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osarina · 13 days

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ᡣ𐭩 WASTELAND, BABY (I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: at the beach house, you can pretend that nothing is wrong. you know that avoidance will only get you so far, but you can't help but want to treasure the time you have with dazai... you don't know how much longer you'll have before everything catches up to you. until then, you'll enjoy the peace that you have, even if dazai does seem oddly intent on ruining it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: another week of minimal activity </3 sorry lil love bugs ive been so busy. BUT take civzai6!! and treasure it because this is the only chill chapter for quite a bit!! HAHAHHH no but for real i enjoyed this chapter so much that i literally had to split it in two because i wrote too much HAHAH, same goes for the next chapter ;) as always, reblogs are very appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from the other series - if you guys read waterloo, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole chapter just because there's 2-3k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the FINAL scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in waterloo, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. dazai has some insecure thoughts. he's also actively being self destructive. this is an easy chapter—calm before the storm. not much to warn. i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, praise, dazai cries a bit, lil bit of body worship (f->m), sub!dazai, mostly pretty vanilla - short and sweet

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai wakes up to the sun peeking through the blinds of the bedroom he’d shared with you and the scent of pancakes wafting through the air. His lips twitch up into a small smile as he stretches, letting out a soft sigh as he sinks into the comfortable mattress.

He thinks he slept better last night than he’s slept in his entire life. He’s always been plagued with restlessness, he can hardly ever sleep and when he does, he’s haunted by faces he’d rather not see again: Oda’s bloodstained face looking up at him as he dies in Dazai’s arms, the glassy eyes of his mother as she swings slowly from a rope, his aunt’s twisted expression as she throws Dazai to the ground in Suribachi, the hurt look in Ango’s eyes as he took all of the vile insults that Dazai spat at him. Dazai dreads sleeping about as much as the average person dreads ever having to confront their worst fear.

But last night? Last night, Dazai slept peacefully. He fell asleep curled up in your arms, laying on top of you—you’d still been awake, tracing patterns on his back through his shirt. You’d been distracted by something all day yesterday; from when you picked him up at the hospital to when you laid down with him in bed that night, something had been bothering you. Your phone had been buzzing nonstop, call after call and text after text—you didn’t bother checking it but he could tell it was stressing you out.

He tried to ask you about it but you blew it off every time. Dazai supposes he should have expected that from you but your evasion was still irritating, especially after the conversation the two of you had yesterday. You had the nerve to try to distract him with movies and figuring out how to bake a cake with him; he had the nerve to fall for the weak attempts at distracting him.

He yawns as he pushes himself to a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes and tossing the blankets off. He tugs at the short sleeves of his t-shirt, feeling a bit too exposed. The bandages covering his wrists and arms are frayed—he’ll need to grab new ones to rewrap them soon, he hasn’t checked the bathroom to see if you had any stored. His shoulders ache a bit, he winces as he rolls them before making his way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

You’re standing at the stove, hand on your hip as you frown down at whatever you’re cooking. You’re still dressed in your pajamas—a thin black cami and loose shorts—and Dazai yearns, he feels it deep in his chest, feels it as a lump in his throat and a heaviness in his stomach. Because he could… he could picture it… he could picture a future with you.

He could imagine waking up to you every day—you’d always wake up before him because you somehow always wake up at the ass crack of dawn. You’d usually be dealing with some of your shady business when he wakes up, sitting at the kitchen table typing away at your phone, maybe you’d sometimes be on calls and you’d lift a finger to your lips to hush him when you realize he wakes up. Every once in a while, he’d wake up to you making breakfast for him—you told him that you enjoy cooking when you have the time for it, so Dazai imagines that it would be a rare treat.

Like today.

But still, he can’t help but wonder why today? Your phone had been blowing up last night and now… now, it’s sitting on the marble counter, screen dark and not buzzing at all. He glances up at you once to make sure you’re still looking at the stove and then shifts over to the counter quietly, discreetly pressing his finger against the screen to see if your phone is even on and then frowns when he realizes that you did, in fact, turn it off.

What is going on that has you so avoidant that you’d rather turn your phone off than confront it? His mind races to all of the things you’ve been bitching to him about, remembers that you told him you weren’t responding for days because you’d been busy finishing up negotiations with the Shimazaki-kai… is it something new, maybe? But why aren’t you handling it then? It doesn’t make any sense.

Dazai makes his way over to you, feet padding softly against the ground until he’s standing behind you. He slips his arms around your waist and plops his chin onto your shoulder, humming softly as he nudges his nose against your ear before resting the side of his head against yours.

“Good morning,” he says, voice still a bit rough with sleep. “Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes,” you reply easily and Dazai’s heart swells when you lean back into his chest, fueling the fantasy of his imagined future even more. God, he’s been waiting for the ball to drop since you talked to him out on the cliff’s edge—you can’t keep giving him hope like this, he can feel it blooming in his chest and he knows that there’s going to be something to ruin it because that’s just how his life goes but… “I don’t think they came out good though.”

“I’ll eat them anyway,” Dazai says immediately.

“You’ll probably get food poisoning.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

You do.

Two words, so simple and yet they ring through his head over and over again so loudly. You care. You do care. You implied it last night when you told him you wanted him, that it scares you how bad you want him because of his life being at risk, but you hadn’t out right said it until now and it’s a devastating blow. Fatal, really.

The puff of air he lets out is shaky and when you turn to look at him, confused, he can only barely muster a smile as he asks hesitantly, “You do?”

