#if anyone knows the ladies names please contact me

[musicmags]

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie scans the room, looking for who or what he's not sure, just keeping his eyes peeled for something interesting. It's Saturday night, a packed house, some of the usual suspects but some new faces too.

One in particular stands out, especially considering his Sears Catalog attire and artfully tousled hair.

There's something about his loose body language that draws Eddie's eye. He's out of place but he doesn't act out of place. Eddie can respect it.

Unfortunately, when their eyes meet, he gets a kicked gut reaction that makes it clear this guy is off limits. The guy looks away immediately, probably thinks Eddie is more likely to pickpocket him than buy him a drink. Oh well. No great loss, he didn't come to get laid anyway.

He makes his way to the bar, gets a shot of Jack and a Miller Lite and waits. Teddy will probably show up before too long, maybe they can bar hop. He sips his beer and looks around some more, noting the older Mexican lady who runs the flower stand on the corner. You wouldn't guess it just by looking at her but she can drink anyone in the place under the table. He should really get her name.

Sears Catalog has moved to a table on the right side of the room, standing with a presumed girlfriend. Their heads are bent close together. He looks up and catches Eddie staring. They both look away again. He's really gotta stop doing that before he gets hate-crimed. It's a known problem, his type being untouchable preppy boys. He's sure if a shrink studied him, they would say it was because he didn't think he was worthy of love, or some shit, but he can't help it. The straighter, the meaner, the cleaner cut, the more Eddie falls all over himself. It’s a miracle he ever gets laid. Thankfully there’s always closet cases. He swore to himself he wasn't going to do that anymore though, he needs to have some self-respect, not let asshole jocks use him and drop him the second an emotion is displayed.

“That outfit is hideous.”

Eddie jolts in his seat. He finds Sears Catalog smirking at him like what he's said is the height of wit.

Eddie wastes no time pouring the rest of his beer over the guy's head.

He stares back at Eddie in shock, almost hurt. Fuck him. He doesn't care, he's not letting some dumbass gymrat hone his bullying skills on him. Not today.

The guy's girlfriend jogs over with a handful of napkins, which is when Eddie splits.

“I told you not to use that line!” He hears her exclaim. Eddie stops in his tracks.

“But…but...he didn't even let me get to the good part,” Sears laments. Eddie can't turn back around, he's frozen in place.

“Yeah, dingus, because it's a stupid fucking line. I'm sorry you had to find out like this but not every guy who makes eye contact with you wants to fuck you.”

“I know that! I just thought… I don't know. Let's just get out of here.”

He sounds so defeated. Eddie did that. He assumed the worst and reacted accordingly. Like an asshole. Like a bully.

They're halfway to the door when Eddie's feet unstick themselves from the floor. He rushes to intercept.

“What was the rest of the line?” He shouts.

Sears turns, eyes wide, unsure.

His…friend? Looks Eddie over, unimpressed. “What's it to you?”

He winces. “Just…uh…I guess I thought you should know, some of the guys who make eye contact do want to fuck you, they're just too stupid to realize they're being hit on.”

Sears and Mean Friend make their own eye contact. Mostly ‘Beat it' and ‘Are you serious?’ and ‘Yes, oh my god, please go.’

Eddie respects their bond.

Once Mean Friend has sufficiently rolled her eyes and threatened Eddie with bodily harm should anything worse than beer befall her friend, she stalks off into the night.

“You should take it off.”

“Huh?” Eddie responds, stupidly.

Sears smiles. “That's the rest of the line. ‘Your outfit is hideous. You should take it off.’”

Fuck, it really is a terrible line. Something a middle aged creep would use. If he'd waited long enough to hear it the first time it would've made him laugh though, which would have broken the ice.

“Awful. Zero out of ten,” he says while grinning. “Looks like you already offended one guy.” He looks at Sears’ wet shirt, appreciating his own handiwork.

“I'll keep workshopping.” His hand comes up slowly, like Eddie might react badly again. “Steve.”

It's his honor and privilege to clasp Steve's hand in his own.

“Eddie. And can I say, your outfit looks great. It would look better on my floor.”

Steve practically twinkles at him. “Stop, I'm already a sure thing.”

He uses the hand still in his grasp to pull Eddie forward and smash their lips together.

When their grandkids ask how they got together, Eddie is going to have to lie.

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

he would never admit it to anyone, but dick grayson loves it when you get a little jealous. or, rather, he loves making it up to you after the fact.

it’s not unusual for him to be at the receiving end of suggestive remarks and lustful gazes. he doesn’t go out of his way to make it happen, and he never entertains other women’s flirtatious comments, but when your boyfriend looks like that, there’s no avoiding it, really. so when he invites you attend a wayne gala at the gotham museum of antiquities, it takes more than a little self-control for you to stay calm.

three hours in, you’re one “gosh, you’re strong! and those eyes,” away from causing a scene with a glass of red wine. ever-observant, dick squeezes your side softly as he excuses himself from his conversation with another tall socialite, guiding you to the perimeters of the room.

“what’s wrong?” he smirks. asshole. you narrow your eyes at him before looking away, trying not to snap at him. you know it’s not his fault.

“nothing. I’m fine.” lie. he laughs softly and settles his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. he’s going to enjoy this.

“come on, baby,” he pleads. “these ladies are big donors, that’s all. I gotta keep up appearances.” you meet his gaze once again, your lips in a tight line, and his smile widens. “what, are you gonna make me beg for forgiveness?” you say nothing, but you notice a gleam in his eyes that sends heat rushing between your legs. his grip on your hips tightens as he leans in close. “alright, pretty girl. let me make it up to you.”

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

“d-dick…” you gasp, trying to keep your voice down. there’s no need, really; the museum’s marble bathroom stall, paired with the string quartet performing at the gala, muffles your moans well enough.

your black gown is bunched around your waist, and dick’s suit jacket lies discarded on the floor, along with your underwear and stilettos. you shakily hold yourself up on the marble sink with one hand, the other wound in dick’s soft, black hair as he kneels between your legs.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he coos, pulling away from your dripping core. you whine at the loss of contact, and dick chuckles at your misery. his lips glisten with your fluids as he trails one of his slender fingers up your inner thigh. “talk to me.”

“keep going,” you breathe, widening your legs involuntarily. “please, dick, god—” you’re cut off by your own moan as he slides two of his fingers inside you. his lips return to your needy clit, sucking hungrily as his other hand snakes around to grope your ass. your legs begin to shake as he speeds up his pace, and his eyes look up to meet yours. you see him smile against your pussy as his fingers hit that spongy spot in your walls, drawing out an incoherent string of profanities with his name woven through them.

seeing you like this drives dick crazy, and he’s unsure if you know it. the way your body responds to him is one of his favourite things, even if sometimes he plays little games to get you where he wants you. the sight of your expensive dress crumpled up around your contracting abdomen has his pupils blown wide. god, you’re so fucking beautiful. his cock strains painfully against his pants, but he ignores the ache in favour of working your pretty pussy the way only he knows how to. besides, he knows you’ll take good care of him later.

you feel the coil in your belly tighten until it starts to snap, your orgasm drawing dangerously close. dick curls his fingers again, coaxing you to the edge. thoughts of the gala unfolding right outside slip from your mind, and your knees buckle as you reach your peak. “dick, fuck, I’m—”

your breath hitches as you cum over his fingers, and you’re grateful his arms are there to keep you standing. his tongue works you through your climax until you’re bucking your hips away from the stimulation. he pulls away from your aching core, gazing at the glistening mess between your thighs with pride.

he rises to meet your eyes and kisses you hotly, your high still on his lips. you clutch at his shoulders, breathing in his scent as you kiss him back. his muscular arms trap you in a tight hug, and his piercing blue eyes crinkle at the corners with the boyish grin that spreads across his face as he takes in your dazed expression.

“so,” he says smugly, gently running his thumb over the corner of your lip where he smudged your lipgloss. “am I forgiven?”

[daenysx]

omg just read all of your aemond fics and 😭😭😭 actual perfection !!!! thank you for sharing your writing!!

not sure if this is a type of request that would interest you but maybe modern!aemond finding out you somehow got injured? not a creative prompt but we love a protective/possibly overreacting aemond with some fluff hehe 💙

thank you so much for reading them, angel, i really hope you like this <333

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

cw; stitches, reader cuts her hand and needs stitches but nothing graphic

it was a nice plan overall, really. you were sure everything would go alright, imagining the perfect outcome as you keep moving in kitchen.

well, until you had a work accident anyway.

"can i call my boyfriend real quick before you start?" you ask the doctor as you sit down, your injured hand feeling numb with all the adrenaline.

"of course." she answers. "we can start after."

you take your phone, press aemond's contact, and beg internally for him to be available. you don't think you can get your hand stitched without him honestly and the idea of him being in a meeting right now makes your stomach turn.

"hello?" he answers. "sweetheart?"

"hi." you say, your voice coming out weaker than you intend to. "is this a good time?"

"of course." he says. "what happened? something wrong?"

he's picking up the clues quickly, first of all why do you sound like that? and second why is he hearing some weird noises on the background?

"um- i'm at a hospital right now." you say, biting your bottom lip, telling him the name of the hospital after that. you need to lay out the details nice and slow, otherwise he'll drive like crazy to be here. "i was cooking dinner and i cut my hand."

"are you okay?" he asks, concern dripping from his voice. "what will they do?"

"the doctor's saying i need stitches." you explain. "i'm okay, i just- can you come here if there's nothing important you have over there?"

you hear some noises like a pushed chair and grabbed keys, aemond suddenly starts breathing quicker. "you are crazy if you think i'll work when you're literally getting stitches." he says. "i'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"aemond, please drive safe." you say, because it should normally take at least 15 minutes to get here from his office. you know he won't listen, he tends to be very irresponsible of himself every time you call him and tell him you need him.

"don't worry about me." he tries to reassure you and you hear him starting the car. "only ten minutes, okay, sweetheart? i'll be with you."

"okay." you say.

he keeps his promise really well, and only after ten and a half minutes you see him walking with huge steps towards you. not that you were counting down the seconds. the doctor is a lovely lady, she tries to keep your mind occupied as she cleans up your wound.

"it's a deep cut, but it's clean." she says. "i'll make sure you don't feel anything."

"thank you." you smile weakly. "oh, here he is."

aemond is by your side in a second, his eye quickly inspecting the situation. "are you okay? are you hurting?"

you shake your head. the doctor smiles. "i don't really feel anything right now." you say. "it was just a bit bad when i first came in."

"and the stitches?" he asks, looking at the doctor.

"she will need only a few of them." she answers. "don't worry, we'll make it quick and painless."

she starts doing her job, asks you politely to look elsewhere. aemond holds your other hand as you watch him, it's a bit weird knowing you're being stitched but not feeling it. the worry lines on aemond's face look ever most prominent.

"i'm fine." you give him an easy smile.

"how did it happen?" he asks, softly.

"i was planning on preparing a dinner table." you say. "we've been relied on take out lately, so i wanted to cook you something nice."

"baby." he says, his voice carries too many emotions.

"it's okay." you tell him. "it can happen to anyone, really. i won't even get upset if i have a scar. just another story to tell."

"it may leave a faint scar in time." the doctor says. "but nothing too big."

"that's good enough."

aemond clearly thinks that is not good enough but he won't tell this when you're getting your hand stitched. he only squeezes your fingers. he'll make sure you don't touch knives until you heal, that's all.

"and we're done." the doctor says. "let's wrap it up, and then you can go."

"thank you." you and aemond say at the same time. the wrapping doesn't take long, you're ready to leave the hospital in five minutes.

after the doctor telling aemond instructions about the bandages and the stitches, you walk to the exit. you're glad it's over for now, and your hand still doesn't hurt really. aemond waits by your side until you settle down on the passenger seat.

you expect him to close the door and sit down on his own seat but he doesn't. instead, he turns you to his side by holding your thighs gently and cups your cheeks. he gives you the warmest kiss on your forehead.

"i was terrified." he confesses, almost whispers.

"i'm sorry." you say. "it was an accident."

"i know, my love." he says, putting another kiss on the side of your head. "you don't have to say sorry, it's not like you did it on purpose."

"and now we need to order something again." you say, giving him a mocking pout. "i wanted to eat something homemade tonight."

he smiles at your dramatics. you're right of course, you've both been too busy with work lately and relied on ordering pizza or sushi, or something else. he thinks cooking together can be nice now that he left work early and you want something cooked in your own kitchen.

"i'll cook anything you want for us." he says. it's a good promise.

"you sound pretty confident." you laugh.

"you need to help me with the recipes, of course." he says, coolly. "anything with knife, i'll do it. you can only do harmless things if you want to participate."

you pull him to yourself to give him a kiss. he immediately surrenders, any teasing words he has in mind is gone with your lips on his.

you think he'll look really good wearing an apron.

[jammofsammichflip]

*°•_:JJK Headcanons:_•°*

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

!!!Fluff, ❌🍋(no smut)!!!

Featuring/Pairing: Itadori Yuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Kento Nanami, Inumaki Toge

(These are the (some) main people I absolutely know how to write for,

please give me ideas if you don't see someone/thing you'd like to see. <3)

*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::* °×•×°×•×°×•×°First Date°×•×°×•×°×•×°

Itadori Yuji: ° Your first date and 1 month' aversarry (1 month' anniversary) is gonna take place at a cat/pet cafe.

° No exeptions

° Itadori is gonna have a ball with you regardless of where your first date is, but he know how much you like cats/(other animals).

° All of his attention is on you as you take pictures of the animals and eat the cute food.

° He can barely take his eyes off of you <3

° He fell first and fell harder.

° He is the type of guy to bring you a bunch of unnecessary gifts (like Gojo) at random times

° Except his gifts are cuter and personalized (unlike Gojo)

° Love language is definitely Acts of Service and Quality Time

° He just loves seeing you happy and safe and that's all that really matters to him at this point.

° Honest to God, brags about how cute you are to anybody who'd listen: his friends, his teachers, your pets, somebody's child, random pictures YOU NAME IT

° Takes you to the movies afterwards (he looked for good movies with the help of Junpei (😭💕))

° Somehow ate 3 (full size) plates of food at the cafe before you had to ask him, "HOW DID YOU EAT ALL THAT? ARE YOU OJAY??? YUJI ITS BEEN 15 MINUTES SINCE WE SAT DOWNNN!!??!??!!"

° Gives you a soft kiss on the hand and then cheek once you get home

° Your name is filled with hearts and stars on his contacts bc it's cute

Fushiguro Megumi:

° He didn't know how much was too much so he took you for a cute park-picnic date

° He makes sure to bring lots of water and fresh fruit because its midday.

° He also brought (favorite cake flavor) to share <3

° Likes to look at all the dogs he sees and tell you everything he knows about them

° He blushes so hard when you compliment/flirt with him (if you dyed his hair he'd look like a damn tomato)

° (my headcanon) He talks about how he'd like to be a veterinarian when he gets older because he doesn't want animals to live the same life he lived at one point

° His point blank resting glare scares off anyone who tries to talk to the both of you

° Keeps getting the sneaking suspicion that Itadori, Nobara and Gojo are talking about him (he got really irritated at one point, that's how he knows)

° Has the cutest giggles when a bee lands near your nose

° Brings butterfly/dinosaur charms for you because he thinks you look cute when you talk about them.

° Leaves the picnic area better than he found it because he's just responsible like that

° Takes you too a pretty garden area where he gifts you (favorite flower)

° Kisses your hand goodbye (I faint)

° Told his classmates and teacher that the date was nice and nothing else (💀)

° Your contact has a picture he secretly took of you and thought was cute

Kento Nanami

° The epitome of class

° I swear he just keeps raising the damn bar

° Picks you up in the late afternoon/ evening

° Dinner at a nice restaurant (I think it's French/Louisianan cuisine)

° He bought a present for you because he saw it on the way to his car to pick you up

° A nice walk to set up for a good conversation

° He made sure that everything was so perfect, found a great path (walkable in flats/heels) that you can see the stars when you look up

° Calls you - My Lady - (see that capitalization?)

° Wanted to bust out in his singing voice when he heard MCR playing from somewhere (he's a diehard fan at heart and we all know it)

° Very excited to tell you about how much he likes bread (he prefers fresh made over store bought and loves to laugh at the silly designs on his sourdough)

° Almost choked on his spit when he thought he saw Satoru somewhere but it turned out to be flowers or sum.

° It was Satoru, he wanted to be a nosy bat and see what Nanami was doing since the couldn't annoy him today

° Very attentive to little details when you describe things things you (dis)like so he can be ready for future dates

° In his bag he definitely has chapstick, a notepad (he's so orderly), some mints and he made sure to pack a pair of slippers for you just in case your feet hurt at any point

° He's such a gentleman and he's so nice and respectful to the servers during dinner

° Makes sure to walk you to your door once he gets you home safely

° Puts a 💕 next to your name in his contacts.

° (Gojo is called 'The Annoying One 🤞😒' in his contacts, the only other one with emojis)

Inumaki Toge

° This chronically online ass mfker.

° He challenged you to a Fortnite battle

° It's a gaming date.

° So much mogging. You hit him with a 🗿🔥🐺 and he got quiet

° SALMONNN!!! 😭😭🙏

° POLLACK ROE 😤😡😤😤

° Rice 💕🥰😚😍

° MUSTARD LEAF¿¿‽‽!!¿??

° Then Super Smash Bros™

° Soon y'all we're laughing your asses off at the villager prisons on your newly created Minecraft server.

° The unhealthiest amount of junk food known to man kind

° I'm convinced he consumes Redbull and gummy bears like water and air.

° When a creep kept pressing you on the internet he took over as your big strong man (he's shorter than 5'9, I checked 💀😭)

° Legit kept calling himself The Skibidi Alpha Pack Leader™ and how much he want (the creep) to join his gang of Loners™

° Uses (🗿🙏🗣️🗿🌶️💬🥇📢🩼🎯🍃🐺🌘) religiously and unironically

° In all seriousness he does love you though. He's so glad he has someone he can laugh with and talk to (using text to speech- ofc it's set to Gigachad Voice)

° Absolutely the best at lifting you up when your sad because you humor has been marinated in the TikTok algorithm and is peak

° When he calls he uses facetime so you can see his reactions and his eyelashes that are always on fleek

° He passes little notes to you when he can't express his words through ingredients: "Your laugh is pretty <3",,, "That (game)skin is so cute, it goes well with your weapon",,, "Thank you for coming out with me, I like you a lot<333"

° Afterwards he gifts you little trinkets from when we was at the mall one time.

וװDid you like it?°×•× וװGot requests/recommendations?°×•×

*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*

[sadisticsongbird]

reward ~ harvey specter

summary: you are on the edge of losing a case against Harvey Specter and it riles you up in the best way imaginable

warnings: angst, flirting??, SMUT

word count: 1.6k

a/n: please be gentle. it's been awhile since i've written smut

“Your Honor, he’s testifying,” you argue, desperately trying to get Harvey to back off of your witness.

“Withdrawn,” he says, not even allowing the judge to make a ruling on his statement. “Mrs. Doyle, who exactly did the contract prevent both you and my client from making contact with?”

“Davis Corporation CEO and loan authorizers,” Mrs. Doyle replied, making eye contact with you from the stand. Pearson Hardman had rejected the offer to be able to depose this witness, leaving you scrambling to communicate with her and give her questions to anticipate with only twenty-four hours. 

“Yet, you were arrested three days ago from visiting the offices of one of those loan authorizers.”

“Objection, leading the witness, Your Honor.”

“Sustained,” the judge responded.

“My apologies, your Honor,” Harvey responded with a smirk on his face. “Mrs. Doyle, that contract prohibited contact with Davis Corporation and you claim that you have not discussed any matters involving money with them?”

“Yes,” she replied, clearly nervous. 

“See, now if that were true, a check wouldn’t have cleared into an offshore account in your husband’s company's name from Davis Companies.”

“Objection!” you insisted. “He’s testifying and they have no proof of that!”

“A check that couldn’t have been issued if you had no contact with them in the first place.”

“Objection, your Honor!”

“Sustained. Get to the question, Mr. Specter.”

“Mrs. Doyle, I’ll give you one last chance to rethink your previous statement and avoid committing perjury. Did you or did you not contact Davis Corporations?”

“I…” she stuttered, looking at you to try and answer for her. You did feel bad for her. It was your choice for her to be on the stand today. But she was just a sweet old lady who built a company with her ex-husband, who was a conniving, lying son of a bitch. You were desperately trying to defend her new husband’s company, but she had evidently breached the contract of her old company by contacting Davis Corporations, an old investor in said ex-husband’s company.

“Don’t look at her. She can’t help you,” Harvey said to your witness. “Look at me.”

“I…I…I plead the Fifth.”

Your breath hitched. While you had limited time, if there was one piece of instruction you told her explicitly not to do, it was to enact that right. Everyone knew using the Fifth only proved your guilt. 

“Nothing further, your Honor.”

Harvey turned around to retreat back to his table, smirking and winking at you in the process. You ground your teeth together, holding back the urge to stand and punch him in the face. God, if there was one lawyer in New York that aggravated you more than anyone, it was Harvey.

“It is decided that the court will reconvene tomorrow morning when the jury reaches a verdict.” 

The gavel rang through the courtroom, distracting you from the sound of the jury filing out and Harvey’s client speaking to him. You were slow to returning back to reality that you almost missed Mrs. Doyle returning to you.

“Ms. Bradey,” she said, walking up to the table. “Did I mess up?”

Yes, you wanted to say. Yes, you screwed the whole case. “No, don’t worry. I’ll get your husband’s company out of this mess.”

She smiled sweetly at you before leaving with a guard to help her to her car. You began to pack up your things, marking them at the same time. The truth was that no matter what you did, there was no way you were winning this case now. 

“You know, you shouldn't make promises you can't keep.” You glared at him. “Aw, don’t feel bad, Bradey. You tried your best,” Harvey insulted you, laying a hand on your shoulder as he walked past. 

Watching as he walked off of the floor and out into the hall, you bit your tongue, fighting the need to spit harsh words at him. You knew that he was a better lawyer than you when you took this case, but you couldn’t pawn the case off to someone else at your firm. You were being looked on for a senior partnership and a win against the Harvey Specter was an opportunity too good to pass up. It was a chance for your superiors to see what you could really do, prove that you were senior partner material. The chance of that happening, though, seemed to be slipping away any minute. The thought made you want to cry, but you fought back the tears as you walked out of the building, down the stairs towards the car that was waiting for you. 

One wrap on the window and the doors unlocked, allowing for you to slip in, setting your briefcase down on the floor of the car. You fiddled with the seatbelt, trying to get it to reach across your body as the car took off. 

“You know, you did good in there today.”

“I’m not in the mood, Harvey.”

“Come on, pretty girl,” he said, setting a hand on your thigh as you stared out the window. “I’m sorry. But I wasn’t just gonna go easy on you.”

You heard the click of your seatbelt releasing and barely comprehended what was happening before being spun and straddled onto Harvey’s lap. “Harvey,” you started, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“Hey, you did do well. God, I wanted to bend you over the table then and there. But it was an unwinnable case from the start for you. You even said so yourself when you first brought it to me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it to you,” you pouted. “Maybe I’d hear your condescending voice in my head less.”

“Not my fault I’m in your head,” he teased, leaning forward to begin nipping at your ear. You nearly moaned at the notion, but you knew better.

“Harvey, we can’t. Ray will hear us.” Despite there being a closed slide between the back and the front, you were sure that noises and movements wouldn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“Then, it’s your job to stay quiet.” You felt his hand slip under your skirt, towards you center, making your breath hitch. He continued to press kisses to your jaw and maneuvering you back and forth on his lap against his growing bulge. “You may not win this case, pretty girl. But you deserve something for your hard work today.”

