echoes a pop sound.

She whines a little because I’m no longer in her mouth and it causes me to smirk because it wasn’t too long ago where she acted like she hated me.

My hand grasps her chin and guides it upwards to meet with my eyes. “You swallowed for me, Y/N? Open up.” She nods, sticking her tongue out. “Perfect.”

“You’re going to fuck me again?” She asks, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.”

Gosh, this woman will be the death of me.

tags: @dejwrld @hvshinas @diamondoidxx @xxjazzxx @thegirlwonder1 @ryukenzz @maiapuhpaia @elitesanjisimp @amyrahrose @sweetpeachies @abigolemess @linastired @diorsbrando @starrygetou @niya729 (if i didn't tag you it's because tumblr wouldn't have your user pop up)

#anime x black!reader #anime x reader #bleach x black reader #bleach x reader #bleach smut #fanfic smut #renji x reader #renji x black reader #renji abarai x reader #renji abarai x black reader #bleach fanfic

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7ndipity · 8 months ago

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Their S/o Is A Writer

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How the members would be with an s/o who is a writer/author

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks to the two lovely anons who requested this! I hope y’all like it!

Masterlist

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: He would be super supportive, always find sneaky ways to promote your book like having it conveniently placed in the background of selfies. Tho he’d also be half jokingly convinced that every new character is somehow based on him. “Ooh, this guy’s really interesting, and handsome, what’s his deal?” *wiggles eyebrows knowingly* They’re not based on him, but he keeps trying(the one that is tho, he hasn’t asked about yet, lol)

Yoongi: I think he would really admire you being a writer, but he would also try to respect your creative privacy, similar to how he is with the other members' projects. He’ll read it when it’s finished, that’s how it’s supposed to work. But truthfully, he’s also not-so-secretly thrilled and touched whenever you ask for his feedback or opinion on whatever you’re working on.

Hobi: He would be such a huge supporter of your work! He would read and promote everything you release, even sometimes begging to read your wips, even if they’re still in the nonsense, first draft phase(or as I call them, hell drafts). He might worry about you sometimes if you’re overly focused on a project, taking up the task and making sure you’re getting enough rest and looking after yourself.

Namjoon: He would be so in love with the fact that you’re a writer! He’s an avid reader and would be so happy with being able to watch you bring each new story to life, always ready and willing to beta read anything or give advice if you need him. He makes a point to go to local bookstores to buy your books when they’re released(maybe even trying to go incognito to attend your book signings, hehe)

Jimin: He honestly thinks you’re a genius, it doesn’t matter the genre or how many books you write, he’s always in total awe, tho I think he might struggle at times with your need for so much time on your own to work. But he would find little ways to help and spend time with you, basically becoming your assistant and making sure you have whatever you need; bringing you coffee, making sure you’ve eaten and move around every couple hours.

Taehyung: He really admires your work and loves getting to help out in any way he can, whether that's helping act out scenes with you to test the flow of everything, or just making sure you have a quiet space to focus. He’s the type to surprise you with little weekend getaways to help you recharge and give you a change of scenery to work through any writer's block or issues you might be having.

Jungkook: He would get soo invested in your characters, wanting to know every little detail about them and mourning every misfortune that befalls them. I’m talking calling you up at 3 am, outraged like “WHY WOULD YOU MAKE THEM BREAK UP?! THEY WERE PERFECT TOGETHER!!” Fr tho, he would love your mind and creativity, and would tell you so as often as you’d let him(possibly while trying to get spoilers for the next book in the series, but-)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

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e-on-edge · 4 months ago

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Avalanche Part 1

(Trying to get used to 2nd person, while continuing the story. Bear with me. I also put a lot less work into this. Writing it in tumblr drafts and doing only the most basic of editing. I've given up trying to make it perfect I just want the ideas out of my head.)

Link to Part 2

This one is all fluff and fun! Not explicit, but the next part will be, which is why I'm leaving the 18+ warning up on this one.

A small warning for mentions of drugs and alcohol

The year was 1986. You’re in college now, just trying to get through your preliminaries before you have to finally pick a major. Unlike you, Caleb had everything planned. He was almost done with his degree and already had a job lined up at the DAA for when he graduated. It was different for you. You didn’t excel at school, at anything, the way Caleb did. He was a born natural at whatever he tried his hand at. Meanwhile, you needed a tutor to pass entry-level trig.

Caleb wasn’t happy about your choice, but Zayne was the smartest person you knew. Book smart, at least. Plus Caleb was so busy now with graduation prep and getting in his hours on the simulator he didn’t have the time to teach you the principles of imaginary numbers. Zayne did.

Zayne was going for his PhD, and he too was almost finished with his schooling. Next would be his residency, and he wasn’t looking forward to that. Mingling around with the other young doctors and nurses had never been where he felt comfortable. He wished he could just skip to the end where he was established in his career, but that wasn’t the way things worked. He was all too pleased when you asked him for help with something basic like Trigonometry. Math, and you, were definitely his comfort zone.

“I just don’t understand where I’m even going to need this.” You groan, pushing the textbook away with an air of disgust.

“You likely won’t once you graduate, but you will if you want to cross that stage.” Zayne put his pencil between his teeth as he pulled the book back to rest in front of you on the dining table. “One more try, then we’ll take a break. Let’s focus on this equation…”

“Ugh” You toss your head back and sink into the chair like a toddler. “Couldn’t we take a break now? We’ve been at it for hours, doc.”

Zayne can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He liked that you called him Doctor, even though he was still years away from being one.

“Alright, but not too long.” He leaned back, relaxing. “Your breaks have a habit of hijacking the day.”

The sound of keys at the door makes both of you turn. Caleb is home.

He enters the apartment with his head bowed, a sack of groceries dangling from his wrist as he wriggles the keys from the lock. When he looks up and meets your gaze, his brow furrows.

“Another study sesh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen to set the groceries on the counter.

“We’ve almost solved one equation.” You jest.

“That so?” Caleb says absently, stocking the fridge. He seems distracted, avoiding your gaze.

You get up from the table and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Behind you, Zayne takes a long sip of Dr. Pepper and watches the wall.

“Welcome home.” You muse, snuggling into Caleb’s chest. “I missed you.”

Caleb softens, wrapping his arms around you as he presses a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Missed you too, pipsqueak.” You watch his eyes flick across to the dining table before settling back on you. “I thought we could celebrate tonight, just the two of us.”

You glance over your shoulder to where Zayne is awkwardly trying to look occupied.

“What exactly are we celebrating?” You ask in a softer tone.

“I finally finished my hours on the simulator.” Caleb’s prideful smile breaks through his demeanor. “I bought us some champagne to share, and I was going to cook a special dinner but…” he trailed off before raising his voice to include Zayne in the conversation, “I only got enough for two. Sorry man.”

“That’s alright.” Zayne went to stand, brushing off his shirt, “We can finish studying later.”

You move away from Caleb, feeling guilty for making Zayne feel so unwelcome. You turn back, eyes pleading. Caleb sighs.

“No, wait,” he gives you a stern look, but when you don’t relent your pouting he continues, “Stay. I heard you’ve got something to celebrate as well.”

You whip around, finding Zayne frozen in the tiny apartment foyer.

“What’s he talking about?”

Zayne sighs. He’d been hoping to avoid this.

“Oh, nothing extravagant.” He breathed, bashfully rubbing his neck.

“That’s not what I heard.” Caleb went on, “I heard you saved some chick's life in the food court.”

Your eyes widen in awe.

“What?! Zayne! Why didn’t you say something?”

He winced slightly as you tugged on his sleeve, making apologetic eye contact with your boyfriend over your shoulder.

“It isn’t a big deal.” He shrugged, “She choked, that’s all.”

Caleb looked at Zayne knowingly but did not correct him further.

“Either way, you’re welcome to celebrate with us. This one hardly eats what I make her anyways, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of food for you.”

You shoot Caleb a glare.

“It’s not my fault I can’t keep up with your portion sizes, I don’t have that kind of metabolism.” You turn back to Zayne, grabbing his cold hand in yours. “Do stay.” You plead with a smile. “I promised you a break, after all, and if you go home you’ll just start working again and you know it.”

Zayne exhaled heavily through his nose, holding his coat in one hand, you in the other, one foot still pointed toward the door. You watch as his brow creases and relaxes with thought as if he’s weighing every outcome in his mind. Finally, he speaks.

“I suppose I could stay for dinner.” He set his coat back on the rack and moved away from the door.

“Bitchin'!” You shake him a little with excitement, planting a kiss on his cheek. The action wasn’t planned and startled you almost as much as it startled him, but nothing prepared you for Caleb’s burning stare. “Sorry.” You say, backing off. “I get too enthusiastic sometimes.”

“No worries.” Zayne hums, rubbing the spot on his cheek with a barely concealed grin.

“Who wants a drink?” Caleb interjects from the kitchen, already pouring a glass.

“Me!” you and Zayne say in unison.

Night sneaks up on all of you. The dining table was littered with messy dishes and dirty napkins, two empty bottles of champagne, and three half-full glasses remaining.

You twirl yours between nimble fingers, watching the golden liquid swirl. Your head feels heavy, your cheeks warm, and you aren't wasted but you're buzzing.

Zayne is also flushed, leaning back in his seat laughing at another one of Caleb’s anecdotes. The two men warmed to each other rather quickly once the alcohol started flowing. Laughing and joking in the way that men do. You cherished seeing them together like this, your two favorite people in the whole world. You couldn't wipe the smile from your face if you tried.

Caleb took another sip, still humming in amusement.

“I tried to tell Patrick he couldn't handle the altitude but he just wouldn't listen.” the pilot-to-be shook his head, “I've never seen anyone vomit that much in the simulator.”

“Sounds like a classmate of mine.” Zayne mused, “He gets sick at the sight of blood, yet wants to be a doctor? I don't think I will ever understand.”

Both men reach for the bottle, their hands colliding on the glass before pulling away clumsily.

“Sorry, you go ahead.”

“No, it's all yours.”

You sigh, grabbing the empty bottle and giving it a shake for their benefit.

“It's empty, dinguses,” you say with a sloppy grin. “Should someone go to the store for more?”

“No need,” Caleb grunts a bit as he stands, heading to the bedroom for a couple of confusing moments before reappearing with an ornate glass bottle of brown liquid. “I keep this for rainy days. Pip can't handle it, but what about you?”

Zayne smirks, sliding his glass over.

“I do have a fondness for whiskey,” he replies.

You fold your arms in a pout.

“What? And I'm just expected to sober up?”

Caleb smiles, pouring Zayne a shot.

“Check your bedside table.”

You smile at him in question, but he gestures you off with a nod of his head. “Go on.”

With an excited leap, you lurch from your chair, skipping to the bedroom to hunt for your present...whatever it is.

After some glancing around in the dark, you spot it. Illuminated by the smallest sliver of moonlight, near the shadow of your lamp, is a crinkled stick made of paper. You can smell its contents the moment you lay eyes on it, a heavenly sour blend of earth that you knew all too well. You snatch the joint without hesitation and fish a lighter from the drawer. Caleb always got you the best Kush. You didn't know where from, and you didn't care a wink. His little gifts were the only thing getting you through college free of a mental breakdown.

After blazing up and taking a couple much much-needed long hits, you saunter back into the living area with a more relaxed gait. The tension in your shoulders melts as the herb stings your lips, smoke trickling from your nostrils as you plop back down happily in your seat.

Caleb smiles over you in that warm, endearing way that makes your insides dance. He looked so handsome in the dim light. His purple eyes sparkled with mischief as he tossed back another shot.

You can't restrain your affections any longer.

Once Caleb was back in his seat, you moved to his lap, straddling him with a grin and a kiss. He welcomes you with a warm hand cupping your ass, squeezing just hard enough to hurt a little, and you loved it.

“Let’s all play a game.” you giggle, turning around on top of him so your upper body weight is supported by the table while he still cradles your hips. You look at Zayne with a warm smile, one he can never say no to. “It will be fun.”

Zayne looks at Caleb for a long moment before he looks back at you.

“What do you have in mind?”

You sit up, taking another long drag on your joint.

“Truth.” You lean forward again, breasts almost spilling from the top of your shirt. “Or dare.”

“Pipsqueak,” Caleb utters your name like a warning, his thumb stroking circles over the denim of your jeans. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Oh come on!” You whine, throwing your head against the polished wood. “It’s not a true celebration unless we do something silly.” You look at them both with doe eyes. “Please?”

“Fine, but let’s move to the couch.” Caleb picks you up, and drops you on your feet, patting your ass playfully as you skip toward the sofa.

Zayne follows, drink in hand.

Once the three of you are settled on the cushions comfortably, Caleb and Zayne share another shot over your head, cheering their glasses with a clink.

You pull your legs up, curling them underneath you so you don’t have to crane so much to see their faces.

“I’ll go first. Ask me.” You turn to Caleb expectantly, batting your lashes as he tucks your hair back.

“Truth or dare?” He hums, still gazing deep into your eyes.

“Dare.”

Caleb grins.

“I dare you to take a shot with us.”

Rolling your eyes, you smile. You saw that one coming a mile away. Caleb offered you his glass as he picked up the Jameson, pouring one out for you and Zayne and keeping the bottle for himself.

You hated whiskey. It was too rich, too strong, and the bittersweet sting of it lingered on your tongue for hours to come. Yet, you tossed it back without a single complaint, handing the glass back to your boyfriend with a superior smirk.

“My turn.” you shift, spinning on the cushion to face Zayne. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth, I suppose.” Zayne wipes a drop from his lip with a calculated swipe of his fingers.

“What happened with the girl in the food court?”

He smiled, almost laughing. He should have expected the question from you.

“She choked, that was true. Only, I wasn't present for that. The man who gave her the Heimlich punctured her lung. He couldn't have known, but she had dislocated a rib earlier at her rugby game. The resulting pressure from him trying to save her ended up putting her at even more dire risk.” His brow knit together as he recalled the events, his smile fading, “When I got there she wasn't breathing. I had to perform emergency thoracentesis to remove the excess fluid while we waited for paramedics.”

“Shit.” Caleb hissed under his breath, taking another drink.

“Whats, Thora-cent..ysis?” you ask, clumsily fumbling over the word.

Zayne lights up just slightly, inching closer to you to explain with his hands. He touches a spot between your lower ribs, and you twitch as it tickles.

“I poke a hole right here, to release the fluid buildup. Once she could breathe again, I kept the pressure on the wound until the medics arrived.” he removes his cold hand from your side, reaching for his drink again. He was starting to look red in the face. You wondered how drunk he was.

“That's incredible Zayne.” you breathe in awe, “They really should just make you a surgeon already.”

He chuckled.

“I still have a ways to go before I get there.” his green eyes flick up to Caleb over your shoulder. “Truth or dare, captain?”

The word hangs for a while in the air between them. An old taunt from childhood, in those formative years before Caleb matched Zayne in size, and could still be teased without consequence. You feel Caleb tense beside you, but his expression remains playful.

“Dare,” he commands.

“How predictable.” Zayne scoffs, tapping his chin as he thinks. “Alright. I dare you…to let me kiss your girlfriend.”

“Zayne!” You gasp, covering your mouth both from the shock but also to hide your unshakable grin.

Caleb, to your surprise, laughs.

“Trying to get me out this early in the game? Nuh-uh.” he chided, pulling your face forcefully into his lips as he planted a passionate, slobbering kiss on you. When he released you, he smeared his spit across your mouth with a wicked grin, practically pushing you into Zayne’s arms. “She's all yours.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. He hadn't truly expected Caleb to allow this, he just wanted to win the game. Though, as you look up at him patiently, he wonders if he maybe had ulterior motives after all.

Zayne’s cool fingers brush your cheek before gently pulling you toward him. His arms wrapped around you, and he shifted to let you settle in his lap as he bent to meet your lips. Your breath catches as his tenderness soaks into your bones, the kiss light and sensitive. He doesn't stop after one or two. No. He holds you firm until he's had his fill of little kisses, passionate in his quiet way.

