#n its not even over yet 🚬🚬

[ssongsboo]

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

❕ : gunplay

⟢ you’re in my world now .ᐟ

the room felt smaller with juhan’s presence dominating it, his sharp eyes fixated on you like you were his prey. the soft clink of the gun he spun around lazily sent a ripple of anticipation through your body. he smirked, the corners of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly confident way that made your breath hitch. juhan sat back in his chair, legs spread wide, his hungry gaze drinking you in as you stood before him.

"come here." he said, his voice low and rough. you obeyed, stepping into the space between his legs. he pulled you down, guiding you to straddle his lap, the hard press of metal grazing against your inner thigh as he tilted his head, watching for your reaction. “you trust me, don't you?" he murmured, the cold gun resting against the bare skin of your leg. "yes.” you whispered without hesitation, your voice breathless but steady. juhan’s smirk deepened, his fingers brushing against the side of your face. "good girl."

he raised the weapon and let the barrel trail over your lips, his eyes darkening as you parted them without hesitation. the smooth metal slid in just slightly, your tongue grazing the cool surface as your heart raced.

"you’re such a pretty little thing." he said, his free hand tracing down your spine. "so willing. so perfect."

the gun left your mouth with a soft, metallic scrape, and juhan’s hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to meet his heated gaze. his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle, his control over you sending shivers down your spine.

with the gun now lowered, his other hand slid between your thighs, teasing and testing your limits as your body arched into him. the edge of the weapon returned, this time tracing higher, a deliberate and calculated movement that left you trembling.

"you’re mine," he growled, his voice heavy with possessive lust. "every inch of you belongs to me, isn’t that right, baby?" you didn’t even get the chance to respond before he lifted both of his hands off you, "now, turn around." he ordered, his tone sharp, almost mocking.

you obeyed without hesitation, your body trembling under his gaze. juhan tilted his head, examining you like you were nothing more than a plaything- something he could break if he wanted.

“let’s see just how much you can take." he sneered, pressing the cool metal barrel against your jaw. the gun traced a deliberate path down your body, the chill of the steel leaving goosebumps in its wake.

he let it linger between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror in front of you as he tilted it just enough to make you gasp.

"you’re shaking," he said with a cruel laugh, his free hand gripping your chin. "are you scared? or is it that excitement?"

"both…" you admitted breathlessly, your voice trembling but determined. "good," he growled, the smirk on his face widening into something far more sinister. "you should be scared. but you're too desperate for me to stop, aren't you?"

he didn't wait for a response. the gun pressed against you, the cold metal making you gasp as he pushed it just inside. your body tensed at the intrusion, and he chuckled darkly, his grip on your hip tightening as he held you in place.

"look at you," he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain and desire. "fucking filthy. letting me use you like this."

each movement was slow and calculated, the deliberate pace driving you to the edge of your sanity. his free hand slid up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat with enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

"you belong to me," juhan practically growled. "every curve. every scream. every fucking breath. don’t you forget it."

the dangerous edge in his tone made your heart race, and yet you couldn't stop yourself from craving more, from leaning into the chaos he so effortlessly commanded.

juhan didn't stop- he never did when he was in this mood. his eyes were blazing with a hunger that threatened to consume you whole, his lips twisted into a smirk as he pressed the gun further, the cool steel a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

"you’re fucking soaking, aren't you? all for this." he hissed, his tone sharp, laced with condescension. he tilted the weapon, watching your body react to the unfamiliar intrusion, a cruel laugh escaping his lips.

"pathetic." he said, though the way his voice thickened betrayed just how much he was enjoying this. "you’d let me ruin you, wouldn't you? beg me to."

the barrel moved with precision, slow and deliberate, every twist and push a calculated assault on your senses. your gasps filled the room, each sound spurring him on as his hand tightened on your throat, grounding you in the overwhelming intensity.

"you’re so desperate," juhan continued, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "do you even know how nasty you look right now? letting me use this on you? letting me claim you like this?"

your fingers clawed at his wrist as the tension in your body built, and his smirk only deepened. "don’t you dare close your eyes," he ordered, his tone biting. "i want you to see how you fall apart for me. i want you to remember who made you like this."

the pressure of the gun was unrelenting, his movements alternating between teasing and merciless, pushing you closer to the edge. his free hand slid up your body, gripping your jaw tightly as he forced you to meet his gaze.

"you’re fucking mine." he snarled, his voice thick with possession. "every moan, every fucking ounce of pleasure- i own it. say it."

"i am yours, juhan." you gasped, the words spilling from your lips without hesitation. "damn right, you are." he growled, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss as he pushed you further toward the edge, trembling beneath his touch. juhan pulled back just enough to watch his impact on you, his chest heaving with his own barely restrained desire.

[zeninprincess]

rehab; a. hayakawa

wc: 3.6k | aki hayakawa x reader | nsfw 🔞

warning(s): mentions of nicotine addiction 🚬, toxic relationship (aki is neglectful partner, reader is too attached to aki), power dynamic, gaslighting, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjob, creampie, breeding 🥧

aki keeps saying that you're the one needed him as if he didn't need you when you left him. but then again, maybe you did need him as much as he needed his cigarettes

a/n: purple prose, im trying to expand my english vocabs. sorry if it's annoying. ty for understanding!! also guess what songs inspired me to write this.

i. withdrawal

aki loves to smoke even though he knew it would hurt his lungs, however it's hard not to smoke. he knew it could kill him someday yet he still do the very thing that might end him. smoking traps the man in a vicious cycle of needing to consume and feeling guilty to the point he'd stop smoking for a couple of day but then, withdrawal would hit him hard and before he knew it, he relapsed.

it's a never ending cycle of hurt, guilt, and a desire to burn. its addicting and when it hits you, it hits hard. to say that you hate that aki has an addiction to something as bad as cigarettes is an understatement, although you yourself is addicted to something else that hurts you. and it was love. you love him even though it hurts you, even when it rips your self worth apart.