“Harv-”

He cut you off with a kiss to your lips, groaning against you as your hands traveled to his hair. You knew he’d hate you afterwards, but you couldn’t help yourself. Continuing to move against him, you only stopped when you felt his thumb against your clit, your thin panties acting as a barrier from being able to really feel him. You set your forehead on his shoulder, looking down in between the two of you to see him flip your skirt almost completely up. One of his hands held the fabric up on your hip while the other focused on teasing you. When he started circling his thumb, you pulled harder on his hair and began to move again. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Rub yourself on me. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! Oh, God, yes!”

“Shh,” he hushed you. “Remember what I said. Gotta stay quiet or I’m gonna stop.”

You were thankful that the only thing you had to do was stay quiet. You always teased Harvey for having tinted windows, as if he was that important, but it was in these moments you were extremely thankful that you didn’t have to be careful with keeping a modest appearance.

 “Keep going, love,” he encouraged, moving his hand from your hip to your jaw. Pulling you towards him, he kissed you again, groaning and sending shivers through your body. You loved being able to feel every part of him. It made you miss it even more when you would leave again. 

Grinding yourself even harder on him, you could feel yourself getting worked up already. You moved your hands from his hair to the seat behind him to steady yourself. You weren’t the only one moving anymore, Harvey gently thrusting himself up against you, desperate to feel you even closer despite the layers of clothing between you two. Disconnecting your lips from his, you whined. 

“Harvey, please, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

“That’s it, pretty girl Let go.” He began to circle your clit faster, ensuring that he would be able to push you over the edge before the car ride ended. He could feel you pulsing against him, knowing that you were close. He wanted to cum so bad, but he knew he had to take care of you first. “There you go, atta girl.” His lips traveled lower towards your jaw again. Whispering in your ear, he only had to say one word for you to finally let go. 

“Cum.”

The feeling was almost euphoric. Clinging to Harvey like your life depended on it, you pressed against him as hard as you could. You buried your face in his neck, trying to mask the noises you were making, but you couldn’t help it. 

Coming down from your high, you felt Harvey’s hand gently rubbing your back, nursing you back to reality. “You did so well, Y/N,” he said, placing small kisses on your head. You didn’t want to move from this position, even if you could. 

You were just starting to get comfortable when the car came to a halt and there was a wrap on the glass divider. 

“Where are we?” you asked, looking up at him. 

“My apartment,” he admitted. “Now, should we go finish what we started?” He ground himself up into you again, sending nerves shooting through your body and making you realize that he was still hard.

You smiled at him, moving your hand to pull him down for another short kiss. “Okay.”

[tulipsforyourlips]

✧˖°. i found you ✧˖°. (1)

|| the sandman x dead boy detectives ||

SUMMARY: You run the dead boys detective agency along with your two best friends. And somehow two ghosts and a living girl make it work. Until you dream one night, of dream himself.

PAIRING: dream of the endless x fem!reader

WC: 800

WARNINGS: mentions of blood

PART 1 ✧˖°.

"Promise me.”

"Hope I,-"

"Promise Dream."

"I promise." 

The Dream Lord stiffened in his seat as he banished away his thoughts to the darkest chambers of his mind, afraid they would return otherwise. But they still did, every time. The colours swirling in the glass pane that framed his throne cast vibrant hues of light on his poised face, accentuating his features that were sharp enough to cut skin. Promise Dream, the words came back as a whisper, evoking a chill on his neck that travelled through his spine. He shut his eyes willing his mind to quiet, trying to-

"My lord." Lucienne's welcoming voice pulled him to the present. 

"You have a visitor," she announced. 

Morpheus raised an eyebrow imperceptibly at his failure to come up with someone who might visit his realm, especially when he was not expecting anyone. 

"Little brother,”

The voice was accompanied by a woman with black curls and a skin that glowed before the light from the glass pane even touched her. 

"Death," Morpheus stated, bewilderment tucked somewhere in his tone. After all, he hadn't expected to meet her again so soon. 

"How are you?" She asked.

"I am truly well sister, what brings you here?"

Death knew how much truth his ‘truly well’ held but let it pass for the moment. "Lucienne would you please excuse us for a minute?" 

"Ofcourse my lady.” She dipped her head and pursued the command, closing the colossal doors behind her. 

"Something...something has happened.” Death wasted no time in speaking.  

This time Dream did not try to hide the raise in his eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?" His calm voice floated through the room. 

"Dream,”

Before she could follow the sentence, turmoil had already begun growing within him, Death was using his name only to soften the blow. 

"It's here."

“Bloody hell, that was one hell of a case!” Charles exclaimed as he shut the door behind you three. 

“Charles you know Edwin suffers from serious ptsd please stop using hell so much around him. It’s not like the British lack in creative curses,” you reprimanded him as you shrugged your jacket off, draping it over the couch. 

“Haha you’re hilarious,” Edwin stated monotonically while Charles started chanting ‘hell’ in the background just to spite the both of you. 

“Thanks hon,” you winked. “And Charles shut that hole up or if the ghost didn’t get you I surely will.”

“Hell hell hell hell hell- ow what was that for?” 

You grinned in delight as your boot contacted with his abdomen, “for being annoying.” 

Another “ow” escaped Charles as he sent glaring looks at you. “And that?” 

“For being you,” you beamed, devoid of both your boots now.

Your smile was quickly wiped off your face as Charles began his incantation right in your face. 

“Get away from me!” You groaned flailing your hands to push his bloodied face away. 

“Okay now I don’t know about you both but I for one am seriously tired after the events that have transpired during the day. So if you will excuse me and please take whatever this is,” Edwin gestured at the both of you with a foul expression, “somewhere else because I need to rest.” 

“Hell hell hell,” Charles resumed being annoying as if nothing had happened. 

“I swear if even a droplet of that ghost’s blood drops on my t-shirt I will fucking kill you. Again.” 

“Hell hell- you love me too much for that-hell hell-”

“Yeah? Go on and find out- NO!” You let out a scream that would have for sure woken up your neighbours if you had any, being a secretive ghost agency and what not. 

“You bitch! That was my favourite t-shirt!” You looked down at the once white fabric now bearing an impression of Charles' right profile in blood.

“I know.” He had the audacity to smirk at that. 

You went for his throat, fully determined to give truth to your previous threat when Edwin pulled you from him. 

"Enough! Both of you!” 

Charles and you stared at each other, your ears still hot with fury.

“Charles go wash up that face please! And Hazel you need sleep, unlike us, so go retire to your bedroom.” 

“Like you can just order us around,” you rolled your eyes. 

But Edwin’s one look in your way got you scrambling for your jacket. 

“Yes boss.” Charles made his way to the bathroom. 

“Goodnight Edwin, fuck you Charles.” And you departed with your wishes.

You sighed as you switched on the lights in your room, and plopped down on the single bed. Not even mustering up the courage to change into your night clothes, you let sleep engulf you and entered the world of dreaming. 

A/N: hello peeps this story is set post the events of the sandman show and i haven’t read the comics so you will have to bear with the inconsistencies and the like. if i mess up real bad pls do let me know<3

SERIES MASTERLIST ✧˖°.

[bubblegumspacebxtch]

Melting the Dragon's Heart

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: They say opposites attract but can profound differences really find it in them to love?

Warnings || angst but then fluff at the end

A/N: I haven't written in so long, but this man has forced me out of hiatus because he's just so dreamy. The murdering, white-haired menace that is Aemond Targaryen does things to me so naturally I had to write this long ass fic. I know it's long but I couldn't help it really. Also I was in the mood for some angst so that's that lol

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

As the saying goes, hearts unalike are those most drawn to one another. Aemond thought it a ridiculous belief. He could not fathom it were possible for gentle and kind to love cold and cruel.

He was aloof and indifferent. Prince Aemond curated an image that made even the most proud of lords hesitate to interact with him. Complementary to his nature was his looks. The man stood tall and firm with his chin often upturned as if to reiterate his high status. His scowl seemingly permanent like the scar that ran across his face. Many fear what lay underneath his eyepatch that even having it covered leave people wary of the Targaryen prince.

Though he was not always this ironhearted, the young prince knew that love was an illusion and marriage a duty. Aemond believed only his mother could love him and even she could not do so fully. To some extent he understood why love for the likes of him would always sound ridiculous. Because it was far better to be feared than loved. And no one could love a monster like him.

You had.

You who is pure and spirit bright. You who is social and could sympathize with anyone regardless of status.

You were Aemond Targaryen’s antithesis. Your humility and generosity knew no bounds. Unlike the prince’s seriousness, you were lighthearted. You believed in love and never hesitated to love who you could.

Not only in nature were you and the prince contrary to one another, but also in looks. You were small and would often need to look up in order to maintain eye contact when conversing. Your head of curls the color of ink as opposed to the renowned white of the Targaryen bloodline.

You grew up with Aemond and his siblings seeing as you were the lady-in-waiting to his sister Helaena. You often left the young prince wondering how such goodness could be possessed by an individual, especially given your circumstance.

Being an orphaned bastard of House Westerling, you’ve learned to bury the pain brought by the judgment of others. You have swallowed many vile insults and hate, but never had you let it harden your heart. Your mother died in childbirth and your father you never knew. Fortunate enough, your uncle took you as his own which allowed you to be in the good graces of the king.

You arrived in King’s Landing when you were eleven and the prince thirteen. Aemond committed to memory the very moment your light filled him with awe.

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

His eye was already lost and though it had already healed, the pain and anger he felt still a roaring flame.

“I want you all to treat her well.”

While his brother rolled his eyes at their mother’s reminder, Aemond simply dismissed her. In his mind, he need not be reminded because he was more or less civil and distant with everyone, especially new people.

The hinges sang lowly as the massive doors to the throne room opened to announce your entrance. A contagious smile adorned your face as you walked alongside the Hand.

Aemond could not deny that even as a child you were captivating. The grace and pureness your persona exude was what kept the room’s attention on you.

“Your Grace.”

Their mother watched with a smile as you curtsied. As you resumed standing upright, you turned your attention to each of the Targaryen children as they were introduced.

“And this is Prince Aemond.”

He seemed to snap back to attention at the mention of his name, having been admiring the dewy skin of your supple pink cheeks.

“Pleased to be in your presence, Prince Aemond.”

Your smile gave way to dimples and the prince felt his heartbeat stutter. Though you made him feel an oddly pleasant sensation between his ribs, his response was anything but. He gave only a curt nod, but your smile never wavered despite his indifference.

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

With the passing of time you only became even kinder. Aemond once thought you may have been blessed to have your outsides reflect your insides. Your positivity was accompanied by beauty he has yet to see on anyone else in the entire Seven Kingdoms. He would marvel at your soft eyes and full lips before growing bitter at the thought that if you had been blessed then he must have been cursed. The misery and abhorrence he kept inside must be why he had a monster for a reflection.

Before you, it was easy for Aemond to get caught up in self-loathing and insecurity. That was until you showed him genuine affection.

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

He was training with Sir Criston while you were with the princess looking to find a chrysalis she wished to take care of before it transformed into a butterfly.

Aemond was so focused on trying to dodge the knight’s advances that he failed to notice his cover had fallen to reveal his other eye. The gasps were audible but Aemond was quick to drop his sword to cover himself. You watched him storm off to the castle to his chambers. The unwanted attention had him almost in a frenzy with adrenaline allowing him so make his swift escape.

You watched the scene with a heavy heart, growing upset as the people around who had witnessed the affair started to whisper about the one-eyed prince. You noticed his eyepatch still on the ground and you took it with the intent of returning it and checking up on him.

“Princess, I believe we must be heading back. We would not want your mother to have to wait for you for tea time.”

After being dismissed, you made your way to the younger prince’s chambers.

Aemond had a tight grip on his chalice as he mulled over what had happened. By now his head felt lighter given the amount of wine he had. Drinking was his brother’s way of coping and Aemond wanted no part of him to resemble Aegon, but given the circumstance he allowed himself this bit of irresponsibility.

The sound of your knuckles against his door was so faint that he almost ignored it, but your sweet voice soon followed.

“My prince, I come returning what is yours.”

Even through his sour mood you managed to find your way past as your voice brought him a bit of peace, granting him a break from his harsh thoughts.

“May I come in?”

His mind, the sober part at least, wanted to deny your request knowing you saw his face bare. He feared the heartbreak. What if you regard him with caution or even worse, disgust?

His heart however longed for you. And so before he could decide otherwise, he said, “Come in.”

The creak of the door made him nervous. He refused to face you directly, settling on watching you from his peripheral.

You stood close to the door once it was closed, awaiting further instruction. For a few seconds you studied him. His other eye was again covered by a different eyepatch. His hair was no longer tied, leaving it to frame his face.

“You may sit, Lady Y/N.”

The prince had gestured to the seat next to him. You inhaled deeply before your small feet carried you across the room. The prince watched your every move and he noted how your silver dress made you glow, providing a contrast to your dark hair and eyes.

As you sat, you brought your hands together on your lap and only then did Aemond notice what you were holding. The sight of his eyepatch made him tense and soon an awkward tension filled the space as you sat in silence.

“You must think me a monster now.”

“Your Grace, you are no monster in my eyes. I wish you shared my opinion because it is the truth.”

Your response had him turning to face you and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Your eyes have always been so expressive and where he expected pity to lie he saw adoration and genuine concern instead.

Upon meeting his eye, your smile widened. You so desperately wanted to be there for him and alleviate whatever troubles him.

“Your eye should not be cause for judgement. It is one’s character that ought to be looked at.”

“And what is my character?”

“You are thoughtful. I appreciate how you would leave me books you believe I would enjoy or bring me pastries you’d want me to try. You are bright and respectful. The conversations you hold are of an educated man. You are immensely loyal to not only those you love but to your house as well.”

By the time you had finished speaking, the space between you two was barely there. You stared at each other for what felt like centuries before a small smile broke out on the prince’s face. You admired the way his lips curved, fascinated by the depth of his prominent cupid’s bow.

An unknown force compelled you to touch the left side of his face and your bravery raised your hand to do so. Before you could move further, the prince caught your wrist in a gentle hold.

He stared at you, beginning to feel nervous, but your will remained steadfast. Your hand landed on his cheek, caressing his scar and before the prince could react, you moved to rid him of his cover.

“Y/N-”

His protests died on his tongue as the bright sapphire was revealed to you and he watched your pupils dilate in wonder. He had never before felt so vulnerable, but your touch put him at ease.

The pair of you remained in silence like that for gods know how long. Then you whispered in earnest.

“Beautiful…”

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

The sound of your laughter traveled down the hall. Aemond could feel his insides twist in delight as he drew closer towards his sister’s chambers.

“Brother? What a lovely surprise.”

Your back was facing the door when he entered. You watched the princess smile at her brother before turning to address him yourself. The sight of you knocked the wind out of Aemond.

A butterfly lay on your cheek and the other at the exposed skin of your clavicle. You looked ethereal and Aemond swore he felt giddy seeing you so lovely.

“My chrysalises have finally turned into butterflies! We opened the jar to free them but they flew to Lady Y/N instead.”

Princess Helaena was amused at how smitten the prince was with you. She had to refrain from giggling as she carefully removed the insects on you before catching her brother's attention.

“What is it you came for, brother?”

It was a physical effort for Aemond to take his eye off you and you felt your cheeks warm at the attention.

“Oh… uh mother requests to see you in her chambers.”

“Now? But I promised Lady Y/N I’d walk with her through the gardens.”

"Your Grace, we do not have to if-"

"I can walk with her! If... of course, Lady Y/N allows it..."

Prince Aemond was rarely embarrassed, but in that moment he could not avoid being bashful at how eager he sounded to spend time with you.

"I am sure you have better use of your time, Prince Aemond."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N. I insist."

As Princess Helaena left, you and the prince made your way to the castle gardens. You prayed to the gods he could not hear the erratic beat of your heart at his close proximity.

"Let me take this time to say my thanks to you, Lady Y/N."

"What ever for, your Grace?"

"You have never failed to be kind and patient with my sister. Many see her odd, but you regard her in no such way."

Your heart swelled at his appreciation and Aemond felt his own do the same as you faced him with your wide grin and doe eyes.

"I suppose I am grateful that your kindness extends to me as well. It is rare that I am regarded with as much compassion as you have shown me."

You are taken aback by the prince's admission and he gave you a tender smile in return.

"There is no need to thank me, my prince. I only wish more people could witness how beautiful and gentle you truly are..."

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

The young prince could not contain his bliss as he walked back to his chambers after his time with you. There was a skip in his step with his scowl now absent from his face. That was until he opened his door to reveal his brother waiting for him in his chambers.

Aemond slightly faltered at his brother looking at him with a sly smirk. The younger Targaryen was quick to school his features, returning to the cold expression he always wore.

"What are you doing here, Aegon?"

"I saw you with Lady Y/N and my my I could not believe what I was witnessing."

Aemond raised his eyebrow at his brother and Aegon chuckled lightly before continuing.

"I never thought a simple bastard would catch the eye of a man as proud as you, my brother."

"What are you talking about?" Aemond hissed, glaring at an amused Aegon.

"You mean to say you harbor no fondness for the girl?" his brother teased back.

"Do not dare insult me, brother. I have no intention of ever associating myself with a lowborn orphan such as her. I am a prince after all so I would be careful with implying something so ridiculous."

Unbeknownst to Aemond, you were right outside his door. You had the intent of returning a book he had lent you, but stopped short upon hearing the two princes.

You tried to hold in your tears at the offensive remarks made to your name. Your heart shattered and you felt the shards stab at your insides.

It was not easy to admit, but you had developed feelings for the younger prince. His rare smile that you thought was more common when you were around. The difference in the attention he would give you compared to any other. All these things made you believe that maybe he saw you in the same light. That maybe he too felt he could not breathe whenever you were around. At the very least, you thought he regarded you as a dear friend, just like you had him.

Only after hearing what he had to say about you did you think otherwise. You were mistaken. Blinded by your want to have your affections reciprocated, you failed to notice how different your ambitions were from the truth.

He did not love you. He may not even see you as anything more than a servant he has had to live with these past years. You had set yourself up for heartbreak by creating a delusion of loving the prince and being loved back.

The hold you had on the book loosened and before you could stop it, a small thud echoed from it falling. That snapped you out of your thoughts. As fast as your feet allowed, you made your way out of the hall and on your way back to your chambers.

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

Aegon soon left his brother's chambers and the younger prince heaved a heavy exhale. Aemond did not wish to ridicule you to his brother, but he wouldn't dare acknowledge his adoration for you either. Not because he was ashamed of having feelings for you, but because he knew making it known would remind him of the rejection that is guaranteed. You could not love him, that much he knew, so he denied what he felt.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. After giving his permission, a servant had revealed herself holding the book you had dropped moments ago.

"Why is this in your possession?"

"I found it outside your door, Prince Aemond. I only wish to return what I believe is yours."

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

You made it a point to avoid the prince at all costs. Your fragile heart would simply crumble to even finer pieces if you were to be in his presence again. You stopped going to the library and would now convince the princess to avoid wandering to places you knew Aemond would be. You stayed in your chambers more, only leaving when the princess was in need of you.

Almost a week had passed and Aemond thought you had vanished into thin air with how little he's seen you. He now only caught glimpses of you not often which left his heart aching. At some point he resorted to seeking you out by going to your chambers all the way across the Keep.

With the book in his other hand, the silver-haired prince raised the other to knock on your door. He waited with bated breath and his heart leapt at finally seeing you again after what felt like decades.

It was obvious you weren't expecting him and the prince's stomach dropped upon seeing how your smile faltered.

"Prince Aemond... How may I be of service to you?"

Now the confusion was noticeable on Aemond's face. Never had you addressed him with such formality.

"I thought to return this to you so you may finish reading it. You must have left it somewhere because a servant returned it to me."

"Your Grace, I am a person of no importance to have a prince make an effort to hand me books. I believe it best you no longer do so."

You made no eye contact with him as you twiddled with your thumbs and the prince could not stop his smile from turning into a frown.

"Lady Y/N, trust that I do this wholeheartedly. You are no bother to me as I am gladdened by the love of reading we share."

"Pardon me, your Grace, but there is no need for you to pretend any longer. I know what you think of me and am aware you do not want the likes of me near you."

It was a heavy task to not cry despite feeling the heaviness of your spirit become unbearable. Aemond so desperately wanted you to lift your head to face him, but as soon as you did, his heart felt like it took a punch.

Your eyes were glassy and your features forlorn. The sight of you sent the prince scrambling for a response that would comfort you.

"That could not be further from the truth. Y-You are my dearest friend, Y/N... I-"

"I believed you were a friend to me as well, but I heard you with Prince Aegon. Though I know you spoke the truth. The truth being that I am a lowborn bastard. I-I cannot deny how it pains me so to hear you regard me with such contempt."

By now the tears have flown freely down your face. The prince's chest tightened seeing you shake as you succumbed to your heartache.

"Forgive me f-for wasting even m-more of your time, Prince Aemond."

You cringed at your pathetic apology given you could not stop the hiccups from your cries. You made an attempt to close the door, but Aemond beat you to it, placing a hand on the wood and pushing to let himself in your space.

"Y-Your Grace, please... Y-You mustn't-"

His hands on your face catches you off guard, lifting it so that you may look up at him. With gentle fingers, he wiped your tears, and you couldn't help closing your eyes at the gesture.

"It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, Y/N... I-I did not mean those words. It was not my intention to hurt you. I would never dream of hurting you, my dear Y/N. I-I simply wanted Aegon to leave me alone. I didn't want him to know..."

You raised your eyebrows as the prince trailed off. Aemond felt his heart was to burst out of his clothes soon and drop to the floor. He had to tell you now. Rejection or not, he must make it known that he would never willingly hurt you, the one person whose presence reminds him that he still has a heart and that he is worth more than his title.

"I did not want him to know that... that I care for you deeply. You have enraptured my heart and soul with the unwavering kindness you have bestowed to someone as unworthy as me."

Your eyes widen at the prince but he continues his speech as he moves to decrease the distance between you two even more.

"It is your laughter that calms me and when I close my eyes, it is the image of your smile painted on the back of their lids. When we are together and you tell me of what you've read, I find myself daydreaming of a life with you. How I would offer everything I have in exchange for your hand."

"Prince Aemond, w-what are you saying..."

"I am saying I love you, Y/N. Most ardently."

You gasped upon hearing his words and the prince moved his hands to hold yours.

"What I said to my brother was in fear of rejection for I have denied my feelings knowing they are one-sided. It was childish of me to turn to insults to reject what I feel so strongly for you and I regret having upset you. I-I understand if you wish to never speak to me again..."

With his head bowed and gaze to the floor, the prince did not see the smile that was back on your face.

"Oh Aemond, you fool!"

Before he could make eye contact to decipher what you meant, you had let his hands go in favor of wrapping them around him in an embrace as you lunged forward. The prince was quick to secure your waist in his arms. He heard you giggle in his ear before pulling back to be face to face with him.

"Your feelings are my own, my prince. I too love you a great deal."

Several emotions washed over Aemond all at once, but it was relief that was undeniable. He mirrored the bright smile on your face as your arms remained on his shoulders and his on your hips.

"I did not think it were possible for someone as beautiful and gentle as you to feel for someone like me." Aemond admitted, but you only leaned in to kiss him in response.

There was no greater pleasure than having your lips on his. Having the privilege of your love was comparable to being high up in the sky. He was in so much elation as your chest pressed to his when he tightened his hold on you.

"I love you, my beautiful prince. I am yours."

"Y/N... If you will have me... I desire nothing more than to be your husband."

[therabbitthatpostthings]

(Part 1) (Part 2) Final part to the Giyuu's Secret Family AU story thingy. This has single handily made me attached to the OC even though I still won't give her a name. Might draw her one day.... She/Her Pronouns.

Shinobu and Mitsuri seemed enraptured in Lady Tomioka’s tales of her friendship with Giyuu. The man she described was different from the one they had come to know. Telling these stories also helped calm her down and let Shinobu slip out to send word to the Master of her return. It was strange that the thought of love was so unbelievable but, here (Y/N) is, a blushing mess while just thinking of her husband.