By the time he's done with you, your chest is heaving, and your face is red. You're afraid to look back at your boyfriend, who undoubtedly regrets his decision to stay in the game. Yet when you finally look at Caleb again, he seems unphased, tossing back another shot with only a subtle flush under his eyes.

“Truth or dare?” he asks you bluntly, keeping his eyes locked on Zayne.

“Truth.” You whisper, wanting to steer the game in a different direction - though the palpable tension in the air suggested it was much too late for that.

“Did you like him kissing you?” Caleb asks immediately.

“Caleb…” you move toward him, but one strong hand grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from touching him.

“Answer.”

“…yes.” your reply is scarcely audible over your heartbeat, pounding like drums against your skull.

“Zayne? Truth or dare?” Caleb continued, letting you go.

Zayne’s brow tightened, he knew he was being backed into a corner. Caleb always did this, even when they were kids. Zayne might've been the oldest but Caleb was always the one in control, and neither of them cared to lose. Not then, not now.

“Dare.”

You sank back between them, just praying things didn't escalate the same way they did on the playground all those years ago.

“Kiss her again.” Caleb's tone darkened as he took another shot.

You sit up, shocked.

“Caleb!”

Zayne wasted no time, he cupped your face and pulled you into another deliciously tender kiss.

You push him off with a grunt, fighting the pleasure back into its hiding place deep inside you.

“Enough!” you snap, standing from the couch in a huff, “I’m not a stick to measure your dicks with!”

Silence.

What had you just said? Was that what you meant to say? “No, I mean,” you stutter, a smile cracking your serious expression, “The stick isn't me, just that you two - stop -” you chuckle despite yourself “I'm not a toy, is what I mean!”

You look up, your cheeks burning from embarrassment. The two young men share a look of confusion before they too break into laughter.

“Come’ere Pipsqueak,” Caleb opens his arms in wait, and you happily fly to him. He wraps you in a comforting embrace, stroking your hair. “We know what you meant. I'm sorry.”

“Me too.” Zayne agreed. “I'm so very sorry. That was…childish of me.”

“Of both of us,” Caleb adds, kissing your forehead. “Forgive us?”

You rub your eyes with a grin, nodding. You couldn't stay mad even if you wanted to, the weed saw to that.

“You were right. This game was a bad idea.”

“No…” Caleb hummed reassuringly, “To be honest, watching you two was kinda hot.”

Zayne chuckled, thinking Caleb was joking, but you knew better. His tone was sincere, aroused even.

“Really?” you ask, surprised.

Caleb shrugs and nods.

“What? I can't have kinks?” He tickles you, making you laugh and wriggle in his arms.

“Of course you can!” you exclaim, trying to break away. “I just would never expect that to be one.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Zayne asks, finally catching on. His cheeks were bright red.

“Relax Doctor,” Caleb said, nuzzling your neck as he crawled over you. You giggled, scooting back until you were in Zayne’s lap again, Caleb still nibbling at your throat. “We don't bite.”

He pulls off of you, his violet eyes lidded with lust. You look up at Zayne, who is in a similar state of distress.

“Truth or dare?” you ask the green-eyed boy behind you, your voice shaking with excitement.

He lets out a stuttered gasp.

“Dare.”

#love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads #caleb love and deepspace #l&ds #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds caleb #caleb fic #lads fic #lads fandom #lads fanfic #fanfic #love and deepspace scenarios #love and deepspace x reader

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invvuu · 1 year ago

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LIPS TO EYES AND VICE VERSA — SIM JAEYUN

SUMMARY : sim jake sucks at being your tutor but he makes up for it by being your boyfriend. PAIRING : boyfriend!jake x gn!reader GENRE : established relationship, fluff / 1.6k words WARNINGS : jake is flirty, reader loses their mind because of jake ( there is a theme here if you couldn’t tell ) not proofread

﹙ 📑 ﹚ AUTHOR’S NOTE — why is writing author notes harder than the actual fics themselves,,, but anyways i guess i can just mention that i started writing this last night and then finished it while i was in online class as some sort of tmi (no cus why did i edit this draft five times already just to change the author’s note)

“MY EYES ARE UP HERE,” you say blankly — or rather, in an attempt to appear blankly as you look at Jake, your boyfriend and current tutor for the time being.

He had his chin sitting on top of his palm, fingers resting and occasionally tapping against the skin of his cheek. Jake had a couple rings adorning his fingers, all in silver except for the matching ring he bought for the both of you as a gift to ensure his commitment.

His hair was slicked back partly, slightly giving way for you to see his forehead. It also gave you a much clearer view of his eyes, hiding behind the clear lenses of the glasses he usually wears when reading or studying.

His eyes were a common sight considering the fact that he was your boyfriend and you see him almost everyday, however the only reason why you were bothered by them was because they didn’t focus on your eyes, but rather on your lips as you talked.

This was one of his flirty antics at work, the kind of antics you’ve gotten used to a long time ago but can’t help but still be affected by it.

“I know,” Jake responds back, attitude completely the same as it was in the beginning of your rant. Shortly after you notice the corners of his lips curving upwards into smirk, appearing to showcase that he knew exactly what he was doing.

And you were not surprised.

A sigh escapes your lips, “Jake, you’re supposed to be helping me with the lesson.” You spew out while raising an eyebrow at him, crossing both arms together in a direct manner. “Are you going to help me study or are you just going to keep messing around?”

He chuckles amusingly, grin not faltering.

“Messing around? I’m just admiring you, babe. You do know that you’re beautiful, right?”

Jake’s gaze starts to slowly trail from your lips towards your eyes, seeing the expression displayed on your facial features. “Besides, you were going off topic by ranting about Professor Kim and the Math exam.” He tilts his head, still appearing to be flirting with you.

“Well — yeah, and you’re supposed to be helping me pass the exam right now because I don’t want to fail,” you insist, attempting to get Jake back on track in acting as your tutor.

You then see him switch his focus onto the semi messy written notes, opened and sprawled across the table in front of you. “Huh,” he lets out, “You seem alright doing it by yourself though.”

Crap, he was getting to you. The way he spoke to you in a soft yet attractive tone rendered you flustered, and the way he looked like currently was definitely not helping your mental state at all.

With further inspection of his overall appearance, you can see he had his sleeves rolled up until it reached right below his elbow. This simple insight made you admire how evident his veins were on his hand, clearly seen due to his dress shirt’s sleeves not covering them.

He was, without a doubt, making you short circuit. And you absolutely hated that he was doing nothing but only the bare minimum.

“I still need your help either way.” Your tongue moves on its own immediately, mind trying to keep your thoughts at bay about him. You lay your hand on top of the written notes, sliding them towards Jake so he could read them properly.

“Oh, I was supposed to be your tutor or something?” He asks nonchalantly, brows raising up as he fixes his posture on his seat.

In response you roll your eyes and scoff, expression becoming a bit more irritated than it was in the beginning.

“So you just agreed to do this without even listening to me properly when I asked you earlier?” You inquire back, voice surprisingly sounding harsher as you continue looking at him.

Another set of chuckles blew out of Jake’s mouth. “No need to be so angry,” He then leans forward again, tilting his head another time, “I really am sorry though, but I was only doing my job as your boyfriend.”

His words sent shivers down your spine one after the other. It was annoying really, how much his voice had this much of an impact on you. His sultry and deep tone that he always used when speaking to you added another factor of why you were attracted to him in the first place.

From how he apologized, you could easily surmise that he wasn’t truly sorry. But the part where he mentioned that he was just being your boyfriend immediately gave you all of the reasons to forgive him.

You sigh, giving the attempt in ignoring your heart from fluttering another chance. Sim Jaeyun, Sim Jake, Jaeyun, Jake, Jakey — or whatever name he goes by, he truly knew his way to get to you no matter the occasion or if he had changed his persona.

At this point you were already losing your calm demeanor the more you interacted with Jake. Honestly, if it was him who drew the other half of your heart, you’d keep it against your chest without a single question.

He made you want to do impulsive actions, he made you want to embarrass yourself, and he made you want to become a fool. These thoughts were things that you wouldn’t dare to say out loud, mainly because you knew how stupid you would look like in doing so. You couldn’t help but wonder pitifully in your mind.

What was this man doing to you? You’re both dating now, so why does it feel like you were back to hopelessly crushing on him like before?

After all of these questions, you were sure that your mind was going to go haywire if he ever decided to graze his hand against yours.

“Babe,” Jake calls out, catching your attention as he waves a hand in front of your face, “Am I really that much of an eye candy to you?” He asks teasingly, eyes still looking into yours as he watches you flinch slightly at the sudden movement.

You then feel a tap on the tip of your nose, seeing a soft smile adorning your boyfriend’s features, “You’re making it harder for me to help you study if you keep acting this cute.”

As your heartbeat intensifies from his words, you quickly realize what had happened: you were staring at Jake and you weren’t aware of it.

In this point of the current situation, there was no mistake that you were an actual fool in disguise as a human. “Oh — uh, what were you saying?” You ask in a rather flustered manner as you place a hand at the nape of your neck, rubbing it gently the moment it touches it.

Jake grabs the pen from the table’s surface into his hand and clicks it a few times before answering, “I was admiring the view and it seems like you enjoyed yours too.” He cheekily prompts while giving out a small wink towards your direction.

Embarrassment quickly shoots through your mind at full speed, making you receive the desire to hide yourself from him further. “I was looking behind you,” you mutter, trying to create a valid excuse as your fingers begin fiddling with the edges of the papers sprawled across the table.

“You were looking at books about Shakespearean plays?” He stifles, turning his body to glance at the bookshelf to confirm his question. “Last time you told me that Shakespeare sucked, didn’t know you had a change of heart,” Jake shrugs sarcastically, the corners of his lips tugging themselves into a small smirk.

You frown slightly, letting go of the papers and allowing your hand to rest on the table. “I didn’t say he sucked, I said that reading and analyzing his works sucked,” you explain exasperatedly.

Jake can’t help but supply laughter at your words — the way you quickly tried to cover up what you were actually doing made him find you cuter than usual. With the intent of making the situation seem more entertaining, he points the pen at your face, “Then what about the books made you stop talking?”

“I just remembered about my assignment for History.”

“Really? History?”

You nod eagerly — a bit too eagerly for the matter. You tried your best to remedy the situation at hand but the seeping thought of Jake already knowing the truth was pretty much turning into reality.

“Yeah, I have to — um, read a chapter from Midsummer’s Night Dream and analyze it.”

“But I thought you were supposed to be reading Macbeth?”

The amount of counter statements your boyfriend kept saying were only making you more embarrassed. Embarrassed because at this point, you were sure that he knew exactly what you were doing a few moments ago.

“Just tell me the truth,” Jake prompts, “You were looking at me, it was very obvious.”

This was beyond what you were expecting for this tutoring session — actually, was this even a tutoring session in the first place? It was more like a stupid moment of you going feral over a man that you have been dating for almost a year now.

Sim Jaeyun was definitely a bad choice to have as your tutor.

“I have a challenge for you.” He puts his hands together on the table, as well as leaning back away from you to straighten his posture, “I’ll kiss you every time I catch you gawking at me.”

Hearing his idea makes you click your tongue subconsciously, because you knew that it would’ve make your life so much easier if this entire session didn’t happen, nor if you asked Jake to be your tutor in the first place.

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bad-and-drawn-that-way · 1 year ago

Note

HEAR ME OUT- DUMBIFICATION, DEGRADATION AND PRAISE WITH VOX

THOUGHTS??

I also have a headcanon request that I'll do separately in list form! This is actually a scene from a scrapped multi-chapter fic idea I had for a secretary reader. As to why it was scrapped, I didn't know how to finish it so I ✨gave up! ✨

Ngl this is actually only half of the scene, there's scraps of this whole extra kinky round-two thing with some casual exhibitionism, but we'll see how this does first. That being said, enjoy!

At Your Service [Vox x Secretary Reader] NSFW AS FUCK

(NSFW writing under the cut. Minors stay away <3)

It was an early morning like any other. Vox is sitting at his desk, looking over the paperwork he had from yesterday. It’s far too early and his bougie oversized office offered little comfort as you sleepily walked in. Hearing the door open, Vox looked up and smirked as he noticed the coffee in your hand.

"Good morning." he greeted you, motioning to a chair for you to take a seat.

"Morning," you smile a bit tiredly as you enter the room. You were never much of a morning person. Once the initial adrenaline of stepping out of your house had burned out, you needed the extra caffeine boost to keep your energy going.

A yawn slipped past your lips as you sat in the chair across from his desk.

"Wimp," Vox chuckled, poking fun at your inability to start a morning as early as him. It had become a regular topic of banter that started most of your work mornings together.

"Capitalist cocksucker," you wave him off. "Not everyone can be up at the ass crack of dawn in a freshly pressed suit, Sir. A few more sips of this stuff and I'll be good to go." You say as you lift your coffee to your lips.

You hum and lick some foam off your lip as you pull out your laptop. "Any changes to today's agenda I need to know about?" you ask him.

Vox smirked, rolling his eyes as he pulled up one of the hundreds of tabs he had open on his computer. "I can tell you're still a bit tired, but if you're sure... " he paused for a moment, glancing over his schedule."Yes, actually. There has been a small change to the overall plan. We're going to be running a new campaign today, so I'll need you to be ready to assist with that."

"What would you like me to oversee?

"I want you to be over on the promotion side for this new campaign," he said as he looked up from his paperwork. "Make sure that we get maximum visibility on this. The security system may have been a spur-of-the-moment idea, but it could bring in huge fucking numbers if we pull it off. I want as many people as possible to know about it and twice as many sales as views minimum.”

You nod, take notes, and start writing an email draft to get meetings scheduled. "Do you want the visual hypnosis team to work on the campaign or the auditory team?" It was common knowledge that Vox had hypnotic abilities, but it was less common to know how it had been incorporated throughout his entire company. Inductions were slipped into nearly every advertisement, program, and product that the company made.

"Have both of the hypnosis teams work on it," he answered. "We'll have the visual team focus primarily on the advertising for the campaign, and the audial team will work on creating the sounds and audio to slip in. We want this to be a very effective campaign, so the more hypnotic technology we can put into work, the better."

You stop typing, looking up at him incredulously. “Are you sure? The last time we doubled down on inductions we had to do that whole cover story to explain why half of hell turned into braindead zombies for a week.”

“It’ll be fine,” Vox waved off your concerns. “That was years ago and we’re better at this shit now. We can always blame it on Alastor somehow if shit goes wrong.”

You nod along, "If you’re sure. I've personally been incredibly susceptible to the combination, so forgive me if I don’t watch any of your programs for the next month," you say idly without thinking.

You didn’t notice as Vox paused. You didn’t notice the toothy grin that could have prepared you for what was to come either. "How susceptible were you previously to hypnosis?"

You nod along, not listening to his question as you finish sending the email to the hypnosis teams. Your brain catches up with you as you hit send and you freeze like a deer in the headlights. The look on your flushed face was priceless and Vox would have burst out laughing if he wasn’t so invested in hearing your answer. "I, uh.." you look away from him, "I was focused and said too much out loud. You weren't supposed to hear that."

His eyes were still on you, a clear look of curiosity flashing across his expression.

"You're right, I wasn't supposed to hear that,” He grinned. “But you said it and you’re not getting out of this that easily. You said that you are quite susceptible?"

You cringe, knowing you couldn't dodge a direct question from your boss. Even if he was an ass and an absolute man-child. "I..." you bite your lip curling in on yourself and crossing your legs as you take a sudden great interest in your laptop. "Yeah, I may have... experimented a bit."

His eyebrows raised, and he leaned slightly over to get a better look at you.

"Experiments?" he spoke softly. "What type of experiments?"

You sputter, your entire body flushing as you stammer out a panicked reply, "I, ah, um.. don't know if that would be a-appropriate to um.."

