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madamechrissy · 8 days ago

Text

you found me

art in the banner by @ayushnz_on X

pairings - nanny nanami x single mom reader

summary - you are exhausted, a single mother and running a huge marketing company, and your sweet little daughter Yuuka is honestly a menace. She's chased away every single Nanny you've tried to hire! All alone with her, you just decide to start bringing her to work, when a man walks in who might as well be Mary fucking Poppins - Nanami Kento. Sweet, patient, and Yuuka just loves him on sight, you pay his very high salary and promise no overtime. But Nanami grows to love what is becoming a family too much, and you grow to crave more and more of his time. The lines blur - what's professional and what's real?

contents/warnings - so fluffy I'm surprised at myself aha, hurt/comfort, reader is a mom, past abuse from her ex (only briefly mentioned) eventual smut, sexual tension humor, Nanami being a sweetheart, Yuuka being adorable, found family vibesss

gonna be a little mini series based on the drabble here! Tags are open <3

part one

You’re exhausted, juggling being a single mom and running a company was not easy, especially when your little daughter Yuuka loved to torment every single babysitter you got her. You found the highest quality Nannies, and not one of them could handle your little girl, she was an angel for you honestly, you couldn’t believe half of the stories they came up with.

She’s sitting over with a bunch of barbies, smiling up at you so pretty, your heart melts while your fingers pause on typing on the keyboard. “Are you okay honey, do you need another snack?”

“M’good mama!” She’s running up to you, letting a barbie kiss your cheek now, you laugh softly.

With Yuuka, you’re not a stern business woman like you have to be in the world, to be taken seriously as it’s run by nothing but men. You can be yourself. You get a call then, and it’s your secretary on the line. Yuuka runs back over to the corner with her tablet, sitting on the soft blankets you brought with you.

“Yes?”

“I have a Mr. Nanami here to see you, are you available?” You blink a bit at that, curiously checking your schedule.

“Hmm, I don’t have a meeting scheduled. Does he want me to do marketing for him?”

“I’m not sure, but he’s hot.”

“Oh god,” your secretary whispers it on the phone, she loves to try to get you with someone, all worried that you’re alone since you split with your ex. “You’re such an instigator. Send him in, then.”

She practically maniacally laughs, buzzing him into your office, lit by the wide open floor to ceiling windows, you’re up in a high rise in the city, a beautiful view. When he walks in, he takes in the surroundings for the briefest of moments, a perfectly immaculate office, paintings on the walls, your desk is organized and a cherry wood, but one thing stands out.

Well, two things.

The adorable kid in the corner, full of colorful blankets, books and toys, smiling at him, and she looks just like a miniature version of the girl sitting at the desk – you. You’re standing up, fingers pressed against the desk, wearing a sleek business suit just tailored to your body. Your hair is pinned up perfectly, not a strand loose, red lipstick standing out and matching the color of your blazer.

He falters, he’s here for an interview, and the last thing he needs to do is be rude or disrespectful, hitting on you or flirting with you would be out of the question, and unlike him. He hardly can remember why he came here for a second, stunned by you when you walk up to him and shake your hand, imposing presence despite the fact that you have to look up at him.

“How can I help you, Mr. Nanami?” His eyes drift over to the girl again, he waves to her and she waves back. “She’s a good kid, don’t worry, we can still talk business. Have a seat.”

Nanami sits right in front of you, your eyes try not to linger on his strong chest in that pale blue dress shirt, he’s wearing a suit just a little baggy, as if he’s so big he needed to size up. Or maybe, comfort you imagine, curiously sitting now and eyeing the bright print tie, stark contrast to his black pinstripe, before flitting over to his face.

He is handsome, your secretary was completely accurate, so handsome you get nervous - you - usually immune to any man’s charms, one to make grown men cry actually. After your ex decided to be the shitty person he was, you had no issue kicking him out of your penthouse once you got the strength, the last thing Yuuka needed was to see a terrible, toxic relationship.

But your tummy flutters as he adjusts his tie, as if he’s a little nervous too, he’s so broad he just takes over your chair altogether, yet he seems sweet, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners when Yuuka runs up. “Here!”

She’s handed him a barbie now, his lips quirk up a bit, and you giggle. The sound is not normal around anyone but your daughter, but it catches his attention immediately, looking over at the sweet little noise. You cover your mouth now, while she explains the story between the barbie dolls, they’ve apparently had a fight.

“Yuuka honey, mommy has to work. We can play later.” She pouts now.

“Wanna play!”

“Don’t give me that look,” she knows how to play it already, cute little pout and her pretty eyes. “Yuuka…”

“She’s perfectly fine,” he murmurs with ease, before tugging out a packet of papers, handing it over. “I’m actually here regarding the position you offered.”

“Oh? Oh! The nanny position!” You peer at his resume, raising your eyebrows at his recommendations, he even had certification.

“A ‘manny’ I guess.” His humor surprises you, glint in his gaze that makes you laugh again.

“Mommy’s laughing! That’s good!” Yuuka is bouncing up and down, Nanami ruffles her hair and chuckles.

“Does mommy need to laugh more often?” You heat up a bit when Yuuka nods, and he looks at you carefully.

“Mommy is just very busy, and a little stressed.” You answer, and he sees it then, the tension in your shoulders, he can’t imagine running a company could be easy for you.

The thought of rubbing said tense shoulders catches him off guard, he instantly shoves that thought back, while playing with Yuuka now. “Is the position still open?”

“It absolutely is, um… Nanami, what got you into childcare?”

“I had to grow up really quick,” your heart hurts then at that, you blink back tears for a man you barely know, who’s just getting along perfectly with your daughter, who tortures people for fun. “I don’t want any kid to have to do that, so I thought I’d try to keep the kid spirit alive.”

“Oh…” You damn near fight crying at how sweet that is, peering further at his resume, you recognize some of the names as fellow colleagues. “You’re a regular Mary Poppins, huh?”

“Mary Poppins?” He laughs with you, you pull him up on your computer and scroll to see he has gushing reviews.

“Super Nanny, gosh look at all this.” You’re reading more of his reviews, Nanami’s cheeks are decorated red at your praise.

“I just have a way with kids I guess.”

“Clearly, she’s a menace.”

“Am not!” You stick your tongue out, and so does she, he can’t help but shake his head, hiding another smile behind his hand.

“You look just like your mama you know.”

“She really does.” You mention, checking his background information he’d included for you.

“Mommy’s pretty.” Yuuka is sweet sometimes, you gotta admit, you look at her and thank her, until she turns to Nanami. “Isn’t she pretty?”

“Oh, Yuuka don’t ask that!”

“She is very lovely,” Nanami’s words do something to your heart, fluttering in your chest faster now.

“See!” She’s mischievously giggling.

Lovely who even says lovely.

Why’s it so sweet!?

His salary request is very high, but you don’t mind at all, in fact you’d pay him more than that if he could help out and not run away from your daughter. Her pranks are ridiculous, you’ve gotta hope she’ll behave. “If you can handle her, I’ll hire you - and give you a hefty bonus if you make it a month. Your monthly salary doubled.”

“You really think I won’t make it a month?” He’s raising a brow, you shake your head and sigh when he looks at Yuuka. “Are you that scary, Yuuka?”

“I am sweet, they were mean!”

“They were so not mean.”

“Mhmm!”

“Well, I’m not mean.” She’s clinging to his arm, far too cute, making you melt into a damn puddle at work.

“You’re hired!”

“Yuuka, I do that,” you cross your arms, your daughter is about as bossy as you, to a fault. “Nanami, you’re hired.”

“Perfect, I’m always up for a challenge. When do I start?”

“Like, now.”

“Now!?”

*****

Nanami is such a miracle worker, truly. In one week with Yuuka, she’s been completely sweet, no pranks or fits! In fact, when she does decide to get a little bratty with you, Nanami gently chides her. You find yourself working from home more often, wanting to be near them both, enjoying the presence far, far too much.

You enjoy Nanami, sure, but mostly you love seeing how he is with her, how she brightens and opens up more and more every day. He’s worth all that expensive salary and then some, with the amount of work you’re able to get done - right down to him helping cook you dinner. That’s not what you asked at all, but you typically order out or heat up something with your schedule.

Exhausted, you came home Friday to him cooking, wearing a little white apron you’ve never tried on, it barely fit him. You thought maybe you were in some day dream, imagine anyone cooking for you, let alone him. Yuuka was helping him stir eggs up, standing on a little pink step stool next to him. When they hear you walk in they both turn your direction.

“I’m hallucinating, a home cooked meal for me?” You’re slipping off your heels, Nanami tells Yuuka to keep stirring, walking toward you then, looking far too attractive in that damn apron over his dress shirt and slacks.

“You need to be taken care of too,” his words are soft, he notices then what he’s said, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s too much.”

“No, it’s… really sweet, um…” Again, confident and never afraid, Nanami turns your brain to mush standing in front of you. “I want to cook more, I want to be able to do that with her. And you there will just… make it better.”

“Then come on, I’ll show you some things. You can’t live on coffee.” He takes your hand, just a little coated in flour, the warmth spreading. Your eyes lock for a moment, neither of you speak, before you follow him over.

“I also drink wine you know,” you tie an apron on, winking at him. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You can’t live on just that, either. Yuuka that’s really good, you’re a pro.”

“Yay! Mommy come here!” You soon are helping the two of them in the kitchen - it’s too easy, too comfortable. Something about it instead of just being fun, was touching you deeply, the more you fall into the easy rhythm.

That’s something you never had.

You try to remember, it’s just his career, something he loves to do, and not think that much into it, but having someone care for you? Worry about you? Even if it was mere kindness, it felt good, so good it was hard to focus on cooking, and Nanami is in front of you, a hand gently touching the small of your back. You gasp, realizing the bottom is sticking, stirring it around now.

“Oh! Sorry, I was spaced out,” he takes your hand, moving the spatula slowly. “Ah, I was doing too much.”

“You’re doing just fine, you’re so tired I’m surprised you’re standing.” You hear his concern, while he’s standing too close to you, you inhale that expensive cologne, enjoying his nearness.

“You think I’m that tired?” You turn your chin, looking up at him, he leans over and turns the burner down, before studying you intensely, like no one has ever looked at you before.

Like he knows you more than you do.

“You may look beautiful with dark circles, but that’s a sign you’re doing too much, not sleeping enough.”

Beautiful.

You blink a bit, turning your body to where you all are too close, Yuuka is in the living room on the other side of the wall, watching her show. Your heart pounds in your chest when he runs a thumb under your eyes, the coolness feeling far too good, you sigh at the sensation.

“I worked myself to death before,” he murmurs, swiping underneath your eyes gently, they flutter shut at how good it feels, listening to him. “I never will again, no amount of money is worth it.”

“I have so many responsibilities, you’re helping so much, truly.”

“Instead of working more because of me, maybe you can try to enjoy your life a little? I know it’s not my place, I know she’s who I’m here to care for. But you’re her mom, you know? She loves you so much.” You step back, hands on his wrists while they sit just an inch from your skin, and the two of you freeze there.

He’s said too much, he worries now – that he should’ve kept quiet, but how does he not see how much you’re suffering with the amount of work you do? Doing the job of ten people, barely able to walk when you come through that door, yawning constantly and downing ten espressos a day.

In a week he’s already grown to care for both of you, and it’s scary just how much he enjoys this. He doesn’t want it to end because he’s put too much out there.

“I shouldn’t-”

“You’re right.”

“I am?” You sigh, nodding, and he exhales in relief. “Then let me help you, we’ll cook together, and you’ll eat a good dinner every night I’m here.”

“Yes, sir.” You’re teasing but that fucks him up, to the point it takes a lot not to kiss you, press you against that counter, kiss the red lipstick off your mouth.

He doesn’t say it of course, quickly going back to cooking, quiet for a moment. “Come here, I’m going to show you how to properly make noodles, yours are awful.”

“Hey now!”

“You overcook them to mush.”

“Rude!” You’re so fucking happy though, cooking next to him, thankful he exists.

*****

Soon you do enjoy cooking more, and you can’t help but show off your skills, but many times Nanami would have to go home quickly after eating. He did not like overtime, even if he enjoyed you all very much, he’d always peer at his rolex at the exact same time every day. You couldn’t help but enjoy those little quirks about him more and more as the time passed.

“Nanami, stay and watch a movie with us,” you mention one night, when he’s already about to slip on his jacket. “Need me to pay you overtime?”

“Nonsense,” he falters then, however, the more time he spends, the more he feels, and being closer to you is difficult. He doesn’t want to cross that line with you, blur them, whatsoever, but it’s almost impossible the more time he spends. “I just don’t want to impose.”

“Not at all, we’d love to have you watch a movie,” you pat the couch and smile at him. “Maybe a glass of wine?”

“One.” He agrees, his cheekbones jutting out as he tenses his face at your grin, far too pretty, making his heart race when you jump up, Yuuka is bouncing up and down.

“Nanami is staying!”

“He is, let’s make snacks!”

Soon he’s got Yuuka curled up on his lap, you on the other side of him, a bowl of half full popcorn sitting right in front of you all on the table. “She likes you more than me, no fair.”

“She does not,” he’s chuckling, a hand on your thigh now, you feel your body react to the easy touch, it’s nothing inappropriate, it’s casual. But it’s too much, especially when you look down at his hand. “She loves you.”

“I know,” you put your hand over his, seeing the crazy difference in size, if the man doesn’t have the biggest hands. You peer and see Yuuka is snoring, her little arms around his neck. “Oh, I should put her to bed.”

“I’ve got it.” He stands with her, cradling her to his chest now, she blinks the sleep from her eyes and yawns. “Say good night to mommy.”

“Night mommy.” She mumbles, you stand and kiss her cheek.

“Night sweet girl.” You pick up the remote, pausing the movie, grabbing the bowl of popcorn on the table and the glasses, taking them to the kitchen.

You’re rinsing the dishes when Nanami walks by, seeing you still in your business skirt and blouse, a little untucked from the waistband. He tries to avoid the natural feeling of wanting to tug your waist to him, to press little kisses along your neck, this was a reason he usually left. You thought it was overtime, and he let you think just that, but it wasn’t even close.

The more time he spends, the more it feels like a family, the thought terrifies him. Nanami was a professional, always, the entirety of his career, he prided himself on just that. Yet something clicked that never has, leading to the worst thoughts, imagining taking you right there, slipping your skirt up, wondering just how badly you needed the release he could give you.

“You just gonna burn holes in my back, Kento?” You’ve never said his first name, and the way it sounds on your lips?

Fuck.

“You have eyes in the back of your head?” He teases, you look over your shoulder while you rinse a cup. “Want help?”

“You do enough around here.”

“I don’t mind any of it at all.” You relax a bit hearing it, he comes over and rolls up his sleeves – and you damn near drop what you’re washing, when you see those veiny, strong forearms up close. “Here, I’ll dry them.”

“Thank you,” he stands so tall next to you, his scent fucking up any good sense you have left. “Would you like to make this a thing? A movie night?”

“Would you like that?” His tone is husky, the desire is hot in your tummy when his gaze flits over to you.

“We both would. I’m sure you have a life, um… maybe you date? But if you wouldn’t mind once a week. I really liked it.”

“I am not seeing anyone.”

“Oh.”

“Do you? See anyone?” He tries to make it sound casual, easy, but he is furious for some reason about picturing you with anyone. It’s terrible, everything he’s thinking of doing to you – a man so composed.

“Ah, no, my ex has put me off dating forever maybe.”

“He never comes around, does he?” You suck in a breath, shaking your head, he finishes putting the dishes up, leaning a hip on the counter, you do the same. “Why not? Is he an idiot?”

“He is an idiot,” you laugh softly, but he’s very serious. “Um, he was… not nice to me… mentally, physically.”

“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he cups your face carefully, you blink back tears but fail, crying about it for maybe the first time since he left. “Come here.”

He’s tugged you against his hard chest, warm and inviting, big arms wrapping your body now, a hand affectionately on your head as you let it go. The pain of thinking about back then, thinking how you let him run you over, so different from who you are now, it’s too much. It’s too perfect in his arms, like you never want to leave, crying against his fancy shirt.

“Sorry, shit…”

“Don’t be,” he’s stroking your hair, a mix of emotions making his throat tighten. He wants to hold you, comfort you – but also anger at whoever would lay a hand on you, or not give a fuck about his own kid. “I’m sorry someone hurt you. I promise if I saw him, he sure the fuck wouldn’t be able to say a word.”

“Kento!” You giggle through your tears, surprised by him. “I thought you were a gentle giant, what’s this?”

“Gentle with you two, sure, he wouldn’t want to fight me though.” You see it now, a little fiery personality under those layers of calm, he can’t help but smile with you, brushing your hair back. “If you ever feel unsafe and he’s trying to come around, you can always call me or tell me.”

“You don’t have to do half of the things you do,” you look up under lashes dripping with tears, sniffling just a bit. Nanami exhales, just a breath away from your lips, you can almost taste him. “I really appreciate you. I’m not sure I can explain just how much.”

Your hand rests on his chest, where his heart is pounding steadily against your palm. It’s quiet, no sounds but the whirling of the fan over your heads, the sounds of your breaths intermingling. He’s got his lips close, too close, hands slipping down the sides of your waist.

You’re scared to let anyone in, especially someone that seems so perfect – you’re not at all, despite how you come across at times, you don’t have it all together really. Nanami sees that messier side of you, the exhausted mom running on nothing, and for once you can really let that side show in his presence, not hide it.

“I appreciate you,” he whispers, far, far too close now, you lower your gaze to his lips, thin upper lip but the poutiest lower one, just a little glossy when he runs his tongue along them. “I’m loving being here, I don’t want anything to ruin it.”

“I don’t either,” you realize you’re leaning in, just as he is, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “You really think I’m beautiful with dark circles, huh?”

He scoffs a bit, smiling down at you. “You’re just beautiful, dark circles or not. They’ve gotten a little better.”

“That’s because of you,” he shuts his eyes for a moment, fighting it, the instinct to kiss you, to kiss every part of you, but you’re looking too prettily up at him, ending his resolve, he grabs your hips and tugs you to him, making you gasp. “Kento…”

“You’re calling me by my first name,” he whispers, his straight nose just barely nuzzling yours, it’s hard to breathe suddenly, suffocating on the energy, the desire. “Do you like to call me that, darling?”

“Darling…” You’re blushing, so prettily then, he rubs your overheated cheeks, his hazel eyes lidded, those blond lashes lowered, casting shadows on the hard planes of his cheekbones. “I might like that too much.”

“Oh?” You nod, leaning up, when you hear it – Yuuka rushing down the stairs. You two quickly part, both blushing messes, and she’s running to Nanami, hugging his pant leg now.

“Nanami, forgot to say bye!” He smiles, brushing her hair gently and smiling, a tired little smile directed at you.

“Don’t go yet, I have something,” you shake it off – the tension, the desire – remembering who he is, why he’s here. And how much you appreciate him. You grab the envelope, handing it to him, Yuuka comes to hug your waist now, you pull her to your side. “Just a thank you.”

“This is too much…” He frowns now, you already pay his truly high salary, but the bonus is ridiculous. “It’s just been a couple weeks…”

“It’s been plenty of time. I just want you to know how much it means to me,” you trail off, blinking rapidly. “Um, having you here with us.”

“Of course,” he shakes his head, trying to hand it back to you. “It’s really too generous, ridiculous even.”

“Please, just keep it. We’ll have another movie night, right?” He smiles, nodding to Yuuka’s delight, before coming up and kissing her head tenderly, then pressing a little kiss on your temple before he can think better of it. Your heart aches, the gesture so precious while you hold your daughter in your arms.

“I’ll see you beauties tomorrow morning.” He’s off quickly now, Yuuka snuggles against your neck, her little hands gripping your blouse.

“Mama, I love him.” She says, you barely hold it back, the longing for more, the emotions of your daughter loving someone, to have a man that truly cares.

You can hardly stand to think it’ll end one day.

“I’m so glad, baby. Let’s go to sleep.”

When you are in bed, you toss and turn, remembering the heat of his body against yours, the sweet breath on your lips, so worked up for the first time in years truly. Your ex really did a number on you, and these thoughts weren’t in your head at all – it was business, and your daughter – there was no room for anything else, until Nanami.

Little do you know, he’s picturing you in his bed at the same time, yet he’s not as composed as you, he’s lost his composed nature in fact, trying to feel terribly guilty for jerking off to the thought of you.

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inkskinned · 2 months ago

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you balance the catholic guilt & you still eat too many servings of pasta. you split the pomegranate but you think of the lord jesus and his guts spilled across your dining room table. yesterday was father's day and you went to church. your father is also a deacon. he wants you to marry a nice man one day, when the lesbianism wears off.

you are religiously traumatized, probably, but also the world is in absolute chaos. you feel guilty all the time about not being endlessly informed - about the mini breaks you take between in-person activism & volunteer work and doomscrolling through online news articles. you feel guilty you dropped a sweater on the ground. you feel guilty you cannot afford rent. you feel guilty, and you quite actually feel guilty that you feel guilty.

your father isn't a tall man, but he is good at being imposing. yesterday was hard. all father's day activities are. you watched him radicalize in the last 10 years, moving from a man who had some ignorant views to - whatever this is. he crowed at you that 250,000 people showed up to trump's military parade. you have seen the pictures and think that it's very unlikely there were more than 100k. but your father has no shame. your father just says the thing without checking it.

you have a conspiracy theory that, in some small part, the parade was also to rebrand june as military appreciation month. how often they have said why is there no veteran's month, even though there is. the white house's stance on pride this year was that they did not want to acknowledge something that "only affects 7% of the population." you don't know where they got that number, but it's guilt-free. it's just, like, out there. they get to just say things. you can't even fucking imagine.

you haven't grown up. you still wear the 2014 tumblr style shit sometimes. you are still on tumblr. you are still thinking about girls and "holy holy holy" and it always does feel magical and rebellious and incredible to kiss her. nothing is new about love until it is your love, and then it is impervious. and yet - still you feel stuck, and guilty, and the acid in your stomach refuses to settle. all the yearning and the stupid shit, and the fucking guilt.

you make a little poem in your notes app. you make your hands into a little prayerful steeple. your mother tells you that you make yourself crazy. you have a running joke with your friends that if you had no mental illnesses, you'd be unstoppable.

but when you kiss her, you feel it. when you buy groceries. when you forget to text back - you feel it. the little thing inside of you, always fucking chipping away at things.

#warm up #spilled ink #poetry #this is specifically to piss off one very rude little man in my inbox ur WELCOME <33333333 #i tried to include all ur content #i was upset u thought i was protestant !!!!!!#i wrote a whole book about how i am ANNOYINGLY!!!!! catholic!!!!! it's for sale! you can read all about it!!!#[i have no actual anger ur message made me laugh thanks for the incredibly in-depth roast]

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astro-b-o-y-d · 1 year ago

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My brain, out of nowhere: Hey, that thing you wrote in chapter four? Me: What about it? Brain: So if Ford had that this specific thing the entire time, why wouldn't he try to use it in canon? Me: Me: WAIT SHIT-

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #I HAVE A WORKAROUND possibly #But for a split second I had a mini panic attack #And thought I was going to have to completely rewrite part of that chapter #We're good though #Plus I can also chalk just about anything from that point up to 'He was running on almost four days of no sleep'#As opposed to him running on one night of no sleep now #It's fine; everything's fine #Stan after this arc is over: Give me that bag of fairy dust. You're gonna sleep an entire night and that's final.#...Hmm actually I might tuck that away for later

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that-one-girl2020 · 27 days ago

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HEY!!! loved the story series!!! And the mini ones!

I have an idea after reading “confrontation”

What if while searching through the archive Saja boys and Zoey and Mira find an old box that was sealed tight and when they open it they find it filled with pictures of Rumi and (Y/n)’s baby photos maybe even a note book that their parents documented them growing up in the short time they had with them.

And in those photos they see part of the reason of why Celine hated (Y/n) so much and it’s because she looked more demon while Rumi only had the smallest or patterns, maybe like glowy eyes and baby claws, which maybe explains why she wasn’t able to connect with the Honmoon?

Honestly, it mostly after the releases of the original storyboard where we could have seen Rumi’s parents and the release of the official art of her father and mother.

Baby Photos

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: This concept was originally requested by @lazyemmy so that’s why there’s two versions of them finding baby photos. The first half of this is more light hearted while the second is a little more solemn and is based on the official art of Rumi’s parents. You don’t need to have read my short series to have this make sense but I still recommend it!

Synopsis: After kicking Celine to the curb, the nine of you begin your search through the household for answers. But you are waylaid by certain photos being found.

TW: Hints of Celine’s toxic parenting

Word Count: 2,544

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

The Hunters’ training grounds had been taken over by five demons, two half demons, and two humans. Plus a blue tiger and a three eyed magpie.

Celine had been kicked to some place far away yesterday and the nine of you had taken the rest of the day to emotionally recover. It ended up in a puppy pile sleep over in the den.

This morning, you had all stirred slowly. Jinu or Rumi might have been the first ones to wake up—you’re not sure but they’re the ones that were making breakfast when you woke. You didn’t want to get up, surrounded by the cozy warmth of several bodies around you. But you all had work to do.

After breakfast, the nine of you had split up throughout the house. You, Hyeon, and Kwan were in the basement storage, going through different chests which held different scrolls, tapestries, and other antiques.

“I think I remember this from my time…” Kwan mused, pulling out an old wooden mask. He held it up to his face.

“Please don’t break it…” You smiled fondly at his antics.

You all turned when you heard pounding footsteps and the female maknae’s voice, “Guys! Guys! Guys!” Zoey peeked her head down as soon as she was far enough down the stairs. “We found Rumi and (Y/n)’s baby pictures!”

You blinked as you struggled to process what she had just said.

Zoey was already running back up the stairs. Kwan and Hyeon also took a moment before Kwan shouted after her, “Wait, what?! Really?!” With a grin, the man ran after her, rushing up the stairs with a grin.

You called after him, “Wait, Kwan!” You turned when you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye. Hyeon was jogging after them. “Hyeon!”

“Sorry, not sorry, princess.”

You sighed, following after them as well.

The group had gathered back in the den, surrounding two boxes—one was a lot dustier than the other. Celine definitely had her preferences.

“Ohhh, little baby Rumi and (Y/n) in hanboks!~” Zoey was already cooing over a photo in her hand.

“Little (Y/n) and Rumi with the cherry blossoms,” Mira couldn’t help but join in, going through a stack of photos in her hand.

“So you guys were homeschooled?” Chungae noted as he looked at a picture of the two of you studying in one of the libraries.

“I didn��t think your aunt was the sentimental type to take all these photos…” Jinu said curiously, a photo of Rumi and you running around with sparklers in his hand.

Rumi—who was going through the photos curiously—answered mindlessly as you joined them, sitting by the dusty box of your photos. “She wasn’t. Aunt Maggie was the one who took the photos.”

The boys and Mira and Zoey blinked. “‘Aunt Maggie’?”

You and Rumi looked at each other. ‘Had neither of you really ever mentioned Aunt Maggie for that long…?’

“Yeah. Aunt Maggie was the third Sunlight Sister with our mother and Celine. She helped raise us for a while even though she and Celine fought a lot. They eventually had a really bad falling out and she left to one of the other Hunter properties,” You explained, digging through all the photos to the very bottom, where some of the few photos of you, Rumi, and Aunt Maggie were.

“Woah,” The girls gathered around you to look at the photos, the boys following. Rumi smiled fondly over your shoulder, looking down at the photo of Maggie sitting in a field of flowers with baby you and her in matching dresses in her arms.

“You were so cute~” Jinu cooed teasingly, pinching your cheek and tugging on Rumi’s braid.

You swatted his hand, “You boys are just lucky that your baby things are long gone.”

“I say we take these with us when we go,” Jum chimed, curiously going through the photos. His eyes were slightly wide—he likely has only seen children or babies a handful of times before coming to the human world with the other boys. So seeing the young photos of you must be strange to him.

Chungae lit up, “We can make a photo album then!” You could see Chungae’s mind racing with ideas. While you wanted to protest, embarrassed by everyone cooing over pictures of young you and Rumi, Chungae was too excited for you to shoot him down.

Zoey also lit up, “Yeah! That would be so cute!~”

Rumi groaned, “Do you guys have to?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Definitely.”

“Mhm.”

“Obviously.”

“Already filling up my Amazon cart!”

You and Rumi had no say. They were all going through the boxes of photos, calling out descriptions of the pictures to each other so they could shove it in each other’s faces to share. You think you saw a few of the boys tuck photos into their pockets. Mira and Zoey might have done the same.

Rumi was ruffled over all the cooing and awing, her cheeks red, but she was going through the photos too, enjoying the memories that she couldn’t remember well.

Mira found a photo of you and Rumi first starting to learn to dance not long after you both learned to walk.

Hyeon pulled out a photo of you nursing an injured baby fawn back to health.

Jinu tucked a photo of you pouting over a kid sized acoustic guitar into his pocket. He made a note to ask if you wanted him to teach you.

Zoey laughed over a picture of Rumi covered in flour on the floor of the kitchen, her eyes teary as she sulked.

Kwan chuckled as he held a photo of baby you splashing in a little kiddie pool while Rumi pouted at the splash you had soaked her with.

Chungae was aweing over a picture of you doing some kind of arts and crafts, your little hands covered in glitter and paint smeared on your chubby cheeks.

Jum smirked at the photo of little baby you in a raincoat and boots, sitting in a puddle with wide eyes, as if you were shocked by your own fall.

