#hes stubborn in both ways that benefit him and set him back

[doublejango]

Kelly nodded. "Dessert. You got it." And just like that, their plan was set into motion. As he went in and out, making a general mess of things, his movements were lazy and casual, without looking affected. If the situation didn't feel so potentially dire, Kelly might have been strangely floating on that compliment from Jay. Something about Halstead made it feel like a compliment from him was worth a million bucks. As it was, it had Severide smiling, unable to help himself.

What he could help himself with though was the urge to look around. Kelly never did, not any more than a normal person would; he wanted to, he really fucking wanted to, but he also knew instinctively that if he did? He might give the game away. Looking around might mean looking like prey, and looking like prey might, right now, translate to looking like he knew they were being watched. The last thing he wanted to do was precipitate a violent encounter that didn't have to happen. Maybe this was all just a bunch of bullshit, and maybe it was paranoia on both his and Jay's parts right now, but fuck it. They were rolling with it, being careful, and running this together. He wasn't going to fuck it up.

A moment later, Matt opened the bathroom door--and immediately shut it again, wide-eyed, when he saw that their room door was open to the parking lot. He had just been in a towel too, but he came out a moment later fully dressed, cheeks pink, and sat down on the corner of his bed closest to Jay.

"Are we getting delivery?" Matt asked, glancing at the menus, then curiously over at Severide as the man seemingly rooted around in the trunk for something. "I kinda thought we were gonna get some sleep..."

"Hey, toss me your bag?" Severide asked from the doorway.

Confused, Matt looked like he might get stubborn about it for a moment, but he tossed it to him and watched as Severide rooted through it for a moment before taking it out to the car and putting it in the trunk to search more thoroughly, seeming a little lackadaisical. Whatever he was doing, Matt didn't understand but was disarmed by it. Still, while he wanted to relax after the day of travel, he noticed that Halstead and Severide both had their shoes on, so Matt sighed and did the same.

"We're going out, aren't we?" he asked as he laced them up.

"Nah. Let's get delivery. It looks like there's a lot, and it's gonna be a lot fuckin' better than Susan's cooking."

Matt blinked and looked from the TV over to Halstead--then almost immediately made an annoyed face. "Did he just insult my cousin's cooking?"

"I heard that. And I mean, she's not bad, or whatever, but like. Come on, man."

Although he wasn't a natural the way these two were, now that Matt understood something was up, because Severide didn't just lie without damn good reason, and there was sure as hell no 'Susan' they were going to see, he walked out with a frown on his face and shoved the last thing that needed to go into the car at Kelly's chest. "Yeah? You want to say something to my face?"

Severide laughed and held his hands up, taking a step back. "Not really. Just like, let's get some real food in. And I wouldn't mind a beer."

"Pretty sure they don't deliver that," Casey said dourly, folding his arms, unsure if this was the ploy he was supposed to go for, but trying hard to think on his feet and match whatever these two were cooking up. If they were just being assholes, pranking him for some reason, he was going to be thoroughly fucking annoyed--but backing Severide's plays was second-nature by now, and Matt was always, always going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"So? Let's go get some."

Huffing, Matt shook his head and went back inside. "I'm not going out again."

"C'mon, man. We're not even allowed to drink at her place. You're really telling me you can put up with all those brats without a drink? Hey!" He pitched his voice a little differently, addressing Jay. "Tell this Debbie Downer it'll be a lot more fun if we blow off some steam tonight."

Shit, Casey thought. Whatever was going on, Kelly thought it was serious, and apparently had talked to Jay about it, for Halstead to seem so in on the whole charade too... "If you guys want beer," he grumbled, and made an angry gesture towards the door, "go for it. I'm tired. I want to watch TV, eat something, and just pass out."

"Nah, man. Come with us. It won't take long." Severide leaned in the doorway, looking for all the world like a relaxed, tired, but still keyed-up asshole who just wanted to grab some beer with his friends before they had to settle down into a shitty, rundown little room for the night. Appealing to Jay with a gesture, he added, "Are you coming, at least? Come on. Drag his ass out here. Let's stock up on beer and like, I don't know, fucking, beef jerky or something. Aren't they like vegans now, or whatever?"

Matt, assuming this was a cue for them to actually leave, but also for him to look reluctant about it, just flipped them both off and flopped back on the bed--but with an arm accidentally outstretched, and thus easy for Jay to pull on if he wanted to actually drag him out there. "You guys suck."

Jay knows that the possibility of the assholes stalking them could be hate motivated. Three guys in one small hotel room? Yeah, that makes sense, and Jay knows he's pretty enough that they think he gets both male and female attention. Being straight is not something he is often accused of, even when he doesn't make his sexuality known because he doesn't care to.

He'd struggled with it growing up, mainly because his dad was a homophobic asshole. Will knew, he always knew. Older brothers usually do and Will never once judged him for it.

He remembers when he was about 16, being caught by Will kissing a boy in his bedroom. He remembers the panic he felt and he remembers Will being quick to say he doesn't care - that he accepts him for who he is.

He never told his dad but it made it easier to live life so openly as he does right now. In the army, he hadn't been as open about it, but there had been stolen glances and a thing with an army buddy of his.

His dad still doesn't know but he isn't hiding it anymore. He doesn't care to which is why he had openly flirted with and checked Kelly out. If someone asks him what his sexuality is, he'd gladly say he's bisexual.

He openly flirts with males and females. Jay is far from straight but he also hasn't given their stalkers any reason to believe he's anything other than straight. Except for sharing a motel room with two other guys and looking the way he does, he supposes. There's a stereotype that if you're way too pretty then you must be gay.

Any logical person would say that they're just buddies saving money but stalkers are not logical. They lock onto someone. They've locked onto the three of them and they're looking for prey.

They have no idea who they're dealing with. They may be prey to them but Jay has every intention on the hunters becoming the hunted if they keep on this path.

Jay turns to face Kelly with an arch of an eyebrow and he seems pretty impressed by the plan. He's not used to other people making plans, usually he takes the lead and they follow. Looks like Kelly is, for the most part, a leader and not a follower.

"You're good at that. Sounds like I was right to trust you with this." He can't say that Matt would be so level headed. Not that he blames the poor guy.

"Sounds like a plan. Just - be careful. If they are still out there and sense something is wrong you need to signal me somehow." Come up with a word, that is what they usually do when they do undercover work and Jay has done plenty of that.

"Find a way to work in dessert if you need me to act - since we're talking food." That is the most logical thing to use and not easy to forget since they indeed will be looking at take out. It'd be easy enough to exclaim that they should get some dessert and it's natural enough that Matt wouldn't freak out either.

Jay swipes up the various pamphlets of delivery food, grabs the remote to the tv and sits down on the edge of the bed. He turns on the tv, sets the volume to be able to hear it clearly enough but still able to hear Severide. The take out menus are placed beside him as he flips through channels, seeming like he's trying to find something interesting to watch. Matt should be able to come out of the bathroom, see the little menus, and assume they're just getting comfortable and grabbing food.

If he asks why Jay isn't getting a shower, he'll simply say that he'll get one later.

[jupiterdolll]

people who stopped liking naruto (the character and show both) due to naruto's focus on sasuke just make me laugh. they think that this somehow diminishes naruto's character, since his dream of becoming hokage is no longer priority.

you can't view naruto as this unchanging entity. yes he's the main character and yes it was ingrained into our brains in the first chapters and arcs that he wants to become hokage. that was his way of saying he wants to be acknowledged and respected. as a child, he seen that the hokage received these things, so naturally that's what set the example. "hokage" was the title of what he desired. but most of all... unbeknownst to him, being understood and loved was his real desire. the actual genuine kind.

the opening arc that sets the tone for the entire story is the land of waves. we immediately get the parallel between haku/zabuza and naruto/sasuke. haku made naruto think more deeply, telling him that beyond acknowledgement and respect there is something so much more valuable. to be understood, loved, and cared for. and within that same arc that is what sasuke shows and gives to naruto. sasuke himself seemingly unaware of his own feelings, his body 'just moved on it's own'.. his instinct made him protect what was precious to him. dreams, future, none of that matters, it dissipates entirely from your mind when you are trying to protect and save what is most precious to you. and for sasuke, that most precious person is naruto.

upon reading/watching this for the first time, the narrative does not let you understand why sasuke came to love naruto this much until later down the line of the story. but right off the bat, kishimoto immediately makes you know that there is something there he feels for naruto so strongly, to the point that it would make a character like sasuke (very goal focused, revenge based, nonchalant about mostly everything else) give up his life for him, disregarding what he shows in the majority of the plot to be his biggest dream: killing itachi.

as the story goes on, again and again naruto witnesses sasuke having these deep emotions for him, for his comrades. love and protection. he learns more about love because of sasuke.. he learns more about his own emotions through sasuke.

sasuke tells naruto that he doesn't understand what losing or having family ties feels like, as naruto never had a family. this is why naruto's desire to be acknowledged and respected at the beginning was more shallow than he had realized. yes, hokage would give you those things, but genuine understanding and love only comes from real connection.

so naruto slowly starts to realize that what actually fulfills him is not becoming hokage, but sasuke. his dream becomes sasuke. sasuke is who understands him, sasuke is who acknowledges him as a person, acknowledges his efforts and courage amongst how lonely he knows naruto feels. naruto now knows that the love and acknowledgment he would get from becoming hokage does not compare to the specific, intimate, personal bond he has with sasuke. he knows that nothing and nobody else can make him feel how sasuke does.

this realization impacts naruto so greatly that he spends the rest of the time chasing sasuke. because sasuke is the first one to open his heart, the first to make him feel comfort upon just being himself. why wouldn't sasuke become his dream? it was destined from the beginning.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 

Yup, you have a headache now. 

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 

Why were you considering this? 

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 

He said your name, “Well?” 

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 

“Gojo, this is—“ 

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 

“No one can see us,” 

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 

And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there. 

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  

You glanced at the time, he’s late. 

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 

It was probably the latter. 

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 

“A bad rom com,” 

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 

He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 

It was unspoken. 

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 

Your neck hurts. 

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 

Or what you thought was your bed. 

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 

Gojo. 

Gojo??? 

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 

You really should have fucking known better. 

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 

Fuck. Your. Life. 

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 

“What is it?” 

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 

Fuck. You were so screwed. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 

Another knock. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 

Like it always never was. 

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 

“My apartment isn’t—” 

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 

“But what you said—“ 

“I said what I had to—“ 

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 

“Give you what?” 

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 

No, it was. It was, right? 

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 

Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 

And he realized it was you. 

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 

Fuck, it was real.  

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 

“How about we make breakfast together?” 

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 

There’s only one person who’d text like that. 

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 

“I was expecting to meet 

I suppose we’re on the same page,” 

He tilts his head, “Really?” 

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 

You needed to talk to him in person. 

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 

And he’s blinking, “Why?” 

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 

“No I don’t—” 

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 

“But—“ 

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 

And this time he doesn’t stop you. 

It’s for the best. 

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 

It was for the best. 

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 

Fuck. You were home. 

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 

Gojo? 

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 

Satoru was…getting married? 

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 

Even if it wasn’t with you. 

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 

So you wait. 

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 

That wasn’t Satoru. 

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

[cbeargyu]

I hate and need him so much !!

summary: you and beomgyu are the top students in your university’s music program—but that’s the only thing you have in common. constantly clashing over leadership and vision, your rivalry is infamous across campus. but when a heated late-night argument over your final project spirals out of control, you both cross a line neither of you can walk back from. tension turns to obsession, and hate becomes the hottest kind of desire...

pairing: enemy!beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: enemies with benefits, smut, angst, college au, slow burn, toxic dynamics, musical rivalry.

warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, toxic dynamics, public tension, dominance & submission themes, rough sex, mentions of physical aggression (non-violent), mutual degradation, possessiveness, slight exhibitionism, slight humiliation, dirty talk, praise kin, overstimulation, begging.[18+ ONLY MDI]

wc: 5,94k

notes: my tiktok is flooded with beomgyu videos + beomgyu in those photos... I'm thinking... 🫦💦

you’ve never met someone as fucking insufferable as choi beomgyu.

you’re top of your class in music theory and composition. sharp mind, sharper tongue, perfectionist to the bone. and unfortunately, so is he. same major, same year, same goddamn classes—and ever since first year, you’ve been stuck in this sick, twisted competition that neither of you ever agreed to, but neither of you can let go of either.

he’s loud. smug. sarcastic. every time he opens his mouth, it’s like he’s begging you to punch him. he thinks he’s the most brilliant mind to grace the university halls and you? you’re just a stubborn little brat who got lucky with a few good scores.

you, on the other hand, think he’s a cocky little shit with too much talent and zero humility. a show-off. a provocateur. someone who gets under your skin just for the thrill of it.

and worse, he knows it.

“i don’t know how the fuck you got the leader position,” he says, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the piano like he owns the place. “but if you keep running this project like this, we’re all going to look like idiots.”

you’re standing near the whiteboard, marker still in your hand from the rehearsal plan you were setting up. you were already exhausted—it’s late, your head’s pounding, and everyone else already left the music room because they knew this was coming.

you and beomgyu. again.

“then don’t be part of it,” you snap, glaring at him over your shoulder. “no one’s forcing you to stay.”

“you’re unbelievable,” he scoffs, pushing himself off the piano and walking closer. “you act like you know everything. like your way is the only way. but guess what? newsflash—this isn’t high school anymore, princess. not everyone’s going to kiss your ass.”

“fuck you,” you hiss, dropping the marker and turning to face him fully now.

“oh, that’s rich.” he laughs—short, bitter, mocking. “you can’t handle being challenged, huh? the second someone calls you out, you throw a fit.”

“you’re not ‘challenging’ me, you’re being a fucking asshole,” you step closer too now, chests nearly touching. “you think just because you play guitar and write edgy lyrics, you’re some kind of genius?”

his jaw clenches. “i am a fucking genius. unlike you, i don’t treat people like shit to feel superior.”

“no, you just think you’re better than everyone and talk like you’re god’s gift to music.”

“keep pushing me, sweetheart,” he growls, eyes narrowing. “see what happens.”

and maybe it’s the hour. or the pent-up rage. or how his breath is hot against your lips now, because neither of you moved away.

maybe it’s the way your heart’s been racing around him since the first semester, and you’ve been too fucking proud to admit it.

but when he grabs your wrist, pulling you flush against him, and your mouths crash together in something that’s not a kiss, not yet—more like a war—you don’t stop it.

you kiss him like you’re trying to shut him up. he kisses you like he’s trying to make you forget your name.

it’s teeth. it’s tongue. it’s bruises forming before either of you even start taking clothes off. his hands are gripping your waist like he’s waited years for this, and your fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling hard, like you want to hurt him and fuck him at the same time.

you gasp when his lips leave yours, only to trail down your neck, biting hard enough to make you whimper. your back hits the wall behind you with a dull thud, and you’re too far gone to care if anyone hears.

“still think you’re in control?” he mutters against your skin, voice low, mocking, laced with heat.

“fuck you,” you spit, breathless.

he grins. that goddamn grin.

“yeah?” he grabs your chin, tilting your face so you have to look at him. “then why are you fucking shaking for me, bitch?”

you slap him.

not hard enough to hurt. just enough to sting.

his smirk drops for a second—and then he laughs, low and wild, before grabbing your wrists and slamming them above your head.

“god, you’re such a brat,” he growls. “always running your mouth, always trying to act like you’re better than me. but here you are, letting me pin you like a fucking slut.”

“go to hell,” you snap, squirming against him.

he leans in, presses his mouth to your ear. “after i’m done with you.”

he kisses you again—hard, possessive, angry. his hand slides under your shirt, up your ribs, dragging slow just to hear you breathe harder.

“take this shit off,” he says against your lips, tugging at your shirt, and you don’t hesitate.

the air is cold, but his hands are hotter than sin. they roam, greedy, rough, like he wants to memorize every inch of you just so he can ruin it.

“beomgyu—” his name escapes your mouth in a shaky moan when he sucks a bruise right beneath your collarbone.

“what, bitch?” he mutters, pulling your bra down like it’s in his way. “you like that? you like when i touch you like this?”

you don’t answer. your pride won’t let you.

so he smirks, teeth flashing. “still pretending you hate me?”

you glare. “i do.”

he chuckles darkly. “then hate me with your legs around my waist.”

and you do. you hook your legs around him as he lifts you off the floor, grinding into you, cock already hard through his jeans and pressed right against where you need him most.

“fuck,” you whisper, head falling back.

“yeah,” he breathes, mouth trailing down to your chest. “that’s what i thought.”

his fingers find the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with a sort of impatient frustration that makes your whole body ache. he kisses down your stomach as he does it, slow only to torment you.

“been dreaming about this,” he mutters. “ruining that smart little mouth of yours. showing you who really runs this fucking class.”

“keep talking,” you pant, “and i’ll bite your tongue off.”

he laughs again—low, dangerous.

“you’re such a bitch,” he says. “and you’re gonna let me fuck you anyway.”

and you do.

you don’t know how you ended up half-naked on the piano bench, legs spread, his mouth buried between your thighs like he’s starving.

maybe it was the way you clawed at his shirt like you wanted to rip his skin off. maybe it was how he shoved you down with a growl, like he couldn’t stand another second without tasting you.

either way, you’re too far gone to give a fuck.

“fuck—beomgyu—” you choke out, fingers tangling in his messy hair.

he groans into your cunt, licking you slow just to hear you whimper, then fast just to fuck with you. his hands are bruising your thighs, holding you still like he’s scared you’ll run.

“you’re loud now,” he says, voice muffled against your skin, “but in class you act so fucking high and mighty.”

“shut up—” your voice cracks when he flicks his tongue over your clit, again, again, again.

“no,” he growls, looking up at you with spit and you all over his mouth. “you don’t get to shut me up. not when you’re moaning like a little toy.”

you reach down, grabbing his jaw, pulling him up to kiss him hard—tasting yourself on his tongue, nails dragging down his back.

“you’re fucking disgusting,” you whisper against his lips.

he bites your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp. “and you love it.”

you do.

you hate him. but you want him so bad it’s making your head spin.

when he finally unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, thick and flushed and leaking, your mouth goes dry.

“don’t stare like you’re impressed,” he teases, pumping himself once. “you act like you’re not dying for this.”

you glare, then smirk. “i’ve had better.”

“is that so?”

he grabs your hips, pulls you to the edge of the bench, and slams into you without warning.

your whole body arches.

“fuck—!” you cry out, nails digging into his arms.

he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. doesn’t slow down. he fucks you like he’s punishing you for every word you’ve ever thrown at him, every smug look you’ve ever given.

“better than this?” he grits out, snapping his hips harder. “you’re dripping, you fucking liar.”

“shut up—”

“nah. say it. say who’s fucking you this good.”

“go to hell,” you growl, grabbing the back of his neck, dragging his mouth to yours.

he kisses you like he wants to bruise your soul. you kiss him like you want to rip his heart out.

“fuck, you feel good,” he groans against your mouth. “tight little cunt acting like she doesn’t need me.”

you moan. you hate that he’s right. that your body’s betraying you, clenching around him, begging for more.

“fucking bastard,” you hiss, throwing your head back when he hits that spot deep inside you.

“say it again,” he pants, pounding into you. “call me every name you want, i know you’re close.”

“pathetic, arrogant, loud-mouthed little shit—” you gasp, legs shaking.

“that’s right,” he growls. “cum for me, fucking hate me while you do it.”

you do.

you fall apart under him, clenching around him so tight he swears and grabs your waist like he’s losing control.

and a second later, he’s cumming too—deep inside you, jaw clenched, eyes shut, letting out a low, broken groan of your name like it physically hurts.

the room’s silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

he collapses against you, forehead resting on your shoulder.

you push him off.

“we’re not doing this again,” you mutter, standing up and adjusting your clothes.

he smirks, still breathless, watching you like he already knows better.

“we’ll see, sweetheart.”

he’s been staring at you like he wants to kill you since class started.

arms crossed, jaw clenched, foot tapping like a fucking metronome of rage.

you ignore him. or try to.

but when professor kim announces your proposal will lead the ensemble showcase, and not his—oh, the way his eyes meet yours. burning. hateful. hungry.

you smirk, just to piss him off.

after class, you don’t even make it out the door.

“come with me,” he snaps, grabbing your wrist, dragging you through the empty hallway before you can protest.

“fuck off, beomgyu—”

he pushes open an empty rehearsal room and shoves you inside.

you spin on him. “what the fuck is your problem?!”

“you are,” he growls, slamming the door shut. “fucking show-off. always need to win, huh?”

you scoff. “maybe if your idea hadn’t been shit—”

he grabs your face and kisses you so hard your back hits the wall, again.

and you let him.

because you’re both too far gone now.

you kiss him back, biting his lip, tugging his hair like you’re trying to hurt him—like you want him to hurt you back.

his hands are everywhere. under your shirt, gripping your waist, yanking down your pants without a word.

“so fucking full of yourself,” he mutters, yanking your underwear down roughly. “bet you soaked your panties the second you saw me lose.”

you slap him again.

he just grins. “hit me harder if you want, baby. i know you like it rough.”

you grab his belt, undoing it fast. “shut up and fuck me.”

“say please.”

“fuck you.”

he shoves you against the wall, lifts your leg, and thrusts in—raw, fast, brutal.

you cry out, hands slamming against the wall for support.

“god—fuck—beomgyu—”

“that’s right,” he pants, pounding into you like he wants to erase your fucking mind. “say my name. say it like you mean it.”

your moans echo through the empty room. it’s reckless. loud. stupid.

anyone could walk in.

and maybe that’s why it feels so good.

“you look so pretty when you lose control,” he growls, biting your neck. “not so smug now, huh?”

you clench around him, mouth open in a silent moan.

he hisses. “you’re close.”

“no—shut up—i’m not—”

“liar,” he snarls, fucking you deeper. “you’re so wet i can feel you shaking.”

“piece of shit—”

“say it again.”

“fuck you—”

“you are.”

he grabs your face again, kisses you hard, and you break—cumming around him with a cry you can’t hold back.

he follows seconds later, groaning against your mouth, cock twitching inside you as he spills himself deep.

you both freeze.

silence.

then—footsteps outside the door.

your eyes widen.

he smirks.

“we should do this more often.”

he’s pacing in the classroom like a storm trapped in four walls. jacket thrown on the floor, hair a mess, frustration radiating off of him.

“i just don’t get how you always win,” he spits, glaring at the floor.

you raise an eyebrow, calm, bored. “because i’m better.”

he whips around. “fuck you.”

you smile. “you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

his breath catches. just for a second. and you see it.

that crack in his anger. the want under all that pride.

you stand, walking slowly to him.

“what’s wrong, gyu?” you murmur, dragging a finger up his chest. “you mad because you lost again? or because you can't stop thinking about how good i made you feel last time?”

his jaw tightens. his eyes drop to your lips.

“i hate you,” he says, but his voice is already shaking.

you hum. “lie better.”

and then your hand slips between his legs, cupping him over his jeans—slow. gentle. cruel.

he gasps. you feel how hard he is already.

“fuck—don’t—” he tries to step back.

you press your body into his, pinning him to the wall.

“don’t what?” you whisper against his ear. “don’t touch you? don’t make you beg?”

he whimpers.

actual whimpers.

“please…”

you grin.

“look at you,” you whisper. “so hard just from me teasing you. you want me that bad?”

he nods, red-faced, biting his lip.

“use your words, baby.”

“please,” he whispers, breathless, “please touch me. i need it. i need you.”

you pull back slightly, watching him.

he drops to his knees.

and that’s when your power hits him full force.

beomgyu, the cocky bastard, the arrogant top of your class, on the floor, looking up at you like you’re his fucking god.

“say it again.”

“please…” he swallows hard, pupils blown wide. “i need you to touch me. to use me. i’ll do anything. just—just don’t stop.”

you sit down on the chair, legs spread.

“come here.”

he crawls between your legs without hesitation.

you grab his jaw. “good boy.”

his breath stutters.

“can i… can i taste you?” he asks, voice so low and wrecked you barely hear it.

you smirk. “you can try.”

after he buried his face between your thighs, you had to muffle your moans with your hand, desperate not to cry out. but it was pointless—the university was already empty, and anyone left wouldn’t dare come near that classroom with the way the air practically sizzled around you.

you should’ve left right then, should’ve played it safe. but the heat between you was too much, too consuming. so instead, you stumbled out together, breathless and shaking, and made it back to your apartment—ready to finish what you never should’ve started in public.

“you’re so pretty when you cry,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his chest.

he’s panting, cheeks flushed, wrists tied to the bedpost with your silk scarf. thighs trembling. body covered in marks from your mouth.

his cock is red, leaking, twitching.

“please,” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “i-i can’t—please let me come—”

you tilt your head. “already?”

you’ve edged him three times now. never letting him finish. always pulling away just when his moans start turning desperate.

“you really are weak, aren’t you?” you coo, wrapping your fingers around him again, slowly, cruelly.

his head falls back with a loud whimper. “fuck—yes, i am, i am—just for you—”

“look at you,” you murmur, stroking him torturously slow. “the same guy who told me he hated me. now you’re begging like a good little slut.”

his whole body jolts.

you lean closer, lips brushing his ear. “you like it when i talk to you like that?”

he nods frantically, eyes glossy. “yes—yes, please—more—”

you tighten your grip, pace quickening.

“you like being mine?”

“yes—yes, i’m yours—only yours—please don’t stop—”

“you’re not gonna come yet,” you whisper. “not until i say so.”

he sobs, hips jerking, trying to chase the friction. “please—please, i’ll do anything—i’ll be so good—just let me—”

you straddle him.

his eyes widen.

you don’t even have to say anything—he’s already moaning.

“you wanna come inside me, baby?” you whisper, dragging your folds over his aching tip, not letting him in.

he’s shaking. “please, please, i need to, i need to—i’ll be good—fuck—i’ll make you feel so good, i swear—just let me—let me—”

you slide down onto him all at once.

his scream is broken. his whole body arches.

“thank you—fuck, thank you—” he babbles, clutching the headboard with white knuckles.

“you’re so deep,” you moan, starting to ride him, slow and heavy. “you feel so good when you shut up and take it.”

he’s sobbing now. overwhelmed. blissed out.

“gonna fill me up?” you whisper, kissing his jaw. “gonna come like the good little boy you are?”

he nods, barely able to speak. “yes—yes, please—please—can i—please—”

“do it,” you growl in his ear.

he breaks.

he cries out your name, cumming so hard it makes his entire body shake, eyes rolling back as he trembles under you. it doesn’t stop—he keeps twitching, breathless, whimpering, completely ruined.

you don’t stop moving.

his eyes widen in panic.

“w-wait—too much—i can’t—”

you just smirk.

“you said you’d do anything, baby. don’t disappoint me now.”

you barely step inside the third-floor bathroom before you feel it.

the shift.

he’s already there, waiting — back against the wall, eyes on you like he’s been planning something. calculating. hungry.

but this time… he doesn’t look shy.

he doesn’t look desperate.

he looks like a fucking storm.

you close the door slowly, a smirk playing on your lips. “someone’s eager.”

he doesn’t answer.

he just pushes himself off the wall, takes three steps forward, and corners you against the door. his body flush against yours.

his voice is low, dark.

“you think you’re in control, don’t you?”

you blink, caught off guard.

“you think you can tease me in front of everyone, make me sit pretty and beg for you like a fucking toy,” he growls, gripping your chin, tilting your head up. “but you forget something, babe.”

his breath is hot against your ear.

“you want this just as bad as i do. and you’re not as untouchable as you act.”

you scoff, but it dies in your throat when he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, the other sliding down your waist and under your skirt like he owns every inch of you.

“gonna prove it,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw, then biting down harder than he should. “gonna fuck the brat out of you.”

“you’re dreaming if you think—”

“shut up,” he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs, forcing them open. “you had your turn. now it’s mine.”

your breath catches when he drops to his knees, yanks your underwear down and presses his mouth right where you need him. no warning. no build-up. just pure, messy heat.

you whimper, trying to squirm, but his grip on your thighs is brutal. “stay fucking still.”

he eats you like he’s starving.

like this is punishment.

like he wants to ruin you.

and he does — slowly. with groans that vibrate against your core. with tongue strokes that make your knees buckle. with lips that suck until you're gasping, trembling, begging—

“beomgyu, i’m gonna—”

he stops.

just like that.

you cry out in frustration, but he stands and shoves two fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself.

“you don’t get to cum yet,” he smirks. “not until you say it.”

you glare at him, trying to keep whatever pride you have left. he leans in, lips brushing yours.

“say you need me.”

you don’t.

you won’t—

he grabs your hips and slams into you so hard you choke on your breath.

you almost scream, biting your hand to stay quiet as he fucks into you like he’s trying to destroy you. like he wants you sore. shaking. marked.

“say it,” he demands again, slamming deeper. “say you fucking need me.”

“fuck—i need you,” you gasp, losing it. “i fucking need you, okay?”

he smiles, dark and satisfied.

“good girl.”

and he keeps going.

you swear you black out a little when you finally cum, legs wrapped around him, walls clenching so tight he nearly loses control. but he doesn’t. he keeps going, overstimulating you until you're crying into his shoulder.

when he’s done, he pulls out, breathing hard, eyes glazed.

you’re a mess — flushed, dripping, lips bruised, hair wild.

he zips up, fixes his shirt, then grabs your jaw again.

“next time you wanna play boss,” he whispers, “remember who actually makes you fall apart.”

and then he’s gone — just like that.

leaving you shaking against the door, breathless, ruined.

it’s late. everyone’s gone, except for you and beomgyu. you both stay back to finish up the final arrangements for the project. the studio is dim, the only light coming from the desk lamps and the soft glow of the instruments scattered around the room. a low hum of the sound system mixes with the quiet shuffle of papers as you go over the details. you’re too focused, too determined to let anything distract you. not even him.

but he’s watching you.

you feel it before you see him. his eyes on you, the way his gaze lingers too long, too intense. he’s not the quiet, obedient beomgyu you’re used to. no, tonight, there’s a shift in the air, something darker, something that makes your heartbeat quicken.

you look up at him. he’s standing near the piano, leaning against it with his arms crossed, his usual casual look replaced by a more dangerous edge. his jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed in that way that makes your pulse race. his voice is rough when he finally speaks, cutting through the silence.

“you’ve been ignoring me all night,” he says, the words low and biting. “like i don’t fucking matter.”

you raise an eyebrow, setting your pen down slowly. “i’m busy,” you say, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something else in it. something that shows you know exactly where this is headed.

“busy?” his lips curl into a sneer as he pushes off the piano, taking a slow step toward you. “you were too busy when i was begging for your attention. and now… now you’re too busy to notice how badly i want you.”

the words hit you like a shockwave, and your breath catches. but you stand your ground. “and what do you want from me, beomgyu? you really think you can just—”

“shut up,” he growls, closing the distance between you in an instant. his hands grip your hips, pushing you back against the desk. the suddenness of it has you gasping, your breath hitching in your throat. “i’ve had enough of you acting like you’re in control. you’re not. not tonight.”

his hands slide up your waist, pinning you against the desk, and the heat between you is undeniable. you try to fight it, but you know—you know—you’re not going anywhere. he’s stronger. he’s in charge now.

he lifts you effortlessly, his fingers digging into your thighs as he spins you around, his lips brushing your ear as he presses his body against yours. “this project’s been a fucking joke, but i’m about to show you who’s really leading this.”

you shiver at the feel of his hot breath on your skin. you try to push back, but he’s already got you where he wants you. his hands roam over you like he’s starved, hungry for every inch of your body.

before you can react, his lips crash onto yours. the kiss is aggressive, desperate. his tongue pushes into your mouth with no warning, like he’s claiming you, taking you without hesitation. you moan into it, your own hands finding purchase on his shirt, tugging him closer.

he breaks the kiss with a growl, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin as his hands begin to strip you down. he’s rough, unrelenting, as if he’s been holding back for too long. and now, now he wants to punish you for making him wait.