The last time he asked you this, you changed the subject and evaded answering—he took it as an answer in itself, that you don’t care… but now, he’s let himself hope again, hope that maybe this time your answer will be different. What a treacherous thing, really, because even now he can feel the dark claws of anxiety start tugging at his heart in different directions, yanking it around and stretching it until it’s painful. He thinks it would’ve just been easier to carve it out and hand it over to you.

“I do,” you finally say, voice quiet. “I care.”

Dazai lets out a long breath, one that he hardly recognized he was holding, dropping his forehead down on your shoulder to hide his face against your skin. His arms tighten around your waist as his lips curve up, he presses his lips to your neck but for some reason, he can’t fully discard the dreadful feeling in his chest.

Even with your assurances and finally verbally admitting that you care about him, it’s like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for something to shatter his idyllic paradise. And he has a feeling he knows exactly what will do it. So because Dazai is Dazai and he has been self-destructive since the day he was born, he brings it up.

“Why’s your phone been blowing up?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively light like he’s just trying to have a normal conversation with you—you don’t fall for it. When you immediately stiffen in his arms, Dazai almost wants to backtrack.

“Nothing important,” you say, voice tight, forcing a smile onto your face as you step away to look up at him. “Nothing to worry about. Want to help me remake the pancakes?”

You use the same tactic Dazai used on you after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment. You’re good too because even though Dazai knows what you’re doing, he still wants to give in. Wants to play domestic with you, make breakfast together and then sit at the table and eat. But he can’t, so while you’re good at using the same tactic that Dazai used against you, you’re ultimately unsuccessful because he doesn’t show you the same grace that you showed him.

“Tell me anyway?” Dazai asks softly. “Even if it’s not important?”

You stare at Dazai for a moment, your lips pressed together and he could imagine the thoughts running through your head—how he’s never satisfied, and how he always has to push you. He can imagine you voicing it again, telling him how it’s always what he wants, but you don’t.

Instead, you shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it, it’s stressing me out. I would rather just make breakfast with you,” you say.

Your voice becomes a bit more tense and Dazai knows that he should stop pushing, that it would be smart to stop now, but Dazai’s track record for dumb decisions gets longer instead.

“Maybe I can help,” he prods, taking a step closer to you, reaching out to rest his hands faintly on your hips. He nudges his head forward, pushing his nose against yours before smiling softly and pressing his lips to yours. “Tell me, please.”

Let me in.

Dazai’s eyes are big and earnest as he stares down at you, fingers digging just the slightest bit further into your hips. Your expression is unrelenting, much to his distress.

“It’s mafia business,” you finally say.

“You’ve told me about mafia business before.”

You exhale sharply, brushing his hands off of you and taking a step away, and Dazai knows he’s pressing too much—doesn’t even know why he’s pressing because he knows that it’ll shatter the illusion of peace that the past half a day in the beach house has given him.

Maybe that’s what he wants, for it to be ruined before he can get used to it.

You look out the window and don’t speak for a moment. Dazai itches to move closer to you again but his feet are rooted to the ground. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and let your head fall forward a bit, shaking it as you turn back around to face him.

“Another organization has arrived in Yokohama,” you say, lifting your eyes to meet his. “A dangerous one. The Port Mafia… the executives are meeting to figure out how to handle the situation.”

Dazai stares at you for a moment. “You’re an executive.”

“I am.”

“You’re here.”

“I am.”

“But… why?” Dazai asks, voice hitching at the implications of it, not wanting to get his hopes up but unable to stop himself from it at the same time. “Why are you here?”

You stare at him silently for a moment and then you say quietly, “The call for the meeting came at the same time I got the voicemail from the hospital. I chose to go to you.”

Dazai’s breath catches as he breathes in and shakes terribly as he breathes out, unable to draw his gaze away from you. You… “You chose me,” he whispers.

“I chose you,” you repeat, swallowing as you turn your gaze down. “I did. I chose you.”

“Do you regret it?” Dazai asks softly—he wonders if he hopes you’ll say yes, that you’ll quash his hope before it’s too late.

“No,” you say. “I don’t.”

And Dazai doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s never been wanted before. Never been someone’s first choice. Dazai has always been the one left behind for others, discarded for a better option. His throat is uncomfortably tight and his fingers are shaking a bit, and he doesn’t have pockets to hide them in now so they’re in full view of your vision before he clasps his hands behind his back.

But it’s too late—you’ve already seen it and you’re taking a step closer to him. You reach out to cup his cheek with one of your hands and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“I don’t regret anything about you, Dazai Osamu,” you say quietly, so honestly that it makes a shiver run down Dazai’s spine, unintentionally letting out a soft noise in the back of his throat that he’s unable to smother. “Not a single thing.”

“Well, that can’t possibly be true,” Dazai tries to joke, to play off how much you’ve rattled him with only a few words, but you aren’t fooled by his tricks.

“It’s true.”

Dazai stares at you, his eyes sting and his fingers are shaking even more than they’d been before. The pads of your fingers burn against his cheek and Dazai thinks you’ve ruined him. You’ve ruined him entirely. You’ve shattered all of his carefully crafted walls, the ones that protect him from situations just like this, the ones that prevent him from being burned just like he has countless times before. You’ve ruined him and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll be able to put himself together again if this ends poorly.

He doesn’t know what to say in response to your words and he can’t handle the way you’re staring at him so intensely, so Dazai decides to change the subject with a shaky smile and a terrifying amount of hope blooming within him.

“Maybe you just need a fresh set of eyes. Tell me about this organization, I can try to help.”