You decided to ignore the cooing and just go through your own lost memories.

~~~

Alternatively:

You, Hyeon and Kwan were in the basement storage of the household. It was vast, filled with chests and crates that held scrolls, tapestries, paintings, and antiques from times long past. The others were upstairs, spread out throughout the household.

“What’s this one…?” Kwan mused quietly. Tucked between two old chests was a much newer wooden crate underneath an old tapestry, hidden. He lifted it easily, it was relatively small and not heavy. He took it over to the table the three of you had taken down here to make it easier to go through things. He used the crowbar, easily prying it open and blinked at the contents of the box.

“(Y/n), you’ll want to see this.”

You looked up at the serious tone of Kwan’s voice. You set down the painting you were looking over, making your way over to the table, “What is it?”

Kwan merely pushed the open box over to you silently, Hyeon coming over to join curiously. You were unsettled by the serious look on Kwan’s face, the solemn look in his eyes with a glint of awe.

You looked to see what the contents of the box were and froze, your eyes widening. Immediately, you scooped the box up in your arms and ran up the stairs, calling for your sister, “Rumi! Rumi!”

You rushed into the den, bouncing on your feet as you waited for your sister to join you from wherever she was. Within seconds, she had ran into the room, panicked and a little on edge as she looked around for a threat, “What!? What is it?! Are you hurt?!”

You shook your head, “I’m fine, come here!” You said before grabbing her wrist to pull her to the middle of the den where your blankets, cushions, and pillows were still laid out. You pulled her down to sit with you before placing the box carefully between the two of you. You reached in and pulled out the picture that had been the first thing you saw earlier. Rumi gasped, her eyes beginning to water as she took the photo with a trembling hand. Your own eyes began to water as you leaned close to her so you could both look at it.

A man and a woman with two babies. The woman had long black hair pulled back in an elegant braid, her eyes soft as she held a finger out to the two babies in the man’s arms. The man had a fond smile on his lips, his amber eyes on the woman as he cradled the two babies carefully in his purple tinted arms, patterns covering his skin. One baby had purple hair and happy brown eyes, a hand around the ribbon of the man’s hat and little patterns on her arms. The other baby had (h/c) hair and glowing amber eyes like the man, patterns across her arms and little fangs in her grin as her little claws reached for the woman’s finger.

“It’s our mom and dad,” Rumi gasped, smiling. Because it was. Instead of the vague figures the two of you called your mother and father, suddenly they were mom and dad.

You couldn’t help but sniffle and laugh tearfully, “You really do look like mom.”

Rumi laughed just as wetly, “Yeah. And you look like dad.”

And it wasn’t something to be disappointed by. Instead of the labels that Celine had shoved onto the two of you, it was a pride. Your parents, who had defied logic and reason by falling in love with each other.

You didn’t notice the rest quickly joining the two of you until they were sitting around you, offering comfort with hugs and arms around the shoulders as they looked curiously. “Genetics are funny…”

Reaching in, you pulled out the next item of its contents, a leather journal. Opening it, it had both your parent’s names in it—they seemed to take turns writing in it as they documented their time with you and Rumi.

They knew from the beginning that the two of you had taken more after one parent than the other. Sometimes, when Rumi giggled or cooed, the Honmoon would flare around her. And your demonic features would surface more often in times of intense emotions like happiness, joy, sadness, anger, etc. It would be some time until your body naturally learned to blend in with humans.

Your parents hypothesized that due to this difference between you and Rumi, you would never be able to connect to the Honmoon and Rumi would never have full access to her demon side—flying, glamouring, enhanced physicality, the heightened senses, all of this would probably always be out of Rumi’s reach. But they said it would make you all the more fearsome when the two of you fought at each other’s sides.

“Our darling girls are two halves of the same coin. They will do amazing things one day and I am sure of that. Together, they are a storm that will change the world.”

“I never thought I would have children, not after all of my mistakes. But Rumi and (Y/n) are the pieces of my heart that I didn’t know I was missing until I held them in my arms for the first time. The bond between a father and his daughters was something I couldn’t have fathomed until now.”

You and Rumi couldn’t help but laugh and cry as you read the journal, lingering on the handwriting of your mom and dad as you flipped through the pages. The others were quiet around you, knowing this was a moment for you and Rumi but they remained as silent comfort and support for both of you.

There were more photos too. Newborn Rumi and you in your exhausted mom’s arms. A family photo of the four of you in formal hanboks, Rumi in your mom’s arms while you were in your dad’s. Your dad struggling to bathe you and Rumi while the two of you splashed him and each other with giddy joy. Your mom walking around a garden, the sun shining on her as she walked with two babies swaddled across her chest. You and Rumi asleep on your sleeping dad’s chest, his mouth open in a snore. A pout on your mom’s lips that matched the one on yours and Rumi’s as you both refused the spoon she held out to you.

All these moments you didn’t remember but couldn’t help but treasure.

You and Rumi leaned against each other. This weekend really had left them emotionally drained, but this time it was nice. Your heart ached with the loss of what could have been.

‘What would have been different if they were still alive? What would they think of the women you and Rumi had become? Of Mira, Zoey, and your boys? Would dad have grilled them before they let them date the both of you? Would mom have helped the two of you with your dreams, guiding the two of you with a smile?’ You would never know the answers to these questions.

For now, you would be okay with these fragments of moments.

“Ohh, you and (Y/n) were so cute when you were babies,” Zoey cooed softly, leaning her head against Rumi’s shoulder.

Jinu chuckled, “Yeah, I can’t believe how cute your little claws were.” He held up a photo of you looking at the camera with teary eyes, your mouth open in a cry as you reached towards whoever was behind the camera.

“Little fangs,” Hyeon agreed, looking at a photo of you and Rumi asleep in your shared crib. Your mouth was open sleepily, showing off the little fangs as you and Rumi slept comfortably curled into each other.

“It’s so sickeningly adorable,” Mira smirked but her tone was soft and fond as she looked through the photos. She held one of their mom pulling Rumi’s little wispy hairs up into pigtails.

Chungae chuckled at the photo he had found, showing it to Jum who smirked. It was of a little baby you sitting in your dad’s arms, marker in hand as you scribbled on his arms, following the lines of his patterns. They mentally noted to themselves to ask if they could draw on your patterns.

“I’m not getting baby fever…” You heard Kwan murmur to himself under his breath and you looked over to see he had a silly grin on his face that matched the other boys. He had a photo of the four of you having a picnic in a bamboo forest, Rumi in your dad’s lap while you were in your mom’s.

You shook your head at your boyfriends.

You and Rumi would take the box with you when you went back to the city. You would make copies of every. Single. Photo. And scan the journal so there wasn’t ever a risk of you losing anything that had been left behind by your parents. Chungae would help you make a photo album and Zoey would do the same with Rumi so that you could carry the moments with you wherever the two of you went.

A/N: I swear I’m working on the smut, I’ve just never written a smut before and it’s hard to work out the mechanics with five partners. I’ll let you all know in an author’s note if I decide not to post it but for now I’m working on it.

Outtakes:

You: *Trying to learn how to teleport but keep hiccuping and teleporting into furniture*

Saja Boys: *cooing and aweing* “It’s like watching a baby fawn learn how to walk~”

You: “Just help me you assho-!“ *Hiccup*

…

Rumi: “So, where did Celine end up…?”

Mira and Zoey: “Don’t worry about it.”

Celine: *Freezing*

…

Zoey: “Soo…does this make you a monsterf***er?”

You: “…”

You: “Yes and no.”

Zoey: “???”

You: “Technically, the boys are also monsterf***ers. So are you and Mira, technically.”

Zoey: *shrugs* “True.”

Rumi and Mira: *Looking at the two of you with wide eyes*

Zoey and You: *Casually drinking your drinks*

…

Hater: “How am I single, and yet this girl has five hot idol boyfriends?!” *Waving their arms at you*

The Poly Pride: *Flipping them off*

…

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sixxels · 3 months ago

Text

it girl

nerd!gojo x popular!model!reader

wc: 20.1k

part 1 ! part 2 !

!!disclaimer!! will include major mentions of fling!sukuna x reader, smut, fluff, angst w/comfort. m.list

you were his most well kept secret, scrolling your instagram for hours on end, collecting each and every magazine that you'd ever featured in, satoru was obsessed with you, the gorgeous goddess who just so happened to go to his university. what happens when he sees you struggling to reach a book in the library and plucks up enough courage to finally go up and talk to you? how will the resident bad boy sukuna disrupt his fever dream come true?

the old campus library felt like a different world, ornate woodwork climbing up the walls, interrupted only by tall leaded-glass windows that caught the soft amber glow of autumn. outside, the trees were aflame with color, copper, rust, deep crimson, and their reflection danced on the polished floors. inside, the air was quiet and thick with the scent of time, yellowed pages, candle wax, and the faintest trace of dust that even the best-kept secrets couldn’t shake.

this was satoru’s sanctuary. dim corners, forgotten shelves, long tables where no one noticed if you stayed for hours. it was the one place he could be invisible. which is why his heart damn near exploded when you walked in.

you didn’t belong here, not in the best way. you were all shimmer and gloss, y2k fantasy made flesh, swishing through the hushed aisles like you were on the catwalk of a juicy couture fever dream. pink cheetah-print mini skirt, rhinestone hair clips catching the library’s warm light, a bedazzled phone clutched in one hand and a louis vuitton pochette tucked under the other. your heels made the kind of clack that had half the students peeking over their books.

and gojo? he saw everything.

he watched as you scanned the shelf, rising up on your tiptoes, your acrylics fluttering helplessly just inches from the book’s spine. of course it had to be the top shelf.

of course no one else was around.

gojo adjusted his glasses, heart hammering in his chest. his fingers hovered over his laptop, still stuck on line 43 of an astrophysics assignment he stopped understanding twenty minutes ago.

he’d memorized every one of your photos, every cover shoot, every tiktok q&a where you smiled that same glossy smile.

but this? this was real. this was his chance.

the goddess of his screen, right here in the dusty old sanctuary he never thought you’d step foot in, struggling to reach a book that he was tall enough to grab without even trying.

clearing his throat almost as a way to prepare himself, he closed the lid of his lap top and stood.

his palms were sweating. he wiped them on his jeans as subtly as he could, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to escape. every step felt unreal, like he was glitching through a dream he wasn’t supposed to be part of. he could hear the faint squeak of his sneakers against the hardwood floor, echoing too loud in the silence, like the library itself was watching him with bated breath.

you didn’t notice him at first, too busy tiptoeing, a pout forming on your glossy lips as your fingers swiped at nothing but air. your pink mini rode a little higher as you stretched, glittery charm bracelet jingling with the effort, and satoru had to drag his eyes back up to your face like a gentleman. his throat went dry.

he cleared it quietly. “uh—need some help?”

you turned, and wow.

up close, you were somehow even more perfect. highlighter catching on your cheekbones, the faint scent of candy and designer perfume floating around you like some kind of spell. your eyes met his, confused for a split second, then amused. not mean, not mocking. just… curious. like you were trying to place him. like maybe he was a page you’d never noticed before.

“errr, yeah,” you said, with a breathy little laugh that made his stomach flip. “not built for reaching stuff that high.”

he blinked, then smiled, nervous but trying to play it cool. “lucky for you, i majored in tall.” you laughed again even though it was kind of dry, real, sparkly, light. and satoru swore he’d never heard anything more perfect in his life.

“you’re funny,” you said, stepping aside to give him room. “what’s y'name, hun?” he froze for a half second. she’s asking your name, idiot, say it!

“gojo. i mean, satoru. gojo satoru. either one. or uh. both, at once.” he winced. smooth satoru, real smooth. you just tilted your head, smiled like you didn’t mind at all, and watched him pluck the book down with one easy reach.

“thanks, but satorus too long, and i hate calling people by their last name.” you said, cradling the book in your arms like a purse dog. satoru's eyes widened like he was surprised you'd say that so outright. he cleared his throat and runnned his neck. "oh, i see... what would you like to call me then?" he said bashfully.

“hmm. toru, ill call you toru." you said lazily chewing whatever pink gum you had in your mouth.

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “toru... it's sounds good on your tongue- i mean! in your mouth- holy shit wait, that's not what i meant to-.”

you cut him off with a loud giggle, quickly slapping a hand over your mouth once you realized you were in a library, not that it did much to muffle the still continuing melody.

his brain short-circuited.

he was sure of it. neurons fried. circuits blown. oxygen? never heard of her. because you were standing there, laughing like he was actually funny, like this wasn’t a scene straight out of one of his most unhinged daydreams.

you gave him a look, amused, playful. god, he was dying. his soul was ascending like a cartoon ghost floating up from his body.

you shifted your weight, resting one hip against the shelf. the fluorescent light overhead made the rhinestones on your bebe cami sparkle. you tucked the book under your arm like it was a designer clutch and popped another bubble of gum, watching him with a kind of lazy, feline curiosity.

“so,” you drawled, “what’s a pretty boy like you doing all alone in a dusty place like this?”

pretty. you called him pretty.

he almost choked.

“i, uh—” he coughed, adjusting the frames on his face, trying to stall while his brain caught up. “i like… books?”

you laughed again. it was dangerous, the way you looked at him like that. like he was adorable. like he wasn’t wearing a hoodie with digimon on it and sneakers he hadn’t replaced in three years. like he wasn’t the guy who built computers in his dorm for fun and had a separate folder of your magazine covers saved on his hard drive labeled “for science” even though no science was involved.

“you’re cute,” you said matter-of-factly, like it was obvious.

and satoru? satoru was gone.

he stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, face flushed a gentle pink that crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. the air was suddenly thick. too warm. too sweet. it smelled like your bubblegum perfume and fall leaves and something else he couldn’t name, something that made his chest ache.

“y-you think so?” he asked softly, stunned.

you tilted your head again, hair bouncing. “don’t be weird 'bout it, 'course i do.”

he felt his knees weaken. he had to stay calm. say something cool. say something flirty. you’ve practiced this in the mirror for god sake!

“you’re, uh—” he tried, mouth dry. “you’re like… really symmetrical. scientifically speaking. your face, i mean. p-perfect proportions.”

you blinked at him, stunned for half a second before giggling again.

“are you trying to flirt with me using the golden ratio?”

“…yes.”

“oh my god,” you said, biting your lip. “that’s actually kinda hot.”

he almost moaned at your flirty tone.

he was talking to you. you. the girl whose instagram he checked religiously, zooming in on every new post like it was a secret message just for him. he knew what your favorite lip gloss was. he knew you preferred oat milk. he’d bought three different issues of vivi just to see the full spread of your beach shoot, and had one of them hidden in the bottom drawer under his spare laptop cables. the girl he had fucked his fist raw to.

you were standing right in front of him, telling him he was hot for quoting fibonacci.

this couldn’t be fucking real.

“do you, like… study fashion or something?” he blurted out, trying to keep the conversation going.

he couldn't lose this opportunity.

“not that you need to. you look like… like you walked out of a y2k time capsule, but in a cool way. like, the hottest- i mean coolest way.”

you grinned, chewing your gum thoughtfully. “nah. i'm in marketing. but i do part-time modeling gigs. keeps my followers happy. and my bank account.”

'oh, i know.' he thought, but smiled like he didn’t. like he hadn’t memorized your last seven ad campaigns and tracked the rise in your follower count every week.

“that’s really cool,” he said instead. “you’re, like, really good at it.”

you raised a brow. “you’ve seen my stuff?”

he panicked. “uh. once. maybe. a few times. like… it came up. on the internet.” he cleared his throat.

you smirked. “just came up, huh?.”

he felt the heat rush to his ears. “i… no… maybe.”

you stepped a little closer, still grinning, glossy lips curving like you knew exactly the effect you had on him.

“it’s okay, toru,” you whispered conspiratorially. “i'm fine with hot guys like you looking at my stuff.”

he snorted, loud and awkward, then clapped a hand over his mouth. your laughter followed, softer this time, almost sweet. you didn’t seem like you were judging him. if anything, you seemed like you were delighted by how much of a mess he was.

you leaned back against the bookshelf, flipping the book’s cover open lazily. “what were you working on, before i came over and distracted you with my tragic lack of height?”

he glanced back at his table, his laptop still open, screen filled with half-written code and tabs full of equations.

“just… homework. physics stuff. not super interesting.”

you hummed. “oh wow physics! you really are a genius? not some nerd poser or something?”

“or something,” he said with a sheepish grin.

you eyed him again, like you were scanning him. tall. gangly, but in a model-off-duty kind of way. platinum white hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. piercing blue eyes behind round glasses that only made him look more ridiculously pretty, like a gorgeous professor with no idea how hot he actually was.

you popped another bubble. “you're hot toru, y'know that?”

he groaned, covering his face. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you nudged his arm with your elbow. “in an endearing way, though.”

his heart did a full backflip. she’s flirting with me. she’s actually flirting with me. this isn’t a simulation. this is real.

he was suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way your perfume lingered in the air. the soft click of your nails against the book cover. the scuff on your pink heels. your lip gloss glinting like a disco ball every time the light shifted. his eyes trailed down to the perfect curve of your tits, god what he would give to cop a feel for just a secon-

“so,” you said, as casually as if you were asking for the time, “you gonna ask for my number or just keep eye fucking me like that?”

his jaw dropped.

you giggled again.

“i—I wasn't- i was gonna-,” he stammered, clutching the edge of the bookshelf for support. “i just didn’t know if, i mean, you’re, like, you. and i’m just—”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re toru.”

he blinked.

“my toru, if you play your cards right.”

he was dead. buried. emotionally incinerated.

“uh—can i—yeah—your number, please. definitely. like. right now.”

you pulled your phone from your purse, bedazzled case catching the light like a chandelier. “here."

he shakily took your phone.

you peeked at it and burst out laughing. “just 'gojo'? that's lame.”

he shrugged, somehow managing a grin. “oh! uh... i guess you'll have to make up the name...”

he saw your lips curl as you typed in a new name. you turned the phone around and he read the contact.

'toru 🫦'

“you’re so... flirty...”

“yeah i get told that.”

you tilted your head again. “i like you, toru, you're cool.”

he didn’t think anything in his life had ever sounded better.

"r-really? you're like, really cool to-"

"y/n! hurry the hell up or we're leaving without you!"

a foreign voice interrupted the moment, and you looked over your shoulder through the book cases to see sukuna and yuki looking around for you.

"ah shit, sorry toru but i gotta run. parties am i right?"

satoru stammered abit before straightening up and nodding his head quickly like he knew anything about parties. he gulped looking at sukuna, he alone looked 100x more likely to be dating a hot model like you, he was tatted up, smoking hot and oh so boyish. you were hanging out with guys like this on the daily? it made satoru's self confidence waver.

"no, yeah, totally. uhm... it was really nice meeting you y/n-"

"you too toru see yah! i'll text you!"

you replied, fast walking off to your popular friends that seemed to be pretty adamant in you returning quickly.

satoru watched you walk away, heart still pounding in his chest. the weight of the moment, of you, was slowly sinking in.

he stared after you, eyes wide behind his glasses, watching the way you moved—effortless, like a star gliding through space, not a care in the world, completely unaware of the way the whole library seemed to be holding its breath in your presence, just like him. he saw how students whispered as you passed by, you were already back in your element, heading toward your friends. your heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as you weaved through the bookcases.

'she called me toru. she called me toru.'

he could barely wrap his mind around it. you were her. the goddess he’d collected magazines of, the one whose photos kept him up all night, the girl whose life seemed so perfect and out of reach. and you’d called him toru, a nickname only his mom called him.

like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he felt his pulse racing again, the aftershock of the interaction rippling through him. 'there was no fucking way this was real. it couldn’t be. not in a million years.'

he stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching your figure shrink as you disappeared into the crowd of students waiting at the library exit. a part of him wanted to run after you, but he stayed rooted to the spot, trying to calm his breathing, trying to get his bearings.

'i'll text you' your words rang in his ears.

he fumbled for his phone, eager to check for the message. he knew it wasn’t going to be anything mind-blowing, just a quick “hey” or maybe an emoji, but it didn’t matter. it was something.

his hands shook as he unlocked the screen.

no new messages. his heart sank, and for a brief moment, he was ready to throw his phone out the window. 'don’t overthink it, satoru. it’s just one conversation. stop acting like she’s going to text you back immediately, you idiot.'

he paced back and forth for a few minutes, his mind in a complete fog. the sound of his footsteps was the only thing that seemed to ground him, the reality of the library pulling him back from his spiral of thoughts.

'okay. okay, you need to calm down. what just happened is… insane. but it’s not like she’s your girlfriend. hell, you barely know her. but fuck…'

he sat down at the nearest table, pulling out his laptop and trying to force himself to focus. his fingers hovered over the keys, but the words weren’t coming to him. the physics problems blurred together on the screen, the equations meaningless in comparison to what had just happened.

he laughed to himself, a quiet sound that felt a little too much like a nervous breakdown.

'she called you pretty. she said you were hot. and she didn’t run away. she didn’t laugh at you. she just called you cute! god, you’re fucked, satoru.'

he couldn’t stop smiling, even though he knew he was being ridiculous.

'this is real, right? she actually liked me. she didn’t just see me as some… weirdo in the corner of the library. she saw me.'

you didn’t think much more about it after that. after all, you were you, and satoru? well, he was just some pretty nerd who you had a quick flirty conversation with. sure, it was fun, but it wasn’t like anything was going to come of it.

but you couldn’t help thinking about his smile. the way he stammered and blushed. the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours, like he was afraid he might melt if he looked too long. he wasn’t the first guy to be nervous around you, but there was something… refreshing about the way he acted. not like he was trying to impress you, but like he was genuinely just happy to be talking to you.

it was cute.

you were knocked out of your thoughts when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders as yuki walked next to you out of the library.

“took you long enough,” sukuna drawled, his voice low and rough in that way that made heads turn even when he wasn’t trying. his rings clinked lightly as his fingers settled on your shoulder, all casual possessiveness and knowing smirks. “don’t tell me you were actually studying?”

“she was flirting,” yuki chimed in, tugging her black leather jacket tighter around herself. “with glasses.”

“glasses?” sukuna raised a pierced brow, looking amused. “you mean the lanky nerd who always camps out in the back corner like he pays damn rent?”

you gave a lazy little shrug, chewing your gum thoughtfully as your pink acrylics tapped against your phone screen. “y'know him? he’s cute.”

yuki nearly choked on a laugh, slapping a hand to her chest. “cute? you think he’s cute?”

“like, awkward cute,” you clarified, eyes scanning your texts, pretending not to notice how sukuna’s grip subtly tightened. “he called my symmetrical face hot.”

yuki actually wheezed. sukuna just stared down at you for a second, unreadable. “you fuckin’ with him?” you gave him a sugary smile, lips glossed just right. “no. he was just sweet, helped me reach a book.”

“sweet,” he repeated flatly, like the word offended him on a molecular level. but you were already ahead of them, weaving through the quad, your low-rise mini skirt swishing, a little pink blur in a sea of neutrals. you didn’t even need to look back to know they were following you. people always followed you.

you were the kind of girl people stared at. you were the girl. the one in the center of every group pic. the one who got handed aux at parties. the one every guy either wanted or bragged about knowing. and yeah, it got exhausting sometimes. but it was better than being invisible. it was better than being left behind.

sukuna and yuki flanked you like always, your unofficial bodyguards, your chaos and calm. people moved for the three of you like you were royalty. “what’s his name?” yuki asked as you all approached the parking lot. she was already pulling her keys out, ready to drive you to the party.

“satoru,” you said absently. “but i’m calling him toru.” sukuna scoffed, you were oblivious to the drop in his stomach.

back in the library, satoru still hadn’t moved. his brain kept replaying the moment you said his name. toru. he never knew two syllables could make him feel like his chest was going to explode. and then your friends had shown up. those friends.

satoru had locked eyes with the pink-haired one for only a second, but it was enough.

he was tall , broad-shouldered, ink running down his arms like artless declarations of rebellion, slick black piercings catching even the dimmest light of the library. he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear like it was an afterthought, like he didn’t even need it to look dangerous. his shirt clung to him like it didn’t dare wrinkle. his stare was deadpan, half-lidded and bored, like he’d already sized satoru up and decided he wasn’t worth the breath it would take to speak.

his eyes said it all, 'i’ve done things your virgin brain can't even fathom. i’ve had her in ways you’ll never even understand.' satoru felt small, smaller than he had in years.

this guy, sukuna, looked like the kind of man girls wrote warnings about in their diary. the kind your friends begged you to stay away from but you never did. he looked like he lived in red lights and black leather and bad decisions. like he didn’t even need to try to get a girl like you. like he already had.

he looked like the kind of guy you did date.

satoru’s fingers twitched at his sides, a nervous impulse to hide himself behind his sleeves. behind his hoodie. behind something. anything. 'they’re probably just friends,' he told himself. but the words didn’t land. not really.

not when you were surrounded by people like that, cool, popular, hot in a way that didn’t come from filters or good lighting but from raw, lived-in confidence. people who belonged in glossy polaroids, in afterparties, in stolen moments behind closed doors.

people who weren’t him.

he thought about the way you’d laughed at his dumb jokes, called him toru like it was something soft and special. how you’d looked at him like he was something worth looking at. but it didn’t change the fact that he was stammering and akward.

meanwhile, sukuna probably had you pressed against a wall the night before, hand on your throat, like he owned you. satoru blinked down at the ground, heart clenched, throat dry.

what if he does? what if you weren’t just flirting? what if sukuna was the one you called when the party ended? the one who got to see you undone and bare and real?

the image hit him hard, a flash of you in someone else’s bed, laughing the way you had in the library, except it wasn’t for him this time. he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, but the thought had already burrowed in.

'you’re not her type.' and god, wasn’t that the worst part? because he wanted to be.

he wanted to be everything you liked. everything you needed. but standing there in that hoodie with his backpack half-zipped and his heart in his mouth, he wasn’t sure he even belonged in the same room as you.satoru dropped his forehead to the desk, groaning softly.

'get a grip. you’re spiraling. again.'

but he couldn’t help it. not when he’d spent the better part of his freshman year zooming in on pictures of you on the cover of “tokyo street glam.” not when he had a folder on his phone labeled “math notes” that was really just full of screenshots from your instagram stories.

you were his secret. his guilty pleasure. the one girl he let himself obsess over even when he swore he didn’t do that anymore. and now? you were real. not just real, but you’d talked to him. you’d liked talking to him. he finally lifted his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, still slightly fogged from the heat of his own forehead.

'snap out of it, satoru. she’s not a fantasy anymore. you met her. she smiled at you. she gave you her number. that has to mean something.'

his phone vibrated. his whole body went rigid he snatched it up off the table so fast he nearly dropped it.

[new message: unknown number]

xxx xxx xxx: heya toru :)

his mouth dropped open a little. he just stared at the screen, like it might disappear. like it was a mirage. his fingers hovered for a moment, then tapped quickly.

toru 🫦: hey :)

and then, as fast as he could, he threw his phone face-down on the table and physically shoved his chair away from it like it might explode. his heart pounded. his ears were ringing.

'holy fucking shit she texted you.'

he let out a shaky breath, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands and scrubbing them over his face.

“he texted back,” you told yuki, holding up your phone lazily.

“he’s probably combusting in that dusty ass library right now,” she grinned, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “you just turned that boy’s world upside down.”

you blew a bubble, letting it pop slow. “good.”

“you gonna see him again?” you shrugged, but your smile betrayed you. “depends. maybe.”

yuki eyed you. “you like him.”

“i don’t not like him.”

from behind, sukuna made a low noise of disapproval.

you ignored it.

back inside, satoru was still buzzing. his fingers hovered over the keys, unsure what to say next. he wanted to impress you. to be funny. to be hot. but mostly, he just didn’t want to blow it.

he checked your profile again, he didn’t mean to. it was just instinct now. all your selfies, your campaign shoots, your y2k party outfits, the way you always looked like you stepped out of a dream and into a flashbulb.

your most recent post was from a few minutes ago where you snapped a photo of you and yuki getting ready for a frat party. 'of course.'

the alpha phi frat house was already buzzing by the time you and yuki pulled up. the thump of bass-heavy music vibrated through the ground, mingling with the distant chatter and laughter of students spilling out onto the lawn. fairy lights crisscrossed above, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, while the scent of alcohol and pot hung thick in the air.

you stepped out of the car, your mini dress hugging your curves perfectly. your hair was styled beautifully, and your makeup was a flawless blend of early 2000s glam and modern chic. yuki, ever the contrast, sported a sleek black ensemble, her dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner giving her an edgy allure. as you made your way through the crowd, the familiar faces of your inner circle came into view.

choso was the first to greet you, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in hand. his long, dark hair was tied into two high ponytails, and his deep-set eyes held a quiet intensity. choso was the enigmatic artist of your group, often lost in thought but always present when it mattered. despite his reserved nature, he had a soft spot for you, often sketching portraits of you in his notebook.

“y/n,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“heyy cho,” you replied, giving him a quick hug. “still acting all edgy brooding in corners?”

he chuckled softly. “y'know it.”

nearby, suguru lounged on a couch, his long black hair tied back, revealing a perfectly sharp jawline and a mischievous glint in his eyes. he raised his glass in a silent toast as you approached.

“y/n, always a vision,” he drawled, his voice deep, sexy and smooth as silk.

“awe how sweet of you. not sleeping with you tho, sorry!” you shot back, smirking.

suguru was the charismatic leader, effortlessly drawing people into his orbit. he had a way with words and a confidence that made him irresistible to many. your relationship with him was flirtatious, filled with playful banter and lingering glances.

"that's too bad, pretty."

shoko, the group’s resident medical major and drunkard, sauntered over with a bottle in hand. her short hair framed her face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“y/n! shot?” she offered, already pouring two.

“you know i can’t say no to you, girl,” you laughed, clinking glasses with her.

shoko was the life of the party, always ready with a drink and a sarcastic comment. she balanced her wild side with a deep loyalty to her friends, always there when it mattered most.

sukuna, ever the token bad boy, leaned against the wall, his tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. his pink hair was tousled, and his eyes followed you as you moved through the room.

he gave you a once over and approached you, slinking an arm around your waist and hooking his head down to inhale you're perfume with a groan.

sukuna was your on-again, off-again fling, the tension between you two palpable. he exuded danger and allure, and while your relationship was complicated, especially with his tendency to be extremely unloyal, there was no denying the chemistry.

you giggled before pushing him off and working your way further into the party, dodging bodies as you progressed.

nanami stood nearby, his tie loosened, a drink in hand. he offered you a nod, his expression as stoic as ever.

“y/n,” he greeted simply.

“nanami, letting loose tonight?” you teased, leaning against his side looking up at him. “as much as i can,” he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he dipped his drink.

nanami was the responsible one, always the voice of reason. he kept the group grounded, his calm demeanor a counterbalance to the chaos. maki zen’in, fierce and unapologetic, approached with a confident stride. her athletic build and sharp eyes commanded attention.

“y/n, looking sexy,” she complimented, giving you a nod.

“maki, you look so fucking hot.” you responded.

maki was the strong, silent type, her loyalty unwavering. she was someone you could always count on, both in and out of a fight.

as the group settled into their usual banter, yuki leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes, capturing their attention.

“guess who y/n was flirting with today?” she announced, drawing everyone’s attention. the room quieted slightly, all eyes on you.

you shot her a sideways glance and felt for the phone in your pocket, remembering you needed to text a certain someone back.

“a nerd,” yuki continued, grinning.

sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

“a nerd?” suguru echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, glasses, stammering, the whole 9 yards,” yuki elaborated.