“tell me,” he whispers, his fingers tugging at your shirt. “tell me you want me. say it, and i’ll give it to you. all of it.”

you swallow, trying to keep your composure. you’re not going to give him the satisfaction that easily. but beomgyu’s hands are everywhere—on your chest, your waist, pulling you closer until you can feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach. you can’t deny it. you want him. god, you want him so badly. but you won’t admit it that easily.

“fuck you,” you spit out, pushing at his chest, though your body betrays you, grinding against him involuntarily.

beomgyu smirks, completely unphased. his eyes darken, and he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear again. “you will, bitch. you’re going to beg for it.”

suddenly, he spins you back around, shoving you against the desk once more. he’s fast, too fast for you to react, and before you can even think, he’s pulling your skirt up, exposing you. his fingers are already there, teasing, stroking over your sensitive skin with slow precision.

“tell me you want it,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “say it.”

you close your eyes, breathing hard, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as you feel him push against you. his movements are slow, torturous, his teasing driving you crazy.

“please…” you mutter, barely audible, but he hears it. that’s all he needs.

“good girl,” he says, his voice dark with satisfaction. “you don’t get to hold back anymore. not when i’m in control.”

then, he’s inside you. deep. hard. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t give you time to breathe. the desk rattles under the force of his thrusts, your body rocking with each movement. his hands grip your hips, slamming into you with ruthless precision, fucking you like he owns you.

you cry out, your fingers digging into the desk, but he doesn’t care. he just keeps going, taking what he wants. you’re powerless against him, lost in the rhythm of his hips, the relentless pace he’s setting.

“tell me you need me,” he demands, his breath hot against your neck as he fucks you harder. “say it. now.”

“fuck,” you gasp, unable to stop the words that spill from your lips. “i need you, beomgyu. i fucking need you.”

his grin is wicked, satisfied. “good. now you’re mine.”

and he pushes you to the edge, pushing harder, faster, until you come undone. your body shakes with the force of your orgasm, your fingers gripping the desk so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks. and even when you think you can’t take anymore, he doesn’t stop. he keeps going, fucking you through it, until you’re begging for mercy.

your legs are shaking, but he doesn’t stop.

beomgyu grabs your arm, spinning you around again, his lips dragging down your neck, your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. “did you think i was done with you?” he mutters, voice dripping with dark amusement. “we’re just getting started, baby.”

he lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you to the worn leather couch in the corner of the studio. he drops you onto it and spreads your legs without hesitation. you don’t even have time to catch your breath before he drops to his knees and buries his face between your thighs.

“oh fuck—beomgyu—” your voice cracks as his tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your core.

his hands grip your thighs tightly, pinning you open as he devours you like he’s starving. he sucks, licks, flicks his tongue in maddening circles, then flattens it against your clit until your hips buck off the couch.

“taste so fucking good,” he growls, voice muffled against your wetness. “you gonna cum on my mouth, baby?”

you whimper, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “shit, yes—fuck—don’t stop—���

but he does stop. the bastard smirks up at you, lips wet, eyes burning. “nah. not yet. i want you ruined when i’m done.”

before you can curse him out, he’s pulling you up, flipping you over. your knees sink into the couch as he grabs your waist, angling your ass up. you barely manage to breathe before he’s slamming back into you from behind.

“fuck!” you cry out, your voice echoing off the walls. the angle is brutal, perfect. you’re melting, unraveling around him, every thrust punching the air out of your lungs.

“you hear that?” he pants, fucking you hard and fast. “that’s the sound of your pussy getting absolutely wrecked.”

you can barely answer, but your body responds—arching into him, pushing back, greedy for more. he grabs your hair, yanking your head back so he can whisper in your ear.

“you love this, don’t you? getting fucked like a little slut. look at you—can’t even talk, just taking my cock like you were made for it.”

you moan, dizzy from the filth spilling out of his mouth and the relentless way he’s driving into you.

then he flips you again, pulling you on top of him as he falls back onto the couch. “ride me,” he commands, hands gripping your ass. “show me how much you fucking want it.”

you don’t hesitate. you sink down onto him, both of you groaning at the contact. your hands grip his shoulders as you start to move—slow at first, then faster, grinding down as he thrusts up to meet you. the friction, the heat—it’s too much. you're bouncing on him like your life depends on it, tits bouncing, eyes locked on his as you both fall apart.

“fucking ride me, just like that. shit—look at you,” he groans, his head falling back, his fingers bruising your hips. “so fucking tight, fuck—gonna cum if you keep that up.”

you’re right there with him. you’re shaking, sweating, losing control. your climax builds like a tidal wave, and he knows. He feels it.

“you gonna cum, baby? gonna cream all over my cock like a good little slut?”

“fuck yes—yes—beomgyu—!” you scream as your orgasm crashes over you, your whole body convulsing as pleasure rips through you.

he follows right after, grabbing your hips, slamming you down onto him one last time as he spills inside you with a raw, guttural moan. you collapse on top of him, both of you panting, sweaty, ruined.

the studio is silent again, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the lazy hum of the soundboard. you’re both still half-naked on the couch, skin slick with sweat, catching your breath. beomgyu’s chest rises and falls beneath you, his fingers lazily tracing shapes on your bare back.

“you look fucked out,” he murmurs, smirking against your temple.

you hum, eyes closed. “that’s because you fucked me out.”

there’s a beat of silence. and then he chuckles—low, dark, dangerous. “not yet...”

before you can respond, he’s flipping you over again, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, his body hovering over yours.

“beomgyu, what the fuck—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss so filthy, so consuming, it leaves you gasping.

his voice is gravel when he pulls back. “you think i’m done with you? you really think that was enough?” his knee parts your thighs again, sliding between them, pressing right where you're still throbbing. “you’re dripping for me, baby. don’t even try to lie.”

you arch into him involuntarily, and he grins like he owns you. “god, you’re fucking desperate. like a little cum-drunk slut.”

he lets go of your wrists and slides down your body, dragging his tongue along your stomach, your hipbone, your inner thigh—until he's right where you need him again. he spreads you open and stares, admiring the mess he made of you.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls. “so wrecked. so perfect.”

then his mouth is on you again. this time, it’s not teasing. it’s relentless. his tongue fucks into you, circles your clit, sucks until you're writhing, crying out, begging.

“please—please, fuck—”

but he doesn’t stop there.

he stands, wiping his mouth, then grabs you by the waist and drags you to the edge of the couch. “on your knees,” he orders, voice rough. “hands on the floor. ass up.”

you obey without thinking—your body knows what it wants now. you feel his hand grip your ass, spreading you wide, and then the thick head of his cock pressing back inside you.

he grabs your jaw suddenly, fingers sliding between your lips, forcing them open. “open up,” he growls, his voice low and demanding. you moan around his fingers as he shoves them deep into your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue. “suck,” he commands, and you do—eyes fluttering shut, lips wrapped around his fingers like it’s instinct.

“that’s it, baby. just like that,” he murmurs, pulling them out slick and glistening, only to trail them down your body—between your thighs—before lining himself up again. “now i’m gonna fuck you nice and deep, just how you like it. don’t fucking run.”

he bottoms out in one thrust.

you scream.

“yeah, that’s right,” he pants, thrusting deep and hard. “let them fucking hear you. let everyone know how good I fuck this tight little pussy.”

the position hits everything. his hand wraps around your throat from behind, pulling your body up as he fucks you like an animal. it’s filthy, raw, and fucking perfect.

“say it,” he demands. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. “i’m fucking yours, beomgyu.”

he growls, slamming into you harder, faster, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the studio. “damn right you are.”

and then he flips you over one more time—flat on your back this time, legs over his shoulders as he pounds into you, eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch every second of you coming apart again.

“you’re gonna cum for me again, baby,” he says between ragged breaths. “you’re gonna soak my cock, and then i’m gonna fill you up again. you want that?”

“fuck, yes—please—do it—”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm hits like a damn freight train, your whole body seizing up as he keeps thrusting, watching you shatter beneath him.

and when you cum, crying his name, he loses it.

he buries himself deep, groaning as he spills inside you again, hips twitching, body shaking. and then he collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for air, completely, utterly wrecked.

you lie there in silence, your body trembling from overstimulation, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.

“you’re not leaving this studio tonight.”

after a long moment, he strokes your back lazily and mutters, “next time you ignore me, i’ll fuck you right on top of the damn mixing board.”

you laugh breathlessly, still trembling. “i dare you.”

“oh, you will, sweetheart,” he smirks, voice low and dangerous. “you fucking will.”

“we’re not leaving this studio tonight.”

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

can we pleaseeeeeeeeee see more yandere cowboy?? :3

Of course you can Anon xxx

Yandere cowboy x fem reader

Contains- pregnant reader, possessive behaviour, he's an ass hole, childbirth,

True to his word he stayed close by, only leaving on jobs for a week at most. Taking honest work round locally to you, letting the townsfolk put a face to the name you claim as your husband. Wrapping an arm round your shoulders as you get congratulated by those who spot the soft three month old swell.

There was a set in the preacher's jaw when your cowboy decided to join you in church one Sunday, swapping out your warm bed for the pew. You never thought him a god fearing man, truth be told you'd think even the devil could fear him. But he sits cordially beside you until the service ends, before you leave the preacher stops you with a too familiar hand on your shoulder. Congratulating you for the celebratory news. You blush, embarrassed to realise that you must be showing for everyone to see now, unaware of the dirty looks both men offer the other. Both seeing the other for exactly what they are.

Once you're out of earshot he leans in low to your ear. “you must be some kind of fucking slow to not see the way that bastard looks at you. Where would you even be if you didn't have me to mind you?” you stumble forward before he grabs your arm to steady you. “You ain't going here again if he's gonna be starin’ at you like that, like you ain't even my lady, like i aint even standin’ right beside you.” he huffs, helping you onto the cart. But all you can think about is this is the first time he called you his.

“I can't not go, folk will talk and ask questions,” you tentatively say, trying to advocate for yourself without upsetting him more than he already is.

“Then I'll say you're too weak to handle it or something like that. You look like one hard wind will keel you over anyhow.” He grumbles as he hitches the horse on and drives the two of you to the homestead.

“You should hire some girl to come in and help you,” he says one night at dinner, you're practically six months gone now. Unable to do much round the home at all, and it ain't like he's even letting you do what you can manage. You drop your cutlery loudly on to the ground as the words leave his mouth. “ See what I mean, you can barely manage easy shit like this, you need someone to help.” He gets from his seat to grab your dropped fork and knife.

“I don't want anyone here.” you protest quietly as he groans in annoyance, dropping them with a crash on the table.

“Why are you so stubborn? I'm only thinking for your own benefit, you stupid thing.” He looms over you, in the dim light of the late afternoon all you can think about was how he was positioned exactly like this the first time he found you. How he was so fluid and quick to pin you down before you realised what was happening. How practiced was he in that? Were you the only one?

“How can I trust you round some other young girl!” you yell before freezing and throwing your hands over your face, waiting for the impending blow you're sure to receive. He's layed off you mainly since he found out, sticking to manhandling you to your room and fucking the respect back into you, or dealing a few swift smacks to your arms and face. But all you're met with is a flick to the forehead and his howls of laughter.

“Well ain't you a jealous little thing? What a surprise, tell me baby, were you all worked up thinking I'd abandon you for some other filly just cause you've gone like this?” He doesn't wait for a response, continuing to tease you as he laughs, “and if I did want to have some fun. Which I don't want with anyone but you. But if I did, I ain't such a bastard to find another girl in our home. Almost hurt you'd think that way of me, that I'm just a cad out to break hearts. I'd be a gentleman and go down to a whore house for that.” He catches your trembling and confuses your fear for heartbreak. “No no, sweet girl I was only joking there, no need to work yourself up over nothing, ‘sides I can't go in any of them buildings anyway. I owe money to a few folk who hang about waiting there and I ain't payin’ them back when I got better things for my coin to get to. Okay?”

You nod tearfully and relief floods his face, “there we go, good girl. Now fine, we won't hire a girl to come stay and help if that's what you really want, but at the very least we can find a washerwoman for our clothes and another one to come in and tidy about in the morning so you got less to do. I ain't budging on that.”

You catch him one early morning, slipping from your shared bed. “Where are you going?” You grip to your belly as you ask, nine months gone and fit to burst you can barely walk about but you stand in front of the bedroom door refusing to let him leave.

“Just for a bit Darlin’ please, go back to bed I'll be back before dinner tonight I promise.” He rubs a hand through his tousled hair as he tries to sweet talk you into moving past the door.

“No. You're not going tonight you swore you'd stay with me” you feel crazy the way you're standing up against him, begging for him to stay. But it's late and dark outside. With you any day from popping now you're too terrified to risk it while being caught alone

“And I meant it, why you acting like I'm abandoning you? I'm only going a few hours to take a quick job someone offered up. If I don't take it someone else will. Now let me go.” He grabs you by the arm ready to move you by force if he has to. You dig your feet into the ground to hold yourself down but it does very little when he pulls you along anyhow. “I'm doing this for our sakes woman, stop being so damn stubborn and move.” you stumble from how much effort he puts into pulling you out the way, falling back and hitting your head against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

“Shit baby” he stammers out trying to help you up. “I didn't mean to, you know this was an accident please?” he trails off as you both watch a puddle form underneath you. Your waters break slowly it feels like, as your skirt stains and the puddle stops. He grabs you up from the ground, apologies and jobs forgotten as he gets you into a fresh nightgown and in bed.

“Please don't go,” you cry out frantically as he ties his boots. “I don't know what I'm meant to do please, ” you try to climb out of bed but he shoots you a look so furious you freeze.

“I'm gonna get the midwife, and you ain't moving one fucking inch from that bed or I swear I'm trying you down.” His anger dampens as he gets up “I'll be quick I … just hold on until I'm back.” He leaves you with one final look before slamming the door. It would take him an hour at least to get to and back from town. What are you meant to do? You wish you paid attention to every unasked for piece of advice every other woman offered you, all you can remember is that it's gonna take hours and it's gonna hurt much worse getting out than it

did getting in.

You try to remember your Ma, a blurry face and soft hands. A memory of worried skirts shoeing you from her bedside, you were too young to be told anything then but you wish they did, so you'd know what to expect other than those overheard whispers and burnt bedsheets because no one could stomach washing them after that night.

How long has it been since he left your side until there's frantic footsteps to your door, relief painting your face that you stayed exactly where he left you. “Why are you crying? What's wrong? What happened?” He runs to your side grabbing you and looking over you frantically as the midwife follows behind him. Grumbling for him to leave the women to their work.

He stays outside the room until you begin hollering and howling from the pain. Barging in to stay beside you without any care for the midwife's annoyance. It hurts like nothing you ever felt before, tearing you into pieces and all you can think about if this is how your Ma felt before she stopped fighting.

“I'm scared,” you admit, crushing his hand in yours. “My Ma died when I was small in childbed. What if I go the same way-” he cuts you off before the sentence leaves your mouth.

“Don't you be sayin’ stupid shit like this now,” his voice is low and if you didn't see his face as he spoke you'd think he'd be threatening you instead of fearful for you. “You ain't leavin’ me without you.” he smells like the whisky he kept stashed underneath the stairs.

It's near daybreak when a sharp cry is heard on its own. This small wrinkled pink creature that you birthed almost makes the pain unforgettable. Wisps of light blonde hair across his bald head, they'll become like his fathers in time. You look to him as you feed his son.

“What do you want to call him?” Your own voice soft from screaming the entire night He pauses, unsure of himself for the first time you've ever known him.

“Well, I ain't got no one I'd want to name him after. You should pick.” He mumbles. Just staring down at his son. Suddenly you're aware of how much blood has stained his hands, not least of all yours. But you don't stop yourself from speaking.

“He's yours too, you get a say as much as I do. You don't got to name him after anyone.” you let him take the baby from your arms, rocking him delicately in his own strong one's.

“Poor little bastard to have me for a Pa, I never knew mine but I promise you, you're gonna know me.” Your cowboy looks up at you hesitantly “call him after your Pa or something. Don't want any of my bad blood to rub off on him.”

“We could call him after you?” He freezes as you speak, as though he never thought to consider that.

“My Ma used to call me Teddy when I was young. No one's called me that since I was bout knee high. Would you like that?”

You nod.

[wonjns]

a dip — l.cy

⌗ pairing. . . anton lee x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut

⌗ summary. . . you went with your fuck buddy to the pool… that was your first mistake.

⌗ includes. . . sub!reader, fwb!swimmer!anton, semi-public sex (pls don't esp not this one), unprotected sex (also don't),

⌗ wc. 2.5k

°A/N. . . sorta requested but also not really,, also not proofread nor very pretty or as descriptive as i like to be im so sorry this is just what you get when im horny bc these pictures ruined my life

you knew much better than to agree to joining anton lee at the pool of all places.

being a lifetime friend (occasionally with benefits) of his, you knew the swimmer could spend hours upon hours at the pool and not feel an ounce of exhaustion. he'd often convince you to stay long after you finished swimming yourself, just to wait for him to complete his cool down routine before driving you home.

the worst thing of all, though, was that you were constantly reminded just how much he had hidden underneath those oversized sweaters and jeans that he always wore. behind that whole shy boy aesthetic he had going on, was the physique of what you could only compare to a greek god, and even he knew it.

you never got used to it - seeing anton's chiseled body exposed in the aquatic habitat that felt like a second home to him. no matter how sweet his smile or how loud his laugh, nothing could distract you from drooling over a body like that cutting through the water with such ease. it was even worse because the sweet boy knew exactly what he did to you.

he tried to cut you some slack, though, respecting your effort to seem unbothered every time he'd peel his layers of clothing off before jumping into the pool, wearing nothing but his tight blue swim trunks that suffocated his muscular thighs.

one time he even pretended not to notice how you were so worked up that you had to go not-so-subtly get yourself off in the community bathroom.

in your defense, it was a heated indoor pool, and at the time he had completely annihilated you in a race. that proud smirk paired with the steam rising from his rippling back muscles had you biting back moans from the sight alone.

so naturally, it was to no one's surprise once things turned physical between you both.

the adrenaline that swimming gave anton put him on cloud nine, and being the stubborn ass that you were, you were determined to somehow beat this pro swimmer in a race - only for it to end with you losing miserably and somehow hornier than when you started. things would always end one way or another, a taunting comment directed at you leading to his bare back pressed against the cool tile walls of the changing room while you yanked his shorts low enough to take his throbbing cock into your mouth.

but today you were going to be good.

you hadn't hooked up with anton for a while, and were truly only tagging along because he needed a friend to time his laps for the upcoming season.

however, it'd be a lie to say you didn't have to give yourself a prep talk as you set your things down on the pool chairs, noticing nobody was there tonight. it was business as usual, though. anton always convinced the coach to let him have later access while the rest of the team went home so he could focus. you just found it harder to control yourself around him when left alone like this, but tonight you had a new type of dedication to simply swim, help your friend, and go home.

besides, why would it be so difficult for you to keep it in your pants for just one night?

‘oh, thats why.’ you groaned internally as you watched anton strip his shirt from over his head.

fuck, had he been bulking up?

you pretend not to notice how his biceps flex as he runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair while you stripped down to your swim trunks as well. god, his skin was practically glowing even from the dingy indoor lighting.

your head whipped around back towards his direction when you heard a low hiss, watching his face scrunch slightly as he stepped down the pool's ladder. your dick twitched a bit at the sight of his furrowing brows and low groan as he sunk deeper into the water, but you mentally slapped yourself back to reality.

"what's with you?" you questioned approaching the steps, getting ready to enter as well.

"i forgot to remind coach to turn the heaters on tonight," he responded. "shit, its freezing."

you thought he was being dramatic, but the chilly water indeed bit back when you lowered your ankles in. you decided against submerging for now, simply swirling your legs in circles while you spun anton's stopwatch in your hand.

anton began a quick warm up, stretching and dunking himself under water several times and adjusting quickly to the temperature. his wet hair splaying out around his face made him even more gorgeous than he already was, and you felt your cheeks gain a sickening warmth.

"alright bro, let's get started." you cleared your throat, speaking up to hurry the process along before your resolve crumbled.

"sure, bro." he mocked before sending a wink your way. shit, he was already on to you.

anton held eye contact with you as he hoisted himself out of the water to walk over to the swim lanes, causing your breath to silently falter. your instincts made you the first to break contact though, as your eyes followed the droplets that slid down his broad chest. they each trailed down past his perked nipples, over his abs that you could never steal long enough glances at, and eventually disappear into his waistband before leading to — that.

to say the least, anton was generously endowed when it came to the size in the south. the ‘quiet man with a fat cock’ stereotype was only proven true with him, if the way you struggled to fit all of him in your mouth was anything to go by.

anytime anton wore those small trunks or, god forbid, the uniform speedo during his meets - it was impossible to tear your eyes away from how the soaking cloth material clung around his massive length when he emerged from the water.

and boy was he massive. that was a fact you could never forget but somehow still surprised you each time to this day.

you were such a pervert. and he loved it so much.

only 30 minutes into his laps you found yourself desperately missing the shy boy act that he would put on for every body else. once he was in athlete mode, the confidence in his demeanor made your self control fly out the window. it didn't make sense how someone as massive as him could practically fly through the water, flexing every inch of his muscle like it was nothing.

it forced you to reminisce on how he was in bed, constantly taking you with his immense stamina. he could toss and turn you in any way at any given pace, making you see stars like it was nothing — even when you were the one to start things, he made sure to finish them. you remembered the way his biceps would tighten and ripple in your grasp, holding on for dear life as you begged for him to thrust into you harder or squeeze you tighter. you missed the sore feeling those big hands of his would leave on your hips and thighs.

get it together, y/n.

if you had a dollar for every time you had to yank yourself out of the gutter in just the span of one hour, you'd be rich enough to drop out of school entirely.

you had allowed yourself to sit calf-deep in the water at the end of the racing lane, but it wasn't until he reached you after knocking out 3 laps in a row that you regretted your decision. he emerged from the water with a big splash, throwing his head back and letting out the most erotic sigh you could imagine as he finally let air reach his lungs.

a lump formed in your throat, watching anton's buff chest rise and fall in tune with his breaths while both long arms gripped the edge of the pool on either side of your legs.

"what was my time for those?" the swimmer finally asked you once he had stabilized his breathing.

"oh! right, uhm...." you snap out of your trance, gut dropping when you looked down to the stop watching still ticking in your hand.

"you forgot to stop it, didn't you?" anton asked, a tone of more amusement rather than annoyance seeping through his smirk. "don't tell me you got distracted?"

"fuck, i'm sorry." you groaned, annoyed with your own sexual frustration overtaking your ability to play it cool.

"it's fine." anton shrugged, pulling his body out of the water and plopping on to the ledge next you, making you flinch as copious amounts of water splashed around the concrete. "just let me fuck you."

your eyes widened, damn near choking on the breath you gasped in. when you looked up to see his mischievous eyes, you swore you felt him leaning closer.

"what the fuck, ton?" you exhaled, slightly punching his arm, savoring the split second of contact you made with his warm skin.

"god, its been like a month, y/n. i can't focus on conditioning and you can't even click a button for me, clearly." anton chuckled. "lets just do it so i can have a good season. you know you’re my charm.” he teased, gently nudging you back with his elbow.

you couldn't believe the causality he was saying all of this with. but he did always call you his good luck charm, somehow managing to break his own personal record anytime you'd let him hit the night before or suck you off right before a meet, swallowing your cum like it was his own lewd type of protein shake.

it would also be a lie to an insane degree to say you didn't miss the way his soft skin felt gliding along yours whenever he would grind into you, his huge hands giving you a sense of stability in the way he would hold you down.

anton could tell from the way you were shamelessly biting your lip that you were thinking about it. he took the initiative to push your shoulders down until your back was flat against the concrete.

he had barely let you utter out a desperate "okay" before he was rolling over on top of you, not hesitating for a second to drop his hips directly over yours so you could feel how hard his thick bulge had already gotten. you moaned aloud, hips immediately bucking up to meet his as he lowered his head to your neck, feathering wet kisses along your column.

the water dripping from his body was cold, but the warmth of his torso easily overcame it all when you needily reached out to pull the entirety of his weight onto you. you didn't realize how much you missed the rippling of his shoulder blades beneath your palms until you felt his body rolling in perfect tune with yours. you ran your shaky hands all over his chiseled back as you felt his hardened nipples brush against yours, and while you hopelessly wanted more you also didn't want this feeling to end.

you felt a little pitiful, just sitting there allowing yourself to moan in pure bliss as your wet bodies press into each other, gripping anton's wide shoulders as his kisses picked up in heat. he was sucking hickeys into the sweet spot of your neck while his swim trunks tightened more and more as he humped against you, making you dizzier by the second.

"you sound so fucking hot whimpering for me like that." he moaned, licking a long trail up your neck to your jaw.

you didn't have any time to respond before he was pulling you into a searing kiss, his plump lips sloppily devouring yours while groaning into your mouth. you remembered how much you loved the way he tasted, and silently cursed at yourself for going this long without him.

when your lungs began needing air, you broke apart to moan out his name, just for him to grab your jaw and bring you back in for an even more overwhelming kiss. he was taking over every sense you had, filling your entire consciousness with nothing but thoughts of him. your hips bucked up incessantly, your body begging for him since your mouth couldn’t.

the hard concrete beneath you was starting to cause your limbs to ache as anton's mass pressed deeper into you, and he seemed to have read your mind, because before you knew it he was lifting himself up and dragging you into the water.

your mind was much too hazy to even register the vast difference in temperature, especially when you were clinging to anton like you needed him to breathe. it was as if something had taken over you and put you in the passenger seat of your own movements - all you could feel yourself doing was mumbling endless pleas for him to fuck you before pulling him in to reconnect your lips.

you could feel anton's shit eating grin against your lips as he backed you up against the ledge, slightly lifting his leg against the pool wall in order to guide you grinding your clothed cock against his thigh. he took advantage of your loud moan to suck on your tongue, loving the way your fingers curled into his wet hair.

there was only so much you could handle before you were reaching below the water to pull your own swim trunks off, deciding that if anton didn't fuck you right then you might actually explode. anton helped you discard the shorts and send them flying somewhere atop of the water. the second you were free, you felt your cock on his abs, causing your hips to take action and grind against the muscle before you could even think about what you were doing.

some combined variant of a choked laugh and moan left anton’s throat as he watched you throw your head back, obsessed with the way you were using his body to chase the pleasure you craved. he decided that he had his fun, slipping free from his trunks as well and lining himself up against you.

"deep breaths, baby." anton whispered, trying to sound confident but the words coming out as a tremble. you would normally laugh at how it almost sounded like he were advising himself, but you were too far gone.

when he finally bottomed out in you, his size and the pressure of the water had your mind in a different realm. you clung to anton's round shoulders as he held you securely, giving you time to adjust after not having him in you for a month.

"this little ass still so tight and ready for me, i knew you missed me." he sighed out, giving you small experimenting rolls of his hips.

when you gripped him tighter and started fucking yourself on his cock, he knew he was in the clear to send you to oblivion, and thats exactly what he did.

between the desperation in anton’s thrusting and the feeling of your member rubbing along his built torso, it didn't take much for either of you to approach your highs rapidly. you were soon announcing them to each other while you clung your slippery bodies tight together, the once still water around you turning into nothing less of a tsunami.

"'m cumming, ton." you cried out, just for him to groan deeply in agreement.

he held the back of your neck, pushing your head down to make eye contact with him as you both reached your climaxes at the same time, an oddly intimate feeling settling over you in the moment and making your skin buzz.

panting against each other's faces, anton leaned in to claim your lips once more before you were both giggling like a couple of fools, padding your hands around the water as you brought yourselves down to earth.

it took a couple of moments for you to gasp horrendously at the realization of what you both just did, looking to anton with so much terror etched in your eyebrows that he couldn't help but laugh.

"did we just- the school's pool- we-" you sputtered aimlessly, only stopping once anton's hand emerged from the water to cover your mouth.

"don't worry about it, coach will handle it. he won't mind, because after that i'm about to bring this school three new medals."

© 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐧𝐬 — all rights reserved

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde(here!), Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): The relationship is kinda toxic because it's Idia and I have to be realistic - but it gets better as you read. Just know that there are themes of miscommunication, self-sabotage, self-neglect, and insecurity in both Idia and the MC. I gave him some character growth at least and some maturation to the character. Note: All Ignihyde has is Idia so I gave his piece some extra love(super long. Like, this isn't even considered a headcannon set anymore. I really went overboard, I'm so sorry). Not proofread for grammar since I'm a bit lazy right now. Also, I haven't finished his chapter in game because I'm too weak (seriously wtf is up with these fights). I know the plot mostly but forgive me if there's an inaccuracy in a reference

Idia had it made during his youth - and deep down he knows it despite all his complaining. He knows that he won the introvert lottery. For three years he was able to live in a reclusive dorm room with no expectations beyond showing up to class (via a tablet of all things) and doing his work. Sure, he had to return home at some point and deal with that hot mess...but it was a displaced problem. One to be dealt with whenever. As a full-time 'student' he had junk food readily available, his brother down the hall, all the games and tech he needed, and somehow managed to land himself a loving partner despite his quirks.

The Ramshackle prefect - someone he initially wanted nothing to do with. Chaos seemed to follow their every move and Idia wanted no part of it. He never expected to come within a twenty-foot radius of them without force.

For the record, force indeed was used. Unfortunately they had a nasty habit of being nosy. Very 'main character complex' of them, if you ask him.

Yet it worked in his favor. Their stubbornness and intrusive ways wormed a place in his stone-cold heart. It fueled his ego much to everyone's chagrin. Out of everyone - princes, busy bodies, future doctors and the literal fish mafia - you picked him. The noob cursed to lose all his 50/50s and rot in bluelight. Idia seriously questions your tastes, but hey! He beat the normies and that's all he cares about.

Well, at least that's how he phrases it. Underneath that god-tier ego is an inferiority complex that he tries to keep down for your benefit. Something about your mood dipping by 20% when he talks trash? He'd need Ortho to run another test on that. Just to be safe.

Unfortunately, he still can't reign it in all the way. Victories can be temporary and who's he to say that your relationship isn't a one-shot story? Nothing worthwhile is ever that simple. Good games always get sequels...so the question lingers, will he still be a main character in yours?

When Idia graduates, he fully expects for you to walk out of his life. He returns to S.T.Y.X and leaves NRC to fulfill his role back home. You have no reason to care about him when he's no longer nearby. Life isn't like an isekai manga. You won't wait for him - no, you'll get a taste for how life is without him and indulge. Slowly you'll stop texting him, calling him, playing games with him - well, he'll do it first! He refuses to be the second male lead that gets dumped when you finally find your prince. That's for chumps.

He'd rather you just up and leave this world! At least then he wouldn't be in this pitiful situation...but he's seen that crow's shitty work ethic. You're stuck.

Idia's scared to say the least. One could say that his self sabotage was in action before your relationship even began. Old habits die hard, and no one could stop his spiral. Not even Ortho. Idia left his little brother behind as well. The boy sent him off with a smile, promising to take good care of you in his big brother's stead. After all, you both were in the same year.