“How cute..” Shinobu thought.

(Y/N) didn’t seem to mind, the dark and brooding Giyuu had disappeared a long time ago and now was her loving husband and father to their son. And Giyuu loved his son and wife so much. They both came from less than happy backgrounds. No village or home to return to or at least that would welcome them. Their families were destroyed and they hoped to forever be the loving parents for Hiroshi. That’s what (Y/N) loved most about Giyuu, he was hopeful. Hope was something she lost long ago but, if Giyuu believed in it, then she would believe in him.

Even when things got troublesome Giyuu still had hope and looked out for her. On one of her more troublesome missions, (Y/N) had believed the threat was over and she could sleep the night away. She fought valiantly and the village rewarded her for it. To her surprise she is awoken in the wee hours by a large crash. Just outside her room was Giyuu fighting a demon he chased from his location. Fighting with injuries and reopening wounds slowed her down but she managed to help kill the beast. She could barely stand from then on and the days following Giyuu would carry her back home, stopping at a Wisteria House along the way.

“You don’t have to take care of me Tomioka.” She said quietly as he rebandaged her leg.

“You say that all the time.” He stated. 

“I just… I don’t want to be a burden.” She replied.

“You aren’t.”

His tone had a slight tinge of annoyance. Hesitantly (Y/N) spoke again, “I don’t understand why you would care for me this much.”

“You ask me ‘why’ a lot. I care about you, isn’t that enough?” 

“I haven't done anything remarkable to be cared about by you. Or anyone for that matter.” (Y/N)’s voice trailed off. She clutched the edge of her robe, not trying to maintain eye contact.

“You are alive (L/N), that’s all I need.”

“What..”

“I don’t need you to do grand gestures, you talking to me everyday is enough.”

(Y/N) was at a loss for words. She couldn’t hide her blush as Giyuu finished and looked her in the eye. She quickly turned her head to the side. Her heart was racing and emotions washed over her like a waterfall.

“I like having you around.” He said softly.

This only made her blush deeper. She wasn’t even sure of her own feelings when she blurted out, “I-I would stay by your side if you asked me to! You're one of my only friends, Tomioka, so I won’t be a burden anymore! I promise!”

(Y/N) continued on with her stuttering. Giyuu felt a slight twinge in his chest. Looking at her, he could only think of one thing.

Burden…

A feeling he knew all too well. That wasn’t (Y/N) though. She could never be a burden to him. She made time to talk with him. Go out to dinner. They trained together, fought together. She made him feel lighter. (Y/N) was no burden. She was an integral part of him, one he couldn’t lose. Not again.

“-I know I can’t do much but I’ve already made it to Hinoe! I can get better, I can-”

Giyuu gently and slowly pulled (Y/N) in for a hug. He was somewhat awkward at it but it felt too good to hold her close to him. “Would you really stay by my side if I asked?”

“Y-Yes, of course.”

“Then stay by me, please. Stay alive (Y/N). That’s all I want.”

“I will,” She smiled to herself hugging him back. “I’ll stay by you Giyuu.”

(Y/N) remembered how they stayed up talking until they both fell asleep. How that became a routine and she practically lived at Giyuu’s estate. Giyuu’s not an openly affectionate person so it wasn’t a challenge to keep the relationship a secret. Despite (Y/N) only becoming stronger she was still not yet a Hashira so the thought of her dating one never crossed anyone’s mind (aside Masato). She giggled to herself as her face flushed again.

“Are you okay (Y/N)?” Mitsuri asked.

“I’m fine! I was just thinking of how we were years ago. I was so shy around Giyuu, it’s embarrassing!” (Y/N) laughed.

Mitsuri couldn’t help but be endeared to (Y/N). “Now I have to know! How did he propose?” Shinobu popped back into the room, intrigued to know as well. (Y/N) face heated up again, remembering the night.

It wasn’t very often that Giyuu and (Y/N)’s days off crossed with each other but today was a lucky day. Looking back on it, she suspected he asked the Master for the day off. (Y/N) had been suspicious over the last couple days, starting with her Master being a lot happier these days. Actually Giyuu seemed happier too. Instead of staying in like normal, he suggested going out. After a good breakfast, the two left to walk around town and shop. It was a very calm day. It almost felt normal. As the day shifted to the evening they ate a hearty dinner and slowly made their way back to Giyuu’s estate. The sun was slowly starting to set as Giyuu turned to a clearing in the trees.

“What are you doing?”

“I think we should go this way, it’s a longer way back.”

(Y/N) smiled and took Giyuu’s hand, “Why the sudden change?”

“Just thought it would be nice.” He said as you two stepped off onto the clearing.

“Giyuu if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to lead me somewhere.” (Y/N) teased. A small light peaked through the clearing and you both came upon a clearing. There was a garden surrounded by two small ponds and wisteria trees overlooking them both. It was a gorgeous sight to see, especially with the full moon illuminating the area. Giyuu lead (Y/N) across the path to the large gazebo on the far side of the garden.

“Did you set all this up? It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) smiled.

Giyuu’s face was redder than it’s ever been before. He couldn’t look her in the eye as he took both her hands in his. He stood there in an embarrassed silence, grateful (Y/N) wasn’t rushing him.

“(Y/N),” He started slowly, “If I asked, would you stay by me…always?”

“My answer never changed, Giyuu. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Giyuu felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He finally looked up to see (Y/N)'s smiling face. She’s beautiful…

“I love you. The chances of us dying grow greater every day and I know one day I may go somewhere you cannot follow but, I’d rather come to that day knowing I had you with me. I feel happy around you, like I was given life again. I want to give that happiness to you. I want to marry you.”

(Y/N) was stunned. It was like the world stopped and they were the only ones that were alive still. Giyuu started to worry as (Y/N) hadn’t replied. She started crying!

“I-I understand if you don’t want to, it’s fine. I just wanted to be with you- we don’t have to-“

“Giyuu! Of course I’ll marry you!” (Y/N) pulled him into a kiss. Giyuu recovered from the shock and kissed back. They pulled away and he rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t think I believed in love until I met you.” (Y/N) smiled.

“I don’t think I was really living until I met you. I promise to always make you happy.”

—

“I think because we knew this life would eventually take us both that we should cherish what we have right now. We’re alive right now, let’s be happy and in love too. It’s a selfish wish, especially considering Hiroshi but, I can’t regret my choices now. I can only be better from here on out.”

“That was so beautiful!” Mitsuri cheered in full tears. “I’m so happy you and Tomioka found each other!”

“Thank you, I’m happy I met him.” (Y/N) smiled.

“I’ll go get you something to drink,” Shinobu excused herself. She barely made it two steps out the door before being bombarded by a frantic Tomioka at the door.

“Where is she?! Where is (Y/N)!?” Giyuu’s eyes darted around looking for his wife. Uzui and Sanemi were close behind with bags in hand. 

“She’s stable. She’s talking to Mitsuri right now, calm down. You’ll worry her if she sees you so scared.” Shinobu said calmly. Giyuu tried to slow his breathing but could barely muster the confidence. He quickly moved past Shinobu into the room. (Y/N) and Mitsuri both jumped in their seats at the sound of the door slamming open. All composure left Giyuu as soon as he saw his bandaged wife. Giyuu pulled her into a tight hug.

“Giyuu, I-I didn’t send for you yet.” She said turning all her worry to her husband.

“The news came from Master.” He finally let go of the breath he was holding in. “I was so worried (Y/N).”

“I didn’t mean to scare you dear.” She smiled, pulling him in for a kiss. Giyuu settled on the bed, refusing to leave or even let go of (Y/N). A stark shift from the man that didn’t even want anyone to see his wife. You would think Giyuu was the one injured with the way she suddenly doted on him. The Hashira stood idly by as (Y/N) tended to her very worried husband. The same husband that hardly showed any affection last they all met was now clinging to her side. Both of them noticeably wearing their wedding bands as well.

“We brought food!” Uzui declared. “We were eating when we got the news. We might have left Muichiro behind.”

Sanemi and Uzui soon left after that, along with Mitsuri. They each waved their goodbyes to (Y/N) and she thanked them again. To Giyuu’s disapproval Shinobu informed them (Y/N) would stay the night. Regardless of his protess, (Y/N) agreed. “I couldn’t let Hiroshi see me like this.”

“I’ll tell Master Yamato that Hiroshi is staying the night then.” Giyuu stated, earning a look from (Y/N). “I’m not leaving you.”

“Giyuu I am fine.” (Y/N) reassured him.

With Hashira gone Giyuu spoke in a softer tone. “I know, but I want to stay with you.”

Knowing she couldn’t argue, (Y/N) gave in. Shinobu came back soon after to lend (Y/N) clothes. The Butterfly girls helped her to the bath while Giyuu stayed, still worried.

“It’s so strange seeing you affectionate Tomioka.” Shinobu smiled, handing him a set of sleeping clothes.

“Are you teasing me?”

“No. I just wanted to say, I’m happy for you. You and your family.”

[superluver]

how about fake dating with satoru gone wrong 👀 (they fall for each other)

Do you see what you do to me? G.S.

Pairing: Gojo Satorux Fem!Reader

wc: 3271 | cw: gojo has dimples, CURSING, fluff, angst if you squint, overthinking, Gojo is TOUCHYY, FEM!READER, cuddling, Gojo being a gentlemen?!, SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE

Description: Gojo is attending a month long ceremony, and as a single head, the higher-ups would do anything to pair him up with a powerful sorceress. Gojo invites you to go with him, as his lover.

Im sorry, who ever requested this if this isnt what you were looking for you can request me again and i'll fix it, @teaaleefs thank you again for helping w the story

“You want me to what?” You gape at the man who is kneeling on the ground before you. His eyes bandaged with a pouty lip to make up for the lack of eye contact.

“Please, (Y/N)?!” He begs, grabbing on your pant leg, tugging at you relentlessly. “DAMN IT GOJO,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, but your eyes are ablaze with anger. “You’re gonna tear up my pants again! This is my last pair—!”

He ignores your complaint, continuing to tug hard at the cloth. Your arms are holding down on the stretched fabric, and you pray it’s enough.

Gojo has a tendency to pull on your leg— literally— every time he wants you to do something for him.

“Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease,”

You groan in annoyance, eyebrows furrowed as your arms pull away from your pants. Instead, your hands slam onto the arm rests of your chair. “FINE— Yes, fine I will help you! Just let go—”

Rip

The two of you stare at the damage he had caused, your face emotionless.

“Oopsie?”

“Gojo, get out before I change my mind.”

He stands up quickly, saluting you before walking off. “Roger.”

You slump back into your seat with a sigh, rubbing the corners of your eyes.

What did you just get yourself into?

It’s a major event, a gala if you will, for the 3 Big Clans. Festivities for a consecutive month. And Gojo— Satoru, Satoru has no doubt that the higher ups are going to try and set him up with a powerful sorceress.

That’s where you come in.

For this entire month, you will be treated as the Gojo clan head’s lover. And it’s a big responsibility at that. Not only must you demonstrate your ability and your worthiness, the higher ups may begin to throw jobs at you left and right in order to see you falter.

It’s shameful to see the lady of the house falter at a trivial matter.

On the day of, the two of you were wearing extremely formal wear. Kimono’s in plain colors of blue and white; matching. Unconsciously you squeeze his hand for some form of comfort, protection, even.

You feel his gaze on you, your eyes meeting his crystal colored ones. His gaze is conceited, eyebrows raised, shit-eating grin… that fucker was annoying.

“G—Satoru,” you call out his name, casting him a seemingly polite closed eyed smile, your lips pressed together. It was clear you were agitated— if anyone knew better that is.

And there was only one person who knew better, and that person would be Go— SATORU. Please! Get used to his name.

“Hm?” He hums almost snarkily. His eyes are still on you, but not on your face anymore.

Just you.

Taking in the ornaments adorning you, his eyes wandered over you. Over the kanzashi in your hair, the diamonds dangling from the ends of it.

As well as the strong, yet elegant, steps you took in your zori sandals. All that before finally settling on your fierce gaze. But you didn’t know that he was, well— checking you out.

His gaze seemed gentler, softer than it normally is, but to you it seemed like he was nitpicking you with his eyes; tearing you apart with every individual scan he made of your body.

And at that moment, you had never felt so bare in your life. The most cloth you had ever worn, wrapped around your body, yet he still had the talent to make it feel as though you wore none.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, snapping you out of your trance. You stare at him, confused with his words.

He’s smiling at you and you can see a dimple— which you never knew he had— cratering his cheek.

‘How adorable,’

“Thank you,” you mumbled in reply, feeling a little shy at the sudden compliment.

His eyes still linger on you, burning your skin.

“ENTERING, GOJO CLAN.” Someone shouts followed by a loud drum.

Satoru, being Satoru, snorted loudly as the doors opened. He was never one for old fashioned traditions. You clenched his hand, and to your surprise he squeezed back, smiling brightly at you as the large doors creaked open.

It was assumed Gojo would go alone like he did every year. So imagine the surprise on the elder’s and higher-ups' faces when you showed up, holding the young Gojo’s hand.

Your head was strongly held up, eyes blinking softly. Every time he glanced at you, he was reminded of a fairy from a story his nanny would tell him as a child.

“You’re staring, Gojo.” You say through clenched teeth, smiling at the elders.

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles back at you as he heads to the Gojo head’s seat. Normally, there would be two seats, one for the Lady and the Head. But, since Gojo always attended alone, they had left one seat.

Your face grew warm with embarrassment, having realized you would need to stand up at the table. You knew he would be the one sitting down so,

“Oh no, this won’t do.” He waves you over, hands on your shoulder as he guides you to his seat, pushing you down. The elder’s gape at his actions.

The lady sitting at the head’s seat? It’s uncalled for!

His hand slides down your arm, grabbing ahold of your hand. He pulls it up, placing a lingering kiss to your palm, his blue uncovered eyes staring back at you. “Anything for my lady,” he confesses, and you begin to stammer.

“G-go—”

“Satoru,” he whispers back, your palm still covering his mouth.

Eyes half-lidded, anyone would think he was in love with you.

Then, you feel wet. Your hand… was wet?

HE LICKED YOU?!

You feel the need to scream, but in order to keep your image you tug your hand back, wiping it on his own kimono rather than your own. He laughs in response, trying to dodge your currently slobbery hand.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, hand still extended trying to wipe it.

Finally, you get it on him, wiping your hand off of his drool.

“Ahem!”

Your head turns creakily to the voice that commanded your attention. A very wrinkly man, fist to his mouth.

You sweat, adjusting yourself in the very comfortable seat. Satoru has your hand in his own, his thumb rubbing circles on the backside of your palm.

You truly seemed like a couple in other people’s eyes. Satoru, a normally childish person, allowing his lover his seat. Something he probably would never do for anyone.

The old man reads some scriptures from the beginning of time, and you find yourself dozing off, blinking slowly.

Suddenly, his mouth nears your ear, bringing you to shiver at his hot breath hitting your neck and ear. “Don’t fall asleep now,” he teases.

You flutter your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow with pressed lips.

He smiles, and you smile back this time. With infinity being off, you never knew he could be so warm.

When you look at him, he seems like he’d be cold. Body temperature lower than the norm, but it’s surprisingly quite the opposite.

His hands are warm, radiating with heat. You wonder if even on the coldest days he would stay warm.

“I should be telling you that,” you whisper back, smirking at him. He, with raised eyebrows, steps closer to you before seating himself on the minimal space left on his your chair. When he realizes that the two of you won’t fit, he lifts you up, placing you on his lap. His arms wrap around you, securing you so you don’t run off. You squirm in his hold, but he tightens his grip.

His voice goes an octave lower, and into your ear he whispers. “I wouldn't do that if I were you..”

It was almost like a groan the way he said it, and it took two and two to put it together.

You stiffen, almost becoming statue-like as he chuckles into your shoulder, batting his long white eyelashes at you.

“You’re sick.” You spat.

“Just playing the part, sweetheart— hey! That rhymed!”

The elder finishes the scriptures, and that’s when it's time for sorcerers all alike to converse and meet heads of different clans. Though, for being a small percent of the population, there sure were a lot of people here.

“Okay sweetcheeks, time to get up.” He laughs loudly, lifting you up with him as he stands. His arms still wrapped around your waist, forearms in your armpits holding you up. Your feet grazing the ground.

“Let me go!” You swing and wriggle in his grasp, and he laughs manically, setting you down.

“Remember,” he tells you while you brush yourself off, straightening your kimono with an annoyed expression. “I’m Satoru to you— come up with a nickname if worst comes to worst.”

“Got it.” You say with clenched teeth, walking off towards the crowd of people. Satoru trailing closely behind, which gathers unnecessary attention.

“Why are you following me?!” You whisper-shout, and he grabs your wrist, tapping his finger on his cheek motioning for something. He stands with a minor slouch, as if he is leaning for something.. for you.

“What?” You ask, and he says nothing, continuing to tap on his cheek.

Your eyes go wide when you realize what he wants.

A kiss.

Unable to fight or deny out in the open you bite your tongue, pressing your plush lips to his pale cheek. He smirks, pulling your face closer, his pointy nose hitting yours. You can smell the dessert on his breath.

“One more?”

With a roll of your eyes, you bring your free hand up to his face and flick his forehead. While he’s busy rubbing his head in agony, you yank your wrist back, stomping off and away from the man.

“(Y/N)!!!” He calls your name, which sounds distant as you immerse tourself in the crowd of people.

Many woman and younger men stare at you bashfully, few tilting their head with respect as you step through. Their faces reddened at the scene of the strongest sorcerer bowing down to a measly woman.

The thought threw the higher-ups into a fit.

They had to get rid of you.

“How did you guys meet?” A woman asks you, a warm tea cup in your hand. You’re sipping it slowly, eyes scanning the room as you remenise back to the time when you first encountered Gojo Satoru.

“I met Gojo at the Jujutsu Tech,” you confess, and the woman stares at you with a raised eyebrow. “Gojo? Wouldn’t you call him as his first name.”

Caught red handed, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“O-oh! Yeah, Satoru. It’s a long story, of course I call him Satoru.”

She squints at you, then going into a face of shock. She’s not looking at you anymlre, now at the person who looms behind you. “Havin’ a party without me?” He jokes, swinging an arm around your shoulder.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he waves her up, almost commanding her to move closer. The woman does as she’s told, hesitantly moving her head closer.

“I like when she calls me that in bed.”

You gape, she gasps, he grins.

Her face is cherry red, now unable to look you or Gojo in the eye. And with a bow, she steps away.

“Wow,” he breathes out, taking your cup from you and placing it on the table, continuing as he does this action. “Couldn’t even hold out for a day.”

“I'm sorry, old habits die hard.”

“Wow, are you like 50?”

You deadpan, slapping his chest with the palm of your hand.

“We’re gonna have to have one on one training.” He whispers into your ear, then blowing air into the canal. You slap a hand over it, glaring at him. He doesn’t seem to care, casting you his childish grin.

You feel your heart flutter, eyes widening at him. Those dimples again.

Your hand trails up his face, thumbs pressing into the dents in his cheeks. “You’ve got some cute dimples there big shot.” It was meant to be teasing, but you couldn’t help but truthfully mean what you said. They made him so much more attractive.

Everyone knows Satoru Gojo is an attractive man. Hell, even Utahime confessed he was good-looking.

It’s just a fact.

“Why thank you,” he smirks, tapping his head onto yours. “You seem tired, let's get you to bed, yeah?”

With a hand on the small of your back, he leads you out of the gathering. Everything felt too natural with him, and you find yourself doubting.

‘He’s probably been with many women..’

For the first time this night, you find your head hanging low, lips pouty.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You snakily reply.

“You’re all… pouty.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet his eyes, though you say nothing as you stare at him. “I’m just tired,” And that wasn’t a lie. It was a partial truth!

He blinks at you, squinting before shrugging.

“Well, if you say so.”

He said that in a knowing tone, as though he knew you were lying. He probably did, cursed energy had a tendency to vibrate and move in uncertain ways when someone is nervous, and with his six eyes, he’s practically a walking lie detector.

He takes you to the hotel you would be staying at, walking to the room only to find there was only one bed.

“Ah.”

“Gojo, why is there only one bed?” You ask groggily, pointing at the large king size bed.

He shrugs, almost clueless and as confused as you, he responds, “I have no clue. Maybe there was a mix up?” (He does very much does have a clue, he was the one that reserved the single bed).

“No, I guess it's alright. It is a pretty big bed, just dont touch me.” You tell him sharply, waving your finger at him.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “I can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

You click your tongue, grabbing your pajamas and undergarments and storming off to the bathroom.

He watches you silently enter the bathroom, and when you come out a while later.

Hair damp, a towel around your neck catching the moisture. Your lips parted, eyes closed... a satisfied expression.

He finds himself staring at you, and YOU catch him.

“Gojo? The shower is ready.” You tell him, placing the towel in a bin the room service provided. He blinks before he scrambles off the bed, dashing into the bathroom.

“Hm, I feel like im forgetting—”

A loud, high pitched scream erupts from Satoru. Soon after the bathroom door slams open, Satoru holding up your underwear with it hooked around his finger.

“You, uh— probably want this back.”

If you could die right now, you would.

Quickly, you snatch it away. Face as warm as you feel. Unable to meet his uncovered eyes, you stare down, “Y-yeah, thanks.”

He’s still standing in front of you, and you finally glance up. Blue hues stare into your own. He makes the prettiest eyes boring compared to his own.

“You should go shower,” you tell him, and he nods slowly, turning to enter the bathroom once more.

You dispose of the dirty clothes, placing them in the bin before making yourself comfortable on the right side of the bed.

“Oh no. I’m on the right, you’re the left.” He tells you once he comes back, pointing at you and the empty side of the bed.

You already started dozing off, you don’t open your eyes. Instead, you sink further into your pillow, “Too bad,” You mutter.

He grumbles, glancing left and right before sighing. You expect him to give up from the tone of that sigh, but what you DONT expect is for him to jump on you, full weight on your body.

“GOJO!” You screech, squirming away and trying to push him off.

“No.” Is the only word that comes out of his mouth.

“Offffff…! Off, off, off, off, offf!” You groan, pushing and hitting him with your palms.

He smiles into the sheets and you, his arms wrapping around you.

“Good night..”

“SATORU!” You scream, rolling away from his grip to the left, leaving him to the right. He sighs, slipping into the sheets before reaching his arms out once more, dragging you over to him.

Your back pressed on his chest, his arms wrappung around you. “Satoru, what are you doing?"

“Sleeping.”

You sigh, grumbling but not moving away. You liked this.. Not like you would ever admit it though.

His nose is buried in your hair, so much so that he can smell your shampoo. It’s nostalgic from your highschool days, when he first saw you pass by him, that same smell was much stronger than now.

It was like getting a whiff of roses, so refreshing the smell was. The smell would linger for long, and there would be days where he would pause in the hallway, taking deep inhales of your scent.

Now, it’s died down. Very faint, but still there. He doesn't even remember strengthening his hold around your waist, his head sinking further into your hair, spooning you.

Your body was swallowed in his much larger one, it was almost funny how much of a giant he was.

Like he was meant to be someone big in this world.

You’re a nobody, only given an opportunity to spend your days with this man before again going your separate ways.

So you'll take this in as much as you can. Allowing yourself to relax in the grip of the strongest, because he wasn't yours. However you can't say that you aren't his; your heart has been his for a long time.

You wonder if he can feel the thumping of your heart. It's worrisome. A tell-tale sign you’re nervous.

You can only sigh, not remembering when or how, but you begin to finally doze off.

Gojo, on the other hand, is not fully awake but awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. His lips end up curving slightly. Much to your dismay, he can in fact hear the erratic pumping of your heart.