“he was cute,” you defended, shrugging, about to hit send on the message you were about to send satoru when sukuna interrupted.

he scoffed, pushing off the wall.

“i’m getting another drink,” he muttered lowly, disappearing into the crowd.

the group exchanged glances, the tension palpable.

“well, that was dramatic,” shoko commented, taking another sip.

choso snorted abit and suguru just shook his head.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. sukuna fucked around with all kinds of girls, what gave him the right to get all pissy? you didn't really like him like that anyways, he just knew how to fuck...

you watched sukuna’s retreating figure push through the crowd, jaw locked, shoulders tense. he didn’t even glance back.

you waited a beat. maybe he was just being dramatic. maybe he’d cool off and come back and pretend like nothing happened.

but he didn’t.

and something about that made your blood boil.

“i’ll be back,” you muttered, not really addressing anyone in particular.

yuki gave you a knowing look but didn’t stop you.

you slipped past sweaty bodies and neon-lit walls, the music thudding behind you like a heartbeat as you pushed open the sliding glass door to the patio. it was colder out here. quieter. sukuna was leaning against the railing, cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, jaw clenched tight like he was chewing on all the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

you stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

“you always do this,” you said softly, voice sharp in contrast to the quiet. “get weird whenever someone else so much as breathes in my direction.”

he didn’t turn around. just took a slow drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air like it was supposed to calm him.

“so now you’re into nerds?” he said, voice flat. you scoffed. “is that really what you’re mad about?” he glanced over his shoulder, eyes flashing. “i’m not mad.” you stepped closer, irritation prickling under your skin.

“bullshit. you stormed out like i cheated on you or something.” he turned fully to face you now, arms spread slightly like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“we’re not together.”

you laughed, bitter and tired. “exactly. we’re not together. so why the fuck do you care?”

he looked at you then, really looked. and for a second, something flickered in his expression, hurt? jealousy? possession? it vanished almost as quickly as it came.

“i don’t,” he said coldly. “you can fuck whoever the hell you want.”

“then why are you acting like this?”

he stepped closer, his voice low and cutting. “because you act like you don’t care, like it’s just casual, and then go around flirting with other guys like it’s a game.”

“you sleep with other people all the time.”

“yeah, but i don’t shove it in your face.”

“i wasn’t trying to shove anything—” you snapped, taking another step forward, “—you just can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

his eyes narrowed. “and you can’t stand the idea that someone might not want you.”

that one stung more than it should have.

you blinked, lips parting, breath catching in your throat for half a second. then you swallowed it down and stared right back at him.

“fuck you.”

he smirked. “you already did.”

you rolled your eyes and turned, ready to walk back in, to let this whole thing rot where it stood. but then—

“he’s not gonna fuck you like i do,” he called out, venom laced in his voice.

you stopped.

turned.

walked right up to him.

“maybe not,” you said sweetly, “but he doesn’t talk to me like i’m disposable.”

sukuna didn’t say anything, jaw tight again, eyes unreadable.

you stepped back. “enjoy your drink.”

and with that, you left him there, cigarette burned down to the filter, staring at your back as you disappeared into the party.

you stalked your way back into the party, turning heads as you walked. you navigated back to a some what secluded couch and sat down trying to calm yourself, and think. and maybe, okay, definitely, text that nerd.

you reached for your phone that had been vibrating on and off all night in your purse. as expected, a few dms, a couple mentions from the party, sukuna had liked one of your thirst traps from last week, typical, but it was the one message that you'd received a few hours ago that made your heart do a weird little flip.

toru 🫦[10:03]: wydddd?

you [12:47am]: u still up nerd?

you paused. stared at it. then hit send before you could chicken out.

you rolled onto your back, biting your lip, phone clutched to your chest.

the reply came way faster than expected.

toru 🫦 [12:48am]: im always up for you

you stared at the screen, mouth open.

“what the hell,” you muttered, smiling like an idiot.

you [12:49am]: that was smooth toru. didn’t know you had game

toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i don’t. im literally panicking rn

toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i had to rewrite that message like five times. you don’t wanna see the first drafts

you snorted.

you [12:50am]: ok show me the deleted ones

toru 🫦 [12:51am]: i think one said “yes i am awake haha as a human does” and then another one just said “gulp”

you [12:51am]: stopppppp LMAO

you [12:52am]: that’s so cute it’s disgusting

toru 🫦 [12:52am]: glad i could repulse you into liking me? i think?

you [12:53am]: don’t get cocky bud ur just some cute guy i met

toru 🫦 [12:53am]: you think i’m cute?

you laughed again, your cheeks a little warm despite the hour.

you [12:54am]: you’re literally the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh my god

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: you’re just saying that

you [12:56am]: i’m not lol. you looked so good in the library today. like… ridiculously good

toru 🫦 [12:57am]: i was sweating so bad. i think my shirt was sticking to me. you looked like a dream tho. a bratz doll kinda dream

you grinned.

you [12:57am]: i am a bratz doll. kinda my whole label lmao. yk what i really like?coffee. speaking of!

you [12:58am]: wanna get some tomorrow? 1pm ish? bluebird café?

your finger hovered for a second before you sent it.

across campus, in a dorm room cluttered with textbooks, half-eaten candy, and his favorite hoodie tossed over the back of his desk chair, satoru gojo was staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

he read the message once.

twice.

three times.

and then he launched himself face-down into his pillow and let out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a dying animal.

“yes,” he whispered into the sheets. 'yes yes yes fuck yes.'

his thumbs scrambled to reply.

his response came in seconds.

toru 🫦 [12:58am]: yes. yes. yes pls

toru 🫦 [12:58am]: i mean yeah sounds cool lmao

he immediately smacked his forehead. sounds cool?? what was wrong with him?? you were literally the hottest person he’d ever seen and he was texting like someone’s nervous little cousin.

still.

you responded instantly.

you [12:59am]: ur such a loser

toru 🫦 [12:59am]: ur such hottie

he stared at the screen after sending it, heart pounding. he could still see you in that tight little outfit from earlier, that confident swing of your hips, your glossed lips twitching when you called him hot, like you already knew what that did to him.

and god, what didn’t it do to him?

he was so far gone. the way you talked to him, like you were toying with him. like you knew he’d let you. like you knew he’d beg if you asked nicely enough.

fuck.

he shifted on his bed, adjusting himself under the sheets with a hiss.

you had him half-hard from just a few texts and a smile.

his phone buzzed again.

you [1:00am]: wear a shirt like you were wearing today again. the tight one. pls. for science.

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: yes ma’am

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: but only if u promise to sit close to me

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: like. real close

you bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck and down your legs.

you [1:01am]: i was gonna sit in ur lap anyway?

gojo made an honest-to-god whimper.

toru 🫦 [1:01am]: brb. passing away. dying. deceased. funeral tmrw before coffee

you laughed into your hands, locking your phone as the giddiness spilled over.

you didn’t know why you were getting all hyped over this guy.

he was awkward. kind of dorky. always blushing.

just an awkward guy with a pretty face.

and you?

you were already dressing to impress. already picturing how he’d react when you leaned in close, lipgloss shining. already planning which perfume would drive him crazy.

just coffee.

totally chill.

except your pulse wouldn’t slow down, and your smile wouldn’t fade.

not even a little.

meanwhile, sukuna stood on the patio still, cigarette ash crumbling between his fingers, the cold air biting at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. all he could think about was the look in your eyes when you told him off. the way your voice didn’t even shake. the way you walked away like he didn’t matter. like he was just another hookup who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

'fuck.'

he dragged the smoke in deep, holding it in his lungs like it might cauterize the part of him that still gave a shit. but it didn’t. it never did.

you always did this. wormed your way under his skin like a parasite. made him feel things he swore he didn’t have in him. and every time, he let you. like a fucking idiot.

you weren’t his. he wasn’t yours. that was the deal. and he liked that. needed it. no strings. no expectations. he fucked, you moaned, and then you went home. clean. efficient.

but tonight?

you had the audacity to smile about some four-eyed loser in a cardigan. to say he was cute, cute, in front of everyone like you weren’t the same girl who’d been choking on his cock last weekend, mascara dripping down your cheeks, begging him to keep going even though you were shaking.

and now? you were giggling over some soft-spoken virgin with library dust in his hair?

fuck off.

he could see it. this “toru” guy blushing like a fucking idiot when you touched his arm. stuttering through compliments. looking at you like you hung the stars. and worse—way worse—he could see you liking it. eating it up. letting yourself be doted on like you were something sweet and fragile.

'what a fucking joke.'

you were a brat. a tease. a bad girl in a tight dress with too much lipgloss and not enough shame. sukuna knew that. he liked that. you weren’t soft. you weren’t gentle. you were fire and sharp teeth and split thighs. that’s what he fucked. what he owned.

and now you were giving that soft shit to someone else?

nah.

he got the real you. the parts no one else could handle. the parts that needed someone like him. the late-night chaos. the bruises you didn’t want to explain. the shame-soaked mornings where you wouldn’t look him in the eye.

he got the truth.

that nerd didn’t know you. he didn’t know the mess under the makeup. the desperate texts at 2am. the neediness that bled through every time you swore you didn’t care.

and you?

you didn’t get to act like you were someone new. like you were pure now, just because some pretty boy batted his lashes at you in the nonfiction aisle.

fuck that.

he scoffed under his breath, flicking the dead cigarette into the grass and watching the embers scatter.

this wasn’t supposed to matter. none of it was supposed to matter.

you were hot. you were cool. and he thought if he kept it physical, kept it casual, he wouldn’t get sucked in.

but there you were. invading his thoughts, ruining his night with one stupid, flirty smile at someone else.

you shouldn’t get to do that.

he dug into his pocket for another cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.

he was spiraling and he knew it.

he hated this.

hated how you’d crawl into his head without even trying. hated how you made him feel sixteen again, jealous, stupid, insecure. hated that you didn’t even ask him to stay. hated that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to.

and he really fucking hated the idea that you’d text that guy tonight.

maybe you already had.

maybe he was texting you back right now, saying something dumb and sweet like you looked really pretty today, and you’d eat it up because that was the shit you liked now, wasn’t it?

and sukuna would be out here, sucking down his second cigarette, pretending it didn’t gut him.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, tossing the second one too.

he stared up at the night sky, jaw locked, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he could force the feeling down if he just stood still enough.

but it sat there anyway, heavy in his chest.

you were slipping away from him.

and he didn’t even know if he wanted to stop you.

he walked back into the house like he hadn’t just spent twenty minutes outside trying not to feel things. the bass of the music hit him first, pulsing through the floorboards, drowning out whatever was left of his pride. he grabbed another drink just to keep his hands busy. he didn’t even know what it was, probably something sugary and cheap,but he needed something to hold so he wouldn’t punch a wall.

he spotted yuki first, dancing near the kitchen with shoko and maki, drinks in hand, glittering under the soft lights strung along the ceiling. he didn’t bother looking for you at first. he told himself he wouldn’t. told himself it didn’t matter.

but his eyes betrayed him, scanning the room like they always fucking did.

and there you were.

sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, grinning down at your phone like it had just told you the funniest joke in the world.

he didn’t have to guess who you were texting.

he knew.

the look on your face said it all. soft. dreamy. your glossed lips tilted into a little smirk, teeth poking through as you bit back a laugh. your fingers moved fast, typing something with a kind of excitement he hadn’t seen in you in a long time. not with him. not for a while.

you never looked at your phone like that after fucking around with him.

no, you usually ghosted him the next day, like you needed to forget it even happened. like he was something you regretted once the high wore off.

but now you were sitting there in a tight little dress, glowing from the inside out, because some nerd made you smile with a few well-timed texts.

he clenched his jaw, setting his drink down before it cracked in his grip.

' fuck that guy.

fuck his stupid glasses.'

fuck how easily he got your attention after one day.

he took a slow breath, trying to shake it off. he wasn’t going to be that guy. the clingy one. the bitter one. he had girls. options. people would kill for a night with him and he knew it. he didn’t need you. he never did.

but goddamn, it felt like you were the only thing he wanted in that moment.

he forced himself to move, leaning back against the counter, trying not to watch you as you texted.

you glanced up once, eyes sweeping the room, and you caught him. just for a second. your smile faltered, and you looked away fast, back to your phone, back to 'toru.'

sukuna’s stomach twisted.

you didn’t come over.

you didn’t even wave.

you just kept texting.

he swallowed hard and looked away.

suguru came up beside him, handing him a new drink. “you look like you’re about to rock someone's shit.”

“i might,” sukuna muttered, taking the cup.

“you know she’s not yours, right?” suguru said casually, like he wasn’t cutting sukuna open with the truth.

sukuna didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.

“just saying,” suguru added, sipping his own drink, “you act like you don’t care, but every time she entertains someone else you look like you’re about to commit a felony.”

“she’s not like that with me,” sukuna said quietly.

“yeah,” suguru said, looking back at you, “and maybe that’s the problem."

he hated that look on your face.

soft. sweet. like someone actually deserved it.

like he hadn’t just had you moaning into his neck a week ago.

“unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, jaw twitching. he pushed off the counter and made his way across the kitchen, bumping past some guy in a letterman jacket hard enough to make the drink in his hand slosh. the guy looked ready to say something, but one glance at sukuna’s expression shut him up.

he thrived on that.

the fear. the respect. the control.

he didn’t lose.

and now here he was, second place to some awkward little library rat who probably still asked his mom how to do laundry.

pathetic.

you weren’t even that special. not really.nat least that's what he told himself.

you had a pretty face, sure. tight body, knew how to use it.

but god, were you exhausting.

always wanting to “talk” after. getting weird if he didn’t text back fast enough. acting like he owed you something when all you ever were was convenient.

it wasn’t his fault you caught feelings.

it wasn’t his fault you mistook a few orgasms for meaning.

and now? you were all smiles and fluttery lashes for some guy who’d probably cum in his pants if you so much as kissed his neck.

he laughed, bitter and mean, dragging a hand through his hair.

you’d be bored in a week. two, tops.

guys like that didn’t know what to do with girls like you.

he did.

he knew how to make you fall apart. knew how to get under your skin, pull sounds out of you you didn’t even know you could make. he’d ruined you for other guys, he was sure of it.

and yet there you were, looking like he didn’t exist.

looking like he never even mattered.

he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the cup aside like it disgusted him, then stalked toward the hallway without a word to anyone. if he couldn’t have your attention, he’d find someone else’s.

you weren’t the only hot girl at this party.

and if you wanted to pretend he didn’t matter?

fine.

he’d show you just how easy it was to forget someone.

even if it was a lie.

even if it tore him up inside.

he was good at pretending.

you taught him that.

you lock your phone, the ghost of a smile still clinging to your lips, cheeks warm as you sink into the couch cushion. the room buzzes around you, low bass, clinking drinks, scattered laughter, and for a second, you forget where you are. all you can think about is the way satoru types like he can’t get the words out fast enough. like he’s trying to hold your attention before you disappear.

you tuck your phone into your purse and push yourself up, brushing your hands down the sides of your dress. no use staying curled up in the corner when the night’s still young and the liquor is just starting to hit.

“finally decided to rejoin the rest of us?” suguru calls as you weave through the crowd toward the kitchen.

“was that you smiling at your phone like a puppy?” choso adds, lifting a red solo cup to his lips with a grin.

you snort, accepting the tequila shot suguru passes you. “shut up.”

“no, really. that was some schoolgirl shit,” choso teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. “who’s got you blushing like that, huh?”

you shoot him a look as you throw the shot back, the alcohol burning a slow, sweet trail down your throat. “nobody.”

“mhmm,” suguru hums, not buying it for a second. “not like you to be giggling like that, especially not when sukuna’s in one of his moods.”

you shrug, licking a little salt from the back of your hand. “he’s always being weird.”

choso raises his brows. “you good with him?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” you say, a little too quickly.

they exchange a look but don’t push it. instead, suguru downs his shot and offers his hand. “come dance.”

you let him pull you onto the living room floor, the music thudding loud enough that it vibrates through your heels. choso joins, the three of you falling into a loose rhythm, spinning and swaying under the hazy glow of the string lights. suguru’s hands find your waist, steady but never greedy, while choso twirls you around with a flourish that makes you laugh.

it feels good, easy. warm bodies, familiar faces, and the distraction you didn’t know you needed.

you let go for a little while. lose yourself in the music and the alcohol and the safety of your friends’ touch. suguru dips his head to murmur something that makes you laugh, choso pretending to swoon dramatically in response. you throw your head back, laughing harder, spinning until the room blurs

and then your eyes land on him.

sukuna.

he’s leaned against the far wall, and he’s not alone.

there’s a girl tucked into his side, long legs, shiny hair, tiny black dress, and she’s all over him. her hand drags a lazy line down his chest, and he just stands there, smirking like it’s nothing. like she’s nothing. like you’re nothing.

his fingers ghost along the hem of her dress, drifting lower with zero subtlety. and still, he doesn’t look at you. not even a glance. not even a twitch.

you pause mid-step, not frozen exactly, just… confused.

because wasn’t he the one who got all tense when he heard you talk about another guy? wasn’t he the one looking pissed earlier, jaw tight, eyes sharp, when yuki teased you about your little crush? wasn’t he the one who always acted like he hated when you gave anyone else your attention, even though he never wanted to claim you outright?

and now this?

your stomach doesn’t twist, it just sinks, low and slow. not with jealousy. not with hurt. more like: what the hell is his problem?

you keep moving. force your body to flow with the music again as suguru slides behind you, hands warm at your hips. you’re still dancing. still laughing. still here. but your mind keeps circling back.

it’s not that you expected anything different. not really. you and sukuna were never official. never had rules. never had to check in with each other. but still… there was always a tension, a pull, something unspoken between the two of you that made it feel like no one else could come close.

and yet, here he is. practically letting that girl climb him like a tree. acting like you didn’t spend last weekend tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t tell you just days ago that you made his head spin.

you down another shot when suguru hands it to you, nodding in thanks. it burns going down, but it keeps your face smooth. keeps your smile intact.

choso leans close, voice low in your ear. “you good?”

you hesitate. nod. “just don’t get him.”

he follows your gaze. sees the way sukuna is still letting that girl grind against him. the way his hand now fully cups her thigh.

“he’s being a dick,” choso says plainly. “you know that, right?”

“yeah,” you murmur. “i just don’t get why.”

suguru cuts in, quiet and even. “because you scare him.”

you blink. “what?”

“he doesn’t get to control how you feel about someone else. and it’s killing him,” suguru says. “so he does this. acts out. pretends he’s unbothered. he’s not.”

“but like…” you glance over again, brows furrowing. “if it bothers him so much, why go hook up with someone right in front of me?”

“because he’s immature,” choso replies. “and stupid.”

you exhale, a short breath through your nose. “yeah. that checks out.”

it doesn’t hurt, not exactly. it just leaves you feeling weirdly hollow. like something unfinished is hanging in the air between you, something you were never allowed to name.

you pull away from the guys with a small, grateful smile. “i’m gonna go outside for a sec.”

“you sure?” suguru asks.

you nod. “i’m fine. just wanna clear my head.”

you step out onto the porch, letting the chill air wrap around your bare arms. your heart isn’t racing. your hands aren’t shaking. but your mind won’t stop running laps.

you’re not mad at sukuna for messing around. you never expected monogamy from him. but you are mad, maybe a little, for the double standard. for how he acts like it’s betrayal when you even mention another guy, and then turns around and grabs the first girl who bats her lashes at him.

it’s not jealousy. it’s not heartbreak.

it’s just… tired.

you deserve more than someone who only wants you when it’s convenient.

your phone buzzes.

toru 🫦 [2:07am]: i can’t stop thinking about u

you smile a little. softer now. gentler.

toru 🫦 [2:08am]: u looked so pretty tonight btw. i saw your post on instagram!

you [2:08am]: ur sweet. i needed that.

and you mean it.

you don’t even have to wonder about his intentions. satoru makes you feel wanted without playing games. without dangling affection like a prize. he doesn’t try to make you jealous. doesn’t punish you for being desirable.

he just likes you. for you.

toru 🫦 [2:09am]: good. i’ll remind u in person tomorrow :)

you laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. light and real and unfussy.

maybe that’s the difference.

with sukuna, it’s always been messy. volatile. a push-pull you never had the rules for. he likes you, but only when it hurts. only when he’s the one making the rules.

but with satoru?

it feels easy. like you could be soft without having to apologize for it.

you slide your phone back into your purse and square your shoulders.

you’re not gonna let sukuna take this night from you. he doesn’t get to own your attention. not anymore.

you head back inside, head higher than before.

the night isn’t over yet.

and tomorrow?

you’ve got a date with a boy who looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

and maybe, for once, that’s exactly what you need.

satoru stood outside the bluebird café, adjusting his tight black shirt that showed off his sleeper build perfectly, for the fifth time. his hands were shaking slightly, heart thudding in his chest like a drumbeat. it wasn’t the coffee date that had him nervous. it was you.

you had that effect on him, on everyone, really. the thought of seeing you outside the chaos of the library, outside of that brief, awkward interaction where he’d fumbled through every word, made his stomach twist.

he’d told himself he was going to be cool, collected. he could do this. it was just a coffee date. no big deal. he’d gotten through way worse. but none of that had prepared him for how his breath caught every time he thought of how you’d looked in that stupid skirt and that ridiculous attitude that was so effortlessly attractive.

you were the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a music video, the kind who could walk into a room and immediately make every other girl look like they were wearing the wrong outfit. and every guy would look at you with that same dumb, slack-jawed expression.

satoru shoved his hands in his pockets, adjusting his glasses, and forced himself to open the door. he didn’t have to look around to know you were here. he could feel your presence. the tension in his shoulders had already relaxed, just the thought of your energy pulling him in like a magnet.

when his eyes found you—fuck. it was like a punch to the gut.

you were sitting at the corner table, like you owned the place. of course, you did. you had that undeniable “i’m too cool for you, but i’ll let you look” kinda vibe.

you wore a tiny denim skirt that was, to be frank, barely even a skirt. a rhinestone-studded top that clung to you in all the right ways, and those chunky platform heels that screamed “diva.” your lips were glossy and full, glistening under the soft café lighting, and your hair was perfectly messyx just enough to look like you’d rolled out of bed, but still looked like a million bucks.

satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

his eyes drifted lower, watching how the hem of your skirt just barely grazed the edge of your thighs, how the way you moved your hand to adjust your drink made his brain short-circuit for a second.

your eyes locked with his as he approached the table, and for a second, time stopped. you smirked, that damn smirk that sent a rush of heat straight to his chest. he could feel his body temperature rise, and before he could stop himself, his brain ran through a dozen inappropriate thoughts at once.

fuck. you looked so gorgeous. he wasn’t prepared for just how gorgeous. his mind ran through a series of scenarios that were definitely not appropriate for public spaces, none of which helped the fact that his heart was now hammering in his chest like a jackhammer.

you were so… confident. he hated it. no one should have that much power over him, especially someone who he was almost two times bigger than.

“hey,” you greeted, your voice a little too smooth for his liking, like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him. he could see the way your eyes roamed over him, amusement dancing in your gaze. you probably knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“hey,” he managed to say, sitting down across from you, trying to act normal, trying to ignore the way his thoughts were spiraling.

you leaned forward slightly, your fingers wrapping around the cup of iced tea you had already ordered as you took a sip, a slow, deliberate motion that only made things worse.

“so, i see you listened,” you teased, your lips curling into that seductive smile. “that shirt looks so hot on you, toru.”

satoru flushed, already regretting that he had let you get under his skin so easily. but when you looked at him like that, eyes gleaming, lips glossed and soft, he couldn’t help it.

“thank you, you look stunning.” he muttered, his voice suddenly rough. his mind was already back to thinking about what he’d seen when you smiled like that, the way his body reacted in ways he definitely shouldn’t have let it.

he couldn’t help but imagine what you would be like in his bed. not that he’d ever say it out loud, but the thought haunted him. could he make you beg for him? could he make you moan his name like you probably did for that pink haired guy you were with at the library? would you let him pull you closer, your breath hot and needy as he kissed you until you couldn’t think anymore?

god, he hated that you could make him think about these things.

satoru shifted in his seat, trying to seem nonchalant but his body betrayed him. “thanks for asking me to come along, didn’t know you were the one to make moves, especially not on boring nerds like me,” he said, a cocky grin finding its way to his lips despite the growing ache in his chest.

your eyes narrowed, amusement twinkling behind them. “i like that you know your place,” you said, the words light but with an edge, as if daring him to challenge you.

he shifted in his seat again, fighting the urge to lean forward and test the limits of that challenge. “trust me,” he said, “i know exactly where i stand.”

you laughed, low and sweet, and he almost lost it right there. his hands gripped his cup tightly, knuckles white, as he tried to focus on anything but the way your lips curved when you smiled. you were dangerously close to being everything he wanted, and he hated it. hated that he wanted you so badly.

by now you two had fallen into comfortable conversation.

you laughed at something he said, something dumb and not nearly as clever as he wanted it to be, and satoru thought he might melt into the floor. it wasn’t just the sound of your laugh, though that alone could wreck him; it was the way your hand rested casually on the table between you, your fingers brushing his every now and then like it was nothing. but to him, it felt like everything.

you tilted your head, giving him that soft little smile that made him feel like you saw right through him.

“you’re adorable when you’re trying so hard to be smooth,” you said gently, voice lilting like a secret between friends. your tone was sweet, not mocking, but it still made heat crawl up the back of his neck. “like, you’re actually pulling it off. just barely.”

satoru smirked, covering up his absolute internal collapse with a shrug. “i don’t try. i am smooth,” he said jokingly, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his foot was tapping under the table from nerves. “this is just my natural charm.”he said with a big goofy smile.

you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, elbows on the table. your lips curved into the softest, most devastating smirk. “oh? so you’ve accidentally been giving me bedroom eyes this whole time?”

he choked on his coffee.

you giggled and reached over to lightly pat his chest, like you were soothing him after delivering the most casual, lethal blow. “relax, toru. i think it’s sweet. guys like you don’t usually give me the time of day.”

he blinked, stunned. “guys like me?”

“you know,” you said, like it was obvious, “the smart, weirdly-pretty ones. the ones who don’t realize they’re hot because they’ve been sheltered their whole life.”

he stared at you, utterly ruined. “you really think i’m hot don't you? keep on saying it. not that i mind.”

“oh, baby,” you said with a little laugh, “you don’t get to sit across from me all soft and shy and pretending not to stare at my lips, and act like you don’t know the effect you’re having.”

his mouth went dry.

but your voice softened again, gentler this time, like you could sense he was hovering right on the edge of overload. “you’re really sweet, toru. funny, too. i like how you get flustered when i push you a little.”

he tried to summon a coherent response, but his brain was short-circuiting. you were too much, kind and confident, beautiful and bold, and now you were complimenting him like it was nothing?

“i—uh—yeah, no, i like you too,” he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck. “a lot, actually.”

you smiled at him, soft, fond, and then stood slowly, adjusting your mini skirt with deliberate care. your sweater slipped a little off one shoulder and you didn’t bother fixing it. you let his eyes linger.

“so listen,” you said casually, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “i have this little shoot i need to do for a brand deal tonight. just a few instagram shots. nothing crazy. cute little set, fluffy lighting, all that.” you tilted your head again, voice syrupy sweet. “you good with a camera, toru?”

he blinked. “uh… i mean, yeah. i guess? i’ve done some stuff for the yearbook.”

“perfect.” you smiled like a cat who’d just caught something in her claws. “i think you’ll be really good at capturing all my... angles.”

his brain stuttered.

“you wanna come by?” you asked, already typing something into your phone. “you can help me out. i’ll feed you. and maybe after… i’ll let you pick which photos i post.”

his mouth opened. no sound came out.

you looked up and smiled, soft, radiant, but still with that glint of mischief behind your lashes. “unless you’ve got better plans than coming back to my place and watching me pose in a juicy couture set?”

he almost knocked over his drink standing up.

“great,” you said brightly, as if you hadn’t just set his entire nervous system on fire. “i’ll text you my address. bring your hands. i might need help adjusting.”

and with that, you leaned in, kissed his cheek so softly he thought he imagined it, and walked out, hips swaying, head high, leaving him to sit there, stunned and overheating, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive whatever came next.

'holy fucking shit.'

satoru was still in his seat, mouth parted slightly, the ghost of your kiss burning on his cheek like it had been stamped there. his hands trembled around the now-lukewarm cup of coffee he hadn’t touched since you started chatting and proceeded to ruin his entire internal equilibrium.

you were gone. walked out like it was nothing. like you hadn’t just asked him, him, to come back to your apartment and help you take instagram photos, like you hadn’t just tilted your glossy mouth toward his skin, kissed him soft and sweet and unearned.

he blinked.

then blinked again.

was he dead? was this a near-death hallucination? maybe the universe was punishing him for all those nights he zoomed in on your thirst traps at 2 a.m. with trembling fingers and a blank expression, whispering, “jesus christ,” to no one like it was a prayer.

you were god. you were everything. and you’d just invited him over like it was casual. like it didn’t undo months of fantasies. years of longing. this was not how it was supposed to happen. he was supposed to pine forever, secretly. obsess quietly.

not…this.

his phone buzzed, and when he fumbled for it, his screen lit up with a new message.

you [3:14pm]: here’s my address. text me when you’re outside. :) come over sometime later, yeah?

satoru almost dropped the phone.

you [3:16pm]: don't forget to bring your handsss!

bring your hands.

he rubbed a hand down his face, cheeks flushed, ears burning. his brain was running at 200mph, playing reel after reel of every single post you’d ever uploaded. every grainy mirror pic, every behind-the-scenes video, every thirst trap with the caption “don’t text ur ex, text me instead <3”—which he had once seriously considered replying to with “ok” before deleting it like a coward.

you were chaos incarnate, dripping lip gloss and destruction. the human embodiment of the for you page and he’d liked every post. every single one. anonymously. pathetically. from the dark corner of his bedroom, dim blue light glowing against his glasses as he muttered things like, “she’s unreal. she’s actually not real. they made her in a lab.”

he’d saved your bikini pics. zoomed in on the brand tags like a freak. reverse searched your lipstick shades. bought the magazines you were featured in, yes, plural. he had a stack of them in a drawer under his bed like some kind of teenage dirtbag, some with his computer cables in his drawer.

pages dog-eared, his favorite ones burned into his memory. one of them had a spread where you wore this ridiculous rhinestone bikini on a beach, holding a dripping popsicle with your tongue out, and he was still not okay from that shoot.

satoru stared at your text like it was written in gold. like it would vanish if he didn’t cherish it hard enough.

he groaned. out loud. in public. attracting a confused glance from the barista cleaning the counter. he stood up fast, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder like a man on a mission.

by the time he was outside your apartment door, his palms were damp.

you lived in the bougiest building on campus, the kind of place with gold-trimmed elevators and a concierge who looked like he’d sooner tase someone than let them loiter. satoru had to buzz up, which was another level of humiliation he hadn’t mentally prepared for.

you answered with a playful, “be right there,” and he swore your voice alone could short-circuit his brain. when the door finally opened, he almost blacked out.