You don’t even know why you’re considering this.

Dazai bounds next to you in the sand chatting about his poetry workship. He still won’t tell you what the project he’s writing on is about but he does seem to be mighty pleased with how it’s coming out since he’s bragging about how his is clearly the best of all of his classmates’ and that he’s sure he’s going to get the best grade on it. It’s cute, you think, a fond smile twitching to the corner of your lips as you watch him from the corner of your eye.

It’s still only mid-morning, the sun paints a pretty glow over the private beach and Dazai looks so… alive beneath it. His smile is bright and genuine, skin flushed and radiant, eyes reminiscent of pools of honey—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so bright before. His fingers thrum excitedly against the book he’s bringing down to the beach with him: The Aeneid—he’s read it before, he very snootily told you when you side-eyed him for grabbing it, he just needs to refresh on it for his creative writing class.

When the two of you get down to the shore, you sit down in the sand right near the water’s edge, dipping your feet into the cool water. Dazai plops down next to you, pressing his shoulder against yours and you itch to wrap your arm around his waist, slide your hand under the comfy sweatshirt he’s wearing to rub circles over the bandages covering his skin, but your hands stay stiff in your lap as you stare down at the phone resting on your lap.

You have half a mind to toss it right into the bay.

But then Dazai nudges you, waiting for you to start talking, and you sigh, looking back across the bay.

“They call themselves the Guild,” you finally say. You can feel Dazai’s eyes on you, curious, and you think maybe you should quit while you’re ahead but you find yourself speaking anyway. “They’re a kind of… secret society. Based in North America. They’re powerful. A lot of influence throughout the world.”

“Why are they here?” Dazai asks and you can feel the way his face twists as he then adds, “More influence than you?”

You can’t help the amused smile that twitches to your lips at his words. “I’m not the end all of political influence, Dazai,” you tell him, the tension in your shoulders slipping away as you tilt your head to the side to look at him

Dazai gives you a look. “Please, I was at that event. I heard the way people talked about you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the most influential person in Japan.”

“Probably the eastern hemisphere,” you correct, quite humbly, snorting as Dazai rolls his eyes. “No, I’m kidding. I have a lot of influence but there are plenty with more than me, especially considering I’m held back by the fact that I can’t make myself a public figure. Having to perpetually work behind the scenes is pretty… crippling.”

“You go to the big government events though,” Dazai frowns. “Those are-”

“Very, very confidential unless certain cockroaches worm their way in and feed information to the public,” you say dryly, watching as Dazai gives you an offended look.

“Did you just call me a cockroach?”

“If the shoe fits.” You shrug.

“My bella hates me,” Dazai sighs whimsically, dropping his head on your shoulder. “She thinks I’m a bug. A cockroach.”

You soften when he comes in contact with you, lifting your hand to cradle the side of his head. Your lips curl up into a small smile when Dazai’s lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. You brush your fingers through his hair, choosing your words carefully as you continue to explain what’s going on in spite of your better judgment.

“Anyway, they have more influence than me. I’ve been working all night trying to figure out what to do, pulled as many strings as I can trying to get the government to push them out of Yokohama but they’ve eaten their way right into the heart of Japan. They’ve been granted diplomatic immunity and they’re putting pressure on the government to try to get us—the Port Mafia—and some government agencies that are protesting the invasion of the city to back off. They’re trying to get their hands on a skilled business permit, we don’t know why but…”

“But you have suspicions,” Dazai finishes for you, sitting up straight again to watch you, ever perceptive. “Right?”

You don't respond for a moment as you watch him carefully. Dazai has always been perceptive—you’ve noticed it from early on when you would talk around the truth and he would train that sharp gaze on you, knowing that you were skirting around something but unable to figure out what.

Honestly, it should be concerning. Dazai’s smarter than almost anyone you’ve ever met. He’s sharp and quick—proved it with the way he managed to get his hands on the tapes behind the Tokyo City Hall to get evidence of your mafia affiliation; even proved it before that when he recognized that he had to go about information gathering in a different manner, trying to pin down your political opinions because he knew which sectors supported which opinion and wanted to know which one you were a part of.

“Does it have something to do with me?”

“You’re so conceited, not everything has to do with you.”

Dazai flushes red, scowling at you and physically turning his back to you. “Well forgive me for assuming because you’ve certainly been acting like everything has to do with me.”

You smile as Dazai huffs shifting closer to press your lips against the nape of his neck, arms slipping around his waist. He gives you a dirty look but relaxes back into your chest, leaning into you. You slip your hands beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing them out over the bandages covering his slim torso, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch.

“They’re here because of something I did,” you finally admit quietly, ignoring as he looks up at you curiously. “One of the boys you met when you came to my apartment the first time… they had a bounty on the black market on him for seven billion yen.”

Dazai chokes, splutters over air as he looks up at you and squeaks out, “Seven billion-why?”

“We don’t know,” you say honestly. “I… didn’t think it was a good sign that they were putting so high of a bounty on a seemingly random ability user. It made me think there was more to it than meets the eye, that it would be… dangerous for us to hand him over to the Guild.”

Dazai’s brows furrow as he nods. “I mean, it makes sense. That much money for a what? Eighteen year old kid? Is his ability special?”

“He can turn into a tiger,” you tell him. “Can’t even control it.”

Dazai sits back up straight again, holding his book in his lap as he turns to face you, crossing his legs together. You feel a bit of fondness bubbling in your chest when you see how quickly he seems to be thinking, you can all but see the gears running swiftly behind his dark eyes.