He has to hold back his laugh, ‘you’re nervous,’ he thinks, his eyes half-lidded slits. Blue hues peering at the side of your face through your hair.

You don’t even know what you do to him. The way he keeps this façade, but in reality, his heart’s pounding through his chest and ready to burst. It’s giving him away too.

‘Can you really not feel it?’ He wonders, eyes shutting once more.

Since highschool, ever since you passed by him with that smell of flowers on a spring day, you’ve had him wrapped around your finger.

He’s yours, and he’s trying to let you know that he’s always been yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

Little did he know, you weren’t all that asleep.

In the dark, your eyes went wide, and breathing halted. If you started breathing, you think you would gove away the fact that you weren't truly asleep.

Your face grew warm, and through that look of shock, a smile settled on your lips. Your hands finding his own— which are wrapped around your waist— you squeeze them.

It was your way of letting him know, ‘Me too, I love you too,’ without using your words.

And finally, your slumber comes too. Another couple days of acting as Gojo’s lover, might as well make the most of it.

[itsjusthockey]

When The Party’s Over - Jack Hughes

I have a problem with writing angst and this is much longer than expected. I'm not sorry.

Big announcement coming soon. Get excited.

I'm needy, so the more love I receive, the more I write. So please follow, comment, repost, and talk to me. I really do cherish this blog and want to be more active

Anyway so yeah, come talk to me. Please, I want to know what you guys think.

Should there be a part two? I don't know

wc: 3,423 (credit to gif maker)(don’t steal my work)

Content warning: Swearing and light NSFW? I don’t know it’s not super explicit but it’s all my first time writing it and I’m not sure

Part 2

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

Jack may not be much of a coffee guy, but he is nothing but a weak man when it comes to his favorite bagel place. It’s a regular part of his routine, a constant thing. He goes before practice, grabs his usual order, and then he’s gone.

Usually, he keeps his head down, Jersey isn’t the biggest place, and he likes to avoid attention on his mornings off. Yet, he lifts his head when his name is called and moves to thank the lady handing him his food and walk out when he quickly scans the room, his eyes stopping when he lands on a familiar face.

You’re sitting at a small table close to the edge of the room, surrounded by notebooks, highlighters, and staring hard at your computer. He takes a mental note of your concentrated state, knowing you’re probably in the zone, but he elects to ignore that fact as he makes his way toward your table.

You jump slightly when he takes a seat across from you, only to relax, just barely, when you see it’s him.

“Jesus, Jack,” You breathe out, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Jack can’t help but let a smirk take over his features, and his heart twinges a bit when you let a breathtaking smile take over your own face.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He teases. “What’re you doing here?”

You look at him briefly, then gesture vaguely to your coffee and your wide range of studying supplies. “Homework, or at least trying to.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiles again, relishing in the company of your presence; it’s been over a week since he last saw you.

“Anyway,” you scoot your chair closer to the table, “Come here often? Their bagels are great.”

Jack lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, almost every morning. It’s pretty close to my place and the rink.”

Once he finishes, a look of recognition crosses your features. “I knew this area seemed decently familiar.”

Jack nods, and he watches as you scan over the coffee shop, then finally rest your eyes back on him. The eye contact doesn’t last long, though, when your phone begins to buzz on the table, and you sneak a quick glance down. Jack can’t help but notice the slight smile after you read the message, and his heart falls ever so slightly.

You snap your eyes to meet his and place your phone face down on the table, leaning back in your chair. “Not that I don’t love this reunion in the daylight, but don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The question is fair, he does, in fact, have someplace to be, but if he’s honest with himself, the last thing he wants to do is remove himself from this chair across from you.

“Yeah, but being a little late never hurt anyone.”

You snort at his statement, rolling your eyes at him.

“Go to practice, Jack.”

He knows you’re right, he doesn’t want to leave, but with playoffs around the corner, he shouldn’t be here, no matter how much he wants to stay.

“You’re right,” As he gets up, he notices your almost empty coffee cup. “Can I at least get you a refill before I leave?”

You glance at your coffee, contemplate his offer, and shake your head. “I’m okay, Jack. Thanks anyway.”

He nods, grabs his bagel, and turns to leave, but not before he pauses and turns around again. “You busy tonight?”

Your eyes dart back up again, but before you answer, your phone buzzes again, and you glance down. You take a few seconds to read the message before you answer him.

“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”

You give him a warm smile, but there is also a hint of awkwardness behind it. He chooses to ignore the possibility of rejection and nods your way one last time, and makes his way out of the shop.

As he exits, he glances back to your table one last time, already seeing you consumed back into your schoolwork, forgetting he was ever there.

Jack knows he’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he’s smart enough to know when he’s fucked. The idea was not to fall in love, which is easier said than done. He couldn’t help it; it came out of nowhere. You’ve been sleeping together for a while, longer than both of you could care to admit. He knows that the arrangement is simple, and it works. You’re not his, he’s not yours.

But fuck, does he want you to be.

Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin’

But nothin' ever stops you leavin'

Jack gently traces his fingers along your skin, relishing in the feel of your curves beneath his touch. He watches in awe of how your body responds to every move he makes, and he can tell you’re close. Your fingers dig hard into his back, your head falls back ever so slightly, and he slows down his movements to the pace he knows drives you crazy.

To get you there, he concentrates. He knows your body like the back of his hand, but he still tries to watch your face for cues, even though you're not meeting his stare. He didn’t notice it right away when you started sleeping together, but now it’s hard to ignore. No matter what he’s doing, you always look away.

He desperately wants to see you, stare deep into your eyes, and show you, somehow, that when you’re beneath him, it's the closest thing to heaven on earth.

Tonight is different for him, and he needs you to look at him, to see him.

He pulls your face gently to look at him, and reaches down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He makes sure he’s got your attention. Your pupils are blown with bliss, and the soft look goes give him makes him feel like he’s the only person in the world. Before he can stop himself, he presses his forehead to yours and lets himself fall deep into the endless pools of your eyes.

It’s intimate, you both know that, but for a moment, just that moment, you allow yourself to get lost in each other as you meet your highs.

Jack rides it out as long as possible, loving you in every way he knows how and making sure you feel just as good as him. When you both finally come down, your heavy mixed breathing filling the room, reality sinks in.

You’re the first to break, as always, gently pushing him off you. Jack watches silently as you get off the bed, grabbing various scattered clothing items and pulling them on. He watches with a mixture of longing and disdain. He knows you’re going to leave, you always do, but he can’t help but hope this time you’ll stay.

“Stop being a creep.” A playful grin plays on your face as you catch him staring, finishing pulling on your shirt.

He ignores your joke, “Where are you going?”

You shrug your shoulders way too casually.

“Not sure, maybe out?”

His heart sinks, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you’re killing him.

“You could stay? It’s pretty late.” He glances at the clock next to his bed.

The dry laugh you bark out makes him cringe.

“And risk running into the next girl? I’m okay, Jack; I’ll see you later.”

With that and a quick check of yourself, you leave. He’s left with his lingering thoughts and regrets. He knows you’re bad for each other, and he knows that this arrangement will eventually kill him, but he can’t seem to get away.

Jack hears the outside door slam, and he’s truly alone. He decides that his best option is to sleep you off, try to forget the way you felt in his arms and the way you make his heart feel like it’s about to burst. He falls back into his bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets around him smell like the familiar scent of you, and he hates how it’s comforting. He feels himself falling deeper and deeper into himself, and you didn’t even know he was drowning.

He knows it’s best if he just tries to sleep, flush out any thoughts of you. He doesn’t need to think about where you are or who you’re with because you aren’t his, even though he’d do anything to make you love him as much as he loves you.

He thinks about the last comment you made. About another girl. He knows his reputation and the fact that many people think he’s a player. He’s not, though, and he wishes you knew there wasn’t another girl; it’s only you.

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Jack's eyes are fixed hard on your back, watching almost every move you make across the dimly lit bar. He can tell you’re relaxed, and your head is thrown back, laughing along with your friends. Though he isn’t close enough to hear the laugh that makes him happy and destroys him, his heart clenches anyway. You look like you’re having the best time in the world, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s crossed your mind, even once.

He is nursing a drink that is too watered down for his taste, and his focus is pulled back to you every time he manages to integrate himself back into his teammate's conversation. While he catches a few snippets here and there, he has no idea what the hell they’ve been talking about for the last twenty minutes, and he hopes they don’t notice that his attention has been elsewhere.

He isn’t that lucky, though, because Nico elbows him slightly in the ribs, leaning toward him.

“You okay, Jacky?”

He nods, feeling horrible. “Yeah, sorry.”

He knows he needs to focus, pay attention to the guys, and have a few drinks after a good week. So he tries, his absolute hardest, to keep his eyes off of you.

He lasts about five seconds, and when he looks back toward your table, you’re gone.

He quickly searches the room and sees you making your way toward the bar. It’s honestly embarrassing how fast he moves, and before he can stop himself, he removes himself from his table and makes a beeline toward you.

He reaches you just as you put in your order, throwing the bartender a thousand-watt smile and leaning ever so slightly over the counter. When you finally notice someone beside you and turn to face him, It’s the brief look of unrecognition that practically kills him.

“Jack?” You recover quickly, slipping on a bright smile. “What’re you doing here?”

He stares hard for a second, unsure if you’re messing with him. He knows he’s told you this is his team's favorite bar, but when you’re still waiting for his answer, he clears his throat.

“Uh, it’s the bar closest to the rink,” He hates the sound of his voice. “I’m here with the guys.”

Your eyes flash behind him to his teammates, and a sly smirk takes over your features.

“Well, don’t they look like fun?”

He lets out a light laugh, “They are.”

The bartender interrupts the conversation, setting down your various drinks. You go to hand him your card, but Jack beats you to it.

“It’s on me.” He hands over his Amex before you can protest, and you shoot him a look he can’t decipher.

“You don’t have to buy my drinks, Jack.”

He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s nothing.

You thank him and the bartender as you pick up the drinks.

“Need help?” Jack asks, watching you struggle to get the last glass.

You finally grasp the cup and flash him another smile. “I got it. Thanks again, Jack.”

As quickly as you came, you were gone, heading back to your table where your friend celebrate your arrival as if you’ve been away for years. Jack watches as you all cheers your drinks, and his heart warms a bit when you catch his eye one more time, winking and raising your glass to him ever so slightly.

He nods and heads back to his own table, determined that at the end of the night, he will get to you somehow. He only wants to have you within reach, talking with his teammates or dragging him out to the dance floor. Above all else, he wants you in his arm. So, he texts you, hoping you’ll invite him over and the night will officially begin, and he can be happy. He waits and continues to glance your way.

You never respond.

Call me friend but keep me closer

And I'll call you when the party's over

When Jack's phone buzzes loudly on his nightstand the first time, he ignores it. It’s late, and he has a big game tomorrow. When it buzzes again and continues, signaling an incoming call, he finally shifts his weight and grabs it.

It’s been a week since he saw you at the bar and even longer since you’d texted. You’ve also never called, which causes his heart to beat a little faster than it should. He presses answer.

“Hello?” He asks, hearing some brief static on the other end.

“Jack?”

Your voice sounds small, and he immediately sits up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

He hears your sigh softly on the other end.

“Honestly,” You hiccup, “No. I’m wasted, and my best friend has my apartment keys, and they all don’t want to leave, but I feel sick, and my phone is almost dead, and I didn’t know who else to call in Jersey, and I-“

You continue rambling, and Jack can hear you softly sniffling in between words, and It takes him less than ten seconds to throw on a shirt, pants, and make a beeline toward his Range Rover keys.

“(Y/N)” He finally interrupts you, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

He doesn’t hear you for a moment, and he thinks for a second that you hung up.

“No.” You suddenly say sternly, as if you just realized you called him. “Fuck, I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have called you.”

As you finish, Jack can sense the panic starting to rise in your voice, and he knows that you’re falling deeper into your own head, and he has to pull you out before you disappear.

“Hey, don’t say that. But please, send me your location.”

“No.” You repeat, “You have a game tomorrow. You should be asleep.”

Jack's heart skips a beat when you mention his game. He didn’t know you followed his schedule. His mind begins to run a million places, different places, until he grounds himself and remembers the problem at hand.

“(Y/N),” He says it as hard as he can to force you into telling him where you are. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I know you’re home safe. Send me your location.”

It’s silent on the other end of the line, and after a moment, his phone lights up with your pinned location.

“Do not move. I’m about fifteen minutes away. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whisper back to him.

What should have been fifteen minutes turns into less than ten as Jack ignores every driver's safety training he’s ever had. He would do anything to be able to teleport to you, but instead, he goes as fast as he can.

When he pulls up to the crowded bar and doesn’t see you outside, he’s instantly filled with worry. His pulse continues to build until he sees you a small distance away from the entrance, sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.

As soon as he parks, rather badly, he bolts out of the car toward you. When he gets within a few feet of your form, your head snaps up. He watches as a mix of emotions crosses your face, and his heart finally does crumple when he sees a tear slide down your cheeks. It takes everything in him not to wipe it away as he kneels in front of you.

“Can you stand?” He asks softly.

You slowly nod, and he takes both your hands, helping you get to your feet. He watches as you wobble a bit too far to the left, and he catches you in his arms.

The second you’re in his hold, you melt into his touch, and he hates the way that he his entire body finally relaxes, knowing you are safe and in his arms.

Jack continues to steady you, feeling the weight of your body against his. He can smell the alcohol on your breath, and you’re way too cold for his liking after sitting outside. He grabs your shoes and phone and begins walking you toward his car. Once you’re there, he gets you into the vehicle, buckles you in, and hands you a bottle of water he’d thankfully grabbed from the fridge.

“There we go,” he says, making sure you’re set.

Your eyes follow him as he climbs into the driver's seat, and once he turns the car on, you break the silence.

“Thank you, Jack.” You whisper, your head falling a bit toward the window.

Jack focuses on the road as he makes his way back toward his apartment. He knows you’re in no state to be brought home alone, and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Jack?” You speak again, and he hums. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He means it. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

He turns to face you briefly, and he has never seen you look so sad, and it crushes him all over again. He wants to talk to you, figure out what’s going wrong in that beautiful mind of yours, and do anything to fix it. But he knows that this conversation can be had at a later date. Instead, he turns on a radio, and when he steals another glance at your figure, you are asleep.

Jack drives slowly and carefully to his apartment, knowing he has the most precious cargo to him sitting in the passenger seat. When he finally pulls into the parking ramp and turns off the car, you are still dead to the world.

He quickly unbuckles and moves to get you, gently trying to shake you awake.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he whispers, “we’re here.”

You let out a soft groan and rub your eyes. “Can’t I just stay here? It’s so comfy.”

You snuggle deeper into the seat, and Jack thinks he will die. You look so goddamn adorable, and it’s driving him insane that he can’t kiss you.

“Sorry baby,” the nickname slips before he can stop it. “I gotta get you inside.”

He smiles at your pouty face, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. He lifts you out of the car and sets you down for a second, grabbing your things and handing you his keys before scooping you back into his arms.

You softly hum in contentment as your head lolls against his chest. Jack thinks you’ve dozed off again until you open your eyes slightly.

“You're pretty strong," you slur. “Clearly, hockey is good for a person.”

Jack lets out a deep chuckle as you snuggle deeper into his hold, and after a few minutes of struggle to get through doorways without hitting you on something and teamwork to open his door, you’re safe in his apartment.

Twenty minutes later, he’s helped you take off your makeup because he knows your skin care is essential, he’s gotten you water and Advil, and you're wrapped in his clothes and lying beneath his duvet.

As he watches you breathe, gathering a few things to sleep on the couch, he can’t help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him. He wants nothing more than to climb next to you, but he’ll resist.

He stares a bit longer when suddenly your eyes peel open.

“You have a staring problem, Jack.”

Your tone is teasing, but his entire body grows hot, and all he wants is to get the hell out of his bedroom. He tries to make his escape, but not before you speak again, and it stops him dead in his tracks.

“You know, I broke my own heart loving you first.”

[strwbmei1]

cw: dom!gn reader, reader has a cock, mentions of domination loss, breeding, dirty talk, name calling, cervix fucking, degradation

Yae Miko, a woman both respected and feared by the people of Inazuma. She's known for many things— whether it be for her reputation as the Lady Guuji of the Grand Narukami shrine or as the most trusted companion of the Shogun.

But you mostly knew her to be a sly vixen.

She'd tease you endlessly for the most trivial of matters; telling you the filthy things she wants to do to you in public with her signature smirk as if she were talking about the weather.

Though, when Miko is in heat, all of her smugness fades away. She becomes shameless; begging for you to fill her up, telling you that it hurts and you're the only one that can help, as if she wasn't acting all high and mighty just the day before.

She'd leave work early, cancel whatever meetings she had scheduled for what she called "personal reasons". Not that anyone could do anything about it, lest they want to bear the wrath of the Shogun.

You already knew what was going on when Miko suddenly called you to her room; and you were certainly going to make the most of this rare opportunity.

NSFW under the cut!

You weren't exactly surprised when you opened the door to the sight of Miko thrusting a dildo in and out of her dripping cunt. "A-ah.. you're here. Perfect timing." She tries to keep her voice steady as she speaks; not stopping her motions when you enter the room

"Dear. I want- need you to fuck me." Miko says as you close the door behind you, her pace getting quicker. "Mm.. seems you're already having plenty of fun, though." You tease as you start taking your clothes off.

Miko whines at your words. "Come on, don't be like that... You know these toys can't fill me up like you do." She takes the toy out completely; the loss of contact making her whimper.

Miko spreads her cunt using her fingers, smirking at you. "Look, I'm so wet for you already. Won't you fill me up, please?" She says in an innocent, yet mocking tone— her cunt throbbing around nothing.

Yae Miko, always so demanding— whether she's on top or not. You thought to yourself. Really, she had no right telling you what to do in her position. You were the best thing she had to quell her thirst, after all.

But what were you supposed to do? Not fuck her into submission? Not break her and make her apologize for all the times she's provoked you? Not breed her with your cum?

No. You were going to savor each and every pathetic plea, moan, and sound that came out of Miko's filthy mouth.

So of course, you pound her into the mattress relentlessly; her hands grasping at the sheets and her tail wrapped around your waist.

"I'm sorry- ngh..! Mmph.. 'm sorry.." she whined pathetically; small moans and an incoherent mess of apologies and begging falling from her lips as you fuck your cum back into her.

"Yeah? You like that, cockslut? You like getting filled with my cum?" You say breathlessly, still pounding into her. One particular thrust has her eyes rolling back, nails digging into your back as she warns you.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck..! Gonna c-" Miko couldn't even finish her words before her body spasmed with pleasure; her fluids forming a ring around the base of your length.

Her eyes were half lidded from the pleasure, her mascara ruined, her previously perfect lipstick smudged all over the place— the sight was pornographic.

Regardless, you kept on moving your hips. After all, Miko needed you. It was her that wanted you to fuck her nonstop until her heat was over. And what she wants, she'll get.

She'll take whatever you give to her; loud moans and gasps escaping her as she mutters a few 'thank you's and 'more's. "Greedy fox. You still want more?" You thrust deep into her, hitting her cervix and causing her stomach to bulge.

"More! So good, your cock feels so good..!" Miko moans, biting her lower lip as you hit the same spot over and over again. With a blissed sigh, she cums for the umpteenth time— a mixture of your fluids staining the sheets.

With the way she's wrapping her tail and legs around you, you have a feeling you two aren't done yet.

———————————————

╰┈➤ Taglist ; @blue-spices , @fvrina , @dukemira , @sensanctuary ,

[navybrat817]

Dusk to Dawn

Pairing: Ranch Hand!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky reflects on how far gone he is for you when he picks you up during a night out. Word Count: 1.56k Warnings: F/lirting, feels (it's me), dr/inking, pet name, implied s/mut, ranch hand!Bucky (he’s a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass , Divider - @firefly-graphics, Header - yours truly A/N: @rookthorne, this Sunbeam is for you. Also @sebastianstanbingo square: "I'm going to f-ucking ruin you."❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own! Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky put the truck in park once he arrived at the bar. It was a nice night, the air still warm enough that he had his window down on the drive over. He had to work a little later than usual and would’ve felt guilty missing dinner, but you had already made plans to go out with the girls. You still had a meal wrapped up and waiting for him once he finished out his day. Steve and the other boys were jealous of your home cooked meals and for good reason.

Always taking care of me, Sunbeam.

Now he had to take care of you.

The familiar sound of chatter and live country music greeted Bucky as he walked through the door. It was a slower night, but still crowded enough that he had to dodge a few people. Like many in the town, the two of you were regulars there and it was rare for you to be there without him. He tipped his hat when he made eye contact with Scott behind the bar, who nodded toward your usual table along the far wall.

"Bucky!" he heard you shout before he looked your way. "You're heeeeeeere!"

He wondered just how many drinks you had. Enough that you were feeling good, but not enough to get sick. You could hold your own.

"Now we can get the party started," he smirked.

What followed was a beautiful laugh as you stood up from your chair and he couldn't stop himself from staring. Your smile was like watching the sunrise and he felt lucky he was worthy enough to see it another day. You chose to wear one of his favorite sundresses and paired it with the perfect pair of boots, giving him a chance to appreciate your perfect body. He unconsciously licked his lips as he sauntered toward you and noticed you did the same.

"Seeeeeee, what did I tell you?" you asked the group at the table when he stopped a foot away from you. "I said I’d bag the hottest guy here tonight.”

"We know. We all know," Darcy playfully rolled her eyes at the other girls. "Bucky's hot and he has a big dick and you love him. Blah, blah, blah."

“I thought ladies didn't kiss and tell," Bucky smirked when you invaded his space.

"Oh, I stopped being a lady the moment you had your wicked way with me," you smiled sweetly. "You ruined me. Congratu-fucking-lations."

"Is that right?" he asked, knowing he'd never forget that night.

He'd also never forget to treat you like a lady.

He inhaled the sweet liquor on your breath when you framed his face and leaned in close. You didn’t quite kiss him, but you did smile when your lips ghosted against his. He yearned for more.

“It is right ‘cause I’m right. You’re hot and you do have a big dick you know it. You ruined me, mister,” you said, moving a hand to poke his firm chest. “And you're soooooooooooo cute. How’re you hot and cute? Explain.”

The laugh Bucky let out was enough to make your friends laugh along with him. You could be a sweet or feisty drunk depending on the mood. The last time you got feisty was when some out-of-towner tried to hit on him. You made sure to let her, and everyone else in the bar, know he was a taken man.

As if he could want anyone else when he had his Sunbeam.

“Just the way I'm made,” he smiled, placing his hands on your hips and lightly swaying you to the music. “Like I'm made to love you.”

You didn’t say “aww” along with your friends, but your gaze softened a bit more. He didn’t believe the bullshit that a man had to be silent or embarrassed about loving anyone. He loved you and he was going to say it as often as he could.

“Is that why you’re here tonight?” you asked, a dreamy smile on your face as you plucked his hat from his head and placed it on yours. The smile you gave him was one of his favorites. “'Cause you love me?

"Yeah, I am,” he smiled back, one reserved just for you. It was one of your favorites. “You called, so I came running."

Where you go, I go.

"Then it’s a good thing I'm ready to go home with you, handsome. But I'm warning you, I’m not planning on sleeping. Gonna keep me up from dusk to dawn," you said happily before a thoughtful look crossed your face. "Or is it dawn to dusk? Doesn't matter. You're fucking me. That's what matters."

"You know I gotta get up early tomorrow," he reminded you as he tried not to laugh.

He worked hard to keep the place running and so did you. The tasks wouldn't do themselves, but the enticing thought of your legs wrapped around him as he indulged in your wet heat was worth dragging a little tomorrow. He'd catch up on sleep later.

"Not the only thing that needs to get up," you said, smirking when the realization crossed his face. "Ohhhhhh. You picked up what I put down."

"Now you're just teasing me," he said.