He chuckled slightly, now seeming rather amused by your reaction. "I assure you, I've heard much worse than whatever you may be worried about telling me."

"E-even so," you try to reason. "It's embarrassing. It's one thing to do it, it's another to tell your boss about it."

His eyebrows raised further. "You've done hypnotic experiments on yourself, and you're embarrassed to tell me about it?” He chuckles and rests his screen on his hand. “Yeah, no. You’re not getting out of this. What exactly did you do?"

You stare at him, before sighing and opening up a blank document. It was too mortifying to say out loud. He may have the power to squeeze the information out of you for his entertainment, but you’d be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. You silently type up that you've tried being hypnotized both sober and when high and how you had done free-use edging with a group while high and hypnotized. Without a word you turn the laptop around so he can read it, your face on fire as you look anywhere but at him.

He had been expecting something a bit more tame, but now he was intrigued. It seemed that you had quite the mind on you to explore such risky topics. When he finished reading it, he raised his eyebrows even further, seemingly somewhat impressed.

"Well, I'll be damned," he commented. "That's not what I expected... What made you wanna try such things?"

"I like the feeling of it," you muttered as you turned the laptop around and promptly deleted the damning text.

His eyebrows raised a bit, intrigued. "You like the feeling of being hypnotized? You like letting someone else be in control of you?"

You pressed your lips together, blushing hard as he asked his question.

"Is that a yes then?" he inquired, his grin growing as the pixels under his mouth went dead. "You don't want to give me a straight answer, but the way you're stuttering and blushing makes it pretty clear that you do."

"S-Shut up," you bite back at his call-out as you finally look back at him.

Vox laughs as he just keeps winning the game he’d caught you in. "I think I hit the nail on the head, didn't I?"

"Y-Yes, sir." You say, cringing as you realize that sounded completely different given the topic compared to when you usually called him that during work hours.

He chuckled again, finding your response more than a bit amusing. "Well then, I take it that you have no issues with me being in complete control over you, then?"

You would combust into flames if you could. Your legs clenched together as you took in his question. You looked down at your laptop, stammering as you felt yourself quickly slipping into his grasp. "T-The campaign-"

"Yes, yes, yes," he interrupts you, seeming rather amused by this. "We'll talk about the campaign after that. I'm more interested in how much control you're willing to give up to me right here and now."

"I..." you pause, staring down at your hands clenched on top of your laptop. Were you really about to do this? Fuck it.

You look up at him and nod.

A grin appeared on his face as you nodded, even more amused now that this little bit was going exactly the way he had hoped. The two of you had flirted here and there, but never anything more than the occasional passing comment. If anything, it had just been a part of the playful and teasing game you’d be playing together for the past few months with you as his assistant.

He had no idea if you had ever truly noticed his advances or the way he’d stare at your ass in that pencil skirt you always wore during meeting days. But now he had the chance to unravel every last secret that’d been out of reach. Vox was nothing if not an opportunist.

"Good girl," he said softly. "Are you ready for me to control you now?"

You stand, going to place your phone and laptop on a nearby table. You stop and take a shaky breath, smoothing out your pencil skirt. You turn and walk back to him, this time hesitating instead of simply sitting in the chair across from his desk.

"Yes."

He smiles at your obedience and hesitation, noting the way that you smoothed down your skirt. You had already given up quite a lot of control to him, and it seemed that it was just going to be even easier from this point on.

"Then come here," he said softly, motioning for you to do so.

Your heart was pounding hard in your chest and you felt how hot your cheeks were as you stepped forward and moved to stand before him. His attention had been on every part of you, taking in every inch of you. He didn’t have to sneak in glances like before, he could just take it all in on his own time. He was enjoying the way that he seemed to be able to control you with a seemingly simple command. And to think he’d barely lifted a finger.

His eyes moved downwards as you stood in front of him, and his expression became a bit more serious than mere amusement.

"Let your skirt fall to your ankles," he instructed.

You practically shivered at the command, screaming internally at how embarrassed you felt and yet squirming at how just a short command from him was enough to send sparks through your body.

Your face flushed as you slowly undid the zipper on the side of your hip, taking a sharp breath before letting the fabric fall to the floor. You hugged yourself as you looked to the side, stepping out of your skirt and standing half-exposed in front of him.

He couldn't help but smirk as you did exactly as he commanded. Your legs were now exposed, and he noted how they were quivering slightly.

"Good girl," he smirked. "Now, let's step this up."

"But you’re still wearing too much. Let’s move on to your top next, shall we?" he suggested with a spark of playful amusement.

Oh god, was he really going to make you do this? It would have been one thing if he had been the one undressing you, but the fact he was making you do it for him like this was going to be the double death of you. You shakily undo the buttons of your blouse, trying to keep your heart rate under control as you pull it over your head and let it fall to the floor by your skirt.

You look at Vox, hoping he’d finally have some mercy and touch you himself, but he only lazily drags his gaze over your body with a hum of approval. "And finally?"

You were only left in your bra, underwear, sheer black thigh-high tights, and your heels. You felt incredibly vulnerable in his large office. Anyone could come in through the door and the windows that overlooked the city suddenly felt far more exposing than they ever had before.

You could see the spark of excitement begin to rise in him as you bit your lip and paused. Your hesitation was only making this a bit more exciting for him. He could hardly keep up the playful mask when his claws were threatening to tear into the armrest of his chair.

"Go on... " he said softly and slowly, his voice now beginning to become a bit huskier.

You took another shaky breath as you slowly reached back to unclasp your bra. You shook just knowing he was looking at you. That he was pursuing this. It made you hyper-aware in every way as you tossed the garment to the side and then finally stepped out of your underwear.

His gaze on your body was intense once more, seeming to take in every inch of you. He could not stop himself from being intrigued by your body and by just how vulnerable you were right now.

Your shaking was making it even more enticing to him. "Good girl," he said softly. You move to undo the garter and roll down your tights, when he stops you. Leave those. They’re perfect.” The dead pixels under his mouth might as well have been drool with the way his eyes hungrily took in the sight of the tights pressing into your skin so perfectly.

“Are you ready to move on to the last step?"

You take a deep breath before lowering to your knees in front of him and nodding. You'd never done anything like this with a single person, finding it so much easier in a group. His lone, laser focus on you made you feel every twitch and spark and overwhelmed you in the best of ways.

"Yes, Sir."

He looked down at you once more, this time taking in all of your body as you were now kneeling, your hands resting on his chair.

"Now..." he said quietly as he reached down in a rare moment of tenderness as he lifted your chin. "I want to ask you a very simple question, but you must answer honestly. Do you enjoy this? Do you enjoy giving up your control to me?"

The smallest moan slips past your lips without your permission. Despite your embarrassment, you answer truthfully. “Yes. I love it a lot, actually.."

He smirked at the moan and the truth in your words. You were enjoying this... he could tell. You truly loved giving up your control to him. And he loved taking it.

"Good girl," he said with a soft chuckle at your veracity. "Very, very good girl. You enjoy letting me take c̶o̸m̶p̴l̶e̵t̵e̵ control of you, don't you?"

You take a deep breath, feeling your body relax a bit as you feel a bit of yourself give into him as you finally gather the nerve to look him in the eye. "Yes, Sir."

His expression seemed to shift a bit as you gave in even more. His amusement was more apparent now, as he now had you exactly where he wanted you.

"I love that you enjoy this so much," he said softly. "Does it make it more fun for you to know that you are pleasing me?"

You nod, shifting on your knees. "It does," you say earnestly. "Your approval isn't something easy to earn."

The slight shift you made was enough to cause him to smirk once more. Every time you moved, he would find something new about you that appealed to him.

"I approve of this tremendously," he grinned. "It is obvious that you enjoy giving up your control over me and letting me take control of you. It is clear that you enjoy giving me pleasure."

You let out a hot breath, your eyes darting down to between his legs as he mentioned giving him pleasure. You weren’t subtle about it either. Vox chuckled, amused more now than any other time during the interactions you two have had so far. You whine, your fists clenching where they rested on top of your thighs. Your chest shifted with every movement as you waited for his instruction.

"So eager," he breathed. He reached down and tucked your hair behind your ear as he committed the view to memory. "Go on, then,” he purred. “Show me what you’re willing to do for this.”

"I'm happy to give you a demonstration," you say to him with a smirk. Vox chuckled, happy to see some of your usual sass seep into the moment. He just knew you had a bratty side to you. The duality of how eager you seemed to submit and that bit of knowledge filled him with anticipation for all the different sides of you he wanted to see.

You scoot forward and reach for the zipper of his slacks. You chuckle as his breath hitches when you slowly pull down. He moans softly as your hand only continues following a path down as you palm him slowly over his slacks. There was already a bulge formed there that made you twitch with delight.

Looking up, you see Vox watching you with wide eyes. The smirk on his face only grew larger as you slowly pulled down his slacks and boxers You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, his breath becoming more and more audible with every slow movement.

You hum with pleasure as you focus your attention on his half-hard cock in your hand. It was easier to let go and forget your insecurities when you had him in front of you like this. For as much as you’d fantasized about him, you had never dared to dream you’d find yourself in this situation with him. You lean down and use your hand to slowly pump him before you lock eyes with him and lick a trail across the underside of his cock.

“F̷̮͛u̷̞͗c̵̹̈́k̸̝̎i̷̝͝n̶̗̎g̷̭͒ hell,” Vox swore, his grip on his chair tightening. His breath got increasingly more audible, his throat hoarse from his attempts at restraining any noise he might make. He’d been dreaming of this for far too long. He had you pegged all wrong. He always thought you were innocent. Flirty, but he couldn’t truly imagine you’d have a side like this. You always seemed too pure despite your sass. How happy was he, to be proven wrong.

"Good girl," Vox huskily breathed as his fingers tangled in your hair.

You lower down to press a kiss to the head of his cock. He hissed as you sucked lightly and collected his pre-cum on your tongue. You let your tongue loll out for a moment to show him before you lower yourself and take him in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the tip of him and your fingers dig into his thighs as you bob your head shallowly. You tease him with subtle motions before you start to take his length down your throat in earnest.

Every movement you made only increased the heat of the situation exponentially and Vox found his cool demeanor quickly fading as he panted above you. “F̷̰͠u̵͕̅c̵̠̓k̸̞͊i̵̢͊n̵͓̅g̷̤̃ ̶̠̋ḫ̵̑e̵̩̾l̶̦͋l̶̩͆,” he gasped as your tongue lapped at the base of his cock. How the fuck were you doing that when he was jammed past your non-existent gag reflex?

You hummed around him, your eyes watering as you choked on him. He could see the mirth in your eyes and he knew you’d be teasing him with a snarky remark if you weren’t too busy drooling on his dick like a goddamn champ.

Vox lets out a stuttering breath. As hot as it was, he wasn’t going to let you just get away with keeping your attitude intact. Out of selfish pleasure, he let you continue your ministrations for a moment longer before his fingers tugged at your hair, bringing your attention back to him.

You let him pull you off of his member, your tongue hanging out as you catch your breath and smile dumbly at him. His expression remained very much one of satisfaction and admiration as he observed you. That dumbly, innocent smile of yours was rather endearing to him, as it went hand in hand with the way you were acting.

"You really are quite the little showstopper, aren’t you?" he said quietly as he took in your porn-quality face. He idly wondered how the hell you ended up working for him and not Valentino. He was not about to complain about the unexpected victory.

You hummed happily, letting yourself go more for him. It was such a stark contrast to how tense you were when you were working. He'd never seen this side of you before and he hadn't even hypnotized you yet.

He had now realized just why you got so tense when he approached you with that offer. You enjoyed this in such a way that it was almost intoxicating, that it was almost addictive. It was a stark contrast to the version of you he knew that strived for greatness and top results at all times. You must have been so wound up from it all that you just whiplashed into the complete opposite frame of mind to release.

If you were already like this in front of him, then what would you be like after he had you completely under his control?

You nod, smirking as some drool fell to your chest from when you had your mouth on him moments ago.” What can I say?” you say teasingly. “Oral fixations keep a girl eager.”

Vox grinned with the look of a hungry predator as his eyes roamed all over you. Every god damned inch.

“You actually want this, don’t you?” He chuckled. “You want me to turn you into a brain-dead d̶͈͊ȍ̴̪l̵̺͊ḽ̸̏.”

"Please," you whisper as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

You could see the hunger within his eyes as you said that single fucking word. It didn’t take lifting a single finger for you to desperately plead for his control. You’d been wanting this just as bad as he had. The whole goddamned time. Vox buried his face in his hands and you looked at him with concern. You couldn’t see the way he grinned or feel how his body trembled slightly. You could only gasp as your vision was filled with black and red spirals when he lowered his hands and looked at you with a wicked grin.

You sit back on your knees, your eyelids growing heavy as your mouth falls open. Your body felt like it was floating and it was enough to make you feel like you were high. The hypnotic effect of his demonic abilities was how he'd reached the powerful position of an overlord. Even if you hadn't been so susceptible, you would have been powerless under his gaze as a normal person.

Any hypnosis you’d experienced before took many sessions of induction. It took a bond, trust, and a lot of mental bandwidth to be so vulnerable. But Vox could just drop you at a whim. And the pull of his tide dragging you under was stronger than anything you’d ever succumbed to before.

You were blissfully unaware as Vox’s expression shifted into feral joy. Your submission. This control. It was all his for the taking. You were giving him everything he’d ever craved and he could already tell that once he properly tasted this power, he’d never want to let go. He’d become an addict, for sure.

Your mind and body felt like they were floating. All you could see was Vox as your empty and needy self waited for his command. Your body felt almost weightless now, every sense and thought centered solely on him. His commands were all that you cared about now, his desires were now like law to you, and your body, empty as it was, only had one desire.

"I want you to do as I ask without question, do you understand?" he asked, his voice shaking with delight and raw hunger.

"Yes," you sigh, your every breath feeling heavy as you’re pulled deeper under his spell.

He had already gotten you to admit you were a submissive slut and he already got you to strip for him. All before he had even used his power on you. Now? Now, he could make you do or tell him anything he wanted. You were his.

"Good girl," he grinned. "I want you to stand up and walk over to that door over there," he said, pointing to one of the nearby doors to the room. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," you say calmly. Whereas before your embarrassment left you feeling exposed, you now felt relaxed and light. Your embarrassment and insecurities didn’t exist under Vox’s control. There was only the need to satisfy him and be blessed with ecstasy in return.

You walked over to the door in nothing but your sheer thigh-high tights and heels. You place both of your hands on the door and stand with your hips out, waiting for Vox.

Vox glitched hard and admired the way that you followed these commands so easily. This was his. He found himself growing more addicted and possessive by the second. His mind was already buzzing with all the ways he could mold you to his every need and desire. He’d never felt so in control of another person like this and it satiated a dark craving in him.

"Now, I want you to take off those tights and throw them over to me."

You bend over in front of him, fully exposed, yet carefree as you peel off your tights and hand them to him with a relaxed look on your face. Vox sparked again as he got a full view of your need for him. Once your tights were off, you handed them over to him calmly. All you could think about was pleasing him and satisfying him. Your anxiety and self-conscious tendencies were washed away.

Vox ordered you to put your hands behind your back. He grinned and tied your wrists together with one of the stockings. He snatched your underwear from the forgotten bundle of clothing by his desk and made you open your mouth for him. He stuffed them in and used the other stocking to tie around your mouth.

Now that you were completely bound, your mind was completely free to focus on the feelings and sensations you were experiencing. He dropped the hypnotic spell on you and you gasped into your gag as your mind cleared and he pushed you forward so your face and tits were flush against the door. You shuddered hard and let out a broken moan as his palm rubbed against your leaking cunt.

Vox grinned and leaned down to speak by your ear as he slid his fingers in. “You have n̷͙̈o̷̹̎ idea how much I can’t wait to fucking d̷̲͆e̶̗͘s̴̳̈t̸͚̆r̷͎͒o̸͙͊ỹ̸̝ ̸̞̉y̷̰̓ǒ̵̦u̵̬͂.”

