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specialgradefckr · 8 months ago

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Beat Your Heart to Death

tw: explicit content, extremely toxic dynamics. gojo/geto, gojo/reader, geto/reader, and yes, stsg/reader. female!reader. mutual pining, requited unrequited feelings, the yearning, good god, the YEARNING. relatively unwilling voyeurism. EXTREMELY manipulative dynamics – boundary pushing, gaslighting, etc.

satoru and suguru are completely fucking deranged. their brains are operating on a level where human consciousness and emotion just hits different. they say INSANE shit at the end of this fic. you have been warned.

Sequel: Heartline Gone Flat

This must be what dying feels like.

You watch them, together. Leaning against one another, sleeping, vulnerable. Curled up in each other's embrace.

This must be what dying feels like. Seeing the man you love and the man you lust for, so painfully, peacefully, blissfully in love with each other.

If this is dying, you're surely going to hell for thinking something so awful about a feeling so beautiful.

It’s the sort of thing you think to yourself, bury deep – deep – inside the recesses of your mind. Dredging it out in the late hours of the night when you can’t sleep. Wallowing in your unrequited love, feeling sorry for yourself, while also comforting yourself with the thought that at least now you didn’t have to do anything.

You would never have to approach your longtime crush, Suguru Geto, and potentially ruin your friendship with him. It was something you’d struggled with for years, and after Gojo showed up – you didn’t have to struggle anymore. It was already lost.

And the insane twists your fantasies would play out for you, in those lonely nights in bed – you could be free of those, too. You could completely dismiss the insane idea of propositioning the man-whore menace of a human being who made your heart race, Satoru Gojo.

Satoru and Suguru loved each other, and it would be wrong to get in the way of that. At this point, even saying anything to either of them would be a trespass on your friendship, with both of them.

That was all there was to it. Nothing more to be done. You were mourning your feelings. Strangling your dreamy sighs at Suguru’s kind gestures, stomping the flutter in your chest when you caught Satoru smiling. Killing your heart and leaving it to rot, stepping around it like it’s not there.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape the fact that all three of you lived together.

It doesn’t help that Satoru is just as prone to PDA with Suguru as he was with all his numerous hookups. More, even, because he doesn’t keep it to just his bedroom, doesn’t make the token efforts to stay quiet at night and shoo them out in the morning.

You do your best. Look away. Try to ignore how your heart jumps, twists, does all sorts of funny things at the sight of them kissing.

Satoru’s pretty white lashes flutter closed, Suguru’s warm gaze softens, cheeks flushed as Satoru’s hands jump up to cling to him. He cups Satoru’s face like it’s a treasure, tilting his head and leaning into the kiss like he can’t get enough of it –

You’re staring, fuck. You’re looking too closely. The scene burns itself into your eyes and you want to rip them out, never see it again. But you struggle to avert your gaze, greedy mind committing every detail to memory with a racing heart, dry mouth.

Thirsty, you’re so thirsty, in every sense of the word. They lean into each other, so in sync and so affectionate in a way that tugs on your every heart string. Fuck!

You start to just leave the room when it happens. You’d rather die than get caught staring, you’d rather go without water than thirst for droplets.

And you’d really, really, rather cut your fucking eyes out than face the feelings the sight awakens in you. Longing, yearning, how you want to tear them both off each other at once, how you want to see more, more, more, you want to touch, you want to taste –

God, fuck. You’re like one of those shitty girls who fetishizes male relationships. Aren’t you? You feel like this might be that. But you’re attracted to both of them individually, so it can’t be that, right? You’re not a creep, you’re just greedy. You leave the room when they kiss! You’re respecting their privacy!

They notice, though, is the thing. Not your staring (god you fucking hope they’ve never noticed the staring) but how you leave the room when they get affectionate with each other. It’s Suguru who pulls you aside to ask.

“…and listen, I know you’re not like that, I totally know, so does Satoru. It just… makes him feel a little weird, you know? He was raised by a traditional family, so they either think this is a phase, or call him disgusting to his face.”

Fuck your life. Actually fuck your ENTIRE life. “Of course not – I never – ”

“No no no, I know, I told you, he does too, it’s just – it’s a little disconcerting for him. But I can talk to him, make him understand. This is your house, too, you have the right not to see that sort of stuff.”

That just makes you feel a bit worse, actually. Satoru and Suguru shouldn’t have to hide away in their room whenever they want to kiss. It’s their own home.

“I’m sorry, Suguru, I – I don’t have any problem with you guys doing it around the house. I just…” You shift uncomfortably. “I’m not super comfortable with… PDA sort of stuff. It has nothing to do with you both being guys.”

Suguru nods, “No, I understand completely. Satoru will be disappointed, but you’re setting boundaries, and I respect that – ”

“It’s not that,” You say, “I – you can do whatever you like, really, I’ll just leave – ”

“No,” Suguru interrupts with a sigh, “That’s what’s bothering him. I think deep down he’s a little worried that you find it… disturbing.”

Your chest tightens with anxiety as you rush to reassure him, “Of course I don’t!”

“No, I know, I know, we both do,” Suguru says in that warm, comforting voice of his, “It’s just how he feels – you know he can’t control that.”

And then your stupid mouth rushes ahead of you. Writes a check your heart can’t afford to cash.

“It’s fine! You don’t have to stop, I. Just… tell him I felt like I was intruding. I didn’t think he saw it as me being disgusted.”

And your heart will pay willingly, because Suguru gives you that smile. Warm and affectionate. The smile you’d fallen in love with.

“You’re not intruding at all. I’ll tell him you said so, it’ll be a great weight off his mind.”

So now the love of your life makes out with his boyfriend and you can’t even leave the room. Hahah. God. Maybe you should start thinking of a way to move out?

Problem: When Satoru moved in, he’d basically started paying all the bills. He didn’t have to worry about being cut off from the family money – even at his young age, he had his own financial success. Even if it started out with a few trust funds and an appointed position at one of his parent’s companies.

Every rent listing looked expensive when your current rate was “free”. And fuck, rent was expensive. You’d have to deal with other roommates, people you didn’t know (and love) as long as Suguru (and Satoru, at this point, you’d known him for years), and you’d be paying for the privilege.

You try, oh, do you ever try to get over it. Sexuality is fluid, after all, so it’s perfectly possible that Satoru and Suguru just ended up being gay. Being with either of them may never have been an option, except maybe as one of Satoru’s flings.

And wouldn’t that just suck? To have one night with Satoru only to watch him realize he’s gay and mutually in love with your longtime crush? Better to never sleep with him at all. You can’t miss something you’ve never had. And you wouldn’t want to be a fling anyways.

The thought stings more than it should, because deep down –

(You’d take it. You know you’d take it. That’s why you’re still here, really, under all the excuses. You’re fucking pathetic, pining for both of them. You’d take anything you could get.)

It doesn’t help that they get freer with their affections after your talk with Suguru. Looser. So unrestrained. You walk in on them fucking in the living room, having come back early from class, face burning up as you stand there stock still for a moment.

They don’t stop, or freak out, or cover themselves or anything. You see Suguru’s naked chest above the couch, Satoru’s hands pinned over the armrest of it, their bare legs and feet entwined and sticking over the other side of the couch. They’re both so fucking tall.

So beautiful. Satoru moans so pretty, and you hear Suguru purr, low and filthy, “Like that, you little whore?” and you feel yourself clenching all the way to your core.

You make a wild dash across the living room, staying on the other side of the couch so they can’t see you. Closing the door to your bedroom as quickly and quietly as you can, panting to yourself, feeling the heat rising on your face and the warm pulse between your legs.

(Pathetic, fucking pathetic. It’s like you’re actually some horny teenage boy with a crush on a pretty girl out of his league, rubbing one out every time you see her with her equally hot girlfriend.)

You’ve got to get ahold of yourself.

Your routine has changed, with the both of them being together, so openly. There were little things you’d shared, now gone, lost to the unfathomable whirlpool that was their relationship.

Used to be you’d buy sweets on grocery trips to share with Satoru. It was an old habit of yours, and when he’d first moved in, he’d caught you with them. Reaching for some with a grin before you smacked him away.

The look he gave you, a slow smirk before he went all wide-eyed and pleading, staggering to his knees like a proper starving drama queen – god, he had to know how he’d made your heart flutter. He probably pulled that on so many people.

Still, he would eat the candies right out of your hand, lips just teasing on your fingertips, eyes lingering on you while he licked his lips. It made you feel weird, at first, but you eventually realized that Satoru was just a weird guy.

He’d yawn and stretch and if he caught you or Suguru watching he’d flash his whole chest, like a girl flashing her tits. He slept naked and left the bathroom door open when he was using it, and he’d often knock when on your bathroom when you were in there, even if he had his own.

He had about ten different game consoles and games for them, plus a huge collection of movies, which he likes to watch with the room completely dark. He sleeps with a nightlight on, and his social media picture is an ugly picture of him from high school with these weird round sunglasses.

Not at all what you expected from a pretty boy like him. But Satoru’s eccentric charm, and the unstoppable allure of his perfect face and body, it rewired your brain somehow. You feel like you’ve wanted him for as long as you’ve known him.

You try to find other people. But the problem with living with Satoru and Suguru is that no one is up to your standards. You’ll never meet anyone as handsome or beautiful as either of them, so why bother?

In your defense, Suguru is hard to fall out of love with.

It’s not uncommon to wake up to the sound of your favorite breakfast being cooked while Suguru hums away in the kitchen, his pretty hair all tied back. If you sneak in quietly enough you can catch a tender smile on his face, the smell of freshly ground and brewed coffee he makes for Satoru in some expensive machine.

If you are unlucky, he’ll catch you, and that smile will grow as soon as his eyes are on you and you’ll fall in love all over again. If you’re lucky, you can sneak back away, but Suguru will eventually come and wake you up with a knock so gentle you suspect he already knows you’re up.

He shares his hair care routine, and it leaves your hair shiny and lovely. But your hair isn’t exactly like his, so he must have adjusted it.

He offers to help you brush or style it, himself, and asks you if you wouldn’t mind repaying the favor. Like you wouldn’t kill or die for the honor of running your hands through his silken locks.

Suguru is the type of guy who remembers when you get your period and asks if you need anything for it. You magically find your favorite fruits in the fridge, cut up, dipped in chocolate or caramel or yoghurt, however you like them best.

He does your laundry without being asked because he says it’s easier, and cleans dishes before you can get to them.

Every birthday he throws you a party, bakes a cake and he’ll spend hours to perfect a meal from scratch to go along with it. He’s perfect at finding a thoughtful present – Satoru just gives you cash, or some expensive luxury purchase you find fashionable but would never buy for yourself (Suguru definitely went shopping with him).

You get why Satoru likes him. Satoru’s sort of a slob, always leaving clothes on the floor – walking around shirtless like he knows exactly what it does to anyone watching “Just providing a public service, babe~” – and Suguru is so perfectly domestic.

Almost motherly. Whenever you misplace something, the fastest way to find it is invariably to ask Suguru, if he doesn’t approach you first with a concerned smile after watching you look.

After enough times catching Suguru sternly chide him for not putting away his clothes, leaving wrappers on the table, forgetting to put his shoes away; you’re relatively sure Satoru’s called him mom or mommy at some point. Possibly during sex.

And god, you get it. Those gentle tones of “Is everything all right?”, and “I tweaked the recipe, how do you like it?” and “I’m just really happy you enjoyed it.”, it’s enough to make your heart ache.

How, exactly, are you supposed to fall out of love with Suguru Geto?

How are you supposed to leave, how are you supposed to want to, especially when you swear you hear him call himself Daddy, and you find your face getting hotter than it should be.

Whispering to Satoru how “I’ve got you, baby,” and “Let Daddy take care of you, mhhm?”

And god, the high-pitched whimpers Satoru makes in response. He’s a tall guy, mewling, melting beneath Suguru’s hands, his words, his cock – and you could so easily imagine yourself in his place –

How are you supposed to be platonic about this?

How are you supposed to stop touching yourself when they’re practically putting on personalized porn shows for you?

It's after the third time that you start to think they're doing this on purpose.

Whatever’s between them is something you just couldn’t understand. You get that, you do.

The way they look into each other’s eyes – there’s no way Suguru has ever looked at you like that, no way Satoru would ever want you that badly.

It’s something magnetic that makes them slot together at all times, draws their gazes to one another, leaves no room for anyone else –

But you stumble on them… a lot.

Never mind making out on the couch. You turn into the laundry room to see Satoru backed against the washer machine, his cock so far Suguru’s throat you can see it bulge.

His face is flushed, eyes teary, one hand loosely in Suguru’s hair while he whimpers. Dark eyes gazing up at him, fierce, Adam’s apple bobbing and another noise escaping him.

Or Satoru’s sitting rather innocently in Suguru’s lap, at a certain angle, but the sounds he’s making are less than innocent. Vile, even. Suguru’s broad hand wrapped around Satoru’s cock, pumping up and down, Satoru’s body shifting as you can tell he’s grinding down against something below.

And sometimes it’s really just the noises. You’ve heard them so often now it feels like you can put expressions to every moan and grunt and whimper and whine. Satoru makes a certain sort of gasp and your imagination jumps to think of how deep Suguru must be inside him, how his pretty face must look, twisted in pleasure.

They come back sometimes, from parties, drunk together. Leaning on one another like they could never lean on you – you’re not tall, not built like either of them are. Cheeks flushed as they whisper words into one another’s ears, Satoru giggling, kissing his cheek, Suguru laughing and squeezing his waist as they stumble into their room.

Like they’re in their own little world that you could never intrude on. You just catch glimpses every now and then. They don’t even look at you, it’s like you’re not even there – their eyes are locked on one another.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Satoru and Suguru start bringing other people in.

No - they start bringing other girls into it. Like it's a punishment for catching them, only, you're fairly certain they wanted to be caught.

Satoru’s never been shy when he had a girl over, about walking around shirtless – maybe it’s an exhibitionism thing. And you’re someone they know well, someone tolerant (pathetic) enough to not say anything.

Either that or they’re both just that good at pretending you aren’t there. But they talk to you, all the time. You eat meals together, have movie nights (if you ignore how Satoru will not-so-discreetly put his hand on the inside of Suguru’s thigh while you’re all sitting together), grocery shop together, smile and laugh and share things about your day.

It’s just that they’re also dating each other. And in love, so in love, it’s painfully obvious that there’s no room for anyone else between them. Which makes the girls they bring over turn your stomach even more.

Sure, they’re one night stands. But they don’t even try to keep it quiet. You hear unfamiliar, high-pitched moans and whimpers, a wet smacking sound that has to be Satoru overdramatically eating pussy.

You wonder what his face looks like. What his eyes look like. Is he staring up at her when she does it? Does she have a hand in the feather-down softness of his hair? Or maybe Suguru’s hand, shoving him forward, that sly smirk that creeps over his lips when you’ve seen his eyes grow dark with want.

Is she whimpering because she’s close? Do they tease her, edging her, enjoying the expressions on her face, the way her body trembles? When she begs, is it for them to stop, or keep going? Whose dick is it inside her? Satoru’s, Suguru’s? What does it feel like? Satoru’s stupid enough to do it without a condom but Suguru isn’t.

What are they doing when she cums? You hear Suguru groan (you know how his groans sound, you know how both of them sound), so he must be cumming too. What’s Satoru doing? He’s too needy to be left alone for long.

Is he watching while he jerks himself? Has Suguru forced him to sit back? Or maybe he’s down where the action is, right where Suguru’s cock is buried inside her, laving over her clit and his cock like the slut he is until they both cum all over his face.

Why can’t that be you? Why don’t they want you?

Your fists clench harder than they should.

One night you stumble onto them in the middle of the living room, all at it in plain view.

Satoru is in Suguru’s lap, tall enough to tower over him. Suguru’s hand wrapped around his throat, choking him, head tilted back in bliss as his lashes flutter. There’s a woman on her knees, between their spread legs, sucking Satoru off.

And you can tell, by the way Satoru shudders, how he’s loose like putty in Suguru’s arms, that Suguru’s dick is buried deep inside him.

Satoru and Suguru don’t even try to pretend it was an accident. Some fucking roommates they are.

Suguru will smile and blush when you ask him about it, apologizing in soothing, kind tones, offering to never bring another girl home again if it bothered you – you’ve been through the goddamn song and dance so many times already.

He has this way of just. Making you feel guilty for even asking in the first place. Like you were presumptuous to say anything at all, unless it was something he wanted to hear.

It’s turned you into this. So eager to please but desperate to keep them at arm’s length. Wanting, longing, and starving for it. Watching because you quite literally can’t do anything else, sights burned into your eyes. Unable to look away. Unable to keep watching.

You don't know what they want from you.

You don’t think you want to, anymore.

Satoru and Suguru are getting impatient.

No, Suguru is getting impatient. Satoru is getting desperate. It was his idea to start going out and finding girls to bring back and fuck.

It wasn’t particularly difficult between the two of them. And promising, at first – after all, what was more likely to get you to snap than watching – hearing – the two of them give some other girl everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter?

But you just keep going. Gritting your teeth and bearing with it. Suguru spent a whole week dislodging your vibrator slightly from its charging port, slowly squeezing your lube bottle empty, doing everything he could to drive you to the brink.

Satoru’s starting to remark how much it’s a waste of time. He gets snippy when he’s needy, and lately, Suguru’s cock just isn’t enough for him. He has to go through your laundry, plant a camera in your bedroom on one of those few nights they stay out late enough to give you some private time.

Satoru makes him wear your clothes when Suguru fucks him, lets Suguru gag him with your panties when it’s the other way around.

They play dress-up together and watch you touch yourself at awkward angles with muddied sound quality. It’s not enough, not nearly enough.

Privately, Suguru is a little worried. Satoru’s getting weird – not that he hasn’t always been. But weirder.

He goes right into the bathroom after every time you use it. He’s always quick to reach your drinks for a “taste test” after you’ve had a sip. And Suguru knows for a fact Satoru isn’t using his own toothbrush at night.

He keeps talking about you. Looking at you. Whispering dirty suggestions in his ears, asking impatiently if you look like you’re going to snap.

Satoru is needy like that, demanding, and you’d always balanced him out while helping Suguru relax.

But there’s a distance now that wasn’t there before. The tension builds and builds, needs unmet for so long that desperation is clawing at both of them.

And that’s to say nothing of his own desires. Satoru, for all his faults, still has self-control.

Suguru passes your door every night and stops for a moment. He serves you dinner with a smile, domestic as he is, and thinks how easy it would be to slip something in there. To make sure you’d sleep through the night.

Would it even matter if you didn’t? You let him get away with so much. You love him, you must love him, don’t you? There’s no other reason you would put up with all of this. If he did slip, you’d forgive him, wouldn’t you? You’d drink up all his honeyed words with the same smile you always gave him.

But if he gave you such a convenient excuse, then he would always doubt. Whether you really loved him or if he just made it convenient to love him.

More importantly, you’re looking at them different. It was good, at first; your pretty eyes darting in a different direction, the way you try to hide your face, keep your words especially cool.

They want you to TAKE what you want. Want you yelling and screaming and scratching them up like the hellcat they know you are, deep down.

“How long,” He whines between groans as Geto works between his legs, fingering him as he sucks his cock, “Is she gonna make us wait – fuck!”

Suguru pulls away with a pop. Saliva and precum dripping from his lips. Satoru pulls him in for a kiss, by the hair.

“You know she’s liked me a while,” Suguru murmurs, swallowing a moan or two as he works another finger into his hole. “She’s scared of pushing me away. And now that you’re my boyfriend, she probably wouldn’t want to break us up.”

“Fuck, but imagine if she did.” Satoru bucks into him, “She wants us, I know she does.”

He’s always so needy, like a puppy. Suguru likes it, but he can admit that he wants you, too. Misses the energy you’d provide. You’re not demanding like Satoru is. Too prideful. Satoru’s shameless. But you want, oh, do you ever want, and they both do know it.

Once he’s stretched Satoru out enough, he wastes no time shoving him onto his belly, burying himself in his hole from behind – “Fuck! Suguru!”

“On it right now,” He purrs, close to Satoru’s back, reaching lazily for his cock.

Satoru doesn’t like to cum too soon anyways. He likes to cum from getting fucked, to be edged into oblivion – or he likes going hard and fast and overstimulated to no end. Not much in between, unless he was the one in charge.

“Imagine it,” He pants like a dog beneath him. He’s pretty, so pretty, and the only thing Suguru could imagine that would be better is to see your face looking up at him from underneath Satoru, “Suguru!”

He grunts, thrusting his hips harder, “Imagining. What am I imagining?” God, Satoru’s a slut and a nuisance, but it’s always been worth it to indulge him.

“Her,” Satoru breathes after a particularly hard thrust, “Trying to break us up.”

Suguru grabs his hips for better leverage. Satoru dirty talks best when he’s getting fucked hard, after all.

“Fuck, imagine if she got me drunk or something, hngh, finally followed through on those fuck-me eyes she’s always giving me, ghhgh, fuck yes like that, and. Just fucked me in our room, waiting for you to walk in on us together.”

And he can see it, picture it so well.

A drunk night with the most beautiful man alive, because that’s what Satoru is; pretty even now, beneath him, all sweat and lean body trembling as he gets utterly railed.

You’ve always had the attraction, and Satoru couldn’t handle his liquor, and all the sudden, you’d slept together.

“Would you – ah, ahHhh, would you get mad, Suguru?” His voice is teasing now, even through the groans and utterances, “Would you cry~?”

“Ha!” He half-chokes out the laugh, because Satoru clenches around him and it’s hard not to cum right away. He’s going to leave bruises from how hard he’s holding those narrow, lovely hips.

“No," Suguru grinds out, "But I’m sure you both would. She’s the type, and you’re so fucking – gah, so fucking needy. What would you want me to do? Forgive you?”

His pace slows down, and he reaches to squeeze his cock in return, just for a taste.