you were in a tiny zip-up hoodie, baby pink, cropped at your ribs with juicy scrawled in rhinestones across the back, and the tiniest matching shorts he’d ever seen in his life. you were barefoot. you looked like a trashy 2000's supermodel. like an ashanti music video vixen. like someone who’d ruined countless men’s lives just by biting their straw.

“hey, toru,” you said, sweet as sugar. “you brought all of you, right?”

he swallowed hard. “i brought all of me.”

you giggled and tugged him inside by the wrist.

he nearly tripped over his own feet entering your place. the air smelled like vanilla and something dangerously flirty. your apartment was exactly how he imagined it: mirrors everywhere, pink lighting, framed photos of you on the wall. a vanity covered in makeup. pink fuzzy rug underfoot. was that… a pole in the corner?

'jesus christ.'

he tried not to stare too hard as you sauntered across the room, hips swinging, grabbing your phone and ring light.

he noticed how you kicked a hoodie that looked way too big to fit you under your bed discreetly, he managed to read 'kappa' printed on the back. wasn't that sukunas frat? he was pushed out of his head by the sound of your voice.

“so,” you drawled, throwing a wink over your shoulder, “you’ve stalked my instagram enough, you know my angles, right?”

satoru’s laugh came out strangled. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally.”

he did. he really did. he knew exactly how you posed, how you tilted your head just slightly for selfies, how you arched your back just a little for those mirror pics, how you gripped the waistband of your juicy pants like it was the most natural thing in the world to drive men to insanity with a pose. he’d studied them. like they were scripture.

you sat down on your velvet couch and grabbed a tube of gloss, reapplying it with a pout. “you nervous?”

“no,” he lied. “i’m... i’m excited. yeah. i’ve always wanted to see the magic happen live.”

“oh, baby,” you purred, “you are the magic.”

he made a noise. an embarrassing one.

you tossed him your phone and struck a pose, leaning back on your palms with your knees spread just slightly. “go on, toru. get my good side.”

you didn’t have a bad side.

he fumbled with the camera app, trying to focus on anything besides the way your tank top stretched across your chest, the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, the glint of a belly button ring catching the light.

click.

“you’re shaking,” you teased.

“i’m fine.”

“mm. i’ll be the judge of that.” you repositioned, crawling forward on your hands and knees across the couch like you weren’t trying to end his entire life.

click. click.

“toru,” you said sweetly, “are you blushing?”

“absolutely not.”

you laughed and flipped your hair over one shoulder. “you’re so cute. i like you.”

he was going to die here. he was going to drop dead in your living room with nothing but his own frantic, horny thoughts and your body burned into his retinas.

you held out a hand. “gimme. i wanna see.”

he passed you the phone with trembling fingers. you scrolled through the shots, nodding in approval. “these are actually good. like, really good. i’m impressed.”

“thanks,” he said, voice cracking. “i, uh… do some photography stuff on the side. for class.”

“mm, bet you do,” you said, not looking up. “bet you’re good with your hands, huh?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.

you glanced up, expression sweet and wicked. “you okay, toru?”

“i’m great.”

“you look like you’re gonna combust.”

“i might.”

you leaned back into the couch, phone in your lap, and studied him with that same soft-lipped smile. “you’re adorable,” you said, voice quieter now. “all that brainpower, all that quiet nerd energy, and you’re sitting here losing your mind over me in shorts.”

he groaned into his hands. “can you blame me?”

you laughed. “not at all. i like it. you make me feel powerful.”

he peeked through his fingers, helpless. “you are powerful.”

you tilted your head. “then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

he sighed dramatically. “because i’m in your apartment. you just crawled across a couch like a centerfold. i’ve seen your instagram stories like, eighty million times. i subscribe to the magazine you’re on the cover of. and now you’re here. being cute. and sexy. and funny. and calling me toru like we’re... like this is normal.”

your expression softened, something real flickering behind your lashes.

“toru,” you said, and this time it was less teasing. more intimate. “you really like me?”

he nodded. “kinda obsessed with you, actually.”

you smiled. slow and sweet.

then you got up, crossed the room, and straddled his lap before he could blink.

maybe sleeping with satoru is what you needed to make your conscience stop thinking about sukuna and that bitch at the party earlier.

his heart nearly fucked itself over.

you cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “good,” you whispered. “because i kinda like you too.”

he swallowed. “kind of?”

you grinned. “well. i liked you in the library. i love you with a camera in your hands... my own personal photographer.”

his breath hitched.

you shifted on the couch, camera forgotten in your lap, as you studied satoru’s face, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that gorgeous white hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. you looked like a vixen straight off a low-res 2004 myspace album, lips glossy, attitude filthy-sweet, thighs barely crossed. he was already unraveling.

“okay toru,” you said, voice dripping in something syrupy, slow, and dangerous, “i think we’re gonna start with something a little more… intimate.”

his mouth went dry the moment you pulled out the velvet rope. pink. soft. sensual. his brain blanked.

“rope?” he choked.

“yeah,” you smiled, casually, like you weren’t turning his entire nervous system into static. “i want you to tie my wrists. loosely. make sure i can still move my hands around.” you leaned forward, offering your arms like it was a fucking privilege. “think you can handle that?”

no. he absolutely could not. but he still nodded, taking the rope with shaking hands. his fingers brushed your skin as he looped it around your wrists, and that alone had his dick twitching in his jeans. he swore under his breath.

'she smells like vanilla and heat and fuck me,' he thought, looping the velvet. 'i haven’t even touched her properly and i’d die for her right now.'

you let your arms fall back, raising your bound wrists over your head in a pose so casually provocative that his mouth parted on instinct. the rope pulled tight just enough to bite. your top slid higher, barely covering anything. the whole scene looked like it belonged in a magazine he would’ve hidden under his bed in high school, and now it was real. in his lap. begging to be remembered.

he swallowed hard. 'i’m gonna wet dream about this forever.'

“you look ravishing,” he whispered hoarsely.

“do i?” you teased, tilting your head. “want to see more?”

you let one strap of your tiny rhinestone top fall. then the other. and when you pulled it down just enough to expose one perfect breast, nipple glossy from a layer of shimmer lotion.

you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

his brain short-circuited.

'holy shit holy shit i’ve jacked off to pictures of her and now she’s half naked in front of me and i’m not gonna survive this.'

click.

the shutter snapped and he wasn’t even sure if his hand had moved. he took another, then another, each frame of your body more brazen, more artful, more his.

you arched under the dim light, toes pointed, eyes lidded. your lip caught between your teeth as you said, “these ones… they’re only for you.”

his heart fucking stopped.

“they’re not going online,” you added sweetly, glancing up through your lashes. “no other one of my fans gets to see me like this. just you, toru. my number one fan."

he clenched the camera harder, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and thank the gods for whatever good karma led him here. 'only me. fuck. fuck. she’s mine.' even if it was just for tonight. even if it was only temporary.

you shifted again, slowly opening your legs as you lay back, balls if your heels digging into the cushions. the hem of your panties, bright pink and sparkly barely clung to you. he could see the outline of everything. and then you stretched, arms over your head, making your stomach tighten and your tits rise beautifully, rope still binding you just right.

“toru,” you breathed, eyes locked on his, “do you want to see me take them off?”

'god yes. god fucking yes. i want to see what’s under that glitter. i want to taste it. i want to ruin her. fuck.'

he nodded. “yeah,” he rasped. “please.”

your fingers slipped under the waistband slowly, deliberately, dragging the panties down your thighs with an elegant arch of your spine. and he watched, stared, like it was the last thing he’d ever see.

“don’t worry,” you said, tossing them onto his lap. “these aren’t for instagram either.”

his cock throbbed. it was unbearable. it was heaven.

he took more shots, each one filthier than the last, legs spread, lips parted, bound wrists clutching the edge of the couch as you moaned softly for him. you looked like you belonged in a pornographic museum. like a goddess on her throne letting her chosen mortal worship.

and you’d picked him.

'she’s gonna kill me. i’m gonna nut in my jeans like a fucking loser. oh my god.'

you sat up, resting your chin on his shoulder while he adjusted the camera. “you okay?” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his ear. “you’re breathing kinda heavy, baby.”

'call me baby again and i’ll fucking bark.'

“just… warm in here,” he muttered, cheeks red, voice strained.

you smiled and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “poor thing. want a break?”

he looked down at you, your chest still bared, your body shining with light, legs folded in perfect lazy confidence. “you think i could survive a break?” he asked, voice lower now. rougher.

you laughed. soft. wicked. “fair point.”

then you took the camera from his hands, placed it on the table, and straddled his lap in one easy motion.

“no more pictures,” you said. “now you can just look.”

his hands flew to your waist on instinct, gripping you like you were the only real thing in the universe. and honestly, to him, you were.

'how did this happen? how the fuck did i go from jacking off to her tiktok thirst traps to having her in my lap, tits out, moaning my name?'

you cupped his face, voice softer now. “you okay?”

he nodded.

you leaned in and whispered, “do you want to touch me?”

he nodded again, too fast.

you smirked. “then do it. but be gentle. i like being handled like i’m expensive.”

“you are,” he said instantly, voice ragged. “you’re the most expensive thing i’ve ever touched.”

you kissed him for that. deep and filthy and grateful. and as he dragged his palms over your ass, up your waist, over your bare chest, he was already gone.

and somewhere in the back of his hazy, lust-soaked brain, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:

these pictures?

these moments?

they were only for him.

and if you ever asked, he’d burn the whole world to keep them safe.

you gasped into his kiss as his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. his breath was hot and ragged, mixing with yours in the close air of your living room. you felt the curve of his mouth against your neck, the brush of his stubble as he nipped gently at your skin.

'he’s so warm,' you thought, sliding your hands through his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft white strands. 'and he’s mine, right here, right now.'

he moaned low, almost lost in the feeling of you beneath him. you’d taught him how to pose you like a goddess for the camera; now he was learning how to worship you in real time. his hand slid up your back, then lower, fingertips grazing the top of your panties still bunched around your thighs.

“you know,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with want, “i’ve wanted this for so fucking long. i don't even think this is real.”

you smiled against his skin, tugging at his hoodie so you could slide it off his shoulders. “i can tell,” you purred. “i promise i'm real toru. real and all yours right now.”

he lifted his head to meet your eyes, those pale blues shimmering with need.

your laugh was soft, sultry. “oh, baby,” you said, rolling your hips against him, “i wanted you before i knew your name.”

his pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard. “fuck,” he breathed. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you cupped his face, thumb brushing his lower lip. “only if you want me to,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, your tongue brushed his, and he groaned, hands fisting in your hair.

'holy shit,' he thought, 'this is real. she’s here, wanting me, touching me.'

you pulled back, slipping off the last barrier, his jeans, until both of you were just skin and heat. you guided his hands to your body, showing him where to touch, where to press, encouraging him with soft moans and glowing praise. every direction you gave him made his confidence soar, made him believe he could be the one to make you melt.

he paused, looking into your eyes. “i… i want to make you feel good,” he said, voice husky. “really good.”

you smiled, heart swelling. “then show me, baby.”

he nodded, then bent to kiss you again, this time more tender, more deliberate. he let his palms roam your body, over your breasts, down your waist, skimming the curve of your hips. you pressed into him, encouraging him, letting him know just how right it felt.

'he’s so gentle' you thought. 'so respectful. and so fucking good with his hands.'

you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “toru,” you gasped, “fuck me.”

he hesitated only a moment, surprised by your boldness, and then he was inside you, filling you in slow, delicious thrusts. your breath caught, and you clutched his shoulders as he moved, your rope-bound wrists sliding free in the heat of the moment.

“shit,” he groaned, chest pressed against yours. “you’re perfect.”

you arched against him, closing your eyes. “yeah… perfect for you.”

his pace quickened, fueled by your praise, your soft encouragements, your needy gasps. every time he hit that sweet spot, you cried out his name, and it sent a thrill rippling through him.

'my name on her lips…' he thought, 'this is everything.'

you rode him hard, matching his thrusts until both of you were breathless, skin slick with sweat and sheen of your own arousal. you held him tight, panting, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

“let’s finish the shoot later,” you whispered against his skin, voice thick with satisfaction and warmth. “right now… just us.”

he kissed you back, slow and tender, and you felt his body tremble. “just us,” he echoed.

and in that moment, tangled together on your couch, every magazine cover, every instagram scroll, every stolen fantasy he’d ever had of you crystallized into this single, perfect reality, warm, messy, intimate, and wholly, irrevocably yours.

you were now tucked beneath the folds of your plush throw blanket, legs tangled with his, head resting against his bare chest as the glow from your salt lamp bathed the apartment in a hazy, honeyed light. his arm was slung loosely around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. satoru had never been this close to someone, physically, emotionally, and his brain was still catching up.

you were real. warm, beautiful, half-naked and still glittering from the camera flash and sweat. and now you were curled into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you okay?” you murmured, voice soft, a little breathy.

“am i okay?” he huffed a quiet laugh. “i just lived out the most insane fantasy of my life, and now i’m laying here with the hottest girl in the universe like it’s normal.”

you tilted your head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded and mischievous. “hottest girl in the universe, huh?”

“scientifically proven,” he said, smug but still pink in the cheeks. “objectively. you broke the hotness scale.”

you giggled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, slow and sweet. “you’re so dramatic,” you whispered against his skin.

his heart thumped. he wanted to keep you here forever, in this little soft bubble that smelled like your body lotion and sounded like your quiet laughter. but instead, you stretched like a cat against him, bare legs brushing his, and said, “so…”

he blinked, brain short-circuiting again. “so?”

you propped your chin on his chest, gazing up at him with that glittery, effortless confidence of someone who knew she had him wrapped around her finger. “there’s a party tomorrow night,” you said casually, tracing patterns on his stomach. “you should come.”

satoru blinked. “a… party?”

“mm-hmm. like, a real one,” you teased. “not like a dungeons and dragons meetup or whatever you nerds do.”

“hey,” he laughed, “first of all, rude. second of all… are you serious?”

“dead serious,” you purred. “it’s at suguru’s place. it’ll be mostly my friends. you’ll meet everyone.”

satoru’s stomach dropped a little. your friends. the one he saw with face tattoos and designer sunglasses and mysterious piercings in places he couldn’t guess. the ones who always looked like they just stepped out of a campaign ad for a luxury fashion line. the ones who probably wouldn’t even look twice at him if he wasn’t draped in your attention like an accessory.

“won’t they think it’s weird?” he asked before he could stop himself. “me being there.”

you raised an eyebrow, amused. “why would it be weird?”

“because…” he swallowed, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “i’m not exactly in your league.” you sat up, straddling his waist now, your eyes burning into his. “toru,” you said, serious, “don’t ever say that again.” his breath hitched.

you leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “you’re sexy, smart, and you make me laugh. you made me nervous. so if you’re coming to the party, you better show up like you belong.” he stared at you, stunned. “you were nervous?”

“duh.” you smiled. “you were wearing that little tight black shirt and looking all hot and mysterious. i thought you’d ghost me after coffee.” he buried his face in your neck, groaning. “i literally thought i was going to faint when i saw you in that skirt.”

“good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “i wore it just to fuck with you." he moaned dramatically, pulling you closer. “you’re evil.”

“and you like it.” he couldn’t deny it. you were fire and silk and sugar and bite, and he was hopelessly addicted.

“so?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “you coming to the party or what?” he nodded, breathless. “yeah. fuck it. i’m coming.”

you grinned. “good. bring your charm, toru. my friends are gonna love you.” you said it like a promise, not a possibility. like he already belonged.and for the first time in a long time, he almost believed it.

group chat: the pretty committee

(you, yuki, choso, suguru, shoko, maki, sukuna, nanami, shiu)

you ✩ [9:43pm]: kappa mixer on saturday night. i’m bringing a plus one btw

yuki 🧃 [9:43pm]: oh?? do we know him or is this another random model-slash-dj you found at pilates

you ✩ [9:44pm]: neither. it’s toru. the library one

choso 🥀 [9:44pm]: wait toru?? like. satoru gojo??

maki 🥋 [9:45pm]: the one you said looked like he types in html for fun?

you ✩ [9:45pm]: he does. it’s hot

shoko 🚬 [9:45pm]: you’re bringing your nerdy little fantasy to the mixer? this is big

you ✩ [9:46pm]: we’re just friends. chill

suguru 🐍 [9:46pm]: uh huh. just friends who take steamy photos together and then go silent for six hours. got it.

you ✩ [9:46pm]: not steamy. artistic, and how did yk i only told yuki 😭🙏🏼

shoko 🚬 [9:46pm]: mm. “artistic.” sure.

yuki 🧃 [9:47pm]: oops... anyways please tell me you at least warned him that sukuna might bite

you ✩ [9:47pm]: he’s a big boy. he can handle it

maki 🥋 [9:47pm]: he survived a coffee date with you, he can probably survive a frat party

you ✩ [9:48pm]: exactly

nanami ⏳ [9:48pm]: just tell him not to drink anything suguru hands him. that’s the only advice that matters

suguru 🐍 [9:48pm]: excuse me?? i’m a generous host

shiu 🕷️ [9:49pm]: generous with what. vodka or trauma?

you ✩ [9:49pm]: okay but actually. be nice to him

suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: i’m always nice. he’s cute. nerdy. polite. kinda like nanami if he still had joy in his eyes

nanami ⏳ [9:49pm]: i can leave this chat

suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: no you can’t

choso 🥀 [9:50pm]: sukuna? you good?

sukuna ⚡ [9:51pm]: fine. just didn’t realize we were inviting groupies to my frat

yuki 🧃 [9:51pm]: omg

choso 🥀 [9:51pm]: man. come on

maki 🥋 [9:52pm]: this is why we can’t have nice things

you ✩ [9:52pm]: gojo's not a groupie. he’s literally a person. y’all will be normal or i swear to god

sukuna ⚡ [9:52pm]: no one said anything. it’s your life. do what you want i ain't pulling up i'm busy

you ✩ [9:53pm]: thanks. i will.

suguru 🐍 [9:53pm]: and the drama begins before the drinks are even poured. we’re so back

shoko 🚬 [9:53pm]: love when the pregame starts in the group chat

shiu 🕷️ [9:54pm]: should i bring popcorn or bail money?

you ✩ [9:54pm]: anyway. toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.

meanwhile, sukuna was scowling at his phone. he stared at the last message you sent, thumb hovering over the screen like it was taunting him.

'toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.'

his jaw ticked.

satoru.

toru.

like he needed the nickname shoved in his face again. like he hadn’t already figured out you were letting that four-eyed pretty boy get his hands all over you. not that he’d said anything. not that he had a right to. not anymore.

you weren’t his. not officially. not really.

but you had been, in every way that mattered. in the way you used to climb into his lap without asking, drunk on vodka and power, whispering all your filthy secrets into his ear. in the way he could make you beg with just a hand on your thigh, in the way your eyes used to flick toward him at every party even if you showed up with someone else.

he used to be the one who got under your skin. the one you’d crawl back to after breaking someone else’s heart. the one you’d come to when you were sick of boys and needed a man.

and now? now you were bringing some soft-spoken, glasses-wearing, overachieving fucker to the mixer like you were introducing him to the family. like he was real. sukuna exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone on the bed.

he already knew who he was. satoru. the honors student. the tutor. the sweet one. the one you flirted with at the library just to prove you could. sukuna remembered watching it, how your voice dipped lower, how you tilted your head when you asked for his number, the way you said toru like it was already a pet name.

and now you were texting the group chat like he was coming to the damn cookout. it shouldn’t have bothered him. it wasn’t supposed to. he had girls on rotation. he had no shortage of hookups. but none of them were you. none of them had that glint in their eye, that attitude, that stupid, intoxicating mix of gloss and venom and sugar that made him feel like a rabid dog just for wanting a taste.

he lit a cigarette and opened your instagram.

he didn’t even have to search. you were at the top of his stories. you always were. he watched the one you posted two hours ago. a link to your new post, a perfectly captured album of you. a cropped hoodie. thighs out. caption: 'might delete later.'

fuck you.

he stared at the photo like it owed him something. your smudged lip gloss. the slight indent of a ring on your finger where you’d been playing with your jewelry. the shadow of someone in the background 'was that him?' no, just a lamp.

still.

he swiped back to your page. all those tagged posts from yuki, suguru, choso. none with gojo. not yet.but he was coming. he’d be there, saturday night, in your orbit, breathing your air, looking at you the way everyone did, like you were the sun, and maybe, just maybe, you’d start looking back.

that’s what scared him. not that gojo liked you. but that you might like him back.

he took another drag and let the smoke burn in his lungs longer than necessary, jaw tight as he exhaled. fuck it. he could play it cool. he always did. he’d smirk, talk shit, wrap his arm around someone hotter, louder, easier. make sure everyone saw. especially you.

pretend it didn’t bother him when your eyes skipped right over him in a room. pretend it didn’t fucking matter that you hadn’t come back.

like none of those nights meant shit. all that time you’d spent in his lap, tugging at his chain and moaning his name like it was gospel, just so you could turn around and let some floppy-haired loser in a tight black tee take your fucking instagram pictures?

you traded him in for someone soft. someone polite. someone who probably apologized after cumming too fast. he scoffed, tossing the half-finished joint onto the ashtray with more force than necessary. pathetic.

sukuna leaned back on the mattress, bare chest rising and falling slow under the dim red lights, smoke curling above him like it was trying to fill the silence. the room felt empty. stupidly empty.

he thought about texting you. something slick. something cruel. maybe 'hope he doesn’t cry when he finds out where that mouth’s been.' or 'you always go for the ones you can control, huh?'

but he didn’t. just sat there, jaw grinding, thumbs still, screen glowing back at him. eyes sharp. chest tight with that ugly kind of jealousy he swore he’d grown out of.

'what a fucking joke.'

you were his first. you were supposed to stay that way.

the uber pulled up to the kappa frat house which was the furthest frat from campus. the sun dipped below the horizon long ago, casting the sky in a warm, dusky glow. gojo sat in the backseat, watching you re-apply your gloss, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. he glanced over at you again, radiant as ever, your lips curled into a soft smile as you scrolled through your phone.

“you okay?” you asked, sensing his nerves.

“yeah,” he replied, voice a little too high-pitched. “just… a lot of people, you know?”you chuckled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “you’ll be fine. they’re just people. my people, but still.”

he nodded, trying to steady his breathing. the memory of the night before flashed in his mind, your body pressed against his, the way you whispered his name, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. it felt surreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

“last night was… amazing,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours.

you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “it was,” you agreed. “but tonight’s about fun. let’s not overthink it.”the car came to a stop, and you both stepped out, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the street. gojo took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses.

“ready?” you asked, offering your hand. he took it, fingers intertwining with yours. “ready.”

as you walked up the steps, the door swung open, revealing a sea of faces. conversations halted, eyes turning to the two of you. gojo felt the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the curiosity. “who’s that?” someone whispered.

“is that her new guy?” another murmured. he swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink back. you squeezed his hand, grounding him.

“ignore them,” you whispered. “they’ll come around.” you led him through the crowd, past familiar faces and curious stares, until you reached a plush couch in the corner. you both sat down, the noise of the party fading into the background.

“see? not so bad,” you said, leaning into him. he smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “yeah. not so bad.”

as you chatted about the party, your friends, and the latest gossip, gojo couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. with you by his side, the world seemed a little less daunting.

you’re halfway through your drink when you spot them weaving through the crowd, choso and suguru, side by side, both dressed in their version of “casual” which somehow still looked like a fashion campaign.

choso in a black sleeveless mock-neck that showed off his tattooed arms and a single chain glinting against his collarbone. suguru, laidback and smiling, with his hair tied low and a fitted shirt open at the chest like he’d just walked off a yacht.they zero in on you immediately, and you can already see the glint in suguru’s eyes.

“well, well,” he says as he gets close, his voice warm, teasing. “so this is the mystery man.” satoru stands to greet them, and you watch choso’s brow lift ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting him to be… that tall. that broad. that annoyingly good-looking.

“hey,” satoru says smoothly, extending his hand. “satoru. thanks for not jumping me right away.”

choso grins, shaking his hand, then clapping his shoulder with a kind of quiet approval. “we only beat up assholes,” he says, and then adds, “you’ve got a solid grip, man.” suguru’s eyes flick between you and satoru, clearly amused. “you been holding out on us,” he tells you, then turns to satoru again. “you always look like that or is this a special occasion?”

“this?” satoru gestures to himself, cocking a brow. “i’m barely trying.” you snort into your cup. he’s cool as hell on the outside, but you know better. his knee was bouncing a second ago and he keeps fiddling with the ring on his thumb.

“seriously though,” choso says, leaning back against the couch, sizing him up again. “did not expect you to be built like that. what the hell do you do?”

you glance at satoru, who flashes a sheepish grin that doesn’t match the cocky tilt of his voice. “freshman year i got into boxing,” he says. “figured if i was gonna be a nerd, might as well be one that could take a hit.”

“or give one,” choso mutters, clearly impressed. “you’re cut.” suguru raises a brow in appreciation.

“not anymore,” satoru says, rubbing the back of his neck. “haven’t had the time. but yeah, i trained for like, two years. gym in shibuya. coach was an ex-mma guy. real psycho, made me spar with dudes twice my size.”

“you won?” choso asks, grinning.

“got knocked out once,” satoru says with a shrug. “but i broke a guy’s nose, so. fair trade.” suguru whistles, clearly amused. “you’re full of surprises."

“oh, he’s full of a lot,” you murmur, sipping your drink again, and satoru shoots you a look that’s somewhere between mortified and turned on.

“so you two…” suguru gestures between you vaguely, like he doesn’t want to say together outright. “what’s the vibe?” you stretch lazily, one leg over the other, and smile. “friends,” you say lightly. “he’s been helping me shoot some things for instagram.”

satoru’s mind flashes, vivid, bright, to the way your hand had pulled his to your waist the night before, the flash of your camera catching the outline of your lingerie, the way you’d whispered just for you in his ear as you pressed your chest to his. he can still smell your perfume on his shirt. his fingers twitch just thinking about it.

“instagram,” suguru repeats, mouth quirking. “uh huh.”

“we get along,” you add, and it’s almost too soft. too real. “he’s sweet.” satoru stares at the amber in his glass, willing himself not to combust. sweet. how the fuck was he supposed to keep it together when you called him sweet like that, like he was a boy you actually wanted to keep around?

choso nods slowly. “he’s got a good vibe.” suguru hums. “solid energy. confident without being a dick.”

“yet...” choso adds, shooting him a warning glance.

satoru just laughs. “don’t worry. she’ll keep me in check.”you lean into him slightly, your thigh brushing his. “he’s already well-trained,” you murmur, just loud enough for choso and suguru to hear. suguru lets out a low whistle. “damn. it’s always the nerdy ones.”

“it really is,” choso agrees. “they bottle that shit up for years and then one day just, boom. thirst trap worthy.”

“he could literally crush a watermelon with those thighs,” you say dreamily, mostly to mess with satoru, and he almost spills his drink.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, laughing through the mortification. “you’re gonna give these guys the wrong idea.”

“what idea?” choso grins. “we’re just bonding.”

“team-building,” suguru adds.

“hazard training,” you say, with a wink. satoru shifts a little closer, brushing your arm. “you guys always this intense?”

“you should meet sukuna,” choso says dryly. you go still for just a second, but it’s nothing you let show. satoru feels it anyway, the way your fingers tighten slightly on your drink.

“he’s not coming tonight,” you say casually. suguru raises a brow but doesn’t push. instead, he turns his attention back to satoru. “so what’s the goal, man? you trying to get into modeling too or just vibing in the deep end?”

“i think he’s already in too deep,” choso mutters. satoru shrugs, keeping it chill even though he’s fully sweating under his hoodie. “just hanging out. making memories. flexing for the grid.”

you laugh, leaning into his shoulder like you can’t help it. “you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you say, voice low and fond. he turns to look at you, and there’s a flicker of something quiet in his eyes. “so are you,” he says softly. the pause that follows is short, but not empty. then suguru claps his hands. “alright. drinks?”

choso’s already standing. “i’ll grab tequila.”satoru watches them go, the easy way they navigate the crowd, like they belong in every room they enter. and somehow, they’d made him feel like maybe he did too. you turn to him, smiling, eyes glinting under the low lights. “see? not so bad.”

“yeah,” satoru breathes. “not bad at all.”

“i’m gonna go get us drinks,” you say, hand brushing satoru’s thigh as you stand. “tequila or beer?”

“uh—tequila?” he answers a bit too fast.

“that’s what i thought.” you wink, and just like that, you’re off, hips swaying through the crowd like you own the place. maybe you do, in a way. everyone watches you go. including satoru.

once choso and suguru return the nudge his shoulder friendly.

“bro,” choso mutters, following his line of sight. “you’re so cooked.”

“cooked?” satoru repeats, blinking.

“done. fried. beyond saving,” suguru says, grinning. “the way you looked at her just now? hopeless.”

“i wasn’t—i didn’t—” satoru fumbles, then groans. “fuck.”

“nah, it’s cute,” choso says, clapping him on the back. “endearing. like a golden retriever in love.”

“he’s got the hair for it,” suguru adds. satoru sighs, slouching further into the couch as if it’ll swallow him. “is this what you guys do all night? just nag each other in rotation?”

“mostly,” choso says. “but you’re new, so we’re going easy.”

“plus, you’re already getting the invite into the guy circle,” suguru adds, gesturing toward the two men approaching with solo cups in hand. “that’s nanami and shiu.” satoru straightens instinctively. he recognizes nanami from campus, business major, intense stare, kind of always looks like he’s five minutes away from quitting everything to become a lumberjack. shiu, he doesn’t know. tall, dark, lean, with eyes like he’s permanently unimpressed.

“nanami,” suguru greets, casually fist-bumping him. “shiu. this is gojo.”

“the gojo?” shiu arches a brow, handing him a cup.

“uh,” satoru says, taking it. “i guess?”

“the one she’s been parading around all night like a shiny new toy,” nanami says flatly, sipping his drink. “welcome to hell.”satoru laughs nervously. “thanks?”

“ignore him,” choso says. “that’s just how he flirts.” nanami gives him a blank look. “no, it’s not.”

“so,” shiu says, sitting on the edge of the armrest next to him. “you and y/n. what’s the story?”

satoru opens his mouth. closes it. tries again. “we’re just friends.” four disbelieving stares hit him at once.

“friends,” shiu repeats.

“sure,” choso deadpans.

“got it,” nanami mutters.

“you should hear how she says your name,” suguru adds. “like it’s a little treat.” satoru flushes instantly. “we really are just friends.”

“do your friends usually strip for you in front of a camera?” shiu asks, sipping. “or is that a special bond?” he nearly chokes on his tequila

“jesus christ,” he wheezes. “do you guys have, like, a hazing ritual or something?”

“you passed it,” choso grins. “we just needed to see if you’d fold.”

“and you did,” suguru says proudly. “folded like a lawn chair.”

“i’m so glad i came,” satoru mutters into his cup.

“so is she,” nanami says, not looking up. “she hasn’t stopped smiling since you got here." satoru pauses.

“yeah,” choso says, more gently now. “she likes having you around.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. so he doesn’t say anything. just sips and lets it sit in his chest, warm and blooming.

“by the way, don’t let sukuna get to you,” shiu says after a beat, and it’s the first time the name’s been spoken with any real weight. “i won’t,” satoru says quickly, then—“why would he?”

“because he’s an asshole,” choso says simply. "we love him and all but jeez. he's a handful."

“and because he doesn’t like sharing,” suguru adds. “not attention. not space. definitely not her.”

“wait—” satoru frowns. “were they a thing?” the group goes quiet. nanami speaks first. “not officially.”

“but?” satoru presses. shiu shrugs. “they hooked up. on and off. nothing defined.”

“he never claimed her,” choso says, “but he didn’t want anyone else to either.”

“toxic,” satoru mutters.

“bingo,” suguru grins. “he’s like if a red flag started a punk band.”

“and she’s…” nanami trails off, shaking his head. “better than that.” satoru feels his fingers tighten around his cup. “is he here?”

“not yet,” shiu says. “but he might show. he’s unpredictable.”

“he’s pissed,” choso adds. “we all saw the group chat.” satoru nods, remembering the texts he peeped over your shoulder to read. groupie. right.

“just don’t take it personally,” suguru says. “sukuna lashes out when he feels cornered. and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

“you like her?” nanami asks suddenly. the question knocks the wind out of him. satoru blinks. “i…”

'do i? yes. obviously. painfully.' he clears his throat. “she’s cool. really cool. and smart. and funny. and like, stupidly pretty.”

“so yes,” choso says, nodding.