Your gasps and moans were muffled by the fabric in your mouth and you pushed against him as he roughly played with you. His hand slammed your head against the door and held you in place as his fingers curled and scissored inside of your sloppy heat. Tears pricked your eyes as your heart and mind raced. You were completely vulnerable to him, but now your embarrassment was rearing his head at the worst (b̴̼̊è̶͔s̶͜͝t̶̹̽) possible moment.

The chance that there could be anyone on the other side of the door had you thrashing desperately against Vox’s ministrations. Vox delighted in your internal struggle and couldn’t help himself as his claws dug into the back of your hair so he could pull you back hard. “I’m going to make sure e̶͖͌v̷̞͐e̶͈̽r̶̡̂y̸̨͊o̵̤̚n̴̦̈́e̴̥͌ ̵͜͠k̵̜̔n̷̝̈́ǒ̷̮w̷͎̅s̸͓̈́ who̸̩͂ ̶͔̀y̸͎̐ő̸̳u̸̗͊ ̶̞̏f̶͎̔u̷̠̅ć̵͈k̶͙̚i̴̜̿n̸̘͐g̷̨̿ ̸͔̌ belong to,” he growled as he lifted one of your legs and slipped himself inside of you.

Your eyes rolled back and you screamed into your gag as he slipped in and out of you with ease. He’d been so hard from the build-up of it all and you were literally dripping for him by this point. Vox growled and lost control as he picked up the pace of his actions, moving you around to different areas of the office and fucking you in as many positions as possible. He wanted you exposed. He wanted you defenseless. He wanted you marked in the blood and bruises of his ownership. He wanted to ḋ̴̥ó̶̰m̵̯̕i̷̗͗n̴͈̽a̵̱̒t̶̤̎ȇ̸͚ you. And he would.

Neither of you could keep track of the amount of times you’d come. Your mixed desire was dripping from your cunt as he’d buried himself deep inside of you every time one of you peaked. This was all he wanted. That was all you wanted. No more thinking, no more emotions, just the sheer fucking pleasure.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you cried from how good he made you feel. He knew how to unravel you into nothing more than a babbling mess with every clever touch and command. It was becoming too much and yet you felt like you wanted more of it. You were overwhelmed as you felt yourself quickly approaching an orgasm.

“That’s it,” Vox growled as he fucked you against his desk. He chuckled darkly as he smacked your ass. “Fucking do it, c̴͖͆o̵͕͋m̷̟̉ẽ̵̞.”

You threw your head back and screamed as your entire body convulsed around him. You couldn't do anything but take his relentless thrusts as he pounded you into the desk. Vox growled, nearly on the verge of cumming himself when he suddenly rips himself off of you. You let out a muffled sob as you clench around nothing.

Your entire world is suddenly filled with bright blue electricity as you feel everything shift suddenly. You almost fall, but are caught by Vox’s hands. You squint as your eyes adjust to the sudden change of lighting and Vox undoes the gag around your mouth as you realize you’re now in his surveillance room.

Your eyes go wide and you gasp and you see yourself on the monitors with Vox crouched over you. Every screen was showing a live feed of you from several different angles, showing how vulnerable you were in this situation. The footage of you was quite an entertaining sight for Vox as his wires came out of nowhere and threw you onto his chair.

"V-Vox,” you gasp as you look up at him with wide eyes. The overlord’s grin stretches wide as he grabs onto your shaking legs.

It was the first time you'd actually used his name.

At work, you were professional. In his office, you were playful. However now that he had you in his lair, he would mark a new side of you… Here, you were your true self, fully and utterly submissive. Here was his favorite.

You couldn't help but moan shamelessly as he lifted you with his cables and sat in the chair beneath you. You threw your head back with a scream as he dropped you onto his cock and turned the chair so you had an eyeful of each and every monitor with your shameful display recorded.

You moan as you bounce yourself on him, meeting every one of his feral thrusts. Your mind was completely gone. Every grunt and growl that slipped from his lips only fueled your need. The marks on your hips and back from where his sharp nails clawed in burned just as deliciously as the stretch of him inside you.

Pain and pleasure all in one were now filling your mind. His grunts and growls were becoming louder, as were yours. You couldn't control it. This situation was pushing you further and further toward the edge.

You leaned into him, gasping as he made you lose your mind.

"P-please." You begged.

"Beg for it," he said growled, "Beg f̸̼̑ó̶̙r̴̠̀ ̵̫́m̴̡̾è̸̼."

You moan low as you desperately plead with him. "Please Vox, plus fucking break me! Please please please, Sir, please I'll be good. I'll do anything, please, Sir, fucking please!"

"You'll do anything for me," he said, with a grin on his face as he saw you getting more desperate with your plea. The red recording symbol on all of the screens wasn’t enough to make you see the incoming danger. You were too overwhelmed with the pleasure quaking through your body as Vox pumped into your sloppy cunt.

Your entire body shook hard as his movements suddenly stopped. A long whine of frustration and the roll of your hips made Vox grin. You were so desperate for him in the moment, you didn't notice the gravity of the position you were in.

"Fucking please don’t stop, I'll do anything Vox, please," you begged as you desperately rutted against him.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he grinned as he whispered in your ear. "If you do everything I say from now on, then I'll give you everything you want. Sound like a deal?"

You sob, nodding rapidly against him. "Fuck, please, yes! It's a deal, so please!"

Vox suddenly thrusts up into you hard, making you scream as the room flashes with electricity. The deal was made and the pact was sealed.

"Good girl," he said quietly and calmly, as he pet your hair.

His grin was downright sinister as he pulled your head back.

"You're mine now."

Your eyes went wide as you realized the gravity of what you had just done in the heat of the moment. "Wait, I-" you gasp as you're cut off as Vox starts to mercilessly pound into your heat.

"I heard what you said," he grins as his claws dig into your hips and draw blood. "I heard it a̸̩̎l̴͚͗l̷̖̓.. And I'm going to hold you to e̵̻̐v̶͎͌é̵͉r̶͕͊y̷̳̍ word of that agreement."

If you thought Vox was rough before, it was nothing compared to how he used you now. He tossed you around like a toy and you sobbed as he broke you.

Your eyes were crossed as you screamed and took everything he had to give you. "Vox, Vox, Sir, fucking please!" You babbled, practically worshipping how he destroyed you now that he owned your soul. It was too good to care about the consequences. It was too much. All you could think of was how badly you needed him.

Your screams and moans were now all he could hear as you completely lost it. He was using everything that he could to break you and he seemed to enjoy every second of it. He was doing you dirty, but it was also exactly what you desired. All you wanted now was his approval, as he completely controlled and dominated you in body and spirit.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #this shit is DEPRAVED #that being said the second half i had drafted was even more feral than this #this was the WARMUP

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localplaguenurse · 1 year ago

Note

(Puts cracker in your mouth)

I am eating your blind reader right outta the pot and I was struck with a singular thought that hasn’t left my mind

What if when reader bumped into pants he ruined pants’ clothing in some kinda way (spilled drink/smeared ink from hands/food being smeared on etc)

For context: I was brainstorming a future fic starring a blind reader in discord.

You know what? It's not going in the current version so I'm writing this version here. Consider this a part one to the actual fic. (sorry beta)

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader)

Notes: SFW, first meetings, Pantalone's kind of a dick, and so is Reader's dad. Reader has retinitis pigmentosa which is a genetic condition that causes your retinas to deteriorate over time. He has central vision but also experiences night blindness and loss of peripheral vision. Not beta read.

The sounds of merriment echo through the halls of your family estate, the clicks and clacks of your typewriter unable to drown the sound out as you work. The noises grow louder once the band kicks in, and grow louder still once dinner is served. The smell of fresh food does not travel to your study like the music and laughter did, this section of the manor is a little too remote for that, but you know with the chime of the clock on your wall that this is when it should be brought out.

While not an outright demand, your father had advised you wait in your office for a servant to bring you a helping. Your mother protested, saying there were plenty of people who would love to meet her darling sweetheart of a son, there's no need for you to stay cooped up in your study! You gently reassured her that it was fine, really. The deadline for your novel's first draft is coming up soon, so you really should focus on finishing it as soon as you can. Besides, there is some rather elite company attending the party, and you know your father does not want to risk you making a fool of yourself, and also him by association.

Time ticked on, and your stomach growled, breaking the concentration you barely maintained on writing. You look up, right at the spot on the wall where the clock is. While you can't really see the time at this distance, you know the staff should have brought you your helping some time ago. You sigh, and stand.

You don't dislike parties, you think you enjoy them as much as the next person actually. The problem is that you don't like large, crowded parties due to your condition. Your central vision is perfectly fine, but you've been steadily losing your peripheral vision ever since you were little. It's been especially bad the past few years, to the point you will trip over anything that is not directly in front of you, like furniture and people. When your parents throw elaborate parties or host networking events, your father will suggest you stay up in your room or your study (to avoid any blunders as a result of not seeing the millionaire standing right beside you). While you know there is good meaning behind it, it feels isolating, even a little patronizing at times.

Even if the darkness of the hallway renders you completely blind, you've walked down it enough times you do not worry about tripping. Hand on the railing, you make your way down the stairs, and the light of the estate grows brighter with each step you take down. Before you fully descend, you let your eyes scan the room to try and make a mental map of where everyone is to avoid bumping into anyone on your way.

You barely make it to the ground before you feel a familiar presence and smell a familiar blend of cologne and champagne on your right. You're glad you can't see out of the corner of your eyes because you know exactly what face your father is making right now. You know he's not happy to see you downstairs before he even speaks.

"I thought you were working on your manuscript?" he asks, the accusatory tone in his voice on the more subtle side.

You shrug. "I wanted something to eat."

"Colleen was supposed to bring you your food," your father retorts.

"If she did, I wouldn't have come downstairs, would I?"

Your father scoffs. "Look, just go back upstairs, and I'll talk to Colleen."

A second voice chimes in, softer and sweeter. Your mother. "Oh, sweetie!" Her face comes into view, and she seems happy to see you. "Are you done your manuscript already?"

"Colleen didn't bring him his food, apparently," your father says.

Your mom turns her head in the direction of your father's voice. "Dear, Colleen left early, remember? Wasn't feeling well? She said Adelaide was supposed to bring him his food." "That's a lie, I haven't seen Adelaide at all tonight!"

You raise a hand. "Or, or, I'm an adult who knows where the kitchen is and can get my own serving?"

Your mother cups your face in her hands. "No no, we'll get you something, unless you're here to socialize as well? I was just talking to this woman, she has a daughter about your age-"

"I'm just going to get my food," you quickly cut in, "maybe I'll play matchmaker next time, but I just want something to eat and then I'll get back to work."

"Let the staff get it," your father tells you.

You pull away from your mother and turn to glare at your father. "It's fine. I can get it myself."

You step around your parents but feel your mom clasp your arm. "You father just-"

"Doesn't want me bumping into people, I know, and I won't."

You take two steps before your left side slams right into a passing partygoer. You stumble and hit the ground, while whoever you bumped into manages to maintain their footing. Glass breaks, and when you hit the ground you feel wetness soaking the back of your shirt and the front as well. You hear your mother gasp, and the room goes silent. Even the band has paused their playing, and you can feel the eyes of the room on you.

"What is wrong with you?"

While the man's voice is melodic, it only serves to make your face burn hotter with embarrassment. This is why your dad doesn't invite you to join them at parties, you remind yourself. When you do not immediately answer the question, opting to instead push yourself up, the man continues to chastise you.

"Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? How much it's going to cost to have it properly cleaned?"

You roll over so you're sitting up. Red stains your shirt. "Sorry, I-I didn't see you there."

"Clearly! How painfully unobservant do you have to be to not see me coming through? I was right next to you!"

You drag your gaze up the man's body, as he takes up the entirety of your eyesight. Everything he wears looks designer, and as you take in his shoes, his dress pants, you make it to his suit jacket and shirt. He's wearing black with hints of indigos and dark blues, but the wine stain is still very visible on his chest. Your eyes continue, and you see a snarling, but handsome, but still very angry face. You don't recognize him from the long black hair, the glasses with the bedazzled chain, or the shine of his eyes. You recognize him from the pin on his lapel. At this distance you recognize the Fatui symbol, and your face blanches.

You just ran into a Harbinger.

You hear the footsteps of your father approach. "M-Mister Regrator, I am so, so sorry for my son's actions, I-I'm sure that's a very expensive suit and I am deeply sorry."

The Regrator does not take his eyes off of you. "Yes. Very expensive. Expensive even for you."

"I-I swear, I'm sorry," you stammer, "I didn't see you, I really didn't see you there, I-I-"

You feel your father pull you up by the arm. "I already told you to go upstairs."

Pantalone watches as your father drags you away. You only protest a little before accepting defeat as you are pulled up the stairs. He feels the scowl on his face worsen when your mother approaches with the most desperate and pitiful expression he thinks he's ever seen a woman of her standing wear.

"Are you alright, my lord?" she asks timidly.

Pantalone takes a step back as a maid comes over to clean up the broken glass. "I'm fine, thank you."

"I am so sorry about that, if you'd like, w-we can have our staff clean your suit for you."

"This material is incredibly expensive and difficult to thoroughly wash," Pantalone states, "I highly doubt your staff would know how to clean it."

The woman looks down, embarrassed. "A-Ah, I see..." She looks back up at him, her expression somehow more pitiful than before. "Please, forgive my son, it was an accident, truly. H-He didn't see you there."

"Oh, I know," Pantalone replies, grinning harshly at the woman, "I'm just surprised at how unobservant someone can be, it's almost impressive."

The woman bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Still, she clears her throat, though she does not meet the Regrator's eyes. "M-My son is going blind."

Somehow the room goes quieter.

Pantalone stares at the woman as the words echo in his mind. He blinks, and his expression dulls a little. "Your son is what?"

"Going blind." She lifts her head up a little bit. "It's a genetic condition, m-my father had it as well. He's been losing his eyesight little by little ever since he was a boy. The doctor at his last appointment s-said he's lost most if not all peripheral vision now."

Pantalone can feel the wine begin to soak through to his shirt now. His eyes scan the room, and the guests are clearly pretending they're not listening to the conversation. He turns to the woman, his voice displeased but noticeably softer. "So the, ah, 'unobservant' assumption..."

"He truly did not see you," the woman reiterates, "I-I can't speak for him, of course, but if he's anything like how my father was at his age, he cannot see anything unless it is directly in front of him."

Pantalone clicks his tongue. "Is that so?"

The woman nods. Silence fills the room for a few moments, and then Pantalone sighs.

"In any case, I have to leave," he says, "I do not have a change of clothes, and I really should have this cleaned as soon as possible."

"A-Apologies again, Lord Pantalone..."

Your mother watches Pantalone as he leaves, praying to any Archon who will hear her plea that perhaps the Regrator will take pity on you on account of your condition. She also mentally curses your father for even inviting the man over. Sure, things have been getting a little shaky financially for your family, but getting buddy-buddy with a Harbinger can't be worth it, can it? They're an unsavoury lot she doesn't want around, especially around you.

Your father is already in a foul mood when he comes back downstairs, having lectured you for literally blindly running into Pantalone. The two had plans to work together, after all, so that spectacle could have completely cost the family any chance at maintaining the dwindling fortune. He becomes more upset with your mother when he finds the Regrator has left already, sparking an argument that finally kills the party, leaving the guests to awkwardly mingle before finally leaving hours before the party is set to end.

Your father does not talk to you for a few days. Your mother offers smiles and reassurance that everything will be fine, but the spats echoing down the hall lead you to believe otherwise. You attempt to tune out the building stress in your household and focus on your work, but it's in vain. In the quiet moments between replacing the paper in the typewriter, or when you cannot figure out how a scene is meant to play out, you briefly picture the Regrator's face and feel your face burn up again. Is it anger? Embarrassment? A little bit of attraction? Yes, probably.

The tension in the house reaches a boiling point when a letter sealed with the Regrator's insignia is delivered to the estate.