“Nah – fuck! Yes, keep doing that, fuck.” Satoru bucks into his touch, always, always chasing after him, “She’s too fucking nice all the time. If she did it, it would be – hnng – like. A revenge thing. She should be fucking mad already, pissed off. She should make me cum inside her, say she’s pregnant. Make me dump you and marry her, so if she can’t have you, nobody can.”

Suguru barks out a laugh at the concept, and then a moan, choked off as he feels the heat shooting through him at the idea.

You’re too nice, like Satoru says, it’s a laughable concept, you acting like this –

But what had he seen in your eyes that day after you caught them both with that girl?

“Fuck, I swear I feel you twitching inside me – ”

“What would you do, then?” Suguru purrs hotly into his ear, “You want to win her heart while you’re married?”

“Well, we’d fuck all the time,” Satoru wheezes out a giggle, trembling as Suguru’s hand slides along his cock, “Fuck you – haaaahhh. But I’d be making nice with her, being a good husband, and then you could come and have an affair – ”

Fuck, fuck, that’s too much, “Close,” He grunts, driving himself deep and hard, chasing the edge, “Fuck, I could tell her I love her, blackmail her, even – threaten to tell you.”

A groan as Satoru gets closer, and Suguru continues, “I could fuck her, leave her coming home to you full of my cum – ”

“I’d eat it out of her,” Satoru laughs, near deranged as he jerks between fucking back into Suguru and rutting into his hand, “Jerk me off already – ah, fuck, what if you got her pregnant – ”

White-hot, like the idea of your face beneath him, both of them, accepting them with an open heart full of rage and bitterness and lust, Suguru cums.

He’s just aware enough to fist Satoru’s cock, sliding harshly along it until he hears the lovely whore beneath him gasping, twitching, spilling in his hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Satoru whimpers. “Hnghh… god, just the idea of her coming home from the hospital with a black-haired baby.”

“Fuck you,” Suguru barks, because now he wants to cum inside you. He wants, so, so fucking bad to cum inside you.

But god, do you even want them?

You sit there, all day, looking away, running away. That’s not love, is it?

And he’s a romantic, at heart. Satoru is, too. They don’t want anything less than your whole heart. Your entire life, your mind, body, and soul, dedicated to them the way they are to each other. Mad with jealousy and rage and possession.

Satoru had left him with bruises, the day he found out Suguru was crushing on you. When Suguru told him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s been wanted you for over a decade now and he wasn’t leaving before he got you. Blue fury in his eyes, heart twisting in his chest.

He’d looked him in the eye, grin wild and wide. Staring down as he has him pinned. Suguru had raised his knee up between his legs to find his cock desperately hard and throbbing.

“I want to fuck her first,” had been his wicked demand. Pain and pleasure traded like currency in return for love, each of them furious at the other for wanting you. They reaped the cost of their love on each other, settled their scores deep in their souls.

Because even if Suguru had seen you first, could he really say he’d wanted you first? Did he really want to fuck you before Satoru moved in, before he saw you flustered from your attraction and playfully trading banter with Satoru?

Had he wanted Satoru because you wanted Satoru? Had Satoru wanted him because he could see that you did?

Lines cross and uncross between you and the two of them, too tangled to ever unravel.

Time to tighten the knot.

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rainrot4me · 1 month ago

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Kate and Masky just want you to know how fun it can be to become a proxy. They love their new little plaything The Operator dropped off for them.

Jeff and Nina don’t always get along, but they do have you to bond over. He’s all the intensity and she’s all the sweet kisses, but you’ve never cum so much in your life.

Jeff, Masky, Hoodie, Ben, and Toby find you knocking at the mansion’s doorstep during thunderstorm to seek shelter. You’re intimidated by all the strong, scary men—but they make sure to make you feel right at home as soon as you’re inside.

Toby and Ben are easily entertained. You walking around in a ditsy school uniform? They grab you before you can even blink. They might mess the poor outfit up, but don’t worry, they’ll buy you plenty more.

Jeff and Toby can’t believe their luck when they’re sent on a mission to take out a potential threat, only to find you laid out on your bed fingering yourself. They’ll take you out alright, you’ll be passed out on their cocks before you know it.

Masky and Hoodie have been working together for so long they can practically read each other’s minds. It’s almost no effort for the two to fuck you so good you’re seeing stars, working together effortlessly and in sync to make you cum over and over again.

Jack, Jeff, and Ben like to go fast, hard, and without complaint. So when they find you, a size lover who just can’t seem to get enough, they work their frustrations out on you over and over again until you’re begging them to stop.

Masky, Toby, and Hoodie are gifted a special plaything from The Operator. You are to abide to their every wish, fulfill their every command. The first thing they can think of? Forcing you to your knees so you can take all of their cocks at once.

You’re all big talk. All confident that you could out-last anyone and everyone during sex. Jack, Toby, Jeff, Ben, and Masky beg to differ. Whoever comes first loses, and you’re not looking so hot. Maybe you could take just one more before you have to tap out. But the guys are just getting started with you.

๑ back to my masterlists

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chleem · 6 months ago

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One shot/drabble: bf drew x gf yn

Summary: moving in w/drew...except you both don't realize it

Genre: established relationship, pure fluff

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work pls

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It wasn’t a big conversation, nothing dramatic. It was just… happening.

At first, it was simple.

Once a week, you’d sleepover for a day or two.

In the mornings, you’d wake up next to him, tangled in the blankets, with the soft glow of sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Hey baby,” he would lazily call out, his blue eyes still half-lidded with sleep, his voice all rough and warm from the night. You’d turn to him, your head resting on his chest, and smile.

He would rummage through different cabinets, finding a spare toothbrush for you to use. You would use his 3 in 1 shampoo, the one that smelled like him.

When you forgot to bring an extra shirt or pair of jeans, you’d just grab something of his. His oversized tees, the flannel shirts, a jacket that hung too loose on your shoulders but still felt cozy. You’d piece together an outfit with his hats, belts, anything you could find, and it never felt awkward—it just worked.

A few weeks in, you found your favorite mug on his kitchen counter. It wasn’t planned. He hadn’t asked. But there it was—sitting next to his own, like it had always belonged there.

And then came the little details. Your hair tie on the bathroom sink, a pair of your socks tucked under the couch, the book you’d left out on the coffee table now having a permanent spot on his shelf.

He’d buy you a matching toothbrush, no longer using the cheap spare one. He’d find out your favorite shampoo, buying one and secretly using it, despite having his own.

The ‘breakthrough’ was your own clothes’ drawer.

You had a few shirts left behind, a couple of sweaters, nothing too much. But one night, he pulled open the drawer and just offered it to you, as if it had always been meant for you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his voice still soft with sleep.

And just like that, a corner of his space was no longer just his. It was yours too. A quiet, unspoken thing.

You’d wake up, and sometimes, he wasn’t there in the sheets. But the smell of pancakes and coffee would linger in the air, along with the soft shimmering of sunlight peeking through the blinds.

When you’d finally slip out of bed and walk into the kitchen, you’d see him there, dressed and ready for the day, that little smitten smile on his face when he saw you.

“Morning,” his eyes would brighten just for a second, like the day hadn’t really started until you were there with him.

He’d know how you liked your coffee, of course. And he’d smile like he didn’t have anywhere to be, just so he could steal a few more minutes of conversation, talking about everything and nothing.

But what really established that you ‘moved in’?

When he gave you a spare key.

It wasn’t done in a grand gesture way, but more when he casually handed it to you one morning, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You hadn’t asked for it. You hadn’t even mentioned needing it.

“Don’t ring the wrong door,” he said, that familiar grin tugging at his lips, eyes twinkling with that lazy humor he always had.

With more time spent together, you’ve slowly gotten accustomed to each others’ habits and routines.

The little things started to sync up without thinking—even your schedules. You’d catch yourself adding things to his calendar—dinner dates, weekend plans, or just time to relax together.

Soon, it wasn’t just his calendar, but yours too. You both had been marking your days together, like it had always been this natural.

A rare occasion was when you’d get up earlier than him, quietly slipping out of bed to prepare breakfast.

And then, just when you thought you had a moment to yourself, he’d slip into the kitchen behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his breath warm on the back of your neck.

“Need help?” he’d murmur, his voice thick with sleep, but always with that soft smile you’d grown to love.

And then there was his work as an actor: his constant need to rehearse lines out loud, pacing the apartment like he was on stage, his voice bouncing off the walls in a way that had become comforting rather than distracting.

Sometimes, you’d even chime in and practice along with him.

It wasn’t just the drawer anymore either. You’d started to have a space in the closet, a shelf in the bathroom. Little by little, more of you was making itself at home there—without needing to talk about it.

And then, one day, he realized you had moved in—without ever speaking a word about it.

He’d catch himself, a smile tugging at his lips as he saw your things around the apartment, and how you’re always there.

“You wanna... get a pet?” he’d ask suddenly, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark they always had, but now mixed with something softer, more permanent.

You’d pause, surprised by the question but somehow knowing it made sense.

A pet? Yeah, that felt like the next step. Just another way of making this space—your space—feel like home.

-------------------------------

word count: 0.8k

࣪𖤐 a/n: st random i thought of, of how it feels to be his

elevator | other

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #fiction #fluff #drabble #one shot #oneshot #relationship #love

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celli-ohs · 4 months ago

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and then i'll leave without a trace

pairing: choi soobin x reader

genre: collegeau!, parenthoodau!, angst, nsfw, fluff

synopsis: your relationship with choi soobin is not a normal one. one might see you two out in public and assume you are lovers. his mother thinks you two are soulmates. your friends keep telling you to just date the guy already. but how can you bring yourself to date a total stranger? well maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to have a baby with him.

word count: 14.9k

warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, intoxication, foul language, stds and other sexual diseases, depression, postpartum depression, parenting struggles, toxic familial relationships, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex while inebriated, sex while pregnant, oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, and breeding kink

playlist: and then i'll leave without a trace

taglist: @beomgyusluver @94vsmonbebe @soobaglesblog @dawngyu @justandloyal2961 @yezznn @lesbiansforseonghwa @soobinieswife @chwesuh-imnida

note: i literally just finished this and like the psycho i am, I'm uploading it right away! i really hope you guys like it, this is my first time ever writing angst, as well as touching on the subject of pregnancy. this is part 1! i plan to do a part 2 in Soobin's pov bc I just like to make things harder for myself! also I had so many different entries I used all 30 photos for my dividers sorry for how plain it looks TT pls lmk how you like it! i want to be able to improve as i continue writing! much love <333

He’s surprisingly timid despite his appearance. That was your first impression of Choi Soobin.

You two were at a party. It was homecoming season, the summer heat still resonating through the air even after the sun had set. You were cramped inside an apartment while the entire place was flooded with college students drunk off of cheap liquor.

Your friends are busy gossiping about Jimin’s Psych professor cheating on his wife with his new T.A. You’re next to them silent, teetering between buzzed and tipsy. Your eyes drift off into the crowd, and maybe it’s because you’re currently sitting on the kitchen counter, but you feel as if you can see everything and anything.

Everyone’s heads are turned away from you but one.

A tall, awkward-looking man with tousled dark hair stares at you from his position across the room. He’s alone, back against the wall, two hands nursing his solo cup.

Your eyes connect for just two seconds before he looks away, he distracts himself by taking a sip of his drink.

You continue to watch him. This seems to make him skittish, he doesn’t know what to do. So he just downs his drink and excuses himself from his spot, struggling to push through the crowd to find refuge down the hall.

He’s weird, you think.

“Who’s that?” You tap Minjeong’s shoulder, roughly pointing out the man just as he ducks behind the corner.

“Huh? Oh, I think that’s Soobin, one of Heeseung’s friends maybe.” She makes a face as she is unsure. You sit back up and look around again. Soobin is gone.

You don’t think about him for the rest of the night.

He’s handsome, this stranger.

The room is dark and you can barely see, but you know he is. He’s got soft skin, a tall round nose, and pouty lips that kiss the skin of your neck just right.

You don’t have to speak a word for him to know how to handle you, his hands do all the talking as they pull off your clothes, dancing against your bare body. You get chills every time you feel his breath tickle your ear.

And when his cock slips inside your heat with ease, you exhale with a smile. You lean into his touch, he’s more gentle than you could ever imagine.

Your moans fill the room just like he fills you. You two are dancing in sync to the musical rhythm of what was pure raw intoxicated sex.

With every thrust you can feel your high climb up and up, you’re clawing for a release, and you’ll get it no matter what. A hand on your breast, another on your clit, anything to stimulate you more.

Sex has never felt so good. Maybe it was because you were drunk, or maybe it was because you were super horny, who knows? What you do know is that this was a high you never wanted to come down from.

He flips you around like a doll, and hungrily kisses you like you’re his dying meal. You can’t help but clench. Your hips move on their own, grinding up against the stranger. You consume him as he consumes you.

You beg God for the moment to never end.

Soobin is pulling up his pants as you sit on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your sheets. You’re a bit ashamed that you can’t seem to remember what happened last night.

“I-I’m sorry.” Soobin suddenly apologizes, he can’t look you in the eyes. You have no idea what prompted him to say such a thing.

“Why?” You ask, adjusting the blanket to cover your chest a bit more. “For what happened. It’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

You turn away in thought. Sleeping with a stranger was nothing too new to you. You’ve had a few one night stands, they were enjoyable enough for you to not be bothered. Purely physical.

But maybe that wasn’t normal to him.

“Is this your way of telling me you gave me something?” You joke. Soobin freaks out, eyes bugged out of his face. “No! Oh God, no!” He shakes his head defensively.

You let out a chuckle, looking up at him tiredly. “I’m joking.” He sighs, calming down and proceeding to finish getting changed.

“Don’t take what happened last night too seriously,” You hum. “It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

You see Soobin falter for just half a second, it’s so fast you almost think you imagined it.

He just nods and walks out the room, letting himself out.

That was not the last time you saw Soobin. Because you soon find yourself pushed up against him in a bed time and time again. You don’t even know why you keep going back to him, you have to ask yourself this question as you lay next to him late at night.

The sex was good, obviously. But was that really just it?

You turn your head, beside you Soobin sleeps peacefully, mouth hung wide open. His arms are strewn over both you and his bed, legs hanging over his mattress.

Could you see yourself being more than sexual partners with this man? Could you see yourself dating him? See him as a lover?

You had no real feelings of want or need to be in a relationship at the moment. There’s too much emotion involved, too much pressure and thinking. Too much vulnerability.

You shift away from Soobin, your back facing him now. It’s colder at the edge of the bed so you have to pull the blanket up higher.

He feels you leave him, as he subconsciously scoots closer, wrapping his long arms around your torso like ropes. This time you don’t move.

You fall back asleep as you tell yourself over and over again that all of this was purely physical. Don’t get attached.

It was supposed to be a funny little game, it was supposed to be a joke. You agreed to this, how would you have known that this would be the outcome?

You were always so careful, maybe this is some form of karma, for all your thoughts and bad decisions.

Eventually it had to catch up to you.

You sit nervously at the table, foot kicking up and down as you try to distract yourself with your cup of water. Waiting felt like forever.

Finally you hear the ding of the front door bell, and you look up to see him.

Soobin smiles at you. It’s stiff and awkward, but you try and smile back. He sits across from you like he’s in a business meeting.

“Hi,” He almost whispers. “Did you want to order anything?” You ignore his greeting, gesturing to the register to your left. He looks over then returns his attention back to you. “No, I'm okay.”

You nod and observe him. Maybe it’s because when you two usually meet, you’re both naked, but Soobin seems a bit dressed up. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt and knit cardigan, paired with a nice pair of jeans. He’s wearing glasses, you didn’t know he needed them.

“Something wrong?” He suddenly asks, and you’re made aware you’ve been staring for too long. “Huh? Sorry, I- I was just thinking,” You lie.

Soobin nods and clears his throat. “So, you wanted to talk?” He reminds you. “Yeah, yeah.” You mumble.

Yesterday you had randomly messaged him in the middle of the day, asking to meet at a little coffee shop nearby your place. It wasn’t often you asked to hang outside the bedroom.

“About what?” Soobin’s question was one that you were dreading for the past week and a half. But hearing them in person were different than imagining them.

Your chest tightens and your head feels dizzy. Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you struggle to speak. The words collect at your throat, stuck there as your mind grows fuzzy.

You’d rehearsed this so many times, why was it so hard when it was the real deal?

You finally look up at Soobin, his dark eyes are surprisingly bright and warm. His expression is confused, his brows furrowed together as he tries to read you. You suddenly remember why you’re even doing this. You owe it to him.

“I’m pregnant.”

You have to look away. You’re scared to see his reaction.

“A-And I think I’m going to go through with the pregnancy.” You cough out. “Once the baby is born, I’m going to give them up for adoption.”

This was your decision. You’d thought about this over and over again, and you felt this was what you wanted to do.

You considered not telling Soobin at all, because well, you were admittedly scared of how he’d react. This stranger you slept with, would he care if you had his baby?

In your head, you believed you could keep quiet about this, cut him off, run back home and never have to worry about seeing him ever again. But something kept tugging at your heart to tell him.

You take some courage and peek at the man across from you. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from Soobin, but the pure look of shock on his face was different than you were thinking of.

You make eye contact, and Soobin finally blinks. He looks around the coffee shop, trying to find something else to focus on. “Uh, when-when did you find this out?” He asks.

“Almost two weeks ago.” You answer. You decide to not tell him you and your friends decided to do that stupid Tik Tok challenge where everyone takes a pregnancy test.

Yours was the only one that came out positive.

Soobin only nods his head, rubbing his hands as he struggles to form a sentence. You can understand what he’s going through. That same night you found out, you locked yourself in Jimin’s bathroom and took three more tests to confirm those two little lines.

“You don’t have to be involved.” You speak up. “I just wanted to tell you.”

His head shoots up at you in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “No, no I want to be involved, yeah.” He says this with zero confidence, it does nothing to convince you.

You look outside the window. It’s no longer summer, the leaves are now brown, the sky gray and cold. The transition to autumn felt abrupt and rushed to you.

“Okay.”

Your interactions with Soobin after that become limited. You wonder if he’s avoiding you. Or if you’re avoiding him.

Deep down you feel as though you know the answer to that question. So you were surprised when he called to ask you to move in with him out of the blue.

“Like right now?” You ask, pressing your phone against your ear as you fold your laundry on your bed.

“Not exactly,” Soobin sounds unsure of himself on the other side of the line. “But that way I can be of more help.”

You set down your clothes to properly hold your phone. You’re sure what he’s saying is true. It would be nice to have someone around at home most days. Your roommate Gaeul hasn’t been too fond of your morning sickness.

But the only thing stopping you was the fact that you would be living with a stranger.

A stranger who’d knocked you up with his baby before you even had a real proper conversation.

“Y/n? Are you still there?” Soobin asks. You hum, going back to folding your clothes. “Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be right away, we can wait a bit if you want. But maybe it’ll be better that way.”

You hum again and the two of you bid goodbye before you hang up the call.

Living with Soobin. You wonder how that would be.

Right now everything was changing: your body, your diet, your entire life. You’re sick all day, you feel like a zombie as you force yourself to go through your routine.

You still go to class every day, though you almost always never know what’s going on with how horrible you feel. You work through your shifts gripping onto any shelf, counter or ledge in your vicinity.

You always need to pee, your boobs are starting to hurt as they grow, forcing you to go out and buy new bras. You can barely hold a meal down without puking it all back up, you’re constantly fatigued, but no matter how much sleep you get you’re uncomfortable and restless.

Plus, there was an upside to living with Soobin, he lived alone and his apartment was nice and spacious. You don’t know how he scored a single unit apartment the size of his by himself, but he also had a decent paying job and was the youngest of three, apparently his parents had money.

Would having Soobin around help ease any of that? You guess you’ll just have to see and find out.

Moving day doesn’t go as planned, because of course you need to vomit your guts out in the middle of organizing your boxes.

You’re leaning onto Soobin’s toilet for dear life as you hurl your insides down the bowl. Each breath you take seems to upset your stomach more than the one before.

“Are you okay?” Soobin asks nervously as he stands by the door, head peeking out. Instead of answering him with words, you puke up your earlier lunch.

You don’t know if he stands there the entire time, or if he’s gone off to run away, but eventually you feel your insides calm down. You take the time to rest your head against your arm, closing your eyes as you barely have the energy to do anything but breath.

Your mouth feels gross, your throat is dry and it hurts to swallow even your saliva. With whatever energy you have left, you flush the toilet and stand yourself up to rinse your mouth in the sink. As you do, you look at your reflection in the mirror.

You look haggard. There’s no trace of the woman you were just two months ago. You suddenly feel as if you are losing yourself. You couldn’t recognize your reflection.

Tears well up in your eyes and your vision is blurred as you cry to yourself quietly. This was all wrong. This wasn’t what you wanted. You wished you’d never chosen this. You wished you’d never slept with him, that you never met him.

You wished you were a better person.

You feel a hand tap your shoulder, and you quickly whip around and swat it away.

And it’s like you wake up. Soobin stares at you, taken aback as he holds a water bottle. His hands are up as if to show you he has no bad intentions. He looks as innocent as a young boy.

“I brought you water.” He hiccups.

You can’t figure out why in the moment, but this act of kindness frustrates you. You wipe your tears quickly and push past him, escaping out the front door to sit in your car.

The guilt sinks in later.

Makeup sex was for couples. And apparently for you and Soobin.

Though you weren’t sure if this was exactly that.

“S-Soobin-!” You gasp as he sucks the skin of your neck, his thrusts are much more gentle than you’re used to, yet this turns you on more.

“Hmm?” He hums, looking at you with lust-drunken eyes. As you lay on your back, arms thrown over his shoulders and legs splayed wide open for his access, you look up at the man. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. His lips are puffy from how hard he’d kissed you earlier.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” His hand instinctively goes over your tummy. This embarrasses you for some reason, turning to look away. “I’m fine.” You lie. Soobin pauses for a moment, before leaning down to kiss the side of your face, coaxing you to face him again so he can kiss you some more.