“and you’re what?” shiu asks. “waiting for a sign from god?”

“nah,” suguru says. “he’s just scared.”

“i’m not scared,” satoru lies.

“you should be,” nanami says bluntly. “she’s a lot.”

“she’s worth it, though,” choso adds. “if you can handle it.”

“i don’t know if i can,” satoru says honestly. the four of them regard him for a moment. then suguru grins. “well, shit. at least you’re honest.”

“more than most guys around here,” choso agrees.

“better than sukuna already,” shiu mutters.

“he’s not gonna like this,” nanami warns. “you being here. with her.”

“he doesn’t have to like it,” satoru says, surprising even himself. “it’s not his choice.”

“now that’s the energy,” suguru says, clinking his cup against his.

“just don’t throw the first punch,” choso says.

“unless he does,” shiu adds. “then, by all means.”

satoru laughs, tension breaking just a little. he looks around at the group, four guys who could easily have iced him out or humiliated him, but instead welcomed him in like some weird brotherhood of unhinged protectors.

“thanks,” he says. “don’t mention it,” choso shrugs. “we like you.”

“you fit,” suguru says. “somehow.” they all laugh.

they all laugh.

and then—

“hey.”

your voice cuts through the circle, light and bright as you reappear with a full drink in hand. satoru looks up, eyes softening instantly.

“took forever,” you pout. “you miss me?”

“maybe,” he says, like it’s a secret. “a little.”

you hold the drink out to him. “your tequila, my liege."

“you’re too good to me,” he says, and takes it.

“i know,” you smile.

you glance around at the others. “you boys behaving?”

“'course,” choso says.

“mhm,” you deadpan.

you settle beside satoru again, arm pressing into his, and for a second, nothing else matters.

just the music, the warmth, the way his pinky brushes yours.

just the ease of it, even in the chaos.

just the five of them, chatting and drinking and laughing like they’d known each other longer than a single party.

just you, leaning in with a whisper meant only for him,

“told you they’d like you.”

and he believes it.

because for the first time in a long time, he likes himself too.

as the laughter from the group dies down, the tension in the air shifts, subtly but unmistakably. the door to the frat house creaks open, and it’s as if the entire room collectively inhales. gojo freezes, his attention snapping to the doorway. there’s something about the presence that disturbs the natural flow of conversation, something sharp, something unsettling.

a shadow falls across the room as sukuna steps in, his lean form tall and imposing against the backdrop of the house’s dimly lit interior. his eyes sweep over the crowd with the kind of disinterest that only someone as effortlessly menacing as him could pull off. his movements are deliberate, calculated, each step echoing in a way that makes the room quieter, the air heavier.

satoru’s heart skips, though his face betrays nothing. he’s heard about sukuna, of course, the chaos that follows him like a storm cloud, the way he can control a room without even trying. and now, standing in front of him, that reputation feels all too real.

“sukuna’s here,” choso says lowly, voice barely cutting through the tense air. the others shift, subtly bracing themselves, like they’ve been trained for this.

sukuna’s gaze flickers over to your group, locking onto you for a split second. the quiet hum of the party seems to die in that moment, like even the music knows to hold its breath when he enters. then, just as quickly, his attention flicks to satoru.

the tension is palpable, a crackling undercurrent of something no one dares to name. satoru meets his gaze with an unreadable expression, but inside, the nerves coil tighter. his mind races, what is it about this guy that makes everyone shift in their seats? the guy’s presence isn’t just intimidating, it’s suffocating, like being in the presence of something raw and dangerous.

“well, well,” sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, smooth and mocking. “the nerd’s here. funny, i didn’t think you were the type to be at a party like this.” his eyes twinkle with a dangerous amusement, his lips curling into a smile that could easily be mistaken for a sneer.

satoru’s first instinct is to say something snarky, to assert himself, but the weight of sukuna’s presence steals his words. he knows the others are watching, waiting for the first crack to form, the first move in this unspoken battle.

you clear your throat, cutting through the tension. “sukuna,” you greet, your voice light but firm, not giving away anything. “didn’t expect you tonight.”

sukuna’s eyes flick back to you, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable look between you two. it’s brief, but gojo catches it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere. it’s like a silent communication between you and him that doesn’t need words, a silent acknowledgment of something old and familiar.

“i’ve got my reasons,” sukuna says, eyes flicking back to satoru. “but i’m not here for small talk. just wanted to see who your latest… distraction is.” his gaze turns calculating. “is this the guy who’s been making you so ‘artistic’ lately?”

the words hang in the air, heavy and laced with a darker implication. there’s no mistaking it now, sukuna doesn’t just find satoru an interesting figure, he finds him a threat. a challenge. and gojo can feel it, this undercurrent of possessiveness that lingers in sukuna’s words, in the sharpness of his stare.

satoru’s heart rate spikes, but he forces himself to stay calm, keep his composure. he turns toward you, offering a lazy smile, though the back of his neck prickles. “didn’t realize i was a ‘distraction,’” he says, his voice light, though there’s an edge to it now. “but i guess that’s one way to describe me.”

you throw him a glance, warning in your eyes, and for a brief moment, satoru wonders if he’s being too obvious. too bold. sukuna doesn’t like that, doesn’t tolerate being mocked or even challenged, and the dangerous aura around him grows thicker the longer the interaction stretches.

sukuna narrows his eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “oh, don’t get cute with me,” he warns, his voice smooth but laced with venom. he steps closer, his presence crowding the space. “you don’t belong here, pretty boy. you might’ve fooled some of them, but i can smell a pretender from a mile away.”

satoru’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his face cool, chin tilted just enough to show he’s not intimidated. “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even know me,” he retorts, voice dropping a little lower.

the tension in the air thickens. suguru and choso exchange a look, both noticing the way things are escalating. shiu, standing a few feet away, flicks his eyes over to you, trying to gauge your reaction.

you step in before things can spiral any further. “sukuna,” you say firmly, your voice sharper than before. “can we not do this here? this is not the time or place.”

sukuna gives you a look, something between admiration and disdain. his gaze flicks back to satoru, but this time, there’s something darker in his eyes. “whatever you say, princess,” he murmurs, his tone low and dangerous. “but this one? he’s not what you think he is.”

with that, he turns and makes his way deeper into the party, his presence still lingering like a shadow over the group. the atmosphere remains thick, the tension hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that hasn’t quite burned out.

satoru takes a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease that sukuna’s words have left behind. he glances over at you, who’s still standing a little too still, eyes locked on the space sukuna just vacated.

“is he always like that?” satoru asks, his voice low, though there’s no denying the edge of concern there.

you let out a long sigh, turning to face him fully. “yeah,” you say softly, almost apologetically. “sukuna’s a… complicated person.”

“i can tell,” satoru mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. his earlier confidence is slipping, replaced by a twinge of doubt. he thought he could handle this crowd, but sukuna… sukuna was something else entirely.

“you don’t have to worry about him,” you say, your voice softer now. you place a reassuring hand on his arm, and for a brief moment, the world feels a little less heavy. “he just has a way of… testing people. seeing how much they can take.”

satoru lets out a breath, looking at you. there’s something about the way you say it, like you’ve seen this play out before, over and over again. something in his gut tightens at the thought.

but he nods, forcing a smile. “i can take it,” he says, though his voice is steadier than he feels. “but i’m guessing sukuna’s not gonna be my biggest fan, huh?”

you smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “he’ll get over it,” you say, but there’s a strange bitterness in your tone. “he always does.”

satoru watches you, trying to read the unspoken words in your gaze. there’s a history there, a tension between you and sukuna that’s thicker than what’s on the surface.

he’s not sure how deep it goes, but something tells him that tonight was only the beginning.

the rest of the night stretches out before them, full of promises of fun and tension, of friendships and unspoken rivalries. but for now, satoru is left with the quiet certainty that his place in this world, your world, is still uncertain. and sukuna? he’s just the first of many obstacles that stand between him and whatever this is with you.

but he’s not backing down. not now. not ever. he was going to have you, even if that meant knocking sukuna around abit.

part two out! 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

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emacrow · 3 months ago

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Jason doesn't believe Danny is phantom until danny revealed himself.

Danny fenton was slowly but surely capturing the hearts of Gotham city, both by the rich, the poor, and the most dangerous gothamites with his inventions.

The Batman and the Robins fully believed he is the 'supervillain' rogue Phantom but can't seem to figure out a way to reveal him as the same person.

It actually comedical in a sense like some defying Fate is stopping them.

Take last week, for example, with Plan 82.5 that tim goes to Danny's shop with broken laptop while batman is chasing after phantom is using his machine ray to shot at every rusty old and damaged single water pipes into brand new pipes in the sewer across the opposite side of the city.

They easily passed by Killer Croc, who is currently in a therapy session with Dr. Jasmine Nightingale in a newly made oversized apartment space made in the very sewer sitting in a modified comfy couch made just for him as they were discussing his past and currently relationship.

Unfortunately, that didn't work as Danny opened the door, in dirt and oil covered uniform to Tim to bring him in, not a second later after Batman lost Danny.

Jason on the other hand, doesn't believe them at all that this himbo in tall twink shaped form can't not be a the massive tall, four armed, 6 eyed rogue that is phantom.

Until danny revealed that he was danny phantom.

"I still don't believe you."

Danny sighed after he just tranformed in ghost form, before spreading his his arms out as two arms reform out, as his back stretches getting 6 feet taller then he was and his green eyes split into 6 mini eyes, his humans teeths became sharp as Fangs.

"Oooooh, good illusion and cosplay, danny. That not going to fool m-"

Danny stuck his hand in his chest without actually hurting him.

"Now you believe me?"

"..."

".. excuse me, I need a moment." Jason proceed to faint on the spot.

Part 1 here <-

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny is the ghost king #danny is like doofenshmirtz in gotham #he so evil that he is good #Tim and the robins are trying their best to unveil danny as phantom #only to not realized they are 20 steps behind #Jason is the only one who doesnt see it until danny reveal to him that he is phantom #jason has gotten better thanks to phantom #doesn't believe Danny is phantom at all like doofenshmirtz doesn't believe platypus is perry the platypus

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wlwcatalogue · 7 months ago

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A Gay Girl's Guide to Takarazuka

L to R: Sagiri Seina, Ouki Kaname, Amami Yuuki, Asumi Rio, Wao Youka, Asaji Saki, Shiraki Ayaka

If you’re queer and into theatre or Japanese media, chances are that you will have heard of all-female theatre company Takarazuka Revue… but it’s also equally likely that you won’t have checked out anything of theirs. For those who are curious but were intimidated by its over 100 years of history, or who just want a quick primer to ease in, click below!

1. Why get into Takarazuka?

L to R: Rei Makoto in Tiara Azul (2024), Yuzuka Rei

For those into androgynous women

As you probably already know, Takarazuka's big selling point is that it's an all-female theatre company where the male characters are played by women. The actresses are expected to continue presenting that way off-stage, which in practice means a lot of handsome women with short hair in binders and men's clothing... Why that might appeal to people who are into androgynous women (or GNC/enby folks) is pretty obvious.

Reality Check:

Sadly, after "graduation" (i.e. leaving Takarazuka), nearly all such actresses will transition into feminine presentation and take on female roles. It's similar to the "lesbian glasshouse" idea in Class S yuri, but for gender non-conformity. That said, there are some notable counter-examples: Shion Yuu and Nanami Hiroki have basically refused to change their presentation after graduating (the latter still frequently plays male characters in both anime and stage productions), and things are more relaxed lower down the rungs too.

L to R: Wao Youka & Hanafusa Mari, Sagiri Seina & Sakihi Miyu

For those into butch/femme pairs

Just as roughly half of Takarazuka's actresses specialise in male roles (otokoyaku/男役), there is another half specialising in female roles (musumeyaku/娘役). On top of that, Takarazuka is split into five different troupes, and for any given production, the male lead and female lead are automatically assigned to that troupe's "top star" (leading otokoyaku) and "top musumeyaku" (leading musumeyaku) - the "top combi".

Unlike leading pairs in other theatrical traditions, the "top combi" concept extends to them being marketed as a pair in interviews, magazine features, TV programmes, etc. Just watch the mini TV special where Sagiri Seina and Sakihi Miyu visit Tokyo Skytree and Sumida Aquarium-- it's basically a date, and is described as such by the commentating TV announcer. Likewise, Wao Youka and Hanafusa Mari were interviewed about being a "golden combi" by women's magazine Fujin Kouron (though to be fair this was after they had, improbably, managed to win a Kikuta Kazuo Theatre Award - an award for individuals - jointly, for their "splendid performance as a combi" in 2004's Boxman).

Taken to its extreme, there have been cases where the Japanese public have been convinced that a top combi was dating, as with the immensely popular 1980's pair Daichi Mao and Kuroki Hitomi... It's no wonder that the actresses themselves frequently describe it as being like an arranged marriage.

Separately, due to certain reasons, it's practically part of the job description for top musumeyaku to adore their top star partners. This, in theory, inadvertently creates a safe space for any top musumeyaku who could be gay for their stage partners... Just to illustrate, during her graduation speech, Hinami Fuu repeatedly referred to her feelings for her top star partner Hokushou Kairi as koi (恋), a word specifically denoting romantic love, and nobody blinked an eye.

Reality Check:

Due to conservative attitudes in both Japan and Takarazuka itself, most actresses go on to marry men, including many of those named above. Vanishingly few are publically out, though former otokoyaku Higashi Koyuki (stage name Aura Maki) is a queer activist and was one half of the first same-sex couple to be married in Japan, and another former otokoyaku, Misuzu Aki, has been living with her female partner in Europe for years. Just, well, don't forget that being married to a man isn't necessarily evidence of heterosexuality.

L to R: Asumi Rio in The Poe Clan (2018), Sagiri Seina in Rurouni Kenshin (2016)

For lovers of anime and manga

Takarazuka is probably best-known as the inspiration behind Revolutionary Girl Utena, Revue Starlight, Kageki Shoujo, and Sailor Moon’s Haruka and Michiru, but did you know that it also inspired seminal works featuring androgynous female leads such as Princess Knight? If you enjoy “prince-type” characters in yuri, you’ve got them to thank

Apart from inspiring anime and manga, Takarazuka also does quite a few animanga adaptations itself! Most famous are their Rose of Versailles musicals, but other popular adaptations include Ace Attorney, Rurouni Kenshin, Lupin III, Boys Over Flowers, and Hagio Moto’s bishounen vampire vehicle The Poe Clan. They’re also doing a Castlevania musical this year!

Wao Youka & Hanafusa Mari in Phantom (2004)

For the theatre nerds

Female Phantom of the Opera, duh

Jokes aside, Takarazuka’s unique position in the theatre world can't be overstated. As a rule, all-female productions are either smaller-scale, one-offs dependent on the work, or part of a theatrical tradition completely separate to Western-style plays or musicals (hello, Chinese Yue opera). Takarazuka is the exception: it offers productions comparable in size and scale (and budget) to the largest West End and Broadway musicals - it just so happens that it's all-female.

If the all-female aspect doesn’t excite you then why are you here, then let me emphasise again: Takarazuka is totally worth checking out as a production company in its own right. It is very much a part of the broader Japanese musical industry, and one of its powerhouses at that. Just take a look at some of these clips from past productions (all around 5 mins or less):

(a) Maeda Keiji - a musical loosely inspired by real-life samurai Maeda Keiji; features an uncannily convincing horse performed by two people in costume which needs to be seen to be believed (b) Ephemeral Love - a period piece about the doomed love between Prince Rudolph of the Hapsburgs and his lover Marie Vetsera (c) The Man Who Never Sleeps - a biographical musical about Napoleon Bonaparte (d) Casino Royale - an adaptation of the 2006 James Bond movie of the same name (e) BADDY - an off-the-wall sci-fi comedy featuring loads of velvet suits, silly shellfish outfits, and queerness.

Wao Youka and Hanafusa Mari in Dracula (2011)

2. Random Queer-ish Trivia

It's pretty common for former otokoyaku to be cast in WLW roles: Sena Jun headlined the 2018 Japanese production of Fun Home, Otozuki Kei cameoed as a lesbian escort in 2022 LGBTQ-themed J-drama Kojinsa Arimasu, and Seto Kazuya played the owner of a lesbian bar in 2024 yuri J-drama Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko. (Incidentally, Sal Jiang, the original creator of Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko, has mentioned being a fan of Sena Jun when she was younger)

Otokoyaku are sometimes mistaken for men, with amusing results: Yuzuka Rei was thought to be a “host” by a passer-by while talking to her fans, and Houshou Dai has mentioned being hit on by a woman before. But the prize goes to Todoroki Yuu, who like many women once had to rebuff unwanted advances from a man—except in her case, he thought that she was a guy

Before entering Takarazuka, Sou Kazuho – eventual Snow Troupe top star – went to a co-ed school and had long hair. To her confusion, this didn’t stop her classmates from asking her to play a male character (possibly the male lead, IIRC) in the school play. They saw her as an otokoyaku even before she did!

Continuing with the high school theme, former Cosmos Troupe top star Wao Youka has boasted about how in her high school days, she received more Valentine’s chocolates than her brother, and in fact second-most out of her year. Important note: she went to a girls’ school

Speaking of Wao Youka, her 2011 Dracula (see photo above) - from @cryoverkiltmilk's “Cunt Dykecula” post - wasn't actually a Takarazuka production! Since Wao was acquainted with and later married its composer Frank Wildhorn, some assume he was the one to cast her, and that Hanafusa Mari was brought in due to being her old stage partner. But Wildhorn had wanted Wao to play the female lead. It was she who insisted on Dracula. And Hanafusa wasn't just a third party... she had been Wao's manager since 2007, having retired from the stage after graduating and only just returned with 2010's Dietrich. (She played Edith Piaf, legendary chanson singer and “very good friend” of bisexual icon Marlene Dietrich, played by Wao.) Dracula was the swan song for their partnership, with Hanafusa going on to conquer the Japanese musical industry as she had Takarazuka-- but it marked the first, and so far only, time a top combi performed as romantic partners after graduating.

On a separate note, renowned queer photographer Leslie Kee has been responsible for taking the cover portraits for Takarazuka's offical monthly publication Kageki (歌劇) since 2010. You should definitely check out his ongoing "Out in Asia" project – he's taken literally thousands of photos of out queer people in Japan, Singapore, and Taiwan in a bid to raise visibility

Lastly, in November 2015, Takarazuka City became the first Japanese city outside of Tokyo to announce its support for same-sex partnerships… though this may of course be a total coincidence.

Flower Troupe in Takarazuka Fantasia (2015 Taiwan tour)

3. Where to Start?

Nearly all Takarazuka shows since the 1990's are available on DVD (earlier ones are on VHS), and these recordings are very well done - they have great video and audio quality, are well-edited, and use a large number of camera angles

They do livestreams and live broadcasts of performances as well! You can watch a livestream from your mobile or PC by spoofing your location. For a more communal experience, if you're in Japan, Taiwan, or Hong Kong, you can catch live broadcasts of Grand Theatre performances at a local cinema

VODs of selected productions are available on various platforms, including Amazon Japan, though this still requires location spoofing. If you're actually living in Japan, you can also consider subscribing to Takarazuka's official TV channel (yes, that's a thing) Sky Stage - they do a lot of reruns of past performances

With that done, here are several recommendations if none of the productions mentioned throughout the post caught your eye!

(a) Elisabeth - Michael Kunze and Sylvester Levay's musical about Empress Elisabeth ("Sisi") of Austria and the fall of the Hapsburg Empire, featuring an (inevitably very sexy) personification of Death and fantastic music. Takarazuka has done many, many productions of this, so just search them and pick whichever looks most appealing - but you won't go wrong with the 2014 Flower Troupe production, which has a very strong cast and a more refined version of the staging

(b) Phantom - Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston's adaptation of Phantom of the Opera. Though obviously not the ALW version, the music is actually pretty great and Takarazuka goes all-out on the costumes and stage magic. All the productions are wonderful, but my favourite is the original 2004 version (which is also the one which went viral on Tumblr before - thanks, @wheel-of-fish!)

(c) Rose of Versailles - no list would be complete without Takarazuka's representative work, buuut I wouldn't necessarily recommend starting here if you're looking for a typical musical experience. There are loads of productions to choose from - note that these are split between a version focused on protagonist Oscar, and another focused on Marie Antoinette and her lover Fersen - but the 1991 Moon Troupe production is my personal pick

(d) Casanova - a light-hearted romp in which Casanova is reimagined as a charming playboy who falls for the feminist-minded daughter of Venice's mayor... only, she doesn't know his real identity. The very catchy music was commissioned from Dove Attia, the producer behind French musicals Mozart, l'opera Rock and 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille. Check out the performance digest here!

(e) Shinjuu: Koi no Yamatoji - Takarazuka puts Chikamatsu Monzaemon's tale of the doomed love between a commoner and a courtesan to a classic rock score (see this clip!). An Edo-era work that doesn't just focus on samurai and nobility, this romantic tragedy offers a grounded look at the social pressures of the time. (Though if you do want to watch something focusing on Japanese nobility, I highly recommend Takarazuka original and guaranteed tearjerker Hoshiai Hitoyo.) There are quite a few productions of this, but I've only watched the 2014 Snow Troupe one, which was very good.

Thanks so much for reading! Please feel free to DM me or send an ask if you have any questions~ I definitely want to do a follow-up post on musumeyaku, and maybe delve into Wao and Hanafusa's history (it's messy, but fascinating)... but we'll see!

#takarazuka #musicals #theatre #elisabeth das musical #phantom of the opera #rose of versailles #butch #yuri #queer #ayaka is in love with hiroko #wlw recommendations #takarazuka revue #musicaltheatre

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cosmosluckycharms · 5 months ago

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Bug Like Angel

Till you tell me to leave

As you made your way to the living room, you looked at the long, gothic walls.

You saw all the family portraits.

The same ones you'd been forced to take.

In all the pictures you were in, you had a completely different style than the others

Damian was always telling you to dress a sort of way, just so you could be left out.

Ouch.

It got to a point that Bruce had assumed you were doing this on purpose, just to get attention.

So, he stopped bringing you to get the portraits done.

Thinking about that made you pissed, so you decided to put your mind to something else.

You couldn't wait to get the movie night over with, you could probably sneak away near the end and go a someone else's universe.

You calmed yourself down so the others didn't get suspicious and made your way to the living room.

You saw everyone sitting down, except for Dick, who was probably in the kitchen, getting snacks.

Everyone was talking and not noticing you, you were glad.

As soon as you turned around and were about to make your way back to your room, you heard it.

"Birdie!"

Dick.

You turned around on your heel, your spidey senses helping you dodge Dicks bear hug.

You saw how for a split second he had a slight face of shock, his blue eyes widening.

He put his hands on his hips. "And where do you think you're going?"

You tried your hardest to put on a poker face. You didn't want him to know you were slightly intimidated by him.

Sure, you weren't scared, or terrified, as you once were.

You were stronger now, everyone knew that, but now you didn't have the comfort of your friends to keep you grounded and safe.

"I, uhm, went to get a bottle of water. I'm thirsty." you lied through your teeth, you just wanted to get away from them.

Dick raised an eyebrow "From where? I just got back from the kitchen."

"From my mini fridge." you weren't exactly lying, you did have a mini fridge from years ago when you decided you didn't want to burden everyone by getting necessities like food and water.

His eyes lit up as if he just had a lightbulb moment. "Don't you think all those snacks and drinks are expired by now? We could go to get some more together!"

"No thanks." you shut it down before he got any ideas "I like going shopping by myself."

Before Dick could protest, you heard Tim's voice.

"Can you guys shut up and sit down?" he was clearly annoyed.

Before you knew it, Dick dragged towards the couch, patting the seat next to him.

You pretended to not notice him patting the seat and made your way towards the seat at the end of the couch.

You hesitated to sit down there, you weren't used to being invited to family hangouts.

You could feel everyone's judgemental stares towards you, you knew basically everyone but Dick and Bruce still didn't want you around.

You sat down by yourself while everyone was huddled up together.

You glanced at Dick and saw how saddened he looked that you didn't sit with him.

You could almost feel bad for him.

"Time to choose the movie." Alfred placed the remote on the glass table, and before you knew it everyone but Bruce, Alfred, and you were fighting with the controller, pushing, pulling, and punching.

You could almost laugh at how silly this was.

You almost felt like part of the family

Bruce watched as you had a sad smile on your face, and got an idea.

"Let Y/N get a chance to choose this time."

Suddenly everyone that was fighting froze in place. You suppressed a chuckle at how stupid it was.

Jason begrudgingly passed you the controller, somewhat aggressively.

You started scrolling through the movies trying to find one to watch.

You could hear the others whispering to each other, obviously a little mad they didn't get to choose.

You got nervous and took a minute or two picking one.

Everyone was getting impatient.

You finally found the movie you had been wanting to watch for a while.

One that you never got to finish.

Scary movie.

Literally, that's the name.

You clicked on it, and all the memories flooded back.

You and the other spider kids decided to sneak out to the movies.

You were walking towards the entrance of the theater, holding Peni's hand.

Gwen was holding hands with an obviously smitten Miles.

Pav was secretly taking a picture of them.

It was so cute how he had a crush on his own girlfriend!

Peni was holding your hand, and holding Margos in her other hand.

You had Bruce's credit card in your purse, which also had a bunch of snacks you were gonna sneak in.

Hobie was standing next to you.

You and he had yet again raided a 7/11, this time you hid the snacks in his hair.

Every time he took a step or slightly moved, you could hear the crinkles and crackles of the snack bags in his hair.

You tried not to laugh when you both made your way past the ticket booth and security.

While the others were discussing what they thought the movie was gonna be about, they felt a strange silence.

One that was only there for around 15 seconds.

One that was usually filled with laughter and joy.

Peni looked confused for a moment before asking, "Where did Y/N go?"

Before you knew it, everyone started scattering around looking for you.

Hobie and Pavitr both looked inside some of the theaters, maybe you snuck into a theater?

You weren't there, so they kept looking.

Margo and Peni were looking in the security cams, only for them to be broken because a certain someone (Hobie) 'accidentally' webbed them in a penis shape.

Gwen and Miles looked in the parking lot, maybe you went to get something from the car?

They all decided to meet up together to find you.

As soon as they got to the lobby, they found you buying all the overly expensive snacks and giving them away to other families.

Peni ran to you and tackled you in a hug "Y/N!" her tackle somehow managed to throw you onto the ground

You hugged her back, slightly confused "Hey guys!"

Margo offered you your hand "We were so worried about you!"

"Why? I was gone for like, two minutes!" you chuckled, taking her hand

Gwen dusted off a piece of chocolate from your cheek, presumably from a chocolate bar you had around half an hour ago "I swear, we need to put a harness on you!"

"Oh c'mon, don't you guys think it was a little overkill to go around panicking looking for me?" you playfully punched the side of gwens shoulder, smirking

"One time we thought you went missing for a week only for you to be on an earth no one is allowed in and somehow made a horse army?" Miles crossed his arms in a way that sort of reminded you of his mom.

Pavitr nodded "One time you didn't reply to any of us for a month because your phone was dead and you lost the charger, and you also lost your watch somehow, so you were literally off the grid"

"One time we were at the mall and I turned around for a minute and somehow we found you across the mall at a petstore." Gwen added

"This is my life and y'all are just living in it." you dramatically put your hands on your hips, which made Peni giggle.

"Just to let you guys know, the movie starts in like, 3 minutes and we haven't made it to our seats." Margo pulled up the tickets from her pocket

You all looked at each other and booked it to your seats.

You all made it just in time, the trailers had just ended.

The movie was good, but what made it great was all your friends around you.

Hobie was asleep, his legs leaning on the chair in front of him.

Peni had her head on your shoulder, watching the movie.

Miles and Gwen were playfully throwing popcorn at each other and Margo was the only one 100% focused on the movie.

After that, it was all a blur.

All you can remember is an anomaly coming in and wrecking everything.

You and the others had to fight off the anomaly together, and secretly bring it to the society without the spider parents knowing.

Unfortunately, that meant you never got to finish the movie.

You smiled at the memory, which surprised the others because a jumpscare had just happened.

"L/N, why are you smiling?" Damian asked, his green eyes squinting at you.

"Nothing, I just remembered something funny. Also, I don't use L/N anymore, I go by O'hara now."

Bruce grabbed the controller from your hands and paused the movie.

"What?" you saw his eye slightly twitch

"Yeah, don't worry about it." you tried to unpause the movie, only for the controller to be barely out of reach

"Did he make you change your name?" Dick got up and questioned, standing next to Bruce

"no, he didn't force me, I'm attached to him like a parasite. He's never getting rid of me." you joked, nervously. You just wanted to go back to your room.

"How exactly did you change your name?" Bruce put his hands on his hips

"surprise adoption." you fidgeted with your bracelet out of nervousness,

"what does that even mean?" Jason spoke up, turning his head to look away from his phone and instead at you.

"I got hurt one too many times, and while I was delirious I asked him for probably the millionth time if he could adopt me. he obviously couldn't, so we met halfway and he let me have his last name." you said casually.

Suddenly dick and Bruce were scolding you.

You pretended not to be affected, and just got up and stomped back to your room.

You locked the door and started crying.

You could lie and say that you didn't care about them, but the truth is that their yelling at you made you feel 10 years old again.

You felt like the same kid that was ignored and pushed around by them.

You just wanted to go home.

Suddenly, you heard a slight buzzing.

You looked for where it was coming from and saw it was coming from under your bed.

You looked under your bed and saw it was your watch.

You quickly typed Hobies universe number and left.

As soon as you got there, you made your way to his trailer.

You knocked on the door and made your way inside through the window.

As soon as you got in, you sat down on his chair that could spin.

You tried to go on your phone to check the time, only to remember you left it on your bed earlier.

Hobie walked in, holding a cup of water "Coulda’ just used the damn door, you know."

You spun around in the chair playfully "I don't believe in using doors!"

"Good. Neither do I. Doors are overrated." He leaned on the wall next to him.

You guys fell into silence. Not an awkward one, but a comfortable one.

You stood up, stretching "Wanna get outta here?"

"thought you'd never ask." Hobie grabbed his guitar, and you both walked out

Your family was at the dinner table.

Dicks leg was shaking, and Bruce was staring at the spot you were supposed to be seated at.

Everyone else's conversations were still going on, but there was a slight linger of your perfume there.

It was ironic that even after years most of your family didn't notice you were gone.

They were halfway through their meal when a portal popped up close to them.

Their eyes all widened as you fell in your suit, crashing into the fancy glass table, fighting a green goblin, Hobie not far behind.

While you were trying to push Green goblin back into the portal, you looked around to see your whole family looking at you, concerned.

"For fucks sake!" you punched Green goblin and you both fell into the portal again.

This just left your family with more questions than answers.

As they studied the now broken glass table, they also thought about the portal you fell through.

How many times has this happened?

How many times have you gotten hurt and they hadn't noticed?

A couple of minutes later, they watched as you and Hobie both fell through another portal, this time without the green goblin.

You flopped onto the floor and Hobie flopped onto the couch.

Dick started running to you about to ask if you were alright, only to hear you start laughing out of exhaustion.

Hobie got up from the couch and helped you get up.

You realized your family was in the room, and decided to introduce Hobie to them.

You grabbed his wrist "Uhm- this is Hobie, uh, is my friend.

"Your family watched as you nervously fidgeted with hobbies studded bracelet.

Everyone stared at you awkwardly, and you just started walking to your room.

"Y/N-" Bruce started

You ignored him and started walking faster.

After an hour or two, there was music blaring throughout the manor that vibrated through the floor.

Everyone could hear it despite having earplugs in.

It was time to put an end to this.

Jason started making his way up to your room, preparing himself for the worst.

He didn't even bother knocking, he just made his way in.

He expected to see you both sneaking out, smoking, or just anything bad as an excuse to kick Hobie out.

Only to see you and him gossiping and giggling while you were putting makeup on him.

Jason tried to make out what you guys were saying, but it was impossible due to the loud music.

Your spidey senses went off and you both looked at Jason.