“Is he the tiger? Is the tiger something of its own sentience? I did a research project on ability users two years ago, mostly I was just reading the studies of how they’re dragged into criminal organizations at a young age, but some of them talked about how some ability users can’t even control their ability because it’s like… a separate consciousness. Maybe it knows something? Or there are parts of his ability that he hasn’t been able to unlock yet?”

Is it sentient? Atsushi hadn’t made any mention of it and you hadn’t thought to ask. It wouldn’t be… unheard of. Dazai is right in that there’s been a record of ability users who claim that their abilities have a consciousness of their own. There’s a member of the SDUP, a higher up in the Family who you met a few years back, and even Chuuya. Arahabaki is its own sentient being within Chuuya, could that be why Atsushi can’t control his ability? You don’t know, you hadn’t really considered it but it’s definitely a possibility, and it would explain the Guild’s desperation to get their hands on him.

“Either way, I mean, I think you were definitely right to keep him close,” Dazai shrugs. “They clearly want him badly for a reason and since it’s not one that can be seen at face value, who knows what it could be.”

“I wish you had been at the meeting where I had to argue with all of them about it,” you say bitterly, still irritated over the hours you spent arguing with the other executives, who were dead set on getting the money from the bounty.

Dazai tilts his head to the side, an unreadable look crossing his face for a second but then he shakes his head and asks, “So political pressure isn’t working?”

“No. I mean, they don’t want the Americans here anymore than any of us but they don’t have a choice. After you fell asleep, I spent most of the night on the phone with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, talked to the US ambassador in Tokyo and asked our ambassador in the US to try to work with their government to get the Guild out of Japan. Got nowhere with it. If something could’ve been done politically to force them out of here, I would’ve gotten it done.”

You even called Tolstoy last night. You don’t like going to outsiders about domestic problems but you feel as if you’re backed into a corner—it’s your fault that the Guild is here and you can’t even do anything to fix it. And now-and now Dazai is at risk too. You have half a mind to keep him locked up in this beach house until you can figure everything out but you doubt that he’d stay in one place and he’s better off at your side than on his own.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, oblivious to the thoughts running through your head—or maybe not, he probably knows exactly how stressed you are about this. You’ve never been without your phone and you know you’re making a mistake by turning it off now but you just can’t bring yourself to turn it on, dreading whatever messages you might find. Chuuya’s rage at your disappearance, Kouyou’s disapproval and worst of all, Mori’s disappointment.

He would know where you are. Who you’re with. Why you disappeared and why you were unable to fix this before it became a major problem for the Mafia. He promised not to intervene if it didn’t affect Port Mafia business and you let it anyway. You ran to Dazai when you should have gone to the meeting and you can’t even bring yourself to regret it even when you know that you put him in danger, not just from your enemies but also from-

You feel Dazai’s hand brush your cheek as he reaches out, brows knit in concern as he looks at you and you realize that your breath has quickened noticeably, shallow and uneven. You try to calm yourself down but it only makes your heart rate spike more because you can’t figure out why you’re unable to get yourself under control.

“Hey,” Dazai says quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, but he sounds like he’s underwater. Or you’re underwater. Something isn’t right—you know what isn’t right, you know what’s happening but you can’t stop it. “Hey, it’s okay-”

It’s not okay. It’s very much not okay. Your fingers dig into the sand, the small grains getting stuck beneath your fingernails as you try to physically ground yourself. You never should have started talking about this with him—you’d known it was going to force you to confront everything you’ve been avoiding the past few hours, your failure and incapability but he asked you and you couldn’t-

You couldn’t say no.

You need to-

“You need to make them want to go back.”

You’re so caught off guard by Dazai’s words that it startles you right out of your spiral. Your gaze focuses on him and you watch as he starts to light up, excited. His hands drop to your wrists, holding them gently as he urges you to pay attention to him.

“You need to make them want to go back,” he repeats, faster this time. “You can’t force them, so you have to make them choose to go on their own.”

You shake your head, still unsteady from your sudden bout of panic. You briefly shut your eyes and then say quietly, “Dazai, that’s a lot easier said than done. How-”

“The best defense is a good offense,” Dazai quotes at you, nearly vibrating. “Counterattack, do something to make them have to go back to America.”

Oh.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god,” you voice out loud, little over a breath. “Oh my god. Octavio.”

“Who?” Dazai blinks, staring at you as you fumble to turn your phone back on.

“Octavio Paz,” you say hurriedly, willing your phone to turn back on. “He’s the leader of one of Mexico’s biggest cartels, has been trying to expand his foothold into the central parts of the US for years but one of the Guild members—Twain, maybe, Steinbeck, one of them—they always prevented it. If I can get him to do something now-”

You’re stupid, you’re so stupid for not thinking of this sooner. Mori has always taught you it—the one that strikes the first blow wins the battle—you should’ve had Octavio Paz making movements in the US as soon as you decided to keep Atsushi with the Port Mafia. As soon as you were considering keeping Atsushi with the Port Mafia. You were stupid and you let the Guild make the opening move of the game, and now it could cost you.

But if you can act fast enough then maybe…

As your phone finally starts to turn on, you look back up at Dazai.

“I could kiss you,” you breathe out, watching his face light up at your approval.

You almost find yourself a bit suspicious of how quickly he came to this conclusion, how naturally this thought process seemed to come to him. You had been struggling trying to figure out what to do and you have over a decade of experience now—you were too focused on the fact that they were already here, so focused on the defense that you were scrambling and blinded to the prospect of an offense. And yes, it might’ve just been stupidity on your part—stupidity and carelessness, that is—but Dazai is a twenty-two year old literature student, how the hell was he able to figure it out in a span of a handful of minutes while you’ve been so lost?