you found yourself crying to sleep after an argument, but just like a smoker to nicotine, you can't get enough of him. in the morning you'd come to him and everything will be fine. he’ll pat you on your head and fucks you good. to say you needed him is an understatement but it's not far from the truth. you couldn't shake the feeling that you needed him, almost as if you were addicted to his presence. it was more than just a strong desire; it was a deep-seated need that seemed to consume you.

waking up in the dead of night, you couldn't feel his presence on his side of the bed. the duvet was cold, mirroring his words a few hours ago when you two were screaming at each other over the fact he rarely comes home. the coolness of the duvet being a stark reminder of his absence.

you'd find him on the balcony smoking. he does this everytime he can't sleep. and when he's done he'd flick them out on the street. you watch him as he inhale nicotine and exhale smoke.

perhaps you two are more alike than you've realized. both of you seem drawn to the thrill of danger, the adrenaline rush of near misses. addiction, in its various forms, seems to have a hold on both of you. the highs and lows of your tumultuous relationship, much like the intense cravings and withdrawals experienced by those addicted to substances, keep you both coming back for more. it's a dangerous cycle, fueled by the intense heat of your passion, akin to the burning sensation of aki's cigarettes.

remember, addiction can be a destructive force, and if left unchecked, it can lead to devastating consequences. thrilling sensation and feelings of hunger for love destroys you little by little.

being with aki really deconstructed you as a person. the way he made you feel so lonely yet fills your loneliness it was a paradoxical experience. you also felt that you're the only one who's trying in this relationship, aki acts like a broken radio, echoing nothing back to you. he kept you waiting, hoping he'd say something back or repay your effort but it was met with radio silence. he made you question your desirability with the way he treats you.

he's not a jerk who hurts you physically nor did he fool around with other chicks, sometimes you wish he did so it'll help you hate him and justify your actions. he just doesn't give any attention outside when he's dicking you down, he doesn't really give you praise or express his love to you. he just doesn't care that much. it's torturing you. it really looks like a one sided love to outsiders who don't know that you two are together.

but you're no saint either. aki felt like you were too attached to him, unhealthily. but that feelings of your inability to live without him is a better feeling than being loved by you. he felt alive and sober with you needing him. he loves your effort, though he hated the way you keep uttering phrases like

“do you love me aki?” you ask with puffy eyes.

to him, he's a silent lover only showing how much he loves you through hard love and his own way. he prefers working hard til morning than to cuddle with you after waking up because he wants you to live a comfortable life. he'd rather risk his life killing devils just to get minimum wage than see your feet swollen after taking orders for 6 hours a day as a waitress.

“a question that need not be asked nor answered” he replied as he drew a big one.

“you never took me out on dates anymore” you nagged.

“woman i cook dinner for you every time i'm home, besides it's not safe out there what if some devil eats you alive? what then? i'm not paying for your funeral when we could barely feed ourselves” he said in his neutral tone. you rolled your eyes. “you're not even at home every day aki”

“and you never told me how pretty i am”

“am i just a free dishwasher who you only fuck whenever you wanted?”

“have you ever cuddled me these days?”

“i guess i wasnt wrong when i say you're cheating huh? i guess thats why youre rarely home”

“answer me aki!!”

you were growing desperate after each question. and still he's soundless.

“god i hate you. please let me go aki. please i beg of you” this doesn't feel like home anymore, the strange foreign beauty in front of you didn't even bother looking your way as you paced to the shared bedroom and pack your belongings.

“i'm leaving you for good. goodbye aki, may we never cross paths ever again” you say for the thousandth time as you put on your coat and unlock the entrance to your freedom. hearing the slam of the door he could only sigh knowing you’ll be back.

you always come back.

right?

a week passed by and nothing changed except you're gone now and it's eating aki from inside. he fell deep into a spiraling mess, he didn't eat, did not sleep, he never came home instead he distracted himself by working incessantly. afterall, his sanctuary was gone, and the lingering scent of your perfume stuck inside the 16 by 16 unit you two used to share and it brings him to reality that the only trace of you left was the unwashed dishes and messy duvet from the day you left.

he isn't the same man anymore, he was just a shell of what once was inside. lost in his thoughts which were dominated by you, he sighed. today he's smoking at the park where you two met each other for the first time. ashes fall to the ground. he flicks off the half burned ciggy, he finds it hard to enjoy the cigarette not knowing where you are and who you're with.

you had him blocked off on every social media, you changed your number, cut your beautiful hair to above the shoulder it was a much needed reset. staying in a cheap motel, you found solace in nicotine. aki was right, smoking helped numb the pain and for a moment it gave you the illusion that aki was near you smoking on the balcony like how it used to be.

“may you never forget me aki hayakawa and the pain you've caused me” you muttered under your breath.

ii. anticipation

‘ahh~ ahhnn’

‘s-shoo good!! harder aki harder!!’

“Fffuck” up and down the shaft he copies the rhythm from the video. aki watches you bounce up and down his cock on his phone. you're so pretty all sticky and flustered like that on top of him. his body trembled in pleasure, eyes shut tightly and toes curling as he heard you moan on max volume.

“fuck name i need you so bad” he cried out as he rode the highs feeling the building up orgasm. he reminisce how tight and warm your pussy was around his cock. his heart pounds as he reaches orgasm, he calls out your name, riding the orgasm. in his mind you were there lapping his tongue while going up and down pounding your cervix letting him fill you up with his cum.

the fluid overflows from the tip of his cock to the duvet under him. the video still playing on his phone, he was brought back to reality. sitting at the edge of the bed naked, post nut clarity hits him. aki puts on his boxer before reaching to the bedside table for his cigarette box. seventeen minutes past midnight, aki had found out that the box was empty, sighing he put on his jeans and shirt. he needed a quick fix, thus he went to the convenience store across the street which was a familiar destination.

inside the convenience store, he picked one cigarette between selections of many. he picked the one with cotton candy flavour. it smelled like your perfume that has long gone in the span of 7 weeks. he tried everything in his power to keep the residual odour inside. going as far as refusing to open the window and balcony but it was no use because in the end he had inhaled all the scent.