Dick slightly flinched at you both looking at him in sync.

"Can you guys put down the volume? No one can sleep and it is 1 am." Jason put his hand on his neck

"Yeah, my bad." you put down the volume and continued gossiping with Hobie.

You felt his stare on you as he stood next to where you were sitting on the bed with Hobie.

You raised an eyebrow at him "Can we help you?"

He sat down next to you, only for you to scoot away from Jason and move closer to Hobie.

The room fell into an awkward silence until he finally left.

As soon as the door closed, you let out a sigh of relief.

"Jeez, can they hop off my dick for once?" you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

"tell me about it."

You started falling asleep towards 3 am.

You were trying to stay awake despite it being late at night (or early in the morning?)

Either way, you ended up falling asleep while leaning on Hobies lap.

Hobie smiled as he picked you up bridal style and tucked you into bed.

It wasn't the first and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

He kissed your forehead and left through the window.

An hour or two later, Dick went to check up on you, only to see you peacefully sleeping in bed.

You had a black lipstick stain from Hobie on your forehead.

Dick frowned from that but started making his way out of the room.

That was until something caught his eye.

A guitar.

Not like the one you had, this one was red and had..unique stickers...

He grabbed it and made his way out of your room.

He could ask you about it the next morning.

i have a headache help

this took SO LONG im so tired help

this is ass lmfao sorry its so rushed it felt not rushed while writing it help

taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!): @bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213 @sirenetheblogger @awawage @holybatflapexpert @vanessa-boo @ryuushou @whiskeygirl7 @seemeee3 @inojinieeee @oliviaewl @djpuppy-kittens @w31rd3rg1rl @br33zy-blizzardz @eyeless-kun @strangelymid @twismare @cat-lover-over-9000 @jaemindontberude @galaxypurplerose @paastaboi @senhoritaapple @whiskeygirl7 @chezze-its @toastloverr @antov828 @mirai-in-the-headspace @vanilliona @anuttellaa @the-dumber-scaramouche @writing-flower @otterluver05 @wizzerreblogs @mycatateit @icryat2 @lunamonkeypower @1abi @ghost-Orch1d

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splitminiusa · 2 years ago

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digitialwonderland · 3 days ago

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Doe hybrid!reader x predator hybrid!TF 141 x herbivore hybrid!KorTac

Part 3

It had taken you a while to recuperate after the initial greetings with KorTac, but that didn’t bother the guys too much. Nikto was perfectly content to hold you as a purring mess in his arms. And when his arms got tired? König took his place as an even larger wall of warmth, holding you close to his chest as his savory scent washed over you. Horangi requested to have you in his lap during the truck ride to the safe house, but Ghost outright snarled when he offered.

So you ended up sandwiched between Ghost and Soap on the truck bench. With Simon’s hand firmly on your thigh and Johnnys tail swooshing angrily at your feet. The air was tense. Well, at least on the 141 side of the car. Your teammates glare over at the KorTac members, their territorial instincts practically pouring out of them. But all the herbivore hybrids did was watch you. Their eyes were everywhere, you could feel them. On your ears, your lips, the marks that were still dark on your neck.

Your eyes darted around nervously, trying to find something to focus on. Maybe the vent, no. The rustling canvas, no. Your eyes wandered helplessly, then suddenly, they snagged on Horangi’s amused smirk. His smile grew, and before you could look away the buck hybrid shot you a teasing wink.

A hot red blush burned on your cheeks and from that point on you settled with looking at your shoes.

The safe house was rather nice compared to others you had been in. With the combined budget of both TF 141 and KorTac, you could afford luxuries like a sparkling mansion that was actually big enough to accommodate this many hybrids. Everyone filed out of the truck and immediately split off to find a room they liked. You ended up discovering a really nice one, with a large bed that sat under a window. You took a little while to set up a small nest, but then set back out to wander through the home.

The sun had begun to set, so the whole building almost seemed painted in gold. Even for the minimalist design of the place, the sunlight perfectly drew out the beauty in it. You wandered down the hall, listening to the quiet echo of your own footsteps when you caught the whisper of voices ahead. Shit. Was it your team? Or KorTac? Why did you feel anxiety for both? Your team was still feeling angsty no doubt, they were a territorial bunch. But KorTac? Your nerves buzzed and gathered a certain warmth to your chest. Jesus, just an hour and you already felt bonded to these strangers.

Despite all the anxiety the made your ears twitch and your hands tremble, you continued to walk towards the voices. It was only a few feet before the hall opened up into one of the houses many lounge spaces. The room was massive, and almost designed like a mini amphitheater. In the center, the floor dipped into two or three steps before landing on the rooms second level, which formed a massive oval. That space was empty, well, of furniture. To your absolute horror, Horangi Aksel were in it, their shirts no where to be seen, and their antlers locked as they wrestled.

If you were on an emotional roller coaster already, then this was the big drop. Both of the men glistened with sweat, their angry gasps for breath were loud enough to be heard from where you stood. Your eyes snagged on the massive back tattoo that rippled over Horangi’s muscles. It was a beautiful design, with Korean writing and figures that you didn’t recognize. When your gaze dragged to Aksel, your eyes immediately hooked on his physique. His biceps bulged as he tried to overpower Horangi, with every movement, his back shifted, showing off muscles you didn’t even realize existed. Then, there was his chest and stomach, dare you say he was built like Price. All dark hair and that little bit of pudge over that, clearly visible, six-pack.

Suddenly, your ears were up, and your tail was wagging so fast you feared it might fall off. Truly, this was despicable.

A low, rolling grunt drew your attention up to the back of the room in a snap. The entirety of that wall and was dedicated to furniture. A luxurious couch extended itself from corner to corner, coffee tables and comfy chairs almost seemed to be drawn to it like magnets. Taking up space in the middle of the couch were Hutch and Fender, König sat between them, his arms draped over the back of the couch like he was claiming it entirely as his. As well as the large men on either side of him. It had been him who called, you could recognize that moose’s low huffs from just a few hours before. But no matter, it was all three of the men who were now burning you to ash with their eyes.

You hesitated to even breathe. Would you dare to step in, spend more time with this herd? Indulge? Your mind screamed no but something deep in your gut begged for it. Be greedy, it whispered, you have only a week before you will have to leave again.

So, you stepped inside. Horangi and Aksel didn’t even notice you, they were still tangling their antlers together. For some reason, you were glad, you might have some time to adjust before needing to address how your mouth was watering over those two. “Hey there sweet thing,” Fender greeted, his big, open, bull ears twitching with delight against his even bigger horns.

“Hi,” you answered, poorly disguising your nervousness.

He chuckled, the sound deep and full bellied. König joined him, tilting his head to the side as if to get another angle of you. “Don’t let the bucks make your anxious, liebe. They just like to roughhouse to get their energy out.” He reached forward, gently grabbing your hand from your side and pulling you closer. “C’mere. Let us hold you some more, while we wait for dinner.”

You hesitated, letting out a soft whimper. But when you fell into König’s lap all that same delight from before returned. You melted into his hold, letting him coil one of his big arms around you. “There’s a good little doe…” he murmured, reaching up and massaging one of your ears. “Should get more used to spending time with us.” A soft, chirpy purr vibrated in your chest. From your new position, you got a better look around the room. The far wall was made completely with windows, giving a perfect view of the forest that surrounded the villa. On the wall across from you, a large TV buzzed with a random show. And tucked in the corner between them, there was a small kitchen area, where you could see Nikto making something.

“Like a little engine she is,” Fender smiled, reaching over and gently lifting your feet into his lap. “You got a herd back home, darling?”

The question startled you a little, were you supposed to? I mean sure, you knew that lots of herbivores chose to stick close to their home towns and surround themself with like hybrids. But that had never been the world you grew up in. You lived on base, that was the only home you knew. And with your parents living hours away, the only family you had grown accustomed to was the task force.

Fender gently ran his hand over your shin, massaging the muscles that were tense and working his thumb into knots he could find.

“I’ve never really had a herd.” You answered. They all froze, and Fenders hands stuttered on your leg.

“You-“ Hutch started but then cut himself off and let them fall into silence once more.

Slowly, panic started to rise, knotting in your throat. “I mean, my teammates are a herd I guess….” That was a poor excuse, the task force was a pack, but that was close, right? Their attention suddenly felt like it was crushing you, it felt like you were being squeezed out of whatever box you had so comfortably been living in. “I-I should just-“ you made a move, trying to get off of König’s lap, but his arm coiled tighter around you.

“Little one, what do you think Horangi and Aksel are doing?”

You paused, looking back down to where Aksel was trying to pin Horangi. “Fighting”.

“Play fighting”, he corrected gently, “do you know why?”

You watched, tracking the movement as Horangi twisted and pinned Aksel down, ending the fight by shoving his antlers down on Aksel’s. Both men panted, their faces only inches apart. Their legs were a tangled mess, and their hands were locked together. The sight was…charged. After your long pause of silence, you felt König’s finger gently pressing on your jaw, bringing your gaze back to him. “They don’t just do it to get energy out, they do it to bond, to test and feel each other’s strength.”

He gently guided your eyes over, “and Fender. Why do you think he was just massaging your legs?”

Your mind stuttered, trying to come up with an answer that seemed right. “He was being nice?”

A small huff of laughter escaped him, but he shook his head. “He did it because we are raised to cherish and take care of the people in our herd. We are meant to rely on each other, that’s how our team works.” He guided your eyes back to his, meeting your gaze with his bright blue one. “A pack is not the same. It breaks my heart that a sweet doe like you has gone so long without experiencing it.”

“I love my team.” You stated, knowing in your heart that it was true. Even if they weren’t herbivores like you.

König nodded, you could see as his eyes crinkled, hinting at the smile that hid under his hood. “I don’t doubt that one bit. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be afraid to stick around. See what it’s like to be in a herd. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

Fender started to work his fingers into your leg again, easing the ache in your knees and thighs. Slowly, you started to relax again. But then, the smell of sweat and sweetness filled your lungs. A hand curled around your throat, it squeezed, then slid up to cup your chin and tilt your head back. “Hey there, doll.” Horangi smiled down at you, his chest still glistening with moisture.

A high, melodic chirp burst from your lips. Your eyes went wide and your tail wagged furiously behind you. That smile of his turn down right devilish. “Such an eager little thing…” he leaned down, keeping his hand under your chin as he brought his face to yours. He hovered just inches away, then he nuzzled his nose into yours, releasing a deep, satisfied purr. Your eyes fluttered shut, unable to help yourself, you leaned into him, nuzzling in return. Then, he did something you didn’t expect. His soft, salty lips came down between your brows, pressing a small, almost affectionate kiss there.

Your lips parted, letting out a shuddering breath. Then, he was pulling away again, smirking down at you and giving your throat another small squeeze before he backing away. “I’m going to shower.” He declared, as if nothing had just happened. Then he turned, sauntering away towards the door.

You felt a pleasurable little chill run down your spine, when you looked away your cheeks were flushed a bright red. Your unbridled mind wandered to dangerous places. Of how Horangi would look as water ran down his body, how he would feel pressing you against the shower wall.

You reached up, grabbing your ears and tugging them down as if to try and cage your mind in. A soft laugh sounded from behind you, “don’t hurt those pretty ears, sweetheart.” Aksel stepped up, standing where Horangi just had. His rough fingertips dragged over your knuckles, loosening your grip on your ears. They flopped free, flicking about as if he had just released two birds. He tisked softly, leaning down and pressing his lips to your hand. The kiss was warm and tender, it shot a small chill through you. But before you had a chance to enjoy it, a low, menacing growl came from the doorway.

All eyes shot back, your head whipped towards the sound, spotting its source. Gaz stood there, his fangs bared and his tail thrashing angrily behind him. His eyes darted to where you sat on König’s lap and another territorial snarl escaped from him.

You were scrambling up in the next second, ignoring the way all their grips seemed to tighten. “Gaz…” you murmured, crossing the room quickly.

His hazel gaze darted down to you and dilated. “With me. Now.” He reached out his hand, sliding it into yours without hesitation. You didn’t even get a chance to look back before he was tugging you down the hall.

In absolute silence he pulled you into a room just a few doors down from your own. “You fucking smell like them.” He growled, grabbing ahold of your hips and shoving you down into the large nest he had made. “You are our doe. Not theirs.”

His body came down on your own, forcing your legs apart and pressing you down onto his bed. “Gaz…” you gasped, but the only answer you received was a low growl. This wasn’t the first time he has been like this. Surprisingly enough, Gaz was normally the first to drag you back to his nest when his instincts got triggered. But something about his anger being directed at KorTac made your heart ache.

He buried his face in your neck, nuzzling insistently. And when he was satisfied with that he focused on your hands, rubbing his cheeks into your palms and growling when he caught a whiff of the KorTac’s sweet scents.

He stayed like that for a while, nuzzling, claiming, crawling all over you. When he was finally satisfied, he curled up around you. His tail draped over your leg and his arms holding you close to his chest. He purred quietly as he nodded off to sleep. Leaving you to consider everything that had happened. Everything that König had said and everything that your team meant to you. You laid awake like that, letting your mind toil while your heart ached and tugged your thoughts back to KorTac.

Eventually, you slipped out of Gaz’s hold, adjusting him comfortably back in his nest before leaving. If you could, you would have stayed all night. But with everything that had happened, a shower seemed liked the most appealing idea in the world.

*jazz hands*

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aleksatia · 2 months ago

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Don't know if you will accept this one because not everyone is comfortable with writing for pregnancy trope. But i will try. 😭

Imagine the reader is pregnant, and for some reason, she can't get to the hospital or opted for giving birth at home, and the labor starts with just the reader and the boys, how would they react? (Zayne would go well, I guess lol)

Anyway, I gotta say I am obsessed with your writing ✍️ 🤤🥰

It honestly took me forever to get this request done, but here it is—finally! I ended up splitting it into two parts, including a bit of my own experience with childbirth.

The main challenge was that, even when extreme, birth tends to follow a similar pattern. I didn’t want to lean into unnecessary drama, so I approached it differently: wrote one complete mini-fic and turned the rest into short drabble-style sketches, which I’ll be posting here.

You can read more about Xavier/MC’s story here. I chose him simply because I hadn’t written anything focused on him in a while—and it just flowed (from pen... well, keyboard) that way.

CT/WT: birth scene, childbirth, emergency birth, home birth, water birth, airplane birth, snowstorm birth, intense emotional content, partner support, soft!men, vulnerable!men, protective partner, found family, twins, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, fatherhood, new dad energy, birth fic, drabble collection, first-time dad, emotional whump, soft smutless intimacy, love confession, trauma comfort, birth complications, raw vulnerability, medical emergency, no smut just feelings, domestic intensity. Headcanon!!!

🖤 SYLUS — The Moment He Realizes It’s Up to Him (Home Birth, Unprepared Conditions)

The Second It Clicks: You gasp. Double over. He’s at your side in a heartbeat. “Is it time?” You nod. Pain. Panic. Wet warmth. His blood freezes — then boils. No hospital. No doctor. No help. Just him.

His First Thought? “Fuck. No. Not like this. You deserve better.” Not chaos. Not uncertainty. Not cold floors and towels that aren’t sterile. He’s Sylus — he controls everything. But this? This is the one thing he can’t delay, buy, or dominate. It’s coming. Now.

Terror?Not for himself. For you. For the pain in your eyes, the grip of your hand, the sheer fragility of the moment. His entire being rallies like a war horn blaring inside his chest. “If the universe put this in my hands, then it’s getting the best fucking performance of my life.”

What he does first:He lowers you carefully to the bed. Kisses your knuckles, even as he’s barking quiet orders into a phone no one picks up. His voice is deep, steady. But his heart is galloping. He never lets you see it. Never lets his fear break through. You deserve certainty, and he’ll give it to you — even if he’s unraveling at the seams.

What He Says:“Kitten. Look at me.” You do. Eyes wide. Brave. Terrified. “You trust me?” You nod. “Then breathe. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. I always have.”

What He Feels:You’re vulnerable. And you’re still the strongest creature he’s ever seen. He wishes he could take the pain. Rip it from you and carry it in his own bones. But this is your war. And all he can do is be the sword and the shield. “Don’t you dare break on me, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

And when you cry out —Something inside him shatters. Not weakness. Not panic. Love. The kind that could burn cities. The kind that makes gods kneel. He wipes your brow with trembling fingers, and for the first time in years, he whispers: “Please. Just let me do this right.”

The First Push:Your nails dig into his forearm. Hard. He doesn't flinch. He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. “That’s it. Breathe through it. I’ve got you.” Your body trembles. He sees it — the pain, the fear, the fight. And God, he’s never loved you more than in this bloody, imperfect, holy moment.

The Next Contractions Hit:They're relentless. And so is he. He’s on his knees beside the bed now, sleeves rolled, jaw locked, hands steady but heart breaking. “You're doing so good, kitten. So fucking good. I'm right here. Ride it. Ride it out. You're the strongest thing I've ever seen.” He keeps talking because your cries are the sound of his soul ripping open. He wants to scream with you — but he doesn’t. He can’t. You need him iron-clad.

When the Baby Crowns:For a split second, he freezes. The sight undoes him. It's real. His voice catches. He swallows hard. Then acts. Fast. He speaks softly but firmly. “Almost there. Just one more, baby. Give me everything you’ve got.”And when you do — when you scream and bear down and sob his name — the world shifts.

The Birth:The baby slips into his hands. Warm. Fragile. Alive. He catches it like it’s made of light. For a moment, he just stares. His lips part, but no words come. This. This is his child. His hands are shaking now. Bloody, trembling. But when the baby cries? He lets out the most ragged breath of his life. “You did it,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You fucking did it.” He ties and cuts the cord. Precise. Careful. Reverent. Wraps the baby in a soft towel and places it in your arms. And then? He just watches. Like the world cracked open to show him something he never thought he was worthy of.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He doesn’t move from your side. Doesn’t let go of your hand. The men in white bark questions. He answers in clipped growls, still on alert. They try to move in too fast, and he snaps, “She’s fine. You move when she says so.” The room is full now — but all he sees is you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:He sits beside you, one hand on your leg, the other gently stroking the baby's tiny back. His shirt is soaked, his knuckles still stained, his eyes rimmed red. He doesn’t speak for a long time. Just breathes in the shape of you. Watches you like you might disappear.

And then he says it, raw and low:“I’ve killed for less than the pain you just went through.”“You scare me,” he adds, almost smiling. “Because I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did.”A pause. His voice softens. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

How He Is With You After: He won’t leave the room for the first 24 hours. Won’t sleep unless you sleep. Won’t speak unless it’s to you. Every time you shift, he’s there. Water. Blankets. Warm palms. He touches you like you’re made of fire and stardust. And maybe you are. You brought life into the world — and now he’s a man who’s seen a goddess bleed and survive.

What’s Changed? Everything. You’re no longer just the woman he worships. You’re the mother of his child. And he’s never been more dangerous, more devoted, or more in awe. And when he finally holds the baby in his arms, whispering something in a voice only the stars can hear, you catch the look on his face — as if the king of the underworld just met the one soul that could make him believe in heaven.

🎨 RAFAYEL — Water Birth Gone Off-Script (But You're Still His Masterpiece)

The Second It Clicks:You gasp. A real one. Water shifts behind the door. He hears it — not the splash, but the silence that follows. Brush mid-stroke, he freezes in the studio. Palette still in hand. Then he hears you call his name. Soft. Urgent. Different. His heart misses a beat. Oh. Oh, fuck. It’s time.

His First Thought?“Cutie, not yet — where’s the damn midwife?” This was supposed to be smooth. Music, candles, soft towels, help. He practiced. Took notes. Learned everything. But you’re contracting, you’re gripping his arm like a lifeline, and that carefully prepared plan just drowned.

Terror?Only for a split second. Then? It turns into motion. His version of war. No armor. Just bare skin, water, and wild love. He tears off his silk shirt, drops to his knees beside the tub, and cups your face. Eyes blazing. Smile trembling. “You’ve got this. I’ve got you. Let’s be legends, sweetheart.”

What He Does First:Lights dimmed. Calm playlist turned off. That’s not helping. He speaks instead. Constant stream of velvet and madness — anything to keep you in your body. He checks your breath, strokes your arms, pours warm water down your back. He holds your thighs when the cramping gets too much. “Breathe, Cutie. Moan if you need to. Scream. I’ll scream with you.”

What He Says:“You’re the most divine creature I’ve ever painted and you’re not even trying right now.” “Do you know what it does to me — to see you bring life into the world? I’m ruined.” “I love you. You’re terrifying. It’s magnificent.” “I’m not ready, but I’m so ready. Are you ready, sweetheart?” He laughs and cries all at once. Classic Raf.

What He Feels:Absolute awe. Like watching a volcano give birth to the moon. You’re in pain, and he’d trade his soul to take it away —

But you’re also gorgeous. Power and surrender. Fury and grace. He watches you like a living epic, memorizing every second. And somewhere deep down: terror. Because he’s about to meet a little soul that already feels like the most important thing he’s ever waited for.

And When You Cry Out —He flinches like someone hit his body. Then kisses your forehead. Then your shoulder. Then your fingers. “I know, I know, my love. You can hate me right now. But when it’s over, you’re going to be a fucking goddess in my arms again.”

The First Push:He holds you. Literally. Behind you in the tub, your back pressed to his chest. Whispers in your ear like poetry, nonsense, love confessions. His hands steady your belly. His cheek presses to yours. “Push. With me. Right now. Pretend the stars are watching.”

The Next Contractions Hit:You sob. Scream. Curse. He laughs through tears. “That’s my girl. Go feral, baby.” He doesn't pretend it's easy. He matches the chaos. You scream louder? He screams louder. You sob? He hums a lullaby in broken Lemurian. And when you break? He stitches you back together with every ridiculous, poetic, stupidly beautiful word.

When the Baby Crowns:He feels it before he sees it — the shift in your breath, the way your body tenses like a storm breaking. “Cutie — he’s here. He’s really here.” He helps you lean forward, moves behind and then lower, one arm steadying you as he shifts to kneel in the water. And then he sees it — the beginning of everything. His voice is gone. His hands shake. But he stays.

The Birth:The baby slides into the water. Raf catches him like he’s catching a star falling into the sea. He brings him up gently, lets him cry, and then stares — completely undone. He places the baby on your chest with reverence. Then breaks. Just breaks. Weeps silently as he holds you both.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He answers the door shirtless, soaked, with red-rimmed eyes and a feral look. “Too late,” he snaps. “She did it herself. I just got to be lucky enough to watch.” Then walks past them, back to the bathroom, because he’s not done looking at you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:You’re in bed. Baby asleep. Candles flickering low. Raf’s lying next to you, propped on an elbow, fingers lightly tracing invisible constellations on your arm. His voice is almost a whisper. “You made something I could never paint. Not with all the colors in the universe.”

Confession:“I used to think love was chaos. Fire. Tragedy.” He swallows. “But you — carrying him, birthing him — you made me believe in something bigger than all that. Something gentle.” Beat. “Still chaos. But now… now I want to live in it.”

How He Is With You After:He won’t stop touching you. Ever. Cheek pressed to your stomach. Hand around your ankle. Lips to your collarbone. He calls you his ocean, his cathedral, his everything. Gets jealous when the baby gets more attention, then sulks dramatically — only to melt the moment the baby yawns.

What’s Changed? He didn’t think he could love more than he already did. But now he’s ruined. Completely, gloriously yours. He paints you every day. He stares at the baby like a spell. And every night, he murmurs: “Cutie, I would live a thousand lifetimes just to land in this one with you.”

🛩️ CALEB — 35,000 Feet Up, When the World Falls Apart (And You’re the Only Thing That Matters)

The Second It Clicks:Your breath hitches. You shift. Then freeze. He knows your body too well — something is off. You whisper, "Caleb…" He looks at you. And in that one heartbeat, he knows. It’s happening. Here. Now. Too early.

His First Thought?“No.”Not like this. Not at cruising altitude. Not without equipment, backup, time. You were supposed to have two more weeks. He had a plan. A perfect one. And the baby just threw it out the emergency exit.

Terror?It brushes him. A ghost against the back of his mind. There’s a moment — sharp, almost blinding — where every instinct screams: get to the cockpit, take the controls, force the descent, get her to a hospital, make it stop. Not the birth — your pain. The helplessness. But Caleb is a fortress — fear doesn’t get through the walls. Not when you need him solid. Not when your breathing goes shallow and your fingers dig into his thigh. He shuts it out. Cold. Calculated. He stays. Right where you are. “Handle it.”

What He Does First: Turns to the nearest flight attendant — she’s pale, shaking. “Get blankets. Towels. Water. First aid kit. Everything. Now.”Then he takes your hand. Squeezes once. He shifts the cabin — clears seats, turns it into a command zone. Straps you in, kneels in front of you like you’re his entire mission.

What He Says:“Breathe.” “Look at me, not the chaos. Me.”“You're safe. I'm here. I’ll get you through this.”“No one’s going to touch you but me. You hear me?”Low, controlled. The voice of command — but laced with something raw. The kind of voice that means he’d rip this plane open and land it with his bare hands if he had to.

What He Feels:Failure. Because this wasn’t the plan. Because he let you on this plane, knowing the risks. Because you’re in pain and there’s nothing he can shoot or order or carry to fix it. But above that — something bigger. Something anchoring. You’re about to give him a child. His child. And he’s never been more terrified or more in love.

And When You Cry Out —He stops breathing. Just for a moment. Then grabs a wet cloth, wipes your forehead, presses his mouth to your knuckles. “It’s okay. I know. I know it hurts. Just hold on, love.” He doesn’t flinch when you scream. He braces for you. Becomes your wall.

The First Push: He helps you brace your legs. Talks you through it. Counts your breaths. His voice doesn’t shake. You’re gripping his shoulder like you want to break him — and if it helps, he wants you to. “Push. Right now. You can do it. I know you can.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come fast. Brutal. You’re soaked in sweat, sobbing, slipping in and out of focus. He holds your gaze. Forces you to stay present. “Stay with me. Just me. Eyes on mine.” He’s not just commanding your body now. He’s anchoring your soul.

When the Baby Crowns:His jaw locks. There’s blood. Pain. A sound from you that breaks something in him forever. But then— “I see the head. One more. One big push, baby. Do it for me.”He’s never begged in his life. Until now.

The Birth:The baby slides into his hands — hot, wet, alive. He holds it like it’s a grenade and a prayer. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then moves on instinct drilled in from every medical video he obsessively watched in the weeks before. Wipes the face. Rubs the back. Hears that first cry. And his shoulders slump like he just survived a war. He lays the baby on your chest with military precision— But his hands are shaking. And his voice is gone.

When the Plane Lands:Paramedics are already waiting on the tarmac. The moment the wheels hit the ground, he’s on his feet, securing the baby, then lifting you into his arms — no hesitation, no discussion. Your body wrapped in his jacket, his grip unshakable. “She stays with me,” he tells them — low and final. He carries you down the stairs himself, eyes scanning every face like a soldier clearing a field. And when the medics move in, he doesn’t flinch — but he watches every hand. Every word. His eyes never leave you. He’s still on the battlefield.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again: The baby’s wrapped and asleep. You’re in a hospital bed now, monitors quiet, lights dim. Caleb sits beside you — still in his flight-worn clothes, hands resting on the edge of the mattress like he’s holding the line. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you breathe. As if any second, the universe might try to take you again.

Confession:“I don’t know how to do this part.” Soft. Almost a whisper. “I know war. I know strategy. I know how to keep you alive.”A pause. “But you just gave me everything, thirty-five thousand feet above the world. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

How He Is With You After: Hypervigilant. Keeps you warm. Fed. Rested. Checks the baby’s breath every ten minutes. Doesn’t leave your side — not even to sleep. Carries you to the bathroom if he has to. Barely talks. Just does.

What’s Changed? He always thought his job was to protect you. Now he knows — you are the reason he fights. You made life, in midair, with nothing but pain and instinct. He’s seen you soft. He’s seen you in love. Now he’s seen you divine. And no enemy will ever get close again. Not even turbulence. And definitely not labor at 35,000 feet — because he’s never letting you board a plane pregnant again. He’s already planning the next birth. Controlled environment. Ground-level. Walls. Doctors. No sky. No chaos. Just you, safe — the way you were always supposed to be.

🧊 ZAYNE — Snowcrest Emergency (Twins, a Storm, and You in His Hands)

The Second It Clicks:You’re at the stove, stirring a pot of mulled wine, the scent of cloves and orange peel curling through the wooden walls of the chalet. Snow presses against the windows like a soft white fist. Then something shifts. You freeze. One hand goes to the edge of the counter, the other to your belly. Your breath catches — once. Twice. Too sharp. Zayne looks up from the hearth, where he was stacking firewood. Sees your face. Sees your hands. His mind clicks into motion before you can speak. Contractions. Strong. Rhythmic. A month early. Twins. It’s happening. Now.

His First Thought?“No hospital. No OR. No neonatal equipment. Two infants. High-risk environment.” His mind races: What’s missing? What can he improvise? What matters most? You. He recalibrates in milliseconds. The plan has changed. You’re the plan now.

Terror?He doesn’t let it register. But for the first time in a decade, he feels his pulse spike without choosing it. This is not a patient. Not a clinical environment. This is you. And his hands — hands that saved hundreds — suddenly feel too slow, too human.

What He Does First:Takes control. Quietly, precisely. “Lie down. Left side. Pillows under your knees.” Gets gloves. Clean cloths. Lantern light. Wipes the counter. Boils water. Checks your pupils, your breath rate, heart rate. Starts counting contractions. Voice — steady as marble. “Vitals are within threshold. We’ll manage.” He doesn’t say "I’m scared." He sets his jaw and becomes the machine you need.

What He Says:“Cut the noise. Focus on me.” “Deep breath in. Hold. Now exhale slowly.” “You’re safe. I have you. Nothing’s going wrong under my watch.” And softer, almost like it slips out against his control: “You’re not doing this alone. I’m here.”Then quieter still, barely audible over your breathing— “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not with me.”

What He Feels:A depth of protectiveness so massive it short-circuits logic. He can’t afford emotion — so it burns quietly behind his ribs. Every sound you make, every twitch of pain — he catalogs it, files it, calculates it. But somewhere behind the math, something whispers: “These are my children. And she’s the one I never deserved.”

And When You Cry Out—He doesn’t flinch. But his jaw locks, and he moves faster. More towels. More warmth. Calmer voice. He adjusts your position, murmurs into your hair: “I know. I know, love. It hurts. You’re strong. You’re going to get them here, and I’m going to catch them. I promise.”

The First Push:““Push with the contraction. Not before.”He watches your breath, cues your muscles, syncs with your rhythm like surgery. You scream. He doesn’t blink. Just steadies your knee, keeps his voice low and close. “You’re doing it. This is the part that ends it. The worst is behind you.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come harder, closer. You’re shaking. Your body starts to give. Zayne grips your hands, brings your forehead to his. “You’re not breaking. You’re giving life. Do it. I’m right here.” He says it like a command. But his voice catches.

When the Baby Crowns:It’s fast. First twin is anterior. Textbook. Zayne’s gloves are slick, but his hold is perfect. The baby slips into his hands — screaming. He wraps, clears, breathes. Then glances up at you, and — for half a second — his breath stutters. One down. One more.

The Birth (Second Twin):This one’s trickier. Breech. Zayne’s hands move with silent grace, guiding you, shifting your hips, protecting you from the risk. It’s intense. It’s dangerous. But he handles it like a master. The second baby arrives blue. He doesn’t panic. Just acts. Clears airway. Stimulates. Waits — cry. Only then does his chest move again.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He meets them at the door. Calm. Precise. These are his colleagues — people he trusts. He listens to every reading, watches every movement. They confirm what he already knows: vitals are steady. No signs of immediate risk. He should transfer you. He planned to. But then you look at him — raw, pleading, exhausted. And he recalculates. “We’ll monitor here. Twelve-hour window. I’ll oversee everything myself.” He’s already wrapping you and the twins in fresh blankets, resetting the monitors. His voice is steady. His posture sure. But his hand doesn’t leave yours. He’s not just responsible. He’s personally invested. In this. In you. In all three lives now resting in his hands.