It's not surprising that he reverts to his old ways. A hard battle is even more difficult to win when you don't have the motivation to fight it in the first place. Idia loses his drive...and in turn his already negative outlook grows worse.

Needless to say, Idia ... neglects you.

Your relationship has always been more of an 80:20 than a 50:50 - with him taking more than he ever gave. You always set aside time and made sure he was comfortable. You respected his anxieties and dealt with his temper on more than one occasion. His jealousy. You indulged his hobbies, always tried to include him in on activities with your friends (even though he rarely ever accepted), wore your heart on your sleeve and always took the lead. You were always too good to be true.

Two years. Two years with him at S.T.Y.X and you at NRC. Not a day passed where you did not text him or call. Not a week passed where you did not video-chat or play a game with him. You made time. You checked in. Told him stories about your life an friends. Ortho often would send him recordings and clips as well. During vacations you'd make plans to see him and always invited him to come to campus for events. Even though he never accepted, you still always offered. Throughout it all he kept you at a distance, yet unable to fully let you go at the same time. He needed you to do it. He needed his inner thoughts to shut up and to have someone else to blame.

You. You. You. When would you stop? Why weren't you tired of him yet? On a good day he can be frustrating, so how were you not mad when he was physically trying to make you hate him? Were you waiting until graduation to drop the bomb on him that you'd leave for good? On another's arm or back to your world?

Imagine his surprise when neither happened. On the dawn after Ortho's graduation ceremony, Idia came out of his cave to greet him at the S.T.Y.X entrance. He would no longer be as lonely, and perhaps without Ortho around, you'd finally put distance between yourself and the Shroud family. All would be as it should.

He did not expect to see you at the gate as well. Ortho flew up to him with a bright grin and twirl in the air - babbling on and on about how he arranged for you to come work as a research assistant in the lab. After all, you had an extensive knowledge of blot as well as field experience. It was a win-win situation for the company and your relationship! You could now be a happy family! Isn't that just amazing?

"It was extremally difficult to keep this a surprise!...Brother?" Ortho halts mid-rant, his receptors going haywire, "Brother, your heartrate has increased and your temperature is dropping below stable levels. You must regulate your breathing pattern!"

White noise rang like television static in Idia's eardrum. He watched you thank one of the guards while handing off your suitcase. His pulse increased and mind went under water. How long had it been since you were together longterm? You looked different. More mature. Meanwhile he was still the same - physically and emotionally. Still the pasty shut-in with dark eyebags and energy drinks running through his veins instead of blood. He wasn't used to seeing you in person. How should he react? Should he hug you? Do you want him to? That's weird. He hasn't held you in a while - yeah, it would be creepy. Does he even deserve to? What made you want to work here anyways?! You could have gone anywhere. ANYWHERE. - Shit. You're looking this way. What should he do?! aHH! You're walking over!

He does what he knows best. Shuts down. You receive a disgraceful greeting. No affection. Not even a smile.

Idia's brow furrows at your approach and he buries his hands deep into the pockets of his lab-coat. When you lean in to kiss his cheek, he catches you by the forearms and holds you in place. "Since when were you going to work here? You do remember what S.T.Y.X is in charge of, right? Once you're in, there's no going back. Are you a masochist or something?" Ah. There goes the heartfelt reunion. Being home did bring out a more harsh and cut-throat side of him after all.

Despite his poor treatment, you don't react upset. Now the relationship has now become something of a 90 : 10. He knows you have no reason to come here other than for Ortho and himself. You really are an Otome protagonist, jeez. Willing to do all that for him? Giving up your future and friends just to be at his side...dammit. Don't give him hopes! Don't undo all the work he's put in to survive without you! Stop welcoming misfortune for his sake! You're stupid. Stupidstupidstupid .... man he loves that stupidity. Gods he missed it.

Shit. Not even an hour in and he's reverting.

You don't realize it but you're heading straight for a bad ending. He does though. He's read the guides and played more visual novels than he can count. As a pro, he needs to steer you off this villainy ending and towards the true route.

After all ... what was that one saying? Heroes will sacrifice you for the world, while Villans will sacrifice the world for you? He heard it from some normie bookworm...but it seems fitting right now.

Idia's no hero. He'll destroy his world if it means you get to be happy. Not that he had much of one to begin with. You...gave him a life beyond fiction while all he's offered is a curse. Literally and figuratively. Its time he returned what he so greedily stole. He'll make you move on through force.

The months are slow and difficult. Despite being nearby, Idia only ever seeks you out for work-related reasons. Even then he is very cold and dismissive . He also does not turn you away when you take the initiative. Just like old times, you linger around his room and prod him for attention. He wants you to leave, but also doesn't want to be cruel. So, he maintains this impassive position and lets you do whatever you please. Yet the situation is scarily similar to how you both were at NRC. Except instead of using his past as an excuse, he now uses your work dynamic to enable his noncommittal ways.

There really is only so much one person can take. After Idia left NRC, you pinned his switch in behavior on the lifestyle change and distance separating you both. You knew Idia would be someone you had to work hard for when you started to date, and so the situation was one you viewed as an obstacle to overcome. The solution was simple - you would go to S.T.Y.X and prove to him that you were willing to make it work. Without the physical distance, you hoped that he would let you in again. That you wouldn't have to hear reassurances from his brother anymore, and instead hear his feelings from his own mouth instead. Then you both could work out the details together in time. Seeing him reject you at first was discouraging, but you did not let it rest there. Perhaps he needed time and to get used to your presence in his home. After all, these were new waters. You would be patient. You would prove yourself capable.

Life becomes a time capsule. As the days went by, a bitter feeling grew in your stomach. Why wouldn't he laugh? Why wouldn't he look in your eyes anymore? Why is he retreating even further? What were you doing wrong? How could you fix it? Is it you? Your performance in the lab is outstanding according to your supervisors, and your work friends seem to find you agreeable enough. Can't he see that you've adjusted well and are happy here? There's nothing to worry about. How else can you prove yourself?

These thoughts plague your mind to an extend that Ortho felt the need to preform psychiatric evaluation. You dismissed his concerns with a long list of things about your new home that make you happy - including him. It pacifies his panic and somehow mitigates your own as well.

Until one fateful day, when you decided to take your lunch early and overheard a conversation between two senior S.T.Y.X employees

"Isn't the boss' partner kind of pitiful?" One technician spoke in a hush whisper, taking a bite from her salad, "He doesn't give them the time of day. I can't believe they've stuck around this long. Screw the job, I would have been out after the first week," "Shhh! Quit gossiping, it's bad. Especially about the one who pays our bills," The other scolds. "I know....but isn't it just sad. They're clearly being taken advantage of. I can't help but feel sorry" "It's not just you...to tell the truth, I had no clue Director Idia had a partner up until recently. If anything, I thought he disliked Assistant MC and kept them around for Director Ortho's sake. Imagine my shock..." They both snicker at the notion. "Yeah. I give them a few more months...maybe a year. Despite being smart in the lab, they clearly can't read the room:

It was the last straw. Like ice water being dunked over your head after a hot shower. The lunch pale in your grasp suddenly felt like it weighed ten times heavier, and a cold sweat dripped down your back. They were right. He didn't want you here. It was time to move on or else you'll just be living out an endless loop. Nothing has changed since your youth aside from the location. No matter how long you wait, no matter how much effort and time you offer ... the relationship is doomed to fail. You gave him everything...and it was time to stop waiting. To stop expecting and hoping. Time to accept reality.

Your lunch goes discarded in a nearby bin and your shift abandoned. You would not work another second for S.T.Y.X despite the facility not being the source of your anguish. Your shoes clack loudly against the tile flooring as you speed-walk to Idia's office, where he was lazily reviewing data on a recent experiment. His phone set off to the side with some automated gatcha daily playing.

You use your 'special' pass (curtesy of ortho) to get in. The metal door swings out as you march inside and turn off his screen without asking.

"H-h'-hey! What are you-" He shrieks and turns in his chair. "We need to talk" "Can't it wait until later? I'm busy working, if you can't tell" "No" Your tone is demanding. Definite. You all but yank the badge from around your neck and drop it in his lap. In that motion, he knew. Your eyes scrunch tight and teeth grind together. He was prepared for this. For you to lash out and yell at him for your suffering. Make him the bad guy in your story and finally beat the game for good. Not for you to deflate. Not for the glassy, disappointed stain on your eyes. Or the shallow breaths as you calm yourself - not letting your emotions frighten him like a spooked cat. "I'm quitting," "S.T.Y.X? You know you can't just quit. There's a process," He refutes, lazily pushing his chair back with an anxious fidget. "Not just S.T.Y.X...I'm quitting us. I can't do this anymore," "Oh. Alright. Let me get the paperwork," "Alright?" You whisper, gaping at him "...just alright? That's all you have to say to me? Not even 'why' ?" He pauses typing on a holographic keyboard, cocking an eyebrow at the question. "What? You want me to beg you to stay or something like that? We're not in an anime," His words die out at the end, and had it not been for your disbelief you would have caught the note of sadness in them, "you want to go? Then go. I warned you about this place" "No...you warned me about the facility. It's not the facility I have a problem with. I actually like it here" "So it's me then, huh? I warned you about that too," He grumbles and continues to type, "I'm not whatever it is that you saw in me. It's your fault for sticking it out this long. I knew this was how it would end from the start" A silence follows aside from the occasional noise from his computer. That's it. The nail in the coffin. You finally realized the truth. He was no good for you. He couldn't be 'fixed'. With an approving chime, he finally has all the departure paperwork pulled up for you to sign. "Alright. Sign these and I'll get you an escort," He holds out a tablet in pen without looking from his computer. You don't take it. "Hello? I said - " he turns to face you, irritated "....here" Silent tears stream down your cheeks and pool at the tip of your chin, dripping to the tile below. Wide eyes lock in his general direction. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, as if your mind was thousands of miles away. His heart breaks. "You never even gave us a chance, did you?" He says nothing. "It wasn't about 'making it work' for you. It was always a matter of 'how long'. You've been waiting for me to leave you, all this time?" It wasn't a question. "All this time, I've been trying to prove myself. I've been thinking that I did something wrong...that I needed to be better" the word stings your tongue and seems to strike him, " but I was never even close to enough" we were never enough

With languid movements, you take the pen from him and sign the papers. You would not hide your sadness. Your grief. Your pain for a relationship that was never actually one. For a battle that only had one party fighting.

He lets you go, the metal door swinging shut and rattling him to his core. Idia's hands shake as he tries to return to his work. They tremble over the holographic keyboard, making his blue nails look like moving neon streaks in the air.

He had always thought you ere just being kind. That your self-sacrificing nature was natural, and that someone else was more deserving of it. He failed to consider the possibility that all the things you did...you did for him alone. You did out of the same anxieties and fears he felt.

In a way, you both were at fault. He led himself down a self-fulfilling prophecy - letting his anxieties and what-ifs become reality. And you? You thought everything could be fixed with time. With sacrifice. That eventually he would grow. You both were plants, one overwatered and the other left parched in the sun.

He did get one thing right. This was defiantly a bad end. Just not in the way he originally believed...

Somehow, life becomes worse than before you arrived at S.T.Y.X. At least when you were around, people did see him more out of his office or room. Seeing him revert to his previous ways without so much as an inkling of sadness for losing you....yeah, it did not look good. Worse than people not even knowing you were his partner at first. After your departure, rumors began to spread that you had finally snapped. The pity felt for you morphed into judgement towards his character. Others saw him as a heartless recluse, and the pity was extended to Ortho of all things. If Idia could toss out a loyal partner of years, what about the little robot? Perhaps despite all the gossip, the others at S.T.Y.X did not fully believe that he would let you leave so easily. That he wasn't as detached as the Shroud name dictates.

Little do they know that he's become a shadow of his former self. He can't even act self-depreciative. Pleasantries don't hit like they used to. Having you at a distance...well, was still considered as being with you. Now that you're never coming back, it's harder. Everything reminds him of you. Your favorite snacks are still stocked in the cafeteria, and there are blankets in his room that still have your scent. Occasionally a file will pop up with your work in it while he's doing reviews...and then there's Ortho. When you left, he was crushed. He pestered Idia for days - the security cameras giving him full knowledge of what happened. Yet no matter what the robot said about the situation, Idia didn't want to hear it. Eventually he took away Ortho's access data to his personal spaces.

That didn't stop the bot from talking through the door and spamming his brother's inboxes. Despite cutting off contact with his big brother, you still spoke to Ortho regularly. He refused to let his big brother lose all connection to you, and updated him on your well-being. Regardless of what Idia said, hearing about you made a difference. At first it increases his anxiety and drops his mood...but every time, like a scheduled delay, his serotonin levels will spike. Be it from a clip of your voice, a picture, or even just the mention of your name.

"Brother! I just finished a call with MC. Today they decided to adopt a cat! Would you like to see a picture?" His computer beeps with an incoming missive. Idia clicks it, and the screen displays a photo of you with a small white kitten in your arms. "They've decided to name it Grimm Jr. From what I heard, the predecessor was not pleased to be 'replaced,' as he calls it" Ortho laughs from the other side of the door, but Idia is too focused on the image on his screen. The curve in your smile and the way you gently cradle the kitten. You seem...happy. Much better than how he is doing. He fails to hear the door beep, granting access, neither the bot fly up next to him to look at the picture. "Big brother, why don't you apologize to MC? They would listen," Idia startles, clutching his chest as his hair flairs cherry red for a brief moment. He swivels in his chair and closes the image quickly. "I'm not apologizing for nothing. It's not like I miss them or anything. My life's great without having a normie relationship to manage" "Your body language suggests that you are lying" Ortho states, his eyes squinting cheekily. Idia hunches over, glaring at his keyboard and fiddling with his sleeves, "It's not like they'd want to see me anyways. I blew it. Only an idiot would forgive what I did," "That's not true! MC loves you!" Idia glares at him from the corner of his eye, "Yeah? They look pretty happy without me. They were miserable here" "Because you purposefully made them miserable! You are very smart brother, but even I understand emotions better than you and I am an artificial lifeform!" "Then what should I do, Ortho? Go beg them to take me back like some cringe sitcom?!" "Yes!" Idia blanches at the thought, but doesn't entirely dismiss it. Ortho glares holes into his head, causing Idia to shrink into his chair. "You are always afraid, brother. You lost them to your fears once...do you want to regret that? Are you really satisfied with pictures and stories? Why deny yourself wonderful things! We are not trapped anymore!"

Ortho leaves him with one piece of information - an apartment address. He sends it to all of Idia's emails and even somehow makes it the background of his tablet. He can't change it or take it off.

He stares at it long and hard. Searches the place up and even uses virtual reality to scope out the building. While perhaps a bit creepy...he hacks the security cameras and watches feed of you coming and going over the past moths. Some days you look perfectly well, and others you look worse for wear. If he went...would you even want to see him? Would you let him in? Kick him out? Is he willing to even try? What if you already moved on...no, Ortho wouldn't set him up for that if he knew you were happy with someone else.

Idia leaves S.T.Y.X for the first time in months. His request for leave shocks other employees. Yet he's gone the moment it's approved, afraid that he'll lose his edge if he thinks too long on it.

He finds himself at the door of a middle-class apartment in the Kingdom of Roses. Second floor, third door to the left, just like he memorized. He knows its yours from the ribbons tied on the doorknob, themed after one of your favorite animes. One he introduced to you...

In his hands is a small box of candies - a peace offering, just in case you want to kill him on sight.

His boney knuckles wrap around the doorknocker and thwack it three times. Sweat pools in his palms and he jolts away. The seconds like hours as his painted nails dig crescents into his palms. The door opens. "Hi, how can I -" You pause mid-sentence, your mouth going dry. Grimm Jr. snuggled in one of your arms while the other holds the door open, "I-idia?" "T-that's my name," He grimaces, looking anywhere but at you. "What are you doing here?" His tongue feels heavy and the tips of his hair fade to a pale orange. He studders and fumbles with the box of candies, holding them out to you with a grimace. "I wanted to see you...urk. I hope that's not weird! Can ... I come in?" You eye the box in thought, before reaching out to take it and opening the door further. It was a start.

You hear him out - through the stuttering and the self-depreciative comments that he hastily retracts. This isn't just about him. It's about you and everything else in-between. Shockingly enough, you agree to give him a second chance. It wasn't entirely his fault after all ... and you did still love him. Although now there are ground rules. You would not be returning to S.T.Y.X. You've finally created a stable home for yourself and have a life in this new city. You have a career, friends, and a life that doesn't include him. You need the individuality. You would no longer try to morph yourself for him or be placid. If he wanted to spend time with you, he would have to leave S.T.Y.X and come stay at your apartment. You would no longer be the one always reaching out, he would have to start showing initiative and making time for you. You would see how things progress from that point. He was not a child, and you would not beg for basic needs to be met anymore. Words would not be enough, you need actions. It was time for 50 : 50.

Weirdly enough, he agrees to all your rules without a single complaint. Not a normie comment or slang filled statement leaves his lips. He's still that nerdy dork you fell in love with at heart, but these 'normie' things? Well, Idia's accepted that he wants those things. As much as it is difficult for him to admit, they only grossed him out so much before because he always believed they were unattainable

He's true to his word. He calls you every day, first thing when he wakes up (in the late afternoon. He still is a hermit at heart). At first it made him anxious, and he'd hover over the contact for fifteen minutes before dialing. Yet it soon became easy, with his heart only beating fast from happiness. He takes the weekends off and comes to spend them at your apartments. Sometimes he brings Ortho and it becomes a sleepover with games - and at some point you start inviting your other heartslabyul friends from back in the day too. Eventually you do come around the compound again. It's awkward to say the least, considering how you left. Yet at the same time, it's a breath of fresh air. The others are shocked to see him out of his office, and he eats IN THE CAFETERIA. Woah. He calls you by your name and not 'assistant' when in public. Homie scares some people. That's what he does. He gives you a special watch for your anniversary. It's paired with on he has and solar powered, so you can contact him at any time. As a natural born worry-wart, he can't help but worry for your safety. Since watching the appartment CCTV is 'creepy,' he just asks that you wear the watch if you're going out anywhere. It won't die and with the click of a button he'll be alerted. In exchange, you can use it to contact him whenever you want. He'll always get back instantly since it might be an emergency. The watch is also directly linked to Ortho's system, so you can contact him as well. Who needs Cortana when you have Ortho?

For the first time, Idia feels secure in a relationship. He can't count Ortho since the boy is technically his creation. Ortho would always be there...and now? Idia's confident you will too.

Does that mean you should get married? Isn't that the next step in all this?

Well....shit (pleasant connotation)

He never would have tinkered with this idea before considering his 'family'. Who the hell in their right mind would marry a Shroud? A fool. Are you a fool? Maybe.

It's late evening on a Sunday night when you're both walking home together after hitting up a local diner for hearty eats. Wow. Look at him. On a date. So weird...pshh.

Idia walks at your side, forcing his pace to match yours. Not everyone is graced with his long stickman legs. His hands are buried deep in his hoodie and his posture is slightly slouched. Classic scary dog privilege for a nighttime walk - well, if his hair didn't scream valentine's day pink to the world. Although no one else has flaming hair other than the Shroud family, so he doubts anyone would interrupt.

You decide to take the long path home and through a nearby park. The night was still young for nightowls such as yourselves, and fresh air was always crisp at this hour.

Along that path you decide to stop at a cement bench by some vending machines and chill out for a bit. Despite having just ate, Idia gets you each a can of coffee.

He'd be leaving to go back to S.T.Y.X tomorrow. Like he does every Sunday. His gaze drifts to the watch on your wrist and thinks about adding some new features - maybe video chat? So he can see you throughout the day. He wonders what you'll be up to while he's stuck in the lab. Maybe you'll go shopping, or play a new game. Maybe you'll try out a new recipe or take Grimm Jr. out to play. He wishes he could see you during the week.

Ah. You're talking. He should probably tune in or you'll get mad at him. Why's it so hard to focus? He hasn't felt this uneasy in a while...

Why is he having these kinds of thoughts? It's weird.

"You okay? You seem a little spaced," You pull him from his thoughts, a concerned crease wrinkling your temple. "Eh. It's nothing. Just not looking forward to the week," he chuckles weakly. "I know that feeling. It's always a bummer when you dip. Not to sound clingy or anything" His golden hues spark for a moment, a pale pink dusting his cheeks as he whips his head to look at you.

"W-wait - really? I was just thinking the same thing...." "You were?" "Yeah. It's...kind of weird without you. Everything's emptier. Wow. That was pretty cringe. Sorry." He grimaces, internally screaming and knowing that this was going to replay when he tried to sleep later. You tilt your head at him, a slight frown on the cusp of your lip. Something tickles at his fingers and he looks down to see you lace your hand with his. "I miss you too," your words are soft. Genuine. He feels his neck grow hot, the pink glow radiating off him betraying him. Idia looks between your interlaced fingers and the drink in his hand. There...wouldn't ever be a 'right' time for this. Would there? You've waited long enough. He pulls his hand away and pops the soda tab off with deft hands.

"Hey..." he twiddles with the soda tab in his hands, "on a scale of 1-10, how are my odds of getting a yes?" "A 'yes' to what?" "To this, " he sighs through his nose, holding the tab out towards you with a shaking hand, "will you marry me?"

{A soda tab from canned coffee. Not the most charming offering, and it barely fits around your pinky finger. Yet, Idia's always been impulsive at his core. Had he not acted in the moment, he likely would have ran countless possibilities over and over in his mind. While not your forever ring, the tab will remain a sentimental piece}

{Idia is not a man with a keen eye fore jewelry - but he knows quality. Combine his eye for perfection with his craftsmanship and behold - a ring made from purified blot. The center gem is a piece of magestone in it's most refined state. The band is titanium and there are small sapphires along the molding. Since he would be wearing a matching band, Idia decided to keep the design simple. He prefers functionality over all. Yet he does want you to feel proud of his handiwork, so he includes vintage molding on your band only. He wears a smooth black band on his ring finger, and never removes it}

[myseungsunglove]

First Pitch | Ksm

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x reader 

Warnings: angsty, wrapped in fluff

Word Count:  1.2k

𖠫Summary: Seungmin struggles to understand why his fiance can’t be by his side on one of the most important days of his life. 

✎A/N✎: This has just been floating around in my head since Seungmin threw his first pitch. It’s nothing special, but I’m kind of in love with it. Hope someone out there likes it, if any of you remember that I actually write since it’s been over a month. hides in shame 

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「©  April 11, 2024 by myseungsunglove」

You sit in the car on the drive to the stadium and the mood is somber. Seungmin is nervous about throwing the first pitch of the game between the All Korea team and the LA Dodgers, a team that he has always admired. 

Couple that with the fact that you aren't allowed to be there with him during one of the biggest moments of his life and you could cut the tension in the car with a knife. Seungmin had wanted you by his side for the first pitch and the company had given the both of you a resounding no. You understood why, and at the end of the day, you believe that Seungmin did too, but it didn’t mean that he was happy about it. 

“Explain it to me one more time,” he mutters, interlacing his long fingers with yours as he glares at the back of the manager's head. “Like I’m five.” You know the anger isn’t necessarily directed at your manager, but when Seungmin has his mind set on something that seems logical to him, he just can’t let it go. He is stubborn that way.

The manager sighs audibly from the front seat, his shoulders rising and falling visibly as he turns to face the two of you. 

“Seungmin, we’ve gone over this many times,” he responds patiently, avoiding the discussion altogether. 

“So go over it again,” Seungmin snaps. 

“Seung,” you whisper beside him, squeezing his hand gently. He doesn’t look at you. 

“Please,” he adds for your benefit. 

The manager blinks slowly at him, empathy coupled with patience etched on his face. 

“Y/n would be the only member of SKZ that is here with you when everyone else’s schedules are too busy,” your manager starts. "Frankly, her schedule is too busy to even be here as long as she is."

“Y/n is the only member of SKZ that I’m engaged to, so it makes sense that she’s here,” Seungmin retorts. “I fail to see the issue.” 

The manager sighs heavily. 

“You are well aware that the public doesn’t know that. They don’t even know you’re together. If she is the only one to show up at your first pitch, people will talk. Everyone will speculate. They already do and this will just add fuel to the fire.”

“Let them talk,” Seungmin says with a shrug, his brow set. He’s nothing if not determined. 

“Minnie,” you whisper beside him. His attention is pulled away from the manager, his frustrated puppy eyes turning on you like a weapon. “If I’m the only one here, if people start to talk, this event, this huge opportunity for you becomes about us and what we are. It’s no longer about this awesome opportunity that you are getting,” you tell him. "If even one of the guys could have come too, maybe it would be different, but you know we're preparing for the fanmeeting and a comeback. There is no time." You squeeze his hand gently. "But I made time."

He scowls at you, but it’s soft, as he considers your argument.

“I know,” he relents, looking down at your clasped hands, rubbing over the top of your hand gently. His cheeks puff out in frustration and he blows all the air from them before he speaks again. “But I need you there,” he whines. 

It isn't often that Seungmin admits that he needs anyone. His confession makes your heart clench in your chest. You’ve never seen him this nervous before. Not even when he proposed to you. 

With your free hand, you gently place your palm against his cheek and lift his face so that you are eye to eye. 

“I love you more than the air I breathe, Kim Seungmin,” you tell him. 

He leans in and kisses you. It’s soft and slow, his hands parting from yours so that he can grab your waist and pull you into his arms. When he pulls away a little breathless, you speak again. 

“And I will be there,” you assure him. Your manager turns around to look at you, a slightly concerned look on his face. You scowl back at him, a look that tells him you’ve got this under control and to chill out. “I won’t be right beside you, but I've got a seat right behind the catcher. I’ll have the best seat in the house. I’ll be able to see your pretty face and the best opening pitch anyone has ever seen,” you tell him. 

His forehead falls against yours with a sigh. 

“You’ll arrange for me to meet y/n before the game starts to say goodbye before she heads back to the company? After I’ve thrown the pitch?” he asks. The question directed at your manager. 

“We already have,” he says. 

Seungmin’s big brown boba eyes meet yours and they have softened from the start of the conversation. 

“Okay,” he says, resigned, his hands dancing along your thighs nervously like he still has more to say. “Can I have a minute with my fiancé?” he asks. It's not really a question. You realize that the car has parked in a garage at the stadium. You're in a corner away from prying eyes. With tinted windows, no one would know there was anyone in the car. “Alone,” he emphasizes with a small possessive growl. You can’t help the smirk that slips onto your face. 

Without any pushback, the manager and the driver get out of the car and walk a respectable distance away. 

Seungmin wastes no time pulling you onto his lap so that you are straddling him. You sigh longingly as his hands gently caress your face and pull your lips to his. This kiss is hungry, needy. His soft mouth is insistent as his tongue slips past your lips to taste you. His hands have wandered down your body and up under the back of your shirt, the pads of his fingers dancing along your back as he kisses you breathless. 

“Want to tell them,” he mumbles against your mouth, his breath heavy against your lips. “No more secrets,” he adds, kissing you hard again. 

You can’t help the moan that escapes your throat and the thrill that runs through your body at his words. Seungmin doesn’t want your relationship to be behind closed doors anymore. 

“You want everyone to know?” you ask when you're forced to pull away again, your breath coming in short, quick gasps. 

“Yes,” he answers simply, gazing into your eyes. “I can’t have another big moment like this where you can’t be right there with me,” he confesses. “You’re my everything, Y/N,” he looks at you with glassy boba eyes, the emotions he is feeling threatening to overflow. “I need you.” 

You hold his face in yours and stare into his eyes. 

“We’ll talk to Chan and our manager tonight about how to move forward,” you agree. “Surely they knew this was coming sooner rather than later. We’ve been engaged for nearly six months,” you chuckle softly. 

He smiles brightly at you then and you can’t help but return the gesture. He kisses you quick as you move to get off his lap. 

“Alright, my baseball player Kim Seungmin. You’ve got to get out of here and go show them how kick ass you are,” you tell him, kissing him on the cheek. 

He chuckles shyly, your favorite sound only second to his beautiful voice, as he moves to open the door, his shoulders shaking out his shirt like he does when he gets a little nervous. You love that you can still make him flustered even with a simple compliment.

He holds his hand out for you to grab, pulling you from the car and into his waiting arms where he kisses you once more. 

“One for good luck,” he smiles against your lips. 

“Not that you’ll need it,” you tell him, kissing him slowly. 

“Love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

“You better,” you smile up at him. “Cause I’m not going anywhere, Kim Seungmin.”

[chvoswxtch]

Hi it’s @feelmyskinonyourskin (can’t ask off anon cause I’m a side blog) I’d love to order a macchiato over ice from Frank please!!!! Congrats on 4K!

hi darling! thank you so much!