"You're paying for the suit, boy," your father snaps, figure barely visible as he paces the drawing room lit only by the fireplace.

"W-We don't know if that's what the letter is," your mother remarks, "and he doesn't have enough to cover for it."

"That's the worst part! We would have to cover the majority of it!"

"Can you just open the fucking envelope?!" you finally snap.

Your father advances towards you from the darkness, suddenly right in front of you. "Don't you speak to me like that when this is your fault!"

Both of you flinch when your mother all but rips the envelope from your father's hands. She steps just out of your line of vision, and you hear the ripping sound of the envelope. After a few moments, she lets out a loud sigh of relief.

"He's apologizing and forgiving us for the misunderstanding," your mother says, "though he, ah, he does want us to split the cleaning costs..." You hear the flutter of paper, and she absentmindedly steps forward as she reads the letter. "Oh, j-just for the shirt. That is... oof, that's still a little much..."

You sigh. "I should have enough money saved. Might have to put off moving out for a little longer, though."

"Oh, don't be so down!" your mother awkwardly laughs. "We don't mind having you here a little longer. It gives me peace of mind knowing you're safe! And there are o better doctors out there than in Snezhnaya!"

Your dad has disappeared out of view, but you can still feel his stare. You don't think he's as thrilled as your mother is, but it's better than him paying the full cost of Pantalone's dry cleaning. You wonder if there's anything in the letter stating if he'll still work with your father, and if that means you'll have to see him again before you eventually move. You hope you never see him out of sheer embarrassment, but a part of you wants to. It would be nice to remember a more cheery expression on his handsome face before the day your central vision finally leaves you.

#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #male reader #blind reader #my writing #my fic #genshin fic #this took me too long #i'm sorry #fun fact: I'm a potential carrier for this condition!#i've mostly based this off of what i know about how my grandfather deals with this on top of like actual research #it's a damn miracle the man isn't fully blind right now

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shewrites444 · 1 year ago

Text

unexpected - part 1 & 2 [ xavier thorpe x reader]

[ i’m alive! i haven’t posted in ages and i’m terribly sorry. i’ve had this in my drafts for awhile and finally finished it up. it's a part 1 and 2 that just made sense to put in the same post. ]

word count - 5.5k

[ summary - the reader and xavier have despised each other for years, but when she discovers his unexpected attraction to her after being a bit too nosy, their dynamic takes a complete turn. ]

[ warnings - enemies to lovers, angst/jealousy, swearing, dirty talk, oral (f), unprotected sex, bit of degrading. ]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁part 1 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

i was never a big fan of school dances, especially the kind where wednesday addams stole the show for wearing all black, despite that being typical of her, so i didn't really understand what the surprise was for. i had always been fairly close to enid, but when wednesday transfered to nevermore, our friendship diminished in some ways, but i wasn't drastically devastated or anything - i needed to focus on my education anyway. despite my new and improved academic achievements, enid managed to convince me to come to the r'aven, which i did solo, contrary to the norms at nevermore to never attend such a large event alone.

"she looks gorgeous, don't you think?" enid said next to me, a bit of excitement and pride in her voice as she clutched tighter on her glass of punch, watching the black haired girl walk in with tyler, a blank expression on her face.

i shrugged lightly, taking a sip of my drink as i leaned against the empty chair in front of me. "i mean, she's okay." i said plainly. i didn't even mean it out of jealousy or spite, i really didn't view wednesday to be as unique as she was painted to be by people like.. him, yeah, xavier thorpe.

i thought of xavier because as enid spoke in return to my dry comment, i saw the boy staring at wednesday with a bit of disgust, probably at her date, and also with himself. i would hope that was for being so obsessed with someone who never even returned his way-too-obvious feelings, but who was i to mindread?

i laughed lightly, nudging enid to look in xavier's direction, bianca's expression dropping to clear aggravation and jealousy as she watched her date's face. "why do you think she came with him when she probably knew he was going to react like this?"

enid shook her head, frowning a bit. "i don't think she thought about it like that at all. maybe she thought they would get back together."

"yeah, right." i set my glass down on the white table. "xavier has been mentally dick-riding wednesday since she got here. he wants what he can't have like most guys."

"then why doesn't he want you?" enid asked, giggling as she nudged me. i rolled my eyes and pushed her with my own shoulder.

i grin, looking over to her. "because he hates me so much he can't physically imagine fucking me. remember, he said that during our game of truth or dare last semester."

"oh, believe me, i'll never forget that." she takes a large sip from her cup, laughing through it. "i can't believe he said that in front of half the grade."

"i can." i smirk, taking her empty cup and grabbing my own off the table. "i'll be back with some more punch."

she nods and mouths a small "thank you" as i walk off, lightly pushing myself through the crowd of students and round tables, until i reach the trash can and the punch table that was next to it. i began to fill enid and i's new cups before i feel a tall, lanky, and, oh, deathly aggravating, presence next to mine.

i sigh, turning my body towards his as i look up at xavier thorpe. "upset about your public rejection?"

he rolls his eyes, grabbing a cup and beginning to fill his own after i step away from the bowl. "at least i have a date. i think you're the only person here who doesn't."

"maybe i'm untouchable." i tease, sipping from my cup and looking down at him while he shoots me a grossed out look as he leaned down to grab bianca a glass. "perhaps i stand out more than wednesday, but you'd probably say that was impossible. delusion does something to a person, i suppose."

he scoffed, leaning up straight and looking down at me, as if i appeared to be lesser than him. "you're a real asshole, [y/n]. you know that, right?"

i shrug, clearly unbothered by his comment. "it's my best trait."

walking back to enid, i can hear xavier's annoyed groan as he heads to the opposite side of the room to meet a very pissed off bianca. i pitied her, but at the same time, she agreed to go with xavier thorpe, so there wasn't much i could validate from that decision.

i noticed enid flirting with her date, so i set her drink down on the table and walked back towards the entry door, slipping through it silently and down the dark hallway that led to the dorms. everyone was occupied, and i didn't mind being left alone for a few minutes anyway. i was never a big fan of loud music, or parties, so it didn't suit me much there - i was mainly more of an emotional support for enid than anything. i didn't mind it much at all, but she was with her date, and i would never complain about some alone time on campus.

i slowly creaked open an empty classroom door, walking into the room full of desks and lab equipment. i quietly turned on the lamp aside the teacher's desk before sitting down. i reached into my pocket to grab a small bottle of vodka before pouring it into my drink. as i lifted it up to my lips, i hear a loud knock on the open door, making my eyes widen and avert to the glass bottle in my hands, which i quickly tossed into the trashcan before looking to who was at the door.

i rolled my eyes as i saw xavier, taking a gulp of the drink, which i quickly realized i needed for this interaction that was about to occur.

"what brings you here? did you think of any insults that pertained to something relevant?" i asked, turning the rolling chair towards him as i cross my ankles. "if so, i'm happy to hear what you've come up with this time."

"shockingly, i've come to ask if you wanted to drink with me, but i see you've already started by yourself." he says, leaning against the door frame, putting his hands in his pockets as he references the trashcan.

i gasp with heavy sarcasm. "me? drink with xavier thorpe?" i grin, standing up. "did bianca say no since you publicly humilated her by drooling over wednesday addams?"

he pursed his lips together as a red tint collected onto his pale cheeks. "no, i didn't ask. she's been ignoring me anyway tonight."

"can't blame her, i must have rubbed off on her." i say, handing him my drink as he very quickly took a sip. i blink a bit in surprise. "are you trying to get fucked up?"

"why would i not?" he said with a bit of a frustrated tone. "i'm not going to act like i don't feel bad for screwing over bianca like this. she fucked me over by using her powers when we were together, but i didn't really plan on being a dick to her tonight, it just happened."

"it just happened." i say in a low voice. "you really need to think things through before you say or do them, xavier thorpe. can't ask someone to go to a dance with you just because your first date ditched you. especially your ex."

he shook his head, handing me back the half-full cup. "what am i even doing talking to you about this shit? whatever." he said, turning to face the door. he seemed embarrassed. "see you."

i stare blankly at his confusing but unsurprising response. it seemed him opening up to me and me not giving him a sympathetic reaction pissed him off, but i don't really know what he was expecting from me in the first place. we hadn’t gotten along for years. truthfully, i couldn’t even pinpoint when our mutual disliking started, but it had always been around.

“you know, i may not be quite fond of you, xavier, but i’m here if you need brutal honesty.” i raise my tone as he walks off, leaving me with no response. i sigh, now a bit embarrassed with myself for displaying a small portion of kindness to him.

i turn around, finishing my drink off and tossing it in the trash before i walk down the hallway, opposite of the dance, back to my dorm room.

as i approach my room, i glance down to see a dorm key on the floor. my brows raise and i lean down, grabbing the metal and reading the side of it. my eyes widen when i see who’s it is. obviously, no other than xavier thorpe's.

“oh, shit.” i mutter.

i wouldn’t act like i wasn’t a nosy person, especially towards my nemesis - of course i’d be going to snoop in his room.

his dorm was a few down from my own. i quietly unlocked the wooden door, sliding myself through the cracked frame and gently shutting it behind me. flipping the dim lights on, i scanned the messy, yet also oddly organized bedroom. given that xavier thorpe was a strange person, at least to me, i very quickly found something interesting. his sketchbook.

i walk towards his desk, picking up the red journal and flipping through it, seeing well drawn pictures of different animals, instruments, nothing interesting.. until, the last few pages, which were not photos, but writing.

as much as she made my blood boil, her fierce personality grew on me, far more than i expected it to as the years went on. the hate i once possessed so deeply was altered into a deep, truly intolerable lust, one that i could never showcase to her, only myself, surrounded by my own walls and left to think of her alone, touching myself to-

my eyes widened and i shut the book, setting it slowly and quietly on the desk, exactly into its original place. good god, who the fuck was xavier writing a-list fanfiction about?

i bit my bottom lip, shaking my head as i glanced back down at the sketchbook. no, i couldn’t keep reading it. as much as i loathed him, this was personal. i would be drastically upset if someone read information of mine so private. it was like my hand was unconsciously gravitating towards the book anyway.

“i’m such an asshole.” i muttered to myself, opening the pages again, and back to where i left off.

her dominant words, her demands for me to fuck her in such an intimate, yet so dirty way that it was almost unimaginable. my body on top of her own, her arms wrapped around my drenched skin as i pushed myself inside of her warm, tight walls, walls that held me inside and possessed me as her own. [y/n]-

“oh, fucking hell..” i whispered with shock, now slamming the book shut and setting it back in place immediately after reading my name in the following sentence.

it was partially horrifying, but also oddly compelling that xavier thorpe, the same person who would probably stomp on my grave, was writing detailed scenarios of us fucking in his spare time. genuinely, i couldn’t wrap my head around it, but i didn’t have much time to regardless, as i noticed on his alarm clock that it was reaching close to midnight, and the r’aven would be over soon.

i turn the lamp off, the room shading itself into darkness immediately, as i walk to the door. my hand reaches to open it, and it instead comes towards me as xavier walks in. my eyes widen in fear, and i freeze up, the key in my hand as xavier flips the lights on, and stares at me, shocked and more confused than anything.

“you.. you took my spare key?” he asked, shutting the door and leaning against it, crossing his arms.

i shake my head, handing it back to him. “no, i found it on the floor.”

“so, you came to my room, rather than give it to me when you found it.” he said, following my explanation. “trying to rob me of everything i’ve got?” he gestures to his closet. “about the most expensive thing i’ve got is a pair of nikes, so have at it.”

i roll my eyes, my face a heated pink, so much so that i could feel it burning on my cheeks. “no, that wasn’t the plan. more curiosity than anything. truthfully, i just wanted to snoop around.”

it seemed the idea of his sketchbook didn’t even cross his mind. “oh? to find what?”

“well, i found some written porn.” i say quite boldly, looking up at him. “on someone very unexpected, actually.”

i watched his expression drop, and he shook his head in what seemed to be more disbelief than anything. it quickly shaped itself into anger, and some embarrassment. “you read my fucking journal?”

“i didn’t mean to.” i cut him off before he could speak any further. “it’s not like i wanted to voluntarily read that.”

“f-fuck..!” he yells, covering his face in embarrassment, the key slipping out of his palm and onto the wooden floor. “oh, god, you’ve got to leave, [y/n]. please leave.”

“will do.” i sigh, awkwardly nodding, and noticing his shaken up stance. “but you are sort of blocking my exit.”

he moves out of the way as i speak, probably the fastest i’ve seen him move in his life. i walk towards the door, reaching to open it, before i stop. i glance up at him.

“can i ask you what provoked such writing about myself before i go? does my hateful nature turn you on? i didn’t mean it to be that way.”

he shook his head, sighing. he looked up, unable to meet our eyes. he bit the inside of his cheek as he thought. “no, i.. i..” he sighed heavily. “you’re unattainable. someone i can’t ever imagine doing such things with for so many different reasons.”

“well, you clearly can’t get with wednesday either but i didn’t see pages of sexual encounters written about her.”

he steps back, shaking his head once again at my comment. “you’re completely different people, [y/n]. it’s not the same.”

“what’s so different?” i ask, now a bit intrigued by the conversation. i lean against the doorframe. “i’m genuinely curious.”

he finally looked at me, his mouth hung open as he stared at me for a moment. “the difference is you’re the only person i’ve ever wanted to fuck but deeply despise at the same time. it confuses me, and i.. i know it’s so weird, but writing about it was the only way i could… uh, process it, i guess.”

oh, god. his words pierced my core. not in the violent, gorish way i’d prefer them to, but rather a more sexual fashion that created a massive disruption in me. the forming wetness between my legs unsettled me.

“you’re right, it’s time for me to go.” i nod, opening the door as i spoke. “goodnight.”

i walk down the hallway, staring at the floor the entire time until i get to my dorm. i could hear him hesitate before shutting his door after he registered the conversation was over.

i shut the door behind me, quickly taking off my dress and setting it on my desk before getting into my bed, bare aside from my underwear, which i was starting to slide off hastily and dropped to the floor. he wouldn’t know of this. he wouldn’t know i wanted it, too, as strange as that seemed to me. it was something i needed to now keep to myself, just as he did previously. this was it, no more than this. one time touching myself to that asshole. one time.

the sensation was so fresh, so hard to grasp that i felt a sense of euphoria wash over my heated body as i closed my eyes, running my fingers down my stomach and to the slit between my legs, sinking myself into the imaginative state i was in as i ran scenarios through my head, consisting of the most unexpected person they could withhold.

one time. i thought again. one time.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ part 2 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

as expected, xavier and i's feud was drastically dialed down after that night. the classes we did have together that we used to bicker in were now silent, which was a weird feeling, but not as weird as what happened last weekend. i tried to black it all out of my head, and i was correct about touching myself to xavier thorpe being a one time affair. at least i held myself accountable for my singular mistake, and didn't make it some sort of off-putting habit.

xavier, on the other hand, seems clearly disturbed by our now lessening exchange of words, even if it was a simple insult shot across biology being absent. i could visibly see it on his face when i walked into the room, his eyes darting down to his textbook, and his lips pursed together in what i would assume to still be fresh embarrassment. i felt bad for him in more ways than one, i would admit. it was his personal thoughts, and i did invade them, but also cut off any further explanation he was going to give me that night.

cutting me out of those overbearing thoughts was the bell for last period, the students at my table scrambling their books into their hands as they rushed out of english. i sighed, slowly standing up and beginning to pack my bookbag. i didn't have any classes for the rest of the day, so it was time for me to head back to my dorm and start working on the paper we just discussed for the past hour and a half that i blacked out of.

"can we talk?" i hear faintly from the side of my desk. i look up to lock eyes with xavier, and my face immediately reddens. i press my lips together and breath lightly out of my nose as i think of how to even respond to his sudden question and frankly, startling presence.