at the same time you were walking home from the waitressing shift which you took since you needed money to pay rent. kicking the rock on the curbside, you reveal white stocking underneath your miniskirt you had to wear as it's part of the dress code. walking down the street near your old apartment. you stop by a convenience store, a familiar figure was leaning against the glass window. neon lights illuminates the figure. a smoke came out of his system.

his hair were longer, eyebags presents itself, he noticed you walking towards him. was that really you? he thought to himself. you wore a long coat, a mini skirt and a white blouse that hugged your figure just right and your hair, it's shorter now he didn't think you'd look that good in short hair. he knew you'd come back, though a bit longer than what he had anticipated.

your heels clicking against concrete, his eyes glimmering with hope as you get closer and closer. you clutch your handbag tightly. you stand beside him, leaning on the glass window before falling to your knees crying exhausted. aki removed the cigarette on his lips and crouched down to your level.

“i hate you but i don't have anywhere else to stay” you confessed, chin resting on your knees. “you have me. i'm where you're supposed to stay at” he said, hesitating to pat your back. as excited as he might be, he couldn't express the fact that his longing for you had ended the second you made eye contact with him.

you tilt your head towards him, “i missed you”

“come back to me doll” he say as he opened his arm far and wide waiting for you to fall into his hug to which you didn't take a second to do. you cried in his arms. you keep relapsing back to him no matter what you do. it's a bad habit yet you don't mind if you destroy your life chasing the never ending fire.

you took his hand and walk back to your forever home with him.

iii. relapse - intoxication

he kissed you incessantly on the way there, groping you all over your curves. as soon as the door closed he took your coat off and ripped open your blouse. buttons flew everywhere. still kissing you, his tongue explores your cave, one hand cupping your cheek, the other one fondling your breast. he broke the kiss for a moment to regain his breath.

“let me show you the way i love you dollface”

he sucks on your neck leaving a red mark, grinding his hardness on your exposed black laced panties. your skirt rode up to your navel, aki pinned you to the door. “mmm aki~” you cooed as he bury his face on the crook of your neck.

he picks you up in the bridal style to the bedroom. you sprawl yourself onto the sticky duvet, god knows what's making it sticky. ugh. your attention snapped back to the man who's pinning you on all fours. chills send down your spine as you're half naked. the room was dark. the only thing that illuminates the room was the moonlight.

“aki i know you want me but-” you paused, parallel to his hand that were fondling your mounds. “i'm here to crash not to stay”

“yeah yeah keep yapping angel i know you” his pepper kisses on your mound felt like a rapid fire. using your free hand you unzipped his pants, freeing his member. “you think you can leave me that easily? nuh uh baby. you're addicted to me” that cocky remark really did something to you because now your folds are soaked.

“shit we got hurricane katrina under here”

after cupping your pussy through your panties he felt how damp it was. he slid it down to your thighs. his index finger circles your clit, you writhe in pleasure, moaning loudly as he keeps torturing your clit enjoying the way you tremble in pleasure each time his plush finger flicks your clit. “ahn- aki!!” you screamed, at this point your neighbours probably has heard your unholy mewls.

he undresses you properly before opening his clothes. you two are naked now. he sat on the bed. leaning himself against the headboard, his cock twitches. aki looks at you, he waits in anticipation as you begin to lubricate your hand with your spit. you pump your fist around his member, he moans as you move your hand up and down. lowering your head, his tip kisses your plush lips. precum overflows, god you are heavenly.

aki is enjoying your sweet time, licking and kissing his cock, worshipping him. he's afraid this feeling might turn into a full blown addiction, he loves the whole thing, the 7 weeks, the emotional turmoil he felt when you left, and the happiness when you came running back to him. he loves your hopelessness, he loves that you're addicted to him, and especially he loves the way you're choking on his cock right now. “s too big akii” tears running down your eyes, yet you keep bobbing your head on his shaft. such a hypocrite.

“you're acting as if we've never done this before baby” he grabs a handful of your hair and slams your head down to his cock. spit and cum pools on your mouth and cheeks. “god you're such ah~” he moans “s-slut” you fasten your pace and sucking on his cock harder to stimulate him. not long after you change pace, thick ropes of cum spurt on your mouth “ffuck” his eye rolls in pleasure.

this was so long overdue, it was what you two needed after all. communication maybe the key to a good relationship but nothing beats a good sloppy head. “you're so pretty. fuck when was the last time we did this?”

“um like 6 fucking months ago? since you're so busy you just go straight to bed” you replied with a hint of annoyance on your tone.

“get on all fours since you wanna be a bitch” he smacks your ass before getting behind you waiting for you to get on all fours. “jerk” is all that you can say before his tongue assaults your folds. and all you can do is shriek in surprise before you melt in his mouth. he flicks his tongue, eating you out, making out with your pussy. his hands grips your rear end you're positive it'll leave a nice red mark in the morning. he pulls out with a hitching breath with a string of saliva being the only reason his lips are still connected to your pretty pink pussy. “god you're so sexy” he watched your trembling body from behind your only response was to pull his head back to your pussy. “you're awful at this aki” feeling challenged, aki enters two digit inside while he sucks on your clit you can feel him smirking when you tremble.

feeling your pussy tightens, he pulls out his digits, denying you the pleasure of cumming. he smacks your ass with his hand again.

“uhn aki why did you do that” you changed position into laying back

he didn't mutter a word, instead he spit on his cock, preparing to enter you. spreading your legs apart. he looks godly like this, with his hair down, sweat trickling down his toned abs, and the way he eye you down like a predator preparing to strike its prey. he smacks his cock on your wet pussy.

“were doing it raw tonight, ill make sure you're pregnant with my bastard after this is done” he said

while waiting in anticipation, you watch him as he spit on his cock, lubricating it so it'll slide easier inside your tight pussy hole. you felt your core burning inside. then he spreads your legs apart, his cock dangling, sticking on your fold. using one hand he guides his long thick erect member inside you. you hissed as he brute forced his way inside of you.