I appreciate you giving me the freedom to discuss all my slutty thots about frankie. I think one thing that doesn't get talked about enough is that frank secretly likes it rough so let's discuss

as a reminder over ice means it's spicy! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

frank castle secretly likes it rough

i've said it once & i'll say it again, i'll die on this fucking hill: frank castle is a hopeless romantic. he's an old fashioned, brings you flowers on the first date, arrives fifteen minutes early, opens every door for you, doesn't hesitate to pay the tab, doesn't expect you to invite him inside, perfect gentleman

he's a giver. he makes sure his partner is well taken care of before he even thinks about himself. in all the flashback scenes with maria, she's on top, & frank is letting her set the pace & do whatever she wants

in his scene with beth, we see a snippet of something similar to that but, we also see a hint of frank exercising a bit of control. the way he grabs her face where he's essentially grabbing her neck & face bc his hand is so damn big, how he's gripping the sheets, pinning her to the mattress completely- he's clearly holding back bc he probably doesn't wanna go too far & scare her, but there is another side of him that is dying to come out

it's something you catch onto, & something you wanna explore. not that you don't love slow & sweet romantic sex with frank, or flirty playful sex when a few drinks have loosened him up, but you want something more

but frank being frank is never going to ask you to let him be rough. it would make him feel selfish to use your body for his own benefit. he's also terrified of going too far & hurting you. he's so violent & dangerous in so many other aspects of his life, & he never wants you to see that side of him

but you know that frank would rather die than hurt you, so you make it your mission to convince him that he doesn't have to hold back anymore

one night while you're laying in bed, both of you half undressed, frank lying between your hips as you two share a heated & sensual kiss, his hand glides downward from your cheek to your neck, giving it the faintest of a squeeze before letting go. reaching out to grab his wrist, you pull back & stare up at him

"stop holding back."

frank looks down at you in pure puzzlement. he doesn't understand what you're talking about. he cocks his head to the side & searches your eyes for an answer

"stop doin' what?"

maintaining eye contact with him, you bring his hand back to your throat, placing your hand on top of his and squeezing it to show him that it's okay

"I know there's a part of you that wants more, and so do I. you can let go, frank."

when he catches on to what you're saying, his confusion melts into a serious look of apprehension, & he starts to shake his head

"sweetheart-"

you expected him to protest, so you already have your argument ready. you're not backing down from this

"frank, you're not gonna hurt me. you don't have to treat me like i'm made of glass. you can be rough with me. I can take it."

frank doesn't budge. he's still got that apprehensive look in his eyes, but you also see a flicker of need. you squeeze his hand one more time over yours to show him that this is what you want too

"I know what my limits are, frank. if it's too much i'll tell you, and I trust you enough to know you'll stop."

frank is silent for a moment, & you're worried that he's going to keep being stubborn. but then you notice how his eyes darken, & the low timber of his voice makes you shiver

"you promise you'll tell me the second I do somethin' you don't like?"

your eyes light up with excitement that frank is actually considering it. nodding your head eagerly, you stare up at him, feeling heat spread throughout your lower half

"I promise."

those two words of consent make something inside of him snap. this time when he captures your lips, his kisses are more aggressive & demanding, & they travel down the column of your throat. he bites down on your neck, not hard enough to hurt you, but just enough to leave a possessive mark behind that makes you squirm. he soothes the sting with his tongue & continues his assault on your neck, savoring the noises it pulls from you

his large hands are everywhere. squeezing your breasts, gripping at your hips, kneading your thighs, leaving faint bruises behind in his wake, all evidence of him completely giving in to his own desire

normally frank eases into you & gives you a moment to adjust, but not tonight. as soon as his thick cock is buried to the hilt inside of you, he's snapping his hips relentlessly, pounding you into the mattress

one of his hands holds both of your wrists, keeping them pinned above your head, and his other grabs your neck. his thumb is on the left side of your jaw and his index finger is on the right side, holding your face in place, while the rest of his fingers are wrapped right around your pulse point applying a little bit of pressure. frank always wants to be able to see your face when he's fucking you, but especially right now. he wants to make sure you're enjoying this as much as he is, watching you closely for any sign of discomfort

but all he sees is your mouth hanging open & your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. incoherent moans are leaving your lips, & your cunt is squeezing his cock in a tight grip. it makes the last of his resolve vanish & he's leaning in to grunt in your ear, speaking in a low & rough voice

"this what you wanted, baby? wanted it rough like this, yeah?"

frank is repeatedly hitting that spot inside of you that only he's ever been able to reach, the one that makes supernovas explode behind your eyelids & renders you speechless. he chuckles darkly at your inability to speak

"look at you, takin' my cock so well. bein' such a good girl for me, yeah? lettin' me have you like this?"

the room is filled with the echoes of skin slapping against skin, frank's feral grunts, & your incoherent moans that keep rising higher in volume & pitch. frank has you completely at his mercy, pinned to the mattress beneath his large body, hands held captive above your head. you can't move, not like you even wanted to, & you can't hardly speak to tell him how close you are, but he knows. he always knows

"gonna come already, sweetheart? you like it that much? shh shh shh...I know baby, I know you do. I can feel it, yeah? such a good fuckin' girl. go on baby, come for me. you've earned it."

frank fucks you through your orgasm, but he doesn't stop. he's still relentlessly thrusting, & even though it's overstimulating, it feels too good to want to stop. he groans in your ear when he feels your walls tighten around his cock & flood him with your release, but he hasn't come yet. gripping onto your hips even tighter, his thrusts somehow get even rougher, & in a matter of minutes you're barreling towards another orgasm

"want ya to give me one more, sweetheart. you can do that for me, yeah? c'mon, be a good girl and come for me again. that's it...that's a good girl...that's fuckin' it baby."

only when he feels you come for the second time does frank finally give in to his own release. his hips stutter as he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh, grunting loudly while he's emptying himself inside of you

while you're trying to catch your breath, frank gently caresses your cheek with his thumb, a stark contrast to how he was grabbing your throat just minutes ago

"you alright, baby? wasn't too much, was it?"

all you can do is let out a breathless laugh, staring up at him in a haze of bliss and incredulity

"are you kidding me? I can't believe you've been holding back on me this whole time."

frank just looks down at you with a huge grin on his face, leaning in to kiss you softly

"I won't anymore, if it makes ya happy."

once again, i need to be put down like a rabid dog

[dollfaceksj]

reminder | jjk (m) pt. 3

➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: Whenever he flies back into town, your doorbell is the first he rings. When he has to fly out again, your bed is the last he lies in. However, you’re not stupid. You know your ex-boyfriend, that also happens to be an up-and-coming professional boxer, Jeon Jungkook, doesn’t come to you only. Unfortunately, you have no right to be jealous, not when you’re the one that ended the relationship.

➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ bit of fluff ⋆ exes with benefits

➥ CATEGORY: three-shot

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, lots of arguing, angst so much angst, toxicity, strong language, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, reader gets a taste of her own medicine, slightly aggressive jk (not @ reader dw), cockblocker!yoongi, hater!yoongi, mean!yoongi, yoongi just cares about jungkook okay, another bts member cameo and he’s the only normal person in this frfr, a bit of jungkook pov, quick forgiveness bc they love each other so much guys like theyre such losers omg, mentions of.. THE NECKLACE… sorry in advance, oral sex (m. rec), unprotected sex (dont be dumb), rough love making, make-up sex, shirtless ck jk because why not…, kinda subby!jk for a moment… :D, creampie, mentions of edging, mentions of overstimulation, teasing, imo both reader and jk are extremely dumb in this tbh, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 12.5k

a/n: ah. its the final part. i wanna take the time to thank you guys for loving this three-shot! the love reminder has received really did have me considering making it into a series (i really did) but honestly i think it’s best to keep it a three-shot. HOWEVER: i wanna write a lot of drabbles for it so look out for those!

a/n 2: ignore any mistakes u see or you are cloverphobic. not betaread.

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⇠ PREV. ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ⇢

The distant thud of a car door slamming shut makes Jungkook jerk awake in his car. With a hiss, he slurps up the drool that had trickled down his chin from being knocked out and he shoots upright in his seat. He’s jetlagged as hell after flying out from Australia but he still insisted on seeing you first.

Unfortunately, when he knocked at your front door around 12AM, you weren’t home. Being his stubborn self, he decided to wait for your arrival in his car. He dropped Yoongi off at home and returned, parked in front of your door and waited.

But the sound of that car door slamming shut has pulled him out of his slumber. He looks out of the car window on his side, and there you are in the distance, dolled up and searching for your house keys in your clutch as you make your way to the front door.

Wearing a tight dress, hair did exactly the way you know Jungkook likes and from this angle he can’t see your face but without a doubt, he knows you’re absolutely gorgeous.

He takes his phone out of his pocket to check the time and the numbers on his lockscreen – which is a picture of his hand holding yours – tell him it’s 4:08AM. He’d been here for hours but all of it felt like minutes when he finally set his eyes on you again.

Right as he’s about to get out of his car, the figure of another person walks around the car you had just gotten out of. With a squint in his eyes, Jungkook tries to figure out who’s walking up to you right now.

A man, not much older than himself, holds you by your arm as he leads you to your front door. A frown creeps onto his brows when you don’t seem to have a reaction to this man touching you.

Jungkook watches as you keep digging into your purse, seemingly searching for your keys but that doesn’t matter to him anymore.

With a scowl on his pretty face, he silently gets out of his car and sneaks up on the both of you. He makes sure not to make any noise as he stands directly behind the unfamiliar man. Jungkook tilts his head to the side as he says, “She can handle the rest from here.”

He watches with a stern look in his eyes as you and the man slightly jump from the sudden interruption. Your head snaps in his direction and so does the man’s head next to you.

Jungkook can see the horror in your eyes as you come to the realization that it’s none other than Jeon Jungkook standing right next to you.

You’re staring at him like he’s grown a second head, Jungkook’s eyes trail your face and scan your features, committing it all to memory. Pupils dilated, a thin layer of sweat coating your forehead, lips swollen, remnants of lipstick smudged across your chin.

“Who’s this?” the unknown man asks you after the deafening silence that had settled around the three of you, a raise to his eyebrow as he turns his head to look at you.

You quickly compose yourself and clear your throat to speak but before you can answer, Jungkook butts in. “I’m Jungkook,” he says, cockily.

The man slowly nods to Jungkook’s introduction and opens his mouth to respond with his own name as he says, “Hoseok.”

Jungkook nods again after puffing out his chest with an air of arrogance and replying, “Nice to meet you, Hoseok. It’s awfully late, though. You should go home.”

Hoseok turns to look at you with a confused yet concerned look in his eyes, checking with you to see if it’s okay to leave you with this man named Jungkook.

You let a soft sigh push past your lips and give him a nod of reassurance. You place your hand on Hoseok’s bicep to wordlessly tell him it’s okay but he doesn’t look convinced. That’s when you say, “It’s fine, Hobi. Thank you for helping me get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s eye twitches at not only the nickname but at the fact that you’ve seemingly agreed to meet up with this man tomorrow. His gaze drops to your hand on Hoseok’s bicep and he rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to flex his own arms but quickly realizing how stupid he’s being.

Hoseok nods once he sees the sincere look in your eyes and slowly starts walking backwards whilst staring Jungkook down. Jungkook isn’t backing down, though, staring back head-on. Hoseok clicks his tongue and finally spins on his heels, making his way back to his car. He looks back one more time.

Jungkook hasn’t budged from where he was staring Hoseok down and Hoseok glances at you one last time before getting into his car and driving off.

Jungkook glares at the retreating vehicle until it has literally disappeared down the street.

With a frown on his face he turns to you but you avoid his gaze as you turn your keys in the keyhole, unlocking the door to your home. You don’t even hold the door open for Jungkook as you walk in, heels clicking against the tiles as you kick them off and make your way to your living room.

You toss your purse at the couch, watching as it tumbles to the ground with a loud clatter, spilling all its contents but you don’t seem to care as you turn to look at him once he closes the door behind him, in the midst of kicking his own shoes off.

“Why the hell are you here, Jungkook?”

His brows pinch together at your words, the urge to nibble on his bottom lip starting to creep up his spine. “What do you mean, why am I here?”

You stare at him for a moment longer with frustrated eyes and your lips pressed into a thin line, watching his every move but he isn’t budging an inch.

You shake your head as you start walking away from him but he quickly stops you, hand wrapping around your bicep as he tugs you back. “Y/N, speak.”

You glance down at his inked hand wrapped around your bicep and try to wiggle it out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you.

You scoff, “Seriously? I don’t fucking hear from you the entire two months you were in Australia and you have the nerve to come back and act like nothing has happened?”

Record scratch.

Jungkook can hear the cry threatening to spill from your throat and it stings him as bad as when he was punched in the mouth a week ago during a sparring match.

He’s usually gone for a week or two, never longer than that. Not only has he been gone for two months, he didn’t contact you at all while he was away.

He shakes his head, tugging you even closer to him. “You never hear from me when I’m gone, I always come back like nothing has happened! Why are you suddenly acting like it’s a big deal? We’ve been doing this for two years.”

You press your hands into his chest in an attempt to push him off but there’s no real strength behind it. “Because this time, it’s not the same!”

He quickly takes notice to your quickened breathing and the hurt in your eyes but he doesn’t comment on them and decides to stand his ground and defend his actions. “How is it not the same?”

The look of disbelief you give him has his heartbeat stuttering in its rhythm and his throat tightening as it starts drying out.

“Don’t act dumb, Jungkook,” you say, adding more strength behind your push against his chest.

He doesn’t budge nor respond, instead, he continues to stare you down with eyes that flicker with uncertainty and desperation.

You shake your head in disbelief again at his lack of response. “Last time was different. You know it was.”

Again, he has no rebuttal because he knows. He knows it was.

But Jungkook was scared. Terrified, even.

Before he reminds himself of how he’s felt the past two months, he changes the topic. “Who was that?” is all he asks.

Your brows pinch together as your eyes scan his face, dropping to his lips and catching the way he wets them with his tongue, a substitute for chewing on them. “What?” you ask him in confusion.

“Hoseok,” he pauses. “Who is he?” he asks, the face of the unfamiliar man flashing in his mind makes his blood boil all over again, fingers adjusting around your bicep to make sure you don’t slip from his grasp.

You can’t believe he’s deterring the conversation to this, apparent by the raise in your brows and the change in your pitch. “Are you serious?”

“Answer the fucking question, Y/N.” He closes the distance between you two, menacingly towering over you as he stares you down with his onyx eyes.

You huff in frustration and with a shake of your head, you reply, “He’s my friend.”

Jungkook nods to your words in mockery and then reaches up with his other hand, wetting his thumb with his tongue to wipe your chin clean of the makeup. “Friends follow you to your front door at 4AM with the same lipstick on their face that’s smudged across your chin?”

“Oh,” you begin with your eyes narrowed, “don’t you fucking start.” You wiggle your arm out of his grasp and this time he lets you, allowing you to make your way towards your bedroom. His presence is in your wake, following close behind you.

He ignores your words and as soon as the both of you enter your once-shared bedroom, he asks, “Did you fuck him?”

You groan, “No, Jungkook. I didn’t fuck him.” You start taking your jewelry off as you continue, “But friends do share New Year’s kisses.” You fully turn your back to him, tucking away your jewelry in their rightful place. “You didn’t even fucking wish me happy holidays.”

He sighs in exasperation, staring at the ceiling. He knows the fact that it’s New Years is why you’re dolled up, why you’re dressed like this, why you came home this late.

But that doesn’t make him hate it any less.

With a shake of his head, he says, “You know how busy I am, Y/N. There’s nothing more I would’ve wanted than to be here with you, you know that.” His tone has softened and he’s closing the gap between you two but he stops dead in his tracks when your head snaps in his direction.

“I’m not asking you to be here while you can’t. I know you can’t. I’m asking for at least a phone call.” You reach for the zipper on your dress right under your armpit, tugging it down to your hip. “Not even a text, are you fucking kidding me?”

He loudly exhales again, shaking his head as he throws it back and his gaze shifts up to the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows down what he really wants to say.

You bitterly chuckle as you eye the short distance between the two of you – he’s standing about two meters away. “Bet you had enough time for other people.”

Your accusating words make his eyebrows twitch and so, his response is immediate. “I didn’t fuck anyone.”

“Aht,” you say as you hold your hand up. “Don’t you fucking bullshit me,” you add, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He shakes his head in disbelief, face turning to the side as his eyes shift to the wall on his left. He glares at the wall for a while, his hands on his hips and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

Then, he says, “Is he the one?”

Jungkook can tell by the way you sigh in exasperation that you’re fighting the urge to start yanking on your own hair.

“The one what?” you groan in annoyance as you start tugging your dress down your body, exposing your body in a matching underwear set and letting the dress pool at your feet before reaching for your bathrobe.

He rubs his face harshly as he adds, “The one you fucked.”

He’s still not looking at you but by your tone and heavened breathing, he knows you probably look like you want to bend over and scream until your vocal chords burst.

“I told you, I didn’t fuck–”

He immediately cuts you off. “I’m not talking about today. I’m talking about what you told me in the shower before I left for Australia,” he says. Then he repeats, “Did you fuck him?”

At that, you go quiet.

He closes his eyes at the silence, jaw clenching as you fidget with the ropes of your bathrobe and his own throat tightens at how you go speechless. You glance up at him with big eyes and a tremble in your chin.

At your lack of response, Jungkook finally looks at you, eyes dropping to your mouth, not missing the quiver in your pretty lips. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

You shrug your shoulders and finally find your voice after what seems like ages. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters.” He stomps the rest of the way over to you, menacingly towering over you. He adds, “I’m not buddy-buddy with the people I fuck.”

You tilt your chin to look up at him, brows knitted together and a scowl forming on your face. “Drop it, Jungkook,” you mumble, tying the bathrobe around your waist.

He closes whatever small distance is still in between you, his body pressed up against your arm before he leans down to directly say the next words into your ear, “Was he good? Did he fuck you good? Did he do the thing you like?”

You move your arm up, pressing your elbow against his chest in an attempt to push him off but he doesn’t budge an inch. “Stop it,” you warn.

He clicks his tongue and kisses his teeth with a loud smack, still not backing away from you. “Not so fun to be on the receiving end of that, is it?”

He’s right. You’ve been pestering him like that for years, always bringing up his sex life with other people to provoke him, to annoy him, out of your own selfishness. Why can’t he return the energy? Put you in that situation? Give you a taste of your own medicine?

You click your tongue in annoyance not only with him but yourself. Teasing him all those times has come back to directly bite you in the ass.

“Shut up, seriously.” You bump your shoulder into his as you make your way to the bathroom but he doesn’t let you get away that easily.

“Were you together? Or was it casual?” He follows close behind you as he continues to pester you.

“Jungkook.”

He doesn’t care about the warning tone in your voice or the scowl on your face. “I just wanna know. I wanna know if he knows I fucked you all those times too.”

You don’t even respond as you start taking your makeup off, ignoring Jungkook’s gaze through the reflection. He’s leaning against the doorframe, cockily staring at you through the mirror and you do your best to ignore him.

When it’s been quiet too long for his liking, he says, “Does he know you’ll always let me do whatever I want to you?” He begins to walk closer, closing the distance between you two until his chest is pressed up against your back and continues to menacingly stare at you through the mirror. “That you’ll never forget about me?”

You slam your makeup wipes down onto the sink with a loud thud, turning to face him. He’s completely pressed up against you at this point, caging you in between the sink and his own body.

You don’t even know what to say because that’s exactly how you’d talk to him ever since the break-up. You tilt your chin to look up at him. “Stop.”

He scoffs as he stares you down with intense eyes. He kisses his teeth with a loud smack and says, “Yeah, not so fun, is it?”

You ignore his provocations like he did yours all those times and move your elbows up to his chest, pushing past him to walk back into your room. Jungkook is aware that you’re constantly creating extra space between the two of you because his proximity will have you bending to his will.

He stays back this time, just quietly watching as you get ready for bed. He can’t ignore the sinking heart in his chest as your bottom lip quivers and your breath has gotten shaky, he can never be mean to you for long and he knows that.

He deeply sighs and shakes his head at his own antics. “Come here,” he mumbles as he makes his way to you.

You don’t respond, you just keep your back turned to him as you prepare your pillows and sheets.

He quietly sighs to himself as he wraps his arms around you from the back, halting you in your movements.

He turns your body to make you face him, his big hands firmly on your hips. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things.” He leans into the crook of your neck and nudges your ear with the tip of his nose. “You drive me crazy and it’s making me act a fool.”

Your arms stay limp by your side, your way of telling him you’re still mad at him but you turn your face slightly to give him more access to your neck like you’ll always do.

“I fucking hate how much I love you,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbones, fingers digging through the fabric of your bathrobe to grip your hips tightly.

You sigh softly at the sensation of his lips on your skin again, your hands coming up to squeeze his biceps. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know, baby.” His voice is muffled by your neck but you feel the smile on his lips against your skin. “Didn’t like the taste of your own medicine?”

You grunt in response, pinching his biceps which makes him hiss and chuckle before pulling away from your neck to glance down at you.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he asks you, thumbs rubbing circles into your hipbones as his pretty black eyes roam your features.

“No,” you reply, moving your hands up to his chest and rubbing circles through his shirt.

His lips pucker up in a childish pout but he doesn’t push it any further, your proximity is enough for him.

“What’s the magic word?” you say.

His chest puffs as he chuckles, shaking his head. “Will you let me kiss you, please?”

You huff like a little kid that’s just finished throwing a tantrum but you nod your head to his question nonetheless, hands moving up to cup his cheeks.

His face closes in on yours and he presses his lips to your attention-seeking ones. He melts into your kiss, hands traveling up your sides to hold your waist tightly.

It’s been too long since he last saw you, so kissing you feels like a thousand years ago. He makes the most of it as he tightly holds onto your waist as if you don’t have breakable bones, as if you’ll slip through his fingers, as if you’ll disappear into thin air.

He slowly pulls back from your kiss. “I have something to show you,” he says as he reaches for something in his pocket. His phone seems to be in the way so he takes it out of his pocket and hands it to you so you can hold it while he searches for what he so desperately wants to show you.

You glance down at the screen as it automatically lights up and your eyes mindlessly drop down to the 3 hours old notifications.

[1:02AM]

René (AUS)

Are you still at the same hotel? Want me to come over?

[1:04AM]

René (AUS)

Missed call (1)

He watches your face twist into confusion and pain as his own eyes drop to where you’re looking at, the realization dawning on him like he got hit by a fucking train.

Jungkook’s body tenses up under your touch. His other hand drops from your hip and your eyes slowly trail to look up at him.

In a panic, he quickly says, “I swear, it’s not what you think. I swea–”

You don’t let him finish as you slam his phone into his chest and directly stare into his concerned eyes. “Fuck you.”

The way you say it with so much venom in your voice knocks the air directly out of Jungkook’s lungs.

He can hear an imaginary record scratch when you point toward your door and say, “Get out.”

Jungkook is stunned.

You have never made him leave.

You have never told him to just get out.

And for some reason, the ‘get out’ hurts even more than the vicious ‘fuck you’.

“Y/N–”

“Out.”

Jungkook shakes his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Don’t make me leave. Please.”

You immediately reply, “I want you to leave. Right now.”

He stares at the wall for a few moments as he gathers his thoughts. You stare at his side profile for a few seconds before you spin on your heels and head towards your bed.

As you plop down on your bed, you’re just in time to watch Jungkook dig in the pocket of his sweatpants and roughly throw something across the room, aimed right at the wall to your right.

You flinch at the clatter of a small box being smashed against the wall and turn to look at him with a frown etched onto your features.

He has never shown you any aggressiveness ever so you’re shocked at the sudden switch. “What the hell, Jungkook?”

He tugs on his long black locks before he quietly curses and turns, loudly stomping out of your room. The shuffling of him putting his shoes on reaches your ears and before you know it, the front door has been slammed shut.

Your hand sits on your chest, right over where your pounding heart is. You’re not scared of Jungkook and never will be but there’s a reason you don’t go to his matches. You don’t like seeing the boy with the entire galaxy in his eyes be aggressive, be angry, be consumed by hate.

When you’ve finally composed yourself, you take a few breaths to steady your ragged breathing. You deeply exhale and get up from your bed, walking over to the mini box and its spilled contents.

The small blue box is on its side, wide open and something shiny is sprawled out next to it.

Small tear shaped sapphire earrings that would fit perfectly with your estranged necklace.

The words – which you recognize as Jungkook’s handwriting – on the neon pink post-it that’s stuck to the inside of the lid shatters your heart into a million pieces.

‘Be my girlfriend (again)? :)’

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[6:30PM]

Hobi

I’m outside ^_^

You smile at your phone and apply your lip gloss as your finishing touch. With a final glance in the mirror, you give yourself a smile and a nod before heading into the hall and sliding your feet into your pumps.

You leave your home after locking up and quickly make your way down to the vehicle in front of your home before hopping into Hobi’s car, leaning over to give him a greeting hug.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks as he leans back and starts accelerating after you’ve closed the car door.

“Yeah. You?” you say as you buckle your seatbelt and open up the interior mirror above your head to check your makeup again.

“I’m fine.” He slows down in front of a red light and glances over at you. “What was all that about?”

“What?” you ask, already knowing what he’s talking about as you continue to check your teeth and waterline, ignoring the persistent lump that’s forming in your throat.

“Yesterday.” He returns his gaze to the road in front of him. “Well, more like this morning.”

You sigh and close the mirror, slouching in your seat as you glance over at him. “I’m sorry about that, Hoseok.”

Even if Hoseok was just helping you get inside, you feel bad about sending him away like that.

A chuckle leaves his mouth. “I know you are, I just thought I was seconds away from being decked in the mouth.”

You look out the window, pressing your lips together in an attempt at blending your gloss with your peachy nude lip combo.

“I know. Jungkook is just,” you pause, rubbing the scrunch between your brows.

He accelerates once the light jumps to green. “Is he the boxer?”

You merely hum in response, picking at the loose flesh around your manicured nails.

“You love him, right?” Hoseok’s question knocks the air right out of your lungs. The lump that had started forming in your throat has lodged down your esophagus and has unleashed a stream of lava that causes your heart to burn.

Your lack of response makes him nod his head, his hand coming to his jaw and rubbing his freshly shaven chin.

“And he certainly didn’t seem happy to see me,” he chuckles as he recalls the events of this morning.

“Yeah, well.” You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders. “He can’t just show up at my front door after two months of not talking to me.”

“Two months?” he repeats, leaning his left elbow against the window next to him and rubbing his chin with his hand whilst his other hand manages the gear shift and steering wheel.

You nod and cross your arms over your shoulders, adjusting the belt that’s digging into your neck.

He asks, “What was he doing for two months?”

You explain the events that happened two months ago, from Jungkook showing up to you telling him for the first time (again) that you love him. You explain the entire history between you and Jungkook, all the problems, all the love, all the pain, everything.

Hoseok knew you were still head over heels in love with an ex-boyfriend that also happened to be a professional boxer but he never pried. However, as he witnessed that embarrassing moment firsthand, you’re of the opinion that you owe him an explanation.

“Hm.” He thinks about what you just told him for a few moments, seemingly in deep thought. Unfortunately, you know Hoseok well enough to know when he wants to say something.

You turn your head to look at him, chest already tightening at the thought of him not agreeing with you. “You’ve got something to say.”

He looks at you for a moment before glancing back at the road. “I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

The raise in your brows indicates intrigue and surprise at his words. “Well, now you have to say it.”

He chuckles at the switch in your tone and parks in the theater’s parking lot before turning to look at you again. “To me, it just seems like he didn’t want to suffocate you again.”

“Suffocate me? He’s not going to suffocate me by texting me once in two months, Hobi.”

“No, I get that, and he is incredibly stupid for that but it seems to me like he’s so scared of losing you again that he didn’t want to ruin anything?” he explains, his point of view being a reminder that not everything may be what it initially seems to you.

You furrow your brows and part your lips to argue but Hoseok cuts you off before you can.

“What did he say after I left? Did he seem different?”

You think about it for a while. Yes, he did seem different, now that you think about it.

And then you’re reminded of Jungkook’s gift and his question. And at that, a surge of guilt spreads through your chest and starts bubbling up your throat.

“He, uh,” you start as you clear your throat, “he just asked who you were. The usual ex-boyfriend stuff. But he did kind of ask me to be his girlfriend again.”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and then turns to you. “So, I take it y’all made up, then.”

You shake your head, avoiding his gaze as you open up the mirror again to check if there’s anything in between your teeth to pretend you don’t care. “I told him to leave.”

“Why?” His brows are pinched together in confusion and you can see him aiming his frown at you in your peripheral vision.

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly again, hoping to appear unbothered. “I saw his phone, one of his groupies texted him. Just wasn’t in the mood.”

“Did he text them or did they text him?”

You slowly turn to look at him as a frown climbs its way onto your brows. “What?”

Hoseok stares at your for a few moments in silence before repeating his question, “Did he text them?”

You idly blink at him, the image of Jungkook’s face when he swore it wasn’t what it looked like flashing in your mind. Fuck.

You quickly compose yourself and say, “I don’t know.”

Hoseok blinks at you for a few times with a slight pinch in his brows before slowly nodding. “Okay.”

“You want to say something again,” you groan loudly, rubbing the scrunch on your forehead to prepare yourself for what he has to say now.

Surprisingly, he chooses not to. “I’m not going to this time.” A chuckle leaves his mouth after he says that, shaking his head in the process. “Let’s go, the movie is about to start.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Australia, 1 week ago

With a big gulp, Jungkook slams his glass down onto the wooden surface of the bar he’s sitting at. He winces at the burning liquid sliding down his esophagus, bringing his hand up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He stares at his lockscreen, a smile creeping on his lips at the picture. His eyes trail your fingers and your hand, how well they fit in his.

With a tilt of his phone, he unlocks it using Face ID and opens the message app. He scrolls until he sees your name, it’s been over a year since either of you last texted each other. Like mentioned before, he always comes back unannounced and you always act like nothing has happened.

It’s how it’s been for two damn years.

His fingers slowly start hovering over your contact name. Should he text you? Should he not?

He shouldn’t. You told him the two of you would talk about it when he’s back. Maybe he’d scare you off if he were to text you right now.

Besides, he’d be back in town in five days anyways.

Right as he locks his phone again, he’s dragged out of his thoughts when a hand squeezes his bicep.

He snaps his head in the person’s direction.

“You gonna keep acting like you don’t see me?” Ashley – an ‘acquaintance’ of Jungkook’s – says as she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear.

(Read: acquaintance meaning a person he’d usually fuck if he was back in their country.)

“Oh,” he mumbles, his arm tensing up under her touch. Not to flex his arm but because he doesn’t want her touching him. “Ashley, right?”

“Hm,” she hums as she drops her hand from his arm, swiveling in her stool to face him, her knees pressed into the side of his thigh. “Doing anything tonight?”

He shakes his head as he continues to stare at the ice ball in his glass, his fingers fidgeting with the rim.

“Wanna do me?” she suggests, her feet making their way to rub up and down his calves in a teasing way.

He instantly regrets all the times he had her bent over his hotel couch, pounding into her from behind and kept his eyes shut to imagine he was fucking you.

He quietly exhales and rubs his eyes with the back of the knuckle of his index fingers as he looks for an excuse to reject her. “I don’t have any protection on me,” he mumbles, hoping she’ll get the hint.

Jungkook is responsible when it comes to his sex life. He’s quite literally always carrying protection. The only person he had ever fucked raw and would continue to do so are you.

So, these past two months he’d been walking around with nothing of the sort because he didn’t feel the need to. Now that there was that blossoming chance that he’d get back together with you, he’d wait for you.

He doesn’t want anyone else moaning his name, he doesn’t want to hold onto anyone else’s hips while pounding into them, he doesn’t want anyone but you.

“We could pass a nightshop on the way to my apartment,” she offers, her hand coming back to his bicep and sliding up his shoulder to his neck, the tips of her fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

The thought of anyone else touching him right now has goosebumps popping out of the upper layer of his skin and not in a good way.

“Let me use the restroom first,” he says as he gets up from his stool, subtly shrugging her hand off his neck in the meantime.

He looks her way for the first time since acknowledging her at the start and gives her the fakest smile he can muster. He walks around her and disappears in the sea of bodies that had started growing behind them.

He quietly makes his exit through a backdoor, standing in front of the building with his back to the door as it shuts loudly behind him. He tilts his head back and allows the infinite soft rain droplets to gently kiss his face and neck.

After a few more moments of enjoying the rain and distant booming music, he whistles at a taxi that he sees passing by and jogs toward it, hopping in the back before anyone else catches him.

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present

Damn Hoseok.

It just seems like he didn’t want to suffocate you again.

He’s so scared of losing you again that he didn’t want to ruin anything.

Did he text them?

Should you have heard him out?

You couldn’t even focus on that damn movie. Hoseok’s words and input kept clouding your mind, kept reminding you of maybe – just maybe – you were being unreasonable.

No, you’re not at fault for being upset that he didn’t say a word for two months.

You still think he’s an idiot for that.

Even if it’s been like that for the past two years. This time it was different and you’re not going to let anyone gaslight you into thinking it wasn’t.

But with how well you know his heart, his love, his passion for you, you should’ve known better. You don’t even know how long he’d been waiting in front of your door on New Years.

And there you were during New Years, opening up your front door with a man in your wake that had been in your (once Jungkook’s) bed.

You and Hoseok met at a party of a mutual friend one night and immediately hit it off. For the first time since Jungkook (about a year and a half after the break-up), you finally allowed yourself to let loose and do the thing Jungkook did to get his mind off of you.

You ended up having casual hook-ups with Hoseok, and goodness, was he amazing.

He fucked you good, touched you in the right places, said the right things, did everything right.

But he wasn’t him.

So, after about four months, you’d called it quits. Hoseok, being the amazing person he is, didn’t pry but insisted on staying friends and being there for you.

And that brings you back to the conversation you had with him in the car on your way to the movies.

He didn’t excuse Jungkook’s behavior but he made some good points, and damn him for that. Because now you can’t stop thinking about it. All of it. The worst being that Jungkook had planned to ask you to be his girlfriend again on New Years.

And thanks to all of that thinking, you find yourself in front of Min Yoongi’s front door a few days later.