"i don't think you're a creep, if that's what you're wanting to talk to me about." i say honestly, slinging my backpack across my shoulder. "i do think this obviously has created much tension between the two of us that will probably never fade out because of how substantial the situation is, but i think it's for the best, regardless. the semester is almost over an-"

xavier sighs and shakes his head. "no, not that - i mean, i, i agree with that, but i just wanted to explain myself. i don't want the last conversation we ever have to be what we had last weekend."

"understandable." i return. "so, uhm, you can come to my dorm if you'd prefer? this doesn't seem like something appropriate to discuss in the commons. but try to walk a few feet behind me so no one sees us together. bad for our image of hate towards one another."

he sounded relieved that i agreed to talk to him, and let out a small chuckle at my demand. he follows me to my room, with distance as directed, and comes in shortly after i do. i set my room key on my desk before gesturing for him to sit on my bed, and i sit against the headboard, facing him while he awkwardly positioned himself at the end of the mattress.

he cleared his throat, resting his nervous hands on his thighs as he looked at the ground. "i just wanted to apologize. i know that made you uncomfortable, and believe me, it made me pretty uncomfortable writing what i did, but at the same time, it's just how i get my words out. i.. i am really sorry if i violated you in a way. i didn't mean for you to ever see that, and i obviously didn't show it to anyone else. i burned it all last weekend so that it's gone and no one will ever see it but me and you."

i blink in surprise at how adamant he was about getting rid of the evidence he probably spent a lot of time writing. i nod, leaning down as i sink into my propped up pillows. "it's okay, i don't feel that you did that to make me feel weird. you obviously never expected me to see it, and i'm sorry for violating your privacy in the first place. i appreciate you getting rid of it."

he gave me a soft, but still uncomfortable smile. "so.. so we're good?"

"sure." i shrug, sitting up as i felt the conversation beginning to wrap up. "back to mortal enemies? or would you prefer strangers?"

he looked caught off guard by my question, his eyebrow raising at my words. "is there an option that combines the two of them in some way?"

"eh." i cross my legs and lean forward as i speak. "perhaps."

i hear the rain begin to beat against my bedroom window, the sky diming to accompany the sudden thunderstorm, then look to xavier in response. "you better go if you want to make it back to your dorm without getting drenched."

"yeah, you're right." he nods, clearing his throat uncomfortably before standing up. he looks to me, watching as i stand up in return. "well, i'm glad everything is okay."

i nod silently, the two of us staring at each other, unable to process a proper way to say goodbye. i mean, how could we with the conversation we just had?

"uh, me too." i cross my arms and shake my head out of the eye contact, looking up to him. "i'll see you tomorrow in biology?"

"yeah." he nods, turning towards the door to walk himself out.

"oh, here." i walk in front of him to grab my key. "i need to unlock the-"

"can i kiss you [y/n]?"

my cheeks redden and i set the key down, turning to face him. i blink in disbelief. "kiss me?"

"i'm sorry, that was a heat of the moment thing, i didn't mean to make this weird ag-"

"no, it's fine." i walk towards him as i cut his stammering words off, leaning up to take his head into my hands and pull him down to my height, pressing his warm lips against my own. he hastily wrapped his arms around my waist, our bodies gravitating to my bed as i push my weight onto his thin, light build, climbing on top of him and moaning lightly into his mouth as i ran my fingers through his long strands of straight hair.

while there was no rush to this sudden circumstance, we were kissing like we were on a time crunch, hands running down each other's clothed bodies and very quickly taking them off. xavier begins to unbutton my school shirt, the nude colored bra that laid behind it exposed to his eyes, which were visibly glued to my chest as he undressed me. i unbuckled his belt in the process, looking down at him while he moved his head closer to my chest, trailing kisses down my heated flesh and lightly brushing my bra out of the way for a moment as his lips kissed my nipple, tongue circling the stimulated bud which only earned a moan from my lips, xavier's body twitching against my own while my pleasure transferred into his own.

i reach down between us to slide my hand into his pants, a bit slowly to make sure he was okay with it, which he very quickly signaled by lightly bucking his hips towards me in return. my hand was met with his erection, straining in his khakis as i jerked it off, moans escaping from his pink lips and vibrating onto my chest which was starting to cover in light hickies and salvia.

he breaks himself away, forcing my body onto the mattress and my hand out of his pants, his own build getting off of me and onto the floor, his knees against the hardwood while he pulled down my skirt, and my underwear, my face dark red as i was nearly naked before him, nothing but my lopsided bra and half buttoned shirt.

"you don't understand how long i've wanted to taste you." he says through a low, seductive yet needy tone of voice. "i've wanted you in my mouth for what feels like ages." he leans down, taking both my thighs into his hands and pulling my bottom up and towards the end of the bed to reach him.

i was speechless, sitting up and staring down at xavier while he began to trail wet kisses into my inner thighs, his mouth soon reaching my pussy and beginning to lick the outside with great tease. i gasped at just his most gentle touch, one hand holding my body propped up as the other reached down to cup the side of his left cheek. he looked up at me, watching as i gave him a small nod to go further.

his tongue attacked my clit, sucking on the bud and my wet skin while one of his hands snaked between my thighs, gently pushing two fingers into my slit, stimulating my body through more ways than i imagined he would so soon. i moaned, closing my eyes and immersing myself into the moment, finding it still hard to believe that his head was between my thighs now when i would've laughed at the thought of this a few days ago.

watching xavier eat me out was so attractive, i almost couldn't comprehend what him fucking me would feel like. he knew what he was doing, holding our eyes as he pushed his fingers inside me, his touch sucking against my clit and twirling around in circles to tease me further, sparks sending themselves to my hot core. it felt never-ending, in a good way, of course, the way he was able to make me feel. the way he made me want him after all this time hating each other was insane. it was rather impressive more than anything.

i leaned forward, watching him pull his lips away from my middle and to my lips, the taste of my own pleasure now against my mouth, his tongue pushing forward and clashing against my own. with his fingers still in me, he adjusted our position, now on his knees in the bed and hovering a bit above me, watching as my mouth hung open at his touch, the feeling of another finger slipping into my tight walls. i could feel myself wrapping around him, which he visibly took note of, as the expression on his face shaped into a smirk, almost like he was proud of himself for the way i reacted to his strengthening touch.

"i've got to stretch you out if you want me to be inside you." he remarks, leaning down to kiss me between the sinful noises that left my lips. "you want me to fuck you like i hate you?"

"shouldn't be a hard thing to do." i grin, pecking his lips, gasping as he curls his fingers inside me at my response.

xavier pulled his wet fingers out, slapping them against pussy as i arch my body in response to the intense touch, my eyes widening as i look at him in surprise. he could only chuckle, standing up and taking his pants and boxers off, his hard length pointing itself towards me as he steps closer again, knees on the mattress and cock aligned with me. he wasn't lying - he was quite long, as i could have imagined by his height and lanky build, but he was thick, too. he was much more than i imagined he was, but i wasn't complaining.

he leaned closer, helping adjust my body to where my feet were now resting on his bare shoulders, spread wide as he pushed inside me, my eyes shutting and mouth opening at the feeling of him slowly pushing inside my body. good god, he hurt, but at the same time, he felt so fucking good.

he held me by my ankles, his hair moving with his rhythm as he kept a slow, intimate pace, watching as my breasts moved with his thrusts, briefly, until he pulled out. i blinked, confused. "is everything okay?"

"you want me to fuck you like i hate you, right, [y/n]?" he asks flatly, his hand running down his cock, before nudging me to flip over.

my cheeks redden and i shake my head. "i would think you'd want to see my expression when doing so."

"who said i wasn't?" he grinned, grabbing me by the hips and tossing me over, pressing his hand on my stomach to arch back before pushing himself back inside.

i gasped, unable to react as he grabbed my face, guiding it towards him and leaning down to where we were able to meet eyes, my hair fallen in front of my face, which he adjusted to fit behind my ears. i could see it in his eyes that he wanted to watch my expression in every way while he pumped his cock inside me, stroke after stroke causing me to moan, my vision clouding with the harder he held my face, the harder he fucked me and made my legs nearly melt at his rough touch.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he coos, placing a rough, wet kiss against my lips. "so fucking beautiful when you take me inside you, i can feel you tightening against me, [y/n]. i didn't think you'd want me around you much longer, but look at you."

"shut the fuck up." i say through pitiful moans, my hands holding the bedsheets as he talked. "you're not always going to have the upper hand."

he scoffed, picking up his pace, pecking my cheek before leaning up, his hand moving to hold the back of my neck while his thrusts only grew strong from his new position.

"says the girl who's letting me fuck her from behind with her ass propped up for my bare cock." he smirked as he heard me groan in annoyance. "you can tell me you like it, no shame in it."

i roll my eyes, now trying to hold my tongue. i figured this wasn't the time or place to cuss out the same person who was actively pounding me with his cock. "just shut up, xavier."

he leaned down to kiss my cheek quickly, his lips leveling to my ear. "i think you know me well enough to know i'm not going to."

he lifted himself back up, holding my ass as he guided me back and forth, the sounds of our wet skin slapping together while i enveloped his cock inside me, the stimulation far too great to not earn us both a very quickly approaching orgasm.

i felt him moan lightly from behind me, our voices, and bodies, and noises, sync together while the room seemed to grow hotter and far too much for either of us to handle, until we both finished, xavier staying in me for a moment before slowly pulling out, his cum leaking lightly between my shaking, red legs as i laid down on my back.

he laid down aside me, reaching over to undo my top completely and help guide my bra off, leaving the two of us now completely naked, lathered in our own, and each other's, sweat. i felt him wrap his arms around me and i rolled my eyes, lightly trying to nudge him off me.

"you're sweaty." i say, watching him laugh at my remark. "what's so funny?"

he stopped me from my squirming, taking my hand into his own and wrapping his arm around my waist. "you'll never be quiet, will you, [y/n]?"

i shake my head, my expression lightening as i look up to him. "i'm not the one who was begging to taste the other. remind me who was on their knees earlier?"

"i hate you." he playfully nudges me, pulling me closer. he sighed, and look up at the wood ceiling, his tone dialing down as he pursed his lips together.

"you know, you physically feel good, but this felt good, too." he gestures to the two of us, which i only blushed in response at.

"xavier thorpe, are you admitting you've peaked an interest in me?" i tease, squeezing his hand in response.

he rolled his eyes, shrugging softly. "maybe so, but no worries, i'll still follow a few feet behind you in the hallway."

"look at you, already listening. guess i really do have the upper hand in this, don't i?" i sit up, watching as he followed my actions. i reach over to hold him by his face, kissing him once again.

he chuckled, holding me by the back of my head as he returned the kiss. he raised his eyebrow, a bit of reflection on his face from what just happened. “why the sudden change of heart towards me?”

“i don’t know.” i shrug, looking from his lips to his eyes. “i guess we’ll have to see how this unfolds over time.”

“i guess so.” he grinned, kissing me once again. “no worries, ill still make sure to embarrass you in some way on monday in biology.”

“you wouldn’t dare.” i smirk, lightly nudging him onto his back as i climb on top of him. “good luck, xavier thorpe.” i begin to trail kisses down his neck, his arms once again wrapping around my waist.

“words of good luck from the enemy? today’s full of surprises.” he teases before sliding his hand between us.

#smut writing #x reader #x yn #xavier thrope x reader #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe smut #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #wednesday 2022 #netflix wednesday #wednesday fanfic #wednesday series

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shinyrhinestones · 9 months ago

Text

Loved in the night

Summary: Elle comforts Reader after her mother gets hospitilazed.

Pairing: Elle Greenaway X BAU!Fem!Reader.

Genre: Fluff, smut and angst.

NSFW.

Category: Oneshot

Warnings: Sickness, food, drinks. Oral (reader rec), petting, making out. Also Reader has a mum living in the US.

Also this is a draft from a long time ago. I’m not perfect at writing, and Especially not at smut, so yeah 🤷‍♀️ also this was probably written quickly so it probably feels rushed and there’s probably a bunch of grammar mistakes 🫠

———————————————————————

You’ve never really been worried about anything bad happening to your family. They didn’t live as close to you and your job, and you never really worried about their health either. Everything seemed to go well. But you never quite know what to expect. A phone call informing you about your mothers heart attack was a good way to ruin your entire day.

You got permission of your boss to leave for the day, and you rushed to the hospital. The doctor explained how it was going to be all right, and she would recover. You stayed by your mothers side for some time, even though she was unconscious. You still had some things at work to get done. Some files that hadn’t been finished up yet. And even though you were really worried about your mother, you didn’t know what to expect when your work wasn’t done. And as your mother still was unconscious, like She had been for all the time you’d been there, you figured you would hurry back to the bullpen.

You entered the bullpen walking a little slower than normally, and with a frown formed on your face. You walked over to your desk when you were questioned by a coworker. “Y/N, where have you been?” Derek asked, head tilting a little. Honestly, you really didn’t want to tell the truth. You sat down and slouched in your seat. You opened a drawer grabbing a handful of the files you needed to finish, and stuffed them in your bag. You looked up at Derek, and saw how Elle and JJ were now standing behind him aswell. “Uhm..” Was the only thing you managed to say, staring off to the side. “I..I don’t really want to talk about it” You were met with confused looks yet worried, but met with silence. Maybe because you stood up before giving them a chance to react properply, and walked over to Hotch’s office to let him know you were taking the files with you, and that you’ll finish them in time. He of course was surprised why you had returned when you had more important stuff to focus on at the moment.

“I know, Hotch, I do. But I’m so new to this whole thing I just wanna get these done and distract me from the trouble until she wakes up.” You rambled out of worry and a slight panic. “Y/N, it’s okay, go home” Hotch said in a calm yet demanding voice. You nodded and turned around leaving his office. When you walked past Elle’s desk she immediately stood up to catch up with you. “Y/N, What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Normally Elle would’ve let the person walk away. She normally would’ve shrugged, and turned her attention back to whatever she was doing before. But this was something completely different than normal to her. You stopped walking to be able to look her in the eyes, and have a normal conversation. You looked into her brown eyes, letting them study your face. Your heart almost melted at the sight of Elle being concerned for you. As a profiler, you could notice how she actually cared about you. But you never thought more of it, than just being a good friend. Because the thought of her being interessed in you was abnormal. Elle always seemed to good for anything really. And maybe she wasn’t even into girls.

You let your eyes fall down, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Debating on if you should tell her or not. “What is it?” She asked again, knowing something was wrong. Not only did she notice your behaviour, but also how you had visited Hotch’s office twice that day. “My mother had a heart-attack” You sighed, and brushed some of your hair behind your ears. Elle’s eyes softened even more. “Are you going to the hospital?” She asked, trying to meet your eyes. “Well, I have these files to finish, but I also want to be there for my mum when she wakes up, so I might do them in the hospital.” You explained, looking all over the place. Elle nodded along to your words, and almost started to frown herself. “What if I help you with that? We can just take it slow, alright? I'm sure Hotch understands.” She tried to calm you down, as you came of as very troubled and in distress. “Right, yeah. I’m sorry” You hid your face in your hands for a moment, then looked at the dark haired woman again. “Why don’t I help you? Let me take you to the hospital, and then accompany you there. You seem like someone who could do well with some support.” She said, holding your hands and then let them go, when you agreed. She quickly made sure that everything she had to take care of was done, so she could go home already.

——-

Elle went to hospital with you, and sat with you out in the hallway when your mother had to go through some tests. She sat down next to you, and reached you a waterbottle.

“Thank you.” You mumbled and accepted the bottle. But you didn’t open it. You just fiddled with the bottle in both of your hands. Hearing the water squish and the water moving fast in motion. Elle stared at you and your playing. Her eyes were studying you and she couldn’t help but profiling you. But honestly it didn’t take a profiler to know you were sad and down. Elle’s palms were sweaty and she tried to rub it off on her jeans. Elle could be quite a private person. Not one to always accept her company outside of work.

And perhaps you should’ve noticed that as a profiler. But everything in the moment was too overwhelming for you.