“Let’s keep going then. Let me make you feel better,” He murmurs, his voice so deep it tickles your ear just right.

You don’t argue with him.

“You’re due in August of next year, the 5th.” Your doctor informs you as she rubs the transducer against the gel on your skin. On the screen in front of you, you can see the black and white photo of what looks like a little blob.

“Your baby is about the size of a grape. Not a lot of facial features have been formed yet at this point.” She points at the little white thing on the screen, and begins to show you exactly what is the head and where the bottom is.

You end up turning away, you can’t handle looking for too long.

You don’t want to get attached. You told yourself this from the beginning. You are not a mother, you’re simply carrying the baby to term.

Soobin on the other hand looks both fascinated and mortified. His eyes are glued to the monitor, he keeps nodding when the doctor speaks. It almost disgusts you how eager he seems.

After the ultrasound you’re required to do a physical exam, then some bloodwork. You wince as the nurse inserts the needle into your arm, you can feel your blood flow through your arm and up the tube to the multiple vials beside you.

“You don’t like needles?” Soobin asks. You open your eyes and find he’s moved from his seat to stand next to you. “No, who likes needles?” You ask rhetorically. He scoffs at your question.

You ignore him, maybe it was your hormones, but everything seemed to be irritating you lately. You suddenly feel lightheaded, resting your head against the hospital bed.

A hand reaches your free arm. You look down, it’s Soobin. He’s slowly inching towards your fingers, before he clasps you in his grip, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

You start to regret your earlier feelings, realizing you should be grateful he wanted to go with you to this appointment. You had never considered how hard it would’ve been going alone.

You give him a squeeze back, and out of embarrassment, close your eyes and turn your head. You feel Soobin pet your hair, it’s comforting.

“Just one more vial, then you’re done, okay?” He whispers to you. You nod and subconsciously lean towards him.

You never expected your parents to react the way they did. Your mother in tears and your father in disbelief. And in the end it wasn’t a happy moment.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat as Soobin drives you both home, the weather seems to mimic your emotion: it’s pouring rain.

You’ve been crying even before you got into the car. Your hometown was about 3 ½ hours away from your university, and you hadn’t seen your parents in months, so imagine their surprise when you arrived home with not only a boy, but his baby.

In fact, you weren’t even dating him, you were living with him and having his kid, but you weren’t dating.

You arrived at 12:30 pm just to leave an hour later. You’d planned to spend the night.

You never expected your parents to be happy. They always preached for you to get your degree and marry before settling down. You obviously ignored all of that.

But a small sliver of you thought they’d forgive you. You were their daughter after all. A parent’s love should be able to overcome such things, right?

You’ve never had the best relationship with your parents, but they've always had your back. This time they didn’t. You can still hear your mother’s sobs, they’re louder than the rainfall hitting the windshield as Soobin zooms down the freeway.

The car suddenly slows down, and the harsh rain falls to a gentle splash. You wipe your eyes and look outside. Soobin parks at a rest stop. He turns off the ignition and unbuckles his seat.

“W-Why’re we here? Where are you going?” You hiccup, confused and anxious. “I’m grabbing us lunch, do you want to come with me? You can stay in the car if you’d like.” Soobin opens his door but doesn’t step out yet.

You look back outside. There’s a bunch of stalls lined up, all of them have steam coming out from the piping hot food. You suddenly remember you haven’t eaten much since this morning. When you told your mom you were visiting, she excitedly informed you she would have a feast upon your arrival. You obviously didn’t eat a single bite.

You turn back to Soobin with a nod, and unbuckle your seatbelt. You open your door and step out, allowing the rain to hit your face. It’s almost refreshing. You two rush underneath the canopies, not wanting to get too wet.

“What’re you craving? I think I'm gonna get sotteok sotteok.” He leads you to a stall. “Me too,” You decide, something spicy sounded nice. “And gukbap. And cider.” You add. Soobin laughs and nods his head, calmly ordering for the both of you.

As you wait in line for your food, you can’t help but stare at Soobin.

This man was the father of your child, your baby daddy if you must. How does he feel about that?

You’re reminded of your mother’s screams from just earlier.

“Let’s go find somewhere to sit.” Soobin miraculously carries the tray of food in his hands, and the two of you sit down at the nearest clear table.

You two dig in, though you’re a lot slower and less vigorous than usual. You stir your soup absentmindedly, taking a sip every few seconds. You take nibbles of your sotteok skewer, and don’t even open your cider.

“Are you okay?” You usually hated hearing that question come from his mouth, but right now it felt different.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. He looks at you with a full mouth. “If you don’t finish your food that’s fine, I can eat it.” He assumes you’re talking about your sudden lack of appetite.

“No, I mean I’m sorry about my parents.” You correct. “They said some pretty mean stuff back there to you.” You mumble.

Soobin goes quiet. He swallows his food and wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking.

“And they said some really mean stuff to you too.” You take a big bite of your skewer to avoid talking.

You both continue to eat in silence, that was enough of that conversation for the rest of the day.

“Feel good?” Soobin asks, though you can’t say anything because you were currently leaning against your seat in the car while Soobin’s fingers slid in and out of you.

You’re breathy, panting as you reach up and behind to grip the seat head for stability. You feel a bit exposed as you were still parked in the parking lot of the rest stop. Soobin had moved you guys to a far off corner away from the rest of the cars.

The windows are foggy, the radio plays softly, though they’re drowned out by your moans. You’re too aroused to care if people can see you.

Soobin leans over the console box, enrapturing you in a tongue twisting kiss. Your hand finds its way to his hair, running though his locks as he speeds up his pace.

His long veiny hands, his fingers are thicker and rougher than your own, it’s like they reach all the right spots. He’s curling, digging inside your gummy walls, trying to reach deeper and deeper.

Your breath hitches as you feel your orgasm approaching, your head is spinning from your high. Soobin pulls away from you, your lips are strung together by a single line of saliva.

You look at him dazed, a look of lust.

Soobin continues to stare at you, his thumb coming to rest against your clit as he shoves his index and middle finger in your sopping pussy.

Maybe it was the direct and intense eye contact, or the adrenaline of being caught, but you come with so much passion you have to grip onto the door in order to ground yourself.

Your walls clench and convulse around Soobin’s thick fingers as he slowly pulls out, your cum leaves them glazed. As you try to catch your breath, you watch him stick his fingers inside his mouth, he sucks them decadently.

Finally, he wipes your mouth with his thumb, licking it clean. This man knew how to push your buttons in all the right ways.

“Let’s go home,” He announces, starting the car again and putting the car in drive.

When your second trimester rolls around, it’s as if your morning sickness magically disappears. You can stomach just about anything now, in fact your appetite has grown.

Your bump is slowly coming in, it’s still small enough where you can see your toes. But you no longer fit any of your jeans, and have opted to wear sweatpants 24/7 as it’s the only thing that fits you.

“These are kinda cute,” Minjeong holds up a pair of maternity chinos. “Jesus Minjeong, she’s trying to look like Rihanna, not a fucking politician.” Ningning swipes the chinos and hangs them back on the rack. Your friend sulks and takes solace by your side.

“Did you think they were cute?” She asks you. You pout and shake your head. “Sorry. I didn’t even like the color.” Minjeong’s frown deepens. “Hey!” Aeri shouts, waving you down. “Look at these jeans! They’re cute and baggy,” She shows you a pair of medium wash jeans.

The legs are nice and wide, and not too long where you’d be tripping over them. “I can try them on,” You agree. She happily puts them into the cart.

“I found this cute maxi skirt, do you like it?” Jimin saunters over and presents the flowy white skirt. “Oh this is totally giving Rihanna in the Bahamas vibe, you have to get it.” Ningning answers for you. You laugh and nod for her to add it to the cart. “I’ll try it on.”

You guys pile on a few more articles of clothing before heading to the fitting room where you proceed to have a tiny fashion show for all your friends.

“I kind of like that one!” Jimin nods as you try on a cardigan. “No, she looks frumpy, don’t get it.” Ningning is brutally honest.

“I think you should definitely get the skirt, the jeans, the overalls, the two tops we liked, and at least get the dress, it was totally a skims dupe!” Aeri says as you head back into the fitting room to change into your clothes.

“I like the sweater,” Minjeong reminds them. “Oh that one was cute, yeah, especially now that it’s starting to get cold outside.” Jimin agrees.

You step back out, grabbing the clothes you liked in one arm and the ones you didn’t in the other. “Let me help you,” Jimin grabs the no pile and hands it to the employee up front.

“I liked them all, “ You admit. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, you were much too busy and anxious during your first trimester.

Because of that you also didn’t spend a lot of time with your friends. You found it hard to be around them and not feel sick or uncomfortable.

But now you were getting back into your groove, and they seemed to notice it too, it reminded you of old times.

“The total is going to be $223.47.” The cashier announces, and suddenly it’s like your morning sickness has manifested itself.

“Maternity clothes are that expensive?! We’re literally at Target!” Minjeong squeaks not so subtly to you and the others.

“We could all pay together, maybe-” “No it’s fine,” You cut off Jimin. “I’ll just get the jeans and the one top please.” You tell the cashier, and he removes the other items.

“Y/n, what the hell?!” Ningning glares at you. “I can get more next time,” You tell her. “I just need something right now, I’ll get bigger anyways, I don’t want to get one size just to outgrow it again in a few weeks.” You argue. Your friends sigh and try not to say anything as you pay.

But as you all walk back to Aeri’s car, you feel a bit ashamed.

No wonder your parents were so angry, you’re too young, too financially unstable to be with a child. You could barely afford a pair of jeans and a shirt, that you’ll probably discard once all of this is over.

You look down at your growing belly, you still find it hard to believe there’s a baby growing in there, despite you being actual living breathing proof.

At least you won’t have to constantly buy diapers and formula, you think to yourself as you get in the car.

“What do you mean you’re cutting my hours?” You ask your boss, staring him straight in the eyes. He sighs, grimacing at you from his seat.

“You’ve been constantly calling out or you will leave early from all your shifts. You are not here when we need coverage, I can’t keep scheduling you if you’re not going to be here.” He decides.

You actually scoff at him in disbelief. “I wasn’t here because I’m pregnant. I’ve been physically vomiting any food that enters my body. I was losing bodily fluids more than I can intake, I was sore all over, I had little energy. I couldn’t help that I wasn’t here.” You argue, your anger fueling your adrenaline.

“I get that, I do Y/n- but I can’t keep giving you-” “But I’m here now, I’m better now!” You cut him off. “My morning sickness is gone, I don’t have a lot of nausea. I can still do my job.”

Your boss sighs again, leans back into his chair as his lips go thin. “I have employees who are hard workers and need the hours. I’m required by store policy to give them hours as they are eligible.”

You sit in your chair, and it starts to seep in that no matter what you do, no one is listening.

Then your boss says something to you that almost breaks you.

“Y/n, I’m doing this to protect you. Don’t you want to be able to rest more and stay at home?”

“Should we get orange juice or apple juice?” Soobin asks you as you two stand in the refrigerated section of the grocery store.

“Apple. We don’t like orange juice, it’s too tangy.” You grimace and grab the gallon from the shelf.

When you place the juice into the shopping cart, you realize Soobin has been staring at you like you’ve grown horns out of your head. “What?”

“We?” He repeats, pointing to himself. You suddenly realize what he’s asking, and laugh. “No, we.” You gesture to your growing stomach, you meant the baby.

“Oh,” He seems embarrassed as it finally clicks to him on what you meant. “I was gonna say, I prefer orange juice.”

“We can get that next time,” You let him push the cart as you guys slowly pick up more groceries for the week.

Some meat (no pork, not after you’d gotten sick from throwing up breakfast sausage three weeks ago), vegetables, fruits (you liked to freeze some of them to make an icy snack), and of course ice cream.

“Same as usual?” Soobin asks and you eagerly nod, allowing him to open the freezer door and fish for your favorite flavor at the back of the top shelf, perks of having a tall baby daddy you think.

“Two Half-Baked ice creams from Ben & Jerry’s, pint sized.” He sets the tubs of ice cream into the filled cart in a grandiose manner, you applaud him.

“You’re a Godsend.” You sigh happily. A skip in your step as you guys finally make your way back to the cash registers to check out.

But half way there, something catches your eye. You pause, no longer following Soobin down the main aisle.

You make a detour at the baby section.

Your attention has been swiped by an adorable little onesie, decorated with a drawing of a smiling sun and a couple of blue birds. Three birds to be precise, a mom, a dad and a baby bird.

You grab the foot of the onesie, it’s smaller than your palm. How can something be so little-

“Y/n?” You whip around. Soobin stands in front of you. He watched you.

“I was just looking.” You explain, dropping your hand from the onesie entirely. He nods, though his gaze is trained on where your fingers once were.

“Okay,” He clears his throat and looks away. “I think they’re having a sale on the pastries, mind if I grab some?” You quickly shake your head, and Soobin runs off to the bakery section.

Once he’s out of sight, you return your attention back to the onesie. It’s fallen off the hanger, it’s laying on the floor.

Quietly, you pick it up and place it back on its hanger, putting it on its rack. You read the tag, the size was for newborns.

You walk back to the cart and begin to walk slowly to the line for the registers. “The croissants were half off.” Soobin shows you as he meets you again. You smile and nod.

Were babies really that tiny when they’re born? A small part of you wants to know.

You wake up to the smell of something sweet. That’s unusual.

You sit up, scratching your belly as you walk out the bedroom and into the kitchen, where you find Soobin preparing what you hope is breakfast.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, eyeing him. Usually you were the cook in the household, Soobin was a mess in the kitchen, most of his meals came out inedible.

He jumps at your voice, not noticing you were peeking over his shoulder. “You scared me!” He yelps and you smile. He must have been really focused.

You look at the pile of pancakes he has stacked on a plate, they look messy, but good. “I made you breakfast. The doctor said you have to watch what you eat, remember?”

He was right, just yesterday you two went in for a visit. Your doctor made it very clear that you needed to be eating healthy if you wanted the baby to be born healthy and to have an easy delivery. You needed to watch your sugar intake in case you developed gestational diabetes, common in pregnancy.

“You made all of this for me?” You question, still in disbelief that Soobin, a man who favored sleep over most, would wake up early to make breakfast.

“Well,” Soobin shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “For you, and for him.” He points and you look down at your bulging belly.

Yesterday you found out the gender of your baby. You were having a boy. A baby boy.

You unconsciously run a hand over your stomach, it’s warm, the skin smooth. You were going to have a son.

Your heart skips a beat, and you have to physically pinch yourself back to reality.

“Thank you,” You try not to seem too happy. “Yeah,” Soobin seems to follow suit. “Here, I made you a plate already, I also got sugar-free syrup.” He drizzles some over your stack before placing the plate in front of you.

You carefully take your fork and chop yourself a bite, surprised at the burst of flavor and how not burnt it tasted.

“Are there blueberries in here?” You ask inquisitively. Soobin seems delighted you realized. “Yes!” He grins. “I thought plain wheat pancakes would be boring, so I added some blueberries. They’re good right?”

“They’re delicious,” You hum, taking another bite. You must have been enjoying the pancakes too much, because you suddenly feel a fluttering feeling in your stomach, almost as if-

You suddenly drop your fork, it clatters onto the floor and Soobin spins around. “What? Does it taste bad now?” He’s so confused as you look up at him for your seat with wide, shocked eyes.

“I-I think- I think he moved.” You point to your tummy, and you look down as if to confirm what you felt.

“What?” Soobin also is surprised he suddenly is on his knees, crouched down to match the level of your stomach, placing a gentle hand on top.

You two wait in silence, waiting patiently only for nothing to happen. Were you wrong?

“Maybe he’s shy, we’re putting him on the spot,” Soobin jokes, though you notice the sad look in his eyes. You suddenly get an idea.

“Hold on,” You say, and direct Soobin to lean in and press his head against your belly, allowing him to hear and feel intensely. “Keep your hand here,” You instruct. He listens obediently.

You go back to your plate of pancakes, using your finger you rip off a piece and begin to eat again. You chew, swallow, and wait one more time. It’s so quiet in the apartment, you could hear a pin drop.

Then it happens. That fluttery feeling again. It’s like a tickle on the inside. But the second it happens you and Soobin gasp, looking at each other with pure joy.

“He moved, oh my God he moved!” Soobin laughs with joy. “He moved!” You repeat. “He moved, he moved. God, he moved.” Soobin rubs his hand over your stomach excitedly as you giggle.

You two stay like this for a moment, before you make eye contact once more, and it serves as a reminder of the reality of the situation. Your chuckles die down, and Soobin stands back up, going back to the kitchen counter to finish and clean up the mess he’d made. You turn back to your food at the table.

“It almost felt like we were dating there for a second.” You try to make a joke.

Soobin is quiet for a moment, you can hear him flipping a few new pancakes on the stove.

“But we’re not, right?” He says flatly.

You decide to not answer that as if it wasn’t already obvious.

“Oh!” The sonographer gasps, she wears a bright smile as she turns to you excitedly. “You can see his hand, it’s like he’s saying hi!”

She moves the transducer around and points to the screen. And just like she says, right there is a tiny hand, all five fingers spread out as if waving out to you. Each finger is thin and long, the palm round and sturdy looking.

Soobin leans forward and presses his index finger where the little hand lays on the screen. The entire pad of his finger is bigger than the hand alone.

Your heart clenches. How odd, you almost can feel your baby’s little hand wrap around Soobin’s finger, a fragile yet tight grip.

“How precious,” The sonographer grins, and Soobin pulls away. You notice his attention has shifted from the screen to his index finger.

“Dad, looks like he’s got your nose.” The sonographer suddenly says, and you both jolt, heads whipping around to the screen once more. You can see the side profile of the infant.

“And mom, I think the baby's got your lips, he’s going to be so handsome!” You’ve never been called mom before. No one has called you a mother, or regarded you as one, not your friends, coworkers, hell not even Soobin.

It’s strange to hear, it makes your heart rate speed up.

You never really considered that your baby would, well, look like you. Sure you knew that the baby growing inside you was yours, but you never took the time to imagine how he would look like, what he’d sound like, what his name-

You have to stop yourself from overthinking.

You weren’t a mom. You weren’t supposed to name him. You shouldn’t care about how he looks or how he’s sound.

You shouldn’t care about any of this, all of this was temporary anyways, right?

It’s 3 am in the morning and you’re trudging yourself to the bathroom because your bladder is crying to be released.

You rub your eyes, the bright light of the bathroom blinds you. You sit on the toilet and yawn. As you finish, you wash your hands with your eyes still closed.

You were exhausted, no matter how much you slept, you were never comfortable enough to fully get a good rest.

You’re about to turn off the lights and leave, when you catch your reflection. You’re wearing nothing but a camisole (which has ridden up over your growing belly) and your panties.

Despite it being November, you run warm now that you’re growing a baby. Wearing too many layers has you sweating like a pig at night.

Funny enough, Soobin is always cold, he naturally drifts towards you in his sleep, his icy hands resting against your hot skin.

You turn to the side, and you’re surprised how big you’ve gotten. You’re almost proud.

You shake your head. You need to stop acting like this. You have nothing to be proud of, nothing to think about. You just need to go to sleep and mind your business-

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a kick from your stomach. You look down, perplexed. Do babies read minds?

You doubt that, but that seemed like too much of a coincidence for you to let it pass. You rub your hands over your bare belly, almost as if you’re apologizing.

Why do you feel guilty?

You swallow thickly and turn off the lights, leaving the bathroom to go back to bed. You enter the bedroom and see Soobin has taken your spot in bed, probably trying to find warmth in whatever was left from your body heat moments ago.

Nudging him, you slip back under the covers, letting him cuddle into your side, seeking your heat.

You naturally reach up to run a hand through his hair, it’s soft and fluffy and smells like fresh santal.

Sometimes you envy Soobin.

For many things: like not having to deal with abnormal changes to his body, he doesn’t gag or feel sick by certain scents or foods, hang with friends without the stares, have a job that pays and schedules him fairly, loved by his parents no matter what he does.

You feel as if you suffer so much, just for him to continue a life of pleasure.

But as you lay together in bed, you’re reminded that you’re not the only one whose life has changed drastically this past year.

Soobin has had a stranger move into his home, puke her guts everyday inside his toilet for months, pays the rent for both of them, helps her stay caught up with schoolwork, goes with her to every doctor’s appointment, buys her all her weird cravings, cooks her food despite his challenges in the kitchen.

He runs her a bath when she’s too tired to shower, brushes her hair while she eats ice cream on the couch, pleases her sexual needs before his, he comforts her whenever she cries, even if it’s over the littlest thing like her struggling to put on her socks.

You cradle Soobin’s face in your hands. You hope your son looks like him. An innocent newborn shouldn’t look like someone as guilty as you.

You push Soobin away, turning the other direction. How could a horrible person like yourself be with a person who is giving and humble like Soobin?

“Merry Christmas!” Soobin’s mom is overjoyed to see you two at her front door. She immediately pulls you both into a bear hug.

“Hi mom,” Soobin smiles. His mother pulls him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Have you been eating well? Sleeping well?” She asks him. He nods obediently. His mom turns her attention to you.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see you again.” She grins and without warning pulls you into another hug, petting your hair.

“Me too,” You giggle nervously. You liked Soobin’s mom, you two previously met months prior when Soobin revealed to his parents you two were expecting a child. She was an incredibly sweet woman.

“How are you? Healthy? How is my grandbaby?” She leans down to cup your stomach, already baby talking to your unborn son. You try to relax and act normal, but your eyes flit over to Soobin, who tries to hide his grim expression.

Soobin has yet to inform his parents on your decision of adoption.

“Oh, come in come in! You two are probably cold! It’s freezing out there, snowing down a storm.” His mom ushers you both inside, allowing you two to remove your coats and shoes before entering.

“Everyone’s here already, your sister-” “UNCLE SOOBIN!” A voice interrupts and you hear the sound of tiny feet running quickly. You look up and find a little boy running full speed towards you two.

“Dokyung!” Soobin bends down, arms wide open as he catches the boy in a strong hug. The boy laughs loudly as Soobin tickles him.