Since you broke up with Jungkook, he never bothered to find a new place since he’s gone a lot. So, you assume he must be crashing at Yoongi’s when he’s not crashing at yours.

You raise your shaky fist and knock on the door.

A few seconds later, the sound of shuffling and keys jingling reach your ears and instantly sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. The door swings open and you make eye contact with his manager, his intense eyes make your heart almost implode within your ribs.

His frown at your presence almost stings. “What are you doing here?”

You look to the side as you swallow, hoping it helps you gather your courage. “Is Jungkook here?”

He scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “Why?”

“I need to talk to him.” You turn your head to look at him again, hoping you look as determined as you feel.

He dryly chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. “So, you can kick him out at 4AM without hearing him out but he needs to hear you out because you’re the one that needs to talk now?”

You cross your arms over your chest to keep yourself from fidgeting and glance at the floor. “I want to apologize to him for that.”

“You want me to believe that?” He glances at his watch as if he’s unimpressed with your reasoning.

Gosh, why is he so stubborn?

Before you can even reply, he bitterly adds, “You need to quit playing with that boy’s feelings, Y/N.”

You finally look up at the older man, a quiver in your bottom lip and an imaginary bag of sand unleashing in your throat as your mouth dries out at his accusation. “I’m not playing with his feelings, Min,” you pause as you look away. “Please, just let me talk to him.”

“You can’t expect me to believe you came all the way out here just so you can apologize to him.” He slides his feet into his shoes, running a hand through his freshly cut hair.

He looks so nonchalant, as if what you’re saying is of absolutely no significance to him. The tightening in your chest tells you that you’re starting to lose your patience. “And why the fuck not?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows twitch as he takes a step closer to you, menacingly looming over you. You now know where Jungkook gets that from. “You could’ve texted him and he would come over in a heartbeat, you know that.”

“Let me stop you right there,” you say as you raise your hand, holding it up in front of his chest. “He’s not a fucking dog. I’m not going to text him so he can jump at every command. I know he would, which is why I took it upon myself to come here and personally apologize to him.”

Yoongi tilts his head to the side as he listens to your ramble, his arms crossed over his chest. You see the glimmer of something in his eyes but you can’t tell what it is, he’s always been too hard to read.

You drop your hand, wrapping it around the straps of the purse you’re holding in your sweaty palms to tug it over your shoulder. “So, will you let me?” you say after a few seconds of silence from Yoongi.

He narrows his eyes at you, still trying to read you and your intentions. But your sincerity is clear, evident by the fire in your eyes, your balled fists at your sides and the pinch in between your brows.

He takes a deep breath and steps aside to let you in. “Do what you want. I was about to leave anyway,” he mumbles as he slides his coat on and walks around you, heading out the front door.

He abruptly stops and turns to look at you one last time. “Don’t make him do anything stupid, Y/N. Or so, help me God.”

He stares you down as if he wants to obliterate you with a single blink of his eyes and with that, he leaves.

Jesus. What is his deal?

You clear your throat and compose yourself. You quietly close the door after he’s left, kicking your shoes off and make your way down the corridor, peeking into rooms until you find a door that’s shut. You try to open it but it’s locked so you quietly sigh before bringing your fist up and knocking softly on it.

“Can it wait ‘till tomorrow, hyung?” Jungkook’s groggy voice is muffled from behind the door.

Your chest tightens at his voice.

You shakily exhale as you drop your hand, your other hand still sitting on the door handle. “It’s me. Can we talk?”

Instant shuffling behind the closed door has butterflies eating your stomach from the inside out, your fingers tightly wrapped around the straps of your purse as you forcefully swallow down the bubble of panic that’s threatening to rush up your throat.

The door swings open and you’re met with bed hair, shirtless, sleepy Jungkook.

Your eyes drop down his figure but you quickly return them to his eyes, your lips pressed into a thin line.

His eyeballs are practically bulging out of his eye sockets at the sight of you here and his brows are dramatically pinched together but he quickly composes himself and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Why are you here?”

It stings, it does. You realize that asking him that day what he was doing at your place must’ve hurt this way. Burned this way. Stung this way.

“Jungkook,” you breathe out, your hands in front of your thighs with your fingers wrapped tightly around the straps of your purse as you swing it back and forth to distract yourself from the nerves creeping up on you.

He tilts his head to the side, parting his lips to answer your call but he closes his lips right away. The fact that he’s not replying is enough to have your heart stuttering in its rhythm, veins pulsating with fear. What if he tells you to get out like you did?

His silence makes you speak up and say, “I’m sorry.”

His expression doesn’t change but there’s a glint of surprise in his eyes. “For?”

“Everything.” Your reply is immediate.

He slowly crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, Y/N,” he says with a stern tone in his voice that has your stomach twisting into a wringed out shirt.

You sigh as you watch him step backwards into the room again, leaving the door open for you, a wordless invitation.

He doesn’t even turn the light on, just goes back to sit on the bed but he reaches over to turn the flashlight of his phone on and turns his phone face down on the bed so it lights up some of the room.

You walk in and close the door behind you, looking around the room. You haven’t been here in a long time but not much has changed.

Your feet bring you to the foot of his bed, his eyes staring you down the entire time. “I’m sorry for sending you away and not hearing you out. I shouldn’t have done that.” You place your purse on his bed but stand in front of it still, anxiously fidgeting with the strap.

He continues to quietly stare at you which makes you continue, “I was,” you pause to sigh deeply, “I was upset because you didn’t talk to me.”

He exhales deeply and looks to the side, your eyes watching as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “You told me we’d talk about it when I was back.”

“I know I did but I thought I’d at least hear from you if it was going to last that long. I was waiting,” you explain, not missing the way Jungkook has nervously started nibbling on his bottom lip.

“I just thought that last time…” You shake your head as you continue, “I thought last time was different.”

He slowly nods as he returns the eye contact finally. “You’re right, it was,” he quietly says. “I’m sorry. I should have reached out. I was just scared you’d push me away again if I reached out to you just because you said–” he pauses as he glances at you and then turns his head to look away again, “those words. That you’d think I was too excited or something.”

Hoseok — a complete stranger to him — read Jungkook better than you. You should be fucking ashamed.

You gently rub your eyes to not mess up your eye makeup and then walk around the bed, moving to stand in front of him. He refuses to look at you, though, staring at his lap as if it’s playing a movie to him.

“Jungkook,” you start, “look at me.”

He slowly turns his head and tilts his chin to look up at you. If he notices the way your hand slightly hesitates before reaching out to him, he doesn’t show nor comment on it.

Your fingers delicately tuck his long black hair behind his ear, mindlessly playing with the shell of his ear.

“Will you hear me out this time?” he asks you, eyes twinkling with hope.

You shake your head. You don’t want to hear him out because he doesn’t owe you an explanation. “You don’t owe me anything, Jungkook. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

He wraps his fingers around your wrist as your own fingers play with his locks. “I want to. Will you let me?”

Your chest deflates as you deeply exhale at his stubbornness. “Okay.”

He reaches for his phone that he left face turned down on his nightstand and hands it to you. He’s telling you to check his phone to prove his innocence.

You shake your head as you push his phone away, you’re not that kind of person. You’re aware you and Jungkook don’t have the healthiest relationship but snooping in each other’s phones is something neither of you ever felt the need to do.

However, Jungkook is determined. “Just look at it,” he pleads.

Your eyes shift downwards as you curiously glance at the screen. It’s a text conversation between him and someone.

René.

You realize he’s showing you the full text conversation that you read last time and there are no replies from Jungkook at all.

[1:04AM]

René (AUS)

Why didn’t you tell me you were back in Australia? We could’ve gotten together and hung out!! Let me know when you’re back x

[1:06AM]

René (AUS)

Missed call (2)

You rub the scrunch between your brows and take a deep breath as the reality of the situation dawns on you. His words play on a continuous loop in your head.

I didn’t fuck anyone.

Jungkook had never denied it before. He would usually be quiet if you’d imply he’d been with someone. And if you think about it, that wasn’t even the part that made you upset. It was not hearing from him at all.

You push his phone back toward his chest when the text messages have mockingly stared at you long enough. “I’m sorry, Kook. I was such an ass.”

You continue, “This doesn’t change anything, I’m still a prick for not considering your feelings.”

He looks up at you through his pretty lashes, teeth chewing on his bottom lip which has reddened from all that nibbling.

You mindlessly press your thumb into his chin to make him release his bottom lip as you conclude, “Even if you did do whatever I thought it was you were doing, you have every right to. You don’t owe me a goddamn thing.”

“Just stop.” He shakes his head. “Don’t say that.”

You sigh as he dismisses your statements, he’s going to keep dismissing them so there’s no point in pressing him about it. “Well, I’m sorry. Are we good?” you ask as you tuck another lock of his hair behind his ear.

A soft smile stretches onto his pretty lips, his eyes glimmering like he’s holding the entire galaxy in his gaze, which is you. “Of course we are,” he says, eyelashes fluttering at you and if it was any quieter, you could probably hear the blinking of his eyelids. “Did you come all the way out here to apologize?” he adds, his voice quiet and uncertain.

No, you didn’t.

You slowly nod, sliding your fingers to his earlobe and down his jaw, rubbing his chin with your thumb. “I did.”

He nods his head and you notice the scrunch in his nose for a split second, a habit he has when he becomes emotional. Becoming emotional is the last thing you need right now so you avert your gaze to your purse on his mattress. “When will I see you again?” he quietly asks.

“You know where I live,” you say, telling him he’s always welcome whenever he needs you. You drop your hand from his face and reach for your purse, slinging it over your shoulder as you head towards the door again. The sound of him following behind you reaches your ears, letting you know he at least wants to walk you out.

It’s a direct parallel of whenever you walk him out of your house.

However, you change your mind and decide that right now is the best time to respond to his unanswered question.

“Actually,” you say as you turn on your heels, “I came for one more thing.” You take his phone out of his hand to use his flashlight.

He halts in his steps behind you and raises his brows, eyes shifting to your hands as you pull out a box from your purse.

You hold it out to him, shaking it slightly when it takes him too long to take from your hands. A frown sits on his brows for a moment but he takes it into his hands nonetheless, opening it to look inside of it.

It’s your estranged necklace, the one he gave you three years ago.

He glances up at you, his pretty eyes once full of love and hope now full of hurt and despair. His misunderstanding squeezes your heart until you almost can’t breathe under his pained gaze.

“You’re giving this back to me?” he asks, voice so small and barely loud enough to be heard.

You shake your head. “I’m asking you to help put it on me.” You turn the flashlight around to aim it at your face, allowing him to finally see the tear-shaped sapphire earrings he got you hanging from your earlobes for the first time since you walked in.

It had been dark in the room so he never noticed you wearing them until this very moment.

His eyes jump from your right ear to your left, the reality of the situation dawning on him like a pile of bricks. The smile that suddenly stretches onto his lips singlehandedly glues all the pieces of your broken heart together again.

He can’t contain his wide smile, fingers scrambling as he takes it out of the box. He throws the unimportant box somewhere on his bed and unclasps the necklace, wrapping the chain around your neck from the front, never breaking eye contact with you as his fingers fasten the chain behind your neck. He adjusts the pretty necklace around your neck and reaches up to play with the earring in your right ear.

You can’t help but smile at his giddy reaction, your fingers coming up to fidget with the pendant.

His hand drops from your earlobe to his side, fingers pinching at the fabric of his swears. “Is this a yes?”

(Read: He’s referring to the question he wrote on the post-it note.)

You shrug your shoulders with a smug grin and add, “Clearly it’s not a no.”

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he shakes his head at your teasing. His hands reach out and hold your waist, pulling you closer to him and your heart jolts in between your lungs at his proximity. He nudges your nose with his and respectfully drops his hands to your hips.

“Will you let me kiss you?”

The two of you giggle when you realize you’ve both asked each other the same question in unison. You bring your hands up to cup his face and press your lips to his.

He pulls you closer, closing the distance between the two of you as he tilts his head. His hands squeeze your hips and you hum into the kiss, moving your hands behind his neck so you can wrap your arms around his neck.

You pull away slowly and move to cup his cheeks, rubbing the apple of his burning cheek with your thumb.

“Stay the night. We’ll talk some more in the morning,” he says carefully, hoping you’ll agree.

You tilt your head to the side as his offer reaches your ears, a thinking pout on your lips before you part them to say, “I don’t think Min Yoongi would appreciate me staying over. He hates my guts.”

He stares at you for a moment longer and then glances at the wall. He knows you’re right. “He doesn’t hate y–”

You cut him off. “Yes, he does.”

“He hates what I let the relationship do to me. It’s not anything against you.” He tries to reason but you can’t forget the way Yoongi looks at you like he wishes you would just disappear into thin air.

He must’ve noticed the uncertainty in your expression. “I’ll lock the door,” he adds as he nods over your shoulder at the door.

“What are we, teenagers?” you laugh, rubbing his chest to make him look at you and he does.

He kisses his teeth after being in deep thought. “Okay, then just stay for a little while.” He pulls you down onto his bed, making you let out a surprised yelp.

You fall on top of him, hands still on his chest. You glance down at him and he’s got a shit-eating grin on his lips. He whimpers when you bring your hand down to slap his chest before you roll off of him to take your jacket off.

You toss the article of clothing somewhere across the room and your attention is disrupted when he wraps his hand around your wrist to pull you down and back into his embrace.

He pulls your back flat into his chest, arm hooked around your waist and his lips pressed into the back of your neck. He inhales through his nose and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.

“I missed you so much.” He leaves a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your neck, not paying any mind to the goosebumps that he’s awakening directly under the soft flesh of his lips.

You hum in response and let your eyes flutter close. “I haven’t had sex in months so if you don’t stop kissing me right now, I’ll ride you for three hours.”

He chuckles and pulls away to say, “Aren’t we moving too fast?”

You roll your eyes at his stupid joke as you wiggle out of his grasp and sit up, your gaze shifting to him next to you, eyes scanning his cocky face. “You fucked me for two years, Jungkook.”

“Still.” He rolls onto his back to be able to look at you better and moves his hands up to place the back of his head on top of his palms, allowing you to look at the clear outline of his biceps and triceps. He adds, “We just started dating, you horndog.”

“Right,” you say as you mockingly nod your head and get up from his bed, starting to head out of his room. “Guess I’ll just ask Hoseok.”

By the time the ruffling of his sheets have reached your ears, you haven’t even made it halfway through the room. Jungkook drags you back by your bicep, pulling you backwards into the room. You let out a quiet shriek when he spins you in one swift motion, hooks his hands around your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

He wedges himself in between your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the dresser and holding you tightly by your waist, fingers draped over your ribcage. “You just love exploring my limits, don’t you?”

You chuckle and reach up to tuck his beautiful hair behind his ears with both hands. “You’re hot when you’re jealous.”

He shakes his head with a smile stretched onto lips, wrapping his arm around the perimeter of your waist to push your chest flat into his. “Yeah? I could also just text René right now,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders before adding, “ask what she’s wearing.”

Your face twists into a scowl as you press your hands into his chest in an attempt to push him off but there’s no strength behind the push because you don’t want to push him off and luckily, Jungkook is not budging.

You huff and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his jaw and leaving a trail of soft kisses on his honey skin. “You could but you won’t.” Your breath tickles him, apparent by how quickly you can get goosebumps to pop out of his skin.

“Hm,” he hums nonchalantly and tilts his head to give you more access. He adds, “You sound awfully confident.”

“Yep,” you retort right away, dropping your arms and placing your hands on top of the dresser, leaning back on them as you look at him. “Want me to show you how confident I am?”

He cocks his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side, contemplating your words. “And how would you show me?”

You blink at him, fluttering your eyelashes innocently as you push him back and hop off the dresser. You turn him around and press his back into the dresser.

You slowly sink down, squatting in front of him and caging his calves in between your thighs in the process.

You look up at him with an innocent twinkle in your eyes as you reach for the waistband of his sweats, waiting for him to give you the green light.

“Shit,” he breathes out before eagerly nodding.

A soft giggle pushes past your lips as you start tugging his sweats down his legs and letting them pool at his ankles. You’re faced with his black Calvin Klein boxers and fuck, does he look good.

You tuck your fingers under the hem of his CK boxers and slowly tug them down his legs as well. His dick isn’t hard yet but it’s slowly growing.

You place your hands on the outer-sides of his bare thighs and move your head downwards to take the head of his dick into your mouth without using your hands, pretty eyes still staring into his.

He curses quietly and places one of his hands on your head, staring down at you to watch your every move.

You keep your eyes glued to him, lashes kissing your brows with the same innocent glimmer in your pretty eyes. You continue to move your head down his shaft, feeling it harden in your mouth and grow heavy with blood on your tongue.

His dick starts rapidly inflating in your mouth but you’ve already completely lathered it in your saliva, making it easier for you to pump his base as you continue to suck on the first few inches of his hardened dick.

You slide your tongue down his shaft, tracing one of the veins down to his balls as you gently suck on them whilst pumping his shaft, your eyes never breaking the intense lock you have his gaze in.

He winces in sensitivity and his thighs tense in pleasure as you continue to suck on his balls, your thumb gracefully rubbing over the head of his dick every time your hand makes it up his shaft.

“Quit teasing me,” he demands but it comes out in a pleading tone, his hips slightly jerking as he tries to fight the urge to thrust into your hand.

“Quit teasing me, what?” you press a kiss to the side of his shaft, eyes menacingly mocking him as you refuse to look anywhere else. You love when Jungkook submits to you because he rarely does.

He grunts in annoyance. “Quit teasing me, please.” His hand on your head gently strokes your cranium, hopeful that you’ll comply.

But you have other plans.

You haven’t taken him into your mouth since you’ve started teasing because the moment you do, he’ll make you eat your own shit by mercilessly fucking your throat. And you’re in need of teasing him some more before you let that happen.

You lick a wet stripe up the downside of his dick ‘till you make it to his tip, collecting all the precum that had started oozing out of his dick onto your tongue. You teasingly lick all around the head, the tip of your tongue sliding in between his slit which makes him hiss.

“Y/N,” he warns, trying to sound stern but his mouth betrays him when a soft, desperate moan pushes past his lips right after he says your name.

You simply hum in response. He can sound stern all he wants to but you’re the one in control, not him.

One of your hands abandons his thigh, letting the cold air hit the warm spot on his skin that your hand has left and you bring it up to massage his balls, tongue still wickedly teasing his slit.

You innocently blink up at him as you start pressing kisses to his tip, the precum sticking to your lips as you leave a sloppy trail of kisses down his shaft.

“Y/N, please,” he whimpers.

The moment his plea reaches your ears, you part your lips wide enough for him to fit through but you don’t move. It’s a wordless invitation for him to come use your mouth however he pleases.

He gets the memo right away and doesn’t waste any time to slide right into your mouth, holding your head in place as he thrusts into your mouth, groaning when the head of his dick slams into your soft palate.

You blink your tears away but it’s useless as he continues to assault the back of your throat, tears uncontrollably spilling from your eyes and rolling down your hot cheeks, ruining your makeup in the process.

You tap his thigh twice and he understands, halting his thrusts and glancing down at you to check. Once you take his dick back into your mouth and move your own head down his shaft again after catching your breath, he throws his head back and lets you suck him off to the best of your abilities.

Your makeup has undoubtedly smudged all over your face but you don’t mind, not when Jungkook loves it. You gracefully move your mouth down his dick, committing the feeling of his hardened shaft effortlessly sliding over your tongue to memory.

He moans and groans a few more times and that tells you he’s nearing his orgasm. But just as you’re about to speed up, he stops you.

“I want to cum inside of you,” he tells you before sliding out of your sloppy mouth.

You try to catch your breath and nod as you wipe your chin and mouth with the back of your hand before rising to your feet.

“I don’t like that I’m completely naked and you’re fully clothed.” He reminds you that you are – in fact – fully clothed and he is – in fact – buttnaked.

“I don’t know, seems kind of fair to me.” You shrug your shoulders once you tug your shirt off and throw it somewhere in the room. You bring your fingers up to right under your eyes to try and clean up some of the makeup stains on your hot cheeks. “‘Cause aren’t you a pervert, anyway?”

He scoffs as he crosses his arms. “I’m the pervert?”

He takes a breath to continue his argument but it’s abruptly cut off when you unclasp your bra and toss it at him, watching as it gracefully drapes over his shoulder.

His eyes drop down to your chest as if he’s forgotten you even have eyes before his hands wrap around your waist and push you toward his bed with a quickness.

You let yourself fall back against the soft mattress but you can barely enjoy the feeling before his fingers tug your pants down your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he mindlessly tugs your jeans off your ankles, angrily tossing it aside.

A soft giggle leaves your lips as you watch him be passive aggressive with your pants but not for long when his eyes shift to yours.

“Something funny?” he quips, eyes dropping down to the only piece of fabric that’s hindering what he wants to do to you.

You glance down at your panties before back up at him. Your hand travels down your stomach to your pelvis, slowly sliding your panties to the side, allowing him to see what a mess he’s made between your legs.

His tongue peeks out at the corner of his lips, sliding along his bottom lip as he eyes your attention-seeking sex. He hooks his fingers around your panties and slides them down your legs, tugging them off your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor over his shoulder.

He hunches over and positions his mouth right above your pussy before spitting on it, watching your legs jerk as he rubs it into your already soaked sex with his fingers. He knows you like it and he’s right, it drives you up the fucking wall every time he does.

He straightens his back and positions himself at your sticky sex, rubbing the head of his dick up and down your wet slit.

He wastes no time as he looks into your eyes when he pushes in, watching your face and how your eyes widen, your mouth falls open, your body jerks.

“Jungkook.” His name leaves your mouth in a desperate moan as he bottoms out, his brows furrowed and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

He lets out a low grunt and after a while of adjusting to the feeling of being inside of you again, he starts thrusting into you.

Your eyes shift to where you’re connected, intently watching how his dick disappears in and out of you. A pathetic moan falls from your lips, a surprised yelp following directly after when he grabs a handful of your breast, massaging it in his palm as he fucks into you.

His hips speed up in pace, the sound of his skin slamming into yours has your eyes rolling back and your arms give out, making you fall back against the mattress, sprawled out in front of him again.

He lets go of your breast and pushes one of your legs back, hooking it around his arm to keep it in place and mercilessly starts pounding into you, face hovering right over yours. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your eyes flutter open at his words, the only thing you can think about now is the stretching in your walls and his beautiful face in front of yours.

“You belong to me, don’t you?” he muses, face closing in on your neck as he presses soft kisses to your sweaty skin. The soft whines and whimpers leaving your mouth makes him fuck you harder yet gentler, full of love yet full of hate, want but also need.

You gather your breath to answer his question, in the mood to tease him now that he’s finally yours again. “No.”

Teasing each other is your love language.

His hips slow down and his face appears in front of yours again with a frown. His jet black eyes staring you down makes you want to sink into his mattress and disappear off the face of the Earth. He arrogantly clicks his tongue as he says, “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you hum, closing your eyes as you move your hands up to the back of his neck to play with his hair, twirling his locks around your fingers.

He mockingly nods at your teasing. “You know damn well no one else fucks you like I do.” His thrusts get harsher, eyes dropping to your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his pounding.

You whimper at the switch, the rough pounding makes the wetness squelch extra loud and you’ve made a disgusting mess against his sex with your slick.

“You know, Hoseok was pretty goo–”

“But who’s the one fucking you right now?”

His rebuttal has you dead silent aside from the occasional, pathetic moans and heavy breathing. You open your eyes and the first thing you’re met with are his own, black and frustrated.

“The love of my life.”

Your reply to him has his hips stuttering in their rhythm, the corners of his lips twitching as he tries to fight the smile threatening to creep onto his lips. In order to hide his smile, he starts leaning down and presses his lips against yours in a sweet kiss, a stark contrast to the rough pounding of his hips.

Make-up sex really is the best.

You decide it’s enough teasing and wrap your legs around his waist, caging him in between your thighs as you pull him even closer. “I love you so much,” you mumble against his lips, arms wrapped around his neck to fully keep him trapped in your embrace.

He nods at the words, his pelvis still repeatedly slamming into yours. His hips slow down but the power behind them never subsides, the rough pounding has all your nerve endings set alight and your thighs jerk violently when the head of his dick barely grazes your cervix with each thrust.

“I’m gonna cum,” he mumbles against your lips, allowing you to lick into his mouth. You clench around his dick, walls wrapping tightly around him. He groans into your mouth, it’s your way of milking him of every drop and he knows it.

“Harder,” you moan once he pulls away from your lips, his brows knitting together as he complies, roughly slamming his hips into yours.

His breath is getting heavier by the second and his dick twitches in between your walls, alerting you that he’s seconds away from his climax. “I love you so much,” he mumbles as he ejaculates, painting your insides with his cum.

He keeps thrusting and lets long groans and moans leave his lips as he fucks his load into you, your soft whimpers in his ear are the cherry on top that drives him insane.

He gives you a couple more thrusts before he fully comes to a halt, face buried in the crook of your neck.

The synced heavy breathing, his proximity, the reality of the situation, it all has tears pricking in your eyes.

He slowly lifts his head off your shoulder, eyes searching yours. “You haven’t cum yet, hm?”

You shake your head in response.

“Remember when you teased me while sucking my dick 20 minutes ago?” he asks as he unhooks your legs from his waist.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you listen to him, already knowing where this is headed.

“Get ready,” is all he says.

He pulls out and drags you all the way to the edge of his bed, forcefully shoving his fingers into your mouth while the other wastes no time traveling to your sex and beginning its torturous assault on your sensitive clit.

Your throat is ruined from the screams you’ve let out when he continues to edge and overstimulate you for the next 30 minutes, watching in satisfaction as you writhe and squirm under his touch.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You wrap the towel around your frame as you leave his bathroom, eyes glued to him as he’s staring at the ceiling before his eyes shift to you. He turns on his side and props his head up on one hand, a smile on his lips as he watches you dig into his dresser for something to wear.

“When do you leave again?” you ask quietly as you pull out a pair of his sweats.

He stares at your back for a moment longer before answering, “Next Thursday.”

(Read: For context, it’s Friday right now.)

Your hands find one of his bigger shirts and you pull it out, placing it next to the sweats you chose on top of the dresser.

You continue, “Where are you going?”

He thinks about his answer for a few seconds. “Brazil,” he says. This conversation happens every time and yet he answers like it’s the first time you’re asking him these questions.

You slowly nod as you consider asking him what you want to ask him.

“How long will you be staying there?” you ask as you drop your towel and slide his sweats and shirt on, ditching your bra and underwear.

He looks up at you as he says, “I’m not sure, probably a week or two.”

Your feet slowly take you to him and you take your seat on his bed right next to him.

You nod your head in understanding again before you reach out to tuck his hair behind his ear, addicted to the way his soft hair feels against your skin.

“Will you let me come with you?”

Your question has him perking up like a cartoon character, lips twitching, eyes wide, ears expanding.

Ever since you met him, you had never flown out with him anywhere. You love change but you also love the comfort of your own home.

But love is about compromise, is it not?

He instantly shoots up in his bed and lunges at you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame, face buried in your hair. He deeply inhales, his arms almost crushing your ribs, his pounding heart beating against your chest.

His breath has gotten shaky but you can tell that he’s fighting the urge to bawl in your presence. And eventually, he finally finds the voice that abandoned him in his time of need.

“I would love that.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (01)

chapter one: flutter

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genre: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: implied smut, aftercare, mentions of alcohol consumption, hints of oc being a little emotionally constipated lol, barely edited but we should all be used to seeing that from me atp word count: 2.3k note: eeeek my first lino series is here 🥺 there's not much substance in the first part bc we're mostly just setting things up. thank you to my wifeus in the obs server (you know who you are ofc) for being the best cheerleaders, bc i don't think i would've gone through with writing this fic if it wasn't for you. fwb lino probably would've had to gather dust in the attic if you hadn't encouraged me to write him. thank you and love you <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Tomorrow when it's over and we're sober I just want to believe that you'll miss me But I shouldn't 'cause we're just friends Now we're day drunk in the back seat of a taxi And you're telling me you wanna kiss me But we shouldn't 'cause we're just friends

Just Friends - Virginia to Vegas

“Minho.”

“Hmm?”

“Get off of me.”

He doesn’t, of course. Because Minho is stubborn and Minho does whatever he wants sometimes. “No,” he mumbles against your neck, pressing a soft kiss there that makes the stupid thing in your chest flutter against your will. You don’t let yourself indulge in the feeling for too long though, only a second. “You’re too warm.”

“Min,” you scold lightly, but you can’t say that you don’t enjoy having his body on yours like this. It’s different than when you’re having sex, because this is more intimate somehow, just him holding you - or rather, resting the entirety of him on top of you like the human version of a weighted blanket. Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am! but with a Minho-esque flare that he doesn’t have to appease you with, but chooses to anyway.

One of the reasons why you don’t let yourself relish in the moment is because intimacy isn’t what you signed up for. In fact, it’s the complete opposite of what you both agreed on. No strings attached - it was the only instruction, plain and simple.

And so you nudge his shoulder again, making him sigh and begrudgingly sit up, in all of his post-sex glory. Disheveled fluffy hair, a couple of fading marks on his neck courtesy of you, kiss-swollen lips and a kind of glow that you’re fairly certain matches your own.

“Hang on,” Minho says, I’ll get you a towel.”

He quickly throws on his boxers - previously discarded on the floor - and heads to your bathroom. He returns to your side just a couple minutes later with said item in hand, dabbing the soft cloth at your core tenderly.

“You okay?” he asks. “I wasn’t too rough on you tonight?”

You like the aftercare, and how tender he always is with you. You’re not sure if that’s the extra effort that he puts in with everyone he’s ever hooked up with, or if you two are just naturally comfortable around each other, but it’s reassuring. It’s nice to know that this agreement between the two of you hasn’t tarnished your friendship.

Yet?

Yet.

“You were perfect,” you tell him with a coy smile. “I was the one who asked for it anyway.”

Minho chuckles, then pats your bare thigh for good measure as he takes one final swipe at your core before chucking the towel into the laundry basket in the corner of your room.

He plops onto your bed again, propping himself on an elbow so he could look down at your face, highlighted only by the dim light of the small lamp on your bedside table. The way that his bicep flexes still puts you in a bit of a trance, even though you’ve seen it probably hundreds of times already.

“You know, I was pretty surprised when you asked me to try that with you,” he says, eyeing your mouth again. “Didn’t think you’d be down for experimenting new things with me.”

“Well, who else am I supposed to try things out with?”

You’re not even sure what you meant - the words just rolled off your tongue - but you don’t miss the instantaneous look of pride on his face. To hear something like that from you is clearly an ego boost for him.

You don’t miss the subtle blush that tints both of his cheeks and the top of his ears either, but you don’t dwell on it for very long.

Come to think of it, you don’t let yourself indulge in a lot of things when you’re around him.

His free hand comes up to draw imaginary patterns along your arm, starting from your shoulder, down to your elbow, then across your forearm until you could feel his fingers on the back of your hand. “I forgot to mention earlier,” he says, tracing what you think is an invisible outline of a heart on your skin. “Hyunjin knows.”

“Knows what?” you ask.

“He knows that we’re hooking up,” Minho tells you, then clarifies when he sees your eyes widening. “Well, he doesn’t know that it’s you. He knows that I’m hooking up with someone.”

You mimic his position, propping yourself up on one elbow so your face is more leveled with his, evidently alarmed at the mention of your friend finding out about a secret that you've been trying to hide for months now.

No, a secret would imply that you have more things you have to conceal. It’s probably more accurate to refer to it as the secret.