Confession:He speaks only when you touch his wrist. “I’ve never been this scared.” A beat. “And I didn’t let myself feel it. Until now.” Another pause. “You and them — you’re the only variables I can’t solve. And I think I’m okay with that.”

How He Is With You After: Meticulous. Attentive. Understated. Charts feed schedules. Tracks sleeping patterns. Never wakes you if he can help it. Takes night shifts. Warms bottles. Still quiet. Still reserved. But touches you more often now — almost absently. A thumb to your wrist. A hand at your back. Like he can’t not.

What’s Changed? Something in him has shifted — quietly, irreversibly. He was a man of logic. Now he’s a man of you. He doesn’t smile often — but when he looks at the twins, something in his eyes softens in a way he can’t quite explain. And every time you cry — from exhaustion, or joy, or pain — he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Tell me what to fix.” Even if he knows he never could. Because he’ll try anyway. For as long as you’ll let him.

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ryescapades-archived · 5 months ago

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꒰ ooc ? suggestive ꒱ doing this trend with your lads bf and seeing that split second of him faltering when he feels you squeezing your thighs around his hips mid-pull.

you'd almost think zayne was unaffected by it, but the slight pinch on his forehead and the faint grunt under his breath tell you otherwise. he finishes the workout and gently sets you down before turning away and adjusting himself lest you notice the tent growing in his pants.

you would've felt bad for disrupting the workout but the way xavier's chest stutters, clumsily fixing his grip on the horizontal bar above you had you bursting out a mini fit of giggles. though that doesn't go on for long, for the almost begging look on his face results in you nearly tripping over your own movement.

rafayel narrows his eyes as the two of you finish your pull-ups, his brain already thinking of ways to get back at you. there's lot of... methods, of course. one of them ends with you squeezing your thighs around him in a whole other scenario but for now, he'd have to settle with tickling you to oblivion, or something. he'll eventually get to that part of squeezing sooner or later anyway.

sylus raises a challenging brow at you. he returns his feet to the ground before engulfing your waist between his palms, legs still hooked over his tapered waist and deliberately adjusting you in his hold. you freeze, core brushing against his pelvis in a not-so-innocent way which earns you an amused glint in his crimson gaze.

caleb lets out a sudden laugh, raspy and breathless and half in disbelief. his biceps strain as he does another pull, with you following his motion. you expect him to do the next one as well, so you pull. but then he didn't. which causes you to unintentionally press harder against him, sliding along his hips in a salacious grind as he smirks victoriously at your flushed face.

#very much ooc bcs i dont even play the game but here i am #been sharing sm lads edits w an irl today #<- i was enabling her delusions #so i'm here to enable chat's delulus as well #rye.exe 🪄#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader

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muniimyg · 8 months ago

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♡ 05: i bet we'd have really good—

series m.list // taglist

note: wowie,, thank u for 1.5k and for being so patient 💛 i’m so happy to be ending this mini fic and to have been interacting with u all :) my apologies if this ch sucks LOL i'm so sick rn but i'm tired of rewriting n writing... so enj !!! it's been so fun and i can't wait for more fics to come in 2025 !!! kisses my kitties😽💓

⏱️ this part goes thru time skips!

💭 which bed chem jk moment was ur fave?

warnings: tension/slow burn (friends first yk),, mean!jk trying to figure out how to be nicer to oc,, jk calls oc baby and kitty !!! teasing/dry humping (bc jk has glasses on. jk plays with her titties/nipples & jk cums thru his sweatpants),, jealousy (v teeny tiny),, virginity talk/actual sex; oc loses her virginity to jk (jk eats her out/fingers her, ass slapping, dirty talk, rawdogging,, missionary, doggy, blowjob/headpushing & face cumshot)

it’s been a week since jungkook kissed you, and he has made it your problem.

truth be told, he has made a game of this—hovering without hovering… just close enough to test the line. whatever way he plays, jungkook is always shameless in the most subtle and maddening ways.

sometimes his hand brushes yours as you walk, light and fleeting… and it’s impossible not to notice the way his fingers twitch. it’s like he’s debating whether to grab it or not.

you don’t make it any easier on yourself, either.

there’s this suffocating tension between you two and some days are better than others… like today.

“why are you so quiet?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder.

he tilts his head, feigning confusion.

“why? does the silence make your heart race?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, and that’s when he strikes—his foot nudging yours mid-step. it’s just enough to throw you off balance, making you stumble slightly, your bag slipping again.

“jungkook!”

he’s already reaching out, catching the strap before it can fall.

“careful,” he says, his voice all mock concern, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.

you glare at him, yanking your bag out of his grip.

“you’re the one who tripped me.”

“prove it."

"seriously?"

"if you can't prove it... you have to kiss me. you know, as compensation for accusing me so unjustly." he says, wide-eyed and innocent, though the corners of his mouth are curling into a smirk.

it’s infuriating, but it’s also... not.

not when he’s looking at you like that, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin and is thoroughly enjoying it.

“do friends kiss?” you narrow your gaze at him. “do friends trip each other over? do friends—“

“do friends wait for each other?” jungkook leans towards you. “mhmm? do friends have ulterior motives—”

“you have ulterior motives?”

“oh, absolutely.”

friendship.

it’s odd to say the least—the way you and jungkook have fallen into this friendship. that’s what you’ve both agreed on.

friends.

but the lines are blurry.

so blurry they might as well not exist at all… because what kind of friends kiss on the cheek as casually as saying hello? what kind of friends text each other goodnight every single evening, or linger too long in conversations that could end with a simple goodbye?

the rules of your agreement feel more like suggestions—ones jungkook seems intent on bending just enough to keep you guessing. and you let him, which might be the strangest part of all.

… because deep down, you know this isn’t just friendship. not with the way he looks at you, his gaze lingering a second too long, or the way his touch always feels like a question he’s waiting for you to answer.

but maybe that’s the thing about blurry lines—they give you just enough room to pretend you don’t already know where you’re headed.

yet, even with all his teasing, there’s a hesitancy to him sometimes—a split-second pause when your hands brush, a quiet shift in his expression when he catches you looking at him. it’s like he’s still figuring out how to balance whatever this is between you, testing the waters but not wanting to dive in too fast.

and honestly?

you feel the same.

it’s why you let him get away with stuff like this. why you don’t pull away when his hand accidentally-on-purpose brushes yours for the third time in as many minutes. why you don’t tell him to stop following you to your study spot or showing up outside your class with some excuse about “just being in the area.”

because the truth is, you like having him around.

you like the way he keeps you on your toes… even if it’s by trying to trip you up, only to catch you before you fall.

and maybe—just maybe—you like the way his smile softens sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking.

tonight, the group decides on a night out.

the street food spot everyone agreed on is already buzzing when you get there, the warm glow of string lights crisscrossing above the narrow alleyways, casting soft shadows on the busy stalls below. the air is alive with the scent of sizzling tteokbokki and freshly steamed hotteok, mingling with bursts of laughter and the occasional pop of oil from a nearby grill.

you arrive late as usual.

by the time you weave your way through the crowd, the others have scattered, splitting up to hunt down whatever caught their eye.

that’s when you spot him.

jungkook leans lazily against a lamppost near the edge of the main street, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a stick of half-eaten odeng. the glow from the lights above reflects faintly in his dark eyes, making them look warmer than usual, though his expression stays comfortably neutral—like he’s been waiting.

but he doesn’t mind.

“you’re late,” he says as you approach, not even bothering to straighten up. his voice is low, unbothered, but there’s something teasing in the way his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk.

“i’m literally 5 minutes late.”

“still late.”

jungkook takes one last bite of the fish cake before tossing the stick into a nearby bin. he steps closer, casual but deliberate, and before you can come up with a snappy reply, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

it’s smooth—too smooth.

it’s like he’s been doing it forever.

you barely have time to register the warmth blooming in your chest before he’s grabbing your hands, shoving them unceremoniously into the front pocket of his hoodie along with his own.

“jungkook—”

“your hands looked cold,” he says simply, his tone light, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

his fingers shift slightly, brushing against yours, and though his expression stays neutral, you catch the subtle curve of his mouth—the smug kind he tries to hide but never quite manages.

you roll your eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and let out a sigh...

but you don’t pull away.

“i have gloves.”

“they're ugly."

you glare at him.

"... and you have me."

the air stills.

“what?” he asks, his shoulder bumping yours as he starts walking, steering you toward the first row of stalls.

“nothing.”

but the corner of your mouth twitches. you try to hold back your smile.

he catches it, of course.

his grin widens, soft and slow.

jungkook nudges you again, this time with more intention. you can feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric, steady and sure, even as the cold night air bites at your skin.

you can't help but give in. a laugh escapes your lips as you nudge him back. jungkook laughs too, but pulls you close at the very last second.

he breathes you in.

the first stall serves fresh tteokbokki, steaming and spicy. the scent alone makes your stomach growl, but jungkook is already a step ahead, paying for the food before you can reach for your wallet.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you say, trying to grab a pair of chopsticks from the tray.

he beats you to it, of course, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with the kind of exaggerated precision that makes you squint at him. then, he places the chopsticks in between your fingers.

“feed me," he says.

“absolutely not."

he steps closer.

“okay, fine. i’ll feed you—”

you shove the tteok in his mouth.

he chews, chuckling and enjoying your choice.

“you’re so annoying,” you tell him as he swallows.

“really? am i?”

“really. you are."

jungkook shrugs.

then, he takes the chopsticks and picks up a tteok, and feeds you. he watches closely as you chew, his wide eyes fixed on your face in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“how annoying?”

in between chews, you fixate on his smirk. as he leans into level with you, you almost choke at how his nose nearly brushed yours. you can feel the weight of his gaze, daring you to say something.

“jungkook…” you warn, your voice flat, but your hands betray you. they reach up to cup his cheeks, and though your intention is to shove him back, you don’t.

instead, your thumbs press lightly against the soft skin of his jaw as you squint at him.

“what’s this smile?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “what are you so excited over, bestie?”

his expression flickers for a second, his brows twitching in annoyance at the word. you know he hates it when you call him that. bestie? who are you even talking to?

“your lips look cold. can i warm them up for you?” he asks suddenly, his voice dropping low enough to send shivers down your spine.

you scoff, warmth creeping up your neck. “nice try—”

“no, no, i insist,” he interrupts, tilting his head slightly, pretending to think it over. “don't want you to be all cold and shit.”

“jungkook.” your tone is sharp, but it’s laced with amusement, and he knows it.

“what?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his lips curving into a smirk. “you said you want to take things slow. i’ll kiss you real slow—”

your jaw drops.

“you’re impossible.”

he stands back up with a grin, his hands still in the pocket of his hoodie, keeping yours snugly tucked inside. he rocks back on his heels, clearly pleased with himself.

“let’s not pretend we don’t know what we know.”

“i don’t know much,” you retort, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “i’m not a nerd—”

“yah! hurry up!” taehyung’s voice booms from a stall across the street, breaking the moment. you glance over to find him waving dramatically, his other arm slung around yoongi, who looks less than thrilled.

“we found the mandu!” taehyung adds.

“mandu sounds good,” jungkook says as he gives your hands a small squeeze. then, he gently pulls you toward the others. "let's go."

“stop dragging me around,” you complain, though you don’t actually try to pull away.

“you’re walking too slow.”

but you aren’t.

you know you aren’t and so does he… but you let him hold your hand anyway.

a week later, jungkook feels like he might piss himself.

he leans against the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone for the 5th time in as many minutes. his thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to check his messages again, even though he knows there’s no point.

you haven’t replied yet.

the fundraiser for marine conservation is tonight, and he’s been pretending it’s no big deal... but fuck.

he was so nervous when he asked you to go with him and now he feels like all his efforts are being wasted.

...

“so, uh,” he starts, his voice a little too casual, “there’s this fundraiser gala thing on friday night. save the dolphins thing—a-and… it’s no big deal but—”

you glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“yeah? sounds fancy.”

he shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “i guess it is. it’s a black-tie kind of event… and i, uh… i was thinking... maybe you’d want to come with me?”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden invite.

“i hate dolphins.”

“i know.”

you sigh, pretending to be burdened by his request. “but i’ll go. if you want me to.”

“i do want you to.”

“okay.”

“good,” he breathes, glancing over with a lopsided grin that he hopes hides how nervous he actually feels. “you’ll make me look good. people are suckers for pretty dates.”

“oh, so you’re using me as a prop?” you tease, though your lips twitch into a smirk.

“obviously,” he replies smoothly, though his grip on the wheel tightens slightly. “but, hey, it’s a dinner, you get to see my in a tux which is practically dessert—.”

you shake your head, laughing softly.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“so ridiculous that this can count as our first date?” he presses, glancing over again, this time with a flicker of uncertainty he hopes you don’t catch.

after a beat, you sigh dramatically, turning in your seat to face him.

“it’s a date.”

just as he’s about to make another comment, you lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek, catching him completely off guard. his hands freeze on the wheel for half a second before he recovers.

“you missed—”

you laugh and hit his chest. then, he gets out of the car, helps you out, and walks you to your doorstep.

...

now, as he sits alone in his room, the anticipation bubbling just under his skin, his phone buzzes on the counter. his heart skips for a moment before he grabs it, only to feel it sink as he reads your message.

yn [4:31PM]: nurse said it’s food poisoning yn [4:32PM]: she gave me some meds to help but i literally feel like shit yn [4:33PM]: i don’t think i’ll be able to make it tonight, baby :( i’m so sorry nerd [4:34PM]: don’t apologize. i’ll be over in a bit yn [4:35PM]: what ?? no !! get ready for your event. it’s important nerd [4:35PM]: so are u yn [4:36PM]: i’ll survive. go save the dolphins :p

his brows knit together as he reads it again, leaning back into the couch with a frustrated sigh.

he knows he shouldn’t feel disappointed—you can’t control being sick, and it’s not like this event means anything special.

at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself.

still, he stares at the message for a long moment, debating whether to reply right away or wait a few minutes so he doesn’t seem too eager. his fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally types out a response, keeping it short and light, like he’s unbothered.

nerd [4:40PM]: get some rest. i’ll be telling everyone you ditched me tho yn [4:41PM]: be sure to let the dolphins know too 🙂

he lets out a chuckle, but the weight in his chest doesn’t go away.

he tosses his phone onto the coffee table and rakes a hand through his hair, wondering why the idea of showing up without you feels so much worse than he’d expected.

then, his phone buzzes with messages from the fundraiser committee.

yet, he can only think of you… it’s a sinking feeling in his chest.

you’re sick.

the thought of going to that event while you’re home feeling miserable doesn’t sit right with him.

he sighs, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over his head. he knows this is unprofessional and such an pussy excuse but—forget the event.

it’s you that matters to him the most right now.

so, jungkook calls his event and lets them know that something came up. he tosses aside his tux and puts on comfier clothes before heading to the kitchen to make you some chicken noodle soup.

before he heads out, jungkook hears a familiar groan from the living room. he turns, already annoyed, knowing exactly who it is.

jimin and taehyung are stretched out on the couch, looking like they’ve been hit by a truck.

their faces are pale, eyes glassy with fever, and they groan as they shift under the blanket. it’s obvious they’re just as sick as you, if not worse.

“yo, jungkook,” taehyung calls out, voice nasally, “did you make soup? be a good boy and give us some—”

jimin, equally pitiful, sits up a little and gives jungkook a pleading look. “yeah, we’re starving, man. plus, you’re not gonna leave us to die alone, right?”

jungkook raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

“you won’t die from starvation.”

“how are you so sure?”

“cos i’ll kill you first,” jungkook snorts. “you guys got my girl sick with that stupid omelet you made her.”

the two of them groan in response, sitting up slowly. taehyung rubs his face with his hand. “we didn’t mean to! bro, look at us. you think we wanted this? we’re sick, too, you know.”

“yeah,” jimin adds, “there’s two friends sick here for you to take care of.”

jungkook just looks at them, his gaze hard.

“who do you think i’m gonna choose right now?”

jimin squints, looking him up and down. “don’t you have that gala tonight?”

jungkook hesitates for a split second, but quickly shakes his head, giving them a dismissive wave.

“it got canceled.�� he lies.

then, he turns away to head out the door. before he leaves he yells; “i’ll text yoongi hyung to make you some soup. don’t bother me. not coming home tonight.”

about 25 minutes later, jungkook stands in front of your doorway and his gaze falls on you as you open the door.

you're wearing his oversized t-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, and a pair of shorts—looking exhausted and a little pale. his stomach churns with worry, but he keeps his cool as always.

"what are you doing here? the gala..." you trail off, but before he can answer, you quickly turn and rush to the bathroom.

"shit," he mutters under his breath, following you at a steady pace.

when he enters the bathroom, you're already kneeling over the toilet, retching. his heart drops, but he doesn’t flinch. moving to your side, he gently pats your back.

“it was this bad?” he grumbles, a frown pulling at his lips. “why were you downplaying it through text?”

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, barely acknowledging him.

“i’m fine, seriously. just... just a little nausea.”

“fuck, ___..” he snaps, but his voice isn’t angry, more like exasperated. "this is stupid. you can’t be alone if you can’t even handle standing up to get the door without throwing up. are you fucking serious?." his eyes are narrowing now, the concern clear despite his snappy tone. “what the hell, ___?"

you sit back on the floor, leaning against the wall, your face pale.

“i already bailed on the date. i couldn’t let you bail on the gala entirely.”

he shoots you a look, incredulous.

“you think I’d rather be at a gala without you? honestly?”

“i just—"

“shut up,” he interrupts, his voice softer but firm. "you need someone. i’m here. deal with it."

there’s no room for argument in his voice.

you give him a tired smile despite the situation, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“you shouldn’t be here, though.”

“say that again.”

your lips tighten.

then, you gag and rush back to the toilet bowl. jungkook remains by your side, rubbing your back as you deal with another wave of nausea.

the moment is quiet except for the soft sounds of you breathing in between. for a second, it almost feels like everything has stopped, like it’s just the two of you in your small bathroom, nothing else in the world mattering.

after 40 minutes of hovering over the toilet, jungkook gets you settled on the couch.

he brings you water and asks if you’re down for some food. he brought over chicken noodle soup and you need to have something in your stomach before taking your medicine. you simply agree and wait for him to serve you.

as you eat the soup, he scrolls through netflix and plays something. he talks for most of it and it helps distract you from feeling the full extent of your sickness. after you’ve eaten some of the soup he brought, you ask him to grab the medicine from your bag.

“can you grab the other medicine bottle from my bag? the one the nurse gave me?”

jungkook, of course, doesn’t hesitate.

he gets up and finds your bag in your bedroom. he pulls open your bag and begins rummaging through it, looking for the bottle. when his hand brushes against something thick and solid, he pulls out a book titled, “everything you need to know about dolphins a to z.”

his eyebrows furrow for a second as he stares down at it.

he doesn’t know why, but a strange warmth spreads through him. it’s pretty obvious why you have this book—but seeing it in your bag... it makes him pause.

his lips tighten slightly as he puts the book back down in your bag, quickly hiding his reaction. he doesn’t want you to see how much it’s affecting him right now.

when he returns with the medicine, his expression’s back to its usual, nonchalant self. as much as jungkook wants to pretend like he didn’t see it or that seeing it didn’t matter—he can’t.

to him, it mattered.

it mattered a lot.

a few days later, you’re sitting across from jungkook in the library.

the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows and casting a golden glow over the table. textbooks and notebooks are scattered between you, his handwriting messier than yours but still oddly charming. you’re mid-sentence, asking him about his opinion on a the newest theory you learned during your lecture when he suddenly tugs off his crewneck, revealing the black t-shirt clinging to his frame underneath.

it’s warm in the library, the kind of cozy heat that sneaks up on you, and he doesn’t think twice about it.

but you do.

“woah—” you blurt out, your question forgotten as your gaze catches on his arms. you've seen his tattoos before but for some reason... they look different to you now.

they appeal different to you.

jungkook looks up from his notes, brows raised.

“what?”

you blink, trying to refocus, but your eyes betray you, flickering back to the ink winding its way down his arm.

“your tattoos,” you say, almost dazed. “they’re... really hot.”

“think so?”

“yeah,” you admit. “gets me horny. ”

you then feel the warmth crawl up your neck as the words leave your mouth. you quickly look back down at your notes, hoping the earth might just swallow you whole.

jungkook freezes for a moment, the tips of his ears turning the faintest shade of pink. then he shakes his head, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. it’s not his usual confident grin—it’s softer, like he’s caught off guard but not in a bad way.

he doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

you try to ignore the way he shifts in his seat, casually stretching his arms behind his head like he’s showing off—not that he’d ever admit it...

for the next two weeks, jungkook suddenly seems allergic to long sleeves.

he starts showing up in short-sleeved t-shirts, rolling his sleeves higher than necessary when he wears his uniform jacket, and leaning in just a little closer when he knows your gaze will drift.

“you’re shameless,” you mumble one day, catching him flexing—not subtly—while reaching for a book on the top shelf.

“what?” he asks innocently, glancing down at you with those wide eyes that don’t match the smirk tugging at his lips.

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin.

“you’re annoying.”

“why? are you horny?” he says, his voice low enough to make you want to shove him.

you don’t answer, but the way you avoid his gaze—and the small smile tugging at your lips—says enough. he notices, of course, because he always does.

after a few moments of silence, you huff at him.

"is everything you say always so... dirty?"

he shrugs.

"you brought up being horny first..."

"yeah, but—"

"you think i'm dirty?" jungkook interrupts you. "should i shower?"

you scoff at him. before you can say anything, he adds;

"you’d join me though, right?"

a month later, jungkook does it again.

you find yourself standing in the middle of your apartment—he shows up.

your phone is clutched tightly in your hand as you try to blink away the tears threatening to spill. the call you just had—a frustrating, heart-wrenching argument with your family—leaves you feeling raw and small. the weight of their words presses heavily on your chest, and all you can do is stare blankly at the mess of papers scattered on your desk.

a sharp knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. you freeze, wiping at your cheeks hastily, but the door creaks open before you can say anything.

"is that my hoodie?"

"jungkook—"

“you haven't been answering my texts all day,” jungkook says, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. he’s holding a bag of takeout.

"everything okay?"

“i’m fine,” you say, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound convincing.

he narrows his eyes at you, placing the takeout and hoodie on your coffee table before crossing his arms.

“yeah, no.”

you try to argue, but he’s already moving, shrugging off his jacket and plopping onto the couch like he owns the place.

“whatever it is, you don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, pulling out containers of food. “but you do have to eat. and i’m not leaving until you do.”

your throat tightens at his matter-of-fact tone, his presence somehow both comforting and overwhelming. he doesn’t pry, doesn’t demand to know what happened.

“you didn’t have to come,” you murmur, sinking onto the couch beside him.

“yeah, i did,” he replies, handing you a pair of chopsticks. “and don’t even think about pretending you’re not hungry.”

a small, shaky laugh escapes you, the tension in your chest loosening just a little.

“you’re so annoying.”

“friends are supposed to annoy each other. learned that shit from you.”

jungkook’s door swings open with a suddenness that startles him.

the faint squeak of the hinges cuts through the quiet. he’s mid-motion, towel slung around his neck, tugging a loose white shirt over his head when you stroll in without so much as a knock. he’s also wearing grey sweatpants…

wet hair, white shirt, and grey sweats?

the holy trinity.

“you know,” he begins to scold you. “boundaries exist for a reason.”

he shakes his damp hair as you plop onto his bed like it’s yours.

“boundaries?” you scoff, grabbing your plushie. your precious hello kitty plushie. “this is practically my second home.”

he doesn’t argue, just lets out a quiet chuckle as he pulls the hem of his shirt down.

holding up the plushie like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. “can i take her home today?”

“sure,” jungkook says, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of teasing confidence and barely veiled challenge. he leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching with a smirk as you clutch the hello kitty plushie tightly to your chest, as if it’s your only lifeline against his charm.

“can i be your boyfriend today?”

you groan, throwing yourself back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, the plushie landing on your face.

“seriously? you’re really holding this poor plushie hostage?”

he laughs, low and amused, pushing off the desk and taking a few steps closer.

“a deal’s a deal,” he says lightly, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he towers over you. “you can take her home—when you’re my girl.”

you yank the plushie off your face, sitting up sharply.

“do you think we’re better friends?” you huff, your tone indignant but your heart racing under the weight of his gaze.

jungkook crouches slightly, leaning in until his face is just a few inches from yours. his smirk softens into something more playful, but the shift in proximity makes your stomach flip.

“i think so…” he murmurs, his eyes flickering between your face and the plushie pressed against your chest. “aside from me trying to kiss you every chance i get and you being horny every time you see my tattoos—”

you narrow your eyes at him, holding the plushie tighter, as if it’s a shield against the way he’s looking at you.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave as he moves even closer, one hand bracing on the bed beside your knee, the other reaching out to gently brush his fingers over the plushie’s soft fabric. “here you are.”

his free hand slides around your waist, tugging you just slightly toward him, and your breath hitches. “but if you don’t want her…” he teases, his voice trailing off as his face inches closer to yours. his gaze dips briefly to your lips, and before you can fully process it, he’s leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

except you shove hello kitty between you two just in time.

“nope!” you say quickly, holding the plushie up like a barrier, your cheeks flaming as you hear him laugh, the sound vibrating through the air between you.

“seriously?” he says, pulling back just enough to raise an eyebrow, though his grin never falters. his hand stays firm at your waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in slow, lazy circles. “you’re really using her to block me?”

“you started it,” you shoot back, glaring at him even as your grip on the plushie tightens.

“fair,” he admits with a chuckle, straightening up slightly but keeping his hold on you. his other hand moves to tap the plushie’s head. “but the deal still stands. not my girlfriend, not your hello kitty.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he tilts his head, his grin softening, though his hand still lingers at your waist, his warmth impossible to ignore.

“i don’t know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

you glare at him again, this time with less heat, and shove the plushie into his chest.

“you’re insufferable.”

he laughs, taking the plushie from your hands but not letting you go.

“maybe,” he says, “but you’re still here.”

hours later, the room is quiet except for the soft scratch of jungkook’s pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of his chair as he shifts at his desk. you’re curled up on his bed, the hello kitty plushie still clutched against your chest, your breaths slow and steady as sleep overtakes you.

he glances back at you every now and then, a small, unspoken fondness softening his features. when you stir, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, he turns back to his notes, feigning nonchalance.

you pad over to him, your steps muffled against the carpet. without a word, you slip onto his lap, one arm draping lazily over his shoulders as you pluck his glasses from his face.

“good nap?” he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation as you slide the frames onto your own nose. “those—”

squinting dramatically, you nag him; “ugh, how do you even function with these? everything’s blurry.”

“that’s because they’re prescription, genius,” he says, reaching for them, but you lean back, keeping them out of his reach.

“maybe i’ll keep these,” you tease, poking at the side of his head. “you can’t study without them, can you?”

“give them back, or i’m kicking you off my lap,” he warns, though his hands settle firmly on your waist instead of following through on his threat.

“yeah, sure... because you hate this so much.”

“try me,” he challenges, his grip tightening just slightly as if to prove his point.

“you’re so bossy,” you grumble, sliding the glasses off and placing them haphazardly on his desk. “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” he says dryly, though his lips twitch upward.

you lean closer, your face just inches from his, your playful smirk softening into something quieter, more genuine.

“you know, you’re really cute when you’re all serious, studious, and grumpy.”

“and you’re kind of annoying when you don’t let me finish studying,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his words.

“fine, fine,” you say, preparing to climb off his lap with exaggerated dramatics. “go be a nerd. i’ll be over there cuddling hello kitty—”

“i could use a 5 minute break.”

you fix your posture, perking up.

“really?” you tilt your head at him. “i mean… i’d hate to distract you.”

“really?” he mocks you. “you’re sitting on my lap and moving your hips and yet—you’d hate to distract me, huh?”

you nod innocently. then, you shrug and confess;

“i’m bored.”

“what do you want me to do about that? this final is really important—f-fuck. ___, don’t move like that.”

you shift again.

“like what?”

“you know what you’re—”

“what am i doing?” you ask, leaning your body closer to his. you caress his face and pout at him. “is 5 minutes even considered a break? don’t you need more time?”

“more time for what?” jungkook lowers his gaze at you.

“i don’t know,” you giggle. “what do you wanna do?”

jungkook can’t take it.

playing cat and dog or whatever this bullshit is.

you’re on top of him, prettier than ever. you’re wearing a low-cut tank top with a fucking bow in the middle… and he can’t breathe anything in except you. what is he supposed to do right now?

“___… if you don’t get off me—”

“if i don’t get off you… what?”

you smile at him softly. shifting again, you drag your hips towards him. his eyes widen.

“i might cum.”

you pout. “really?”

jungkook swallows.

“keep moving your hips like that and you’ll find out soon.”

“oh…”

a beat.

“like this?”

before he knows it, you’re humping him.

he grunts as he feels himself harden under you. you bite your bottom lip as you drag your hips back and forth. you feel the pressure against your clit as your clothes rub together.

jungkook hisses at your pace.

“f-fuck..”

as he bucks his lips, he places his hands on your waist, helping your movement. you let out a few breathy moans and jungkook feels like he could die.

you’re so pretty.

his hands tighten around you when he senses that you’re close.

“am i doing this right? it feels—feels g-good.”

“yeah? feels good, baby?” jungkook breathes.

“mhmm…”

“do you feel my dick?” he asks. “feel how hard it is against your fucking pussy?”

“i do,” you moan. “so big, jungkook. can i take it soon?”

he hisses.

“promise me,” you whine. “promise me that you’ll fuck me soon.”

jungkook’s breath hitches.

he was wrong.

that time he ran his mouth about your virginity being too much or a burden or something—fuck was he wrong.

it’s not a burden.

it’s the greatest privilege he could ever be given… now to have you like this? begging like that? holy shit is he more than ready to give you anything and everything you want.

“promise, baby,” he says. “promise it’s gonna be me.”

you nod, happy with his answer.

and just as you’re about to continue, you take his hands to your tits. first, he squeezes them… then you guide them to the strap of your tank top. taking the cue, jungkook tugs your straps down, revealing your bare tits.

“___…” he moans. “shit.”

you bring his hands to your tits again, helping him cup them. as you hump him with more intensity, jungkook’s mouth parts. your tits bounce up and down and it sends shivers down his spine. your tits are so full in his hands and so fucking perfect up close. he loves all of it—the shape, the size, the way it feels… so soft. he’s always been an ass type of guy but holy shit—your tits are a game changer for him.

nevertheless, he tries to focuses on you.

“bouncy.”

“yeah?” you pant. “you like them?”

jungkook nods pathetically.

he fights shutting his eyes. he wants to remember all of this. every detail.

how hard he is right now. how hard your nipples are and how they feel being played in between his fingers. he runs his thumb around them, pressing, squeezing, and tugging… he loves how your moans sound—like they’re music to his ears… he can’t… he can’t picture anything else. he can’t hear anything else. he can’t breathe anything in but you.

“jungkook…” you cry, feeling yourself about to climax.

“s-shit,” he hisses as you begin to whimper.

the humping is great.

amazing in fact—but the way you’re whimpering right now?

fuck.