Soobin stands back up, carrying the toddler in his arms as he faces you. “Dokyung, this is Y/n,” He introduces you. You give the boy a soft smile and wave your hand. “Hi Dokyung, nice to meet you,”

He stares at you expressionless and you stare back. He looks so much like Soobin, like twins. You feel like you’re seeing double.

Not only that, but Soobin holds him so naturally, as if he were made to carry him, to raise a child. Dokyung looks comfortable as he lays in Soobin’s arms. It does something to your brain.

“Why is your tummy so big?” Dokyung suddenly asks, leaning down from Soobin’s grasp to pat you. You’re taken aback by his brash question, but what can you expect from an innocent child?

You find his curiosity endearing, and end up laughing. “There’s a baby inside, I’m pregnant.” You explain, rubbing a hand over your stomach as if to show.

Dokyung blinks at you. “Why?”

You blink back. How were you supposed to answer that?

“It’s almost time for dinner, are you hungry Dokyung? Grandma said she made lots of food for us,” Soobin jumps in and changes the subject.

“No I want a cookie, mommy said I can eat a cookie because it’s Christmas!” Dokyung squirms out of Soobin’s arms, and drags him further into the house.

“He’s cute, isn't he? Dokyung is Soobin’s older sister’s son,” You almost forget Soobin’s mother has been here the entire time.

“Yeah, he’s funny,” You smile as you follow her to the living area. “We’re all so excited to have you join us this year for Christmas. And with an even newer member joining next year! Dokyung will be overjoyed to play with his new cousin!” She chuckles and you falter in your step.

You almost resent her for even mentioning that to you, but you can’t find it in your heart to do so.

“Happy New Year,” Soobin mumbles as you return from a midnight bathroom run. “Hmm?” You hum, unsure you heard him right.

“Happy New Year,” He repeats, his voice gruff as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. He looks good.

You crawl into the bed, but instead of going back to sleep, you decide to sit up in front of Soobin.

He stares at you, eyes tired, while you’re practically wide awake.

You brush his hair out of his eyes, gently dragging your hands down to cup his cheeks. You lean in and give him a soft kiss . Your tongue licks his lips, asking for permission to enter. He grants it.

His own hands travel up your sides and to your neck, almost directing you how to kiss him.

You moan into his mouth, unable to control your reactions around him. You lean against his chest, you can feel his heart beating fast, it excites you.

Suddenly you pull away and Soobin looks at you dazed and confused. You pull him to the edge of the bed, already tugging at the band of his sweats. He complies, you two don’t have to speak to know what the other wants.

Soobin is already halfway hard, but you can feel him thicken up as you drag your tongue across his length.

He holds your hair back and away from your face as you suck him off, you’re gentle and teasing tonight. In that dark room you look up at him with sincerity, you want to show him how grateful you are.

Your tongue swivels around the head of his cock, your cheeks hollowed out as Soobin throws his head back as he cums, you drink up every last drop until he’s begging you to stop.

He falls back onto the mattress, you crawl up next to him into his arms. You press a kiss to his cheek and whisper:

“Happy New Year,”

‘sorry not feeling good gonna stay in tonight :(‘

You press send and within seconds you see bubbles pop up, your friends giving you their best wishes, hoping you will recover soon so you can join them next time.

But you’re actually fine. But you don’t want them to know that.

You toss your phone onto the counter, and practically skip to the couch, giggling like a giddy child.

“I can’t believe you’ve never watched The Princess Bride, it’s a classic!” You squeal as you lay on the couch, Soobin sits on the other side, letting you rest your feet on his thighs.

“Is it? I’ve never even heard of it,” He shrugs. You gasp and gawk at him, making him crack up. “Is that bad? Stop looking at me like that!” He points at you accusingly.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you until we’ve finished the entire thing, okay?” You prompt. He jokingly nods, and pretends to zip up his mouth and lock it with a ‘key’. You playfully take the ‘key’ and tuck it into your pocket. “Okay press play!”

As you predicted, Soobin is entranced by the movie as soon as it begins. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye every half hour or so, and his eyes are glued to the screen.

You find it silly how easy he is to read, his expressions give him away so easily. The way his mouth is gaping wide open in shock, how loud he laughs when he finds something funny. You especially like the way his lips pout when he’s paying extra attention to the movie.

Eventually, Soobin has wiggled his way to your side, you both sharing the throw blanket.

For some reason you can’t keep your eyes off Soobin. Even if your head is turned to the TV, your gaze falls to the man beside you.

Soobin abruptly turns to you, giving you a quizzing look. “What’s up?” He whispers, eyes flickering back to the TV then back to you. You shake your head and yawn.

“Nothing.” You lie, and lean against his shoulder, deciding to close your eyes for just a moment.

You feel Soobin gently resting his cheek against your head, and you fall asleep to dream land.

You feel as if you can’t breathe. Not because Soobin’s mom tied your hanbok a little too tight, but because you were currently sitting beside her son, posing for their annual family photo.

Soobin’s sister is holding Dokyung in her lap, her husband to her left. Soobin’s older brother is with his girlfriend, in matching hanbok.

“Okay, everyone hold still! Honey, go press the button,” Soobin’s mom ushers her husband, and the older man steps out form his place to run and press the camera button on the propped up phone. He hurries back to stand beside his wife.

You put on your best smile, a hand resting atop your belly and the other in Soobin’s. Your h hand is sweaty and damp. You hear the phone click, and there's a bright flash. You blink as your smile falls, feeling dazed.

“Hold on! No one move yet! Let me check to see if it’s good!” Soobin’s father calls out, and everyone remains in their spots.

“Oh Dokyung!” The old man laughs. “No silly faces yet, just smile!” He chuckles. Dokyung’s mother giggles and fixes his hair as the toddler seems to find the situation silly. “One more time, smile everyone.”

He runs back to his wife’s side and you all smile in silence once again. The camera clicks, there’s a flash, and you feel even more tired than before.

“Perfect!” Soobin’s dad cheers, and Dokyung takes it as a sign to run off. As his parents chase after him, you let out a sigh you had no idea you were holding.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?” Soobin helps you stand, and you fake a smile, fanning yourself. “Just need some air, I’m going to step out for a bit, I’m stuffy,” You tell him, letting go of his hand to head towards the front door.

You quietly make your leave, slipping on your outside shoes as you step out onto the small porch. You sit down on the steps, the air is brisk and cold, it feels like you’ve swallowed something minty with every breath.

It’s dark outside, the clouds cover most of the sky and it looks like it might snow again. Behind you, the bright and warm light of the house is contrasting. It’s full of life and love. You can hear Soobin’s family all happily conversing and every once in a while Dokyung's laughter.

As you sit and listen, admiring the peaceful outside, you hear the door open. You bet it’s Soobin here to check on you.

But you’re surprised when the person grunts as they sit down beside you, looking up at the dark sky.

“If you stay out here for too long, you’ll get sick.” Soobin’s older sister lectures you with a soft tone. You turn to her, confused why she of all people is talking to you.

When you two first met during Christmas, she kept everything cordial and short, you two barely held a conversation alone, almost always someone else was involved. Not to mention half the time you were playing with her son.

“I was about to head back inside,” You lie. She takes a deep breath and nods, still not looking at you. You decide to turn your attention back to the scenery in front of you. You two sit there in awkward silence for a couple more minutes before she finds the courage to speak up again.

“Soobin told me what you plan to do after this.” You pause. She’s talking about after birth. “Yeah,” You cough out.

She finally looks at you, and you look at her. You originally thought the two siblings look nothing alike, but facing her now you can see the resemblance. No wonder Dokyung looked so much like Soobin.

“Why are you doing all of this? Are you trying to hurt him more?” Her tongue is sharp and unrelenting, it throws you off guard.

“What?” You squeak out, flabbergasted by how upfront she was. Soobin’s sister drops the facade, the way she clenches her jaw you can tell she’s stressed.

“Why go through with the pregnancy? Why involve my brother? Why are you even here at our Seollal celebration? Why are you lying to my parents? Why are you doing any of this?” Each question feels like a knife piercing your heart. You feel as if you can’t breathe.

Out of fear you whip your head around, eyes focused on the cold concrete ground. Soobin’s sister waits for you to answer, she sits patiently.

Why were you doing this? You’ve never asked yourself this question, whether it be because you don’t know the answer, or because you do know and are scared to admit you do. Either way you have no way of explaining yourself.

“If you’re just going to give up on this child, there’s no reason to get my family involved.” She argues. “All you’re doing is making everyone around you suffer. My brother doesn’t deserve to have someone as selfish as you control him like a puppet. He’s his own person, let him make his own decisions.”

“I don’t know what you did to entrance him, but my brother is naive and genuine. He’s known nothing but love from the people around him. How could you force him into this when he’s obviously not ready? You’re not ready, that’s why you’re giving the baby up, right?” She taunts you.

“I hate how you have my parents believing in this faux relationship you two have. Do you know how happy my mom was when Soobin told her about you? Her children are her treasures, imagine how she’ll feel when she finds out her youngest son was taken advantage of by an immature, irresponsible girl like yourself. You should be ashamed.”

Her words cut deeper and deeper into your already low ego, and you don’t realize you’ve been crying until you let out a sniffle.

“I-I’m sorry,” You choke out. Soobin’s sister stays quiet this time as you break down in front of her.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You repeat over and over again. Deep down you know that no matter what you say, she won’t believe a word you say. You’ve already broken her trust even before meeting her, how do you expect to gain it back?

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sor-”

“Sis, what the hell?!” You jump at the sound of Soobin’s voice, he sounds furious.

“Don’t you yell at me! Someone needed to talk some sense into her-” “And why do you think you’re the right person to do so?! You have no right to do any of this!” Soobin steps in front of you as his sister takes her stand.

“Soobin, I’m doing this for you, for us-” He cuts her off with a scoff. “Sis, I’m not a child anymore. I can take care of myself. This is my business, not yours.”

You’re wiping your tears as you watch the two siblings fight. Soobin’s sister may be older, but he towers over her. She glares up at him, then at you.

“Look what she’s done to you. You’ve never acted like this before. You’re letting her lead your life.” She jabs a finger in your direction.

“No she’s not. Leave her out of this. If you have something to say, you say it to me and only me.” Soobin is stern. Why was he doing all of this?

His sister looks bewildered how her younger brother could ever utter such a thing to her face. She opens her mouth to speak again when the front door opens once more.

“What’s all this noise? Dinner's almost ready, it’s time to come inside,” It’s Soobin’s mother. Her eyes first land on her two children, taking in their angry expressions. Then her gaze falls to you, hiding behind Soobin with tears in your eyes.

“Dear, why are you crying?” She asks, stretching out hand for you to take. You don’t move, not that you could anyways, because Soobin’s sister begins to yell again.

“Mom, no!” She hisses. “Do you even know who she really is?! She’s using Soobin!” The man mentioned sneers at his sister. “Will you shut up?”

That little insult lights a fire within his sister. She tears away from her brother, and instead confronts their mother.

“Mother, you need to listen to me. Soobin and Y/n aren’t dating. They aren’t keeping the baby. That woman is going to give the baby up for adoption because she’s a selfish brat who wants to go back to partying and being lazy.” She’s almost begging, grabbing the older woman’s hands and holding them between her own.

Soobin’s mom is rightfully shocked by this information, her face says it all. She looks at her son, who stands defeated. She turns to you again, and you wish you had turned away because there’s betrayal written in her eyes.

“Y/n, is this true? Soobin?” She switches between you both, searching for answers. You look to Soobin, waiting for a sign, something, anything.

“See? Mom, you believe me right?” Soobin’s sister almost sounds proud of this. You then realize that Soobin can’t tell his mom, and you suddenly realize his sister was right all along.

You let out a huff and stand up. All eyes are on you.

“Yes ma’am, it’s true. I’m considering giving up the baby for adoption.” You feel as if you’re trying to swallow a lump in your throat as you speak. “Soobin and I have already discussed this. We think this is the best option. I’m really sorry for deceiving you.”

And then it’s like the world goes silent. Like you’ve been drowning and you’re falling deeper and deeper underwater. You’ve fallen so deep, the sound of the world disappears.

What happens next is a blur. You don’t remember much other than Soobin taking your hand, grabbing your belongings and dragging you to his car for a long, tense drive home.

You feel relieved.

For some reason you sound distorted, but it doesn’t seem to bother your son.

You’re singing him to sleep, he’s swaddled in a blanket, but you can’t seem to make out his face.

You walk around the kitchen, patting his back, gently moving back and forth in hopes of soothing him. The second you stop he begins to cry a loud scream of terror. You’re panicking, you don’t know what to do.

Where the hell was Soobin? He should be here, this was his baby too.

You’re searching the apartment, trying to be a good mother while searching for the man in question, but he’s nowhere to be found.

You try to call out for him, but you have no voice. There’s no sound. None at all. It’s so quiet something feels wrong.

You realize you’re empty handed. Your son is gone, missing. The panic begins to settle in quickly.

You’re spinning around, you’re no longer in the apartment, but your local grocery store. It’s crowded, everyone seems to be getting in your way as you try to move.

You try to stop someone, anyone. You need help, your baby is gone, your son, someone took him, you’re sure of it.

Someone kidnapped your baby boy.

Why was no one worried, why was no one helping you?! It was like you were all alone in this.

As you begin to hyperventilate, you spot a familiar figure.

Soobin. You run towards him but it’s like you’re moving through water, slow and frustrating. You try to shout at him, but you forget you can’t make any noise.

So you run and run, but Soobin is getting farther and farther. And even worse, you’ve realized it’s him with your son.

His large back taunts you as he cradles the infant, walking a mile with each step he takes.

You eventually fall and give up. You’re all alone out there, and not a single soul seems to care.

You wake up with tears rolling down your cheeks, and Soobin shaking you awake.

“Y/n, wake up,” He sounds worried. You blink your eyes open and quickly wipe your eyes with the back of your hands.

“Are you okay? You were crying in your sleep,” Soobin asks. You ignore him and stand up, speeding to the bathroom.

“Y/n,” He’s following you, but somehow you evade him, running inside the bathroom and locking it.

“Y/n? Y/n. Y/n open the door please,” Soobin knocks. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

How can he say something like that to you? You hate hearing him say such nice things. You wish he’d never said yes to you. You wish he never asked you to move in, you wished he never treated you well.

You sit on top of the toilet, trying your best to cry quietly, because you know you’d be worrying him more if he can hear you.

Soobin is still talking to you through the door.

You’re wiping your eyes with toilet paper when you feel your stomach flip flop and you stop breathing.

Your hands ghost over your belly, as if it would disappear if you touched it. You’re actually a bit relieved.

Your son was right here with you.

In April, you’re shopping for yourself when you are stopped by someone you wish you hadn’t run into.

You were looking at shoes. Now that you were getting closer and closer to birth, your body was changing more rapidly. Your old sneakers and boots no longer fit your feet without your ankles being strangled.

With what little money your job gave you, you planned on getting the most comfortable pair of slip-on shoes.

“Excuse me, do you have these in a size-” “Y/n?” Your conversation with the employee is interrupted by a familiar voice that has shivers running down your spine.

You pause, not wanting to turn your head. Maybe you could pretend you didn’t hear, that you were not Y/n, and they would leave you alone.

But this person is relentless. You can hear them approach you as you try to talk to the employee again.

“It is you. Y/n, it’s me, Yeji.”

Hwang Yeji, your ex best friend from high school. You guys never really had a falling out, you just went to different universities. You later found out two years ago that she was talking shit about you to make herself look better to her new uni friends after you reunited at a party.

You turn around and put on your bravest smile. “Oh, Yeji, hey,” Maybe it’s because you’re nervous that you begin to hug your stomach.

You see Yeji’s eyes wander down, then back up at you. Shelooks stunned. You don’t blame her.

“Oh my god. Congratulations!” She puts on a fake smile and goes in for a hug, you put up a hand to stop her. “Thanks. You look good.”

“You look good too!” Yeji laughs, though you know she’s probably rolling around with excitement on the inside.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long!” She squeals, grabbing your hands as if to hold you down. “I’m fine, I actually-“

“We need to get lunch and catch up, are you busy right now? Do you have time? I know a really good kalguksu place nearby here, the owners love me! My boyfriend and I are their favorite customers. You remember my boyfriend Jeno, right?”

Of course you remember Jeno, was she dumb? He was the boy you grew up with, your childhood crush since you were 10. Yeji knew you liked Jeno back when you were younger, yet she still went to date him. You hear they’re pretty on and off now.

“Yeah, I do-“ “Great! I'm actually shopping with him right now, I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you too! You can invite your boyfriend too,” She assumes. “Unless you’re alone?” She flashes you a malevolent smile, and you’re reminded of the hell she put you through just years before.

It’s then that you’re grateful Soobin insisted on joining you, because he arrives just on time to save you.

“Y/n! These shoes look nice and comfortable-” He stops abruptly when he notices Yeji. He approaches you slowly, and is even more taken aback when you yank your hands from her and practically hug him.

“Uh, Hello,” He awkwardly bows, looking between you and Yeji as if unsure what to do. You turn back to Yeji. “Sorry, I am busy actually. My boyfriend and I still have some shopping to do for our baby.” You smile sheepishly.

“I just love being a mom, you know? I can’t wait to give birth and have more of his kids, because we’re so so in love with each other, isn’t that right babe? Anyways see you Yeji, tell Jeno I said hi!” You say before dragging Soobin away.

You two barge out of the store, leaving the woman in shock. “Who was that?” He asks in a hushed tone, he keeps turning back to get a glimpse of your ex best friend.

You have to grab his arm and pull him down the street, trying your best to not seem embarrassed or angry as you storm off.

“No one important,” You huff. You can tell Soobin is staring at you again as you finally let go of him to walk ahead.

You end up slowing down, running out of breath faster than you can imagine. Soobin stops as you rest against a wall.

“So I’m your boyfriend when it’s convenient for you? Is that all I am to you?” Despite his harsh words, he sounds more confused than anything.

You look up at him, trying to find the right words, because you didn’t want to admit that you wished everything you said to Yeji was true.

“It was just a lie. She was getting on my nerves.” You spit out. Soobin sighs, running a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He looks irritated, all because of you.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, trying to show your sincerity through your eyes. Soobin does nothing but look at you, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

You weren’t dating, but you two fucked like you were. That was 100% true.

You’re laying on your back as Soobin laps at your puffy cunt like he’s a starved man.

With every flick of his tongue you let out a whimper, Soobin temporarily stops grabbing you by the jaw. He turns you towards him, allowing him to have access to your pretty lips. He kisses you like his life depends on it, biting and licking your lips.

You’re out of breath, feeling winded and tired, yet you can’t help but move your hips closer and closer to him. This connection between you two was carnivorous, and you wished to be devoured.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” Soobin growls at you, as if he hadn’t just sucked the life out of you while he pumped his fingers in and out of your dripping hole. You only moan, craving him to move and give you that sweet, sweet release.

Every part of him, his face, his chest, his arms, his fingers, his thighs, his cock, you love it all. You love how he spreads you open in all the right ways, how he's both rough and gentle with you. How he knows what gets you off, the amount of control you trust him to have over you and your body.

“You want more baby?” He asks, his tone switching to something softer as you grind yourself against his hand. You nod, desperate. He does as he’s told, and goes back, holding your legs wide open as he slurps you up.

Your hands find their way to his head, groping his hair as you push him further into you. You can feel your stomach coil up, your breath hitching. You try to find some stability, gripping the bed sheets, Soobin’s hair, anything to keep your sanity.

Your orgasm crashes into you, wiping you out completely. As you come down from your high, your body relaxes, losing all energy. Soobin drags himself up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He looks down at you like the prey you are. You’re unaware of what’s to come next, your eyes are closed.

You feel the bed dip and hear it creek as Soobin joins you. Your eyes shoot open as you feel him rub his tip against your entrance. You’re met with a lustful man, his eyes droopy as he cages you beneath him.

“Wanna give me one more, please?” He’s so polite, you answer with a simple nod. Soobin smiles, and with a single swift movement, enters your already throbbing pussy.

You hear him whine, something about how tight you felt, but you can’t concentrate. You feel as if you’re seeing stars from just trying to adjust to his size.

Soobin takes no time to start moving, his thrusts are deep and consistent, a rhythm you’ve come to recognize. You pout at him from your position, craving more of his touch. You lift your arms up, asking him to hold you.

He does more than just hold you, Soobin consumes you. His body wraps itself around you, he becomes all you can see, hear, and smell. Your senses are flooded with him.

He’s like a drug you think, the way he stimulates you, heightens all of your reactions. You get a taste and you’re hooked.

You lock lips, arms snaking around his neck, pulling him to you as your lips and tongue move in sync with him. Soobin’s hands roam your naked body, from teasing your perky nipples to rubbing your round belly affectionately.

His hips begin to move rapidly, falling out inconsistently. He’s whining into your mouth, chasing after that high you will so gracefully give him.

“Fuck- Cum in me,” You gasp. It’s not a plea, it’s an order.

And Soobin listens, standing up to hold your legs together. His thrusts become crazed and rampant, his voice creeping out as he can’t control himself anymore.

Soobin collapses as he cums inside you, shaking as you milk him dry. After you lay beside him, his cum dripping out your cunt and onto the sheets, you can’t help but admire the man.

He lays there, glistening in sweat and breathing heavily. His eyes are shut, a hand is thrown over his face as if to shield him, to you he looks like an angel who just descended from heaven.

You observe him for a moment longer before pulling yourself to sit up. You turn to look back at Soobin, his cheeks are flushed a bright red. You reach over to caress his face, drawing him to finally open his eyes and look at you.

“Let’s take a bath, hm?” You ask quietly. You swear his cheeks get brighter. “Yeah,” Soobin answers, letting you help him up as you two make your way to the bathroom to clean up.

The summer heat is settling in, you’re sweating, thirsty, and uncomfortable, but you have the biggest smile.