Sometimes, even you yourself wonder why this is something you need to hide from everyone. 

It’s not like you’re living in the Victorian era where people are scandalized by the appearance of a bare knee. It’s not like your friends are prudes either; most of them have had their fair share of friends with benefits. It’s all casual, all in good fun.

But maybe it’s because it’s Minho that you’re currently… preoccupied with, that makes you feel less inclined to share with the rest of the group.

If any of them catches wind of this, you know they’ll have loads to say about it, starting with a thorough but well-intentioned lecture from Chan. 

You were good friends before your thing started.

You had a friendship. You had something to lose.

You don’t know why you would even risk it in the first place.

It just happened.

One particularly lonely night. You had some alcohol in your system, and that always made you more sentimental than usual. There was something romantic in the air, or maybe that’s just what you thought looking at everything through the lenses of three glasses of wine. Not drunk, just buzzed enough to be reminded that Minho was one of the most beautiful people you’d ever laid your eyes upon.

But the accumulation of all those factors didn’t matter - couldn’t have mattered - more than the fact that he was there for you.

He listened to you brood over how suffocated you felt, how stagnant your life was, how nothing seemed to be going the way you wanted no matter how hard you tried. He didn’t offer you unsolicited advice, didn’t make you feel silly for moping. He was a soothing presence and that was enough for you.

Sometimes, your friends liked to say that you two would make a good couple because of how compatible you were. Chan once commented that you and Minho were a perfect fit, and that was what kept plaguing your mind moments before you kissed Minho for the first time.

Maybe you’re the missing piece of my puzzle, you had thought back then. My perfect fit.

You had pulled away after a couple of seconds, mortified, but his reaction was immediate. He’d chased after your lips again, no questions asked.

You knew it was a rash decision, spurred on by the heat of the moment and cheap convenience store rosé. Minho was so… goddamn addictive after just one taste that you couldn’t resist anymore. Having him felt like you finally had a taste of water after spending years deprived.

Needless to say, he ended up in your bed that night. The rest is… well, it doesn’t take a genius to deduce the subsequent series of events that led you here.

“Elaborate,” you say with an arch of your eyebrow.

“You texted when he was hanging out at my place and I was in the bathroom.” Minho shrugs. “That nosy little thing. He scrolled through quite a bit of our texts too.”

You frown. “He read our texts but he doesn’t know it’s me?”

“I don’t have you saved as your name.”

“Then what do you have me saved as?”

Up until now, you never even thought about this, and you’ve always just assumed that you’re in his contacts under your name, like he is in your list. Well, technically you have him saved as ‘Min’, but anyone who comes across it could still easily identify who you’re referring to.

Minho purses his lips, contemplating for a minute before he ultimately decides to withhold this information from you. He gives you a teasing smile, another shrug, before saying, “That’s for me to know and for you to find out when the time comes.”

“I don’t get to know what my own name is in your phone? Even Hyunjin knows, apparently.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know it’s you, so what does he really even know?”

“But I have a right-”

“Shhh.” Then he’s leaning forward to shush you with a quick kiss to your lips. It does the job, because you shut right the hell up. It surprises you every time he kisses you when you’re not in the middle of sex. Moments like these are rare, but you’re always rendered speechless by how casually he does it, how familiar the simple action is even when it shouldn’t be, and most of all, you’re dumbstruck by just how right it feels.

“Am I gonna see you before Yeonjun’s party on Saturday?” he asks, like nothing even happened. Your lips are tingling from a simple peck. It’s so silly, considering how just half an hour ago, he was literally inside of you, pounding you into oblivion until you had tears streaming down your face. Until you were crying out his name like it was the only word you’d ever known.

You quickly regain your composure. “I don’t know, maybe. I have a final paper to finish so I’ll probably be holed up here or at the library,” you tell him. “Maybe we’ll catch each other on campus. But if not, then, yeah, I’ll see you at the party.”

Minho seems disappointed, evident from his immediate and adorable pout. 

“It’s just a few days.” You roll your eyes harmlessly, lying back down again to snuggle into your pillow. “You’ll live.”

“Will I?” he grumbles. “What am I supposed to do for four whole days?”

“Don’t you have your finals too?”

“All presentations and papers. Finished the last one today.”

“Oh,” you say, mildly impressed by the fact. You always forget how studious he actually is. “Internships?”

“Already sent in my applications.”

“Changbin says you’ve been talking to that girl Hana in your class.”

You don’t know why you brought it up. You don’t even like hearing the words coming out of your own mouth.

Minho makes a face, almost like he’s taken aback that Changbin would even tell you that. “Because we’re in the same group for our final presentation,” he informs you.

“She seems nice, from what I’ve heard about her. Seems like she has a big fat crush on you too.”

“Not to sound mean, but I don’t really care about that.”

A feeling blooms in the pit of your stomach, a feeling that you cannot and will not give a name to. There’s just something about the way he said it, steadfast, without any hesitation.

“It does make you sound a bit mean,” you tell him.

“I’m just not interested in her.”

“I don’t want to hold up the Minho train if there are other options out there that you want to explore.”

Do you mean it? Yes and no. Part of you wants to be nosy and prod until he fesses up about a potential love interest in his life - if there even is one - so that you could be a good friend that tell him to just go for it, but your curiosity is eclipsed by your selfishness, because you realize that you don’t really want to know if it means the end of this.

Are you being a hypocrite?

Yeah, probably.

He bites his bottom lip as if in thought, just briefly, before he rolls over to lie on his back, staring up at your boring ceiling. “I told you, I don’t care. I’m not interested in any other girl,” he says.

Realistically, you know there will be a finale. It’s only inevitable. One day, he’ll get a girlfriend, or you’ll get a boyfriend - the former seems more likely than the latter - and this arrangement between the two of you will have run its course. Null and void.

It’s part of the reason why you never let yourself relish in him, because you will only be thoroughly disappointed when he gets taken away from you.

As if he’s ever been yours to begin with.

You’ve never belonged to him either.

Neither of you owes the other anything at all.

You blink away the dazed look in your eyes, humming a noncommittal noise in irresolute agreement, before reaching for your phone to check the time. It’s not that late, half an hour shy of midnight, and his place isn’t that long a walk from yours. You know full well that it isn’t much of an excuse, and yet…

“It’s late.”

“Can’t I stay over?” He turns his head to look at you. “I’ll be good. I’ll just sleep next to you.”

“No can do,” you say. “I have a class at 10AM.”

“Me too. I can walk you to campus,” he insists.

There’s something unspoken in his gaze that you can sense but can’t translate. It’s been happening more often lately - you not being able to read him as easily as you could before. You have to admit that it makes you a little unsettled. The unknown that swims in the dark sepia of his eyes.

But maybe you’re overthinking this. Maybe you’re making something out of absolutely nothing.

“Go home, Minho,” you decide, leaving him no room to protest. The instant kicked puppy look on his face makes you feel a little bad, thus prompting you to continue, “I’ll try to see you on campus, okay?”

He looks at you for another moment before he sits up unwillingly. It seems like he has something else to say - something other than a butthurt comment about being bored out of his mind over the next few days - but in the end, he gives up. You notice the way his shoulders slightly slump as he exhales, “Okay.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 27.11.2023]

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hello , love your content! Helps me so much with writing!! I saw your cat post yesterday and I was wondering if you had notes for horses too? If not it’s okay. You are doing gods work thank you!!!<3

Writing Notes: Horses & their Personalities

According to J. Warren Evans in the popular animal science textbook Horses: A Guide to Selection, Care and Employment, horses have 6 basic temperament types. Here’s a rundown on the temperament types and how each is best handled:

Quiet. This horse is commonly referred to as bomb-proof by owners and a packer by riding instructors for his unreactive nature. He will tolerate almost anything, from a fluttering flag to an uncoordinated rider with inexperienced hands. This type can generally be trusted to behave safely and to build the confidence of beginner riders, while a more advanced rider might consider him too dull.

Interested. These horses are great for riders with a little training and experience. In well-trained hands, these horses pay attention to the rider’s aids but aren’t upset by them. While they are aware of their environment and respond to things going on around them, it’s unusual for them to react with fight-or-flight behavior. As long as this horse is handled with consideration and sensitivity, riders will seldom go wrong with this sort. Many of the horses you see collecting ribbons at local horse shows fit into this category, as they are both animated and dependable.

Nervous. Nervous is the personality type truest to equine nature, and consequently many horses fit into this category. The flight response in nervous horses is well-developed. They spook easily, perhaps even bolting to escape from perceived dangers all around. They tend to carry their heads high, looking for trouble and ready to react. For a quiet and experienced rider, this horse can eventually make a very nice mount. For a tentative rider, he can be a wreck waiting to happen. Most can eventually develop some trust and a sense of security from confident yet sympathetic riders who allow them to progress in training. They require extreme patience and confident handling from the rider. You cannot rush the trust they require before they can progress. If you can learn to work with the challenge, these horses can be worth it and wonderful to show as they tend to possess an extra brilliance in spirit and movement.

Extremely Nervous. These horses are so reactive that virtually anything can set them off, and even changes in footing or shadows on the ground could cause fearful explosions at any time. Calm, consistent handling while slowly expanding their comfort zones will ultimately benefit them, but the road will be long and often dangerous. You must stay especially alert at all times. These horses are best left to professionals or to individuals with loads of experience and a solid foundation in equine behavior principles.

Stubborn. These horses tend to resent work and try to find a way out of it. When pushed, they often become irritable and balky, sometimes even exploding in temper. Trainers often encounter behavior that sets back training, requiring repetitions of lessons already learned. These horses also require riders with a lot of patience, but while the nervous horse requires a quiet hand, stubborn horses need a tactful yet firm approach.

Treacherous. These horses, with the notable exception of a few naturally aggressive stallions, are nearly always either a product of bad handling or benign neglect. They either haven’t learned to respect humans or have learned to actively resent them. Such horses may unexpectedly attack humans by kicking, biting or stomping on them. Horses who simply lack an understanding of their place below humans on the dominance hierarchy may sometimes be reformed by the most experienced of handlers. Sadly, euthanasia is sometimes the only safe solution for savage horses. Fortunately, such horses are rare.

Many horses seem to fluctuate daily between types. But this is what makes each ride unique and each day a lesson.

In addition to the above mentioned temperaments, the following personalities are reported to be observed in horses:

Friendly. Friendly types enjoy human companionship and frequently form strong bonds with their riders. They are the kind of horses that will nickel when they see you coming and enjoy being groomed and fussed over. They are often very willing partners and can excel in any discipline, although they may lack the competitiveness of some of the other types. These horses make excellent first mounts for beginners because they are so forgiving and willing to please. They are also frequently used in therapeutic riding programs because of their gentle nature.

Cuddler. Cuddlers are horses that love physical affection. They enjoy being close to their humans and often seek out physical contact. They frequently nuzzle, rest their heads on you, and even fall asleep while being groomed. This type of horse is often very affectionate and bonds strongly with its riders. They make excellent mounts for beginners and children because they are so patient and gentle. Cuddlers are often used in therapeutic riding programs because of their calming presence.

Go-Getter. Go-getters are horses that are always up for a challenge. They love to work and are very motivated by food, praise, and attention. These types of horses often excel in competition because they are so eager to please their riders. They can be a bit challenging to train because they can be easily bored. However, once they trust their rider, they will give their all in any situation. These horses make excellent mounts for experienced riders who are looking for a willing partner.

Laid-Back. Laid-back types are the chillaxed of the horse world. They are not particularly motivated by food, praise, or attention. They often enjoy a good scratch and will stand quietly while being groomed, but they are not usually fond of being fussed over. These horses frequently lack motivation and can be challenging to train. However, once they trust their rider, they can be very reliable partners. These horses make excellent mounts for experienced riders who are looking for a laid-back mount.

Of course, not every horse fits perfectly into one of these categories. Many horses have traits from multiple types or their own unique combination of qualities. The best way to get to know your horse's personality is to spend time with them and observe their behaviour.

Temperament - can be defined as innate properties of the nervous system, whereas personality includes the complex behavioral traits acquired through life.

Association between personality and behavior is important for breeding, selection, and training of horses. Sackman & Houpt (2018) evaluated if equine personality components previously identified in Japan and Europe were consistent when applied to American horses.

They examined the association of personality with breed, age, sex, management, training, stereotypies, and misbehaviors.

The owner directed personality survey consisted of 25 questions.

An online version of the survey was created.

The principal component analysis method was used to associate behavioral traits with personality components.

Factor analysis with orthogonal transformation was performed on scores for personality-related questions.

A total of 847 survey responses were used.

Quarter Horses, “other” breed, and Thoroughbred were the most common breeds.

Three principal personality components were extracted as each behavioral trait belonged to one of these three components.

Arabians, Thoroughbreds, Saddlebreds, and Walking horses were the most nervous and Quarter Horses, and Paints, Appaloosas, and Drafts were the least nervous.

Using the key personality components, they were able to establish and refute links between personality type such as nervousness, curiosity, and threatening and trained discipline.

They found that horses who kicked doors, bit, and had more than one stereotypy had a more threatening personality than those horses with no stereotypy.

Genetics, as demonstrated by an association between personality components and breed, play the largest role in equine personality with environmental factors, such as association and experience with humans, social contact, and housing applying a significant influence on the expression of specific behaviors/traits.

All horses are individuals with their own unique personality traits, just like people. However, there are some generalisations that can be made about different types of horses based on their breed, history, and physical characteristics.

Some popular horse types include:

American Quarter Horse: These horses are known for their athleticism and speed and are often used in rodeos and racing.

Arabian: Arabians are one of the oldest horse breeds in the world and are known for their intelligence and stamina.

Icelandic: These hardy horses are used for a variety of purposes including riding, pulling carts, and herding sheep.

When it comes to personalities, some horses are more outgoing and social while others are more independent and aloof.

Some horses are very curious and playful, while others are calmer and more serious.

There is no right or wrong when it comes to horse personalities, but it is important to match the right horse with the right owner based on their individual needs and personality traits.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You are too lovely, thanks so much! Hope this helps with your writing <3

[kanene-yaaay]

The Benefits of a Restful Sleep (and other things that a friend can help you with)

Kanene's notes: In my defense, Dogday is way too cute and kind. That was his mistake. Now I just HAD to make an entire story where he is alive and the Player is both the most stubborn bean ever and the biggest softie to set a foot in the factory. That is it. That is the entire story. Warnings: Mentioned death as a form of reset, angst and mention of injury and blood. It's discussed but not too deeply and isn't the main plot of the story. Raspberries, nibbles, lots of teasing, hurt/comfort and roothing fluff. Reader is adressed with they/them. Around 9.500 words. Heavily inspired by @fluffymary 's wonderful, incredible stories. Take a look at them too :D

[~*~]

You were exhausted.

That was a problem.

Sure, tiredness wasn’t really a new feeling in your life when you looked at the big scheme of things. Even before you went back to your old workplace, it used to cling on your bones, to fill your mind with memories and to pull your spirits down at any time of the day when a kid’s laughter or flowers would remind you of everything you tried so hard to leave behind.

(And look where you are now.)

The constant ‘fighting for your life’ thing also hasn't been helping a lot lately. Adrenaline and the will to keep on living were perfect for the battles but could only get you so far when the feeling of danger and fear scrutinized all of your steps, stalking in any and every corner, waiting for the right moment to strike. Days and hours became a total mess and the longer you spent on exploring and surviving, the more and more things that were once important started to fade to a background thought in your head.

Food was one of them. Water. Sleep. The debris and destruction brought a lot of memories and enemies but hardly a safezone where you could actually sit down, breathe and rest for a bit. It was fine, though. The solution was simple and quick. 

Dying.

Sounded harsh when you thought about it in that way, to be honest. 

Resetting. 

Or something like that.

Not during a fight, of course. After the first couple of times, it quickly became annoying and no fun at all to have to experience all the chase and… other things more than once. However, on other occasions, missteps into an abyss happen and sometimes a bad calculation using the grabpack could be fatal (and more frequent than you should admit.) 

You couldn’t deny its convenience. In a blink you would wake up, not hungry, thirsty or exhausted, a few meters behind your previous location and then you would be ready to go until the pain of hunger or the feeling of being in a brick of passing out appeared once again.

It was not the best, you knew, but it was a good enough solution. 

It was fine.

(It was fine.) 

Especially now, when you have someone else depending on you to survive. Saving Dogday had been tricky and much, much harder than the alternative. Keeping him alive after that, during the smiling critters chase and the aftermath, even more so. None of this didn’t really matter, though. It was worth it. 

The beginning had been tougher. With all the emotions, the changes, pain (and how to keep going after all of that), going back to Home Sweet Home and getting into more trouble trying to turn on all the generators. The fact that, not very longer after getting into the Daycare, you found a new, clean fabric and a set of tools to take care of Dogday’s injuries was the perfect help, even if the coincidence of that encounter had bordered on a miracle that made your skin prickle in discomfort as you had stared at the sewing kit localized (placed) just a few meters away from you two. There was no way that this could have been accidental. 

(Ever since you set a foot in this factory not a single encounter, voice, tape or battle seemed a coincidence and the fear of the image that this puzzle was creating haunted your every choice.)

Nevertheless, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Even though Dogday stayed unusually quiet for a really long time after his injuries were taken care of, he still insisted on using it despite both of your strong suspicions, not wanting to be a ‘burden’, anymore.

You disagreed strongly with that word, of course. Not only because his knowledge of the place and the little shortcuts or hidden spaces had been essential both to escape from the hungry toys and to make your path confusing enough to mislead any pursuers you had was essential to your survival, but also because… 

Damn. 

You just really missed this.

Chatting. Having someone truly by your side. No second intentions or guesses or working around to earn a couple of moments of dialogue. Just a companionship and a fighter if needed, someone bright who could, just with their presence and company, help to keep your focus and your objectives in mind. 

Dogday’s voice was raspy and rough but his words were light and kind. He would insist on calling you ‘angel’ and gesture excitedly around when he was talking, pulling your attention back when you began losing yourself in your thoughts. He would help solving the complicated puzzles spread through the factory and hold your hand tight to hide the tremble of his own paws when you both went through somewhere too dark. He would joke and hold and help and you wished you could put in words how no trouble in the world could make his presence here not worth it. 

That is why you couldn’t afford passing out right now. That is why you kept pulling one foot after the other and continued your path to the end of this hell.

Unfortunately, the very reason that kept you moving forward was the same one blocking you from actually managing to reset your body and get over that tiredness.

The fact that Dogday cared.

He was smart and quite smooth too. That was clear after all the times he would ‘accidentally’ get in front of you when you managed to step a bit too close from a deepless hole or how he would suddenly remember a shortcut that would have you to deviate from the giant abyss you had been eyeing for a few moments ago or when he distracted you as he followed another direction, a light pull on your wrist and a inviting conversation on the tip of his tongue, the pit getting farther and farther away.

It was a bit endearing, you couldn’t lie.

However, when a badly placed hand of your grabpack successfully made you slip from a fatal high and you only had time to listen to a surprised yelp (or more like a ‘yap’?) before a giant orange arm held you close to a fluffy chest you were actually torn between hitting something in frustration and melting in the warmth.

Dogday smiled, looking down. 

“Ops, you almost fell in there, angel.” His eyebrow was crooked and his expression filled with tension and confusion. Yep. He definitely realized what was going on. That kind of sucks.

He started heading the other direction, taking a different path to where you were going. “You‘re really tired, aren’t you? Saving everyone must cost a lot of energy.” His eyes softened. You struggled to keep yours open, body inevitably relaxing with his voice and kind touch. “And, well, I don’t think you had a lot of opportunities to rest since you got here too, right? Ehehe. That is… a bit worrisome. Humans need plenty of sleep and we have been walking for a long time already!”

You have survived longer without it. It was fine. There were more generators that had to be turned on before anything else. Those were your priorities.

Dogday acknowledged the end of your sentence before shaking his head vehemently, his ears flopping around in an endearing way. 

“The generators have been turned off for a long time now, a few more hours won’t hurt. You are our priority, angel.” Dogday tried to not let his tail wag in adorableness when he pulled you closer to his chest and you let your head and eyelids fall with a really tiny, quiet sound for a moment too long before opening them and watching him in a stubborn manner. “And I think I know somewhere where we can hide for long enough before continuing.” 

He watched as you deviated your gaze, thoughtful. Almost there.

“Besides, my kind angel” he let his posture go, just a little. The exhaustion from… everything showing from the light of his eyes to the darkness of his mouth. Trusting had been what got him stuck but also what freed him. He could offer this human a bit more of it. “I-I really think I need time to recover. Sometimes it just… hurts.”

He looked down and you didn’t need to follow his gaze to get what he was saying.

Oh.

Oh.

That was what settled it. You nodded. But he had to put you on the ground. 

You kept your expression firm and ignored his playful chuckle and the way he only pulled you closer with your words, because if he kept holding you, there was no way you would not fall asleep instantly and you both couldn’t afford that until he got to that safe place.

With a huff and a beginning of a pout he acquiesced and put you on the cracked floor, getting your point. He had to hide his snickers with his paw when you wobbled on the same spot for a second before eventually gathering your strength back, feeling a million times more tired. 

Urg. Relaxing was a mistake.

“Don’t worry, it’s not too far from here. We will get there in no time!” 

(...)

Took longer than he expected for you to finally lay down, but it was worth it. The place was one of the old dorms so there were a lot of pillows and mattresses thrown around, a few somewhat still holding a good condition for use. With the help of some furniture and moving around, you managed to barricade the door and build a sort of nest hidden in a farther corner so that it would be really difficult to notice through any window. 

The human seemed ready to pass out at any moment, yawning and giving the door a last look, watching every creek and tear on the walls for anything that could be dangerous, even after all their previous care to make this place as safe as possible. Silly dear.

Dogday has always prided himself in being perceptive. Both because of the kids he once needed to watch and take care of and also because it’s important to notice and understand the details around your teammates so he would know when to help them.

(Old habits die hard, as it seems.)

And, yeah, maybe it had something to do with how long he spent without seeing a human or how he missed having someone (anyone-) who cared so much around. But he couldn’t really help to watch, prod and pick every little detail and gesture of yours around as if he was collecting flowers in a garden. Humans were so… expressive, and this one wasn’t different at all. 

Angel was fierce and determined, going silently and non stop through the facility and all their objectives with a focused mind and precise movements. Their senses and general environmental awareness were good, too, catching hints and dangers just a second or two after Dogday himself caught them, which, considering their small ears and eyes, was an incredible feat. 

Still, like a true angel, strength and kindness walked side by side with them. Dogday didn’t say that only because that person was the literal reason he was alive today, but simply because it was clear as water how much of a true softie you were inside. It was in the way they fired only around the small smile critters, avoiding to actually burn and kill them (even though he didn’t really know how he should feel about it), on how they carried and treated his wounds and how all their features - tensed, anxious and angry - softened everytime they looked at him. 

It was on the way that they walked slower to accompany him, amusing his rambles with pokes of fun and interesting additions and in how each touch or word was filled with tenderness and respect. He didn’t feel like a toy with them like some old employers had made him feel before or a failure as… others made him believe.

So, his companionship was extremely captivating and maybe that was why it hadn’t been really hard to notice how the little tiny hints and actions came together to form a quite worrisome image of how disregarding about their own safety they were. Jumping into fights, crawling into dangerous, small spaces without thinking twice (he couldn’t get them there, if he needed he couldn’t get them there-), following strangers’ orders and running over cliffs as if their life wasn’t the thing that mattered the most and Dogday would always be there to catch them when they fell.

(What did they use to do when he wasn’t?)

Even now, he huffed as the human slowly took off the grabpack while still not even lowering themselves on the mattress or trying to get comfortable even though they seemed ready to slip into unconsciousness at any time now. Alert to the very last second.

It felt a bit nostalgic, if he was being honest. At least helping someone to go to sleep was a kind of problem that he knew how to solve. 

With no further ado, he let himself fall on the soft pile with a ‘oof’, slowly rolling around the cleanest pillows they found and hugging the mattress as a loud, relaxed sighing fled from his mouth. His entire body seemed to untense with the unexpected comfortable feeling. How long had it been since he could just enjoy being surrounded by softness and safety like this?

His tail began contently thumping on the pile, another sigh leaving his mouth and making him forget for a moment his objective as he rolled more and more on the spot, the pure feeling of bliss taking over his senses until the sound of amused chuckles brought him back to reality.

He opened his eyes only to find an incredibly fond gaze looking right back at him. The absurd weight that haunted his friend’s shoulders seemed to have disappeared for a moment and, if he really concentrated enough on those kind eyes, it was like the rest of the world became unfocused. That is right! Dogday shook his head, as if cleaning it from his distracting thoughts. He had a mission to accomplish! Get the human to rest! No more fooling around!

“Hmmmm, It’s so, so, sooo comfy here!” Dogday controlled his voice so his playful tune wouldn’t show too much and give away his plan. He got a pillow and shoved his face on it just to highlight his words. “Like a kingdom made of clouds, where all the citizens get to lay down and rest all day, everyday and their favorite hobby is to cuddle and snuggle. Sounds like a nice place, don’t you think?” 

You agreed, snorting when two expectanting lights turned around and Dogday patted the spot right beside him, only smiling bigger when you pretended to roll your eyes and finally, finally, laid down, barely touching the pile before your body crumbled the rest of the way.

It was… really soft. Even more than you expected from such old furniture but that could be the exhaustion talking. A relieved groan filled the place and before you could process that it came from your lips two arms came and carefully pulled you to a bunch of even softer fluff, which automatically made you snuggle closer, hugging the pillow (friend?) and relaxing, body aching with how much tension flew away from it so quickly.

A sweet voice said something in the background, but all of your senses melted together with your muscles when a hand began rubbing your back, drawing light circles on your spine and following it to your neck, briefly massaging it before going back to the back rubs.

That nice voice kept talking and you could briefly distinguish the words ‘deserve’, ‘rest’ and ‘good’ before the hand got a bit too close to your side and you giggled. The hand stilled but it was okay, it just tickled, that is all. No need to stop. 

This was really nice, you kind of missed it. 

You snuggled more.

All of it. It’s been a while.

As the darkness of the unconsciousness started taking you away, an amused, fond ‘aww’ was the last thing you heard.

(...)

You woke up with a scare.

Nothing necessarily happened, but your body immediately tensed, in alert. Blurry eyes traveled with speed around the room in search for any kind of movement, the silence helping to amplify the sound of any enemy that could be closer. 

One second, two seconds…all you could pick up was the paused, calm snoring of Dogday still being deeply asleep.

Right. Safe. You were both safe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, blinking rapidly to scare the sleep out of your sight as you looked up, mind finally getting time to grasp the memories from last… (night? hours? day? irrelevant). The quick beating of your heart started to slow down to a normal pace and you laid down again on the mattress, now wide awake.

Dogday was still sleeping. That was good. He deserved all the peaceful rest he could get after everything that happened.

And, to be honest, it was quite amusing to watch him sleep. Each time he snored his big ears flopped just the slightest bit around and from time to time those little muffled barks would appear on the back of his throat and his tail would wag a bit, not so different from a real dog.

(He truly was a marvel of science.)

At one time you could almost swear he said a name, but it was so low that you couldn’t quite catch it.

Beyond all of that, you couldn’t deny how right Dogday had been, resting really did wonders to your body and mood. You could feel your mind clearer and your muscles less stiff, even if still quite sore. Also, it was made in a rush, that is true, but the soft pillow pile really was comforting enough that it didn’t make it any easier to get up and go on about your day.

Still, as always, there was work to do. It really wouldn’t hurt to get up in the vents and walk around a bit to see if there was any murder toy wandering close so you could attract them away before they could interrupt Dog’s sleep. 

It wasn’t anything really that urgent, however,… It felt weird not doing anything in this place, to deliberately choose to stay instead of to move. Letting your guard down last night had been literally the only thing you could do with how exhausted you were and having a trustful friend close by your side, but now? When you were more rested and nowhere close to the exit? The jittery feeling was already catching up to you. 

You tried to get up, only to be stopped by an arm closing on your midriff, a nose being pressed on the top of of head and nuzzling it with care before a raspy voice - you really needed to find some kind of oil or toolbox to help with his voicebox, sometimes it felt like he was always with a sore throat - glitched for a half second before coming to life in a quiet, slurred “Angel?”

Good morning, sleepy beauty.

Dogday huffed in amusement. Silence washed over you both once again.

A while passed and no more words were exchanged. Uh, probably went back to sleep already. You tried to carefully extract yourself from his hold. 

“Mm? What happened?” Dogday yawned, sounding a bit more awake this time. “Do we have to go?” He propped himself in one elbow, using his enormous height to peak over the hiding place and watch the door and windows, ears perking up in a search of any strange sound. “I’m not listening to any danger. This is a good spot.”

You agreed, feeling a tad bad that you woke up your companionship unnecessarily with your unrelenting thoughts. Nothing really happened, you assured, he could go back to sleep if he wanted. You could stay with the guarding shift.

Rubbing his eyes and yawning more, the sentient toy then changed his focus to you, noticing the slight drop in your tune, mind becoming clearer as he added to that detail the stiffness that went back in your shoulders. His brain tried to connect the dots.

“Did you have a nightmare, sunshine?”

No, not really. 

“What happened?”

It’s all just… too much thoughts. You wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep like this, not without a distraction. It would be the best if you got something to do, so he could go back to his nap. It was fine, you would stay awake in guard.

“I see.”

He laid back down, however, instead of letting you go and immediately go back to sleep, as you expected, he began massaging your shoulders, mouth turning into a pout when that didn’t make you melt completely in blissful slumber like last night, but at least got some of the tension out. 

Even if it felt like the human continued to hold onto every last drop of stress for some reason, refusing to close their eyes or fully relax. Knowing their current situation, Dogday could understand. But still, his friend should be able to enjoy this little chance of a rest that they’ve got. They were both so tired and finally had a good place to spend some good old lazy time without being worried about running for their lives or seeing nightmares at each blink of eyelids. It was not the best spot that the factory could once offer, of course, yet nowadays it was like a piece of heaven.

He wished he could help his angel to enjoy it. Yesterday they seemed so happy. But unless he could think in a good distraction…

A sudden thought then popped in his head, a memory from what happened the previous night. An idea.

Hm.

“Sunshine, do you like games?”

Games? Like… hide and seek or catch? 

Dogday nodded, looking eager. 

Yeah, you did. Even so, you don’t think that making up some ruckus will be good to keep up their hidden spot, well, hidden.

“No, no! This one doesn’t involve running or anything that could give up our location. Actually, you won’t even need to move from where you are to play it.”

Really? Well, it was worth a shot, then. 

“Alright. Do you remember what happened when we found those old rags in one of the corridors a few days ago?”

Yes, you did.

You watched as Dogday chuckled, like he knew something you didn’t and, with a crooked eyebrow, you stared at him, trying to remember the mentioned moment better. 

Nowadays his fur was no longer the bright orange that it once was like the old cardboards and tv episodes showed, but at least it got a resemblance of a cleaned state after using some good-enough rags you found on the way to one of the generators. You both did the best to take out the debris, dust and blood from him. It took longer than it should because the taller toy kept squirming and wiggling around in an adorable inescapable fit of giggles, not really being a big help as, in between his laughter, he kept claiming that it really, really tickled. 

As a good friend, of course, you just grabbed the rag he let fall after a bit of lil cleaning on his poor ticklish tummy and racked both hands up and down his sides, scribbling away while he hid his smile behind hands, muffling his loud crackles. The cleaning didn’t stop there and hunted each tiny spot and slight hint of dust off him with plenty of scratches, prodding and drumming everywhere your hands could reach, catching all the titters, snickers and snorts that danced in the rhythm of your fingers. Your own giggles did not take much longer to follow them. 