“fuck- that's it baby, take it all” he kissed your forehead before licking your tears away.

“ngghhh aki~ i can't take it anymore”

“shh baby, you're doing so good” he starts moving in and out of your pussy.

fuck, he needed this, more than cigarettes. listening to your mewls and looking at your hair sticking on your bare skin, you drooling, pussy clenching his dick tightly just like the way you hug him, you just can't let go of him.

and it took him all his fibre muscle not to cum right now. you scratch his back just enough to make him shudder in pain and pleasure. he definitely needed to make you a mama. wet sloppy sounds echoing in the small room, mixed with a faint sound of bed creaking.

“aki I cant- I'm gonna-” he cuts you off by sucking your tits. “ahhh fuck. aki I'm gonna cum”

his mouth left your nipples, “yeah you're gonna cum f’me baby?” he looks at you with those puppy eyes of his that he only showed you when he's lovesick.

“fuck name, let's do it together. get pregnant with my kids yeah?” he asks you hoping you'd let him knock you up. your mind was hazy as climax approached you couldn't think of anything else but cumming. “yes! yes aki! please make me pregnant!!” he thrusts deeper before finally feeling how tight your hole is, clenching him tighter by the second. hot liquid fills your womb while you squirt your cum all over his cock. you felt a little touch of death, aki fell on top of you, arms around your waist, cock still snuggling inside of you.

heavy breathing paced between you and aki. he kissed your eyelids, spouting praises and sweet talks. you've never felt so loved before. face buried on his neck you struggled to breath with aki on top of you, and only you can know how nice it felt to be so closed like this even when you're crushed under his weight. aki, noticing the way you struggle to breath moved himself beside you. he grabbed a cigarette from the mahogany table near the creaking bed, he reached for the silver plated lighter adjoining the pack. this habit of cigarettes after sex wasn't unknown of aki.

“i know you'll come back to me eventually” aki fires away his sassy remark while inhaling the fumes. hands extending to his, you reached for the cigarette that sits between the plush pale lips of his. it's your turn now.

“my landlord kicked me out” you confessed. “i don't miss you aki” but this was probably a lie, a snort came out of aki as he eyed you. smoke escaped your lips while you were spatting out those words.

“you needed me name” but maybe aki did need you too, maybe more than you needed him. it's ironic how akis now the one addicted to the burning sensation of you, things have flipped around.

“you're the one that's been babbling about me til now. let's talk about how you actually feel bro. but for starters, fuck you and all of your shits aki. i missed you” sigh escaped your lips

“i want you to need me like you need your cigarettes. i hate to admit this but i'm jealous of the devils you hunt everyday, i wish you'd dedicate your time to me the way you dedicate it to do your job that doesn't even pay you that good aki. is it that hard to do so?”

aki took the cigarette out of your mouth. he sat up, his digits traced your moon lit skin, separating baby hairs that sticks from your forehead. “atleast tell me how much you care about me aki” he laughed at that statement not in a mocking way, but in a playful way.

“im sorry for treating you the way i've treated you”

love can be as addicting as nicotine, it's craving as intense, and withdrawal will always be as painful as a heartbreak. and just like a smoker needs their fix, a lover needs love to fill the absence they feel.

he ruffles your hair, finishing his cigarette.

“thank you”

even when you know all these are just talk no substance, you still feel at bliss. aki himself smiled before he kissed you and one day you'll learn that love doesn't need to feel like a nicotine in the sense of it's addicting. and that sometimes, it's best to let go of the remaining cigarette before it reaches the end of the stick and burns your lips. but for now, bask in the intoxicating warmth and the overwhelming intensity because rehab isn't needed when destruction feels this good.

©️ zeninprincess 2024. reposting, plagiarizing, translating or claiming my works are strictly forbidden.

[erysser]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS

CHAPTER 6 - BURN

You were a relatively newer student. You normally kept to yourself but you always dreamt of being friends with the main trio, especially with the infamous Suguru Geto. Yet, he always seemed to hate you, even when you openly showed you felt the opposite.

pairings: suguru geto x f!reader

warnings and whatnots: ITS GOJOVERR ‼️‼️ Reconciliation, fluff after angst because I feel bad. End of series!!

chapters!

Chapter 1 : are we still friends? Chapter 2 : can we be friends? Chapter 3 : Sorry, not sorry. Chapter 4 : Green looks good on you. Chapter 5 : Runaway. Chapter 6 : [CURRENTLY READING]

shoko 🚬 : y/n where are you?

shoko 🚬: y/n???

shoko 🚬: what happened r u okay?

shoko 🚬: why is suguru crying

bing!

suguru 💔: I’m sorry.

You glance at the notification, sniffling. You sat croucee on the toilet seat of a random cafe, eyes red from the hours crying. A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“Taken..” You croak out, voice hoarse from the crying.

“y/n, it’s me, Shoko…”

The soft and caring voice wills your legs to move and opens the door. Shoko stands in front of you, concern evident in your eyes. She scans your body, a small sigh leaving her as she hugs you. You melt in her embrace.

•

“She ran away?!” Satoru asks incredulously, watching his friend pace around the hotel room. Suguru moved about, wiping his eyes that stung from the harsh rejection he just earned.

How stupid! He was an idiot to think that the girl he was mean to for months would suddenly accept his love confession. What was this; An enemies to lovers book?

“Why? Oh god why did I say that?” Suguru mumbles to himself, finally sitting down on the bed beside Satoru, head in his hands.

bing!

the OGS

shoko 🚬: we’re in the hotel room

shoko 🚬: y/n’s a mess.

shoko 🚬: Good news, y/n likes you! bad news, she’s scared to admit it because she accidentally rejected you.

Suguru reread the message, over and over again, the phone in his hand almost breaking from the strength of his grip. Satoru takes his phone, reading the message so it properly processes in Suguru’s head.