Despite your objections, your friends insisted on throwing you a small baby shower. So here you are, standing under a canopy in a public park, surrounded by the most supportive people you know.

You’re wearing a custom crocheted dress your old friend Sakura made just for this occasion, how she got your measurements without your knowledge, you have no idea. But it’s beautiful, you feel beautiful.

Aeri and Minjeong dolled you up, doing your hair and makeup for today, while Jimin and Ningning helped set up the party decorations.

There’s a little table with desserts, another larger one with catering, and folding chairs for everyone to sit on. Jimin even ordered a backdrop for everyone to be able to take photos together.

You’re sneaking a bite of a cupcake when a hand sneaks around your waist, causing you to spin around. “You’re not supposed to be eating that,” Soobin teases, and you playfully roll your eyes.

“It’s just one bite! Here, finish it for me then,” You lift the cupcake to his mouth, feeding him the blue iced dessert.

Soobin takes a small bite, grabbing the cupcake and placing it back on the table behind you, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

His gaze lingers on you for a little too long, you feel goosebumps grow on your arms. Usually you’d tell him to stop, to leave you alone. But today you were allowing yourself to indulge in your desires.

“I didn’t know Minjeong invited your friends too,” You say, looking over to the small crowd of people in front of you. Soobin doesn’t turn to look, his attention focused on you.

“Yeah, I guess she knows Beomgyu through Heeseung.” He murmurs. You can see Soobin’s best friend conversing happily with a group of guys. Your friends were mingling well.

You had all these friends gathered here today, yet not a single family member was in the midst. Yours were nonexistent for reasons you and Soobin knew long ago. But after Seollal you found out he’d temporarily cut contact with his sister. You don’t like knowing that he did that for you.

His mother was having a hard time coming to terms with your decision. She still calls and checks up on you two, but she always sounds sad and disheartened.

You shake your head and try to not think about that stuff, you were supposed to be happy right now.

As you’re trying to find something to lift your spirits, Soobin speaks up. “Did I tell you you look pretty today?” Your head whips around, a little shocked he could say something so blatant to you in public.

“I mean you’re always pretty,” He doubles down a bit nervously. “But you’re especially beautiful today.” His honest words have your cheeks turning red, you’re lucky you’re wearing foundation to cover them.

“Thank you,” You mumble, looking away from his deep intense eyes. They follow you and your every move.

Feeling bold, you reach over and grab his hand, and you can visibly see Soobin’s mood perk up from this single physical gesture.

“Come on, I think Jimin said she’s got a game prepared, I need you to win me that body lotion set.” You pull him towards your friends.

You hear him laugh, and his grip tighten around your hand. Maybe you can be selfish for a bit longer.

It’s the middle of June, and you’ve never been more thankful for Soobin’s apartment having an A/C unit than ever before.

In your old apartment, you always had to fight the heat by doing whatever you could to stay cool. The building was older and despite it being listed as having air conditioning, it really meant a plug in house fan.

You’re currently sitting on the couch, watching a show you’ve been binging all morning. Earlier in the season, a side character revealed she was pregnant, and now in this episode, she was arguing with her husband over baby names. Neither of them could come to a conclusive name they both liked.

You look down at your stomach, you’ve grown so much. You were due in a month in a half, so you were almost bursting at the seams.

Naming your baby was a topic you never really pondered on. Mainly because you felt like you didn’t need to with your decision. But a part of you is curious. You stare at your stomach for a while, internally fighting your conscience on what to do in this situation.

To name really anything you are giving ownership and possession of it. To name a person, you are giving them meaning, personality and a life.

As if urging you to make a decision, your son kicks, his leg pressing against the walls of your womb. You can see the left of your stomach jut out a bit more and usual.

If you do it alone, with no one to witness and persecute you, there is no harm done, right? You ask yourself this question over and over again until your baby moves again, almost as if telling you to hurry up.

You bite your lip, sucking in a tight breath.

“What about… Dongmin?” You say out loud, and it’s like the air grows thick with anticipation. You’re not sure who you’re asking, but you’re waiting for something, anything to give you an answer.

“Or Hyunsoo.” You wait. No one responds. Your anxiety slowly turns into hunger, you want an answer.

“Jisung, Leejoon, Seonwoo, Eunsung!” You begin to list off any name you can think of, eager to get a reaction out of anything. “Hajin, Juyoung, Eunjae-”

Your entire stomach flips. Your son is kicking, punching your side like his little life depends on it.

“That one?” You ask, bewildered that he would react so excitedly. He seems to calm down for a second, maybe it was a bluff.

You bite the inside of your gum, unsure how to read the situation. “Do you like that name?” You ask again, and there’s no response. You hold your breath, testing the waters once more.

Eunjae. Choi Eunjae.” You state loudly. Almost immediately you get a reaction, your son moves about in your belly like he’s doing somersaults.

You begin to laugh, you never thought a single name could elicit something so grand from within your womb.

“Is that right? Your name is Eunjae, Choi Eunjae.” You say again, and you feel your insides tickle.

As you’re enjoying yourself, the silent apartment begins to consume you, reminding you that you shouldn’t be smiling at all. You shouldn’t even be naming your baby, you shouldn't be doing any of this.

The guilt starts to seep in, and your laughter soon transforms into cries of agony.

At 3 in the morning you wake up and realize Soobin is not in bed. Why are you awake as well? You have to use the bathroom, but you have a feeling that’s not the same reason as why Soobin is missing.

After using the restroom, you creep out of the bedroom, yawning as you pad down the hall. What was he doing up so late?

Walking into the kitchen, you see the sliding door to the balcony is open.

And Soobin is outside, leaning against the railing as he’s talking to someone on the phone. His voice is muffled and quiet.

You tiptoe closer, you know you shouldn’t spy, but your curiosity got the better of you.

“I’m listening.” Soobin sighs, pressing his phone against his ear as he yawns, struggling to stay awake.

“No yeah, I know.” You watch him hum, leaning against the wall for support.

Whoever he’s talking to must have asked a question that irritates him, because he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Don’t say that.”

He lets out a long and tired sigh, you see him rub his face. “Y/n and I- We- stop acting as if we’re dating mom, you know we aren’t.”

It’s hypocritical, you think. You say it all the time, you and Soobin aren’t dating. You guys are not in a relationship, and you practically preach that you two will never ever get together.

But when you hear him say it out loud, those words you never imagined him speaking, you feel like every spark of hope left in your body has gone off and died.

And the fact that he was telling this to his mom.

You don’t want to listen to what else he has to say, you march back to the bedroom and throw the covers over your head.

You don’t want to cry, you can’t cry, you don’t deserve to cry. You brought this on yourself, you know this. So why were you so heartbroken?

You’re biting your tongue, clenching your fist in hopes of subduing your tears, when you hear Soobin walk back into the room. He stops and stands by the doorway.

He’s there for a moment, and you have to hold your breath.

“No, she’s still asleep,” You hear him say into the phone as he walks off back to the balcony. He shuts the door hastily behind him.

“What’re you doing?” Soobin asks, sounding threatened. You look up from your spot on the floor, caught.

“I’m packing.” You say simply, as if it weren’t already obvious. “Where are you going?” He questions further, stepping into the bedroom and staying by the door as if to block you from leaving.

You look up at him and scoff. “I’m not going anywhere.” You shake your head. You see him relax a bit. “Not yet at least.”

“I mean, once I have the baby in a couple of days, there’s no reason for us to be living together anymore, right?” You remind him. “I’m just packing now so that I don’t have to worry about it afterwards, to make things easier for us.”

Soobin stays silent as you turn back around and go back to folding and placing your clothes back into your suitcase.

“But you ended your lease, where will you stay?” He shuffles deeper into the room. “I’m gonna stay with Minjeong until I find a new place.” You try to ignore him to the best of your ability.

“Why don’t you just stay here until you do? Why move out just to move in with your friend?” He argues, and you get the feeling this has nothing to do with inconveniencing your best friend.

You huff, and roughly throw in your folded jeans into the suitcase, you can’t find it in you to turn to him, already hurt. “You know why Soobin,” You can see him sit down on the bed out of the corner of your eye.

“There’s no reason for me to stay, it’s not like we’re dating or-” “Then why aren’t we?!”

Soobin’s voice causes the room to shake, and your head snaps at him, eyes wide that he could utter those words at you.

He stares at you intensely, his fist are clenched in anger, his brows furrowed as he is desperately searching your face for an answer.

“We act like a couple, talk like one, sleep together like one- why can’t we?” His voice is so quiet, so meek that you’re reminded of the Soobin you first met that fateful night at that stupid party.

You immediately look away, you can’t even focus on your clothes anymore. He’s asked you a forbidden question.

“Tell me Y/n. I don’t get it.” Soobin pushes. “I’m your boyfriend when you need someone to provide, when an old friend annoys you, when you need to fuck. But suddenly you throw me out the window the second I get too close. I don’t know why but I want to understand you.”

Your gaze is fixed on the floor, your hands resting on your knees as you try your best to not break down in front of him. You couldn’t let him see you cry, you knew he hated it.

“I-I love you, you know?” Those words open the flood gates.

“I’d do anything for you. I already do. I let you use me, twist me around, break me down. Just because I want you to just like me back. I feel like I’m doing everything I can in my favor, but you-” Soobin stops and sighs, getting off from bed to kneel beside you. He grabs your hands and has you face him. You shut your eyes and keep your head down.

“I hate seeing you cry,” He mumbles, lifting your head to wipe your tears with his thumb. You try to pull away, but he’s got a firm grip on you.

“Y/n,” His voice is soft. “I don’t know what’s stopping you, I know you love me too, I know you do.”

You finally open your eyes, and a part of you is relieved your tears have blurred your vision, because you can’t bear to see Soobin’s face once you disappoint him.

“No I don’t,” You lie, shaking your head. Soobin’s hands fall from yours, and you turn your back to him, hiding your sobs as best you can as you immediately regret your words.

You need to apologize, but you’re wiping your tears away when you hear Soobin get up in a rush. He’s out the front door before you can realize. You struggle to get up, hobbling out the front door.

You reach the hallway window just in time to see Soobin speed off, his car furiously disappearing down the street.

“Fuck.” You cuss yourself out. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-”

You suck in a breath as you’re leaning against the hall wall when you feel warm liquid run down your legs. Were you seriously so upset that you peed yourself-

A sudden spike of pain shoots up your uterus and you feel as if you can’t breathe. You almost fall to your knees, forcing yourself to stand until the pain dissipates. That’s when it hits you.

Holy shit your water broke.

You waddle back inside the apartment, insearch of your phone. You try to relax your breathing as you find it laying on the bed. You need to call Soobin. You don’t care that you two just had a fight, you needed to-

Your mind goes blank when you hear a familiar ringtone play loudly from the kitchen. You walk over and find Soobin’s phone ringing on the counter. On his screen is a photo of you from the babyshower. It’s a photo you hadn’t realized he’d taken.

You were laughing at your friends, cradling a plastic baby doll in your arms. You looked so happy, that day he called you beautiful.

You feel your eyes well up again, but your sniffles are interrupted by another sharp pain. This must be contractions or something, because you felt like you were dying as well as needing to take a giant shit.

But without Soobin here, you don’t know what to do. You never planned that today would be the day, your doctor promised you had at least another week.

You stand there by the kitchen counter, agonizing in pain. You know you should call an ambulance, that you should call your family, your friends. But the only person you can think about is Soobin.

The man you’d hopelessly fallen in love with was long gone, leaving without a trace.

i’ll wait here tomorrow

676 notes · View notes

yourauthorjen · 3 months ago

Text

| YOURS | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a family was something you never thought could be a possible, but after joaquin torres you seemed to think differently.

| includes: | husband!joaquin x reader, a bunch of fluff, children, and chaos

| word count: | 1.6k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request! thank you so much for your idea! the main headcanons i focused on were morning chaos and supportive husband and dad. also i feel like joaquin would be such a girl dad.

THE IDEA OF having a family always made you shiver.

Whether it was because of the stress from the children or the bone chilling possibility of not being good enough, you never wanted to consider that idea.

That was until Joaquin walked into your life, bright eyed and charming, stubborn but absolutely heart aching in a way that you could never forget. And ever since you two had been together, every night was spent with him mapping out the possibilities of the future. He'd lace his fingers with yours and he'd ramble on about all the different lives you could have together.

He'd tell you about the a house with a picket fence or maybe an apartment filled with toys and two small children with your eyes and his crooked grin.

The first time he had brought it up you listened to him in silence, heart thundering, and slightly terrified. You didn't know if you deserved all that but he made sure he believed enough for both of you. Joaquin never pressured you, he just smiled and held your hand tighter every time you wavered.

It took another three, four years before you agreed, and somewhere along the way — between sleepy kisses in the kitchen and long car rides where he sang off-key just to make you laugh — you stopped being afraid.

When you first felt your oldest stirring inside of you, you were consumed with cold terror and sleepless nights. It was always a string of "what-ifs" and "am I making the wrong choice?"

But Joaquin was always there, to kiss your knuckles when you couldn't sleep, or doing your share of chores when you were too exhausted to keep yourself awake.

Sam was there to help you as well, dropping by ever so often with Sarah who had made frozen dishes or to take you out shopping while Sam just teased you, joking about how you better hope that the baby didn't snore like Joaquin did.

Obviously, Joaquin's family came over too. The crowd of aunts and uncles as well as his mom all came over to gush about your new child while also bringing in enough diapers and baby food to last an entire apocalypse. They offered home cooked meals, clothing and obviously a long string of baby names, which was a whole other story.

It was bittersweet seeing his family squished into your apartment when your own deadbeat father couldn't even bother shooting you a text, but still, it was heartwarming having such a loving family in a way you always longed for.

And now, your life was different.

Shoes and toys littered the house, lying in every unoccupied corner of the house. Drawings full of crayoned scribbled were plastered across the fridge, taped to the wall and piled atop the coffee counters, all with stick figured drawings of the four of you, standing beside a house with a triangle for the roof.

This morning was no different than other mornings, you woke up to the soft scent of soap and cinnamon as soft kisses brushed your cheek then up to your forehead, before a chorus of sleepy giggles and hushed whispers barged into your room scrambling onto your bed as Joaquin groaned into your hair, his arm tightening lazily around your waist like he thought he could shield you from the onslaught.

But your oldest was determined, climbing right up onto the bed and tugging insistently at the blanket. Your youngest followed, less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, tripping over her own feet and landing in a heap at the foot of the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"Get up," they both sang in sync as they bounced on the mattress eagerly.

Without loosening his grip on you, Joaquin turned slightly, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip, completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you.

"Your breath stinks," you snickered pulling away from him as the kids continued dancing around the bed— one trying to climb onto Joaquin’s back, the other flopping dramatically onto the pillows, narrowly missing your head.

He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his eyes, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

You rolled your eyes, "Really, Sherlock?"

"Who's Sherlock?" your youngest asked wriggling between the two of you, eyes wide and dark hair a mess. She was like a copy and paste of Joaquin, unrelentless energy and big innocent eyes with a headful of curls. Meanwhile your oldest had your eyes, but less energetic than your second, still she piled on top of her younger sister trying to squish between the three of you, determined to snuggle into your arms.

"Sherlock," Joaquin said, "Is my only chance for a few more minutes of sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to nestle back against you, but the kids were having none of it.

"Noooo!" your oldest protested, her hands pushing against his chest as she wriggled closer. "We want pancakes!"

"Pancakes!" echoed your youngest, her little face lighting up at the mention of food, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, demanding your attention.

Joaquin looked at you for help, but you just shrugged as if to say this is on you.

"You three have no mercy," Joaquin muttered. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

You laughed, head tipping backwards as you hoisted yourself out of bed. "Okay then, I guess we're making pancakes today."

Joaquin groaned as you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, his lips forming a pout as you picked up your youngest, placing her on your hip. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath, though the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as you shifted your daughter higher on your hip. "Suck it up, soldier. You're on kitchen duty."

Joaquin groaned even louder as your oldest tried to pull him up. "C'mon dad, we can do them together."

"That's the spirit," you cheered making your way into the kitchen. The morning light had spilled onto the wooden tile of the floor casting a soft glow as you set your daughter down onto one of the stools, Joaquin and your oldest trailing behind you. Both looked as sleepy as the other but a wide smile was still stretched across their faces.

"Okay team," Joaquin yawned, "You're gonna get the pancake mix—" he pointed to your youngest then to your oldest, "You go get the eggs and you—" he paused staring at you his eyes entranced as you leaned against the counter, sunlight kissing your face as you tossed your hair into a bun.

"What do I do?" you teased, cinching your apron tighter around your waist as his jaw went slack.

He cleared his throat, "You," he said, pointing the spatula at you like a sword, "are on official supervision duty. And looking way too good while doing it."

You snorted, reaching over to flick a little bit of flour from the counter at him, laughing when he pretended to stagger back in pain.

Your youngest clapped her hands in glee, while your oldest rolled her eyes like she was already ten years older than she really was. "Dad's being weird again," she whispered loudly to her sister, who giggled into her hands.

"Hey, weird is a Torres family tradition," Joaquin defended, setting a bowl down on the counter with a clatter. "You're just lucky you inherited it, too."

Weird was correct, because not even ten minutes later the kitchen was already a mess. Your youngest insisted on stirring the batter, which mostly resulted in flour puffing up into a cloud around her and your oldest took her self-assigned job of "egg cracker" very seriously— which meant you fished out a few too many shells from the mixing bowl.

"Okay," you said briskly, "Now that that's done, Dad’s in charge of flipping, but he’s banned from stepping a foot away from the stove."

"It was one time," he whined, "I didn't mean it."

"Joaquin, you burned an entire batch of pancakes," you deadpanned, "In front of your own mother."

"It was an accident," he sputtered.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face, "Hey, eyes on the stove soldier, we are not setting the fire alarm off again."

He laughed while your youngest sang a made-up pancake song under her breath, swinging her legs from the stool, while your oldest stood proudly at Joaquin’s side, offering enthusiastic and very loud coaching advice on when to flip the pancake.

You didn't even realize you were smiling until Joaquin caught your eye across the stove, flipping a perfect pancake with a flourish just to make you laugh. His smile— soft but full of so much love it ached was aimed right at you, like it always had been.

This was the future Joaquin had spent his nights rambling on about, and somehow, against all odds, it was yours too. You wrapped your arms around Joaquin's waist, hugging him tightly as he hummed under his breath, then leaned down to press a kiss to your hair.

"See," he murmured, voice warm and low just for you. "Told you you'd make something good."

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in— sweet and clean and that unmistakable feeling of home you never thought you'd have. His arms tightened around you briefly before he pulled away just enough to resume flipping pancakes, your oldest still enthusiastically coaching him from the sidelines.

Your youngest started singing her song even louder, and off-key, leading Joaquin to joining in with a off-tune harmony that made both kids dissolve into giggles.

You leaned back against the counter, watching the the three people you cherished so much bubbling around the kitchen. You had made something good. It was painstakingly beautiful, and you loved it. It was something that you would do everything to protect, and it was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

#joaquin torres #marvel #joaquin torres fluff #mcu #the falcon #joaquin torres x reader #husbandjoaquin #family #marriage #chaos #sam wilson #mcu imagine #joaquin torres imagine #life #please consider reblogging #hope you enjoy #request #marvel fic #fanfic

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sweetlikemonie · 3 months ago

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𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐏

lil drabble for my man based on this video 🤭

content warnings: light degradation (he calls you a nasty bitch), praise, use of a toy, fingering, you’re also being recorded

author’s note: a lil sum sum while y’all wait on that geto and pearline fic don’t curse me 🥲 i’ve been so busy i’m sorry.

“Don’t look away.”

Onyankopon’s voice poured over you like heat, rich and dark and steady. You sat on the edge of the vanity chair, legs spread, heels digging into the counter, bare skin slick with anticipation. The soft hum of the rose toy vibrated against your clit…lightly teasing and already your thighs were twitching, your breathing uneven.

He stood behind you, one hand around your throat, not choking, just holding—reminding you who was in control. Onyankopon’s other hand rest against your at your breast, tweaking and teasing at your nipples, occasionally dropping down to take one into his mouth.

His eyes flicked up to the camera, recording everything. The mirror reflected the whole scene: your glassy eyes, parted lips, the toy nestled between your thighs, and Onyankopon towering behind you.

“You wanna come already?” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck, watching you squirm under the suction. “You can’t even sit still, baby.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep your eyes trained on the mirror like he told you. But your hips rolled forward, chasing the sensation, mouth falling open.

“Eyes up,” he snapped softly, the grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “This ain’t just for you, it’s for me. For them. Let ’em see how pretty you get when I turn you out.”

The rose pulsed harder, perfectly in sync with your heartbeat, and your body arched as a cry slipped from your lips—raw, high-pitched, desperate. Your reflection stared back at you, ruined and beautiful, every inch of you trembling.

“Don’t come yet,” he warned.

But it was already too late.

“You couldn’t even hold it, could you?”

Onyankopon’s voice slid over your skin like silk, low and amused, but heavy with authority. The rose toy buzzed weakly on the counter, soaked from the mess you made on it, your legs still twitching from the orgasm you weren’t supposed to have. You tried to pull yourself together, but your body wouldn’t stop trembling, your mind already gone.

He pressed in close behind you, one large hand cradling your jaw as he tilted your head toward the mirror. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Didn’t even ask. Just made a mess like a nasty little bitch.”

The way he said it…soft, damn near affectionate sent another rush between your legs. You whimpered, shame curling in your gut, but he smiled at you in the mirror. Like he adored how wrecked you were.

“Mmm,” he hummed, dragging two fingers down between your thighs, slow and teasing. “This what happens when I’m too nice to you?”

He gathered your cum on his fingers, then brought them to your lips.

“Go ‘head. Taste what disobedience gets you.”

You opened without hesitation, moaning as you sucked his fingers clean, tongue curling around him like you couldn’t get enough. He watched you with heavy eyes, thumb stroking your cheek once you were done.

“Good girl,” he said, almost like a reward. “Even when you’re outta line, you’re still my good girl, ain’t you?”