Elle rested a hand on your back, trying to show her support. She didn’t really know what to say. Other than admiring you, she of course tried to find the right words to say. But Elle just ended up sighing and left it at that. You didn’t wanna admit it in the moment, but Elles hand on your back made you try really hard not to smile or blush. Luckily, when you sit next to each other in a hospital, you dont see each others faces unless forced by yourselves. Would’ve been really hard to explain why you were smiling, in this situation.

————

And again, Elle wouldn’t let you go home alone. She was the one who convinced you to go home, and get some rest. That rest in the hospital wasn’t that enjoyable. Elle knew what she was talking about.

She drove you home, and while she was sitting in the driver seat, you couldn’t help but admire her features as she was so concentrated. And worried. You saw it in her eyes. It’s always the eyes. She bit her lip as a way to hide her concern.

She walked with you up the stairs to your apartment. Elle seemed like she really didn’t want to let you be alone, cause she could sense how bad you felt. I mean obviously. But between you and Elle, you knew a lot about each other. And that was also a realization for you, when you stood by your own doorstep. Yes, Elle was private, but to you she was more open. You’ve had your fair share of long conversations.

“Elle.” You said softly, looking at her confused. “Yeah.” She looked at you a little surprised, her eyes a little wide. Her mouth slightly open. “Why did you walk up with me here?”. You asked, even though you kinda knew why. “I..Uhm. I don’t know. Do you want me to leave?” She stuttered a bit, and she wasn’t really sure of what you trying to say.

“No.” You shook your head lightly. If you were to be honest, you would tell her how much you actually wanted her to stay. How much you wanted her close. That she should show you all her care and love for just one night. If that wasn’t too much to want.

But you were shy. And you also felt like it was weird behaviour. Even though, it wasn’t weird of you for wanting her.

You welcomed Elle inside and she complimented your apartment. You smiled lightly and thanked her.

—-

After a nice dinner made by both you and Elle, you decided you wanted to sleep. But you both knew you couldn’t sleep. Even after all of the good laughter Elle gave you for the evening, it was still hard not to worry. Elle asked you if she should stay the night, and you accepted. You didn’t want to be alone.

It was good that Elle distracted you with funny storytimes and jokes, making you both laugh. She made you distracted. You layed under the covers, your legs touching now and then. And everytime, you wondered how Elle felt about it. Cause to you, it wasn’t enough. Elle took your hand, when your laughter died down. And your eyes met for a moment. Elle was bold. You knew that. Elle took risks, and sometimes you could get so angry at her for it, with the job you had.

Elle was too afraid of saying anything. She let her thumb work around your hand, as a distraction for herself. You already felt like this way more intimate for two friends and colleagues. She scooted closer, and you smiled gently at her in the dark. But Elle was so close, she saw it. “What?” She smiled herself, and her eyes shined with being intrigued. “You’re close.” You answered shortly. Her eyes changed from shining brightly, to being afraid. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She tried pulling back, but you squeezed her hand in a second, and she stopped moving.

“What?” She blurted out.

“I don’t mind.” You explained. She relaxed her tensed up muscles, and you heard her sigh of relief. “Okay.” She whispered. “Elle..” Her eyes found yours again, and she could hear your soft breathing in the dark room. The only sounds besides that were the other people in the apartment block getting ready for bed aswell. But it was faint, and perhaps only your upstairs neighbour. Or the sounds of cars passing by out on street. In a swift motion, she let her lips touch yours in a gentle quick kiss. She wanted your reaction. And the one she got, was you pulling her back down, to kiss again. More this time.

Elle let her arms wrap around you. Her left arm around your waist, while your right arm took a hold of her shoulder. She sat up just a little, by supporting herself on her right elbow. She gave you a long kiss, pulled away and then curtly kissed down your neck before her fingers sneaked under the covers. She let her hand roam across your figure, before they went under your tanktop. Elle looked at you in the silence now between you, and you gave her a slight smile.

Her hand went up to your breast, letting her hand softly and quickly slide across, and then down to your abdomen. She leaned down again, to let your lips touch again. You sighed into the kiss, like everything had been resolved. All your thoughts about Elle had been answered, and now you were just lost in the moment. Elle’s fingers snuck under the waistband of your panties, and let the tip of her finger softly settle on your clit.

You had one of your hands on Elle’s cheek, by her hair. And the other hand was around her shoulderblade. She pulled away, and you both got some air, from a heated kiss. Elles kisses were steady yet passionate. Like she kissed with all of her admiration, mixed with being certain of herself and her love.

Your head rested further into your cold pillow, as Elle rubbed her finger in gentle circles. You let out almost silent whines for everytime she rubbed. Cutting yourself off. “Are you okay?” She asked, knowing that this might be too much of a step already. “Yeah, Elle. I’m okay. I just really want you right now.” You admitted honestly. And she moved up on her knees right between your legs. “Okay.” She almost smiled, but she knew this was a moment where you needed to feel serious.

She slided down your underwear completely, and reached down. Laying herself down. She kissed where she could reach before going to one of your most sensitive places. She carefully and gently, let her tongue rest against your clit. She got less and less careful as she felt like you were getting more worked up. Her hands held onto you, of course. Your hands gripped onto the quilt, she had moved to the side, before she laid down on the madrass for you. “Mhm-“ you were a little aware of your sounds, as it was getting late and you didn’t want any complaints. She kept her soft licks, roaming around with her tongue. Her fingers carefully rested at your entrance before she let the slide in.

You let out a moan louder than you meant to. But the feeling of her was too good. She looked up but didn’t even get a look at you cause it was so dark. But she could you tensing up, and at that she let her lips suck at your clit, as your hands clenched the white quilt.

Elle could only hear her name and your soft breathing and whines. She still tried not to smile too much, as she could feel you weren’t ready to let go. She let her fingers curl inside you, and find her rhythm. One of your hands gripped her hair, and you felt it all crash down on you at once, when you felt her like that between your thighs. And with a moan cutting off the other, you felt your back arch, as your muscles got tighter. You let go off Elles hair, and let your hand rest against the bed again. Elle kept going until she felt your high wearing off. You opened your eyes, which you had barely been able to keep open. Elle sat up, after her fingers slid out again, and she sat down next to you.

She gave you a long kiss, and you sighed yet again.

However, Elle didn’t think of herself in this moment, but you wanted more of her.

#criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #elle greenaway fluff #elle greenaway fic #elle greenaway #elle greenaway fanfiction #elle greenaway smut #smut #fluff #fic #fanfiction #elle greenaway x reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds masterlist

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isawritesshit · 1 year ago

Text

Someone - Chapter 2

image taken from @ patlmao on pinterest

Synopsis: Satoru became something to you during your school years together at Jujutsu Tech, which were ended abruptly when you were casted out from your clan and left the jujutsu world. When Satoru finds you again after years apart, you find out that you were something to him too. Maybe you still are.

Warnings/Content: fem!reader, season 2 spoilers, violence, brief depictions of blood and nudity, language, death/murder, conspiracy, allusions to toxic households/anxiety/physical abuse, some arranging marriage things, toji giving more teenagers trauma

Author's Note: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I'm glad it could get it to y'all! This chapter focuses much more on the reader than anything, and it's overall more angsty, but I promise the good stuff is coming soon! The Kamo family and any of its mentioned characters/members in this story are made up and dramatized for the point of this series, and are not canon. Make sure to read the prologue and chapter one before this one, if you haven't. Also, I wanted to thank all of those who have supported my Color Blue series, and that the next chapter is in my drafts! <33

Word Count: ~5.4k

___________________________________________________________

Walking up the steps to Jujutsu Tech had to be one of your least favorite activities, but the five of you pushed forward. You were almost home free. Once you reached the inside of the jujutsu barrier, the mission would be complete.

Memories from that morning flooded your mind. Satoru had still been awake when you got up from the couch after a somewhat peaceful rest. How did you sleep? His voice had been gravely and quiet, completely exhausted.

Good, you had yawned as you stretched, making your first task to go and find him some caffeine. What you didn't say was that you actually had been awake for an hour before you decided to move. You had felt him caressing the ends of your hair, running his knuckle along your cheek while he assumed you were still unconscious.

You can't get any more obvious than that, (y/n). Riko's words rang through your head.

"Satoru." You stopped and turned to where he was walking up the steps behind you. Upon hearing his name, Satoru grinned and trotted up until he was on the same steps as you so you both could continue together. He didn't seem to care that he left his conversation with Suguru.

"Something up?" he chirped.

"No it's... I needed to ask you about something, actually." Your focus was on the steps below you as you ascended them, hands behind your back as you took up a leisurely pace. A few seconds passed as you considered your next words.

"Well? I'm waitiiiiing," Satoru sang. That caffeine had definitely helped.

Are you sureeee...?

"You know what, I think I'll tell you when once we finish the mission," you stated haughtily, shrugging as a way to playfully brush off the issue. Now probably wasn't the time anyway. It might be better to ask once the stress of this mission was past all of you. Satoru turned back to chat with Suguru.

Finally, you reached the top of the steps. "Good job everyone. We're inside Jujutsu High's barrier now," Suguru commended with a smile. You patted Riko's back as she hunched over from the exertion of the trek. "Satoru, (y/n), you both really worked hard this time."

You returned a small, awkward smile.

Satoru just scowled. "I never wanna get stuck babysitting a brat again."

When you turned to Satoru with a remark on the end of your tongue, there was a blade protruding from his chest.

You hesitated, eyes wide. Impossible. You're inside the barrier! Geto sent a curse careening for Satoru's attacker, causing him to remove the blade and jump back. The curse gobbled the mercenary in one bite, but you knew that would only prolong his attacks. You ran to Satoru's side, pressing a hand to his chest and back where the blade had entered to heal him.

However, Satoru pushed you away gently, explaining how he used his technique to keep the blow from being fatal. "Don't waste your energy. I'll take this guy, you three get her to Tengen-sama."

You almost protested, but you knew your role in this mission was to keep Riko alive, which meant you had to stay with her the whole time. With Suguru protecting the three of you, you would be safe. "Be careful, Satoru. Let's go!" Suguru shouted. Riko and Kuroi ran to his side as they started to sprint.

"Satoru..." There was something seriously wrong. Why was Satoru attacked instead of Riko? Hadn't her bounty been lifted also? This man must have some kind of technique to allow Satoru to not be able to sense him, or, even worse, he might not have cursed energy at all. But if that were true, how had he been able to see past the barrier?

"Seriously, (y/n), I'll be alright. Protect Riko," he said with surprising calmness. His assurance gave you confidence. He's the strongest. He would be fine. You turned to catch up with Suguru and the girls, and hoped you weren't making a mistake.

___________________________________________________________

The shrieking of the old elevator filled your ears as the four of you descended deep into the earth. Suguru made sure that no cursed energy residuals were left, especially once you reached a chosen entrance of the Tombs of the Star Corridor. That bastard would be lucky if he even found one of the entrances.

Once your group reached the bottom, the four of you stepped out and peered into the darkness of the corridor beyond. Riko seemed to look forward towards what she believed to be her final steps as herself. "This is as far as I go, Riko-sama," Kuroi stated with a bow. Riko ran to her and hugged her tightly, tears filling their eyes.

"I'll stay with Kuroi," you declared. Riko whipped her head to you. "Suguru will keep you safe," you assured her, taking a few steps in their direction, "we'll remain to guard this entrance." You pulled Riko into a deep embrace, her tears soaking the sleeve of your uniform. "Thank you, Riko..." you whispered, not specifying what for. You held her head as tears threatened to fall from your own eyes. In the span of three days, this girl managed to become a dear friend to you, like Shoko.

You glanced over Riko's shoulder and made eye contact with Suguru. You hoped he could see past the despondency in your eyes to know you were pleading with him. You, Satoru, and Suguru had discussed the terms of Riko's assimilation in private. She didn't have to assimilate if she didn't wish to. You trusted Suguru to convey that to Riko before it was too late.

You and Riko broke apart, sniffling and wiping tears. "Tell Gojo I said thank you, (y/n)," she whispered. You could see the hidden message behind her words, the happiness she wished for you to pursue. You would. For her, you would.

You watched as the two started a leisurely pace ahead. It was more a speed that someone might take on an evening stroll instead of to the end of their existence with a ruthless murderer on the hunt nearby, yet you stared from behind in awe at Riko's silent bravery. Soon enough, her and Suguru were out of sight as their footsteps faded within the passing minutes. You and Kuroi stood there in silence.

"You raised Riko well, Kuroi," you whispered, pausing for a moment. "I know you said her parents passed in an accident, but, if you don't mind me asking, how did her parents die?" Accident was a vague term.

"A car wreck," Kuroi responded. "A head on collision. They were crushed in the front seat while she was sitting in the back."

"Ah... and how old was she?"

"Six."

You went silent. What was special about six years old anyway? Was that the age that all gifted girls lost their parents?

"(y/n), do you think that... if I always knew that Riko would one day depart from me, from the world... was I wrong to teach her... to allow her to become attached to the world?" Kuroi's words left the silence as slowly as they had entered.

"Do you mean because Riko would one day assimilate that she should have never learned to love the people around her?"

"Yes well, I mean, she could still appreciate things but... this world was never meant to be hers, yet I treated it like it was. Was I wrong to do that?"

"No. Absolutely not," you challenged. "The world was hers. The world is still hers because you raised her to believe it. Now, we just need to see what she'll do with it." You paused before explaining. "Riko doesn't have to assimilate if she doesn't want to. She can live a life. If you had not raised her the way you did, she would never consider that option available to her. Satoru and Suguru are prepared to protect her, if necessary. We can make the world hers again."

Kuroi's head snapped in your direction. "So you mean... she can come back?"

"Yes, thanks to you, I have no doubt she will come back. All we have to do is wait." You smiled softly.

Kuroi gasped and beamed. "Thank you, (y-"

Blood protruded from Kuroi's stomach where three bullets had entered from behind. You screamed, rushing to where she fell, before two bullets lodged themselves into each of your calves. The pain spiraled throughout your body as you fell forward.

You gritted your teeth as you tried to raise yourself, but a foot cracked down on both of your shoulders, the bones crunching. "Ah, sorry, can't make it too easy for you to heal yourself." The man who had attacked Satoru stepped off your shoulder to kneel in front of you. "You should heal from it naturally though if you put your technique to work. I would finish you myself, but I don't need the Kamos coming after me for killing their pet dog." He stood and began to walk away.

How was he here? Where was...

Where was Satoru?

"I am not... a dog!" you gritted out between your teeth. This man... you had heard of him before. Sorcerer killer, your adoptive father had called him. The bastard of the Zen'in. The man turned, intrigued, and stalked back towards where you lay, your blood pooling and mixing with Kuroi's, who was slowly losing life by the second. Heal her. You needed to heal her, but with your significant injuries, you only had enough energy to heal yourself before you could even think of getting to Kuroi.

The man grabbed you by your hair and lifted your body up with one hand, bringing you eye level to him. You cried out at the blinding pain, unable to even try and fight him with your broken shoulders. He scrutinized your expression like he was looking at mold on food. The man scoffed, spitting at your face as he said "You look like one. You look like your father."

Your father?

How did he-

Your tormentor only let out a strained laugh. "Seriously? You never figured it out? I can tell by the stupid fucking look on your face." You squinted, confused. "Your parents were the easiest job I had ever got. One of them wasn't even a sorcerer and the other couldn't even use proper cursed energy. It was almost stupid, how pathetically they went down for the amount they were worth. And for what? Just so the Kamos could get their hands on you?" A smirk before he added, "Come to think of it, your dad was making that face right before I slit his fucking throat." You saw red, and tried to kick him in his abdomen despite the pain in your legs. Before you could, you were discarded to the floor, next to Kuroi's now dead body. The man continued on towards where Suguru and Riko were now.

Your screams echoed out towards the hall, pleading and calling out for your friends to run, to warn them of the oncoming slaughter, but to no avail. The tunnel stretched on for miles. Your voice would become nothing with the immense distance, and it would take too long for you to heal yourself.