“Congrats, she likes you!” Satoru says, tilting his head, waving the message in Suguru’s face.

Suguru didn’t know what to say. He grabs the phone from Satoru, earning a scowl from him.

“What do I do? She didn’t ruin anything!” Suguru says almost loudly, shocked eyes trained on Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes glimmered, a plan formulating in his mind. A smirk gathered upon the white haired boy’s face. He stands up, grabbing the car keys from the bedside table, he walks to the door, peering over his shoulder to see Suguru still sat on the bed. He sighs, giving a smile to the long haired boy.

“Come on, let’s go shopping.”

•

“Where are we going?” You ask Shoko as she brings you down the cold street. You shiver.

Shoko doesn’t answer you, her steps getting faster as she rounds the corner. You frown. Was she leading you to a bar? Was she suggesting for you to drink your problems away? Wouldn’t be that much of a surprise since she drowns out her own issues with smokes. Maybe you did need a drink, just to get away from everything and everyone.

After the whole fiasco pertaining to Suguru Geto, you quite literally wanted to run away and never face him again. If it meant going to learn with Nanami and Haibara in the class below you, that would be what you would do. At least they wouldn’t shame you for something like falling in love. A part of you longed to be with him yet you were weary fo his intentions. Did he truly love you?

Suguru watched from inside the cafe as you came closer. Flowers in hand. Roses, plain but he thought maybe you would like something plain and basic in the world of chaos and unknowns. Yet, just to be sure he also put a few of your favourite flowers in the bouquet. He heard you mention it to Shoko once as you all walked past a flower garden when you first came to Jujutsu High. He wiped his hands on his pants, glancing at Satoru who sat at the side, giving him a small thumbs up.

He hoped this work. He didn’t understand why he was trying so hard to win your affection but what he knew was that he wanted you and wanted to be yours. If it wasn’t him, he didn’t want it to be anyone else.

You rounded the corner, trailing behind Shoko like a lost puppy. He tilts his hand. Even after crying for seemingly hours, you were still gorgeous.

He gulps. What if you were too good for him?

”Suguru?” You say as you enter the empty cafe, Shoko quickly bee-lining to Satoru who sat at the side. The cafe was void of noise, you could hear the crickets from outside. It was cozy and small, only one worker behind the counter. You recognised them. Nanami?

Your eyes finally properly land on him, taking in his full appearance. His outfit was different from the one this morning, it looked cleaner and more formal. A black button up shirt tucked into straight cut black pants. His hair neatly combed back. He looked so handsome. A tint of red starts forming on your face as you stare at him, failing to notice the flowers in his hands.

Embarrassment runs through you. Crap. Was he here to talk about the whole rejection thing? Truth be told, you didn’t know why you ran. You wanted to say that you liked him too but you couldn’t help but feel that maybe he was just joking around or prancing you. Yet, he looked so… genuine.

”y/n.” The sound of your name in his golden voice snaps you back to reality. You look to see he has gotten closer to you, close enough that you could notice his breathing pattern. Close enough that you could see the flowers in his hand tremble and shake slightly.

Flowers?

Your eyes glance over them. Roses, mixed in with a few of your favourites. How had he known your favourite. Did Shoko tell him? No, she had been with you for the whole time. You bet Satoru didn’t even try to remember what your favourite were so how did he know?

“y/n, I am here to lay down my heart to you and hope you accept it.” Suguru randomly says, bringing your attention to his face. He cringes at his own words.

His eyes slightly widen upon eye contact. Suguru’s neck starts heating up as his eyes meets you. Why was this so hard? He practiced this with Satoru.

“For the past few months, we have never been on the best of terms. It is true that I found you to be annoying and too clingy at times. Yet as I began to become closer to you, I realise that there was no one else I’d like to annoy me and cling to me,” He trails off, averting his eyes. He inhales, taking in a breath.

“You are as the Sun, something one truly cannot appreciate until they are gone and unfortunately, I have seen you gone before.” His eyes finally come back to yours, softening as he sees your eyes that were laced with confusion.

“Thus, again, I ask you, to please consider going on a date with me.” Suguru hands you to bouquet of flower, a rush of blood hitting his face.

You stare at him then at the flowers. Slowly, you will your hands to take it. Your face felt hot as you grabbed onto the stems of the flowers, covering your face slightly with the buds. You look back at Suguru.

He had just confessed to you, for the second time.

“Suguru, I-…” You started, unsure of what to say. Suguru smiles softly at you, the most soft and caring expression strung upon his face. It hit you like a truck.

He liked you.

You liked him.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” You whisper quietly, looking to the side. You cringe, realising he might have not heard you as he remained silent. You slowly bring your eyes back to him, only to see him try and suppress a giant grin from forming on his face. He moves closer to you, hands on your shoulder.

“Thank you, love.” He says slowly, whispering in your ear. Your blood rushed. He moves back, smirking at you. You stare at him expectantly.

“So… are we done yet?” Satoru finally asks, breaking the silence, earning him a shove from Shoko. He stands up, glaring at her and stretching. Suguru rolls his eyes at Satoru. He would scold him but after the immense help from him, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Yes Satoru, we are done,” You say sweetly to him, a small smile coaxed on your face.

You look back at Suguru, who smiles at you as he watches Shoko and Satoru walk out the cafe. He moves towards you, grabbing your free hand. His fingers intertwining with yours.

“Thank you for giving me a chance.”