Before you could answer, his fingers were back inside you—deep, fast, merciless. Your body arched, your thighs tried to close, but he gripped your leg and forced them wider.

“You’re gonna take all of it. Every stroke, every pump,” he growled, voice still thick with affection, but dripping in filth. “I don’t care if you’re sensitive. You wanted to come without permission? Now you’ll come until you can’t anymore.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. Your moans were loud now, desperate, echoing off the walls. But all he did was smile at your reflection watching you fall apart for him, again.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “You look so fucking beautiful when you lose it for me.”

And when you came again…loud, breathless, and soaked—he kissed your cheek, slow and sweet.

“Next time, you’ll wait,” he said, still stroking you through it. “Or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

#𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚—onyankopon’s journal entry #onyankopon x black reader smut #x black reader #x black reader smut #aot smut #aot x black reader #aot x black reader smut #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon smut #onyankopon x black y/n

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sylussyenjoyer · 1 month ago

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sylus is big.

like big big. like so big that when he’s inside of you you can’t focus on anything else. you need to keep moving your hips on him. you can’t stop, the top half of his body is so firm and it feels so good to nuzzle your head into his chest while he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. and he loves turning you into this, loves seeing his perfect little dove fall apart right in his lap. when he whispers those sweet curses into your ear in that deep tone of his, he can feel your pussy get wetter and wetter and he just can’t help but fuck into you faster and faster. the lewd noises between you two make you feel it even more, you want his seed in you so badly, you can’t go another second without it, that feeling of his cock twitching inside you and your pussy making such a sloppy mess.

when he releases into you, it’s euphoric. your heads tilt back in ecstasy, your bodies almost in sync as that precious white floods your insides.

and you don’t spill a drop, you take it all and feel yourself clench around nothing as he pulls out.

just a little drabble where we’re riding sylus <333 thought id start posting on here n see how it goes.

shots by me. i LOVE glint photobooth

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus smut #smut #love and deepspace smut #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus qin

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xyzcan · 2 months ago

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yandere (s) x reader

- incest, yandere shit (stalking), dunno I forgot, raw and unfiltered shit cause I'm pissed off, so called 'different' reader cause it's y/n, cheating mentioned, angst ig, non-con, there's mention of say gex, heh I ruined their personalities to make it more fucked up :fire:

- I was honestly thinking of writing one for Scaramouche for @tnsophiaayaonly, but my phone started lagging, like WDYM Tumblr?! This is too long for you?! Ugh. I have to put it in a different part, and I also planned one for Albedo and Zhongli, but yeah, for now u get ts...:fire:

- you go give me what other character u wnat bru

Your brother’s fucking perfect. The kind of perfect that gets worshipped, adored, and obsessed over like he’s some kind of goddamn pop idol. Aether’s the golden boy—beautiful, glittering, with that annoying as hell smile that makes men fall head over heels and do the stupidest shit just to touch him. He’s delicate, lithe, graceful—a fucking twink—and somehow, that’s enough to make the world bend over for him. And you? You’re just the unlucky bastard stuck watching it all unfold, every damn day.

He’s the school’s wet dream and the neighborhood’s guilty pleasure, and while the girls fucking despise him—’cause he keeps stealing their boyfriends without even trying—you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re not jealous. Not even a little. You’ve never had a boyfriend for him to ruin, for one. No one looks at you the way they look at him. And maybe that used to sting, when you were younger. But now? Now it’s just... exhausting.

What really pisses you off though—what makes your blood boil—is having to see it all. Not just the attention or the simpering smiles. No, the real horror is walking into the kitchen and hearing the unmistakable sound of him getting fucked against the fridge by some lovesick bastard who probably thinks he’s in heaven. Or worse, trying to tiptoe through the hallway at night, only to hear moaning echoing through the thin-ass walls like some twisted porn soundtrack to your insomnia.

Your home—your fucking home—is supposed to be a sanctuary. A safe space. A goddamn Atlantis to drown out the world in silence and sleep. But instead? It's a brothel with walls made of paper, and you’re forced to knock on his bedroom door while he’s getting his ass wrecked again.

“Shut the fuck up! I need my sleep!” you shout through clenched teeth, knowing it won’t change a goddamn thing.

And sure, sometimes it’s funny. At least, it was the first few times, when you could pretend this was just a phase. But it’s not funny anymore. Not when it’s every day. Not when you’re lugging your blankets down the hallway in the middle of the night like a goddamn ghost, knocking on your sister’s soundproofed door with dead eyes and a broken sleep schedule.

- The worst part of all this isn’t even the moaning, or the fact that every day feels like you’re living in a never-ending porno where the plot never improves. No. What really pisses you off—what gets under your skin like a splinter you can’t dig out—is how Aether’s “charm” fucked up the only real bond he had: his relationship with Lumine.

They used to be inseparable. Twin language, twin touch, twin timing. Always in sync, always orbiting each other like stars that never strayed. And then he happened. That boyfriend. The one Lumine brought home with stars in her eyes and trust in her voice. And it should’ve been safe. Should’ve been sacred. But instead? That guy ended up balls deep in your brother.

And the worst part? Aether didn’t even want it. He never really gets a choice in that kind of thing. People see him, want him, take him. They don’t ask. They don’t slow down. They don’t care if he wants it. It's always been like that. He flinches like it's normal. And yeah, he feels guilty—he’s not heartless. He hated hurting Lumine. But what the hell was he supposed to do when the guy just... fucked him? When he’s never really been allowed to say “no” and have it matter?

Lumine gets it. At least, she tries to. She’s smart, and she’s gentle, and she loves Aether in a way that makes forgiveness inevitable. But it still hurts her. You see it in the way she stiffens when she hears that guy’s voice echoing from Aether’s room. In the way her hands shake just before she says “It’s fine, really, I understand.” You see it in her eyes—how they glass over and dim a little more every time she hears her ex still fucking her brother, like her pain was never enough to make it stop.

And you? You just watch it all fall apart and rebuild and fall apart again from the sidelines like some goddamn invisible extra. Because guess what? You don’t even *look* like them. Aether’s got that ethereal thing going on. Lumine's radiant, soft, like she stepped out of a goddamn fairytale. And then there’s you—the one no one ever suspects is related. The leftover kid. The ghost. You don’t shine, you don’t sparkle, you don’t walk into a room and change the temperature. You're just... there. Breathing in the secondhand smoke of their drama.

Sometimes you think it would’ve been easier if you weren’t part of this family. If you didn’t have to watch your brother get passed around like some kind of pretty little toy, or see your sister bite her tongue until it bleeds. If you weren’t the one stuck holding the pieces of two broken twins who can’t quite hate each other enough to stay apart or love each other enough to heal right.

And the fucked up part? You still love them. God, you do. Even when you slam your fists on Aether’s door and scream at him to shut the fuck up, even when you sit in silence next to Lumine while she pretends not to cry. You love them both, but really, you're tired.

That night, for once, you’d actually managed to sleep.

Not just doze off—actually sleep. The kind where your muscles stop clenching, where the world fades out and your brain doesn’t scream at you about the creaking bed frame down the hall or muffled gasps echoing through the vents. A rare fucking miracle. You were floating in that rare warmth, buried beneath your sister’s blankets, her soundproofed room finally giving you the illusion of peace. A quiet so deep it almost felt fake.

Until you heard the door creak.

You stirred, reluctant to surface, heavy with sleep. You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear it. Just another dream. Let it be a dream.

But the soft thud of feet on the carpet made your body tense.

You opened your eyes slowly. The room was bathed in soft moonlight, pouring through the half-closed curtains. Pale silver spilled across the floor, catching the curve of a shadow.

There was someone by the bed.

You froze. Your heart slammed against your ribs like it wanted out.

They took a step closer, and the light finally caught their face.

Aether.

You blinked at him, confused, the fog of sleep still clinging to your skull. He looked... strange. Not like the usual, smug, glossy version of himself. Not the adored, fucked-out fantasy boy everyone wanted. No makeup. No fake smile. Just Aether—tired, quiet, raw.

“What the hell are you doing?” you mumbled, voice rough and cracked from sleep.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, staring at you like you weren’t real. Like maybe he wasn’t real. Like maybe the only thing anchoring him to this world was the sound of your voice.

“I couldn’t stay there,” he whispered. His voice was too soft, too fragile. Like a thread unraveling.

You sat up, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You could barely see his expression, but there was something off. Not just tired. Haunted.

You should’ve told him to get out. Told him to go crawl back into his mess and leave you the fuck alone. But you didn’t.

Because for once, he looked like he was the one barely hanging on.

“…He was still there?” you asked.

Aether nodded. “He wouldn’t stop.”

And fuck, you knew exactly what that meant. He didn’t say the words—he never does—but they hung in the air anyway. Heavy. Ugly. Familiar.

You sighed, shifting to make space on the bed without saying anything. He hesitated, then climbed in like he was ten years old again and the thunder outside had scared him. Like he just needed someone to keep the nightmares out.

You felt the mattress dip under his weight, his body trembling as he curled up beside you. Barely touching. Barely breathing.

You stared at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for the clock ticking and the occasional shaky breath from him.

“I hate this,” you muttered, more to the air than to him. “I fucking hate watching you get eaten alive like this.”

Aether didn’t respond right away. Then: “I hate it too.”

There was something broken in his voice. Something too real. No performance. No manipulation. Just a boy who’d forgotten how to be safe.

You closed your eyes again. “Try to sleep,” you said, almost bitterly. “Before he comes knocking again.”

Aether didn’t answer. But his breath slowly evened out. For the first time in forever, the silence didn’t feel heavy. Not as heavy as that feeling deep inside you.

Your eyes snap open like a goddamn alarm—sharp, wild, desperate for some kind of escape that isn’t coming.

There you are, pinned beneath him, utterly exposed. Your lower clothing scattered like forgotten scraps, a mess of fabric and shame.

He pushes your clothes aside without hesitation, slick fingers sliding against your skin like he owns every inch of you.

Then—he enters you.

A low moan escapes him, almost involuntary, like even he didn’t expect how much this would fucking hurt or mean.

“I’m sorry...” he murmurs, voice thick with something close to regret, but it’s tangled with something darker.

And then, as he thrusts his hips deeper, harder, filling you up in a way that leaves you breathless and trembling, he chokes out, “I’m really, really sorry...”

His breath is shallow, ragged—his movements uneven, frantic, sliding in and out like he’s trying to erase every line of control between you two.

You don’t hold back.

You yell.

You retort with everything you’ve got—sharp words, biting insults, curses that claw at the silence.

But before you can say more, his hand shoots up, fingers shoved deep and merciless into your mouth, silencing you instantly.

You bite. Hard. Teeth sinking into flesh you know too well.

He winces—a soft, gut-wrenching sound that cracks the brittle mask he’s been wearing.

Then comes the whimper.

The kind of sound that shatters something inside you, even as your body twists with pain and shame.

And then—he comes inside you.

Warm, undeniable, filling you in a way that makes your vision swim.

Your eyes water, tears spilling down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat and humiliation.

But he doesn’t stop.

He leans in and kisses those sobs away—soft lips against your skin, like a lie dressed as comfort.

“I’m so sorry... Really, I am,” he breathes, voice breaking, words repeating like a prayer to something neither of you believe.

He pushes deeper still, prolonging the torment, stretching out the moment before your release like it’s some twisted gift.

And then—he leans closer, warm breath ghosting over your lips, fingers finally sliding from your mouth.

Instinctively, you bite him—his tongue—sharp and unforgiving.

Instead of pulling away, he moans into the kiss, cheeks flushing a dark, fierce red.

You want to scream. To tell someone. To hit him, to fight, to rip this nightmare apart with your bare hands.

But you know it’s fucking useless.

Because you’re the only one who sees the truth.

To everyone else—the golden boy. The nice, submissive little gay twink who’s always been your brother.

He wouldn’t hurt you.

Hell, he wouldn’t ever fuck you.

So when you’re left with bruises no one sees, and scars no one hears, you keep it buried deep—locked behind a smile that feels more like a scream.

Because sometimes, surviving means pretending the knife doesn’t cut this deep.

- Xiao. The name alone twisted something ugly in your gut every single time you heard it. The ex-boyfriend of Lumine — the one who tore her apart and somehow managed to fuck Aether balls deep right after. No words can truly capture the blistering hate you feel for that guy. Even when he’s cold as ice, pushing everyone away with that stony, distant expression of his, you can feel the venom dripping from every glance he shoots around. Except, of course, when it comes to Aether — then he softens, lets his guard down in ways nobody else gets to see. And that’s what makes you hate him even more.

Because he’s a fucking cheater. A goddamn liar. And he’s one of the people who regularly uses your brother like a goddamn plaything, all the while shattering Lumine’s heart into a million pieces that you’re left picking up.

It’s a sick, twisted nightmare. And one day, you snapped.

You confronted him. Really confronted him. With fire in your chest and venom on your tongue, you cornered him in a hallway, your fists clenched tight, your voice trembling but sharp as a blade.

“How the fuck can you even look at yourself, huh? Cheating on Lumine, then using Aether like he’s some kind of fucktoy? You’re disgusting,” you spat, eyes burning with rage and raw hurt.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stared at you, those cold eyes darkening, and suddenly the distance in his expression cracked. Before you could even brace yourself, he moved — fast and silent — and the next thing you know, you’re pinned to the damn floor, his weight pressing down on you.

His body was rigid but trembling. You could feel the undeniable heat of his arousal pressed hard against your thigh, and the sickest part was—he was embarrassed. He tried to hide it, his usual cold mask slipping just for a second, replaced by something raw, confused.

He can’t believe it. He can’t fucking believe he’s attracted to you.

Hell, the truth is, he’s been watching you. Long before Lumine and he were a thing, he noticed the way you shone. Not like the perfect blond twins who dazzled with their light and laughter. No. You shine differently—darker, quieter, with something that pulled him in like a goddamn moth to flame.

Maybe, just maybe, he even stalked you in his own twisted way.

And yeah, he tried to replace his fucked-up thoughts of you by going after your siblings. But that didn’t work. Not really. Not when the ghost of you lingered in the back of his mind, haunting every touch, every whispered word.

Now here he is, pinned against you, gritting his teeth, grumbling out a rough apology that sounds more like a growl.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I... I’m sorry,” he mutters, voice low and ragged, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You stare up at him, furious and confused all at once. What the fuck do you want from him? For him to admit he’s fucked up beyond repair? To hate him enough to burn the memory out of your mind? And what can you do about him?

What the fuck can you even do?

You're on the goddamn floor—cold, tile biting into your spine—right there in the middle of an empty hallway that smells like dust and silence and something rotten that no one ever bothers to clean.

And he's inside you.

Not just metaphorically. Not in some poetic, twisted way.

No—shoved deep inside you, your wrists pinned so tightly it burns, your fingers twitching with the urge to fight back, to scratch, to claw, to do something—but you can’t.

His weight cages you. His hips slam against yours like he’s chasing something only he understands, and you feel it. Every. Damn. Inch. Of him, like he’s trying to erase your insides and make you new, make you his.

And that fucking thought makes you sick.

Because this cock—this thing—that used to belong to your brother in the most disgusting way imaginable... it’s now inside you.

Stretching you open.

Filling you up until you're choking on the wrongness of it.

And still—you’re crying.

God, you're fucking crying.

Not from pain. Not entirely. Not even from fear, though it’s coiled in your gut like barbed wire.

You cry because nothing makes sense anymore. Because this shouldn’t be happening. Because somewhere between the heat and the horror, your body reacts like it’s alive for the first time, andthat betrayal makes your heart want to shatter.

You retort—something sharp, something bitter, maybe even something cruel—but your voice cracks halfway through, and all that comes out is a sob.

Pathetic. Raw. Real.

And he freezes.

Just for a second.

His forehead falls against yours. His breath hitches.

He whispers, “Fuck… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Again.

As if saying it more will undo the damage.

As if those soft, broken apologies can stitch together what he’s tearing apart with every thrust.

He kisses your cheek like that makes it better. Like he’s not desecrating what little innocence you had left.

“Shh... I didn't mean to—fuck—I just... I didn’t know what else to do,” he breathes, almost desperate, as if he’s the one being ruined.

And maybe that's the worst part.

That you can feel the guilt in him, buried under the hunger. You can feel how sorry he is.

But he doesn’t stop.

He’s still inside you.

Still fucking into you.

Still muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” like a prayer or a curse, every word landing on your skin like acid.

You hate him.

You hate yourself.

And through it all—your trembling, your tears, the slick obscene sound of your bodies colliding—you wonder if this is what love is supposed to feel like when it’s drowned in rot.

You want to scream.

But you’re too full.

Of him. Of guilt. Of shame.

And he just keeps going.

Softly. Steadily. Like this is all he knows.

Like you were meant for this.

And you know, when it’s over, when he finally pulls out and leaves you there shaking on the floor, cold and empty and ruined,

he’ll say it one more time.

“I’m sorry.”

And you’ll want to believe it.

God help you—you will.

- You were never supposed to get involved.

Childe was Aether's problem. His boyfriend. The pretty boy plaything wrapped around that smug ginger’s finger like a ribbon soaked in heartbreak. You watched it unfold—slowly at first, like watching a glass teeter on the edge of a table, then suddenly all at once, the moment Aether stopped being his and became everyone’s.

It happened on one fucked-up day. One goddamn party. Aether, drunk, pretty, golden-eyed and too trusting for his own good, was passed around like some sick, twisted favor. People at school started whispering after that—no, not whispering. Laughing. Cruel snickers behind lockers. "Aether the school toy." Like his name was synonymous with being used. And Childe? The asshole let it happen.

He called it an “open relationship” afterward, like that label was supposed to dull the ache in Aether’s eyes. Like that word was enough to justify the silent crying at night when he thought no one could hear. But you heard. You were the one who held him after he curled up on the bathroom floor, trembling, breath ragged, smelling like liquor and regret.

And Childe? That ginger fuck would come over the next day, acting like nothing ever happened. Sometimes you'd come home and find him balls deep in Aether, rutting into him like a dog in heat, and every single time, something inside you just snapped. The rage was red and raw and choking. You wanted to punch him square in that smug fucking face. Kick him in the dick so hard he’d never dare get hard again. You wanted to choke the life out of him and scream, "Was it worth it? Was breaking him worth it, you sick bastard?"

Because Childe wasn’t just ruining Aether.

He was tearing everything down. Your home, your peace, your bond with your siblings—he was a wrecking ball dressed in designer clothes, all flirty grins and faux tenderness. You hated him. You despised him. That kind of loathing that seeps into your marrow and poisons you slowly.

And one day, it finally happened.

You snapped.

He had just finished "visiting" Aether—his shirt still open, skin flushed, a fucking bite mark on his neck like he was proud of it. And the way he smiled at you? Like this was all some casual arrangement, like Aether wasn’t lying on your bed crying three nights ago?

So you punched him.

Hard.

Knuckles cracked against bone. His head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed from his nose, and for a glorious second, you felt alive. Vindicated. His hand touched the mess on his face—and he laughed.

He fucking laughed.

Like you’d gifted him something precious. His tongue darted out, tasting the blood. And then he moaned. Moaned, like this was foreplay.

“What the fuck,” you spat, backing away.

“Damn,” he said through the blood, grinning like a perverse lunatic. “Didn’t know you had that in you. You wanna go again? Maybe step on me next time?”

Your stomach turned. Disgust rolled over your skin like oil. You had broken his nose, and he looked like you’d given him an orgasm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hissed, heart hammering. Your fists still shook.

He tilted his head, dazed and delighted. “You really hate me that much, huh?”

Yes. God, yes. You hated him so fucking much it made you sick. But what was worse—he liked it. He liked your hate. He thrived on it.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because now—now you realize you're nothing more than a joke to him. A beautiful, pathetic joke. No strength. No power. Just something to twist, to take, to play with until he’s satisfied.

And what hurts the most?

It's not just the fucked up way he holds you, how he pinned you so easily, your own damn shirt tying your wrists like you're some willing toy in his game.

It's not just the way his shirt is wrapped around your mouth, muffling every sound you make—your pleas, your broken breaths, your shameful moans.

No, what kills you is the way he looks at you while he does it.

The way his body moves against yours, deep and relentless, pushing into places that make your soul want to crawl out of your skin. Every thrust feels like punishment and reward, all at once.

And through it all, that fucking smirk on his lips—arrogant, cruel. Like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

But then he kisses you.

Soft. Tender. Like he means it. Like this is love. Like you're something precious.

And that—God, that breaks you more than anything else.

Because if someone walked in on this—someone with no clue of the twisted backstory—they'd think it was romantic. They’d see the way his fingers trail down your cheek, the way he hushes your cries with cooing whispers, and they’d think, wow, what a loving couple.

But they don’t see you.

They don’t see the fucking tears slipping past your eyes, falling silently down your cheeks, pooling into the creases of his shirt.

They don’t hear the way your breath trembles beneath the cloth, the way your body flinches not from pain, but from the ache of knowing—he doesn’t really care. Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way you needed.

And he sees the tears. Of course he sees them.

He brushes them away with the pad of his thumb, gentle like a lie, and murmurs against your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world:

“Shh… It’s okay, baby. Just a little longer, alright? I’ll cum soon.”

Like that’s supposed to make it better.

You want to scream. You want to fight. But your body betrays you. Your mind is a fog of pleasure and grief and this sickening warmth that blooms every time he touches you like you matter.

But you don’t.

You never did.

Is that fucked up?

Yeah.

But this whole thing is.

Does he care? No not really, I mean, c'mon, he's been playing this game since you guys were kids, you just had... To have more of a backbone than your siblings, which irritated him to no end that he ended up liking you more than he should. So now... Yeah.

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thatonegrimm · 27 days ago

Text

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Sweat, Spells, and Setlists

Chapter1/Chapter 2/Chapter3

The studio smelled like sweat, spell-dampened glamour, and expensive hair product. The air hummed with the intensity of their rehearsal, a friction of energy as the Saja Boys moved in sync, yet just slightly off-kilter, enough to make her feel the tension between the boys and the world that no longer remembered them.