Dogday’s paw continued to run in a light touch on your back and suddenly a bolt of electricity jolted you up when your mind connected the memory of his playful demisse to what he just said.

Your eyes widened and his expression opened into a smirk, sensing the very same moment you got to the conclusion that you were about to get absolutely and utterly destroyed with tickles.

You tried pushing him away, one hand twisting behind to catch his wrist as the other hand fought to snatch his free one, which kept flying away from yours in a game of mouse and cat. 

“Wait, angel!��� He couldn’t help but laugh, especially as your movements got more and more uncoordinated the longer they kept this little game, even before he truly attempted to do anything. A wobbly smile was already taking over your face, only growing bigger when every swipe he did in your direction - only to be deflected by your hands - made your entire skin tingle and prickle in anticipation. Each adorable reaction only assisting in making Dogday more determined that he choose the right distraction. “Don’t you want to know about the game? I bet that you will love it! I used to play and win all the time so I can teach you every special trick of mine.”

No, no, no, no! You knew exactly what he was doing! There was no such thing as a game!

“Gasp!” You were sure that Dogday would be dramatically putting a hand on his chest if it wasn’t for the rough housing, but sudden noise was successful to break your concentration. He used his trapped hand to sneak a quick jab on your side, ripping out a delightful screech before you slammed your back again on the mattress, both hands now in front of you, no longer moving, yet still ready to defend and attack. “I would never lie to you, my beautiful, beautiful beacon of light, the only and one sunshine, my angel.”

He was not going to succeed in distracting you again with those sugary sweet nicknames! You knew exactly what he was doing and you wouldn’t let him get you.

“No, no, you got me wrong, angel.” Dogday booped your nose, seeming like he couldn’t control himself with excitement and a smug kind of joy that only grew the longer you both stared at each other, waiting for the moment to strike. His tail wagged and he pretended to lounge at your stomach, stopping inches before touching it and drinking the way that a squeal escaped from your mouth, body stuck into a position between laying down and curling on itself, giggles quickly filling the room. Actually, you could feel yourself getting giddier at each second, completely aware that there was no way for you to get out of this and no other option besides wait for the next attack.

The way that this thought only made butterflies go crazy on your belly should be illegal.

Dogday continued as if nothing happened. “This isn’t the game. The game only starts when I start to tickle you, silly! And it is called ‘Try To Not Laugh’.” He managed to waltz through your defenses, his index finger and thumb catching your side in a grip way too light to even be considered a pinch. It made you try to squirm with a snort to the other direction, as if he just had unleashed a ruthless attack of squeezes on the spot. 

His grin glimmered and he let you go, chuckling. You could feel the phantom touch still. 

(Why did his paws have to be so fuzzy!?) 

“It means that you can’t giggle, squeal, snicker, chuckle, snort, chortle, shriek or laugh! No matter how much it tickles, itches or ‘feels funny’.” Dogday counted each reaction pulling up a finger and you tried to not let your face melt as he just kept talking, looking more and more delighted with how each word seemed to make you twitch on the spot, his paws clawing in your direction when he was done. 

Before you could think, he went for your neck, fingertips barely, just the slightest bit, grazing the skin before you catched his wrists and pushed them away, scrunching your neck as tiny tickly sparks spread like fire across your nerves. A sound akin to a keysmash left your lips and Dogday looked like you had just given him the best news of his entire existence.

He tilted his head and watched his own captured paws for a piece of moment before shrugging. He continued on with his explanation.

“In turn I will try my true best to make you laugh. And that can mean anything! I can fill your entire cute neck with aaaaall the raspberries that it could ever want, wiggle my claws on your ticklish armpits, play your ribs like a very lovely piano, squeeze your sides non stop until you’re dancing around like a wiggly worm, maybe even give your tummy a few scratches and scribbles, or, or even better! I can play ‘This little piggy’ with your toes over and over again until your sweet laughter fills this entire room like the sweetest melody. And then we can do it all over but with you giggling and snickering ringing free the entire time! Doesn’t it sound like a fun idea, my angel?”

Oh, you were going to die. Whether he decided to tickle you right away or keep the teases for who knows how long, you don’t think that your face would survive being under so much heat for so long.

Besides, this is not fair at all! He will win it anyway, you couldn’t hold on your laughter forever while he t-, while he attacks you.

“Aww, but, sunshine, tickling is hardly an attack!” His face got closer and suddenly you realized that he did not need any free hand to accomplish his first promise of tickles. 

With wide eyes you tried to roll away, but to do so, you would have to let his paws go, and you knew very well that the moment this happened, it would be a game over for you. For the way that Dogday grinned in your direction, he reached the same conclusion as well. “Also, I can’t even touch you, right now! I think you can win this.” Dogday wiggled his paws in your hold, as if proving his point. 

With (an eager) trepidation, you watched as his face continued to get closer, prying a couple of titters when his floppy, fuzzy ears brushed your own ears. He chuckled at your reaction, a mix of fondness and playful, fake frustration painting his words. “Sunshine, you’re already giggling? I will have to take my last words back, then, I don’t think this game will last too long, anymore.” 

Oh ho ho, he should just wait, because when you get him back you then he was going to see who was-

Dogday shoved his face on the crook of your neck and immediately began nuzzling the spot without a worry in the world, successfully cutting your threat short.

Wait! Wait!

“Don’t mind me, angel, please continue.” He huffed and puffed on the spot, shivers running in a hilarious cacophony across your every sense, almost ripping a squeal from your lips. Actually, just like his words hitting the skin, you could feel the way that snickers began pooling in your throat, waiting for any tiny chance to escape. You clamped your mouth shut, a muffled snort taking over. You were going to at least try to hold them in and try your chances at winning this childish game, for your own pride, if nothing else. 

He didn’t have his paws to tickle, right? I mean, how bad could it really be?

Dogday hummed, each word vibrating on the skin in an almost unbearable manner, making you want to jump away and at the same time let yourself get lost in the sensations. “What were you saying, angel? Please, don’t stop because of me! You know I always love to hear what you have to say.”

You shook your head, partially in an attempt to somehow escape from the tickling and partially to dissipate the energy that was building up on your system. Anything to not focus on the snickers bouncing freely in your chest.

“No? Not a word? Aw.” You could feel the fake pout the sentient toy did right before letting his features go back to that dangerous, mischievous grin. “I have a question for you, then! Do you know what is the tickle puppy favorite’s fruit?”

You knew a trap when you saw one, so you kicked your legs, trying and failing to let out any protest because you were sure that if you stopped pressing your lips in a tight line for even half of a second, there would be no stopping from the waterfall of laughter.

“Raspberries!”

A shriek almost made you lose when he unleashed the first raspberry, more and more of them being quick to follow right after. On the base of your neck, your collarbone, under your chin and in every inch on the unprotected spot. There was nowhere safe from the awfully buzzing that made every other feeling disappear, seeing to tickle every nerve and making tingles to run crazy in absolutely everywhere. He even grazed the back of your ears with a couple of raspberries, cooing when you tried to shrink and hide the spot by pressing them on your shoulder, only succeeding to leave the other side of your neck completely free for more nuzzles and tickles, an opportunity that Dogday was fast to take, taking turns in bashing every side of your neck in a tickly attention. 

Another quiet, muffled squeak painted the air.

Dogday lifted his head again, entire demeanor completely melting for a piece of time when he saw you (oh my stars, look at this amazing smile!) before that joyful light was back in his eyes. Once more, he tried wiggling his paws out of your hold, but your grip continued to be as firm as ever, your wobbly smile shining in a challenge.

Oh, you’re just so fun!

“Gasp! It seems like I am stuck! Oh no, angel, what will I do now?” His gaze then traveled to your stomach, and all the hints that softness had ever been present in his features instantly evaporated as his face became something more playful, even a tad devilish, with a hint of hunger. 

“My, my,” you didn’t exactly know why, but his voicebox glitched, jumping between a light taunting tune and his usual lower one. “Is that a delicious tummy that I see? Poor thing, it must be so cold to be shaking like this. Well, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t offer any help, huh?”

Your friend was quite tall and kind of clumsy when he walked around, too. Now, how that clumsy toy was able to, in a span of less than a blink, take a gigantic breath and immediately attack your stomach with it was a true mystery that you didn’t had a lot of time to think about when your entire body took a screenshot for a long, long second, ticklish sensations exploding in a frenzy, before your entire torso instinctively beginning to trash, loud peals of laughter jumping freely on the tip of your tongue, begging to be free. They cheered in excitement and only grew stronger when other smaller raspberries took their turn to explore every spot, every sensitive creek or place of your stomach, breaking more and more of your barriers, little by little. It took every single ounce of strength to not lose the game right here and there.

Dogday didn’t even pretend to be holding back, anymore. Right as you survived another tiny raspberry that got way too close to your side to be an accident, a nibble appeared, catching you so out of guard that it made your arch your back, legs kicking with adrenaline. But the tickly, light nibbles weren’t diverted, intertwining with tiny raspberries in a mischievous dance that increased your internal laughing into a tenfold.

That was when one of them hit the spot closer to your bellybutton and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands let go of his wrists to push his stupid smiling - so proud and so bright - face away, body squirming and eyes crinkling on the corners with mirth.

“I am free!” He laughed, pretending to not hear the tiny low titters flying from your mouth as you regained your strength, taking the breather as what it was. His ears twitched with every cute little giggle and he kind of wanted to immediately go back to bash every sweet, soft spot in tickles you until that beautiful laughter was ringing loud and free across the entire room and that soft, relaxed state you were in became so much common that he wouldn’t see you stressed ever again.

But he was going to wait for you to rest a tadbit first, that was the main objective of their game, afterall.

Feeling calmer, you looked at your friend, who jolted in the same place, seeing to get out of a trance. He recovered quickly and lifted his paws, easily slipping into the tickle monster persona as he slowly clawed in your direction.

“Now that my hands are free, I wonder where I should attack next…” He looked thoughtful, slowly bringing his paws closer and closer to your torso, wiggly fingers softly scrapping the ticklish skin, but not really drumming on it, not yet. “Maybe I should try your armpits first? Aw, but you were so jumpy when I squeezed your side that one time! And you seemed really excited when I mentioned tickling your ribs… Ah! So many options, so many options… We will have to try every single one of them, of course. What do you think, my giggly angel? Which one do I tickle first?”   

None! Absolutely none of them!

“None?” He tilted his head, knowing very well how cute he looked like when he did that. “But then … Oh! I see!” Dogday snapped his fingers and you were pretty sure that if this was a cartoon a lamp would appear shining right above that absolute, silly, mean, goofball. “You want me to tickle your legs!” 

What!

At your wide stare and sputtering pretenses of protests his smirk turned sharp, which didn’t quite help the anticipatory bolts of electricity that suddenly left you feeling even more ticklish than usual, trying to curl and hide your legs but feeling him dig more on your torso every time you did so. He continued. “That is why you didn’t stop kicking and squirming the entire time I was tickling your neck and tummy, right? Aww, sunshine, if you wanted my attention so much, you could’ve just asked!”

That was literally not the reason at all! Dogday!!

He hummed in an answer, turning around and easily pinning your legs by holding your ankles down, his touch so gentle that you were pretty sure that if you really wanted and struggled you could escape from it.

(And if that didn’t make everything even more endearing, you honestly didn’t know what would.)

Without wasting any more time, Dogday started squeezing the sensitive spot right above your kneecap, skillfully jumping from one leg to another unexpectedly, digging on the skin and following your leg around with no problem as a new round of kicks started once again, keeping up with the tickling. The ticklish sensations made your head spin, tingles spreading across your muscles and teasing all the nearest tickle spots, leaving them prickling in anticipation and a funny kind of energy that made every nerve of your knees crazy as more and more squeezes and pinches continued unmercifully assaulting the spot non stop. 

A sudden move and you yelped when your legs were lifted, his curious hand worming its way under your knee to lightly scratch the sensitive skin there. The touch was so incredibly fuzzy, so adoringly soft that the sudden change from the rough to light technique almost ripped a series of snickers from your throat without permission, the hilarity and urge to laugh taking over your every thought. 

Dogday continued scribbling and drawing shapes, leaving a couple of pokes here and there just so he could listen to those delightful muffled snorts.

(He would really love to listen to them more clearly, though.) 

“You really love this, don’t you, angel?” 

You barely sputtered out an answer before being obligated to clamp your mouth shut, uncontrollable laughter making your shoulders bounce as he took the chance to crawl his fingers upwards to your thigh, skittering them there for a couple of seconds before spidering them right back to under your knees, repeating the cycle for a couple of times before mirroring them on the other leg. 

“When I tickle you.” He scratched under your knee. 

“When I tease you.” He squeezed your calf.

“When I fluster you.” He swiped at the space right under your toes.

“It’s really adorable!” His paw stopped right on your sole and he pressed it, firmly enough that it didn’t tickle, still, for some reason you couldn’t stop your smile from becoming even more wobblier, the giddiness growing stronger and spreading in your every cell just like the heat that seemed to take over your face. 

“Especially because I can’t wait to hear aaaaall those cute giggles and beautiful laughter that you have trapped right there.” Suddenly, he raked his fingers up, from your heel to under the toes. A squeal filled the air. Dogday’s eyes shone, like an arrow findings the target. His fingertips curled, kneading on the skin. “That is why I have to apologize, angel, because I lied to you. That is a game that I just have to win.”

He then attacked.

It was less than a half of a piece of time, but suddenly your soles were being overcomed with scribbles, scratches and wiggling everywhere they could reach. There were digging fingers under your toes and a spidering that followed them to the pads, tweaking and scritching them all while curious pokes payed attention to the entire path of your arches, even if shouldn’t be possible for him to be tickling both places at the same time. Nevertheless, Dogday’s paw was so big that he was able to torment both of your feet at once while still holding them through all the resulting kicks those created.

And the teasing… Of course there was also the teasing.

“There we go! Oh my, oh my, look at you! You just can’t help being so adorable, now, can you? Awww, angel, you always get this… sweet expression when you are happy, so I like to call it your happy face! It’s delightful. The corner of your eyes gets all crinkly and your face gets all soft and your smile… your smile is the best part, it’s so bright! No matter the size or the time, it really feels like we have our own special rays of sun down here.”

He found a rather sensitive spot right above your heel and immediately concentrated on it with all his might, drumming and prodding there as if the salvation of this entire factory depended on making you laugh.

“That is why it was so easy to see how much you love tickles, sunshine. First when you were tickling me a few days ago and now. Since we started that game… you didn’t even ask me to stop and all while you simply never ceased looking so adorably full of joy like this! I could really spend the entire day just here, you know? Tickling you silly over and over again.”

That did it. The barrier broke. Loud peals of laughter were fished from your lips. Every sound and reaction filled the air in a frantic, unrestrained melody of mirth. 

Now, with them flying freely in the room, there were uncontrollable, hysterical giggles when Dogday decided to knead your calves up and down, those only being taken down by an unstoppable crackling, painted with one or two snorts, as his paws wiggled away to squeeze right above your kneecaps, taking his sweet, sweet time to give the ticklish skin under it a few swipes before moving away.

Finally, he let your ankles go, both paws resting on your sides, unbothered by all the squirming and protests that this simple act created, drinking in every reaction with a so fond, so tender gaze that it bordered on dotingly as you got another break.

You tried to take big gulps of air, but everytime your gazes found each other, titters grew anew, distracting you and leaving you in a constant state of a silly, giggly kind of joy.

M-Maybe he should reconsider! You laughed already, he won the game! That should be the end of this, right!

Dogday chuckled, fingers tuttering in their spot, curling and uncurling slowly, content to feel the trembling on the skin under them. 

“The end? But we just started! And you still got so much beautiful laughter trapped right here to show.” With his index finger, he highlighted his word by tapping on your belly, right in your bellybutton, ears perking at the screech this brought. “So many cute snorts and melodious shrieks that I would love to meet. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help to let them out, huh?”

A flow of words, more unintelligible than anything, fell off your lips. A mix of pleas,  threats, high pitched giggles and some indistinguishable sounds that could only be considered a true keysmash rather than a sentence. Dogday hummed in agreement and nodded his head as if it was all a well constructed and understandable sentence.

“I knew you would eventually see my point, angel. You’re such a delight, you know, that?”

He smiled, so kindly and caring, and then he digged.

His paws, big enough to cover your entire midriff drummed non stop, squeezing the lower part of your stomach while scratching everywhere they could reach. He stayed there for a while before his wiggling fingers crawled up, scribbling and pinching your sides unmercifully. They looked for any weak spot, any lovely place that would make you snort and squirm away and latched there with pinches and kneading until your back arched, only then moving back to tickle your stomach until you went back to try to curl yourself in a ball, starting the cycle over and over again. 

You felt almost high with laughter, the thought that it tickled, it tickled so so much and more than anything ever taking over your brain in sync with the loud, high pitched squeals and belly laughter (ha- Dogday would love that pun if you could say it to him) that chased after each other. After so much teasing, every tickle seemed to be accompanied by the brush of thousand of tiny phantom feathers that still tormented your stomach even when he moved away to your ribs, carefully pressing down on the bones and quickly scribbling with so much skill that it should be illegal the actual, loud crackle such a simple action created.

Your hands flied to hold his wrists, caught between pushing them away and pulling them close and, at seeing that, the sentient toy couldn’t help but feel himself melt and snicker fondly, barely controlling the urge to shove his face back on your neck and nuzzle and nibble the daylights out of it in a pure attack of cuteness. His tail was wagging so much that it dislodged a few pillows from where they were.

“Such a good friend. Such a cute, nice friend for me. For us.” The praises fell from his mouth naturally, your companionship too focused on keeping those happy reactions to really think too much about them. “You do so much to all of us, to me, and keep going above and beyond just to accomplish what you set your mind in. You’re brave and one of the strongest humans I’ve ever known. And there is so much kindness in you that I could talk the entire day about it! You saved me, you cared and tried and sometimes down here it feels like a nightmare but you… you make everything so much better, like a true angel. That is why I love this nickname so much. It really fits you.” 

You tried to answer, to say how much especial, strong and essential Dogday was for you as well, but every time a single coherent word slipped from your lips he immediately reinforced his attack, fully aware that if you said anything sweet he would inevitably let his guard down and you would be able to turn the tables, and he really needed to say all of that to you before that. 

His tickles were now focusing on keeping up the flow of starry laughter, watching them grow up to chortles and tune down into snickers as he scribbled in between each bone, keeping track of every special spot that pried a shriek from your lungs only to randomly attack it with prodding and poking, slowly fishing all kinds of joyful sounds that you could make.

He then buried his paws in your armpits, swirling the fingertips there for a few moments before digging energetically, fingers dancing and prodding every inch they could reach, which immediately made your arms come down with a loud chortle, head shaking and legs kicking at the sensation.

How was he so good at this?

Dogday gasped dramatically (not again-) and lightly pulled his paws in faux alarm, not really stopping his attack. “Oh no! Once more, you have trapped me!” Such a goofball. Such a silly, mean goofball and you could not wait to put your wiggly hands on and see how flustered you could make him be. “Dang, I really didn’t want to resort to this but I guess that I have no other option but to keep tickling and tickling and tickling on your poor ticklish pits forever and ever until the end of our days.” He then winked when he found your shining eyes. “But you would actually love that, wouldn’t you, my giggly sunshine?”

That was it. You were going to die. Right here and there. The playful tickles, the unrelenting teasing, the fond stares and gentle words… you could actually feel your entire body about to melt.

With a strength you didn’t even realize you had, you pulled your arms up to hide your flaming face, a pitched ‘eee’ sound mixing with the hysterical, absolutely uncontrollable laughter, your body rolling to the side and curling, shoulders bouncing with the force of each of your giggles.

Dogday let go of you, giggling together with your reactions, resting his hands on the ground and just observing, amusement and care clear as water in every trace of his features.

After a while, you felt a paw lay on your back, retracting for a bit when just that made you wiggle away, a new round of chuckles spilling, before it came back to rub your shoulders, touch kind and too firm to tickle. “Okay, okay, sunshine. I’m done. You can calm down for now.”

Laying down on the floor giggling yourself silly didn’t feel so embarrassing when Dogday’s own quiet snorts and snickers were quick to accompany you, especially since the rubbing really felt relaxing, making you melt on the touch bit by bit. 

After a few minutes, when a comfortable silence had fallen on you both, you rolled on your back, finally being able to stare at your companionship without feeling like you would explode. Dogday smiled bigger at your direction. He lifted a paw to gently wipe a tear from your cheek, not thinking too much about it.

“That was so fun! I didn’t know you were so ticklish, angel. You are almost as bad as m-” He stopped right in his tracks when a gasp and a new string of titters fell like a waterfall from your mouth and you pushed his paw away, fastly rubbing your cheek so the feeling of fuzzy tickles would go away. It was like the softest makeup brush had just touched your skin, and you had no idea that just this could tickle so much.

Dohohogday! You sahaid you werehe done! 

But your companionship didn’t answer. Astonished, he stared at his paw before looking at you again, gaze jumping from one to the other like he was watching a tennis match.

Suddenly his entire face brightened like the sun and he looked at you as if you had just said the funniest, most brilliant pun he had ever heard in his entire life.

“Aaaangel!” Every letter was bathed in pure, disbelieved delight.

No! You knew very well what that tune meant! No way! Nononono! Don’t you dare!

“Are your cheeks…”

Dohohogday! Don’t you come closer!

“Ticklish?”

Before you could push yourself from the mattress and jump away, there were two thumbs softly scratching on your cheeks, scribbling so lightly that it immediately made a giant smile take over your expression. Titters started to fill the air once more.

“Oh my… angel! This is adorable!” Dogday looked like he was about to bounce around the room with how much excited he was, his voice getting higher and glitching in excitement. “I can’t believe how fun and cute… You just… Ah, sunshine, I can’t help but!”

And before you could even blink, he shoved his smiley, stupidly fuzzy face right on your neck again, nuzzling there without a single worry in the world. His fingers kept  tickling your cheeks, sometimes even slipping to tease the back of your ears with a few scratches as he giggled in joy since he could literally feel the rumbling of your snickers. They twirled and spun in the air for much minutes more until his tickly attack from cuteness overload was finally finished and you both just kept layed down on the comfy pile, cuddling in between content sighs.

Dogday listened to your calm breath, saw how relaxed your entire body was and, according to the few sneaky peaks he had, saw that happy, full of mirth, smile was still in your face, leaving him melting in contentment, entire body relaxing as well. 

Perfect. His plan had worked.

Not that it was that big of a deal, but it had been such a long time since he had the opportunity to…

He was just glad that it worked. That he still got it in him. 

(Being playful. Happy. Helping the others. Being there when they needed him. Matter when it was necessary. Being silly and fun)

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t sense the hand coming until it laid on his head, playing with the fur there and scratching on that place right behind his left ear that never failed to make him embarrassingly become a mush of pleased hums and wagging tail. A low, sleepy voice crossed the air.

You said you would take him out of here. It’s a promise, Dogday.

How his angel knew exactly what to say was a mystery to him. And, it didn’t quite hurt, but his entire being ached at those words. His smile was sad and he was glad that the human couldn’t see as he blinked quickly, eyes suddenly moisty. “Alright.”

There would still be some revenge when you woke up, though. Be ready.

And that reminded him so much of others playful, sleepy conversations he had before everything happened that it ripped a surprised laugh from him. He tried to look up to see the very much likely mischievous glint in his friend’s eyes, but a few more purposeful scratches turned him right back to a content puddle. He nuzzled the human a bit more. “Sleep well, angel.”

You too, Dogday.

(And sleep well they did. Lost in a peaceful rest as the entire world outside left them be.)

[~*~]

Random fun facts!

-There is a parallel I made by mistake between CatNap and DogDay and the whole 'trusting and following the being that saved your life'. It's not too deep and Dogday isn't as bad as Catnap but that was an interesting thing I noticed :D

-Different from the reader, Dogday is more used to the time down there so he has a good grasp when day and nights happens in general.

-I am actively ignoring the plotholes here about food and water here. Ya know when you have to poke holes in a lid so the bugs in the container can breathe that is what I doing kjhgfdfghyhgfd

-Nothing to do with the fanfic but I kept listening to this song when I was writing it and I think it's cute.

[satoruhour]

🐇 hi t!!! i currently have this brainrot and i don't know who else but to share it and i thought HEYYYY what if i share this to one of my favorite satoru writers hdjfhdkdhdj don't mind me but omfg i've been listening to i know from travis scott's new album and i couldn't stop thinking about angsty(?) fucking with satoru, him cutting off the friends w benefits set up with you because he's scared of confronting his feelings with falling in love with you and he thinks he'll hurt you because he scared of the unfamiliarity of love to him,,,, but he's so into you, the way you momentarily stare into him after you pull away from a heated kiss, the way you wrap your fingers and hold his hands when you slowly grind on his cock, the way you look into his eyes with clouded lust when he's gripping your hips as he bullies his cock into you, the way you hold onto his wrists when he fucks his fingers and plays with your clit tenderly while he has your back on his pounding chest.........he just can't forget you and the chemistry so he pulls up at your residence, knocking at your door at 2 am intoxicated and high, and he's aware he isn't supposed to do this anymore but satoru always knows you'll be opening up the door for him and him only like his good girl with nothing under your velvet babydoll dress you'd always wear when he's around........he always finds a way to make you cry and begging in bed but this time it's different when it's you feigning hurt with the way he cut things off and left you, reminding him “you're just drunk right now,” or “it's just the drugs, satoru...” while he holds your leg onto his broad shoulders and his right hand rubbing your clit while he pumps his cock inside your warm pussy but he softly chuckles at your protests, his tongue licking your neck before he comes closer to your face, his thrusts slowing down as his eyes glances at your lips before settling his blue eyes on your low lidded eyes, telling you “i know baby, i know,” then kisses you momentarily just for him to bite your lower lip tenderly. he looks back at you, you practically have heart eyes all over, all dumbed down with the way he fucks you, a constant reminder that he has you wrapped around his fingers and he can't help but to bite his lip back,,,,,, he isn't yours, but he knows at the back of his mind that you're always his.

PROTECTED VULNERABILITY / STUBBORN HEART

a/n: anon ur MIND ! i need to tell u i had fwb gojo in my drafts 4 the longest time but i never continued. but also i cant tell if i like this or not, i hope i didnt disappoint u anon 😭 also i couldn’t handle the angst so i made reader also want gojo, but written not so obviously as him! cant put my baby thru all that and also ! i may have missed the angsty fucking part so it’s just gojo pining like an idiot

wc: 6.6k

warnings: fwb!gojo, gojo is crazy over u, dom!gojo but hints of whiny gojo, m! masturbation, oral (f and m receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, praise, pet names, reader and gojo are both high in the last scene, finger sucking, face-fucking, deepthroating, tongue-fucking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, ambiguous ending, n*sfw under the cut

gojo never liked to feel vulnerable.

he understands it fully when he’s got you on top of him for the first time, staring down at him, unaware he’s one of the strongest people in his line of work. you’re unknowingly setting every part of him ablaze, caged in like your body’s a branding iron and he traces over the crescent marks and the lines you made later in the bathroom.

gojo doesn’t recover after that, pondering over this vulnerability which only you could make him feel — the lilt in your voice, the softness of your eyes — it felt almost like it was just for him. his delusions don’t escape him, and rather it only grows worse each time he meets you. 

vulnerability was a state of exposure, like the way his skin singes under the sun or the unfamiliar feeling of infinity being turned off. it was like standing bare like venus in her birth, eyes forcefully turned onto her while on her scallop shell. it was like sitting on the steps of jujutsu high and getting a ridiculous question of why he didn’t chase after his best friend.

it was like turning his head to meet your sleeping form, calm and undisturbed in the late morning while he wishes you’d turn into a curse, bare your teeth at him and give him a reason to just flee. gojo felt so vulnerable he wanted to do anything but be here. he knows it all too well when it claws at his throat and makes his head spin. it takes the breath out of him and sends tremors through his fingertips. they’re just some of the uncomfortable feelings satoru braces himself for before he’s interrupted by your fingers unzipping his pants, and he loses himself to your skillful hands.

“baby— c’mon,” gojo laughs, tugging lightly on your hair that you moan, and you’re making quick work of his uniform, tugging it off and coming face to face with his bulge. it’s been plaguing him since the mission earlier, but with a quick call to you, you’re quick to show up in a t-shirt and pants, crashing his lips onto yours right at the door.

“okay, i’ll stop teasin’.” your sly smile told gojo everything he needed to know, a shaky breath leaving him when his cock finally leaves the confines of his underwear. his eyes can’t look away from the way your manicured nails wrap around his length as you’re circling your tongue around his tip. you pull him in with just your stare, collecting his pre-cum before you spit on his dick, taking him slowly.

satoru’s head falls back against his sofa, but it’s not for long when he knows you taking his cock down your throat is the hottest thing he’s witnessed. sure, he’s gotten blowjobs before, and he’s moaning as he is but gojo never quite feels the rush of adrenaline throughout his whole body, never the shortness of breath that catches in his lungs.

“love your cock in my mouth, gojo— mhm…” he’s hoping you can pick up on the fact that he does not want you to say that, because it makes everything harder for him, a high-pitched yelp leaving him when you start to suck on his balls, hand still pumping his shaft and you love the way gojo’s hips buck into the air, juices pooling in your panties.

everything feels just right when you bring his hands to your head and get almost all of him into your mouth, nose buried in his pubes and taking in the musky scent of his body — gojo lets out a drawn out whine when he lets himself loose and your eyes are rolling back further and further into your head as the hours pass. his hands are so large on you it drives you crazy as well as it does to the other when you’re twining your fingers with his while you sink down on him, when he squeezes your hand when he’s about to cum. your giggles are muffled by the kisses you share in the late night, unknowingly giving into your questions about him.

the next day is blurry as gojo finds himself handing his card over, in a haze since the previous night, the only thing standing crystal clear was the cutest babydoll dress hanging on a rack.

so the next time you meet, he’s passing you the gift with a whisper in your ear that he expects you to wear it every time he’s around and you have half a mind to smack him on the arm. i’m not like you! reusing outfits and stinking them up! gojo only laughs hard before your snarky remarks are swallowed by the sorcerer, soft moans and pants weaselling out from your lips while you let him use you in a changing room; he doesn’t tell you how your sounds make him dizzy.

in between you’re accepting his calls with a cheery voice, sticking through to your babydoll dress promises. a culmination of feelings building up until gojo truly feels like he can’t breathe — he manages each time which makes even him impressed with himself. but then you’re meeting his kiss halfway when he’s rubbing at your clit gently from below you, drawing out the most lewd sounds from you, the buzzing feeling of your body against him — it’s too much for gojo sometimes.

and the last, before gojo satoru is finally stripped down to his core and that recurring impulse to push people away starts bubbling up again, and yet he tries to find an excuse each time to even catch a glance at you. he knows despite his inability to admit it to himself.

he knows this like he knows many things — the ins and outs of his technique, what food megumi liked, your favourite fruit — but not even the sweetness of an Amaou could convince him of the very feelings he’s swallowed and buried under the very soil he wishes to grow strawberries from. at least he knows he’s fucked.

but the knowing halts when it comes to when? was it when you’re no longer rushing to leave his place after hookups? was it when he sees traces of you in his home? was it when he’s handing over his card to pay for a dress he wasn’t even sure was in your size?

your whisper of his name brings him back, and his bright eyes seem to lighten just a little; in it you can see the crash of the oceans and the scent of it. gojo smells like that — saltiness tinged with caramel and sweetness, scent lingering in and around you whenever you’re not with him. you’ve been making new discoveries about him ever since, even more so today when your heart pounds with the way his hands are on you, feeling a little foreign from how long he hasn’t contacted you.