[pumpkinsy0]

What do you think would change if Tim was a girl? Maybe both her AND Darry are girls in this? I feel like fem them would be closer friendship wise in this

But✋ would Tim fully take over Sylvia's place in Angela's life as a greaser girl to look upto? Or would fem Tim be a different kinda greaser girl than both n so ang still looks to Sylvia in how to act n stuff🚬 I also think Tim's relationship with Curly would be both better and worse?? Not amazing and not devastating but I think there're core parts of their relationship that would change with one of em being a girl n all especially the oldest sibling, would curly himself change?? He'd have to at least a little I jus haven't decided how yet(better or worse?? Idk idk)

INTERESTING QUESTIONS!!!! interesting questions indeed hmmmm

here r my answers!!!!!

when it comes to fem tim theres not much that changes between her and regular ole tim except for the fact that she doesnt rlly like the life shes living like tim does!! shes used to her life and rlly only embraces being a hood bc thats the BEST case scenario for her here, if she genuinely hated it like she did when she first got into it, she would go CRAZY, shes kinda forced her self into liking it for her own sanity compared to tim who just found himself enjoying it naturally

fem tim and darry’s relationship wouldnt exactly change much surprisingly. i already think they dont talk THAT much bc of their own busy lives, so its not like theyre any closer or less closer, its around the same. but what i will say tho is that they dont connect thatttt much, they live two pretty different lives, darrys a white woman and tim is a woc, theres only so much they can truly stand on together. this doesnt mean tim avoids darry, this is already something i think tim and darry deal w even as guys, but if theyre women, its just highlighted more

if darrys still just a dude, THENNN thats a different case scenario bc tim is more withdrawn, partially for her own safety, but also bc what CAN a white guy say that would genuinely help her??? like actually. in this instance they arent close, maybe share tips here n there, have small talk w a drink, but nothing more.

WOULD tim take sylvias spot in angelas life as greaser girl to look up to???? nope!!! absolutely not!!! sylvia and fem tim r 2 completely different ppl, sylvia is feminine while tim isnt, sylvia is carefree while tim isnt. sylvia connects w angela based on something angela WANTS to embrace, her femininity, angela thought she could have that w tim, but no, tim isnt that kinda girl. in her teen years, angela hates tim bc she finds her so annoying when shes scolding her about going outside somewhere too late, not bringing a switchblade, dressing the way she did etc etc, but as an adult, angela realizes that tim was just trying to protect her the way she knew how and sylvia was just teaching her how to have good ole east side girl fun, not like LIFE survival (not hard feelings towards sylvia, love u sylvia🙏🏽).

all of them r women of color but tim and sylvia go about surviving differently, tim represents the woc who take up acting like the guys around town so she isnt seen as less than, and shes taken more seriously, sylvia represents the woc who have embraced their femininity, and uses it against the guys, she WANTS to b underestimated bc then that gives her power when she wants to get something. angela represents the woc who havent found themselves within those 2 groups, like shes growing up, but into which group??? she cant live like tim bc she wants to express HERSELF, but she cant live like sylvia either, its hard for her</333

NOWWWWW W CURLY WOOOOOO

when it comes to fem tim and curly, i dont think theyre as close as regular tim and curly, HOWEVER that doesnt mean they love each other any less!! curly DOES have respect for fem tim, a different kind of respect, but its still there, the question is, does curly look up to her??? nope. not at all and i think the only reason y is just that curly doesnt look up to girls as being his own role model, its as simple as that. they get into more arguments bc curly just cannot see eye to eye w fem tim. tim being a woc in that time period sees a lot if things that r wrong or unfair so she tries to make curly aware of that, to curly tho, tim just seems like shes nagging for the hell of it, sometimes he wants her to zip it. but if the world has taught tim anything, its that if something happens to curly, the only ppl who care about him will NOT b able to get that justice for him, and tim would like to avoid that heartbreak.

as far as how this would change curly, fem tim would mean that curly doesnt have a father figure in his life anymore!!! fem tim isnt a motherly figure, TECHNICALLY shes a fatherISH figure, but not as solid of one like tim is, which means that curly WILL go looking for one and he doesnt even know it!! hes GOING to search for a father/brother figure, hes GOING to look for a role model. and bc hes a shepard i think he would have pretty high expectations for what guy he looks up to and he would need the “best” of the “best”. curlys a vulnerable teenage guy, and easily influenced, i can imagine that he hangs out w the wrong crowd (even for him) for a bit, he acts up, and tim is the one to pull him back from that life. maybe its something that repeats its self, some more serious than others???? u decide!!!

but maybe dallas could b one????? curly doesnt 100% look up to him he mostly hates dally, but dallas DOES have some aspects curly does wish he had and he IS feared, which is what has always interested curly, being intimidating n what not

but look, yap sesh over❤️

[interesting-interludes]

stranger than fiction (1)

→ 📖 pairing: assistant!jimin x novelist!reader

→ ☕ genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

→ 🚬 word count: 3k

→ 🍝 summary: you are a reclusive author who wants nothing more than to be left alone so you can write at your own pace. jimin is the youngest executive assistant at Lucky Coin Publishers, and he’s never once been intimidated by a writer or their current project. that is, until he’s assigned to help you complete your latest novel. and you aren’t pleased about it.

→ 🍷 content warnings: profanity, smoking, jimin is very determined, reader is very grumpy, sexual tension.

→ 🖊 a/n: loosely based on a relationship from the movie stranger than fiction and also the tv show black books. thanks for reading :) 

series masterlist → next chapter

chapter 1: satan smoking a cigarette

Jimin has worked with many, many authors, but none of them have ever been this elusive.

The publishing executives said you would be a difficult case, that you were a bit of an eccentric. In fact, when Jimin asked one of his supervisors about you and your...colorful reputation at the publishing house, all he had to say on the matter was “that woman is Satan smoking a cigarette.”

Jimin had been told that he was the sixth person to be assigned to you. No one knew why, but apparently you had a vendetta against anyone connected to Lucky Coin Publishers. A category which Jimin unfortunately fell under. 

But, being the perfectionist that he was, and never one to back down from a challenge, Jimin accepted the seemingly impossible task. A task that no one else from the company has accomplished so far: getting you to finish your latest novel by the end of the year. 

Jimin tried calling 42 times over the course of three days. You had no personal number, even though it was the year 2002 and most people with your level of notoriety and fame owned a cell phone by now, or at least a pager.

The publishers were beginning to get anxious, considering the fact that you hadn’t given them anything to work with in over three months. Not one draft, not one page, not even a clipping of meaningful prose. And, considering the book’s set release date, this was quite the problem. 