“What’s stopping you?” Dazai prods, leaning forward.

His eyes are wide and imploring, a warm golden color beneath the rays of the sun; his lips are curved up into a sweet smile and you let all of your suspicions wash away. You reach forward to cup his cheek, watching as he immediately presses his face into your hand, eyes sliding shut as he brushes his lips to your palm before looking back up at you, expectant.

You lean in and graze your lips against his but just as you consider deepening the kiss, you notice that your phone screen has finally flickered on, so you lean back, not catching the way Dazai’s face instantly falls.

“I’m going to go make a few calls—I have to head back to the house to grab my laptop. You want to come in or stay out here for a bit?” you ask absently as you rise to your feet.

“I think I’ll stay out here for a bit,” he says quietly. “Hopefully everything works out.”

You don’t respond as you make your way up the beach back to the house, wincing as you see a spam of nearly forty messages from Chuuya, a dozen from Piano Man, and a handful from Kouyou come in.

Worse, there’s not a single message or missed call from Mori.

A few hours later, you’re sitting with Dazai on the couch in the beach house watching a movie. He’s resting back against your chest, your arms loose around his waist—you think he’s falling asleep actually, every time you look down, his eyes are drooping shut but then snap back open whenever he realizes that you’re looking down at him.

You’re being spammed with calls again now that your phone is back on—both Chuuya and Piano Man have been calling and texting incessantly. You think they’re taking turns, honestly, when one isn’t calling, the other is. You had to put their numbers on do not disturb but you did reach out to Klaus and Akutagawa, giving them quick orders to do what they can to fuck with the Guild.

Now, you’re waiting for a text from Paz to confirm he’s made the necessary movements into the central parts of the US—you had to redirect a weapons shipment from South America up to Paz and his men, so you have to compensate for that with Machado down in Brazil, but he’s always been easily appeased. You’ll just have to take a trip down there some time soon to wine and dine him as an apology.

As soon as you get the confirmation from him, you can put your phone away and just spend the night relaxing with Dazai. Maybe try to figure out what’s going on in this movie. Honestly, neither of you are even really watching the movie so you don’t even know why it’s playing but it’s nice background noise at the very least.

“Can I ask you something?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments, playing with your fingers and tilting his head up against your shoulder to look at you.

“You have no idea how much I dread those words coming from you,” you say dryly. “Go ahead. Ask.”

Dazai pouts at your words but there’s a serious look in his eyes that has you on edge, a bit concerned to what he might want to ask you.

“What did Chuuya mean the other night?” Dazai asks after a few moments, as if trying to figure out how he wants to phrase his question. When you only give him a confused look in return, he adds on, “He said that you couldn’t save someone last time. That this time wouldn’t be any different.”

Immediately, you stiffen and Dazai straightens up from where he’s sitting to turn to look at you, concerned. “I don’t-” you start to say, voice strained and tongue heavy in your mouth. “I-”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Dazai tells you, seemingly a bit taken aback by how you’re struggling for words. “It’s okay. I was just wondering.”

You think you should take the out given to you because even just the thought of talking about what happened two years ago with Chuuya and his girl and the Serpent’s Tongue. Even after all of the time that’s passed, the image of Chuuya hunched over her body is still burned behind your eyelids. You still wake up gasping and sweaty with the sound of Chuuya’s screams still ringing through your ears. There are still days where the guilt of what happened is so crushing that you can hardly breathe.

“Chuuya… he was dating a civilian two years ago,” you find yourself speaking instead but your voice sounds distant, like you’re not talking but instead listening to someone else talk. You don’t even register that your lips are moving, they feel numb and prickly but the words tumble from your lips. “She was our age, a year older maybe. In her third year of university, on track for med school—I think she went to YNU actually. She wanted to be a doctor. I only met her a few times, but Chuuya never shut up about her, would brag about her to anyone who would listen.”

You sit up straight, smoothing your hands up and down against the skin of your thighs a few times anxiously. Your tongue feels weighted, you can hardly bring yourself to continue; you don’t want to continue so you don’t know why you’re trying to force yourself. Dazai’s gaze is so intense that you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, you keep your eyes trained on your lap even as he reaches out to entwine his fingers with yours.

“How did they meet?” Dazai prods curiously, purposely trying to steer the conversation to a lighter topic when he hears the way your voice wavers.

“He was stupid,” you say, the wry smile that tugs to your lips is a bit more genuine. You pause and then amend, “We were both stupid when we were twenty—thought we were untouchable—but Chuuya especially. Was a bit too arrogant on a mission and got three bullets in the back because of it. He dragged himself out of the warehouse they were ambushed in and into an alley—she was coming back from a late night class and ran into him. Took him back to her place and patched him up, he couldn’t move for three weeks and he didn’t have his phone on him. I went crazy looking for him, thought he was dead or worse, captured.”

Crazy might be understating it, honestly. In the three weeks Chuuya was missing, you all but upended the entire Mafia. There was no information on who the assailants had been, the entire warehouse had burned to the ground and the only three survivors were comatose, so you orchestrated the end of five different organizations that had been pressing their luck in Mafia territory, hoping that one of them had been the culprit.

Realistically, you had known that if any of the organizations had captured Chuuya, they would have made it known that they had him, but you’d been so viciously angry that you hadn’t even cared in the moment… and you had thought at the time, that if he wasn’t captured, he was almost definitely dead, so you hadn’t wanted to consider the alternative as an actual option.