You yanked him closer by his belt buckle. "Teasing you would be telling you I'm not wearing anything under this dress."

He groaned quietly, suddenly jealous of the chair you occupied before he showed up. "You want me to fuck you before we get home?"

He took pride in seeing a tremor wrack your frame. "You better, Bucky Barnes, otherwise I'm fucking myself."

Hot, but not tonight.

"Where?" he smirked.

"My pussy. That's where," you said without skipping a beat.

A random guy nearby drinking his beer might've heard the exchange since he began to cough. The two of you certainly had a way with words. He didn't care if the entire bar heard it.

"Oh, I'm fucking your pussy," he promised. It was a feat he didn't start to twitch in his jeans. "I meant where are we doing this."

You hummed as you contemplated. "Bathroom or truck bed."

The image of your pussy soaked and waiting for him to fill it took over his thoughts more and more. He wondered how much shit he'd get if he dragged you off to the bathroom. It wouldn't be the first time. Throwing inhibitions out the window was something he grew used to with you.

But the truck bed might be better. He could also least lay you down. Not the most romantic gesture, but also not the worst place two of you had fooled around.

The fun part would be deciding if it would be done in the parking lot or if he'd pull over on the way home.

"Truck it is," he announced as he pulled you away. "Say g'night, ladies."

"Yeah. Please, leave," Darcy teased.

You looked over your shoulder as the rest of your friends said their goodbyes. "G'night, ladies! I'm going home with that hottest guy in town. Don't come looking for me."

And I got the most beautiful, amazing girl in town.

"Take care of her!" Darcy yelled.

"He will! I'm his Sunbeam," you said proudly before you went out into the night air and leaned into him with a giggle. "Hey."

"Hey," he smiled back, keeping you against him.

"Did you hear me? I'm your Sunbeam," you whispered before you giggled. "I'm your girl! You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know that," he chuckled at your happiness.

What you didn't know was that he had a ring ready for you so he could make it official. It wasn't fancy or flashy, but it was bright and beautiful. Like the sun.

Like you.

"Forever your girl?"

"Forever my girl," he replied, his voice thick when he put a hand to the back of your neck. "You'll always be mine, Sunbeam."

Butterflies fluttering from a kiss isn't just something that happened with girls. Because the second he put his lips against yours, he felt like he'd float away if you didn't keep him on the ground. Even with your tipsy gaze when he pulled away, there was so much love in your eyes. It was brighter than all the stars above you. It was unconditional.

And he wanted to treat you like he was still trying to win you so he'd never lose you.

"Promise?" you asked so softly he almost missed it.

"Even if the sun stopped rising tomorrow, you'd still be mine and I'd be yours."

You were it for him.

"Good," you sighed in relief before you began to drag him to the truck. "Now get inside me," you ordered.

"Oh, I will," he promised, watching your hips sway.

You didn't stumble once as you found the truck, You were an impressive woman. And he was so far gone for you.

I'm going to fucking ruin you.

He heard your sharp inhale from the words he didn't realize he said out loud. "Told you, Bucky. You already ruined me, but you can do it again," you said, tapping the top of your head. "And I'm keeping your hat on."

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled, knowing those two words would send more shivers up and down your spine.

And he'd do a lot more than that before the sun came up.

Do we want more of them, lovelies? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER ONE | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

THE LOVE FRUIT

“Mangoes. A criminally overlooked aphrodisiac. People call it the love fruit, you know.”

«SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, controlling friendships, heavy fantasizing, masturbation (m and f) graphic sex fantasy sequence (includes descriptions of intercourse), sitophilia (food play) Word Count: 16.3k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“What is love?”

Hyunjin looks out at the expanse of eager minds in front of him, everyone blurring together in the darkened auditorium. He can’t see any of their faces, but it doesn’t matter. He’s only been on the stage for approximately thirteen seconds, but he already knows that they’re watching him in that familiar, delicious awe, quietly clawing at the sides of their seats in unbridled enthusiasm and desperation. And he can never blame them— Hyunjin’s kind of a catch. 

He tucks his hands into his navy bespoke Armani trousers, appreciating the feeling of the silky inner lining against his fingertips. Even with such a casual gesture, he’s the picture of elegance; tall, devastatingly handsome, and movements fluid yet calculated, like a prima ballerina. Hyunjin is the kind of beauty that poets waste their lives over, pining over the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow to the aristocratic slope of his nose. As classic as an Italian prince, as unique as the moon herself.

“No, but seriously. What is love?” Hyunjin repeats his question into the mic, once more gracing his enthralled viewers with the rich, seductive notes of his voice. “Is it an emotion, that signal in your brain? A cliche? A cult?”

The audience ponders his words with bated breath, and Hyunjin takes the opportunity to continue.

“Or maybe it’s all just… lust.” Hyunjin whispers the last word while holding eye contact with an unsuspecting victim in the front row. The girl trembles and blushes under his heated gaze, looking down at her shoes in an attempt to hide her frazzled smile. 

With a deliberate smirk, Hyunjin moves on to his next target in the audience. It can be anyone, yet another to fall for his endless charms. No one is immune. The cute reporter in the second row who will interview Hyunjin after he finishes his long awaited TED Talk. A wink. A lady in a big fur coat, old enough to be his grandmother. A beguiling smile. And even the stern looking security guard standing in the back. A brief, but loaded glance. Yep, Hyunjin doesn’t miss Guillermo’s cheeks turning red, even in this atrocious lighting.

A hesitant hand amongst the crowd slowly creeps upwards, bursting Hyunjin out of his momentary flirt bubble. “I think that love isn’t real.”

A smaller spotlight is immediately shined onto the timid speaker. It’s a boy in his early twenties, probably a junior in college, judging by his trendy sweatshirt and the freshness in his features. But that typical hopefulness is absent in his eyes, replaced with despair. 

Heartbreak. 

Hyunjin shoots the student a knowing smile. Because of his passion for the human mind, he had studied psychology in his own university days, before obtaining a doctorate and specializing in counseling— specifically, relationship counseling. He wears many different— and designer— hats: certified dating coach, therapist, and even researcher, when love needs to be approached as a neurological phenomenon in a laboratory setting. But his personal favorite role is being an expert on broken hearts. Something about being able to fix people satisfies the urge in Hyunjin to be the best, to be the brightest. What’s better than giving some of his light to someone who needs it?

“What’s your name?” Hyunjin steps closer to the edge of the stage, now fully focused on this poor fellow. Everyone else in the audience follows Hyunjin’s actions, curiously turning to get a better look of which lucky individual has been able to score a coveted interaction with Hyunjin. 

The boy clears his throat nervously. “It’s Jeongin.”

“Jeongin,” Hyunjin tests, liking the playful feeling of the syllables on his tongue. He decides that the name fits the young man perfectly. “Why do you think that love isn’t real?”

“Because if it can come and go so quickly, it can’t be real.” Jeongin squares his shoulders before sitting up, a new fire in his voice. “If love dies before it’s even born, it must be a joke.”

Well, well, well. 

Not only is this a broken heart, but this is a bitter broken heart— Hyunjin’s kryptonite, in the best possible way. Jeongin’s heart was soaring and then subsequently shattered, becoming one that Hyunjin is now dying to piece together, because there’s nothing he savors more than a challenge. 

“I’ll ask you this.” Hyunjin slips his right hand out of his pocket, running his fingers through his hair. In one smooth motion, the dark, tousled locks fall back into an alluring set of eyes. “Do you want to be happy?”

Jeongin shakes his head, visibly frustrated. “What?”

Hyunjin isn’t deterred. “Love isn’t limited to just one person, Jeongin. Not even people in general.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Love is simply what makes us happy. It’s our unscratchable itch. Our insatiable need. Our comfort in crisis.” Hyunjin takes out the tiny metal laser pointer in his pocket and directs everyone to gaze at the massive screen looming behind him, flipping through the presentation that he prepared himself. Most of the high profile speakers at TED throw that task over to their personal secretaries, but then again, Hyunjin isn’t most people. 

A bowl of soup. A plate of pasta. A dish of chocolate cake. A stacked tower of choux pastry puffs. His audience, as Hyunjin calculated, is bemused with his choice of slideshow content, although Hyunjin is infamous as a loveable eccentric. These are all pictures and no words at all. 

“Is your passion cooking? Could you do it for the rest of your life? Will you just combust if you can’t whip up this croquembouche right this moment? That’s love.” Hyunjin lingers on the image of the French confection. “Love is what makes our cold nights warm again, the very driving force that pushes us to be the greatest possible versions of ourselves.”

If Hyunjin was any other speaker, the same onlookers would burst into laughter and walk away, muttering that he had lost his marbles. Who would try to make a point about the most confounding concept in all creation— the very entity that even the Stanford Encyclopedia of Psychology hesitantly attempted to define— with a series of pictures that belong in an episode of Chopped, not freaking TED? No one except Hyunjin, and rightfully so. It’s the reason why they all keep their backsides glued to the velvet upholstery, respectfully silent and anticipating being enlightened. 

“Love can be platonic, love can be romantic, love can be anything in this whole universe. Love is what makes us human. It reminds us that life is worth it, that after all, maybe there’s something left to fight for.” Hyunjin gives Jeongin a small, but sincere smile. “It’s why I’ve committed myself to helping people find it, to protect it.”

Jeongin sits back in his seat in acceptance, and Hyunjin knows that even though the inferno has just subsided, not been completely put out, the flames probably aren’t so scorching anymore. Maybe he’s scored himself a new client. 

Satisfied, Hyunjin turns back to the rest of his audience hungrily waiting for his eloquent scraps. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin. But you might know me as the Love Doctor.”

There are only so many episodes of Celebrity Wedding Disasters you can binge on Youtube before you begin to feel sick of yourself. Yes, watching freaking Brad Pitt get dumped at the altar makes you feel better about your own hopeless situation. But does it actually help your hopeless situation? No, it does not. Because watching other people suffer the same life as you does not solve your own problems. They’re all still there, at the end of the day, when you come home to an eerily quiet apartment, or in the morning, when you stretch out on your bed just to feel like you’re being swallowed up by the empty space next to you. 

And now? The sound playing from your computer speakers starts to melt into a drone, and the artificial lighting of the videos on the screen blurs your vision, augmenting the sagging under your eyes. You haven’t gotten up from your little space in the corner of your living room in eight hours, resorting to hunching over your computer and surrounding yourself with snacks in case you got hungry. You’re clad in an old pajama set that’s too small for you and wrapped in a blanket that should have been put into the washing machine weeks ago. For the time since you gave up trying to work, you’ve been huddled in a fetal position on your couch, staring at your computer screen with no aim, no purpose.

Bashful rays of light peak through the gaps in the curtains drawn closed over the windows, and the air conditioner sputtered and shut down hours ago, after months of you putting repairs off. And your computer has died, but you’re too lazy to reach over to the outlet and plug your charger back in. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, and every other healthy young person is probably out doing something productive or fun, definitely not being cooped up in their apartments after a myriad of trashy videos. But you count your blessings that you aren’t in the worst circumstance, because anything is better than dealing with—

The telltale trill of your cellphone knocks you out of thanking your stars, a cruel coincidence to the appreciation you harbored just moments earlier for the divinities above. The only people who would call you at a time like this— your time— would be the only people who you really, really didn’t want to see right now. You don’t even have to check the caller ID before you’re answering the phone, your signature snark prepared to lash out at any unwelcome dialogue. 

“What?”

“Good morning to you too, Y/N,” Irene chirps, irritating you even further. “Lovely weather today. I’m with Sana and Mina.”

First, she interrupts your quality time brooding on your own, and second, she has the nerve to be cheerful about it. You try not to lose it and just scream at her to fuck off. 

“Let’s skip the small talk, Irene. Can I help you?”

You don’t hate Irene, nor Sana and Mina, for the matter. You’re just tired of their presence in your life. Once upon a time, you were enthralled by these three pretty, wealthy, and perfect girls, letting them take you in and guide you through your youth. A tight-knit group since they were in diapers, the girls wouldn’t let just anyone into their circle, so the fact that they chose you to join them made you feel special. Being a part of them felt like being welcomed into a genuine friendship, a sisterhood. There were horror movie marathons snuggled together in your dorm rooms, gossip and advice sessions on the phone, late night drives with the music blasting on the stereo. 

But that admiration and belonging turned into exhaustion, over time, and they became no better than a stereotypical high school clique. They were suffocating you, filling you with regret of ever meeting them at all. They couldn’t respect that you were your own person, with your own emotions, and that you solely were entitled to governing your actions. Little things built upon each other, and you slowly began to detest them. You truly found out how eroded your relationship with Irene, Sana, and Mina was almost two years ago. You were heartbroken, but all they had told you was to patch up and move on. Showing feeling and falling apart was unacceptable to the “Golden Trio,” as you came to call them, because it was “unhealthy” to them. Complete and utter happiness was always the goal, and you couldn’t bog yourself or the others down. Rest, rinse, and repeat. You came to realize that you would rather reject the good parts of the relationship rather than have your imperfections be dismissed and your life be controlled.

Before replying to you, Irene is quiet for a moment, and you swear you can hear her whispering to the other girls. “Are you still in bed?”

“No.” Technically, you aren’t lying— you’re on the sofa. 

She sighs, seeing straight through your bullshit like she always did, the unspoken ringleader of the whole entourage. “It’s nearly ten in the morning, honey. Why don’t you come out to brunch with us in an hour or so?”

You roll your eyes. You hate when Irene calls you “honey”— it sounds sweet but has the most condescending undertone. “I’m busy.”

“Busy doing nothing. We need to talk to you. Please, Y/N. It’s important.”

Although having yet another fussy and feathery brunch with the Golden Trio is the absolute last thing you believe to be important, you know you have no other option. Irene will keep pestering you until you relent, so it’s better to save yourself the time and just get it over with. Balling up your fist, you reluctantly respond. “Fine.”

“Great! See you soon!” Irene trills, ending the call before you can even say goodbye. Not that you even wanted to, anyway.

With an enraged groan, you flop off of your stomach and open the windows, letting in some fresh air and sunlight. As you gaze outside of your window, observing the city slowly wake up, all you want to do is wallow in your self pity and frustration. For the longest time, you’ve told yourself that you’re fine with being alone; love just isn’t in the cards for someone like you. So you threw yourself into your job, struggling towards achieving your dreams, but as of late, the path to your passion has become another burden in your life. 

Sighing, you shake away your thoughts and tidy up the living room, already put off by the microscopic chip crumbs on the coffee table and the way the throw pillows are strewn about on the rug. After everything is back in place, you make your way over to your room, silently noting that your sofa stay at least meant that you didn’t have to make your bed today. You take a shower and don yourself in your typical uniform of straight jeans, sneakers, and a boxy blazer. Cute, practical, and unassuming. 

Quickly, you scarf down some toast and orange juice, because you definitely will not be able to afford even half of the menu items at the usual restaurant that the Golden Trio dines at for brunch. Before you lock your apartment and leave, you check yourself out in the mirror in the small corridor that houses the entrance.

“Just in and out,” you say to your reflection. “Breathe.”

The drive to brunch is less than fifteen minutes. However, you make a few unnecessary turns around the block in your second-hand Subaru, not ready to face the Golden Trio just yet. 

At exactly eleven, Irene’s profile picture— a headshot taken by a professional photographer— pops up on your phone screen. You ignore it and swiftly find a parking spot among all of the luxury cars, muttering to yourself. The Terrace is an upscale eatery that the Golden Trio frequents for weekend brunches, and you’re unfortunately roped into their plans more often than not. You walk into the restaurant, dodging a businessman in a costly-looking suit and a group of renegading TikTok influencers trying to take pictures. You take your time greeting Keeho, the hilarious UCLA student who hosts at The Terrace during the weekends. And then you scan the outdoor dining patio, as if you don’t already know the location of the Golden Trio’s preferred table by the edge of the patio, the one with the perfect view of the Hollywood sign in the distance.

“Y/N!” Sana gasps in faux surprise as you take your seat next to her. “So nice of you to join us… thirteen minutes late.”

You clench your jaw and force a smile. “Oh, well, you did just call me an hour ago, so.”

Sana returns your sarcasm with an aggressive beam, showing off all of her perfectly aligned, blindingly white teeth. Mina watches the venomous exchange in amusement, while Irene just rolls her eyes.

“Let’s get to the point, ladies.” Irene leans forward, and the other two follow suit, like they always do. 

You stay put in your chair, comfortably leaning back, like you always do. “I’d love to know why you called me to brunch, Irene. You know this isn’t my scene.”

“Nothing besides your damn computer is your scene,” Mina retorts, sipping on her mimosa. Irene purses her lips to hide her grin, while Sana openly cackles.

You glower at them, saying nothing. The Golden Trio sat around the array of gourmet dishes like hens around a feeding hopper, craning for the best cuts and chances of picking on you, as usual. 

“Can you just stop wasting my time and tell me why I’m here?” You take a swig of water, already counting down the minutes until you can make up an excuse and leave early.

The girls exchange knowing glances before Irene zeroes in on you. Even though she’s the oldest out of all four of you, she still looks the most stunning, with her cherry lips and elegant features.

“Y/N, we’ve been thinking that it’s time for you to find someone.” Irene reaches across the table and grasps your hands, making you cringe in surprise. 

You raise an eyebrow at Irene, already dreading what path this conversation is taking. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Irene delicately cuts into her vegetable omelet, taking a small bite. “We just want you to be happy. And we know that it’s been hard, ever since Jisung.”

At the mention of your ex-boyfriend, you wrench your hands out of Irene’s grip. “Don’t you dare bring him up.”

Mina smacks her lips, nonchalantly reapplying her magenta lipstick. “I told you that she’d be angry.”

Irene sighs, massaging her temples. “Be reasonable, Y/N. This is for your own good. You’ve been alone for too long.”

“That is not for you to decide.” You nearly want to laugh out loud at this point. “This is my business. Not yours.”

But then again, the girls have never been able to respect your own feelings. You are their puppet to string along and their doll to dress up. To them, you’re not a real human being, capable of making your own decisions— both good and bad.

Two years ago, you were dumped by your first and last boyfriend, Park Jisung. It was a traumatizing relationship, to say the least. For all your life, you’ve struggled with romance and just the whole idea of intimacy, of getting close to someone and truly letting them see you. Jisung had taken your fragile heart, the one you had so cautiously extended to him, and shattered it on the ground. 

The months you were with him were so full of emotional abuse on his part, that by the time you caught him cheating on you, you weren’t even surprised. You’d pathetically begged him to stay, crying that you’d forgiven him, but after his initial apologies, he’d left you. What made you the angriest wasn’t the anguish he had caused you. It was how he’d gotten the last word, breaking up with you and leaving you behind to rot. You swore that you would never let someone do that to you again. Everyday, you go to bed alone and wake up alone. Every single day, and you don’t have any intention of changing that.

“Of course not,” Sana says, stabbing viciously at her eggs and making you wince. “But you know, appearances matter.”

Irene shakes her head. “Honey, this lonely, mopey look doesn’t suit you. Johnny says that people are talking, saying that you’re some sort of recluse.”

You scoff, blood boiling at the thought of Irene’s fiancé. He grew up on his father’s bottomless wallet and was no better than any stereotypical rich playboy. All he did was run his mouth and on occasion, his damn country club that you couldn’t even afford to step inside.

“She kind of is a recluse,” Mina interrupts. “Like, just get a life, maybe?”

Mina’s words sting, like they always do. But you refuse to give her the satisfaction, instead answering Irene. “I couldn’t care less about Johnny Suh and what his useless friends at the club are saying. I’m fine how I am.”

Sana dabs at her mouth with her napkin, careful not to smudge her makeup. “You’re not, though.”

Irene glares at Sana, shutting her up, before turning back to you. You recognize the look in her eyes; that soft, cajoling pull that makes anyone do her bidding. That look is why you had not left this toxic company yet, but you’re starting to feel the effect of it slowly wear off.

“Y/N. Just hear me out.” Irene sorts through her violet Kate Spade tote bag, before pulling out a business card and handing it to you.

In spite of yourself, you take the card, feeling the thick, rich quality of the paper, and the gold lettering.

“Dr. Hwang…” You read out loud. “‘The Love Doctor?’ What the hell?”

“He’s a relationship therapist and dating expert. He also runs a matchmaking service and coaches his clients.” Irene explains.

“I have eyes. I can read the card, Irene,” you spit out, turning the paper around in your fingers. “And I definitely don’t trust anyone recommended by you. Especially not some corny weirdo called the ‘Love Doctor.’”

“Oh, get over yourself, Y/N. I know a billion trainwrecks that Dr. Hwang has fixed.” Mina shudders in thought. “He’s pretty good, you know?”

“No, actually. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this stupid Love Doctor.” You grind your teeth, desperately trying not to slap some sense into Mina. “I’m not going to trust a stranger with all of my thoughts… my fears, my hopes.” 

“This is such a waste of time,” Sana whines, getting up from her seat and smoothing out her dress. “I’m going to go talk to Chris. BRB, girls.”

Sana flounces away in the direction of the hot bartender mixing and pouring drinks for patrons. Mina rolls her eyes, picking at her acrylic nails.

“She literally has a boyfriend,” Mina huffs, before getting up and following after her. 

You turn back to Irene. “Is that how you want me to be? Both Sana and Mina are in relationships, except one pretends to not have a boyfriend, and the other is too bitchy to care about hers.”

“You’re not wrong.” Irene lets out a hearty chuckle, tracing the rim of her champagne flute. “But no one outside of our circle really knows about what’s going on with them, behind the scenes. They’re still perfect.”

“Why does it matter so much? Being perfect? Why does it matter so much to you if I am?” You question her, at a loss.

“I care about you.” Irene folds her hands in front of her plate. “You’re my friend.”

Friend.

That word takes you back to a few years ago, when you weren’t able to find a date to the frat party Johnny threw when you were all in college. You failed to follow Irene’s instructions, and as the expected result, Irene didn’t bother saying anything to you. You felt her anger through her silent treatment, as you stood by the door, feeling like a loser. You watched the rest of the Golden Trio giggle with their own dates, and Irene— no matter how big of a crush she used to have on Johnny before they became an item— was staring at you all night, soaking in your shame and unhappiness. You should have realized back then that the Golden Trio was just gilt. At least, you have now.

You snort in wry amusement, grabbing your keys and slapping down a fifty on the table, your general portion of the meal you didn’t even partake in. “I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m definitely not your fucking friend.”

Ignoring Irene’s pleas hitting your retreating back, you leave The Terrace, vowing never to go back.

On the weekends, you usually either work from home or aimlessly surf the internet. Either way, you’ll be staring at your computer until your eyes hurt. Today, however, you’re determined to prove that you can take a day off and enjoy it. It’s why you walk out of the luxury salon after being scrubbed, steamed, waxed, plucked, and primped all over your body. You don’t even want to think of how expensive it all was, completely disregarding the shiny $200 acrylics adorning your nails. 

You spend the rest of the day browsing a vintage bookstore on the Los Angeles marina, devoutly avoiding the romance section like you always did. After splurging on a set of horror novels by the latest trending author, you decide to go home and relax— just because you aren’t outside doesn’t mean you’re moping around, unlike what the Golden Trio believes. 

Who needs some hotshot Love Doctor when you’ve got Stephen King?

Sitting back on your couch with your book, you kick out your legs in front of you and attempt to unwind. But of course, you’re one line into the first page when your thoughts get the better of you. You glance across the open-concept layout of your apartment and over at your handbag, which is haphazardly strewn onto your bed; the business card that Irene gave you seems to be an incessant force in your mind. After a few seconds of trying to fight the urge to not let your curiosity best you, you give up, rolling off the sofa and rummaging through the bag to find the card.

Palming the small piece of paper, you settle onto your bed on your stomach, dimming the lights and logging into your computer. You type in the website address listed on the card into Google, impatiently tapping on the mouse. Finally, the page loads.