So, here he was, asking around the quaint yet utterly reclusive community of Hidden Village. The name being as ironic as its residents. For it was a town of starving artists, retired creatives, and obscure literary celebrities who were fiercely protective of their anonymity. It was a place for strange, solitary people to live in peace and blissful privacy.

Something Jimin was about to disrupt.

He’d traced your location as far as your apartment number, given that the publishers were so antsy and had given him clearance to be a little invasive, but no one had answered the buzzer.

Now, if Jimin was any less determined, any less qualified given his history, he might’ve given up after the first few failed attempts. But, of course, he was Park Jimin, the youngest executive assistant in the company’s history. And he wasn’t about to let that title slip away.

So he walked the cobblestoned streets in the fading afternoon sun, searching the street signs for Red Herring Road.

When no one answered the buzzer, Jimin tried a few of the neighbors. One of them was a grumpy-sounding man who told him check the cafe a few blocks away, or the museum, or the bar, or the bookshop. But Jimin figured he’d try the cafe first.

He found it after just a few minutes of walking. An ivy-draped awning in the narrow street, shading a few little tables and chairs. A teapot-shaped sign over the door read:

Jam & Bread: coffee, sandwiches, pastries.

This must be the place, Jimin reassures himself, straightening his sleeves and perfecting the curve of his hair.

As he approaches, he sees that there’s only one person inhabiting the small cafe.

A woman, sitting outside, hunched over the crowded tabletop. 

None of your books have an “About the Author” section, let alone a picture of your face on the back cover. But he recognizes you still, from that one interaction four years ago. 

You’re dressed in heavily oversized, layered clothing. A sweater here, a scarf there, a wool coat hanging off the back of your chair.

It’s a bright yet chilly afternoon, so you’re dressed warmly with a pair of sunglasses on your nose.

A sea of papers is spread out in front of you. Open books, notepads, a few loose leafs, and sticky notes scattered all throughout. And to your right: a foamy latte in a large mug with a fluffy chocolate croissant.

Jimin prepares himself for the interaction to come. Because, from the looks of it, you clearly don’t want to be disturbed.

But Jimin knows that if he wanted to succeed, he’s going to have to do just that.

You’ve decided, over the course of several run-ins with your editor, that semicolons are bastards that have no place in any of your works. You make a note to exclude them from all future manuscripts.

This particular novel has proven to be more difficult to complete than all the others, you’ll admit that much. Maybe it’s because your most recently published book catapulted into unexpected (and probably undeserved) fame, meaning that the next thing you put out has to be even better or you’ll be a disappointment to everyone.

Now, you’ve never been one to easily cope with high expectations, or anyone expecting anything good out of you at all, so this newfound situation was especially overwhelming.

This book has loomed over your head like a storm cloud, like a deep depression, threatening to destroy your mental state at the drop of a hat.

Then, just as you’re getting into a groove, another damned interruption.

This time, it’s a young man in black dress shoes. The obnoxious squeak from the overly-polished leather is the first thing that grabs your attention.

You look up from the page you’re currently annotating, barely bothering to disguise your irritated expression.

He’s standing there in a tailored green coat that molds to his shoulders and thin waist. Then there’s the rings on his fingers and the ridiculous perfection of his hair: dyed blonde and styled up out of his face.

He’s beautiful, tantalizing. It's slightly infuriating.

“Excuse me,” he begins in a voice much lighter and silkier than you expected. “Are you Miss Nin?”

Nin, it was the pen name you’d chosen so many years ago. From Anaïs Nin, the author famous for her diaries and erotica. Even now, most people you know refer to you by that name. It makes life a little easier, living life through someone else’s name.

You survey the young man, trying to determine what exactly he wants. Nothing good, no doubt.

“No, she lives down the street,” you say, testing the waters. “Just around the corner, you can’t miss it.”

You say it with a pleasant smile, hoping he’ll take the bait. Because once he turns the street corner, you can escape through the alleyway and make it back to your apartment.

But the young man scans you up and down, calculating. After a few moments, he gives you a sly smile.

Authors are such bad liars, he thinks to himself. They spend so much time thinking up fiction in their works that there’s none left for their real lives.

And, of course, he already knows well who you are.

“No, I think you’re sitting right here, Miss Nin.”

Your genial expression drops in an instant. So that’s how it’s going to be.

You look at him over the rim of your sunglasses.

“And you are?” you say, clearly not amused.

Something very small in Jimin’s mind deflates. You don’t remember him.

But he shakes it off in an instant, slipping back into his professional persona.

“Park Jimin, pleased to meet you,” he answers cheerfully, holding out his hand to shake.

You glance at it once.

“A horrible judge of character on your part,” you reply dryly.

“I’m the assistant your publishers hired,” Jimin says, still friendly as ever.

“Oh, the spy,” you spit, beginning to gather your things.

“The assistant,” he corrects gently.

“I don’t need an assistant.”

You snatch all the stray papers and shove them in your tote bag, along with the three books, two journals, three notepads, and the six loose pens that were strewn about.

“I provide a number of services, whatever you need to—”

“Oh, such as watching me like a vulture and nagging me every time I get distracted, those kinds of services?”

By now, you’ve gathered all your belongings and have moved on to donning your scarf and coat.

Jimin watches you curiously. There’s a strange quality about you, the same one he saw when the two of you met the first time. 

Maybe it’s the way you look at him with such quiet intrigue, or the way you rush to gather the immense amount of books and papers that you apparently carry in your bag. Whatever it is, it seems that he can’t take his eyes away from you.

“Miss Nin, I’m sure we can find a way that I’d be of use to you,” Jimin says as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder.

“I can help you with any organizational needs you might have, any—” the rest of his sentence trails off.

Jimin watches in fascination as you grab the full mug of coffee, tilt your head back, and down the entire thing in a matter of moments.

Then, you wrap the croissant in a napkin, dig in your wallet for an extremely generous tip (which you tuck under the vase of flowers on the table), give whoever is inside the cafe a friendly wave, and set off marching down the street.