“But no, he was with a civilian girl who knew damn well from the wounds and his outfit what he was involved with but still decided to help him,” you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “She was just as stupid as us, I guess.”

“How did you meet her?” Dazai asks curiously. “Did Chuuya introduce you?”

Your smile softens a bit at the edges as you pull his hand into your lap, tracing along the lines of his palm and up his fingers. “Nah, Chuuya tried to keep her out of this as much as possible. Talked all about her but never brought her around, was careful to never give up too much information about her to people he didn’t fully trust.”

You sigh, gaze drifting from his hand over to the window, watching absently as the wind smacks a tree branch against the glass. You think there must be a storm rolling in—you’d noticed that the skies were getting cloudy before the sun had set earlier but you hadn’t thought anything of it. You hope it doesn’t knock the power out—you don’t think this place has a generator.

“I only met her by chance—was in the area with Klaus handling a small gang that was causing trouble for civilians because I had nothing better to do. I get there and lo and behold, they’ve got Chuuya’s girl backed in an alley. We got there before they could do anything but she was shaken, obviously. Was sweet though, she recognized me from pictures Chuuya has, invited both me and Klaus back to her apartment and made us tea. Chuuya flew across the city when I texted him, crashed right through the window.”

Your lips quirk up into another smile as you remember the way that Chuuya had quite literally crashed through her window, panicked and furious that some lowlives had tried to fuck with her. The way she spent thirty minutes shouting at him for breaking her window and forcing him to go replace it before he even had himself oriented.

Dazai snorts and then quietly asks the dreaded question, “What happened to her?”

“We were stupid,” you repeat, softer this time. “Thought we were untouchable. Chuuya—he’s the strongest ability user in the world—and I’m set to take over the strongest mafia in the eastern hemisphere. No one would dare try to attack either of us because they know it’s futile—a death wish. And we… forgot that the people we love aren’t as protected. That there are people out there who would do anything to try to cripple us if given the chance.”

Your throat swells, an uncomfortable lump forming as you stare ahead blankly, the movie still playing but none of it processing through your brain. You don’t even know what’s happening on it, all you can see are indecipherable blobs moving on the screen. Dazai doesn’t press you to continue but you can still feel him looking at you and the way he squeezes your hand, so you take in a deep breath before continuing.

“It was a Thursday night. Chuuya was meeting her on campus to bring her out of the city for the weekend as a surprise. She never walked out of the building her class was in and when he asked around, they said she never showed up. He went to her apartment to check on her because he realized something was up and the whole place was trashed—blood everywhere, windows shattered, they even killed one of her fucking cats. Chuuya called me but he couldn’t even speak properly, I tracked him to her apartment and realized what had happened.”

He had her other cat in his lap, you remember, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Was kneeling in her blood next to the other one with the living one curled in his lap, licking his wrist as if begging him to get up and snap out of it. You’d never seen him like that before—face so pale that he looked bloodless, eyes wide and haunted, not processing anything around him—he was usually good in emergencies, never froze up, always moved forward. He didn’t even fight Klaus and Akutagawa when you told them to get him to your apartment, to not let anyone see him like this.

“I… he wasn’t in the right state to lead or plan an operation, so I did. I took over,” you say quietly, “and I failed.”

It wasn’t your first failure. Itou’s death was your fault no matter how much people try to convince you otherwise. Even if the information you’d been given wasn’t accurate, you still should’ve been quicker on your feet. You’ve circled the what-ifs in your head over and over again, there were so many routes you could’ve taken but you’d frozen up in the face of a situation out of your control and it cost Itou his life.

Wasn’t your first failure, but it was the first that had been entirely in your control. You took too long to figure out who had her, took too long to get the Black Lizards organized, by the time you got to their base, she’d already been dead.

“They were called the Serpent’s Tongue. A younger organization that had been based in Kyoto before they came to Yokohama. We hadn’t been taking them seriously,” you tell him, voice hoarse. “Should have been, obviously. By the time I’d figured out who had her and where they were… Chuuya was demanding to come with us, wanted to be the first face she saw after getting her out of there. Wouldn’t budge on it. We got there and they left her head for us to find. Chuuya had barged into the room first and…”

You still hear the way he screamed her name in your nightmares, still see how he’d fallen to his knees. He’d unleashed corruption in his grief, devastating the area and nearly killing you with it—when you pulled him out of it, he told you that you should’ve let it take him. You let out a heavy breath, gaze drifting to the side again.

“I don’t have a good track record for saving people,” you say quietly. “I don’t… her death destroyed Chuuya. And if you… if something happens to you now when I know better…”

You’d never recover from it. Never.

“... That’s why you were so mad,” Dazai realizes after a few moments. When you give him a confused look, he elaborates. “The day we got my suit tailored and I texted you.”

You snort. “I had Chuuya on standby and was about to put the Mafia’s equivalent of the special ops on standby because I thought you were in trouble.”

Dazai flushes bright red. “I didn’t know,” he complains. “How was I supposed to know?”

Your lips curve up into a fond smile as you reach out for him, beckoning him to come back over to you. He pouts but he crawls back over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing you back until you’re laying on the couch so that he can lay right on top of you, burying his face in your chest. You bring one hand up to cradle the back of his head, the other sliding down to his back to hold him close to you.