Your vision is blessed by a soft palette of pinks and beiges, a sparkling layout, flashy buttons and graphics, all designed to reel in even the most technologically inept grandparents. But that’s not what you’re enticed by: a giant picture of the most beautiful man that you have ever laid eyes on is pasted onto the main cover of the website. Immediately, you read further only to find out that this total babe is the Love Doctor that Irene couldn’t shut the fuck up about.

You zoom in on the bio printed below the image, devouring it like the King novel you should be reading instead right now. “What the…?” 

Dr. Hwang Hyunjin is a lot of things: a relationship therapist, intimacy expert, dating coach, psychology researcher, and etc. But the title that truly encapsulates his essence is: the Love Doctor, the savant who leads his clients through the pains and triumphs of life, loss, and of course, love. 

After graduating from Columbia University summa cum laude and obtaining his doctorate in psychology at Stanford, Dr. Hwang founded SeoulSpark, a practice dedicated to providing guidance and opportunities for any with those special ailments of the heart. The rest of Dr. Hwang’s credentials and outstanding achievements are listed below. In his freetime, Dr. Hwang loves to write poetry, go horseback riding, and take long walks on the beach. 

Appointments must be reserved through the ‘Bookings’ page. Dr. Hwang and his associates may be requested on the basis of availability. 

A few minutes of getting sidetracked in an internet stalking session alerted you to how in addition to overseeing his own private practice and working there as a therapist and coach, Dr. Hwang also operates a clinical trial on the neuropsychological approach of studying the nature of love at the National Institutes of Health. And to top it all off, he comes highly recommended by Selena Gomez in her latest Vogue interview— turns out, he’s the one who helped her move on from Justin Beiber and find a more gratifying partner— and has even met with Michelle Obama over tea on NPR’s Life Kit podcast to discuss the psychology of relationships. He’s a public figure, a celebrity of sorts himself, but has graciously rejected the title in favor of a more private life.

“Wow,” you murmur. “So he’s hot and smart.”

Irene and her sidekicks are wrong about a lot, but one thing they are right about is that you’re just absolutely lonely. Growing up, you were a hopeless romantic who constantly dreamed of a fairytale romance, romanticizing every aspect of your interactions with others. But a lifetime of being unlucky in love taught you that there is no such thing as true love. 

First, there was a series of unfortunately unrequited crushes in high school, all ending in you watching the boy you liked ride off into the sunset with someone else— usually a popular, pretty girl. Then came Holland, the cute boy in your calculus class who seemed like he actually returned your feelings. You both flirted for a while, before Holland ended up secretly coming out to you as gay. And of course, there was Jisung, the dirtbag who told you he loved you and then proceeded to break your heart. Love obviously isn’t on the cards for you.

Therefore, you’re now an insufferable pessimist when it comes to romance. You make fun of every couple you see in public, religiously watch wedding fails on Youtube, and absolutely hate romantic comedies. You stonily ignore the Tinder app that Mina once pressured you into downloading, even though it’s burning a hole into your phone.

You try to fill up that void in your heart by throwing yourself into work or participating in those idiotic “girls nights” that Irene throws, which usually just entail grinding up on drunk trust funders on someone’s yacht. 

But on a night like this, you’re bound to confront the truth: you are alone, and deep inside, you know you don’t want to be, no matter how much you pretend you don’t care. Which is why you let the computer cursor hover over the various appointment time slots, considering registration.

Wait, what? You shoot up from your previous position, sitting straight as every ounce of lethargy exits your body. You cannot actually be thinking of this guy’s services, especially when the recommendation came from Irene. But then again, do you really want your decisions to be determined by her? Do you care enough about spiting her that you’ll prevent your own happiness? What if this Love Doctor actually works?

With a groan, you go back to scrolling through Dr. Hwang’s bio once more, weighing your options, when you notice a link at the bottom of the page. You click on it, and it takes you to a video uploaded on Youtube. The bold, glaring red letters and the dark, dramatic backdrop alert you to a TED talk— and a very cherished one, too, with how thunderous the applause is when welcoming the speaker.

Intrigued, you sit forward, promising yourself that your assessment of Dr. Hwang’s TED talk will determine whether or not you’ll see both his physical and evidently intellectual gorgeousness in real life or not. However, from the very first question that he utters, you know your decision.

“What is love?”

You’re sweaty. You’d like to blame it on the unforgiving Los Angeles heat, but you once read that seeing a therapist is like owning your truth. You want to start being honest even before you meet Dr. Hwang, so you accept that the dampness under your arms is due to the fact that you are just really fucking nervous.

After tossing and turning in your bed all night, you tried your best to look presentable. You showered, blow-dried your hair, and put on minimal makeup reserved for special occasions. But the pretty yellow sundress and sandals that you chose— in the spirit of being symbolically optimistic— feel elementary right now, especially now that you’re setting foot inside the most glamorous office you have ever encountered. 

Upon observing the magnificently dripping crystal chandelier adorning the ceiling, marble flooring that you’re afraid of scuffing, and a jazz rendition of “Clair de lune” playing in the background, you’re convinced that this place is much too luxurious to be a shrink’s company space. Hell, it’s on the ninth floor of one of the ritziest buildings downtown. But, then again, you definitely weren’t expecting the person that Irene recommended to be this otherworldly adonis, instead of some kind of Karen ready to lecture you about having a “healthy love life” or “putting out”— yes, you do watch too much TV and have quite the imagination, so you try to keep your judgements and lofty expectations to a minimum. 

After signing-in with the receptionist— this sweet guy with freckles, sunny blond hair, and an even sunnier disposition— you sit down on the white leather sofa in the lobby. According to the brochure you swiped at the front desk, this place is so big that it has separate wings, like the freaking Hogwarts castle: one for therapy and coaching— or “guidance”— one for matchmaking services, and one for “health,” where clients and employees alike can rewind and socialize. Following a few minutes of rapidly swiping through the home screen and apps on your phone, trying to look occupied and definitely not intimidated by everything, the receptionist calls your name and directs you to Dr. Hwang’s office.

You know you’re incredibly lucky to have scored a session with Dr. Hwang, who’s obviously the most sought-after on the full list of all who work at SeoulSpark. Last night, when you were scouring SeoulSpark’s Yelp reviews (all of them were five-stars), people were raving about Dr. Hwang. Yet, as you walk through the luxe little corridor that leads you to the guidance sector, you can’t help but feel the regret that unfurls in your stomach. Perhaps you were subconsciously following Irene’s orders, that natural instinct to follow and not think still manifesting. Perhaps you were just enticed by Dr. Hwang’s visuals and repertoire. Or maybe, you just wanted to do something with your damn time for once, instead of constantly thinking about how sucky your life is. Either way, this all feels like a mistake, but it’s too late to turn back now, especially since the woman that you assume is Dr. Hwang’s assistant has spotted you.

She gets up from her desk. “Hello there! You must be Y/N.”

“That’s me!” You exclaim, in a way that probably seems too enthusiastic to be genuine. Your eyes trail to the name badge pinned to the lapel of her stylish cream-colored pantsuit. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Jang.”

“Likewise,” she says with a friendly smile that just accentuates her flawless features. 

Is everyone who works here just ridiculously attractive?

“Dr. Hwang is all ready for you.”

You quickly thank her, wiping your sweaty palms on your skirt and praying you don’t look scared. The last thing you want to do is freak out your potential therapist with your horrendous love life, even though his literal job is to deal with basket cases of romance. Taking in a deep breath, you warily place your hands on the grand pair of frosted glass doors adjacent to Ms. Jang’s desk and push them open. 

A cool gust of air welcomes you into Dr. Hwang’s office, and the first thing you notice is the blinding natural light flooding from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The one time you ever visited a therapist was immediately after the whole ordeal with Jisung; the cramped little room filled with wilted potted plants and dim light from a depressing yellow lamp had made you want to never see another therapist again. This place, however, looks more like one of those glitzy workspaces straight out of a Manhattan legal drama. You can practically see the dollar signs stamped onto everything here, from the panache but tasteful L-shaped sofa to the sultry modern art adorning the blush-colored walls. But the impeccable interior design is not what has got you temporarily incapacitated—

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

A voice as smooth as his honeyed skin and perpetual charm. A fresh breath of air in the merciless Californian heat that constitutes your entire life. A tidal wave upon the drowsy coastline of your heart. Absolute sin in your undeserving ears. You ponder what language even is, if you’ve never heard anyone articulate their entire aura like this in a mere jumble of words. Dr. Hwang smiles at you warmly— a sight that should remind you of a toasty cup of hot chocolate, but instantly spreads a raging, insatiable wildfire through your nerves. 

You speechlessly stay rooted to the spot like a damn oak tree as Dr. Hwang approaches you, with the controlled movement and dripping allure of a jaguar. As he nears you, you have to blink multiple times to adjust to how truly dazzling he is, and how the pictures of him online cannot even compare to his person. You would not hesitate to believe him if he claimed that he walked here straight off the runway, but his beauty is rapturous, less of an airbrushed model and more reminiscent of a Botticelian masterpiece. 

Maybe Charles Dickens was wrong— you see everything you want in the glittering multitude that makes up Hyunjin’s eyes. Big, soulful, contemplative. A gaze like a midnight reverie. A radiance like black diamonds encased in velvet. They reel you in like you’re silk thread and he’s a needle, like you’re an astronomer and he’s the entire galaxy. You take in the mole under his left eye, and it reminds you of a stray splatter of dark paint on an ivory canvas. It’s enchanting, like a lone star in the night sky.

“You’re good.” You barely manage, now focused on his lips that are just begging to be kissed. A delicate pink, like the lingering stain after eating cherries. Full and inviting, soft with the promises of a good time. On your own lips. On your skin. On your neck. 

Those pretty lips curve into an enigmatic smile, Cheshire-like almost. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

The way he pronounces your name so eloquently sends a spark straight through your body. You never thought much of your name, but with how Hyunjin says it, it might as well be one of those irresistible words that Pinterest logophiles save. It sounds lovely, ethereal, sublime. Just like him.

“And you as well, Dr. Hwang.” You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down, but instead, you get a breath full of his scent; he smells like a rainstorm over a field of jasmine. Tantalizingly petrichor, with a slightly floral and sensual edge. 

“Please, call me Hyunjin.”

“O-okay, Hyunjin.” A bewitching name for an even more bewitching man.

Hyunjin gestures for you to sit down on the sofa and positions himself on the chair behind his desk, a smoke-cracked glass piece arranged in front of a transparent wall that provides breathtaking views of downtown L.A. You can only imagine what the views are like at night— the city lights, of course. Definitely not of Hyunjin pushing you onto his costly desk and doing you in the dark.

“So, Y/N, darling,” Hyunjin begins, spreading his hands out on the desk in front of him. 

Darling?! Ohmyfuckinggod.

You cough. “Sorry?” 

“Tell me anything. Impressions, ruminations. Just be honest.”

That’s new and different. You thought Hyunjin would dole out the usual pleasantries, like “how are you” or “the weather is nice,” not ask you to “be honest.” What kind of person expects blatant candor after knowing them for literal seconds? Well, a therapist, probably. And a very eccentric one, at that. So you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“Everyone here seems so… happy. It’s weird.” The hot receptionist, Hyunjin’s secretary, and even the janitor wiping the floors in the lobby.

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes squinting into a crescent moon shape that you find very endearing. “Well, they seem happy because they are. Happiness isn’t rare.”

“Feels like it most of the time,” you mutter, your thoughts flashing over to work, Irene, and all of the times that you eat dinner alone. 

“That’s why you’re here, no?” Hyunjin folds his hands. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions? And I answer them? Isn’t that what most therapists do?”

“I’m not like most therapists. This is how it begins.”

Of course you aren’t. 

As you hesitate, Hyunjin keeps quiet patiently while letting your thoughts unfurl. Maybe it was Jisung, or maybe it was being constantly let down by the people around you, but somewhere along the way, you lost trust in others— you wouldn’t ever let them see who you really are. Ever since, you’ve put up your guard walls, harboring a testy, stormy attitude that scares anyone away before they can ever leave you behind. You put up with the Golden Trio’s nonsense because although they practically used you for their own enjoyment, at least they had never withdrawn for you. You don’t hate yourself, but you don’t feel content with who you are. You never knew if you really would be. 

And you don’t know Hyunjin. To you, he’s the man whose photos you pored over on Google, the one who you held a sparse conversation for a matter of mere minutes. You shouldn’t want to be exposed in front of him, but you know you already are, with the way his piercing gaze seems to see right through you. For the first time, you don’t hate the feeling of being vulnerable. You don’t know if it’s the kindness in his bedroom eyes that haven’t strayed from you, or if it’s the warmth that even someone as regal as him exudes, but you embrace the feeling of security that his presence wraps you in. Like your inhibitions are drowning in the distant crevices of your mind. You don’t know what it is that compels you to tell this beautiful stranger anything, but for once, you don’t question it.

“I’m just so tired of my damn life.”

The words come out of you in a rush, a sob, almost, because it feels so good to finally say it out loud. You’ve kept your dissatisfaction inside of you for the longest time, just pretending that the grumpiness is part of your personality, not your sadness, because you’ve always been afraid of what people would say. But when you peek up at him, Hyunjin’s expression betrays nothing. Placid, and waiting for you to go on. So you do.

“Nothing seems to be working. I try, try, and try to do better at work, but lately, even my dream job feels like a burden. I don’t really have any friends. I’m single. I act like I’m fine, but I’m really not. I don’t want to feel like this, like I’m trapped. I don’t want to give Jisung that much power over me, but unfortunately, he does have it all.” A huge weight has been lifted off of your drooping shoulders, but the bitterness still remains on your tongue.

Hyunjin takes a moment to finish up whatever notes he’s jotting down in his cream-colored journal, before looking up at you. “And Jisung is your ex?”

You freeze. You didn’t even realize that you brought up Jisung, and even worse, you completely overlooked how he probably knows a lot more about you than you think. After registering for an appointment, you were redirected to fill out this short quiz filled with questions about your romantic history, your job, and basic information. Like a slightly intruding business dinner in the form of a questionnaire. You couldn’t finish the form without getting slightly tipsy on wine, because of how gut-wrenching it was reliving everything. You forgot that your coach would have access to your answers, after brushing it all off as a silly formality. And you really thought this would all be genuine.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief and skepticism. “You already know, Dr. Hwang. Why bother asking me? You have my questionnaire results. You think I’m hopeless. You’re just being polite.”

“Hyunjin,” he corrects, undeterred by your words. “And I actually don’t. I look at the results after I meet with my clients. I would rather garner my first impression of you on the person you really are, not through an online quiz.”

“Then how did you know that Jisung’s my ex?” 

Hyunjin’s eyes crinkle with tenderness. “It wasn’t very difficult. He hurt you, I can see it.”

You swallow harshly, overwhelmed both by the thought of Jisung and the way Hyunjin’s looking at you right now. Compassion, gentleness, understanding. A complete foil to the constant indifference and borderline aversion Jisung treated you with. Right now, you don’t feel ugly, even with your scars so raw, open. You feel seen. You realize that Hyunjin has a way of getting you to open up by saying very little.

“He was my first boyfriend. First love, first kiss, first… well, you know.” You pause, blushing at the words that have escaped your mouth, but continue in spite of your shame. To hell with it. “He made me feel wanted, for once. I mean, I’ve literally been a fake date for my gay ex-situationship, and the first time I tried to get into a real relationship, which was with my former neighbor, he ghosted me after two dates. And then he moved away. Jisung… he gave me everything I thought I needed.”

You look up at Hyunjin, unsure. The tears are already shining in your eyes, threatening to spill out. Hyunjin nods encouragingly, pushing you on. 

“We were together for almost a year. And the entire time, he gaslighted me into doubting myself. He always kept cheating on me, I knew that. But I finally caught him screwing his assistant in my bed, right before we broke up.” You close your eyes. “No, before he broke up with me. God, my friends were right. I am so pathetic.”

Hyunjin sets his pen down firmly on the glass table, making you open your eyes. His starry gaze is intense, like that all-too-familiar inferno settled inside of you. “Darling, those are no friends of yours. There’s nothing pathetic about believing in someone, for putting your faith in them. Don’t ever say that again.”

“Right. Because I didn’t tell him over and over again that I forgave him. I didn’t beg him to stay, when he said he was tired of me. When he wanted new things.” You let out a dry laugh. “When it was over, everyone acted like I fumbled. Hell, he works at SM Technologies. Rich, handsome, well-connected.”

“Fuck that hack. That’s not why you loved him, though,” Hyunjin insists, his explicit language surprising you. Even in this way, he seems more poised than you ever could be. “You loved him because he made you feel loved. He accepted you. You lowered your standards for him, and he used you.”

You turn your head away from Hyunjin, not wanting him to watch you cry. But you know he’s already seen the tears streaming freely down your cheeks. “So, are you supposed to help me move on from here? Find someone new? SeoulSpark has matchmaking services, right? I mean, it’s been two years, and I’m still not over it. Sorry I’m a fucking antiromantic.”

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to shake his head. “Darling, you’re misunderstanding me. I don’t help my clients find relationships. I don’t care if you walk out still single or if you’re polyamorous. I care that you’re happy, satisfied with who you are, romantically. I’m here to guide you through that. Let me help you.”

The tears that had dripped so effusively onto your skin dry as Hyunjin holds your gaze, studying your features and saying nothing. And then your stomach chooses that inopportune moment to grumble, and very loudly indeed. In that astoundingly mortifying moment, you swear to never, ever skip breakfast again.

Hyunjin clears his throat, rising from his seat. “Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? Or eat, maybe?”

“Um, a mango?” You don’t know why, or how, but your brain just zeroes in on mangoes. You don’t even like the damn fruit. Who the fuck would specifically ask for mangoes, instead of something reasonable, like coffee, or tea? You glare up at the ceiling, cursing your emotional dry spell for making you act so embarrassingly. 

But Hyunjin just smiles. “Mangoes. A criminally overlooked aphrodisiac. People call it the love fruit, you know.”

You gulp. Now you’re imagining Dr. Hwang— er, Hyunjin— chopping up a bunch of whole mangoes like he’s in Fruit Ninja, before erotically eating each slice, licking at the flesh, juice slowly dripping down that chin sculpted by the gods. Two seconds ago, you were crying about your evil ex and now you’re dreaming about Hyunjin starring as some sort of a seductive sensei.

What the fuck?!

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t know that.”

Hyunjin is unfazed by your awkwardness, simply walking over to the pink-pastel minifridge in the corner of his office and bringing out a paper bowl of unfortunately pre-cut mangoes that you accept gingerly. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” You cautiously place a cube of mango in your mouth.

Your eyes suddenly widen at the sweet yet tangy explosion of flavor on your tongue. Creamy yet juicy, refreshing yet indulging, just succulent on your lips. Hyunjin giggles at your amazed reaction to the fruit. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” You chew on the tart skin of the mango and swallow. “Do you know where your secretary might have bought this?”

“Wonyoung didn’t buy it, I did.” Hyunjin grins, sipping on his own glass of water. “5-Star Grocery. I went just today, actually.”

You finish off the rest of the fruit in no time, swiping the mango residue on your fork clean with your lips. When you’re done, you look up from the bowl to see Hyunjin gazing intently at you. You were probably taking forever to eat, and he was waiting for you. “Oh, sorry about that. This was really good.”

Hyunjin shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, it’s not that.”

You curiously tilt your head at him, wondering what’s got him so worked up. “Did I say something, Dr. Hwa- I mean, Hyunjin?”

“No, you didn’t.” Hyunjin stands up and takes your bowl, throwing it away in the disposal for you. “Let’s get back to our conversation.”

You nod, your thoughts fluttering back to Jisung, the ache replacing the lust that reigned inside of you, moments earlier. “I have tried to see other people, but it’s been hard.”

“How so?” Hyunjin clicks on his pen, putting it in a position ready to write.

You toy with the hem of your dress, your face heating up. “I tried using Tinder. I even matched with this one guy, San. We got dinner. But later that night, when… when we were about to um, have sex, I just couldn’t. San was really nice and understanding about everything, but I felt so bad. I’ve only slept with one person before, Jisung, and I don’t know. It’s so humiliating.”

Hyunjin frowns. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. First, it’s normal to be wary of intimacy after a long-term relationship. And second, we all have varying levels of sexual comfort. You’ll find your own pace. Our sexuality is essential to our health, and there’s nothing humiliating about it.”

“It’s not like I’m not experienced, though,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin looks up from his notepad and raises an eyebrow at you. You sputter over your impulsive words and try to explain. “It’s just that I have trouble being vulnerable with others, both physically and emotionally. There was only Jisung. And he wasn’t that good at it, to be honest. But I thought it shouldn’t stop me from finding out by myself what I like. That’s all.”

For a second, you think Hyunjin will make fun of you, but he just solemnly nods. “Absolutely. I always tell my clients this. There’s nothing wrong with masturbating. It’s incredibly healthy, whether or not you’re in a relationship.”

You exhale shakily, your cheeks aflame. You know it’s his literal job, but you can’t help but feel both admiration and jealousy at how straightforward Hyunjin is while talking about sex. His whole aura seeps with confidence, like it comes easily to him. Your self-consciousness could never. “Right.”

He sighs in thought, scribbling into your notepad as you restlessly wait for him to say something, fidgeting in your seat. Hyunjin then sets his notepad aside, logging into his sleek Apple iMac computer and rapidly typing into it. “I have something for you to do, darling.”

You immediately tense at the thought of more work, especially if Hyunjin is going to be your grader. “Like, homework?”

Hyunjin laughs. “No. Think of it as a fun little task. Remember, nothing I ask you to do is obligatory. You choose to be here.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.” You square your shoulders like a soldier. Whatever your assignment is, you’re going to knock it out of the park and impress Hyunjin. Definitely because you look up to him as a person, not because you want him to rail you into the next century.

Hyunjin leans forward, like he’s about to indulge you with a delicious secret, and you find yourself doing the same. “I want you to write down on paper one thing you love about yourself every day of the week, starting today. Bring the sheet to me when we meet again next week.”

You sit back, your heart sinking while your mind wakes in panic. And of all things, the assignment has to be this. You could fib your way through it, of course, jotting down the stupid, trivial aspects of yourself that aren’t so bad. But considering it all, asking yourself that question would really make you face the ugly truth: do you even love yourself?

“Wait, what do you mean? Like, what does it have to be? Physical? Emotional? Professional? Personal? I don’t think—”

Hyunjin smoothly cuts you off. “Like I said, this is your choice to complete. And it can be anything you cherish about yourself. Anything. This is your opportunity to show-off.”

You shake your head, frustrated. “But why, though? I don’t get the point of this.”

“I need to be able to get an idea of what specific path will best fit you, whether it’s solo therapy to help your mindset and esteem, matchmaking to get you connected with individuals who complement you, or coaching to provide you with guidance in potential relationships. So for now, I want to get to know you. ”

“If you wanted to get to know me, you’d ask questions like, ‘what do you do,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color,’ Hyunjin,” you say, irked. “This is just going to be another thing I fail at.”

“Darling,” Hyunjin says, firmly but gently. “Your profession and favorite color, while intriguing, isn’t knowledge I need to work with you. The most important service of all is helping my clients’ self-perception and confidence in romance, and I need to know what level you are on. Take it slow, it’s okay. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The familiar warmth spreads throughout your body. Compassion, gentleness, understanding. You harbor so much insecurity that it affects so much of your daily life. You don’t go out. You work yourself down and out. You wallow in your misery. You’re a pessimist who doesn’t believe in true love. And you receive endless judgment for it, because really, who wouldn’t be disgusted by someone like you? But being with Hyunjin feels different, because he is accepting you for who you are and promising you the guidance you’ve always needed. 

“We can assess what aforementioned action to take next week, when I’ve had time to assess you,” Hyunjin declares as you agree, ripping out a piece of paper from his notebook and writing down the task on it for you to take home.