He scrambles after you.

“Listen,” you begin impatiently. “I don’t need the publishers breathing down my neck and I certainly don’t need an “assistant” lurking around my workspace. So, if you would be so kind, please vacate the premises before I commit the stereotypical and turn you into an unlikable character that gets killed off in my next work.”

You pick up the pace as you stalk down the street, bristling at the fact that the publishers felt the need to send yet another spy after you expressed your intense dislike for them.

“Miss Nin, if you would just listen for a moment—” Jimin tries, but you’re quick to interrupt him again.

“Look, I’m sure you’re good at your job and all, but I simply have no need for any kind of assistant. I work best alone, even though the publishers refuse to acknowledge that. I’ve told them time and time again that outside involvement just slows me down. So, thank you for coming all the way out here, but you can tell the publishers that I dismissed you and I’ll take the heat from there.”

You say it all without looking at him, staring straight ahead like you’re hoping it will make him magically disappear.

By now the two of you have reached the mass of apartments, all in shades of old brown and faded cream. A criss-crossing system of fire escapes crawls up the sides of the building. The whole structure looks ancient, with peeling paint and chipped stone.

You approach an ivy-covered wall and stop at the door where Jimin started his search not too long ago. With the hand still holding the napkin-wrapped croissant, you punch a very long sequence of numbers into the keypad next to the buzzer.

A beep. You yank the door open and try to slither inside without him following you. But Jimin jams his foot through the gap before you can slam it shut.

“Miss Nin, please,” he pleads. “I really think I could be of help to you if you would just let me.”

There’s a moment where you stop to look at him, and something in your expression suggests that he might’ve gotten through to you.

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat when he sees how your lips part slightly, how your eyes flick over his with that same silent, enigmatic question.

He has to admit, something in his internal rhythm skips in that moment. Maybe this is the start of something—

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, whipping around and leaving Jimin hurrying after you after a pause of shock.

The room you’ve both entered is not what Jimin thinks of when he imagines the lobby of an apartment building.

There are checkered marble floors, shiny and polished despite the outward state of the building, and a number of large, stylishly modern leather couches scattered all throughout the large room.

But there’s also stacks of boxes lining the walls, countless empty picture frames propped up against each other, and cobwebs hanging like drapes from the ceiling.

You’re rushing up the stairs now, which stretches and spirals far above.

Jimin uses the curling iron railing to help him catch up to you. His professional shoes click against the marble, and the sound only adds to your annoyance.

He’s a persistent one, you’ll give him that.

“Trust me, Mr. Whoever You Are,” you say, somehow walking even faster. “You wouldn’t enjoy working with me. I’d make sure of it.”

Jimin is a little distracted. Not only by the incredible speed that you’re maintaining, but also the interior of your apparent “apartment building.”

Paintings crowd the walls, all in old intricate frames, a thick layer of dust over the landscapes, portraits, and impressions. It looks more like a museum than a place to live.

As Jimin follows you up the great, winding staircase, he can’t help but wonder why you’re so resistant to the idea of an assistant. It instills a small flame of curious determination in him.

He matches your pace, just a few steps behind you, as the two of you pass a massive cracked mirror leaning against the railing.

“Maybe I could come to that conclusion myself?” Jimin says, hopping up a step so he can stand next to you, trying to catch your eye.

But you keep on pretending he’s not there, staring straight ahead with the rigid focus only a writer possesses.

Higher and higher you climb, passing more curious things, like a broken chandelier surrounded by crystal shards, then a pile of rotting wood planks.

The sound of your footsteps remains steady while Jimin’s start to slow from exhaustion.

Either you’re completely unfazed by the incredible number of steps, or you’re very good at hiding it.

Jimin pauses, chest heaving, one hand on the railing as he leans over to catch his breath. He hears your steady footsteps carry on.

He looks up to see you reaching towards a rusty door at the end of a long hallway. Digging around in your bag, you pull out a bundle of jingling keys, almost immediately finding the right one and slipping it inside the lock.

Swinging the door open, you disappear behind it as Jimin springs into action again.

His hand slips between the gap just before the door closes and automatically locks.

What he hopes to see is the inside of your apartment, a refuge from the long stretch of exertion that lays behind him. But what he finds is more stairs.

This stairway is less grand. No marble floors or fancy railing, just a narrow tower of concrete steps and unpainted walls.

He follows you up the stairwell that twists this way and that, until the two of you reach yet another door.

“Go home, kid. I have no use for you,” you say dismissively, sifting through your key ring to unlock the door.

That does it. The last of Jimin’s patience flickers out like a candle flame.

The lock clicks open, and you try to slam the door in his face, but he extends his arm and plants his hand firmly on the wood.

The sound and force of it makes you jump, whipping around to face him.

His face has changed. A moment ago, it was soft and pleasant. Now it’s hardened and dark, his eyes piercing into yours like icicles.

“Miss Nin,” Jimin begins, voice sharp enough to cut. “I’ve been an author’s assistant for three years. I’ve helped eight authors complete more than eleven books, and I’ve never gone back to the publisher to ask for more time.”

He straightens, adjusting his coat while maintaining that same icy eye contact.

“Now, I will available to you whenever you may need me. And you will find that I can be very....persistent.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Here’s my home number, my mobile number, and my pager number. I don’t take calls past eight p.m. and I don’t tolerate the use of narcotics.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, begrudgingly taking the business card he hands you with all his information. 

“I believe the novel is set to release early next year,” Jimin says in a fake nonchalant tone. “Which means you have until the end of December to come up with a final draft.”

The mention of a deadline makes you bristle, setting him with a glare.

“So, until you put the last punctuation mark on the very last page, I will be here. Ready to assist you.”

A moment of tense silence. You glaring at him, him staring right back with a slight, smug smile.

You move to retreat into the doorway.

“Oh, and Miss Nin?” Jimin interrupts, sounding pleased with himself. “I get paid whether you like me or not.”

You slam the door.