How did he sneak up on you two so quickly? Would Suguru be able to stop him? You hoped he would. You prayed he would. Suguru was second only to Satoru.

But where was Satoru now?

Your vision faded to black.

___________________________________________________________

Your fingers danced across the piano keys, playing a melody that you forced yourself to become familiar with over the past few weeks. Chopin's Fantasy in F Minor. You had just started to move into more of Chopin's works during your daily practices after your adoptive father asked if you could prepare one of them for him when you returned home after graduation. Something to look forward to, he had said.

You moved through the piece with grace, keeping your posture, arms raised at the perfect angle as you played. You remembered how your mother had instilled playing posture in you when she gave you your first piano lesson at four years old. You had sat on her lap before her keyboard, giggling as she adjusted your hands and put them over her own as she played. Your father, your real father, had sat on the couch and laughed, adding snarky comments here and there.

You look like your father.

Your thoughts faltered only for a moment, but your hands remained active. You just needed to finish the piece perfectly before calling your practice for the day. The grand piano echoed down one of the hallways of Jujustu Tech. The Kamos had made a request to move a piano into an unused classroom to act as your practice room during your time as a student, to which the school agreed.

I don't need the Kamos coming after me for killing their pet dog.

Your parents were the easiest job I ever got.

It was almost stupid, how pathetically they went down for the amount they were worth.

Toji Zen'in had killed your parents. You knew that now. But if the Kamos had ordered your parents death, what did they have to gain?

Your dreams ran rampant with images of your parents, nightmares, watching as Toji Zen'in slit your father's throat. Sometimes it wasn't his throat he was slitting, but your own.

Sometimes it wasn't Zen'in holding the knife, but your adoptive father.

No. The Kamos would never. Never.

One of your fingers slipped and ruined the cord you were playing. You huffed and forced yourself to start from that cord again.

You never figured it out?

Just so the Kamos could get their hands on you?

Dog. Dog. Dog.

The piece finished before you realized you were done. You sat there, fingers resting on the keys. Your eyes just stared at the notes in front of you, no more than dark blots and symbols on a white canvas.

This world was never meant to be hers.

The world is still hers because you raised her to believe it.

What was your world anymore? Riko and Kuroi were dead now, killed by Toji a little over a year ago. Suguru was beaten within an inch of his life. And Satoru-

The sliding door opened with a smack, revealing Satoru's peeved face. "You finished ten minutes ago. Why are you still sitting here?"

He was waiting outside? "Sorry, just writing down some notes to myself," you lied as you closed your music and left it to rest on its stand. He never questioned the fact that you didn't even have a pencil. "Is something wrong?" This was the first time that he had ever come near your practice room. You're surprised he even remembered where it was.

"No? Just grabbing you for dinner. Suguru and Shoko are waiting," Satoru stated as he began to walk away from the room with you not far behind. "We're going to that one place I recommended. I came to get you cause I knew you wouldn't answer your phone while you were practicing... didn't want to cut too close to when we planned on leaving."

You sighed. Of course he would "ask" if you wanted to tag along without giving you much of a choice. Your eyes glued themselves onto the back of his neck up to his temple as he walked. The scar that used to peak out from under his shirt collar was long gone, but you pretended it was still there. You could still see it. The spot where Zen'in had stabbed him.

Miraculously, he had finally grasped his reversal technique within his dying moments, saving his own life before he killed Zen'in himself.

It should have been you. You should have been the one to kill him, not that you would have survived anyway. You supposed that if you died fighting the man that killed your parents, you would die with a smile on your face. Maybe if Satoru had known that you wanted it, if you hadn't been in hospice while Satoru had landed the killing blow, he would have let you.

Satoru still didn't know that Toji had killed your parents. No one did. You couldn't find it in yourself to reveal the truth that had changed everything for you to anyone.

You didn't even have a plan for when you graduate, what you would do once you moved back home...

When that scar used to linger on Satoru's skin, he would only smile and thank you whenever he caught you looking at it. Even if it was his outrageous amount of cursed energy that saved him, he gives you the credit for saving his life. Satoru reasoned that if you had not given him lessons in reversal energy, then he wouldn't be standing before you today. You never saw it that way. With his growth, he was bound to learn it at some point anyway.

And Satoru's abilities didn't stop there. He was close to mastering every Six Eyes and Limitless technique known to his clan. He had surpassed Suguru and the rest of the sorcery community months ago. Some were already calling him the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

Sure. Only you had seen the scars that made you think otherwise. Satoru had asked you to heal them off his skin around 6 months ago. Your heart had panged with each inch of the scar he exposed to you, with the largest one having reached all the way from his neck down to his pelvic bone. There were more the had littered his legs, spots were his tendons had been ripped it two. The last one had been on the skin of his temple, hidden under soft white hair, where a blade had entered his head and straight into his brain.

It was after you had finished healing those scars that you told yourself to never pursue him. Not just because you thought of yourself beneath him, but because only a god could have survived those attacks. The world seemed to bow to him and him alone. It scared you. He was still the same boy you had fallen in love with but... ever since Riko's death, he had become something... else.

As you exited the building, you found Shoko and Suguru outside. You noticed Suguru's eyes watching you as you walked down the steps to meet them.

Satoru hadn't been the only one to change that day. While he seemed to move forward at break neck speed, Suguru, to you, seemed lost. Stuck in place, almost as if his consciousness and feelings were consistently stagnant. You couldn't tell what it was, and you hoped Satoru would notice soon. If anyone could tell what was wrong with Suguru, it was him.

"We ready?" Shoko spoke up, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and snuffing it under her boot. Suguru stood.

"Yeah, let's hurry so we can stop for dessert on the way back," Satoru encouraged. The four of you began to walk towards the school entrance.

Satoru leaned down briefly to whisper a "thank you" in your ear. You only shook your head and continued walking.

___________________________________________________________

You had envisioned graduation as something celebratory, as an event that would ring in your memory as your next step into jujutsu sorcery. Instead, it felt hollow, at least on the inside, like something was missing.

Something was missing, no matter how much the three of you tried to ignore it.

Three, not four.

Satoru tried to play it off the best, as if Suguru's betrayal of him and jujutsu society hadn't devastated him both emotionally and mentally. If anything, Suguru had come closer to killing Satoru that day than Toji had the year prior.

But for the three of you, that was normal now. Right after your graduation and small celebration in Shoko's new apartment, Satoru left on a mission that would keep him away for a week. Shoko went back to her job, one that she was now getting paid for as an employee working within the Tokyo headquarters as a jujutsu physican and mortician. However, you returned back home to your family estate.

You didn't want to go back, didn't want to stomach seeing their faces now that your eyes had been opened. You even considered begging Satoru to take you on the mission with him, even if you wouldn't get paid for it. However, you knew he needed the distraction, the space.

As your adoptive father embraced you, you felt like fainting. He could tell something was wrong, but said nothing.

Your only hope was to wait for a mission assignment. You hadn't been assigned missions for a while in the weeks leading up to graduation. It worried you a bit, but you thought that maybe you were going to be given a position similar to Shoko soon, either by her side or in Kyoto. Kyoto would be great. The further from here, the better. For now, all you could do was wait.

To anyone within the Kamo household, it seemed like you had never changed. Your demeanor returned to how it had been when you lived there: indifferent, graceful, and silent.

No, you had changed, and because of that, you could now see how far these walls pressed in on you where you failed to notice them before. You were no longer as obedient and pliant as you once been. Three years as Gojo Satoru's best friend had changed that, for sure. You had forgotten how much of your life you couldn't dictate, all the way from your finances to the kind of clothing you were allowed to wear. Now, these walls felt like confinement, like a hawk in a delicate white bird cage.

You took up a routine similar to the one you used to keep before living at Jujustu Tech. Training in the mornings, piano in the afternoon, entertaining family and guests in the evening. Some days you would meet up with Shoko, and some nights she would graciously offer for you to sleep at her place. She could see how the Kamo house was affecting you, but you both knew you could never stay.

In the days that followed, you would make occasional visits to Jujustu Tech with your adoptive father and other Kamo members. It was here that you would see Satoru in passing, talking with Shoko or Yaga. He somehow seemed to stand straighter, taller, You knew it was for show, but more show than usual. However, when Satoru looked at you... it was different, to say the least, almost like he felt sorry, but when you were able to catch him alone, it was like nothing had changed. It was relief.

"You ever think about moving out of that hell hole?" Satoru mused, chomping down on some frozen dessert he bought earlier. "I certainly would if it meant I didn't have to wear that shit all the time." He gestured to your traditional-Japanese wear.

"It's because this is considered a visit on business. As if I didn't live here for three years..." you groaned, adjusting your collar. "I just have to get used to it again, the routines and the clothes and whatnot."

Satoru hummed. "Y'know... you could always move in with me. My place has like, a gazillion open rooms, and it's quiet. Plus, we can continue our Mario Kart tournaments whenever we want."

You perked up at the offer, but shook your head. "I would, but, I don't think my father would approve of me living in the Gojo household with the unmarried sole Gojo member..."

"What do you mean?" he snickered. "Wait, don't tell me. Is your father trying to set you up for marriage?"

"It's been... discussed."

"Well, whoever he is, must suck to be him." You just hit the remainder of his food out of his hand. "Fuck, okay! Did you really have to do that?" No answer. "Okay, okay, I kinda deserved it. But... why would your dad marry you off? You're not Kamo by blood, so..."

"I dunno, I've been kinda asking myself the same thing. Maybe something to do with the last name and possible advantageous bullshit I don't understand. I've been... I haven't asked," you sighed, crossing you arms and looking out on the training grounds. The chill in the air breezed in through the open doorway, signaling winter's arrival. Only a few months ago, you had practiced your combat and sorcery skills on the very plot of land in front of you, hoping to raise your grade for higher missions or maybe become recognized to work with students here on the campus. You never thought that after graduating you would be so... stuck.

"Well, what if we got married?"

You paused. Did you really hear him correctly?

"It doesn't have to be weird or anything. Just to get you out there and have your dad stop nagging you on this stuff," Satoru shrugged, as if he were offering you a favor or giving you a suggestion. He was doing that, but... did he truly understand the magnitude of what he was saying?

"Are you out of your mind? Satoru, he would never agree to that!" you exclaimed.

"Yeesh, I didn't think you disliked me that much. Personally, I think I would make a wonderful husband," he nagged, a smug grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. "My father sees you more as an enemy than a potential ally. He'd probably blow a fuse by just seeing us talking here." Your adoptive father wasn't really appreciative when he learned of the friendship between you and Satoru once you returned home. He even blamed some of your recent misdemeanors and slight attitude on Satoru as well.

"So what? Then would I just have to ask him myself?"

"Why are you so damn adamant on this," you muttered. "If anything, you'd just make the situation worse."

Satoru brushed that comment aside. "I'm adamant because you're my friend, a good friend and..."

You looked to him, quirking an eyebrow at his sudden tone change. "And what...?"

"I just... don't like being alone."

___________________________________________________________

I just don't like being alone.

You stared at your plate of food in front of you, fully untouched. Your appetite felt absent, almost on and off, as it had been since your conversation with Satoru over a week ago.

Ever since that conversation, the thoughts of what your adoptive father actually had planned for your future weighed heavily on you. You began to think about how much your father could dictate between mission and job assignments in the jujustu community and how they could let those trickle down to you. And the only reason for why he would stop you from getting any...

Marriage. Definitely marriage. What other reason could there be?

But to who? And when? And why? With all of these questions, you began to realize that you would probably take Satoru over almost anyone as your husband, just because you knew who he was to begin with and because you got along with him. Your less admitted attraction for him was of the least of your reasons, too.

But then you remembered what the duties of any arranged marriage entailed, not just an alliance, but heirs-

Yeah, you didn't want to think about marriage period. You wondered why the Kamo Clan even needed an advantageous marriage right now anyways. Not to mention, why it had to be you instead of any of the many eligible Kamos. You didn't know exactly what you wanted, but you knew you didn't want to stay here, or anywhere where you felt-

"(Y/N)," your adoptive father murmured your name from across the table. He had requested to have dinner with just you today. Why, you had zero clue, but you tried to remain calm. "Are you unwell?"

"Apologies, Father... just, thinking..." you whispered, unable to look up at him. You found it hard to be in his presence already, let alone make eye contact with him as of recent.

Your adoptive father sighed, and then spoke, "You're thinking about why I asked to have dinner alone, and if this means what I'm about to tell you..."

Your heart skipped a slight beat, blood creeping through your veins with reluctant fear. "Yes..."

"Well then, I suppose I should ease your mind then..."

Your sense stilled with a sudden anticipation, as if every nerve in your body waited to watch.

"I have chosen a suitor for you. One I'm sure you'll be pleased with," he said, a proud yet firm thrill in his tone. For some reason, Satoru's face flashed in your thoughts, despite the the cold that now settled in your spine.

"I see..." Your shoulders caved a little, the news still hitting you as unexpectent, like some part of you still hoped that he was going to give you what you wanted: solitude and space to find your own purpose, to discover what you wanted your world to be...

"You are to marry into the Kamo bloodline, to Haruto."

Haruto. As in his youngest son. Your adoptive brother.

That was the final nail in your coffin. You would never be able to leave.

___________________________________________________________

You didn't cry. You didn't move. You weren't even sure you were breathing.

Your adoptive father could sense your apparent shock, and allowed you to excuse yourself to your room to give yourself time to think. A small, hidden mercy.

He was waiting for you back in the dining room, going to be expecting an answer, or maybe even thanks.

Just so the Kamos could get their hands on you?

Dog. Dog. Dog. Dog-

You are to marry into the Kamo bloodline, to Haruto.

The last words your father said before you left the room sounded in your head the loudest: With your technique mixed with our blood, we can finally have techniques level to, if not above, the Gojos. Be merry, (Y/N). You will finally be one of us.

Everything made so much sense now.

He wanted you for your technique. You were never a Kamo, you were of no use to him except for this.

He killed your parents to get your technique.

He killed your parents. Ordered the hit so Toji could murder them to cover himself, and then steal you while he pretended to head an investigation.

To get you. To get your technique into the Kamo bloodline. To become a breeding mare to his son.

Your adoptive father killed your parents.

You bit back your scream, your anguish, your tears. A lifetime as a sorcerer had taught you how to channel that anger, that fear... and it taught you how to use it as well.

Your hand reached for the gilded knife that you always kept beneath your pillow. It had been a graduation gift from him.

Your breath hitched. Were you really going to do this? He took you in where you would have had no one, gave you shelter and security, trained you as a child and comforted you as well-

But it doesn't matter.

He killed your parents.

___________________________________________________________

Satoru's body always seemed to move faster than his brain. Especially now.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he strode, thick and packed from that morning's snow storm. The night remained clear, moonlight shining off the stone path to the Kamo household like watery gems.

If anything, the biting cold made he want to turn back, but he wouldn't stop, couldn't. He knew that he had to do something about your situation, not just for you, but for himself too.

Satoru knew the best course of action would be to strike this agreement as soon as he could, when your adoptive father would least expect it, to catch him off guard. He could do the convincing part later, even if his true reasonings didn't matter in this case.

But what should he say? He's never asked anyone's father if he can marry their daughter, let alone when that father is the leader of the Kamo Clan and when that daughter is also you, his friend, his... everything now, he realized. He had nothing left but you-

There was a body on the front steps.

Satoru rushed forward, quickly, almost too quickly, recognizing you-

You were bruised, bloody, completely stripped of your clothing, face down in the snow-

Shit. What did they do? How long have you been here?

Satoru immediately sensed the servants, no, Kamo members, by their cursed energy, walking towards the door. He needed to get you out of here, make sure you were alive-

Satoru practically tore his coat off, wrapping your body and taking you into his arms. When the sliding door opened, the only trace of you was your blood on the steps.

106 notes · View notes

nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 2 years ago

Note

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

#opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #fluff #mihawk x reader #smut

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