She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, clipboard balanced on one hip. Her gaze was sharp, catching every movement, every flicker of hesitation in their choreography. She was not impressed.

“Again,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an unspoken weight.

The beat dropped.

The Saja Boys danced with the kind of energy that only demons could summon sharp, powerful, but imperfect. It wasn’t that they were bad dancers. No, they were extraordinary. But the cracks were there, the tiny moments where their power slipped through the glamour that veiled them. Your trained eyes caught it all the hesitation in Jinu’s left foot, Abby’s overpowering rhythm that was too big for the space, the brief flicker of gold behind Mystery’s shadow as he spun too fast, the way Romance flirted with the beat but never quite became part of it.

And then there was Baby—his footwork impeccable, aggressive, like he had something to prove.

They were beautiful. And terrifying. But they were also lost.

Jinu was the easiest to read. He moved with the precision of a soldier, every motion deliberate and controlled, but there was a tension in him. He wasn’t just dancing for the sake of performance. It was like he was fighting for something fighting for survival. There was something about the way he counted the beats in his head, as if trying to stay one step ahead, as if trying to hold everything together without anyone noticing the weight of it all.

You liked him. He reminded you of yourself—always watching, always calculating, always holding things together in silence.

Abby, on the other hand, danced with a kind of grace that shouldn’t belong to someone as large as he was. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm, his gaze connecting with each of the boys in turn, always making sure they were still a team, still in sync, even when the world outside their rehearsals threatened to tear them apart. Abby wasn’t just strong physically; his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He saw everything every crack, every sigh, every unspoken word.

But the truth was, Abby didn’t realize how strong his power was. She had seen it before. She had felt the crackle under his skin when he was angry, when his strength flared out of control. She had seen him almost destroy a room with nothing more than the sheer force of his presence.

Mystery, meanwhile, moved like water fluid, unpredictable, untamed. His body bent the choreography to his will, twisting it into something primal. She thought she caught him glancing at the mirror more than the others—not out of vanity, but confusion. He didn’t seem to recognize himself in the reflection. He didn’t see the demon lurking beneath the surface.

And when the glamour slipped, when his true form shimmered through for just a moment she noticed the flash of the spiral-shaped mark under his collarbone. A demon’s brand. The same kind of mark the boys had been born with, but one that no human was supposed to see.

Romance, as usual, flirted with the mirror, with the choreography, with the beat itself. His every move was a performance—charisma wrapped in flesh, smooth and effortless. He was too good at pretending to be human.

It made you trust him the least.

He noticed everything. His eyes had already clocked her, the way she was watching them more than their footwork. He smiled, a knowing, teasing grin, and she could almost feel him pulling at her, trying to get a reaction. But she held her ground. There was more at play here than the surface, and she wasn’t going to let him distract her from the real danger.

Baby didn’t smile.

His footwork was flawless fast, aggressive, and precise, like a machine. Every move had purpose, every motion calculated for maximum impact. There was no wasted effort, no hesitation. But more than that, there was a stillness about him. The others joked around, laughed between takes, but not Baby. He was all business, his eyes always darting around the room, taking in the smallest details. He was young, yes, but that didn’t mean he was naive.

And that was why you marked him as the most dangerous. Not because of his recklessness, but because of his deliberate control. He was the one who could destroy everything without even trying.

You let them run the dance three more times, making mental notes, tracking their movements, but also watching them closely—watching how their power leaked out when they forgot to hold back, when they let their guard down. You wondered if they knew it was happening. Did they feel it?

Probably not.

That was the problem with glamour. It slipped at the edges.

The boys filed out of the studio sometime after seven, laughing and shoving each other, their hair damp and their clothes wrinkled from hours of rehearsal. They were loud, vibrant, trying to act like normal humans. They joked and teased each other, putting on their best “idol” faces, trying to blend into the world that no longer remembered them.

You handed them their revised schedule and didn’t linger.

“Group photoshoot on Monday,” you said, voice crisp and direct. “Don’t be late.”

Jinu nodded, his gaze lingering on the paper. Abby grinned, stretching his arms above his head. Romance winked at you, the flirtation still lingering in his eyes.

Mystery stared at the fluorescent light like it had insulted him.

Baby didn’t say anything. But he caught your eye for a beat longer than usual, as if something unspoken passed between them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your apartment was small, neat, and filled with protective wards. Silver threads crisscrossed the windows, keeping the world outside from prying too closely. The balcony, barely visible from the street, held dried herbs strung like bunting, a scent of magic and nature filling the air. The tea shelf doubled as a potion rack, every bottle and jar carefully labeled, as though the apartment were a place of secrets rather than just a home.

You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door, unbuttoned your blazer, and crossed to the window out of habit.

Then you paused.

Across the narrow street, in the window of a sleek new apartment building, a light flickered on. Then another.

A shadow passed by—a tall, broad figure, familiar yet distant.

Then another.

Then five.

Your fingers tightened around the mug.

So.

They lived across from you. Not exactly opposite, but close enough that you could see their windows if one leaned out a little, just enough to glimpse movement, silhouettes, outlines against the curtains.

They didn’t know.

Couldn’t see you through the protective charms woven into the glass.

But you could see them.

And for now, that was enough.

You though, had known.

Had known from the moment you saw them that they weren’t just any K-pop group. They weren’t just talented boys with too much charisma. You saw them for what they truly were: survivors. And knew what would happen if the wrong people discovered them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, the boys had laughed off the idea of needing a manager.

Abby, as always, was the first to speak up: “We’ve got charisma. We don’t need anyone holding our hands.”

But he didn’t see it. He didn’t see the weight of the world on their shoulders, the constant pressure to fit in when they had been erased from human memory. He didn’t see the darkened eyes watching them from the distance, the people who would see them not as idols, but as demons.

Jinu had been the first to get it. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the way they floundered in a world that couldn’t remember their past. He saw that they needed something someone to help keep them grounded in a reality that had forgotten them. And he saw that she was more than just a manager. She was their lifeline.

Mystery hadn’t said much about it. But every time she was in the room, his eyes would flick to her, as though searching for answers in the quiet strength she carried. He didn’t understand her completely, but he recognized that she was the one who kept them from unraveling.

Romance, for all his flirtations and playful demeanor, had moments when he looked at her with something softer in his eyes. He never asked for her help, but he always sought her out when the world around them felt too loud, too overwhelming. She was the one who held their group together, the one who kept the chaos at bay, even if she didn’t fully reveal her own secrets.

Baby, however, was the one who noticed her first. Baby, despite his youthful appearance, could sense things the others couldn’t. He noticed how you never looked at him like a child. Didn’t underestimate him the way others did. You saw him, and in doing so, gave him something the others never could: the feeling of being understood.

The prophecy that foretold five flames—five demon lords walking the Earth—had been true. But what it didn’t tell them was that their existence would disrupt everything. They were demons, but they were alive, walking, and hiding in a world that had no place for them. And even though she had kept them safe for now, the prophecy also spoke of her being part of their future, part of their salvation.

She wasn’t just their manager. She was the key to their survival.

Their connection to her went beyond mere circumstance. It was fate. And even though the boys didn’t realize it, they had been marked by destiny. She had been drawn to them, and they to her.

They needed her more than they knew.

Because without her, they were nothing more than lost demons, forgotten by the world they had tried so hard to fit into. And they would soon realize that the world wasn’t going to let them stay hidden for much longer.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy

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

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madsxyins · 2 months ago

Text

Not Subtle

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none

synopsis: Paige caught being around u a little too much by fans from Dijonai’s live

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Okay, I’m going Live. Y’all are being funny and I feel like sharing the chaos.”

Nai props her phone up against a water bottle and hits the button, adjusting the angle until it catches a wide view of her kitchen and living room. There’s a half-eaten pizza on the counter, music playing low, and half the team either sitting on the couch or floating around the kitchen grabbing snacks.

“You know it’s a real off-day when nobody has real pants on,” Nai says, lifting her camera to scan the room.

“Speak for yourself,” Maddy says from the couch, raising a bag of pretzels like a toast. “These are my fancy sweats.”

“Okay, Target Couture,” Arike fires back, not looking up from her phone.

Nai zooms in on Arike’s face, then swings the camera around as Lou walks into the frame, sipping from a Solo cup.

“Lou, the people want to know — how many times has Arike beat you in Uno today?”

“Zero,” Lou says confidently. “She hasn’t touched a card since last time I reversed her into a draw four.”

“Don’t make me get the deck,” Arike warns, grinning.

Meanwhile, the comments are rolling in — lots of heart emojis, fans asking for room tours, people begging Nai to prank someone. But a new wave of comments starts trickling in.

@courtvisionbuckets: ummm not paige following HER around in the back 😭

@softbueckerszn: y’all see that?? she hasn’t moved more than 2 ft from that girl

@wingsarewinning: she’s literally trailing her like a shadow

@paigeandwhoshe: the grip she has is insane 💀

@sneakybutnotreally: i swear every time Nai turns the camera paige is just… right there

Nai’s mid-convo with Maddy when she pauses and looks down at the flood of comments.

“What are y’all talking ab—”

She flips her camera, looks toward the kitchen, and catches it for herself: Paige, casually leaning on the counter beside you, your shoulder brushing hers every few seconds as you both look at something on your phone.

A moment later, you move to throw away a napkin.

Paige follows.

You open the fridge. Paige grabs a water behind you like she’s helping.

You laugh at something she says. She grins down at you like it’s the only thing she needed to hear all night.

Nai blinks. “Hold on—wait a minute.”

She zooms slightly.

“Was Paige just—wait—has she been doing that this whole time?”

“Doing what?” Lou asks from the couch, craning her neck to see what Nai’s talking about.

Nai glances over. “She’s been tracking Y/n like a homing device.”

Arike looks up. “Oh yeah, she’s deep in it. Been doing that since y’all walked in.”

“Really?” you say from the kitchen, clueless but now mildly suspicious.

Paige just shrugs, sipping her water like nothing’s up. “I’m literally just existing.”

Maddy snorts. “Nah, you’re existing at a 1-inch radius.”

“You mad?” Paige fires back, smirking.

“Not mad,” Maddy says, “just impressed. I didn’t know you could orbit someone indoors.”

The Live comments are losing it.

@lightwork4her: this is PEAK golden retriever behavior

@okaywife: why is paige standing like she’s ready to defend her in a team huddle

@softsoftsoft: every time y/n moves, paige adjusts like she’s GPS synced

@naiwiththeassist: nai plsss go sit with them

Nai turns the camera to herself. “They want me to go sit with y’all and stir the pot.”

Arike, without looking up: “Do it.”

Maddy: “Absolutely do it.”

Lou :“Ask if they want matching bracelets.”

“I hate y’all,” Paige mumbles under her breath, cheeks a little red now.

You shake your head, amused. “You’re not exactly being subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she says easily, like it’s a fact.

You freeze for a half second, surprised at how casually she says it — but your small smile gives you away. And Nai definitely catches that.

“Ohhh,” Nai says like she’s narrating a documentary. “‘I’m not trying to be.’ Okay, player.”

Then she grabs her phone and marches toward the two of you.

“We’re going live from the scene .”

Paige groans, still leaning against the counter.

“Say hi to the internet,” Nai tells you both, flipping the camera to frame you and Paige perfectly — her shoulder near yours, your bodies angled just close enough that anyone watching can feel the tension.

You give a small wave. Paige doesn’t move at first.

“Too cool to say hi?” Nai teases.

Paige finally looks into the camera, her expression relaxed. “Hey.”

That’s it.

But it’s enough.

@noliejustvibes: she said that like it was private

@notmecrying: THIS ISN’T EVEN A HARD LAUNCH THIS IS A WHOLE COMMERCIAL

@pbgonnamarryher: my whole chest hurts from that one word

@thebackgroundtellsall: y/n didn’t even flinch. like this is normal???

“You know what,” Nai says, pulling a barstool closer to sit next to you both, “I feel like y’all just soft-launched a relationship on my Live and now I’m complicit.”

You laugh. Paige shakes her head but doesn’t deny it.

Lou calls from the couch: “Get them matching hoodies next.”

“I’m begging y’all to stop,” Paige mutters, but she doesn’t move away from you. In fact, her hand grazes the back of your chair like she forgot it was being watched.

She didn’t.

Arike’s voice cuts through the room: “I give it three weeks before y’all get caught courtside at a Mavs game sharing popcorn.”

Nai leans into the camera. “Y’all heard it here first.”

The chat explodes.

And Paige?

She just bumps your shoulder and says under her breath, “Might be worth the popcorn.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: my bad for the late post anon😔 i forgot to post it lmao lowk shitty but i hope u guys enjoyed it! thanks for reading!!

#madsxyins writes #paige bueckers #wlw #paige bueckers x reader #basketball #dallas wings #wnba #wbb

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sixeyesonathiel · 4 months ago

Text

no one else needed to notice

pairing — g. satoru x gn reader

synopsis : you weren’t looking for connection when you replied to a quiet post on a jujutsu forum. but what starts as late-night messages with a stranger turns into something warmer, steadier, and unexpectedly real.

sometimes, the person who sees you best is the one you’ve never even seen. until now.

tags –> one shot, 6.4k wc, non-canon compliant au, internet strangers to lovers, emotional intimacy, mutual comfort, secret voice calls, found each other online, reader is from kyoto, soft gojo satoru, extremely mild angst with a happy ending, first kisses, lighthearted moments, a little rain, stupid jokes and late-night feelings, love is about compromise, rip to gakuganji’s office chair. inspired by the song ‘no one noticed’ by the marias.

a/n : writing this made me bawl, to be loved is to be known. there’s just something about being understood by a stranger and finding solace in each other that gets to me. being known & being loved without being seen in a literal sense? sign me up :P i wanna sob because my pookie bear deserved better aaaaa

red string of fate collection m.list

you didn’t mean to answer the thread.

you never do, usually. the forum’s a chaotic sprawl, a digital graveyard of encrypted usernames—like “void_eater69” or “cursed_snacc”—and timestamps mangled by timezones no one bothers to sync. posts pile up like offerings to some forgotten curse: cryptic rants about residual energy, half-baked spell theories, or someone whining about a shikigami that won’t behave. it’s not a place for real talk. more like a dive bar at the edge of a cursed womb, where everyone’s nursing their own ghosts and shouting into the void.

but that night, your room was too quiet. the kind of quiet that creeps under your skin, heavy as a grade-two’s miasma. kyoto’s winter had settled in, and your tiny apartment felt like a box of stale air, the radiator hissing like it was mocking you. your phone glowed on the tatami, a stubborn rectangle of light that wouldn’t let you sleep. your brain was a traitor, replaying the day’s monotony: a sparring session where you’d nearly twisted your ankle, a debrief that dragged until your eyes glazed, the faint smear of cursed blood you’d scrubbed from your sleeve hours ago.

you scrolled the forum to shut it up. past a thread arguing if reversed cursed technique could fix a hangover. past some guy asking if spirits could get drunk—seriously, dude?—and then you saw it. buried under the noise, posted hours ago, short and raw, no punctuation, no pretense:

“does it ever get easier”

you stared at it, your thumb hovering over the screen. the words sat there, small and unadorned, like a stone someone had left on a path. most posts like that were traps—bait for trolls or vents that fizzled into nothing. but this one felt… different. quiet, like a whisper you weren’t meant to hear. genuine, like it had slipped out before the poster could rethink it.

you broke your own rule. typed back without letting yourself second-guess: “define easier. like, emotionally? logistically? existentially?”

he replied in under a minute.

“yes”

and just like that, you were in it.

at first, it was anonymous, the way the forum always is. two sorcerers dodging missions and boredom, tossing words into the dark like talismans. you didn’t know his name, and he didn’t ask yours. just screen names—yours a string of numbers and a bad pun, his something absurd involving mochi and a curse word. you talked about things you’d never say out loud, not to the kyoto higher-ups or the first-years who looked at you like you had all the answers. like how a room full of people could still make you feel like a ghost, drifting just outside their orbit. or how debriefs left a sour taste in your mouth, like you’d bitten into something rotten—guilt, maybe, or just the weight of it all.

he was… unexpected. not funny in a cheap, knock-knock way, but ridiculous, like he’d turned life into a stage and forgotten the script. his jokes were elaborate, stupid, sprawling things, like he was performing for a crowd that didn’t exist. one night, he typed: “i think the veil’s thinning. saw a tanuki trying to do taxes with a stolen abacus.”

you snorted into your pillow, the sound loud in your empty room. “should’ve let it,” you wrote back, fingers flying across the screen. “might’ve gotten a better refund than me. my last one barely covered a coffee.”

he sent a laughing emoji—unironically, the dork—and you could almost hear him cackling somewhere far away. it made you grin, your face half-buried in a blanket that smelled faintly of incense and yesterday’s takeout.

the chats kept going, stretching across weeks. you’d be slumped on your couch, boots still muddy from a mission, when your phone buzzed with his latest nonsense. “ever wonder if curses dream?” he’d ask, and you’d fire back, “only if they’re dreaming of paperwork. that’s the real nightmare.” he’d reply with a string of sobbing emojis, and you’d roll your eyes, but you’d keep typing, because somehow, it felt like he got it.

then came the voice calls.

always at night, when kyoto’s streets went still and the stars pressed against your window like they had something to prove. he’d call from somewhere else—somewhere alive with sound. sometimes it was traffic, a distant honk cutting through his laugh. sometimes it was the ocean, waves hissing like they were gossiping with him. once, a vending machine jingled, coins clinking as he muttered, “what do you want? melon soda? or that sweet corn one that tastes like regret?”

you laughed, your voice muffled by the scarf you hadn’t bothered to unwind from your neck. “melon,” you said, curling your knees to your chest on the couch. “corn’s for masochists.”

“noted,” he said, and you heard the machine whir, then a can crack open. “one melon soda for the meanest sorcerer i know.”

“flatterer,” you deadpanned, but your lips twitched, and you tucked the phone closer to your ear, like his voice could fill the cold corners of your apartment.

you never asked where he was. he never asked your name. it was a rule you didn’t need to speak—just a line neither of you crossed, because crossing it might break whatever this was. but he was your favorite stranger, the one who made the nights less heavy, the one whose voice felt like a tether when everything else was slipping.

the thing was, you weren’t miserable.

not exactly.

just tired, the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t touch, like a curse that’s sunk its claws too deep. your life at the kyoto branch was a loop: wake to the chime of your battered alarm clock, spar until your muscles burned, assist on missions that left your hands smelling of ash and ozone, report to gakuganji in a room that always felt too small. sometimes you mopped blood from training mats, the sponge heavy in your grip. sometimes you taught theory to first-years, their eyes glazed as you droned about residuals, your voice echoing off chalk-dusted walls.

sometimes you lay on your futon, staring at the ceiling’s chipped paint, wondering if you used to feel bigger than this—brighter, like the sky before a storm.

he changed that.

not in a loud way, not at first. it was softer, quieter, like the sound of his breath hitching when you said something sharp. like finding a rhythm with someone, even if your steps didn’t quite match. he’d ask you things no one else did, questions that felt like they were peeling back your edges.

“what color’s the sky in kyoto tonight?” he’d say, and you’d lean against your window, phone cradled against your shoulder, and answer, “pink, like someone spilled their drink on it.” he’d laugh, and you’d feel it in your ribs, a small, stubborn warmth.

“do curses feel pain?” he asked once, his voice muffled, like he was chewing something—probably mochi, knowing him.

you hummed, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “maybe. depends if they’re sentient enough to know they’re hurting. what do you think?”

“dunno,” he said, and you heard a rustle, like he was flopping onto a bed somewhere. “but i hope they don’t. makes it easier to sleep after.”

you didn’t reply right away, just listened to him breathe, steady and slow. “you’re softer than you act,” you said finally, and he made a noise—half scoff, half laugh—that made you smile into the dark.

he loved dumb questions, too. “is it immoral to laugh when a cursed spirit looks like a balloon animal?” he asked one night, and you could hear the grin in his voice, like he was picturing it.

you were sprawled on your floor, a half-eaten onigiri beside you, and you snorted so hard you nearly choked. “only if it’s a good balloon animal,” you said. “like, if it’s trying to be a dog, you gotta respect the effort.”

“fair,” he said, and you heard a clink—probably another soda can. “you’re funnier than you think, y’know.”

“and you’re weirder than you sound,” you shot back, but your cheeks were warm, and you pulled your knees up, hugging them like you could trap the feeling.

the best moments, though, were when he dropped the act. when the theatrics fell away, and his voice went low, soft, like he was afraid the words might break if he pushed too hard. one night, after a call that had stretched past midnight, he said, “sometimes… i think i only exist when i’m useful to someone. is that stupid?”

you were half-asleep, your phone slipping against your cheek, but his voice pulled you back. you blinked at the ceiling, the shadows pooling like spilled ink. “no,” you said, quiet but firm. “it’s just sad.”

he laughed—not the emoji kind, not the loud kind, but something small, like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding. “you don’t pull punches, huh?”

“you’d hate it if i did,” you said, and you heard him shift, like he was nodding to himself.

“yeah,” he murmured. “i would.”

it went on like that for months, long enough that you started noticing things. the way he yawned before he said goodnight, a sleepy hum that made your chest ache. the pauses in his sentences when he was choosing his words, like he wanted to get it right for you. the way his voice warmed when you rambled about something small—like the stray cat outside your building that kept stealing your bento scraps, or the time you’d botched a talisman and spent an hour scrubbing ink from your hands.

he’d listen, really listen, he always does and then say something like, “bet that cat’s got better taste than gakuganji,” and you’d laugh until your sides hurt.

you didn’t ask who he was. he didn’t push for your name. it was perfect, fragile, like a bubble you were both afraid to pop.

until one night, your phone buzzed, and it wasn’t the usual late-hour joke or random question. it was a call, his name—or rather, the string of nonsense characters he used—lighting up your screen. you hesitated, thumb grazing the accept button, then pressed it, curling into your futon as the kyoto cold gnawed at the window.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, like he was speaking through a held breath. there was no hum of traffic tonight, no vending machine jingle—just a faint rustle, maybe his sleeve brushing the phone, and a stillness that made your pulse loud in your ears.

you didn’t answer right away, just listened to him breathe, steady but careful, like he was standing on the edge of something. your apartment felt smaller, the night pressing against the glass, cold and heavy, like it was waiting for you to move first.