“jungkook,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath. “a-are you close? mhmmm… f-fuck!”

you hump him faster and harder. he lets out a few moans before sharply inhaling—

“o-ohh,” jungkook moans. “nghhhh… fuck.”

you grind on him slowly, easing his release. his crotch area is wet, making an obvious stain on his grey sweatpants.

he throws his head back. you lean over and kiss his neck. he bites his lip, attempting to hide his smile.

a silence fills the room.

you two are in total disbelief.

then, you shift and he places his hands on your waist again.

“did you cum?”

he lets out a chuckle. “yeah. did you?”

“i think so? i don’t know.”

“sorry,” he sighs, a little disappointed you didn’t get to finish. “do you wanna—”

“it’s fine that i didn’t come. i had fun…”

jungkook shakes his head. “no, it’s okay. i can—”

“can i see?”

jungkook blinks at you.

“what?”

“you came right?”

“yeah—”

“can i see what your cum looks like?”

some days with jungkook are so easy, it’s almost laughable.

the dynamic feels less like a friendship and more like a game you’re both playing—teasing, flirting, seeing how far you can push before one of you finally gives in.

but then there are days like this.

it’s been 3 month and a half since the kiss, and the comfort between you has grown in a way that makes everything feel light, almost effortless. you’re more yourself around him, and he’s let down his walls in ways you didn’t even realize were there.

still, sometimes, you push his buttons just a little too hard.

today is one of those days.

it starts with a series of texts.

your usual banter that, for whatever reason, strikes a nerve.

maybe he’s stressed, or maybe you’re just too good at knowing exactly how to get under his skin. either way, it doesn’t take long before his responses turn clipped, each word laced with an irritation you’re not used to seeing from him.

yn [1:41PM]: C₄₃H₆₆N₁₂O₁₂S₂ nerd [1:48PM]: 😳 yn [1:50PM]: am i speaking ur language nerd [1:53PM]: fluently, yes yn [1:54PM]: cool. dohwan taught me it yn [1:55PM]: what does it mean nerd [1:59PM]: not funny. yn [2:00PM]: why am i laughing then seen yn [2:01PM]: aw don’t get all mad nerd [2:08PM]: not mad. jus uninterested in this topic. yn [2:10PM]: i’m sorry seen yn [2:14PM]: sorry :( yn [2:15PM]: jungkook !!! yn [2:16PM]: wanna make out? typing… nerd [2:21PM]: yes

you don’t mean for it to escalate, but by the time you realize he’s genuinely annoyed, it’s too late to fix it over text. you bite your lip, staring at your phone, debating your next move.

and then, because you’re you, you grab your bag and head straight for his lab.

jungkook’s reputation precedes him on campus.

professors practically gloat about having him in their classes, like his achievements are trophies they get to display. it isn’t just his grades or his research—it’s the way he carries himself. sure, he's a little antisocial but he's focused, driven, and somehow still effortlessly cool.

you always knew he was smart, but seeing him in his element, tucked away in the chemistry lab during his solo hours, is something else entirely.

the lab is a world of its own.

notes scrawled in sharp, precise handwriting cover the workspace, surrounded by neatly labeled vials, bubbling solutions, and meticulous arrangements of equipment.

jungkook stands at the center of it all, wearing a crisp lab coat with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the ink decorating his forearms. protective goggles perch on his nose, and his brows furrow as he scribbles something into a notebook. he’s intimidatingly focused, and for a moment, you hesitate in the doorway.

he notices the movement immediately, his sharp eyes snapping up to meet yours. for a beat, his expression doesn’t change, and your stomach churns with nerves under his scrutinizing gaze.

“what are you doing here?”

“i, uh…” you shift awkwardly, trying to find your footing under his intense stare. “i wanted to check on you. you seemed upset earlier.”

jungkook exhales, a hand dragging through his dark hair, slightly disheveling the strands sticking out under the goggles. his posture stiffens slightly before he stands straighter, folding his arms across his chest.

“i’m fine,” he says, the words clipped and automatic, like he’s said them a hundred times before.

he doesn’t look at you again after that, instead turning back to the dense notebook in front of him. his pen taps against the edge of the table, a sharp, rhythmic sound that fills the silence between you.

you glance around, taking in the scrawled notes and bubbling glassware, and suddenly, you feel like an intruder.

this isn’t just a workspace; it’s his domain, and you’re a trespasser.

“right,” you whisper. “sorry. i just—”

your words catch as his head snaps up again, this time really looking at you. his dark eyes flick to the way you stand there, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, shoulders hunched slightly, and chewing the inside of your cheek.

the tension in his jaw softens, and he exhales again, but this time, it’s quieter, almost resigned. his shoulders relax as he sets the pen down, giving you his full attention now.

“do you want a tour?” he asks, his voice losing some of its earlier sharpness.

you blink at him, caught off guard.

“really?”

he shrugs, a small, almost reluctant smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“yeah. just… don’t touch anything.”

you hesitate, unsure if this is a genuine offer or just him humoring you. but the way his gaze lingers—softer now, like he’s extending an olive branch—makes you take a small step forward.

“you’re sure?” you ask cautiously, your weight shifting between your feet.

“wouldn’t have offered if i wasn’t,” he says, already turning to gather a few items from the cluttered table.

his words are casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way he says them. it’s as if he’s acknowledging your effort without outright saying it, inviting you into a space you know he doesn’t share lightly.

“okay,” you say softly, stepping closer as he gestures to the setup in front of him.

jungkook guides you through the lab, his hand casually finding its way to the small of your back as he gestures to the next setup. the touch is subtle but grounding, the heat of his palm against your waist sending a quick flutter of awareness through you. his fingers rest there, steady, as he moves you along with a quiet confidence, his focus more on the equipment than the way your heart picks up its pace.

“this is my catalytic synthesis project,” he starts, motioning to the crowded workspace. his tone is calmer now, almost instructional as if falling into the rhythm of explaining makes it easier to let his guard down.

as he starts detailing his work, his body language shifts. his shoulders loosen, and the furrow in his brow disappears as he picks up a flask of pale yellow liquid. his hand moves with precise confidence, holding it up to the light as if to showcase his work.

“what does that even mean?” you ask, leaning in closer to inspect the array of equipment.

“it’s about creating biodiesel,” he explains, holding up a sheet of paper covered in equations and diagrams. “basically, i’m optimizing the reaction process to make it more efficient. fewer byproducts, higher yield.”

you blink, squinting at the equations like they might magically make sense.

“that’s cool… i think. but how do you even do that?”

he chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly soft.

“this,” he says, holding the flask again. “this is the feedstock. it’s like the base oil we start with. i mix it with methanol and a catalyst—”

“wait,” you interrupt, raising a hand. “what’s a catalyst?”

his lips twitch into a small grin, clearly amused by your cluelessness.

“a catalyst is a substance that speeds up a chemical reaction without being consumed in the process.”

you nod as if you understand, but the tilt of your head gives you away.

jungkook sets the flask down and leans a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “okay, think of it like this. imagine you’re cooking something. the catalyst is like the pan—it doesn’t get eaten, but it helps everything cook faster.”

“ohhh,” you say, the metaphor finally clicking. “why didn’t you just say that from the start?”

he raises an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “because i thought you were smart enough to keep up.”

“wow,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “i come here to check on you, and this is the thanks i get?”

he shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping him as he nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “first of all, you annoyed me. second of all, you’re the one who wanted a tour. i’m just giving you the full experience.”

“oh, sorry—” you let out a shallow laugh. “should i leave then—”

jungkook shakes his head and points to another setup—a small beaker bubbling over a hot plate.

“look! this is the reaction in progress. that bubbling? that’s the methanol reacting with the oil. and over there,” he gestures to a series of tubes and a larger flask, “that’s where i separate the biodiesel from the glycerol. basically, the good stuff from the leftovers.”

you narrow your eyes at the apparatus. “this still sounds like you’re making moonshine.”

jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “i’m not making moonshine.”

“sure,” you mutter, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “that’s what someone making moonshine would say.”

he rolls his eyes, but the faint smile pulling at his lips betrays him.

“you’re really annoying today.”

“you like me, though,” you shoot back, leaning against the table with newfound confidence.

jungkook pauses, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long. his lips part, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“yeah,” he says quietly, almost under his breath, before turning back to his work. “i guess i do.”

as you lean over a neighboring table to inspect a beaker filled with an ominous-looking solution, your elbow bumps against it, sending it teetering dangerously close to the edge. the moment stretches out, everything moving in slow motion.

his words catch you off guard.

what did he just say?

holy—

“shit!” you yelp, reaching out instinctively to steady it. but before you can, the beaker tips over completely, the sulfuric acid inside spilling onto the floor—and dangerously close to your feet.

jungkook moves faster than you expect, his hand darting out to grab your arm as he yanks you backward with enough force to make you stumble into his chest. the acid splashes onto his hand as it hits the ground, and the sharp crack of shattering glass fills the room.

he flinches, a quiet hiss slipping through his teeth as he pulls his hand back.

“oh my god, jungkook!” you gasp, panic knotting your stomach. his hand lingers briefly on your arm before he steps away, already moving toward the nearest sink.

“stay there,” he orders, his voice clipped but steady, as he flips on the cold water and thrusts his hand under the stream.

your eyes are locked on his injured hand, where faint discoloration is already starting to show.

“are you okay? does it hurt?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“it’s fine,” he says tightly, jaw clenched as the water rushes over his skin. “are you okay? nothing got on you, right?”

you take a step closer, your gaze flicking between his face and his hand. he looks calm—too calm—but the way his lips press into a thin line tells you otherwise.

“no. nothing got on me… jungkook,” you say softly, guilt and worry twisting in your chest. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, shaking his head as he grabs a paper towel to dry his hand. his voice isn’t harsh, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s holding something back. “this is why i don’t give tours.”

you wince, the weight of his words making you shrink slightly. “i—i’ll make it up to you,” you blurt, your voice desperate to fix this. “whatever you want.”

he glances at you then, finally letting out a soft, exasperated laugh. his expression softens, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“you’re giving me that much power?”

“jungkook,” you warn, narrowing your eyes, but your voice wavers. you’re still too focused on his hand, your own tightening into fists at your sides. “this is serious. do you want to go to nurse or hospital or something—”

“relax baby,” he says, his tone lighter now as he flexes his fingers experimentally. “it’s not that bad. really. it was just sulfuric acid.”

“acid—”

“stop,” jungkook sighs. “seriously. it’s okay.”

“you shouldn’t have done that though,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, smiling faintly—half amused, half surprised by your concern.

“what, and let you burn yourself instead?”

a beat.

"i'm dating a klutz," he chuckles, the words slipping out so naturally it takes you both a second to realize what he’s just said. his eyes widen slightly, but instead of backpedaling, "guess i should get used to you fucking my shit up, right?"

your chest tightens.

dating?

jungkook clears his throat.

“don't over think it," jungkook grumbles.

"jungkook—"

he doesn’t let you finish, his jaw tightening.

“___, what are you doing here if you don’t think we’re dating?”

“what does that even mean?” you fire back, crossing your arms defensively. “you can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to overthink it.”

“then maybe don’t think so much,” he mutters under his breath. "you're good at that anyway."

“don’t think?!” you huff incredulously, stepping closer. “jungkook, you’re impossible.”

he glares at you, setting down the equipment with a loud clink. “and you’re confusing. ___, you’re acting like—”

“acting like what?”

“like you don’t want this.”

the tension doesn’t ease as you both leave the lab.

he grabs his bag, muttering something about not wanting to talk here, and before you can argue, he’s already halfway down the corridor. you jog to keep up with his long strides, half-annoyed, half-confused, as he leads you across campus.

the walk is silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chatter of students in the distance. his jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff, and you can tell he’s barely holding himself together.

“jungkook...” you try, your voice softer this time, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance back.

by the time you reach his place, your confusion has morphed into frustration.

he unlocks the door without a word, stepping inside and leaving it open for you to follow.

you hesitate for a moment, then step in, the familiar scent of his space wrapping around you. before you can say anything, he drops his bag on the floor and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“sit,” he orders, pointing to his bed.

your brows knit together.

“i’m not a dog,” you snap, but the weight in his tone makes you obey anyway. you sit at the edge of his bed, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. his pacing starts then, a restless back-and-forth motion across the small room. the air feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the lingering tension from earlier.

“okay,” he starts, his voice low and strained. “let’s just… get this out in the open.”

you raise a brow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. instead, he keeps pacing, his hand dragging down his face as if he’s trying to physically pull the words out of himself.

“get what out in the open?” you prod, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “jungkook, what’s your deal? one second you’re fine, and the next—”

“fine?” he cuts you off, his tone sharper now. he stops pacing to face you, his hands planted on his hips. “you think i’m fine?”

you blink, taken aback.

“well, no, obviously not. but you’re also not making any sense—”

“you want to talk about making sense?” he scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping him. “you’re the one who’s impossible, you know that? one minute you’re here, acting like we’re—like this is something, and the next you’re…”

“the next i’m what?” you challenge, standing now. “go ahead, say it.”

jungkook looks at your sternly. then, he gives you his heart.

“i can’t keep doing this, ___. i need to know—are you in or are you out? because i get the whole wanting to make me miserable part. i get it. i’ve been awful to you. i’ve put words in your mouth and i’ve said shit that i can’t take back… but i’m trying. it feels like you aren’t.”

the weight of his words crashes over you, leaving you rooted in place. you want to respond, to say something, but the lump in your throat won’t budge.

he steps closer, his eyes searching yours.

“just… tell me what you want. because if you don’t want me, i need to know now.”

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. you feel his gaze burning into you, his desperation palpable.

“i don’t know how to have you,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

his shoulders drop, and for the first time since this started, he looks less angry and more… hurt.

“what do you mean?” he asks, his tone gentler now.

“i don’t know,” you breathe. “i’ve never… gone this far. guys give up after the chase… you’re… you’re still here. what happens now? sex?”

he shrugs. "is that all you want?"

"no."

"then no."

silence.

“___, i'm here. i've come this far and i want to go further. sex or not—whatever,” he says, taking another step closer, his hand reaching out to lightly brush against your arm. “is that what scares you?”

you nod.

“am i… am i supposed to just—” your chest tightens, and the room feels too small, too charged. his words hang in the air, and you know there’s no going back after this. “i don’t know—”

“why are you here, ___?”

“you asked me that already.” you retort.

“yeah, and you didn’t answer,” he shoots back.

you sigh, exasperated. “i’m here because—i don’t know… you’re my friend, okay? or whatever.”

his laugh is sharp and humorless. “friend. right.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i don’t want to be your friend,” he says plainly, his eyes burning into yours. “i haven’t wanted that for a while now.”

your breath catches. “jungkook—”

he steps closer, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you. but he stops just short, his voice low and rough.

“i want you to stop pretending like there’s nothing here. i want you to stop running every time i get close.”

you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat.

“again, if you don’t want this—me—then tell me,” he continues, his voice softening. “but don’t keep showing up, acting like i don’t drive you as crazy as you drive me. don’t… please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

the room feels too small, the air too thick.

jungkook’s hand lingers on your arm, his touch grounding even as your heart races wildly. his dark eyes search yours, flickering with emotions you can’t fully decipher—hurt, hope, frustration.

“you don’t have to know everything right now,” he says softly, his voice carrying a steadiness that contrasts with the storm raging between you. “i’m not asking for perfect, ___. i’m not even asking for easy. i just…” he exhales shakily, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through your defenses. “i just need to know you’re willing to try.”

your throat tightens, his words hitting you in a place you’ve tried so hard to ignore. the thought of trying—of letting yourself fall completely, with no safety net—terrifies you. but the thought of him walking away? it’s unbearable.

“i want you,” you whisper, the fear laced in your voice so raw it feels like you’ve just exposed every guarded corner of yourself. “i want you, jungkook.”

his fingers trail down your arm, stopping just above your wrist.

“say it again,” he says, his tone almost exasperated, but not unkind. “please?”

you bite your lip, the weight of his words pressing down on you. everything about this moment feels pivotal, like a single word could either shatter or rebuild everything between you.

“i want you, jungkook,” you admit, your voice trembling but resolute. “i… i want us.”

his expression softens, relief washing over his features like a tidal wave.

“good,” he murmurs, stepping closer, so close that his scent—clean, familiar, entirely jungkook—invades your senses. then, his hands come up, gently cradling your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

“i… i want us too. i think it’s all i ever really wanted. to be yours…”

his thumbs stroke your cheeks, and before you can overthink it, he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. the tension in the room shifts, softening but no less charged.

“does this mean i get to take hello kitty home today?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“is that all you really care about?” he says, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

“i care about other things.”

“like what?”

“like you.”

and then he kisses you.

you and jungkook have been dating for 6 months when you suddenly say; "happy 6 months, baby! wanna have sex?"

jungkook practically jolts out of his bed and takes the plushie. he places it on his desk and turns hello kitty over to face the wall. (no, you haven't taken it home. for some reason, it suits being in jungkook's room more than yours).

you laugh as he turns back to you and says;

"good timing, ___. i'm ovulating."

jungkook can't breathe.

�� and you? you never expected it to feel this way.

the thrill of it… the intensity—the intimacy.

as jungkook towers over you, he pulls his shirt over his head. the minute his chest is bare, your hands find your way to roam around his body. his abs, his biceps, and down his—

“wait,” jungkook pleads, eyes hungrily looking into yours. “wanna take this slow with you. wanna do it right for you.”

you nod slowly, understanding what he means.

the truth is; your virginity is your virginity.

there isn’t much to it aside from that the fact that it’s not taken. you were never wronged but you were also never pursued right… sure, it’s special… but it isn’t everything.

jungkook treats it like it is though.

you don’t mind.

for the past 6 months, he's been really careful with how he acts around you sexually. sure, a few pussy eating moments and heated make outs have been happening... but not the full thing. actually, you've never really seen jungkook's dick yet.

he refuses to let you give him a blowjob.

said something about how easy it is for him to cum at the thought of you—he isn't ready to embarrass himself in front of you just yet.

but today, at your 6 month mark, it's different.

jungkook can't hold it in anymore and you showed up extra pretty. you planned this, didn't you?

(yes.)

gently, he helps you undress.

he takes your shirt off for you and takes a deep breath when you arch your back for him to unclasp your bra. nervously, he does so. then, he tosses your bra aside and takes in the view.

the prettiest fucking tits he’s ever seen.

jungkook reaches, cupping and squeezing your boobs. you watch him as he does so, unsure of what to do.

he then lowers himself, placing kisses over your tits and down your stomach. positioning himself more comfortably, he finds himself in between your legs. lifting them up, he takes your pants off… then, his eyes flicker from you to your panties.

his fingers play with the hem of your panties. then, he scrunches them together, tugging them up so your folds are exposed.

“fuck,” jungkook groans. “so pretty…”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he breathes, watching your pussy begin to swell. “think your kitty can be good for me? think you can be patient? that’s it… good kitty.”

you tilt your chin down to look at him.

he’s licking his lips, lowering himself down to your pussy.

“be a good kitty, okay?” he says, as he begins to massage your pussy with his hands. your panties are still on so the friction of the fabric make you a little annoyed.

aren’t you having sex soon?

shoudn’t this shit be off be now?

“jungkook—”

“i know, baby,” jungkook pouts at you. “i know it’s hard to wait… look at your pussy… so wet and your panties aren’t even off.”

“i get more wet than this?”

“if i play my cards right, yeah.”

you whimper. “please, jungkook… just.. take them off.”

“you want me to?”

“yes,” you huff. “want you to take my panties off.”

he nods slowly… as if he’s thinking about something—considering something.

then, he decides to give in.

jungkook tugs your panties down entirely, leaving your pussy out in the open. he throws his head back in admiration. it’s like he’s been hit by cupid or something.

without warning, he buries his face inside.

jungkook begins with a couple licks and spreading your folds a part. his tongue brushes against your clit—up, down, side to side—everywhere. god, you feel him everywhere. after a few licking and sucking moments, he pulls away and rubs his thumb against your clit. he spits on your pussy—letting his saliva drool down slowly.

you watch.

“you like that, baby? you like when i spit in your pussy?”

tongue-tied, you nod obediently.

he grins before giving in again.

jungkook eats you up, devouring every inch of your pussy. before you know it, he’s shoving a finger inside you as he sucks on your clit. you almost yelp at the sensation—a feeling completely new to you.

“ohhh… yeah… f-feels so good, jungkook…” you moan, throwing your head back.

honestly, the added finger burns.

but he’s gentle with it. he moves his finger inside you with lots of intentions. he gradually shoves it in deeper and deeper too.. it just… it feels good.

so good.

you throw your head back and grab a fist full of his hair.

“uh, uhhhh… mhmfffph—” you moan. “ohhh…. f-fuck…”

jungkook looks up and watches the way your lips twitch. how your body reacts to him eating you out… and it all just boosts his ego.

he’s so glad to be here.

jungkook then pulls away, taking his tongue out of the equation. he focuses on fingering you, making sure you’re enjoying the way it feels. you two catch each others gaze and continue to look into each others eyes.

as jungkook picks up the pace fingering you, you bite your lip and love the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration.

“f-fuck,” you utter. “i’m gonna—o-ohhh!”

you cum on his fingers.

jungkook pulls them out, taking your cum and spreading it around your folds. he massages it in like lube before taking his fingers to his mouth.

he tastes you.

then, before you can catch your breath, jungkook leans down and kisses you.

he kisses you deeply.

when he pulls away, you ask; “c-can we…”

jungkook chuckles.

“soon,” he assures you, tucking your hair behind your ear. he presses his lips against your cheek.

then, his lips find yours with a hesitance that feels almost reverent, like he’s afraid to ruin something sacred. and then, slowly, he deepens the kiss—tentative at first, but with a growing confidence that feels utterly jungkook.

it’s the kind of kiss that feels like discovery. like he’s studying every angle, every curve, every reaction, cataloging them in his mind like a scholar with his favorite subject. his hands hold you as if you’re delicate but unshakable all at once, his thumbs brushing tenderly against your jawline.

when he tilts his head, changing the angle, it’s with a deliberate slowness, as though he’s savoring the moment, pulling apart the layers of this kiss to commit it to memory. you can feel the way his lips curve faintly against yours, like he’s smiling, like he’s finding joy in every second of this new experiment.

and you realize—he’s not just kissing you.

he’s learning you.

nerd.

you gasp when he pulls you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his body. his lips part slightly, and the way he kisses you now feels like a question, like he’s asking for something without saying a word.

he’s meticulous, like he wants to explore every inch of you through this kiss, leaving no detail untouched. the way he holds you is tender but firm, grounding you while setting your pulse on fire.

when he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. his eyes flutter open, and they’re soft, full of something you can’t quite name but feel all the same.

“i want you forever,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with awe, as though he’s just unraveled the world’s most beautiful equation.

you giggle at him. “great. can we start now?”

“way to kill the mood—”

“please, for the love of god!” you squirm. “fuck me already.”

jungkook can’t help but laugh.

but he gives in.

jungkook shifts out of his pants, revealing his hard cock.

you stare at it.

it's pretty.

it's thick all around and his tip looks like it's angry. you like the way it looks though... looks delicious. his cock has you completely mesmerized. you almost want to crawl to it but he saves you the journey as he brings it close to you.

truth be told, jungkook's a little nervous.. he doesn't want to fuck this up.

“you know…” he begins, as he jerks himself off in front of you. “i want to be mean. like, really fucking mean. i want to make you beg. i want to make you choke on my fucking cock and have you scream my name but—fuck, ___… i look at you and i can’t…. i can’t even do all i want with our fucking foreplay because i fold so easily when it comes to you. you want me to fuck you? fine. i’ll fuck you.”

“be mean,” you whimper. “come on. don’t be a pussy. just because this is my first time—f-fuck! holy shit, jungkook—”

jungkook has slowly puts his cock inside you.

you gasp for air.

he caresses your face as you adjust to him being inside you. then, he drags his tongue around your neck. he sucks on it a bit, causing you to grip the sheets.

“o-oh my… j-jungkook…”

“you okay, baby?” he asks, slightly moving himself in deeper.

you take a deep breath and exhale from your mouth. “f-fuck…”

he’s so big.

you can feel every curve of his dick and vein. when his tip entered, it felt funny. like, uncomfortable but also really fucking good. as he begins to thrust in and out, you breathe through the sharpness of his movement.

“hurts…” you confess.

jungkook shifts, and kisses your neck. against your skin, he murmurs; “i’m sorry, baby… do you want me to—”

“no,” you tell him, as you open your legs wider. you wrap yourself around him and hold on tight. “think… think i’m okay. can you move more?”

jungkook nods and kisses you once more.

he begins to fuck you.

slowly but surely… he begins to drill himself into you.

missionary isn’t his favourite but having you this way… especially for your first time? god, did he love this. as you dig your nails into his back, you whimper every time he thrusts back inside you.

“f-fuck,” you moan. “jungkook… it’s…”

“what?” he almost panics. “a-are you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “it feels good now… can you… go harder?”

jungkook hisses, feeling like he could lose his mind.

“can we switch position?” he pitches.

you agree.

jungkook then pulls out of you, and you suddenly feel the emptiness. he goes on his knees and takes you by your waist, guiding you to turn over and go on all fours.

doggy.

jungkook helps you position yourself before angling himself. he licks his hand and spreads your entrance. he then guides his dick inside you. as he begins to thrust, you suddenly feel him reach around and start to rub your clit…

and oh my god.

does it feel heavenly.

“oh,” you hum. “feels so good.”

jungkook leans over, and kisses your shoulder. as he pulls away, he takes his other hand and grabs a fistfull of your hair. he pulls your hair back and you moan at the tightness.

“you like that, my little bitch?” he grunts as he fucks you.

he feels your pussy clench. then, he smriks.

“oh? you like being called a little bitch, huh?” jungkook then takes his hand off your clit and uses it to slap your ass. "my fucking cockslut. always so fucking horny but you're just a little dirty minded virgin, right? not anymore, okay? i'm taking it. taking all your sticky fucking cum. you're all mine, baby. you know that, right? you're mine, bitch."

smack.

your pussy tightens around his cock again.

smack.

you moan his name.

“jungkook…”

he inshales shaprly and moves both hands and grabs your waist. he pulls you into him with each trust, adding more intensity.

jungkook fucks you harder and harder and you can’t help but love the way it feels. you moan his name, whimpering pleads like; “please… please, fuck me harder.” you can’t help it… it’s the way that his hard cock feels inside you that make you say shit like that. it’s the way that his hands roam around your body and you feel him everywhere… because he is everywhere.

his mind goes dizzy.

he goes blank actually.

then, when you reach back and wrap your arms around the back of your thighs—jungkook feels like he might lose it.

how do you know how to move like that?

god, you’re so hot.

“mhmm. that’s it…. fucking me so good, nerd.”

then, jungkook loses it.

like… really.

he fucks you harder and harder until you’re whimpering his name and almost near tears. he doesn’t realize how hard he’s fucking you until you’re near climax—

“i’m cumming!” you cry. “baby, i’m gonna—ahh, a-ahhh! fuck..”

it happens so fast.

suddenly, you cum and you lose your balance.

jungkook helps you lay down properly. he gets on top, continuing to fuck you in missionary. he fucks you through your orgasm. as you catch your breath, you feel him hiss against your skin.

“fuck.”

just then, jungkook pulls out.

as he jerks himself off, you tug on his hand and pout at him. he tilts his head, a little confused but quickly catches on.

“cum right on me?”

(i mean, camaraderie)

a few seconds later, jungkook straddles your face.

he places his dick inside you mouth and you focus on licking the tip of his dick. you do it softly, not adding much pressure. it sends shivers down his spine… then, you use the topside of oyur tongue to add more stimulation. you dig your face deep, licking his balls a little.

he moans.

you suck him off—slow but so fucking intense.

jungkook can’t take it.

he places one hand on the back of your head and helps control how deep you take him.

his dick reaches the back of your throat and it’s fucking toe-curling for jungkook. you take him in so good. as you suck him off, he can’t help but not last long.

“ahh–aahhhh.. f-fuck—” jungkook moans deeply. “nghhh.... fuck, ___! holy fucking shit...”

jungkook pulls out seconds later and cums all over your face.

as his cum drips down your face, you catch it with your finger and look at it.

“ohh,” you pant. “that’s what cum looks like…”

jungkook rolls his eyes at you before dipping his head low and kissing you. you two laugh as you pull away, completely in disbelief of everything that had just happened.

1 month later...

“you’re such a bad boyfriend,” you say, crossing your arms dramatically as you sit on the couch, watching jungkook fiddle with the back of your laptop.

he pauses, turning his head slowly to look at you over his shoulder. his glasses are sliding down his nose, his hair is a bit messy from pushing it back so many times, and he looks entirely unimpressed.

“bad boyfriend?” he repeats, sounding genuinely offended. “you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm a chem major, not tech.”

“smart boyfriends are supposed to be well rounded."

he glares at you. "again. you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm doing my best, baby."

"yeah, but like... i asked you over an hour ago,” you tease, leaning back and pretending to sigh. “you’ve been ignoring me ever since.”

“ignoring you?” he scoffs, turning back to the tangled mess of wires. “i’m literally upgrading your RAM so you can stop complaining about how slow it is. if anything, i’m the best boyfriend.”

you hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. “debatable. the best boyfriend wouldn’t make me sit here in silence while he nerds out over motherboards or whatever.”

“okay, first of all,” he says, setting the screwdriver down and turning to you fully now, “it’s not ‘whatever.’ this is your motherboard’s lifeline. without it, you don’t get to binge your little dramas.”

“so you’re saying you’re not doing this for me—you’re doing it for the laptop?”

“i’m doing it so you don’t keep stealing my ipad to ‘watch just one more episode’ and kill my battery in two hours,” he fires back, but there’s a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips now.

you tilt your head, grinning. “i think you just proved my point.”

“fine,” he says, pulling his glasses off and tossing them onto the table. “what do i have to do to reclaim my best boyfriend title, huh? flowers? chocolates? fixing this annoying laptop isn’t enough?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think. “i’d say… maybe you stop being a nerd for five minutes and come cuddle me instead.”

he rolls his eyes but moves toward you anyway, tugging you into his lap without hesitation.

“there,” he says, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggle into his chest. “am i forgiven, or do i need to sit in front of a claw machine and lose $200 again?”

“hmm,” you hum, grinning as you tap your chin. “hello kitty does look a little lonely. but maybe she deserves a friend when you really screw up.”

“you’re planning for that?” he asks, incredulous.

“not planning,” you tease, shrugging. “just preparing. i’ve already picked cinnamon roll for when you really drop the ball.”

he stares at you for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “you know, this feels like extortion. i bet you mess with me on purpose just to stock up on plushies.”

“maybe,” you say sweetly, poking his cheek. “but you can’t prove it.”

he sighs, leaning his head back against the couch dramatically.

“great. i’m dating a scam artist.”

“you’re dating a genius,” you correct, grinning.

“genius or not,” he counters, tightening his hold on you, “you’re stuck with me.”

you tilt your head up to look at him, biting back a laugh at the slight pout on his lips.

“wow, jungkook, that’s so nerdy of you.”

he groans, letting his head fall against your shoulder.

“i’m never fixing your laptop again. let me know when you need help naming all the isomers of butanol—"

"baby, did you hear that?"

"hear what?"

"you put the dolphins to sleep. good job! yay, your marine conservation bullshit finally came in handy—"

"wanna break up?"

"meanie."

"you're mean."

"sure, let's break up," you tell him. "how about never?"

"never?" jungkook asks, tucking your hair behind your ears. "sounds good."

you glance at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"it's you, me, and the fucking dolphins forever, nerd."

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