And then you’re pulled back into reality. You’re well-educated and smart. You have a good job that pays well. You like to read Scientific American in your freetime, because sometimes, you would rather face the facts than meld into opinions. And you know exactly what’s happening right now. It’s barely been your first session with Hyunjin, and you’re already getting attached to him, because he’s giving you the kind of care and attention that you’ve been craving. It’s a phenomenon called transference, you know that. The butterfly garden flitting in your stomach is a mere sensory illusion, you know that. But you also know that you are feeling something. 

As Hyunjin hands you the slip of paper, his hands brush yours lightly, and you can’t help but exhale sharply at where his skin has made contact with yours. Maybe you’re touch-starved, but you can’t help but feel like a longing character in a Victorian romance novel. You look down at his hands as he retracts them. Large, smooth palms, and long fingers decked in silver rings. 

“But that will be all for now, darling.” 

God, he’s sexy.

“Really? Is that all?” You glance at the rose gold clock hanging on the wall behind you. It’s barely been thirty minutes. “We’re done so soon?”

Hyunjin grins at you, flashing those crescent moons once again. “I didn’t know you were that eager to stay here.”

You clear your throat, furiously blushing. “I mean, I thought the session would last longer. So I’ll come back next week then.”

“This was a diagnostic, darling. And yes, I’ll see you next week. You should make an appointment with Wonyoung before you leave.” 

Hyunjin beams at you pleasantly while you reluctantly grab your purse, and you briefly wonder if he looks just as lovely when his partner pleasures him— if he has a partner. But then again, there is no way someone as good-looking and sweet as him is single. The thought of Hyunjin fucking someone simultaneously sparks envy and turns you on, and you quickly shake it away.

“Thank you so much, Hyunjin. And um, I’m sorry if I came off as kind of coarse, it’s… I’m working on it.” You tilt your head towards him, hoping he gets what you’re trying to convey. You’re not amazing with words, or controlling your emotions very well, and any product of that today was not meant to hurt him.

“You did nothing wrong. I’m glad you decided to come here, Y/N.” Hyunjin walks you across his expansive office.

“And I love your nails, by the way.” Hyunjin states, his gaze pointed down at your hands. “Pink’s my favorite color.”

You flush a pink that’s deeper than the object of his compliments. Pink, huh? You wonder about what other pink things that Hyunjn may like. Pink roses? Raspberries? Flamingoes? You’d bring them all to him if he asked.

Hyunjin graciously opens the door leading to the corridor for you, and you shoot him a small smile, as he returns it. His hand skims the small of your back as he leads you out, and you pray that you don’t look like a lustful maniac. Unaware of your internal frenzy, Hyunjin waves goodbye to you as he lets in his next client waiting outside and shuts the door behind him.

Wonyoung asks you a plethora of questions about your availability next week, your mind stays on Hyunjin while you schedule your next appointment. You don’t waver even when you exit the SeoulSpark and unlock your car in the visitor parking lot, collapsing into the seat in a daze. Even when you find yourself plugging in directions on Google Maps to find the quickest route to 5-Star Grocery, your thoughts don’t stay from Hyunjin. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin.

You take your time strolling through the multicolored aisles of 5-Star, blankly gazing at all of the overpriced foodstuffs while daydreaming about the way that Hyunjin’s hand had accidentally brushed against you, even if it was inadvertent. You want his fingers on your body. In your body. In your mouth. Anywhere, and everywhere. 

You brighten up as you near the produce section and spy the hefty crate of what you came for: very expensive imported Indian mangoes. But without a second thought, you place a generous pile of the fresh fruit into a plastic cover and put it into your cart. And you swear you can catch the lingering scent of Hyunjin from when he was here earlier today. Rainstorms. Jasmine. Danger. You practically combust at the thought of Hyunjin scouring the baskets of mangoes for the very best picks with those crescent moon eyes, wishing it was you instead that he could have been gazing so purposefully at. On the way out, like some kind of a divine coincidence, you notice that a local florist has set up their stand at the entrance of the grocery. As you approach, the overflowing clay pots of jasmine crowd your sensations.

The drive back home feels like it lasts hours, when in reality, the store is only a few minutes away from your place. As soon as you’re inside your apartment, you throw open all of the window shutters, dismissing the ominous weather forecast on the radio. A much bigger tempest brews somewhere else. The late evening breeze through your windows is like a pirate sailing into your mind, hoarding your sanity and coaxing in all of your disgraceful thoughts. And you welcome the ship like a safe harbor because it’s been far too long since you’ve ever felt this outrageously alive.

The tiny light in your kitchen provides some leeway for you to work, as you stow away your groceries in the fridge and bring out the glass cutting board that your menace of coworker gave you as a gag gift; you would burn the whole house down before cooking anything, and he knows that. Yet, you kind of feel like goddamn Gordon Ramsay as you cut through the mango dexterously to produce those perfect cubes that Hyunjin presented you with.

With a sigh, you collapse into one of the mismatched chairs at your dining table. You once slaved away into late nights at this table, blue light glasses perched on your nose while you were engrossed in lines of code. Nowadays, you sleep late for less productive reasons or just because you are in a destructive mood and planning your future world takeover. But you have a feeling that might change soon.

Slowly, you put a piece of the sweet mango in your mouth, savoring the saccharinity and longing for it to pervade all aspects of your life beyond your palate. You find that it tastes a little less delectable because Hyunjin isn’t here with you, but you finish the entire bowl of fruit nevertheless. Still not satisfied, however, you bring out a second mango, still searching for that spark you had felt earlier.

This time, you don’t even bother cutting the fruit, instead breaking the skin of the mango with your teeth and allowing the juice to leak onto your tongue. A little better, but you wish you were biting down on Hyunjin’s plush lips instead. You feel like you’ve been hexed by the Love Doctor, because there’s no chance that a romantic Scrooge like you is fantasizing about the emotional and physical reincarnation of Aphrodite. 

Yet, he must have shot you with his quiver of arrows, rendering you clinically insane, because as you reach for your third mango, you feel your free hand trailing down to the place between your thighs that’s begging for your touch. You spread your legs so that your knees are facing out on either side of you, and your dress has now ridden up to your hips, exposing your now wet cotton panties for no one to see. 

But you imagine that he’s watching, stroking himself and getting off along with you. Not even bothering to slide them off, you push your panties to the side and finally press your fingers against your aching cunt. Chewing on the delicate skin of mango, you slide your fingers through your drenched folds, thankful to finally get a chance to relieve yourself. As you concentrate on the fruit’s taste, you wonder what Hyunjin would think of your own, sucking on his own fingers after fucking you with his pretty hands. He’d push you down to get a complete taste, attaching his mouth to your pussy to get both an idea and a release.

Moaning out loud, you circle your clit, enjoying the flickers of pleasure coursing through you. Not minding the juice now dripping down your chin and onto your collarbone, you pull down the front of your dress, freeing your breasts. You gently pinch your nipple with your left hand and let out a small gasp, craving for Hyunjin to be the one inducing such sinful pain into you.

“Just like that, darling.”

“Oh God, Hyunjin!” You call out his name and squeeze your breast, now fucking yourself on your fingers while simultaneously grinding the heel of your palm against your clit for that delicious extra friction. 

“So good for me.”

Waves of ecstasy wash over you as you ride out your high, sloppily thrusting and circling your hips on your soaked hand. You come to the final thought of Hyunjin pushing a slice of mango down the valley between your breasts, tracing and cleaning the sticky juice with his tongue. And there’s the spark, igniting a whole flame of fulfillment deep inside of you.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you fix your dress and get up from your chair, taking out a paper towel to wipe the mess of your arousal and fruit juice on the seat. Your cheeks burn with the after effects of your release, and yet, you don’t feel any shame. Instead, there’s a strange sense of liberation that you are starting to come to terms with.

Clipping up your hair, you make your way over to the desk in your bedroom and take out a fresh sheet of paper. Armed with a glass of freshly puréed mango juice and accompanied by the tantalizing scent of your jasmine plant, you pull out a pink gel pen and let the words pour out.

“So, Y/N. Were you able to do what I asked?” Hyunjin cocks his head expectantly.

You reach into your handbag and pull out the paper, passing it to Hyunjin with trembling hands. “I did it.”

You came to SeoulSpark straight from work, deliberately skipping your usual jeans and blazer combination for a skinny pencil skirt paired with a powder-pink button down that matches the walls of Hyunjin’s office. Slightly transparent silk stockings disappear under the skirt, which skims the top of your knees. 

When you were pulling on your barely-worn cream slingback pumps in the morning, you had wondered what this entire outfit was for. You had stood up and gazed critically into the mirror, and all you could feel was empowerment. Because for the first time, it felt like something you were truly doing for yourself. You weren’t proving a point. And you knew you weren’t dressing for Hyunjin either, but rather, because of him. He made you question if you were treating yourself right, and you wanted to answer it well. The pink blouse was a playful touch that you couldn’t help.

Hyunjin takes his time reading through the paper, and this time, you’re the one observing his every reaction, from the quirk of his brow to the way he occasionally licks his lips to wet them. The latter action sparks a memory of one week ago, when you indulged yourself in absurdly fantasizing about those very lips all over you. You press your legs together, ignoring the dull throb in between, and try not to think of it, focusing on the unsexiest things your mind can come up with. Climate change. Warts. Donald Trump.

“This is a good list to start with.” Hyunjin looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “All true, right?”

You nod, feeling a shy smile erupt on your face. “Yeah, I was kind of surprised with how doable-ish it was.”

“May I ask how? If I recall, you were quite opposed to this task last week.” Today, Hyunjin sits on the sofa with you instead of at his desk— too close, yet so far. 

You finger the one of the buttons on your blouse, mind already on the truth. But of course, you would never tell Hyunjin how masturbating to the thought of him made you feel aligned with your own body and sexuality, and maybe a little more willing to dare to think of what you like about yourself. Now that would be inappropriate.

“I just did some thinking,” you finally say after much deliberation. 

Hyunjin crosses one of his long legs over the other. “Interesting.”

“I guess.”

“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Hyunjin lightly taps on his notepad with his pen, waiting for you to speak.

You give him a suspicious look. “Depends on the question.”

“Are you happy with yourself?”

His question confounds you, and yet, in a way, you also know why he asks it. A basic list of things that you like about yourself isn’t enough to turn over that table of insecurity and stagnant mindset that has hurt you for too long. It makes you understand that everything wrong in your life is because of an intrinsic cause, that ugly voice inside of you. Not because of something else… or someone. 

“I don’t think I am.” You bite your lip. “But I want to be.”

“Can you tell me why?”

You groan. “It stems from how I feel so undesirable right now. Like, I don’t want to be lonely, but I am. I mean, I’m kind of a shooting star for everyone. A fleeting moment of love, of comfort. I really wish I could be the fucking sun.”

Hyunjin leans forward swiftly, grasping your hands and startling you with their warmth. “You’re not a shooting star. And you’re not just the sun either. You are the whole solar system, honey. Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

Damn. The solar system? 

You hate when Irene calls you “honey,” but on Hyunjin’s tongue, it sounds loving, sweet, not like a patronizing ridicule. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, trying to ignore the way your heart is hammering in your chest. “But you’ve known me for, like, two seconds.”

If you don’t know any better, you would say that Hyunjin almost looks taken aback. But his features smooth over quickly. “Darling, I’m a professional. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You have a good heart. There is no reason why you can’t have everything you want.”

You try to focus on his words and take them in, but Hyunjin— simply the sexiest thing you have ever set eyes on— has deemed you beautiful. It’s both flattering and heart-fluttering, to say the very least. “Well, why don’t I? Why don’t I have everything I want, then?”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “You just haven’t met the right person for you.”

You inhale at the husky tone of his voice. “And you’re going to help me with that, Hyunjin?”

“Yes. You don’t need therapy, definitely. The first step I take with my clients is acceptance. That comes with therapy, but you were able to identify the problem and acknowledge it. I say we address it now.”

“What do you recommend we do, then?”

Hyunjin clears his throat and flips to a new page in his notepad. “I’ll be your dating coach.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “What does that entail?”

“We need to fortify your self-esteem, first of all. So, confidence coaching. You’ll be getting weekly sessions with me in which I provide you with tips and guidance, almost like interactive lectures. In due time… you can be set up in our matchmaking office, if you’d like.” Hyunjin scribbles into his trusty notepad. “You made a good start with the list. Let’s get better.”

And you do. The next few weeks are like a bandaid on your wounded heart and mentality. Hyunjin helps you through building up your confidence, never once pushing you to run, only walking by your side. You expect him to give you information on pickup lines, how to dress, appropriate forms of touch, the science of love, and anything else that may improve your dating prospects, but much of his coaching is simply focused on you. You get one-on-one seminars from Hyunjin on the art of conversation, in which he guides you through being yourself, instead of being who you think you need to be. Hyunjin structures elaborate role-playing scenarios and critical thinking exercises in which you are coaxed out of your shell. And most significant of all, he teaches you that the most important relationship you can have is the relationship with yourself. 

You have always known that Hyunjin isn’t just any regular relationship therapist— or dating coach, or intimacy expert, or whatever other fancy moniker he adopts— but throughout your meetings, you come to feel like the boundaries have become blurred. Since the first time you saw him, he was able to read you like one of the glossy magazines stocked in the main lobby. But you slowly notice the fine details about him as well, from the neverending stack of classic poetry books on the white oak wall mount to how he bites his nails when he’s deep in thought.

The fascination you harbor morphs into a full-blown schoolgirl infatuation, resulting in you stalking his Instagram page and being totally invested in all of his old interviews, scouring for information on his dating status (no, you couldn’t find out if he is single or not). You’re completely enamored with Hyunjin and how free you feel around him. But one thing that doesn’t change is your burning desire for your unattainable guide, and the way you have to relieve yourself with your vibrator as soon as you rush home after your appointments.

You are sure that every single time you see Hyunjin, you’re being embarrassingly obvious, but he maintains his professionality, betraying nothing about himself except for a disarming smile. So you stay quiet, keeping your Hyunjin-affliction to yourself. But even in the face of your inappropriate struggle, for the first time, happiness doesn’t seem so foreign to you.

In spite of the honeymoon phase of your crush, in which you have blissfully daydreamed about Hyunjin, you still have your job to get to— gone is the racy maroon lingerie set you bought to spice up your solo sessions. However, your boring work suits and blazer-and-jeans combinations have been pushed to the back of your closet, in favor of you walking into the office wearing tight sheath dresses and skirts that show off your curves. You always believed that getting dolled up was strictly for special occasions or your man— when you thought you had one— but lately, you’ve been loving dressing up for yourself and enjoying the feeling of being sexy and liberated.

“Y/N! Get your ass over here!”

Your carefully curated mind bubble is rudely burst open when your boss yells for you from his office, not minding if the peace of the rest of the workers is preserved or not. You tie your hair up and dust off your skirt, making your way over to your boss’s office for what feels like the millionth berating you know you will receive.

“Yes?”

Mark Lee— your boss, who in your opinion, makes Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada look like a saint— turns around in his cushy Arhaus swivel chair, raising his eyebrows at your harried stats. Most people know him as the eccentric but lovable CEO of NCT Corporation, one of the world’s most prolific venture capital firms. However, you know him to be a truly two-faced monster that takes a sadistic pleasure in seeing the people beneath him crushed.

 “Is something wrong? Because there shouldn’t be.”

You force a smile. “You called me here, Mark.”

He lets out a mirthless guffaw, slapping his thigh. “Right.”

You roll your eyes as he shuffles through the papers on his desk and produces a small Manila envelope for you. Mark holds it out to you, and you take the packet.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Curious, you tear open the envelope and pull out a thick piece of stationary paper, an invitation to a networking event for tech entrepreneurs. Your pulse immediately begins to pick up, and you even dare to begin to dream of attending this golden opportunity. “Is this for me?”

“Kind of.” Mark clasps his hands together. “You’re planning this party!”

Your hesitant smile melts away. “What? I’m not your assistant, Mark. You already have one.”

“I know…” Mark trails off, popping a gummy bear into his mouth as he starts to spin around in his chair. “But no one is more passionate than you here, so you should do it.”

“But I’m busy with my actual job. I should be going to this party, not planning it! You know that.” You feel the frustration rise up in your chest like a tsunami, and you struggle to keep it at bay. “Come on, Mark. What the hell?”

Mark narrows his eyes at you, chewing on his fifth gummy. “No profanity, please.”

You nearly ball up the invitation and throw it onto Mark’s face. “You literally just screamed at me to get my ass in here.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.” Mark snickers, crumpling up his gummy bear packet and attempting to shoot it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. When he misses, his expression sours and he glares at you. “You should really check out the instructions I sent you and get to work. Even some SM Tech officers will be in attendance. For example, the director of the Dream division.”

Your heart drops. “What?”

Mark smirks malevolently, leaning closer towards you. “You know him, right? Jake, was his name? Or was it Jisung?”

You grind down on your teeth, fuming. Mark is just trying to rile you up, and it’s really working. He knows perfectly well that Jisung is your ex-boyfriend, as both Jisung and him are golf buddies at their exclusive course in Pasadena. However, he loves to play dumb to get a reaction out of you, and you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You swallow back all of the disgusting insults you wish you could hurl at him, if you were braver and not hanging on to your job by a thread. “Don’t recall. I’ll take care of the party.”

You turn on your heel and march out of Mark’s office, purposefully slamming the door hard on the way out. You hear Mark’s cackling behind you, but you don’t dare to look back, because you don’t know what you’ll do. You slide into your cubicle once more, and have to resist the urge to turn over your whole desk like Wreck-It Ralph.

Years ago, in your final year of college, you founded ITEM Technologies with one of your classmates for your senior project. You hadn’t expected your professor to be so impressed that she submitted your portfolio to California’s biggest entrepreneurship competition, and you definitely didn’t expect for it to win first place, which meant you got access to a whole network of potential investors for your start-up. You had already accepted a job offer to be a software developer at NCT, but the thought of becoming your own boss through ITEM pulled at you like anything. Securing funding for ITEM through SM Technologies would be the final key in the system of locks keeping you from your dream, and the exclusive invitation to CODA— Silicon Valley’s biggest annual networking lunch for start-ups— was the ticket.

However, the day before the event, Jisung had broken up with you, and you had forgotten all about CODA, instead sleeping in after a whole night of crying. Later, after you woke up and realized what you had done, you found out that SM’s latest investment would be in Dream, a growing media company headed by none other than your new ex, Jisung. In twenty-four hours, he had both killed your dreams and your heart. And in due time, without proper funding, ITEM Tech would eventually fail, like many other promising but ill-fated start-ups.

And now? Jisung is living it up in your dream job while you’re groveling in the footsteps of your nightmarish excuse of a boss. Just touching a keyboard once filled you with so much joy, but now, you would rather smash it into bits before pressing a single key. Now you have to map out some stupid party for other start-ups. You’re a developer, not an event planner. You glare up at the ceiling, as if asking a higher power for an explanation for your crappy life. A moment later, your computer pings with a new email.

Like he’s a telepathic deity, Hyunjin has sent you a GIF of a baby llama waddling around a small pen, with text below that reads, “keep calm and llama on.” In spite of yourself, you laugh to yourself, and without thinking, you type in a response thanking him and ending in a winking emoji. Right after you send it, you fill up with regret. Was that inappropriate? The emoji? Too much? With an exasperated sigh, you stand up from your desk, shutting down your computer and heading over to the elevator, punching in buttons for the next floor. However, as soon as you open the door to the office of the one person who could probably talk some sense into you right now, you regret it. Afterall, he’s your part-time friend and full-time menace of a coworker.

“Fuck… don’t tease me like that when I’m not there,” Minho groans, before sighing wistfully into his phone. “I’ll be home soon.”

You silently gag, mentally slapping the shit out of yourself for walking in on a phone sex session, of all things. Minho hadn’t answered when you knocked on his door, so you had just assumed that he needed to be woken up from one of his notorious naps.

“I love you too. I’ll see you in a little bit.” Minho ends the call and turns around in his seat, happily humming to himself with a lovestruck expression on his face. He nearly falls out of his chair when he sees you hovering over him with a smirk on your face. “Jesus!”

“Seriously? Here? Now?”

“Shut the fuck up. I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Suuure.”

Minho rolls his eyes at your silly expression, unamused and crossing his arms. “Can I help you, Y/N?”

You rub one of your nails, thinking of how Hyunjin once complimented them. “You’re like my only friend.”

“I know.” He watches you collapse into one of the chairs in front of him. “But what happened to those Golden Bitches?”

“Golden Trio,” you correct, although Minho doesn’t miss the hint of a grin on your face at his intentional mistake. “And I’m done with them. Finally.”

You put your head down on Minho’s desk as he reaches into one of his desk drawers, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers and tossing them to you. “Talk.”

“It’s, um, kind of bad, though.” 

“I’m listening.”

Everything comes spilling out of your mouth: brunch at The Terrace, your new unpaid party-planning gig, and of course… Hyunjin. Your explanation is much more censored than the real thing, of course, because there’s no way you’re going to talk about your whole mango expedition with a married man. That is a whole new level of breaking boundaries, and you’ve crossed enough to know.

“Well… that’s basically it.” You swallow nervously, and suddenly, your throat feels very dry. “Mark sucks, and I’m thirsting after my therapist slash dating coach.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Minho says gently, a color that you weren’t even sure existed for him in public. His teasing persona always overtakes the tender one exclusively reserved for his other half. “The whole Hyunjin thing is probably just temporary. You’re still adjusting to considering romance as a possibility again.”

“Okay.”

“The right person will come along. It’s long, and it’s hard, but that journey will be worth it.”

“Says you. You and your wife are literally perfect. I mean, college sweethearts? If your life was a music soundtrack, it would be one of those cheesy love playlists that annoying couples make together.”

Minho just chuckles. “We had our ups and downs. But yeah, we kind of are perfect. She is perfect.”

He softly smiles to himself, gazing at the beautiful portrait of his wife that’s framed on his desk. He’s in his own world now, and you pat his shoulder. “Thanks for the help, Minho. You should go home.”

As you exit the NCT headquarters, you can’t help but feel your heart squeeze even tighter in your chest. Witnessing such a wholesome moment should have given you hope, a glimpse of a future you could have. Instead, it reminded you of what you can’t have right now— who you can’t have. 

You appreciate Minho’s efforts to make you feel better, but he just doesn’t know the full truth. Because your chat with him pushed up something very unpleasant that you’ve been avoiding for a while now. Your pink-loving, classic novel-reading, luxury-shopaholic dating coach is more than just the object of your explicit fantasies, all unbeknownst to him. You’ve started to love the person you become when you’re around him. You love how much more confident and happier you’ve become because of him. Hell, you have genuine feelings for him.

You are so fucked.

Spanning his entire career as a relationship therapist (and all of the other job titles; for God’s sake, he’s the Love Doctor), Hyunjin can’t really come up with any thorns in the rosebush. Sure, there have been a few snags, like that time his clients literally brought divorce papers to one of their meetings (he managed to convince them to take a romantic vacation to Bora Bora and bond more as a couple; it worked). Or when another client confessed to committing adultery with the family’s nanny halfway through a session (after persuading the wife not to murder her husband in the middle of his office, Hyunjin set them up with recovery counseling; that also worked). Life was predictable, but enjoyable. Just the way he likes it. 

Every single day used to begin the exact same way. He woke up at exactly five-thirty, before doing his favorite low-impact yoga routine in his home gym. Hyunjin liked being up early enough to watch the sun rise from the balcony of his West Hollywood penthouse, while drinking a cup of loose leaf Darjeeling tea, of course. His post Sun Salutation breakfast consisted of two slices of whole wheat bread topped with two organic scrambled eggs and extra virgin olive oil. He’d shower and spend a while wandering his walk-in closet, deciding what killer outfit to wear for work, his third favorite place after South Korea and the Taj Mahal. And then he drove to SeoulSpark in Cami, his beloved baby pink Cadillac that he splurged on after getting on Forbes 30 Under 30. 