“can I…” he started, then paused, a hitch in his voice you hadn’t heard before. “can I visit you?”

you froze, fingers tightening around the phone until it dug into your palm. the words landed like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through the quiet. your eyes flicked to the window, where the dark seemed to lean closer, listening. your heart did something stupid, tripping over itself, and you bit your lip, hard enough to sting.

“like… here?” you said finally, voice low, almost lost in the radiator’s hiss. “in kyoto?”

“yeah,” he said, and it was quiet but firm, like he’d been turning the idea over for hours before daring to say it. “i’m nearby. for a mission. thought… maybe. if it’s okay with you.”

you swallowed, your free hand fidgeting with the blanket’s edge, twisting it until the fabric bunched. you didn’t know what he looked like. he didn’t know your face. but the thought of him—your stranger, your tether—standing in your city, his voice no longer trapped in static… it made your chest ache, like a curse unraveling too fast to catch.

“we don’t even know what we look like,” you said, softer now, half a shield, half a truth, your breath catching as you spoke.

he was quiet for a moment, and you heard a faint shift, like he was leaning closer to the phone, shutting out the world. “i know,” he said, voice low, steady, like a vow he hadn’t meant to make. “but I think I’d recognize you anyway.”

your lips parted, but no sound came out. your heart stumbled again, and you pressed your knees to your chest, the blanket slipping to the floor. you wanted to deflect, to toss back something sharp, but his words sat there, heavy and warm, like they’d carved out a space you didn’t know you’d left empty.

“you’re weird,” you managed, but it came out too soft, too honest, and you winced, tucking your chin to hide the smile you couldn’t stop.

he exhaled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-relief, like he’d been holding it in all night. “you’re mean,” he said, and you could hear the curve of his mouth, faint but real, unguarded in a way that made your ribs tighten.

“you like it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, and your fingers hovered over the phone’s edge, like you could reach through it if you tried.

he didn’t answer right away. just breathed, slow and close, and when he spoke, it was so quiet it felt like a secret. “yeah,” he said. “i do.”

the call didn’t end, not yet. you stayed there, listening to the silence stretch, his breath a steady rhythm against the night’s weight. and that ache in your chest grew, sharp and warm, like it was making room for something you weren’t ready to name.

that morning, when he texted for the address, you gave him the name of a small café tucked just off the main street near kyoto campus—nothing fancy, barely even marked, just a warm pocket of space where time slowed down and no one asked too many questions. not because you were scared. not exactly. but the idea of him—this faceless voice, this stranger you somehow knew better than people you’d seen every day—being in your space, standing in your doorway, seeing your real life... it made something flutter behind your ribs. something you couldn’t name without sounding stupid.

it rained that day. not hard. just the kind of persistent drizzle that painted everything in shades of grey, slicked the pavement until it gleamed like wet ink, and made your sleeves cling to your wrists. your shoes scuffed softly against the tile as you pushed open the café door. inside, the air was warm, thick with the smell of coffee beans and something sweet rising from the back oven.

a couple of students in uniforms sat by the counter, arguing in low tones about spell theory. the barista barely looked up as you ordered your usual, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm against the side of your phone. you picked the window seat. always the window seat. you liked watching people go by, liked the illusion of being somewhere else.

time passed.

you checked your phone once. then again. your fingers curled around your cup, heat seeping into your palms. condensation fogged the glass. you were early. or maybe he was late. or maybe the whole thing was a joke you’d fallen for, like a damn idiot. your heart did this stupid stuttering thing every time the bell over the door moved.

then it rang.

and he walked in.

white hair, slightly mussed from the rain. the tiniest drop caught in his bangs, trailing down toward the curve of his cheek. his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and he was tall—taller than you'd expected, even though you should’ve known—and dressed like he didn’t care how loud he looked. hands in his pockets. shoulders loose. like he’d just wandered in off some catwalk that ended in your direction.

he scanned the room once, those ridiculous glasses perched low on his nose, catching the café’s dim light like twin moons. his eyes—sharp, too sharp for any one place to hold—skipped over the students bickering about cursed residuals, the barista wiping down a steaming espresso machine, and landed square on you.

his smile cracked open, instant, effortless, like the sun spilling through a storm cloud.

“hey.”

you froze mid-sip, your mug hovering an inch from your lips. your eyes locked on his, and the world did that thing where it shrinks to a pinprick, all cinnamon air and rain-slicked windows fading out. the ridiculous truth hit you like a badly timed talisman:

holy shit. that’s gojo satoru.

your mouth opened. closed with a soft click. opened again, because apparently your brain decided to blue-screen.

“you’re fucking kidding me.”

his grin stretched wider, all teeth and mischief, as he sauntered across the floor toward you. long limbs moved like they were choreographed, raindrops clinging to his white hair like tiny glass beads, scattering light. he shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, shoulders hiked just enough to betray how stupidly pleased he was with himself.

“surprise?” he said, voice lilting like he’d just pulled off the world’s dumbest magic trick.

you blinked, unblinking, your fingers tightening around the mug until the heat stung. your face was doing something—probably a mix of shock and are you serious right now—because his laugh bubbled up, low and warm, like he’d caught you red-handed.

“you—i—you’re you,” you stammered, eloquent as a first-year tripping over their own incantation.

“i am,” he said, tilting his head. a single droplet slid from his bangs, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before dripping onto the floor. “last i checked, anyway. unless you’ve got a better theory.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

he paused a step from the table, one hand escaping his pocket to scratch at the back of his neck. his glasses slipped lower, and you caught a flash of those eyes—crystal blue, too bright, like staring into a clear sky after a curse’s miasma. he nudged the frames up with a knuckle, but then, in a move that made your breath hitch, he tugged them off completely. folded them with a click. set them on the table like a dare.

“didn’t wanna scare you off,” he said, quieter now, his gaze unguarded and pinning you in place.

yo squinted, lips pressing into a thin line to choke back a snort. your eyebrow arched, sharp as a well-placed shikigami. “you thought being yourself would scare me off?”

he shrugged, weight shifting from one foot to the other, his coat swaying like it was in on the joke. “it usually does.”

you blinked again, slower, and something in your chest unknotted. for a split second, he looked… smaller. not the gojo satoru who could level a city block with a wink, but a guy who wasn’t sure if he was too much or not enough. his hair was a mess, sticking up where he’d ruffled it outside, and his eyelashes were wet, catching the light like they were trying to apologize.

you set your mug down with a soft clink, the ceramic warm against your palm, and gestured to the chair across from you. “sit down, satoru.”

his grin snapped back, bright as a spark talisman igniting. “yes, ma’am.”

he dropped into the chair with all the grace of a cat knocking over a vase—legs sprawling, then tucking back, elbows hitting the table before he leaned forward like he was about to spill a secret. his coat bunched at his shoulders, and he smelled faintly of rain and something sweeter, like the mochi he’d probably swiped from a vendor on the way here.

“this place smells like cinnamon and potential,” he said, voice dipping low, conspiratorial. he waggled his brows, and you swore his eyes flickered with a tease no technique could replicate. “you sure you don’t wanna marry me right now? i’d get you a ring pop. blue raspberry, your favorite.”

you snorted, the sound punching out before you could stop it. your hand flew to your mouth, but it was too late—he’d heard it, and his whole face lit up like he’d won a bet with the universe.

“you remembered that?” you said, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing like you could shield yourself from his smugness. your lips twitched, betraying you.

“‘course i did,” he said, tapping his temple with a long finger. “you said it during that 2 a.m. ramble about cursed vending machines. blue raspberry ring pop, ‘cause it stains your tongue and freaks out the first-years.” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a mock-whisper. “i pay attention, y’know.”

your cheeks warmed, and you hated how your mouth kept trying to smile. you kicked his shin lightly under the table, just enough to make him yelp—a dramatic ow that had the students at the counter glancing over. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, but your eyes flicked to his glasses, still folded neatly beside his elbow. “and put those back on, idiot. you’re gonna give yourself a migraine squinting like that.”

he blinked, then laughed—a real one, not the showy kind he threw at missions or bad jokes. “what, you worried about my eyes now?” he said, but he didn’t reach for the glasses. instead, he propped his chin on one hand, staring at you like you were the only thing worth seeing. “i took ‘em off for you, y’know. six eyes makes everything loud—too many colors, too many things. but you…” he trailed off, and his voice softened, like he was peeling back a layer he usually kept buried. “you’re clearer without ‘em.”

your breath caught, and for a second, you forgot how to be a smart-ass. your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, and you ducked your head, letting your hair fall forward to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “that’s sweet,” you said, voice dry but wobbling just a fraction. “also stupid. you’ll strain yourself, and i’m not dragging your whining ass to a healer when you’re seeing double.”

he grinned, undeterred, and flicked a sugar packet across the table at you. it bounced off your knuckles, and you swatted it back without thinking, starting a lazy game of tabletop tag. “would you rather i didn’t see you?” he asked, catching the packet mid-air with infuriating ease. his fingers were quick, precise, like he could’ve dismantled a curse in the same motion. “c’mon, admit it. you like being seen.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips curved, and you couldn’t quite stop it. “i like when you’re not a headache,” you shot back, snatching the sugar packet from his hand. you tore it open, dumping half into your coffee just to mess with him—he’d gagged once during a call when you’d done it, claiming it was “coffee abuse.” now, he just watched you with a smirk, like he was cataloging every move you made.

“liar,” he said, stretching his arms above his head until his shirt rode up, flashing a sliver of pale skin above his waistband. you looked away, quick, and he noticed—his smirk grew positively diabolical. “you told me last week you like my voice best at midnight. all raspy and annoying, you said. direct quote.”

you groaned, sinking lower in your chair, but your foot nudged his ankle under the table, a traitor to your own defenses. “i was delirious from a mission,” you said, pointing a stirrer at him like a tiny sword. your brows furrowed, but your eyes were bright, dancing with the kind of energy you hadn’t felt in weeks. “and you were the one who kept talking about cursed tanukis stealing your socks, so who’s the real mess here?”

he laughed again, loud enough to make the barista glance over with a raised brow. his hand dropped to the table, fingers drumming a restless rhythm, and you noticed how his pinky brushed the edge of your mug—like he was testing how close he could get without you pulling away. “guilty,” he said, tilting his head until his bangs fell into his eyes. he shook them away, and the motion was so boyish, so normal, it made your heart do a stupid little flip. “but you laughed. i heard it. best sound in the world, by the way.”

you froze, stirrer halfway to your mouth, and your eyes flicked up to meet his. he wasn’t grinning now—just watching you, steady and soft, like the rain outside had melted all his edges. your lips parted, but no snark came out. instead, you reached across the table, picked up his glasses, and slid them toward him with a pointed look. “put these on before you ruin yourself,” you said, but your voice was quieter, like you were afraid of breaking whatever this was. “i’m not worth a headache, satoru.”

he didn’t touch the glasses. instead, he caught your hand before you could pull it back, his fingers warm and a little calloused, curling around yours like they’d been waiting to. “disagree,” he said, simple as that, and his thumb brushed your knuckle, light as a feather. “you’re worth a lot of things.”

you swallowed, and the café seemed to hum quieter—the clink of cups, the murmur of students, all fading into a soft blur. your pulse was loud, though, thudding in your ears as you looked at him. his hair was drying now, curling at the ends, and his eyes were still bare, unguarded, like he’d stripped away every barrier just to sit here with you. your lips twitched into a smile, small but real, and you squeezed his hand once before letting go.

“you’re gonna regret saying that when i steal your last mochi later,” you said, leaning back to break the spell, but your foot stayed pressed against his under the table, warm and steady.

he gasped, clutching his chest like you’d cursed him. “not the mochi,” he wailed, but his eyes crinkled, and he leaned forward, stealing your stirrer to twirl it between his fingers like a baton. “fine, but only if you say ‘satoru, you’re my hero’ first. gotta earn it.”

“in your dreams, pretty boy,” you shot back, but you were laughing now, soft and easy, and the sound made his whole face soften, like he’d been chasing it all along.

you stayed in that café for hours, trading sugar packets and stupid stories, your shoes bumping under the table, his glasses still untouched. the rain slowed to a drizzle, painting the windows in lazy streaks, but neither of you noticed. the world was just this—cinnamon air, warm mugs, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted to see clearly.

and somewhere in between the rain tapering off and your drinks going lukewarm, something shifted. not abruptly. not dramatically. but gently, like gravity starting to lean in a different direction. he was exactly the same—annoying, charming, impossible—but there was a quiet steadiness beneath it all. like he looked at you and saw not just a person, but a place. somewhere he could stay.

all while you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that gojo satoru had been the idiot on the forum sending you tanuki memes at 3am.

he called you a cryptid. you called him emotionally constipated. he told you your voice was the only one he actually waited to hear. you told him he needed better taste. he laughed so hard he knocked his knee on the underside of the table.

when the café finally closed, the barista shooing you out with a tired smile, satoru held the door open, his clear umbrella already unfurled against the drizzle. it was comically small for his ridiculous height, barely shielding his broad shoulders, but he angled it carefully, keeping the rain from kissing your hair. his sleeve darkened, soaked through where the mist clung, but he didn’t seem to care. the night was quiet, steeped in that velvet hush that trails a long rain, streetlights casting blurry halos through the mist, like half-forgotten curses glowing in the dark.

his footsteps matched yours, slow and deliberate, scuffing softly against the wet pavement. he didn’t need to adjust his stride—you noticed how he shortened it, just enough, like he was savoring every second of this walk. his fingers brushed yours once, a fleeting warmth against your knuckles. he didn’t grab your hand. brushed again, lingering, like a question he wasn’t sure he could ask. you didn’t pull away, your pinky curling slightly, grazing his, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, like he’d caught a secret.

“can I see you again?” he asked, glancing down at you, his voice stripped of its usual swagger. it was quiet, raw, like a wish he’d whispered to the night before daring to say it aloud. his glasses slipped low, catching the streetlight’s gleam, and his eyes—too blue, too open—held yours like you were the only thing tethering him to the ground.

you tilted your head, pretending to mull it over, your lips pursing to hide the smile tugging at them. your scarf fluttered in the breeze, and you tugged it tighter, catching the way his gaze flicked to the motion, like he was memorizing it. “I’d kinda like it if you called me first,” you said, voice dry but warm, your eyes darting to his before skittering away.

his smile softened, reverent, like you’d handed him a talisman he hadn’t earned. he ducked his head, damp hair falling into his eyes, and pushed it back with a quick flick, scattering droplets. “yeah?” he said, and it was so soft, so hopeful, it made your chest ache like a bruise you didn’t mind.

“yeah,” you said, and your fingers brushed his again, deliberate this time, a spark in the quiet.

he didn’t kiss you. not yet. but the way he looked at you—head tilted, eyes tracing your face like he was mapping a new constellation—felt louder than any words. like maybe, finally, he’d found the place he was meant to land, and you were standing right there beside him.

you kept walking, the umbrella tilting as he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. the mist curled around you like a veil, and he started humming—some off-key pop song he’d probably heard on a mission, the kind you’d mocked him for liking during one of your calls. you shot him a look, eyebrow arched, and he only grinned, utterly unrepentant.

“you’re gonna ruin my reputation,” you muttered, but your lips twitched, and you nudged his arm with your elbow, just enough to make him sway.

“too late,” he said, voice lilting like he was sharing a conspiracy. “you laughed at my tanuki tax joke. you’re already doomed.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in the quiet, and he laughed—low, warm, like it was his favorite sound in the world. “you remember that?” you asked, glancing up at him, your scarf slipping to reveal the curve of your neck. his eyes followed it, then snapped back to your face, like he’d been caught.

“‘course I do,” he said, tapping his temple with a long finger. “filed it under ‘proof you’re secretly fun.’ right next to you admitting you like my midnight voice.”

your cheeks warmed, and you shoved your hands into your pockets, muttering, “delirious ramblings don’t count.” but you didn’t step away, and he didn’t either, the umbrella wobbling as he tilted it to keep you dry.

then he stopped walking, abrupt enough that you turned to face him, a brow raised. “what?”

his expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between mischief and something heavier, like he was about to say something that could tilt the world off its axis. his hair was wet now, silver strands curling at the ends, clinging to his forehead, and his glasses fogged slightly at the edges, making his eyes look softer, closer.

“come work in tokyo,” he said, the words spilling out like they’d been waiting all night.

you blinked, your breath catching. “satoru.”

“no, I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer, the umbrella dipping until a stray droplet grazed his cheek. he didn’t wipe it away, just kept looking at you, earnest in a way that made your throat tight. “same uniform, better pay, vending machines that don’t eat your coins. plus—” he leaned in, voice dropping to a mock-whisper—“you get me. scientifically proven to make life less boring.”

you laughed, sharp and startled, and it broke the tension like a snapped thread. “you’re the cause of my stress,” you said, poking his chest with a finger, your nail catching on his damp coat.

“and I’ll keep causing it,” he said, catching your hand before you could pull back. his fingers were warm, curling around yours, and he tilted his head, grin softening. “but I’ll be closer. way better than those kyoto stiffs who don’t know how you take your coffee.”

you froze, lips parting, because he did know—black, no sugar, the way you’d grumbled about during a 3 a.m. call when a mission had you wired. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice wobbled, and you didn’t yank your hand away.

“you don’t belong there,” he said, quieter now, his thumb brushing your knuckle, light as a wish. “they don’t see you. not like I do.”

you opened your mouth to deflect, to toss back something sharp, but nothing came. because he was right, and the way he looked at you—steady, unguarded, like you were more than a shadow in a debrief room—made it impossible to argue. you closed your mouth, exhaling through your nose, and he smiled, small and real, like he’d won something bigger than he’d planned.

two weeks later, after one strongly worded proposal, two forged signatures, and a very public argument with gakuganji that ended with a chair launched across a meeting room, satoru showed up at your apartment, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that screamed trouble. his coat was slung over one shoulder, and he held a crumpled paper bag that smelled suspiciously like mochi.

“congrats,” he said, voice bright as a spark. “you’re moving to tokyo. pack a toothbrush.”

you stared, one socked foot still on the tatami, a half-packed box of books at your side. “what the hell did you do?”

“justice,” he said, tossing the bag onto your counter, where it landed with a soft thud. he stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel, and winked like he’d just saved the world. “also, maybe a little bribery. you’re welcome.”

and just like that, you were tokyo’s problem now.

on your first day, he was waiting at the jujutsu tech gates, a paper flower crown perched crookedly on his head, petals fluttering in the breeze. he held a sign—scrawled in marker, “WELCOME HOME, CRYPTID”—and two matcha lattes, one wobbling dangerously in his hand as he waved like a kid spotting their best friend. the other sorcerers passing by shot him looks, but he didn’t care, his grin wide enough to rival the sun spilling over the campus.

you tried to scowl, to keep your cool, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a smile that felt like surrender. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, stepping into his orbit, close enough to smell the sugar on his breath and the faint cedar of his cologne.

he looped an arm around your shoulder, easy as breathing, like the space beside him had been yours all along. his lips brushed your temple, a fleeting warmth, then lingered, soft and deliberate, like he was testing if you’d pull away. you didn’t.

“and yet,” he said, voice low, teasing, “you never left.”

you rolled your eyes, but your head tilted into his touch, just a fraction, and you felt him exhale, like he’d been holding it in. “I’m not wearing the flower crown,” you said, flicking the sign with a finger, making it wobble in his grip.

“not yet,” he said, adjusting the crown on his head, petals catching the sunlight like tiny flames. he handed you a latte, the cup warm against your palm, and you noticed he’d drawn a tiny cat face on the lid—lopsided, with one ear missing, like your stray back in kyoto.

“not ever,” you shot back, but you took a sip, and the matcha was perfect—sweet, not too bitter, exactly how you’d mentioned liking it months ago during a call about bad coffee stands.

he laughed, a sound like summer breaking through clouds, and you looked up, catching the way his eyes crinkled, the way his hair glowed gold in the morning light. his thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, like he was confirming you were real.

and then he kissed you—no fanfare, no dramatic build, just the quiet press of his mouth against yours, soft and certain. it was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission because it already belonged. like the final word in a sentence you’d both been writing in secret.

his lips were warm, moving against yours with a reverence that made your breath catch. his hand cupped the side of your face, fingers splayed gently against your jaw as though afraid to press too hard, like you were something delicate, worth holding and not breaking.

your eyes fluttered closed. the air between you and the world seemed to hush, like even the breeze knew not to interrupt. your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat—soft, heavy, smelling faintly of rain and something that had to be him.

your knees went a little soft. your heart, stupid and loud, climbed up into your throat.

he pulled back just barely, but didn’t let go. his forehead rested against yours, breath fanning across your lips, sweet with matcha and something sweeter beneath it—something like hope.

his grin was criminal. boyish. blinding. like he’d stolen something precious and gotten away clean.

“told you you’d like tokyo,” he said, voice low, still laced with laughter.

and before you could even think of dodging, he plucked the flower crown from his head—now slightly lopsided from the kiss—and dropped it gently onto yours.

you blinked. scowled. felt your cheeks catch fire.

you shoved it back onto him, petals scattering onto his nose, and he sneezed, dramatic and loud, making a passing student jump. “shut up,” you said, but you were laughing now, full and bright, and his fingers laced with yours, warm and steady, like they’d never let go.

and in that moment—the sun dusting your cheeks, his hand anchoring you, you knew one thing for sure:

no one else needed to notice.

because he did.

and that was enough.

(and yeah, he’d submitted three fake transfer forms in your name, because apparently love means committing light fraud. you’d yell at him later. probably.)

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @k0z3me

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