“are you alright?” you mumble, hips halting at the stupor gojo seemed to be in, until he silently nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and lifting you off of him. it confuses you a little before he settles you on his chest and you shiver at the vibration of his chest.

“spread your legs, baby,” you sigh when his hands trace over your thighs, the coldness of his hands against the warmth of your thighs feeling so good, even more so when he coos in your ear at just how wet you are, drawing languid circles around your clit. “so wet, hm?” you hum whilst turning your head to face him, eyes flitting straight down to his lips when he licks them.

“just f’r you, pretty boy,” your giggles are consumed by gojo’s eager lips, meeting yours halfway in a rough kiss as he starts to rub at your bundle of nerves. even your moans are swallowed, muffled by gojo’s own needy ones before your hands fly up to clutch at his.

“g-gojo! f— fuckkk…” at this point, you’ve completely succumbed to the man behind you, body limp to his ministrations; they’re relentless even when your hands hold his wrist captive. 

“right there?” gojo chuckles into your ear, hot breath fanning across your ear. it trails into giggles when a drawn out yeahh… makes its way out of you, “my good lil girl.”

you preen at the praise you’ve heard multiple times before, but for some reason your heart only

jumps at gojo’s words no matter how you look at it. with his other hand, he’s positioning it at your entrance, slipping in his finger with a groan that reverberates through his toned chest. there’s moans and whines exchanged, the musky scent of sex flooding every corner.

before long, a second finger joins his first, eyes locked on the way your drooling cunt sucks him in easily while your juices coat his palm, a glistening, filthy sight as he sets a pace. gojo laughs again when your other wandering hand wraps around his wrist, too.

“s’too full,” you whimper, head thrown back across his shoulder, thinking your tightly clenched hands did any work, but if anything, it only spurs him on further. the abuse on your core is endless, feeling with a shiver down your back, the lazy circles on your cli  and the spread of his hand widening to fit more of his fingers in you.

“you’ve taken my cock before, darlin’, you can do it.” satoru coats your shoulders and neck with kisses, that lone sentence making it clear to him he wants you more than just this one time. he wants this over and over until you’re crying and the sheets are soaked, until he’s made so many cups of morning coffee for you that he can’t count them on one hand. there’s a brief falter in his movements when he realises this, an uncomfortable stifled gulp until you’re whining into his ears, hands beckoning him to continue and he brushes it away like he always does.

you’re cumming easily with the arch of your back, but gojo is still in a daze about your life together. maybe you’d gift him a box of kikufuku when he’s back from trips, maybe you’d patch him up after a difficult mission even if you didn’t know what his job entailed. there was too many maybe’s, something gojo wasn’t willing to bet on. for now, he’d focus on the way—

—the way moans lingered on your lips when you came as your body reacted so well to his fingers, clutching on his lanky frame while he pumped you full. he watches when your eyes roll back and your neck reveals itself and he laughs into it, telling you how he’s the only one to make you feel this good and you’re nodding frantically.

gojo’s heart warms at that while his throat dries and it’s like he loses confidence and he feels like a virgin all over again — so blessed to have you under him while he’s suddenly hyper aware of how your cunt feels around him. it’s divine, you’re divine; he stifles a small confession and masks it with a cry. a cry that was of pure desire which couldn’t be expressed, and he blinks away the tears before they could come because you feel too damn good; and if he looks at you one second more he would confess everything.

“you okay?” gojo brushes the sweaty hairs that stick to your forehead, getting a blissful smile from you afterwards while you merely pull him down for a kiss and satoru feels bile creep up in his throat at the tenderness which you connect your lips to him. you’re leading the kiss so slowly and sweetly he wonders if you ever prefer his lips over your Amaou strawberries.

“’m okay, gojo.” the last name is reminiscent of the stagnant distance between you, “are you?”

satoru sniffles just a bit and nods, “y-yeah. let me go get a rag, ’kay?”

you don’t answer after because of your fatigue, merely letting him slip away from your fingers while you calm your heartbeat, rather settling for his scent on the bedsheets and you ignore the redness of his eyes, letting him take care of you as the night falls into an uncharacteristic quiet.

words are difficult in this arrangement after the rules have been set. we’re here to fuck, not to solve each other’s problems, and you’re giving him a curt nod and a sultry smile before you taste gojo satoru for the first time. it has been like that since then, although gojo has been more silent than usual, but words—

words are difficult, and so you leave it be with a deep sigh and a dreamless slumber, not aware of the other.

it’s when the rush of water hits the pail, gojo realises he can’t carry on much longer, of the pull you have on him, on the chemistry, the words dying on his lips when he sees you already passed out. with a gentle hand he glides the rag over you, careful not to wake you, and it’s getting difficult separating love from lust when he’s wiping you down so gently like this.

gojo is gone when you awaken, his side of the bed cold that signals to you he’s been gone for a few hours now, and you’re hoping to get a greeting of him posing beside mochi, or a trinket from a neighbouring district. his work made him travel a lot, you heard, but the specifics are a hushed topic — he wasn’t yours to know intimately anyway.

you’re halfway changing into a babydoll dress he got you, the material sleek and comfortable enough to be worn at home, glancing at the phone with one arm in the arm hole. you frown.

[11:12, gojo satoru]: hey. i think we should stop this thing we have goin on

gojo’s fingers regret the very moment he’s sent it, because you do nothing but type and stop and linger online. he makes it worse with a second message, and multiple more.

[11:14, gojo satoru]: i have uh… a work thing that might interfere with this. 

i’m sorry y/n, you were.. great. i loved every second i spent…|

he let his feelings run and accidentally clicks ‘send’ and panics, unsending it almost instantly. he has to catch a breath before he types it out again.

[11:15, gojo satoru]: i’m sorry (y/n), you were.. great. thank you for the arrangement fr

had a lot of fun while it lasted, also sorry i used all ur face wash hehehe ~

gojo groans into his hands at the way he easily reverts back to his playful disposition, a coping mechanism he’s picked up since high school and he hates how he already misses how he was with you.

“what the fuck are you moaning about now?” shoko asks, obviously irritatedly as she dissects another transfigured human, and her private time on studying the oddness of the disfigured curse is undoubtedly ruined by her friend’s incessant groaning.

the sorcerer is spread out on one of the seats in the morgue, “nothin’.”

“is it that friends with benefits thing you have going on?” he rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. years of dissecting people probably granted shoko with the ability to see through people, both literally and figuratively. gojo simply waves a hand and takes his leave, phone already on do not disturb to avoid seeing your reply. that’s the first time shoko catches onto his inner turmoil, the tear between wanting to protect his heart and the desperation to let someone in.

[11:20, delivered]: oh

but you know when it’s started for him. you think it was the moment you’d seen the change in gojo’s eyes. there wasn’t just carnal need for you, not just lust. amongst little specks of darkened azure you can see the softer hues of baby and lapis; but what do you know, right?

those same eyes stare back at you in the profile picture he set after a drunken night together. you reply with the only thing you can manage as you try to convince yourself it’s what you want. 

[11:21, delivered]: oh okay

you feel like a schoolgirl throwing a tantrum again, the pounding in your heart reaching your ears like a droning drum and you feel like you cannot breathe. your pillows are the victim of your unfiltered scream, paired with multiple profanities until you’re left with no more fire in you. gojo satoru had taken all of the heat with him.

that was friday; on sunday there’s a notification at the end of the week that tells you your screen time went up by 9%.

nanami and shoko were never one to reject a drinking night on a monday, sharing an unsaid (and reluctant) conclusion that maybe they should bring gojo along even if he’s only going to be sipping on apple cider. but while usually gojo is boasting about his terrible alcohol tolerance, tonight he’s buried in an arm he wishes was your neck, the burn of the whiskey nanami begged him not to drink reminding him of your touch.

“thousand yen and a new dissection set for when gojo goes back to his friend with benefits within one week.”

“ah, when, not if? you seem pretty confident,” nanami comments from across the table in the fairly busy bar, leaning back with an unreadable expression upon his face.

shoko only shrugs, “something tells me he’s definitely moping in his—”

“can we please stop talking about me like i’m not in the middle?” his words are muffled by the dark blue uniform he dons, white hair looking strangely duller as he tries to get some shuteye in a damn bar; foolish enough to lose sleep over you that he’s been messing up on missions. even nanami was surprised to be assigned to harder missions upon learning about gojo’s mishaps.

his grumbles fall on deaf ears, the clink of their glasses only highlighting satoru’s torment, the mediocre performance of the band on stage only adding to the headache that was forming — and it’s not long before gojo loses all senses. he has to be lugged out of the bar by nanami as shoko just grins, still as fresh as she arrived as she shouts a good luck! and the stoic sorcerer is left to deal with his senior. by now, gojo has already talked his ear off while he decides what to do with the lanky man, a call to ijichi halted when the strongest sorcerer starts to mumble out incoherent words.

“she’sss… she’s so beautiful i— i don’t… nanaminnn i don’t know what to fuckin’ do,” gojo mumbles into the lapels of the other’s suit. “i feel like i might— i wanna die whenever i’m with her because…”

gojo sniffles. he’s driven to tears easily, the liquor in him intensifying anything and everything. his last confessions are slurred, albeit softly. “i can’t breathe around her.”

there’s a tense silence that circles them for a few minutes, nanami considering his next words carefully even with the soft whispers of your name leaving his lips, and then, there’s also the awkward hard-on nanami can feel on his thigh and he’s trying so hard not to wince — at least gojo’s pants were darker in colour. he can only muster sighs when people on the sidewalk give him looks.

“gojo. i’m not a stranger to your… tendencies,” nanami’s voice cuts through harshly, thinking that his senior may be napping, but he’s surprised to hear a hum leaving his throat, “but you’ve been lacking. in missions, in teaching. it’s never this bad.”

monday. it’s monday and it’s been three days since he broke it off. all it takes is some whiskey and nanami kento to break you down, but he doesn’t say anything after, standing in silence with him until the alcohol wears off just a little more and the sorcerer’s able to gather his cursed energy to teleport. but all gojo can sense in his home are the residuals of your cursed energy. it stings his nose like an odour, something he should be repulsed by, like the pungent smell of copper after visiting shoko or the strong tang of the fermented tofu you’ve tried making for him.

weirdly it only makes the ache in his pants worse when the cursed energy fills his head and messes with his; it reminds him of when you’d be too impatient to make it to the bedroom, letting gojo take you on the couch, to the ride of his shirt up your hips when you first wake up. plopping onto the sofa, he almost succumbs to sleep, alcohol breath and all, but manages to flip himself over, fingers stumbling over his zipper.

your name is the first thing that leaves his mouth as he palms his bulge, soft grunts sounded out in the quietness of his house. his head digs far into the couch as he focuses on you atop him working your magic, grinding onto his front like a tease with your hands on his chest. he removes his underwear with a sigh, hand immediately starting to stroke himself.

“oh— shit, y-yeah,” satoru has no restraint, no decorum, whines filling the room while the slick noises of his fist increase in volume. he thinks of every bit of your body moving against him, water against rock, icarus against the sun.

gojo squeezes his shaft and remembers all the times you’ve wrapped your own hand around him, nails newly done and paid from his pocket as the baby blues move up and down his dick. he rubs a thumb around his tip, and the way his tip leaks pre-cum is almost sinful.

“baby, oh fuckk—” his head pounds from the bright light and the alcohol, and the way his eyes are scrunched tight. “you feel so fuckin’ good.”

satoru’s hips are lifting off his sofa, humping into thin air while his hands speed up, and he’s close, getting some notification from nanami which draws his attention to the wallpaper he set of you: sheets dangerously low on your chest, eyes resting from the long night. it makes him sob out your name because you don’t know what you do to him, until.

until gojo reaches an unsatisfying peak, a cry on his lips and spurts of his cum staining his hand, but it feels nothing like you. the liquid’s spread across his hand like hot water, the guilt burning his body before he chucks his phone to the side and prays to any god that they would have mercy on him.

a gasp is heard. your figure shows itself through the babydoll dress, looking stunning as always with your doe eyes. he knew you’d always open the door.

“gojo.”

alcohol is prevalent on the man standing across from you, and you’re partially surprised to see him in front of you after just one week calling your whole arrangement off — somewhere, someone you don’t know is gifting another unknown person a new dissection set with a mere ¥1000 bill on it. something tugs at your heart at his flushed face and messy hair, maybe it was your feelings, maybe it was the wine you drank before this. you also take note of the unbuttoned dress shirt he’s got on, the wrinkles and dishevelled state of it driving you a little insane.

“baby…” gojo smiles like it was a late night drinking with the boys and it was you welcoming him home, but it’s different when you’ve fucked and received kisses like he loves you, all while he’s standing at the corridor of your apartment building. you’re hoping he’s only a figment of your imagination, because you’ve banished him from your mind since last week. oh well, you tried anyways.

“what. do you want?” there’s a slight buzz from the wine you drank, amplified when he slowly makes his way into the familiar space.

“you—” the other hiccups, and he has to keep a hand on the doorframe from collapsing. if he’s strong enough to do that, you think he’s probably one drink in, bordering on the line of being high and slowly descending into drunkenness. in his hand there’s a bottle of apple cider to quell the alcohol; you stifle a smile.

“i’m not the one who called it off.” you hold your ground, not even noticing the attachment you have with the velvet on your body, feeling satoru’s fingers play with the soft fabric of its hem.

“and yet you— you wear this dress like it’s your underwear, always opening the door f’r me a-and… fuck,” it comes out softly upon feeling up your thighs and settling on your ass cheeks, void of any panties. he gives it a good squeeze and a small whimper leaves you, forced to cosy up to his chest when you stumble forward.

“you’re just drunk right now, gojo, sayin’ shit like that…” you trail off, finding any excuse to not open up the scab on your heart again, pushing at his chest like you didn’t want to taste the rum on him, like you didn’t want his body on yours and taint him with sauvignon.

gojo proves you wrong over and over again at how he’s got your dress flipped up later, neck bent up to accommodate his tall stature while you’re supporting yourself on the flimsy shoe rack as he pulls your body flush against him and toes off his shoes — he’s skilled at multitasking like that.

“need to be inside you, baby,” he groans, fingers fumbling with the dress he bought and he almost cums just from feeling up your body, “but first.”

you’re swept off the floor and your hands are quick to wrap around his neck, following the route to your bedroom like he’s done many times before. this time, there’s a different kind of thrill, looking down at your hazy eyes as you’re both intoxicated on liquor. it’s different from the time he took the current picture of his contact in your phone (you hadn’t deleted his number), it’s different from every other day.

“gojo…” is all you can muster when he plops you down a little roughly on the bed, and you have the privilege of seeing him strip out of the button down shirt, forearms flexing against the shirt as he reveals his toned body bit by bit. you can’t help but refuse to lose, legs spreading just a little to show him all the wetness you’ve gotten just from kissing him.

“angel,” he looks a little starstruck by the sheen of your pussy, swallowing until he’s finally out of his shirt, “you look fuckin’ beautiful.”

your small smile tells him you already know that (“pretty girl, takin’ me so well like this.” a whisper into your ear in that changing room) like you know how you’re probably the only one to get him like this: panting, mouth parted, cock aching to be in you — you’re just better at hiding your own.

wordlessly, you swipe two fingers along your folds, collecting your slick before they come to rest upon his lips, taking it into his mouth willingly. they swirl around your digits and he hums at the taste, divine as always, teeth scraping your skin when you easily unbuckle his pants and peel the underwear off of him.

“can i call you satoru?”

you don’t even have to fucking ask, he wishes to say but all he answers with is a shaky “yes”, and he never wants anything to do with the gojo clan any more. if you asked him to quit being a sorcerer, he would, because all he wants to be associated with is satoru and the cadence of it falling from your lips.

even one week was too much for you, so you’re quick to get to your knees, going straight to putting his fat cock in your mouth. the moan gojo lets out is straight pornographic, and he’s missed this as much as you did, knowing nothing could compare to his hand when your mouth was second to your cunt. lovingly, his hand caresses one side of your cheek, filled to the brim with his length.

“so fuckin’ warm, holy fuck—” bobbing your head, you keep a steady hand on his thighs, because with one look to him, he’s whimpering out, hands loosely tangling in your hair. you moan as his hips start to buck into your mouth, and with a small nod from you, the hands on your head tightens before he starts to thrust into your cavern, bringing you down to his pelvis ever so slightly.

there’s guttural sounds coming from the back of your throat as you deepthroat him, eyes brimming with tears before he lets up. his thrusts don’t stop, though, and he fucks your mouth like an animal, lewd noises flooding the room as drool falls from your mouth. you’re moaning as you play with yourself, the vibrations causing the other’s hips to stutter.

“g’nna c—” it’s a shame how fast gojo cums, but it’s only fair because of the way your mouth feels on him, tongue flexing against the underside of his shaft every time his cock disappears into you and he’s shooting hot liquid down your throat after, unloading into your throat as you swallow easily. you’re used to the bitter taste by now.

“s’big,” you giggle, naturally taking over as your hands squeeze out the last bits of cum from his cock, and the way it drips onto your tongue is orgasmic, “love your cock s’much, satoru.”

gojo brings you up by your arms, and he has to taste himself on you first before he’s fully taking off his pants, smiling just a bit when your legs spread again and your pussy is practically begging for him. “enough of me, let’s focus on you.”

you raise an eyebrow while he’s inches away from your cunt, ignoring the rasp of his voice like it hadn’t made you shiver, “me?”

“yeah, you, my pretty lil thing.” you hardly digest what he says before his mouth engulfs your core, and you let out a deafening moan, hands closing around your bed sheets as he starts to suck on your clit. his tongue is ruthless, flicking at your nub and wrapping both arms around your thighs, tugging you into his face like he wasn’t close enough already.

“oh g-god— satoruuu…” his name falls from your lips countless times and gojo’s eyes can’t help but shift to your face at the pretty sounds that come from you, zoned in on eating you out until his chin is wet with your slick.

“look at me, princess,” gojo is taken aback from the blissed out expression on your face, but it doesn’t falter him, a resolve settling in his bones, “thaaat’s it, baby.” and you struggle to hold his stare when those familiar blues comes flooding back into his irises while his tongue doesn’t stop any of its movements, knowing your ins and outs. you can feel the fabric below you starting to soak, pussy dripping endlessly.

he gives you one last lasting look before he moves down to your entrance, tongue slipping inside while his nose nudges your clit and your hands fly to his hair. gojo hums into your cunt, affirmations of good girl mixed in with moans that send chills up your body.

“close, aren’t ya?” you roll your eyes at how he’s so confident now, sobriety coming to light a bit and rum leaving his system the moment he’s got your pussy in between his lips, but he’s not wrong because you can feel the coil in your stomach twisting and turning, hearing him groan out when he uses a free hand to stroke himself.

his tongue returns to your clit and gojo sucks hard until you’re pulling on his stark white hair, screaming out his name and profanities as you cum, leaking so much juices that it’s made a dark red spot on the inside of your dress. he laughs softly into your core before he’s back to slurping all of it up again and your legs close involuntarily; all he does is tut and spreads them again and he’s on a mission to make up to his mistake of ever thinking of leaving you.

your body is limp by your third orgasm, grasping at satoru to feel him and he takes your hand to plant kisses on them, and to tell you to wait. but that almost proves difficult for you when he’s got you all spread out like this and the quiet, dazed gojo is gone momentarily because he finally knows what he wants.

even if he had to fuck you silly and plant strawberries himself and make more coffees and open up old wounds again, gojo is going to do it all, because the call of his name is sounding more and more like heaven each time and he’s tired of burning at the side when he’s willing to fight fire with fire.

“satoru,” you whine out when gojo places your legs on his shoulder, and it gets him so much deeper in you, buried to the hilt. by now, you’re getting bent into half as he eases his cock into you with a groan, your soaking core laced with juices acting as lube.

“what is it, sweetness?” he asks breathlessly, pressing a soft kiss to your ankle and you’re mewling out again. god, he wanted you like this every minute of the day.

“f-feels s’good,” you moan out, fingers wrapped around his forearms as they grip onto your waist.

the other leans forward and you clench up at how your body folds even more, eyes hooded and soft pants leaving your lips.

“i know, baby, i know,” the glimpse to your lips is brief but you catch it as he coos, and you close the gap as satoru starts his pace, sinking into your warm pussy like it’s a drug. your lips intoxicate him more than rum ever will, slipping his tongue in you and he can’t help but nibble on your bottom lip, a grunt of how tight you are whispered against you.

as gojo continues to rut into you, your lips are continually captured by the other’s, small, sweet kisses leaving your heart beating as his eyes bore into yours before his hand reaches down to rub at your clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

the room is filled with the scent of sex paired with the squelching noises of your cunt, sucking him in so well that his hips falter and he loses his speed whilst admiring you; the you whose pupils look like they’ve morphed into hearts and your jaw remains slack from how good he rails into you.

a man whose feelings weren’t this strong wouldn’t fuck into you like this, wouldn’t make you cum thrice like you’re his baby and then fuck you nice after. a man like that won’t get up fifteen minutes earlier to boil water or swap out an old tube of face wash when it runs out.

but are you even ready? even with the undeniable pull satoru has on you, you cannot get the feeling of being thrown aside when you’ve done your part out of your chest, the weight crushing you worse than his body weight in the morning.

“s’toru! s-shit,” you whimper, legs tightening around his shoulder as your hands scramble to grab his hair, feeling already so fatigued and yet, you’re dizzy on the way gojo satoru makes you feel. satoru is no different, an immovable haze settling over his eyes when he stares and he’s so caught up in everything — your eyes, your hips, your hair splayed out below him that he’s blurting out the first thing in his mind. “i love y— this fuckin’ pussy, fuck.”

his heart is pounding, and he stops abruptly at the stifled slip-up, mouth dry when you shoot him a confused look and a small satoru? you okay?

“y— yeah.”

i couldn’t do it.

gojo gulps and he feels tears well up in his eyes. it’s weird, for all his confidence at the start begins to dwindle at such simple words that he can’t mutter out and he shakes his head, burying himself into the crook of your neck and you’re brought back into bliss when he continues, taking note of the slight turmoil he’s going through.

gojo feels like he cannot breathe when you pull him from your neck, albeit with difficulty; both your eyes flutter close as his forehead collides with yours, and he just savours this moment with (hopefully) no judgement from you. he breathes in your scent, takes in your moans in his ears as his pace slows and he angles his hips and his eyes open to meet yours again right as you both cum, pumping you full with mingling moans as you gush all over his cock.

and just like the first night, you’re drawing him in with everything — he falls harder when he sees you reluctantly ignore the tears in his eyes, knowing he didn’t want to talk about it, knowing you’d be asking about it later. with your gentle voice, your fiery touch.

gojo never liked to feel vulnerable, but at thirty he thinks it’s time for a change when you first embroiled him in this complicated arrangement of quiet, yet tumultuous feelings. he can feel the three words weigh his lips down when you’re brushing away the tears later with a sad smile, scooting yourself closer to the chest that’s doing a bad job of hiding his heartbeat.

“what’s gotten my satoru cryin’, hm?”

gojo sniffles at my, holding onto one of your hands, and he says nothing but only succumbs to your arms when you tuck him under your chin, feeling safe in your chest as you both fall into routine. silence befalls the night, a certain dread taking over him that you’d be gone by morning as his breaths even out.

but when birds sing in the morning, his heart sings louder at the sight of you reading a book beside him in an old shirt he was convinced was lost, the faint smell of toast waiting for you outside. he’s tucked into your side and his arms have naturally wrapped around your body, your own playing gently with his hair and gojo thinks not all is bad when you read between the lines of his feelings. because as much as he knew you, you knew him and his habits, his quirks, too, and there’s an unsaid rule about how—

satoru never liked to feel vulnerable.

vulnerability was a state of exposure, like the way he accidentally burns himself while cooking pancakes or feeling the heat of the coffee radiate off your cup. it was like standing bare in your shower, eyes locked onto yours while he cleans you up. it was like letting his heart be stripped away by you who peels away the layers like you do to his underwear and the hard-boiled egg on the stove and the orange in the grocery bag.

it was like loving you, even if it tears at his technique and mocks the very powers he’s perfected to be untouchable, but you’re able to permeate his barriers and neutralise his infinity with something as simple as a kiss to his forehead.

that, gojo satoru may never be able to understand, but like himself, he doesn’t need to know every single thing.

all he knows is that with the way you capture his heart, he knows freedom from your embrace is something unattainable, but he wouldn’t have it any other way — that in itself is enough for his stubborn heart.

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Deathslinger FwB HC's[NSFW]

Deathslinger with a Friend with Benefits 🤭 And he catches feelings

Sorry if these suck I've made myself only write fics so for some reason I struggled to write headcanons??? Asdfghjkl. Anyways I think I'm gonna try to do that so I can be more consistent with posting

A sort of friendship probably began before you started doing any of this funny business with Caleb, and it involved multiple instances of jokingly flirting with each other. He thankfully doesn’t really flirt with anybody else, you being the exception for becoming his friend and understanding his story

Even though this is all platonic, it does kind of irk him if you're found flirting with anybody else. He knows he can't get mad, especially if you end up having romantic feelings for anyone else at any point, but...

Yeah, he'll go as far as spooking off any survivors that get too close. Makes you wonder in what form he's feeling jealousy

The flirting happens during and out of trials, and your teammates are sure to be peeved any time they realize you’re facing Deathslinger with them. Hatch guaranteed! But they can’t be that mad when you’re distracting the killer, right?

Which speaking of trials, Caleb doesn’t hesitate to ask about having a bit of fun mid-match. At least he’s nice enough to still let you get the hatch or exit gate in the end if you don’t feel like doing anything. He’ll just need to get some hooks in there so the Entity doesn’t prohibit matches together for lots of fooling around

I’m sure some other sorry survivor tried to get an easy escape from Caleb, seeing how you get it all the time, and the man just laughed. Sacrifice!

It’s not just flirting and screwing between the two of you, there are genuinely a lot of nice moments in the friendship. And Caleb makes sure you know it’s strictly just that. He’s not some lover guy. Nope. 

When all this screwing around first started, he was pretty reserved and wasn’t too open to overly affectionate actions (such as kissing, cuddling too much,etc.)

But as the friendship and feelings grows, he slowly opens up and invites more of that affection. It will bother him to no end if you rejects and tease him and remind him he set up those rules. He passes it off as a joke and just laughs it off.

It would make him desperate to have even a little kiss from you. It's killing him.

In fact, after the first time you guys had a bit of fun...he could not get you out of his head. The first time reminds him that he's a lonely man in a lonely realm, so he's the one to seek you out and he casually throws in the idea of sex.

And this lonely man has so many cravings whether he accept them or not, it all begins to really bother him and become noticeable.

He probably takes some time to himself while trying to figure out why such little things are bothering him so much. Caleb is probably stubborn with this and will not accept that maybe some romantic feelings have formed, and he concludes he's just been frustrated with matches lately

Once he goes back to you, will probably be a bit rougher

He eventually does cool down, but it happens faster if you make it clear you're alright with breaking those stupid rules of his and that there won't be any judgement. You'll still be friends no matter what

These new moments genuinely bring the both of you closer, as once again Caleb was lonely despite being around a gang. Never really had a home for a while, and now he gets to receive comfort from you after some fun.

While everything was typically just "casual", if you can even call it that, he does act a bit different when you're doing things with him. He's a tad bit gentler, slower...even loving.

He likes to just hold you after the deed, whether you be on his chest or him on yours, and he tends to think of himself while you're so close to each other. Even then he won't accept the truth about his feelings and thinks it's totally normal for friends to be acting in the way you guys do

It might just take you being open with your own feelings for Caleb to just accept it. Even then he'll struggle to believe it, but he'll ease into it. He always does

Caleb tweaking out 'cause he's so damn touch starved

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, mention of mental health (past attempt), more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

We Mend

Days. Days of her moving out of his way. Of her refusing to look at him or acknowledge his presence, even though he was right there next to her. It was enough to drive him insane. He almost preferred her yelling at him. Maybe he had crossed a line. Probably not the best thing to bring up her past struggles with her mental health. He literally could have said anything but that. Yet he’d chosen to go that route. Like a prick.

Noah watched in silence as she brushed right past him, setting her coffee on the counter. Not a word out of her, even to tell him to get out of her way. She just moved past him, like he wasn’t there at all. Jolly cleared his throat, pulling his attention from her.

All of the guys sat at the kitchen table, heads down, pretending to scroll on their phones. He couldn’t blame them. Poor bastards were caught in the middle of his screw up.

“Sure is cold in here,” Jolly grumbled, glancing his way.

Fuck it. If she was going to refuse to speak to him, he was going to make it impossible for her to keep ignoring him. Let the games begin.

Moments before she picked her cup back up he snatched it from her grasp, smirking. Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he brought the cup up to his lips. At least now she was looking at him. Score one point for him. Slowly, dramatically, he took a sip, trying not to wince at how bitter it was. He’d forgotten she liked her coffee strong enough to degrease an engine and black. Jesus. No wonder she complained of her stomach hurting all the time.

“Give me my coffee.” Her voice was low, deadly.

“Mmmm.” He tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Nope. Thanks for the coffee, babe.”

“God. You’re such a fucking child.”

Noah laughed, walking away, cup of engine degreaser in hand. He wasn’t really going to keep it. Quinn was smart enough and knew him well enough to know that. However, he knew her well enough to know that she would follow him, claiming she just wanted her coffee back. When they both knew it was easier to just get a new cup of coffee. They’d been down this road before. However, he’d never snatched her coffee from her before. He was surprised she hadn’t hit him. She could be testy first thing in the morning. This may have actually been a miscalculation on his part.

With a weary sigh he set the coffee on his desk, settling into his computer chair to wait. Either she followed him or she didn’t and was downstairs setting a trap for him. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long to find out. His bedroom door closed and he turned fully toward her, leaning back in his chair.

“Give me my coffee, Noah.” She sounded just as weary as he felt.

“Come here.” He patted his leg, motioning for her to come sit with him.

“Noah,” she whined. “Just give me my coffee, please. I’m exhausted.”

Definitely a jerk move taking her coffee. Guilt gnawed at him as he finally really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes. How she stood there, shoulders slumped. She suddenly looked frail standing there in her sweatpants and shirt.

“Come sit,” he urged, holding his hand out to her.

Quinn groaned, acquiescing. Slowly, as though she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to she approached him, perching delicately on his leg. Exhausted but still stubborn as all hell. Noah rolled his eyes before fixing her with a stern look.

“Are you going to actually sit or do I have to do everything for you?”

“I’m tired, Noah. If I get comfortable I might fall asleep.” She yawned, stretching slightly.

“Then fall asleep, Quinn.”

“Too much to do,” she yawned again, relaxing into him.

To say he loved these moments was an understatement. The ones where no matter what was going on, no matter how mad at him she was, she just curled into him, tucking her head against his chest just as she was now. Nine times out of ten this was all it took. No words needed for an apology. Just a simple cuddle. But this time he had to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. Peaches. She always smelled like fucking peaches and he loved it. “I crossed the line the other night.”

“I maybe might have, too. I’m sorry. But don’t take my coffee again. You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight.”

Noah chuckled, wrapping her up in a tight hug. These were the moments worth living for.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @mrscevans @supersquirrel1996