Every single day used to end the exact same way. He’d leave work by six, after finishing up the last of his meetings. He’d browse on his MacBook for a nice recipe before cooking his dinner while jamming to Mariah on his Spotify Premium, and change the station to classical while eating. He took another shower, but taking more time to do his special avocado hair mask and full skin-care routine. Then Hyunjin liked to cozy up in his Versace bathrobe while catching up with the latest episode of Love Island and cuddling with his paw-dorable shih tzu, Princess Diana. Oh, and, he couldn’t unwind without kicking his feet back and downing a glass of pink champagne. And then he went to bed by eleven.

That was all before you, of course.

The day he met you, he was reminded of the sun. Yes, the way you roughly turned your chin to the side or rained down on him with your sharp words was more evocative of a thunderstorm. But then there was that dress, a pale yellow fluttering above your knees, and how your wide eyes had so expressively taken in your surroundings when you stepped into his office. The slightly awkward way you greeted him, when you harshly avoided his gaze when you were embarrassed. And the way you looked at him, your pretty lips pulled into a stubborn pout, but really, he could see the soft curiosity in your gaze. You were so mad at the world around you, all he wanted to do was take you onto his magic carpet and show you a new one.

He also really, really wanted to just rip that dress off your body and fuck you senseless. And when you started to eat that mango? He had to scramble to think of a list of unsexy things to avoid a boner right then and there. Chipped nails. Gonorrhea. Andrew Tate.

The following weeks weren’t any better, either. He felt like an inexperienced, horny teenager once again, lusting after the tiniest flash of skin. In your last meeting, Hyunjin had fixated on the tiny rip on your stocking that barely exposed the soft skin of your thigh. You hadn’t even noticed, but God, he was trying not to go crazy in his seat. 

Usually, other people are the ones who are seduced by Hyunjin’s charming nature, but ever since you, the once calm, elegant, and poised Hyunjin has been prone to being seduced by irrelevant wardrobe malfunctions. And the absolutely inappropriate thoughts of you that have now flooded his brain are constantly floating around, disturbing him. Yesterday, he slept-in, so he had to skip his morning yoga and was nearly late to work. Later, he fell asleep while fisting himself under the covers, forgetting to turn on his mood lighting and 528 Hz nighttime music. And today was an even bigger disaster, because he’d zoned out during his marketing meeting, thinking of bending you over his desk instead of advertising SeoulSpark. Ever since you, none of his days have been the same. Tonight is no exception.

Hyunjin turns the steel knob, cranking up the heat for no reason at all. Maybe he needs to feel the burn of the scalding water on his skin, shocking him back into reality, or perhaps, he needs to hide from his sanity in the steam, too ashamed to look out and into the bathroom mirror. 

The water pours down Hyunjin’s back as he steps under the steady stream, dousing himself and trying to forget about you. But it’s to no avail, because he feels his hand already moving down, roving over his Pilates-strengthened abs and slipping down to the one place that’s pleading for his attention. 

Hyunjin tilts his head back in the bliss of succumbing to temptation, slightly leaning his cheek against his shoulder as he strokes his hardened length slowly. He sucks in a sharp breath as he squeezes himself, deftly curving his wrist for a more impactful angle. Hyunjin is no stranger to a good lover, but right now he’s resorting to touching himself with the familiarity that only he is entitled to. Although, he would love to teach you about more than just confidence, giving you lessons on how to pleasure him, watching you work like the sexy aficionado that he believes you to be.

In his mind, he isn’t in the privacy of his bathroom, jerking himself off. No, he’s in his office, lying down on his luxe handwoven rug with you on top of him. You’re completely exposed except for the place where your yellow frock is scrunched around your waist, because you were so eager to have each other that Hyunjin hadn’t even bothered with completely undressing you. 

Hyunjin tightens his fingers around his cock and speeds up, pumping himself aggressively. He bites down on his lip and screws his eyes shut, as low, breathy moans escape him. He’s leaking already, flushed and throbbing under his palm. Hyunjin pushes a hand against the shower wall for support and whimpers at the thought of you riding him while slurping on that goddamn mango. He’s so delusional for you that you hadn’t even bothered with getting a knife to cut into the mango, instead holding it in your hand and biting into it while bouncing on his cock. 

Hyunjin lets out a groan as he strokes himself even faster, and he feels his orgasm rapidly approaching but refrains from releasing. He doesn’t deserve to come, not yet. He imagines your legs spread and your tight walls around him, instead of his own fist. Your cheeks are a deep red now, as Hyunjin pounds up into you, claiming you and making you his own. The juice from the mango is dripping all over your gorgeous breasts, trailing down even further and mixing with your own arousal. Hyunjin wonders about how you would taste. Were you as sweet as that mango you had eaten so damn seductively in front of him? No. You probably tasted even better. 

His soft moans have turned into harsh pants as Hyunjin’s hands begin to lose rhythm, unsteadily working his length. Hyunjin listens to your pretty sighs as you look down at him, pleasure and amusement contorting your features. 

“You want me so bad, don’t you?” 

“I do!” Hyunjin chokes out as a cry as the pressure rises in his core. He’s so, so close, the pearls of sweat rolling down his neck and becoming one with the water. 

“Hyunjin…”

Hyunjin’s name slips out of your mouth as easily as he flips you over onto your back, fucking harshly into you. He anchors his hand to your waist, gripping tightly, as you gaze up at him through your half-lidded eyes. Your bare chests are pressed together in a sticky haze of both your sweat and the juice of the mango you have now abandoned for something more satiating. Spurred on by the fucked-out smile on your face, he brings his free hand to your lips and you obediently suck on his fingers, wishing it was his cock instead. But you’re still in control, directing him with your eyes and whispering sweet praises to him. And then you’re clenching around him, your body shuddering underneath Hyunjin’s as you reach the peak of your ecstasy. 

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin.”

Your final command makes Hyunjin convulse and tense, his back arching as he finally chases after his release. Hyunjin thrusts into his hand, overcome by the thought of you judging him while he comes. Hyunjin’s knees go weak as he strokes himself through his orgasm, violently spasming against the Carrara marble walls of his shower. His release shoots out in hot spurts, painting his trembling thighs and the walls a thick white. 

Breathless, Hyunjin opens his eyes and washes off his shame, but there’s only so much that water and coconut body wash can do. The moment he prepares to step out of his steaming shower, Hyunjin feels anything but cleansed— his situation is quite the opposite. The unholy thoughts that he had touched himself to had done anything but subside, struggling behind the dam in his mind that contains his last shreds of dignity. As he opens the door leading to his bedroom, the shock of cold air conditioning against his damp skin is a harsh reminder of reality. 

Hyunjin’s relationship with you is strictly limited to his office, the place where he did not get to fuck you in. Any discourse with sexual content is limited to your personal romantic endeavors that he has no role in whatsoever. You have zero idea about his filthy fantasies involving you, and see him merely as the person who would help you find happiness with someone else. Not him. He’s your therapist, and in clinical terms, you could be his patient.

The mirage of you standing in front of him disagrees, however. 

“You’re technically not my therapist—  more like my counselor.” 

Hyunjin watches with wide eyes as you bound over to him. Smirking, you playfully toy with the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist.

“But I am feeling kind of sick, though, Dr. Hwang. I’m all hot and aching, just for you.”

“Go away! You can’t be here.” Hyunjin shakes his head, quickly walking over to his closet and getting into his silk batik pajamas. “I’m going crazy…”

Princess Diana nips at Hyunjin’s ankles, prodding him to go back to his normal self and snuggle with her while they watch reality TV. 

“I just can’t right now, Diana,” Hyunjin exclaims exasperatedly. She gets the hint and slinks away, leaving Hyunjin alone in his bedroom.

He hadn’t even bothered with turning on the lights, the glimmering Los Angeles skyline past his expansive windows casting a pale glow in his room. If mindreading was a real thing, Hyunjin would be done for, because the thoughts that had transpired today would ruin him, shrivel up his reputation and business. If this went beyond the confines of his home, continuing to force itself into his daily life, he could lose everything. His job, his name, his purpose. Nevertheless, Hyunjin feels his hand sliding down once more, like a sinful memory of the past. It’s going to be another long night, and what happens tomorrow is variable. But Hyunjin knows one thing to be true.

He is so fucked.

«NEXT CHAPTER» · «GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

That was the longest thing I've ever written for one piece. AND IT'S ONLY CHAPTER 1 LMFAO. Anyway, hope you liked it, loves! I'll be hiding under my blankets tonight and screaming about my first published smut scene EVER. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t mind if you leave a whole essay ;) -Dreamy

TAGLIST

@skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahsspider @8makes1scream ***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

📢 ©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[togrowoldinv]

(Mis)Fortune

Firefighter!Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Natasha rescues a cat from a tree and it leads to so much more

Note: Firefighter Nat is back! Check out other stories in this au here. This one is soft and features everyone’s favorite comic cat. Enjoy!

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

You’re outside working in the garden when you hear a faint sound coming from a tree. As you look up, you realize that there’s a small, black cat up in the tree.

“Wanda!” you call to your roommate. She comes outside and you both look up at the cat.

“Do you have a ladder?” She asks.

“No, but even if I did it’s probably not safe to get that high up,” you say.

“What if you called that super-hot firefighter you met at that bar,” Wanda suggests, a smirk on her face.

“Natasha?” You wonder aloud. “Surely, it’s only in fiction that firefighters get cats down from trees. Plus, she hasn’t texted me yet, so I doubt she’s interested in seeing me.”

“Oh please! You’re hot and she’s hot! Call her!” Wanda encourages you.

“Fine,” you groan out. You really don’t want this poor cat to be left up in the tree.

You go to your contacts and click on her name. It’s been three weeks since you met her. It was after her shift, and she looked perfectly exhausted. You had never seen anyone look so good despite being so tired. She kissed you under the dim bar lights just before she had to leave.

You felt like she was out of your league, so you haven’t reached out first. Until now.

The phone rings a few times before she picks up.

“Hello, this is Natasha,” she answers. It’s the same velvety voice you remember from that night.

“Hey, this is y/n,” you say. She’s silent for a moment, so you add, “from the bar.”

“Y/n, yes. I remember you,” she says. You can practically hear the smirk on her face. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I- um- I kind of was wondering if you could help me?” You ask.

“Are you okay?” She asks quickly.

“Yes, yes I’m fine it’s just- there’s a cat in my tree,” you feel silly as you say the words.

“I see,” she replies. “Is it your cat?”

“No, I don’t have one. I just heard it and can see it’s up there on a branch,” you explain. “I could try and get up there myself if I had a ladder.”

“Okay, please hold,” Nat says. You can hear her talking to other people for a few moments before she comes back to the line. “I’m going to come help you, okay? Don’t even think about getting on a ladder and saving it yourself.”

The way she scolds you lightly makes you feel warm and a little bit dizzy.

“I won’t. Promise,” you say.

“Good girl. See you in fifteen,” Natasha says before she hangs up the phone.

You stand there a little stunned from the interaction and Wanda laughs at you.

Natasha is true to her word, and she pulls up in a firetruck fifteen minutes later. She is wearing black pants and a red fire department shirt that fits her muscles perfectly.

“Hey ladies,” Natasha says as she approaches you. She gestures to the firefighter that came with her. “This is Peter.”

“Hi,” you say a little shyly.

“Where’s this little troublemaker at?” Natasha asks.

“Right up there,” you say, pointing up in the tree. She stands close to you and follows your gaze up the tree.

“Adorable,” she says. It makes you laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you try.

“Oh, come on. No fun,” Nat says. She turns to her colleague. “Parker, can you bring the truck over here? I’ll get up in the bucket.”

“So, firefighters do save cats from trees,” Wanda jumps in the conversation.

“Sometimes we do. Technically, my captain doesn’t know I’m here,” Natasha replies.

“That’s risky,” Wanda says.

Nat shrugs. “It’s worth it to help a pretty girl.”

You feel heat in your cheeks at her words and she grins. She walks to the now moved truck and gets in the bucket. Nat makes it look easy as she reaches the cat’s height.

“Come on, little one,” she tries to get it to come to her. Her voice is softer than usual, and it makes you smile. Nat makes a few noises and the cat walks towards her some. “Come on. I’m here to help.”

The cat slips into her arms and Peter lowers the bucket back into the truck.

“Here we are,” she says, placing the cat on the grass. “You’re free.”

But the cat doesn’t move. Instead, it lays on the grass next to Natasha’s feet and purrs. She leans on one knee and pets the cat.

“Thank you, Natasha,” you tell her.

“Anytime. You’re sure this isn’t your cat? She’s so friendly.”

“Nope. I’ve never seen her before,” you say.

“You’re such a good cat,” Natasha speaks to the cat. “Maybe y/n here should keep you.”

Nat looks up at you with a smile and your heart threatens to stop.

“We don’t need a cat,” Wanda says.

“But we could let her roam outside and just feed her,” you suggest. The way it makes Nat smile makes you want to do it even more.

“Alright fine,” Wanda relents. “What should we name her?”

“Let’s let Natasha decide. Since she’s the reason the cat is safe,” you say.

Nat picks up the cat in her arms and snuggles her to her chest.

“How about Liho?” Natasha suggests.

“It’s cute,” you agree. Wanda snickers next to you. “What?”

“It means misfortune,” Nat supplies. “But this one’s fortune is turning around.”

Natasha’s phone goes off in her pocket. She has to get back to the station.

“Wait, before you go. Let’s get a photo of our local hero,” Wanda says.

“Only if y/n is in the photo too,” Nat says.

You shake your head but stand next to her anyways. Nat wraps an arm around your shoulder as the other one holds Liho close to her chest. Wanda smiles as she takes the photo, hoping this will be the first of many photos you take together.

“Here you go,” Natasha says, handing you the cat. You set her down on the grass to play.

Before she gets in the truck, Natasha reaches for both of your hands.

“Call me again sometime?” she asks.

“I will,” you promise.

Nat leans in and kisses your lips softly. In the light of day, it feels even more real. It’s perfect.

“I’ll call you tonight,” you say once she’s pulled away.

“Good girl,” Natasha says. She steps up into the truck and turns to look at you one last time. “Have fun with the cat!”

You share a laugh and turn back to Wanda and Liho.

“I think you should marry her,” Wanda jokes.

“Let me date her first,” you say.

A smile rests on your face as you watch Natasha drive away. Later that day, you text her the picture Wanda took of you two and Liho. You never stop talking from that point on.

 All you needed was a little misfortune to have the courage to discover Natasha is the love of your life.

[iguana-eyanna]

To Miss Laurant... Pt. 1

Pairing: Lord Alfred Debling x Reader

Summary: What happens when two souls who had not found love find it within each other?

a/n: okay a bit late on watching bridgerton (don't come at me please) but I feel like Debling is a well written character and would love to see him more so mwUAH! I also wanted to give the reader a name so the last name is Laurant.

"There, one of my greatest works!" Madame Delacroix said as she finished the hem of your dress.

You admire the beading by your sleeves and how it flows by the end of your gown, which was also adorned by a cape.

"It's just us, Genevieve. You can lose the accent" You said, looking back at your childhood friend.

"Oi. I have to keep appearances, you'll never know who'd walk in those doors." She said in her regular voice. You both laugh as if you two haven't seen each other since your family moved to the Americas. You then became a traveling performer, singing for the largest of crowds and now back home to sing for the biggest event.

"I still can't believe you're back home, and performing for the queen no less. Are you nervous?" She asks.

You press your hand on your stomach, feeling the butterflies.

"Very. I never sang for royalty before. I thank Lady Danbury for opening her home to me for my stay and offering counsel on how to approach her majesty."

"Well, the bachelor's will swoon by your talent, wit, and beauty for tonight." Madame Delacroix, she said, kneeling by the end of your dress to fix a hem.

"I'm afraid that's where you lose me Gen. I faced too many heartbreak in my life, sometimes I don't believe in the words I am singing."

Genevieve tsks at you and rises up, placing her hands by your shoulders.

"You shan't forsaken your passion for love. Who knows, maybe you shall meet a certain suitor tonight."

"Perhaps..." You said, looking back at the mirror, unsure that you believe in the feeling.

+

"My Lord, welcome back home." an older man said, offering his assistance to Lord Debling.

"Only temporary Buford, I do wish things do recover." Lord Debling replied, as he looks down at his cane.

Upon his mission to save a rare mammal during an unforgiving snowstorm, Lord Debling lost his footing on a weak stone by the side of a cliff and fell 20 feet down. It was remarkable that he survived the fall, but he broke his leg and he had scars around his face and torso from the turbulent fall.

His crew helped him find the nearest physician and was told he must return home to recover for the sake of his health. With much dismay, he returned back to Mayfair, hoping he could leave to complete his mission.

"Yes sir, a speedy recovery you shall have." Buford replied as he helped the Lord get into his carriage.

They rode off to the estate, where Lord Debling looks outward to the town. He accidentally made eye contact with a few townspeople and they began to whisper. The Lord whipped the small curtain closed and inhaled, catching his breath.

"Your return has spread quickly here, they've said you've cheated death." Buford said with caution.

"What I've cheated on was my mission. If I'm not back by the end of this season, the creatures would not survive the rest of the winter." Lord Debling said.

"Of course sir, my apologies. If you like, I can provide on the latest news since your last visit."

"I suppose that wouldn't hurt."

"Well, the queen is having a ball at the palace. You did also receive an invitation."

"I do not wish to entertain anyone for the matter, Buford." the tired Lord replies.

"If I may speak freely, you have not been seen in ages, my Lord. I believe some live entertainment shall lift your spirits momentarily."

The Lord ponders for a moment.

"Well, I guess I shall use my night wisely. Thank you for your counsel, Buford. Live entertainment you said?"

"Yes, a singer. She's an accomplished musician who's toured around the Americas, Asia, and Europe. I have her flyer here." Buford offered a folded paper to the Lord.

Alfred Danbury looks fondly, reading out loud your last name.

"Laurant?"

"Are you familiar with her?" Buford asks.

Lord Debling shakes his head no as he folds back the paper.

"No, I'm afraid not." He replied as opens back the window, looking outward.

As the night arrived, Lord Debling felt like he was out of practice around the high society. People often shared condolescences on his accident and women would near him, they're faces would be etched with pity.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin and be in the confinement of his home. It was like the walls of the room was closing in and rushed out as fast as he could. He slowly took off his coat and vest, leaving on his white button shirt.

He managed to get by the gardens and sat down, hissing as the ache in his leg was acting up. He drops his clothes and cane to the side and tends his knee, closing his eyes.

"Are you alright?" a soft spoken voice is heard.

He opens his eyes and faces you, as you sat in your plain dress by the quiet fountain that were etched with baby angels.

"I wish I could stop hearing that." He grumbles to himself.

"I'm sorry for asking." You said, huffing as you turned away.

Lord Debling felt horrible as he straightens up as best he could.

"Forgive my manners, all night I've been consoled and pitied for. I do not wish to feel like a wounded creature." He says, showing his cane.

You turn your head towards him again. You bow your head, understanding.

"It's alright, my apologies for striking a sour chord."

Lord Debling couldn't help but laugh and cracked a smile, a manner he has not done since his accident. He offers you a seat by him and you obliged.

"What is a maiden as yourself outside for?" He asks.

You struggle to find the right words and looked at him with kind eyes.

"This is my first ball, I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself."

"It's impossible, I do not know you well but you carry yourself with such poise." Lord Debling says.

You couldn't help chuckle, not believing his words.

"We must not let fear get to us tonight. Life is too short to squabble in the mist of doubt."

Lord Debling was beguiled of your wisdom.

"Well said, miss..." he trailed on, not getting your name.

You were about to reply till the bell tower rang.

"Oh no, I'm late!" You said, grabbing your dress and quickly running off.

"But wait, I don't know your name!" Lord Debling said, getting up.

You turned towards him, screaming out your name.

"What is yours so I may remember?"

He was about to say his title, but he stopped. You seemed so free from high society, he didn't know who you were or what your ranking was. He just saw you for, well you.

"Alfred!" He yelled back.

"We shall meet again, Alfred." You said, before running off.

Lord Debling placed his hand on his heart, feeling it race like gazelles.

He had kept his heart from ever loving something more than protecting the innocence of wildlife, and yet, you ran away and he longed for your presence once more.

He placed his outer garments, grabbed his cane and walked with purpose back at the ball, trying to find you in the sea of people. Soon, the floor cleared and an announcer walked on the platform.

"Our dearest guests, we have brought you a special talent for tonight. As she prepares to travel to the pacific this summer, she has graced us with her voice for this season. I present to you, Miss Laurant!"

Everyone cheered and a figure slowly walked onto the platform, with an almost glowing dress that illuminated more by the lights. She looked outward to the crowd, afraid with those memorizing eyes.

That's when Lord Debling knew it was you.

You looked upward to the queen, as she gave you grim look of disappointment. You looked away and tried to find peace in your stirring mind. That's when you made eye contact with a familiar face.

Alfred.

He shook his head to you, almost indicating that you had enough courage to go on.

You straighten upward and faced the orchestra by the side and you began to sing.

Lord Debling stood like a statue. Your voice captivated his ears like a songbird, and he was too afraid to move in fear you would stop.

You didn't leave your gaze on Alfred, as he was your anchor through the storm that filled your head with dread. For once in your life, you begun to understand the words you've sung about love. Something ignited you, and it was proven as there was a roar of applause that was for your performance.

You look back at the queen and she nodded in approval, smiling contently. You bow in her presence and left the platform.

The orchestra resumed the delightful tune of dance as you were congratulated by the court. Lady Danbury walked up to you, beaming with pride.

"My dear, I understood you've sung for a living but I underestimated that voice. Do not let me doubt you again." She says lively.

"Oh, you're too kind, Lady Danbury. It is you I have to share gratitude for. Thank you for having me into your home."

"Anytime, my dear. I also bring good news, her majesty is requesting a private audience with you during your stay here."

Your mouth dropped into an 'O' and you hugged Lady Danbury, then a split second letting go as you straighten yourself.

"Apologies, but this news has elated my mood of late. Thank you." You said, as Lady Danbury just gave you a beaming smile.

She was about to say something until something caught her eye. "It seems you have made an impression to a particular someone."

You don't understand what she's saying until you see Alfred, now dressed formally. He walks towards you two and bows his head.

"Lady Danbury, it's a pleasure to see you tonight. Miss Laurant, I did not expect you were tonight's performance."

"You two know each other?" Lady Danbury asks.

"Br-Briefly. We exchanged words by the garden." You said, confused as you thought Alfred was a footman of sort, but dressed similar to those in the court.

"I was blown away by your performance tonight, Miss Laurant. Perhaps when I am in the best of health, I can escort you to the dance floor sometime."

"Lord Debling, I thought you never dance at balls." Lady Danbury teases making him chuckle.

"Lord?" You ask, your eyes wide.

"I am sorry if I did not share my title at the time-" Lord Debling tried to explain but you took a step back.

"Lady Danbury, I must rest before meeting her majesty this week. Thank you both for your kind words, but I must go." You bowed before you left them in confusion.

"Did I offend her honor? I did not know my title would have her leave." Lord Debling asks, feeling as if he'd hurt you.

Lady Danbury could see his sincere features and tried consoling him.

"It is not you, my Lord. Before Miss Laurant came back to London, she has told me she has had a troubled past. It appears you may have reminded her of something that she can't escape."

Lord Debling could only look at the direction where you left, wondering if you were alright.

Soon, you hailed a carriage and traveled to Lady Danbury's residence. You sank by the wall and began to cry, holding yourself for some comfort.

You thought Alfred was like you, free from title and expectations. You thought that maybe, you could love him.

But you can't give your heart to a Lord,

not again.

To be continued...