You feel his lips pull up into a smile as he tilts his head up, big brown eyes peeking up at you, a soft brown under the dim lighting of the room, sweet and adoring. You’ve never had someone look at you that way in your life—like you’re something worth being treasured, someone to treat gently. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans up to brush his lips against your jaw and-

And you think you love him.

The thought is so jarring that you almost physically flinch as soon as it crosses your mind. You only realize something’s wrong when you notice that Dazai’s eyes shot open in surprise and instantly, your mouth floods with ash.

No way.

“What?” he breathes out.

“What?” you echo, voice flat.

“What did you just say?” he asks, a bit more rushed, eyes bright but expression hesitant—as if he’s trying to not get his hopes up but can’t help himself. “Tell me what you said. Say it again.”

You have half a mind to deny it but Dazai just looks so… he looks so happy. Hopeful. Like you’ve told him something that he never expected anyone to ever say to him. So all you can do is steel yourself and clear your throat as you say quietly: “I think I love you.”

Dazai doesn’t respond; he stares at you and you think he’s hardly even breathing. His eyes rapidly search your face, desperately trying to figure out if you’re telling him the truth or not and when he finds his answer, he looks entirely devastated, as if you’ve taken his world and ripped it right out from under him.

“I’m not someone made to be loved,” he tells you, voice so quiet that you barely even hear it. His fingers clutch your shirt tightly like he’s scared to let go of you.

Your smile softens. “Yet here I am.”

“You’ll regret it,” Dazai says shakily, throat bobbing as he swallows. “You will.”

A part of you wants to tell him no, that if anyone ends up regretting anything, it will be him—that if anyone isn’t made for love, it’s you—but you don’t have it in you. You raise your hand to cup his cheek, watching as his lashes flutter shut; you lift your other hand to brush his hair back behind his ear.

“I won’t,” you tell him quietly.

“You will,” he insists. “You really will. I-”

“I won’t,” you say again, firmer this time, and Dazai lets out a noise in the back of his throat, dropping down to lay flat against you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

His lashes are wet, you can feel the dampness against your skin, and you can also feel how hot his face is. You smile as your hand slides to the back of his head again, absently playing with the dark locks as you tilt your head to the side and kiss his temple.

Dazai takes in a wet, ragged breath at the casual and unexpected action. You can feel his shoulders shake as he tries to regain control of himself and your free hand rests between his shoulder blades, thumb drawing circles against his skin.

“What happened to the cat?” Dazai suddenly asks after a few moments of him trying to settle down, voice cracking and wavering over the words as he desperately tries to change the subject to something that doesn’t have him on the verge of collapse.

“The cat?”

“The cat, the one that lived. What happened to it?” he asks more insistently, not bothering to even look up from where he’s hiding his face against you.

“Oh.” You realize what he’s talking about. “Chuuya took it in.”

Dazai makes a sharp noise of disgust. “Gross,” he complains. “He doesn’t even seem like a cat person.”

You can’t help the puff of laughter that escapes your lips. “What is your problem with him?” you ask. “You’ve had it out for him from day one.”

Dazai sniffs. “I just don’t like him, that’s all,” he says defensively. “I don’t need a reason.”

“Sure,” you agree, amused. “Whatever you say.”

Dazai lights up suddenly at your words. “Whatever I say?” he prods, finally lifting his face to look up at you, eyes gleaming. You give him a suspicious look but Dazai only gives you a sweet smile in return.

“Nothing,” he sings without you even needing to say anything, making you even more suspicious, but then he lays back down on top of you, nudging his nose against the side of your face. You feel him smile against your skin, he kisses your cheek once, twice and then a third time before settling back down. “Let’s watch Despicable Me.”

“No.”

“You said whatever I say-”

“No!”

“Are you asleep?”

Dazai pouts as he nudges you gently—he’s been wide awake for over an hour now and he knows he shouldn’t bother you considering you didn’t sleep the night before, but he still finds himself seeking out your company. He’s half laying on top of you, head resting on your shoulder as he continues to bop his forehead against your chin to wake you up.

The two of you had gone back to the bedroom a few hours ago and you’d fallen asleep pretty quickly. Dazai had dozed off for a bit too, but he found himself startled awake by a particularly loud cracking noise from outside, a tree toppling over from the wind probably, and now he couldn’t fall back asleep.

And a Dazai left with only his own mind as company is not a good Dazai.

He tried to distract himself with you for a bit. Watched you sleep for a while—creepy as it is, he found peace in watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft puffs of air that left your lips, how every time he tried to pull away from you, your brows would furrow and your arms would tighten around him. He’s never had someone who wanted him before, much less someone who wanted him so genuinely and unconditionally that even in their sleep, they seek him out and want him close. He didn’t even know what to think of it, honestly, a part of him was still waiting for you to start laughing and telling him that this is all some big joke.

I think I love you.

His breath shakes the same way it does every time your words echo through his head, fingers trembling from where he’s running them up and down your arm softly.

Love. Love. Love.

You love him. Him. Someone who can hardly function on an everyday basis, someone who has to wrap himself up in bandages because he’s embarrassed of what lies beneath them, someone who has only ever had death and misfortune follow him around his entire life. You love him even though you’ve listened to him fumble over words like a fool because he gets tongue tied in your presence, you love him even though he blackmailed you into giving him a chance because he was that desperate for your attention, you love him even though you had to pick him up at the hospital after a failed suicide attempt because he has no one else in his life to call.

You love him. Him. You love him in spite of all of his flaws—and he knows very well there are a lot of them. You love him in spite of all of the pushback from the people around you. You love him in spite of the fact that your world is completely different from his, in spite of the fact that you could do so much better than him, in spite of the fact that Dazai is Dazai and you’re you and you’re so far out of his league that Dazai doesn’t even think he should be breathing the same air as you, much less curling up next to you in bed. Even though it puts so much at risk—your life, your occupation, everything—you love him still and Dazai just can’t understand it.

And Dazai loves you.

He does. He thinks he’s known it since the beginning, since that day at the school library when you came over because he was sitting all alone at a table that was clearly meant for a group of individuals and not just one, when you realized something was bothering him so you gave him your name even though he had been rude to you when he got embarrassed over having no friends. Since that day at his apartment complex when you showed up to deal with his shitty landlord; he’d made a joke about how you should waive his rent, not expecting anything of it, and you did. Since you rushed to him while he was at the men’s warehouse—he’d thought it was odd that you seemed so irritated by his dramatics trying to get you to come to him, but now that he knew it was because you thought he was in trouble, thought he was in danger and rushed to him like he was the only thing that mattered even back then…

Dazai loves you, and he didn’t tell you when you told him—he wants to tell you even though the thought of pushing those words out of his mouth terrifies him, so he returns to trying to wake you up.

“Wake up,” Dazai complains quietly, booping his forehead against your chin again. “Wake up, wake up, wake-”

“What’s wrong?” you finally ask through a yawn, voice rough with sleep as you shift a bit. One of your hands comes up to run your fingers through his hair and Dazai hums at the feeling, eyes drooping shut again as he sinks back into your chest. “Dazai?”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly, “... will you call me Osamu?”

Your fingers still in their steady strokes through his hair and for a split second, Dazai thinks that he misstepped. But then, you lean your head down to press your lips against his forehead and he can only let out a shaky breath, nuzzling his face into your body.

“Osamu,” you repeat, voice soft and a bit more awake—and god, the sound of his given name leaving your lips is almost heavenly, he thinks.

He can’t remember the last time someone called him by his first name, his aunt was probably the last and it was her screaming at him to get out of his car before she left him to die in Suribachi. It’s an unpleasant memory, and he thinks that maybe he’s only been able to associate his given name with unpleasantness because of it, but this… it makes him feel light and cozy, like the warmth of a hearth surrounding him after spending years alone in the cold wilderness. He thinks he could hear you say his name a million times and never tire of this feeling.

“Osamu, tell me what’s wrong. Why’d you wake me up?”

His lips part to say the three words he planned on saying but they wither and die on his tongue when his eyes meet yours. Even with your words ringing through his head, he can’t bring himself to say it. And it’s silly. It’s silly because he’s scared that if he says it, it’ll be the trigger the gods need to finally rip you away from him—everything he never wants to lose is always lost the moment he obtains it, it’s true, he told you this and he’s been treading such a fine line and he’s terrified that speaking those three words out loud will be enough for the twisted gods above to finally rip the rug out from under his feet.

So, he doesn’t say it.

“Osamu,” you frown—he’ll never tire of it, he has half a mind to ask you to say it over and over and over again, doesn’t care if it makes him seem crazy. “What’s going on?”

He needs to say something—the longer he sits here evading answering, the more concerned you’re going to get, and the more concerned you get, the harder it’s going to be to lie. Dazai’s throat spasms as he instead broaches a different topic that has been bothering him for a few weeks.

“Are you attracted to me?”

It has been a rather persistent thought in the back of his head, even more so since the two of you spoke at the cliff yesterday. At first, he thought maybe it was just because you didn’t really want him—that you were trying to evade any physical intimacy with him because he was backing you into a corner and you were uncomfortable.

But now? Knowing that you do want him? He doesn’t have any other explanation than the fact that maybe you just aren’t attracted to him… and he’s not sure he can blame you. Who would be attracted to someone who hardly takes care of himself and wraps himself in bandages like a mummy?

You stare at him for a moment, expression too blank for comfort before your brows begin to furrow. The longer you take to respond, the more embarrassed Dazai is.

“What?” you finally ask, voice stunted and perplexed.

Dazai’s face heats up, regretting his words immediately.

He should have just told you what he wanted to say originally.

“Nevermind,” he says, rolling over so that his back is to you, not wanting you to see his red face. “Forget it.”

“Hey, no,” you say, suddenly sounding all too awake and Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to crawl into a ditch and die. “Osamu, what? What are you even talking about? How is that even a question?”

He feels you sit up in the bed next to him and pointedly lays on his stomach to bury his face in the pillow to try to hide himself even as you shift to look over at him. It’s to no avail because you’re a brute and decide to just grab his shoulder to forcibly roll him back onto his back. Dazai scowls up at you, face still aflame.

“Don’t manhandle me,” he grumbles, averting his gaze but you only shift right back into his line of vision, frowning. “Stop, it’s nothing. Forget it. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” you say, reaching out to cup his cheek and Dazai thinks you’re entirely unfair because he is simply too weak to your touch so he can already feel himself giving in when you look at him with a slight frown and say, “Tell me.”

Dazai huffs. He huffs and he bristles like an irritated cat, he scowls up at you for forcing him to explain himself and then his shoulders slump in defeat.

How embarrassing.

“I just… have tried to… initiate things and you… don’t ever… want to?”

Dazai thinks a gun in the mouth might be kinder than this.

And then-

And then you have the nerve to laugh at him. Or, you don’t laugh but you smile and you look like you’re about to laugh, so Dazai jerks up into a sitting position, offended. Your hand falls from his face and instantly, he’s yearning for your touch again.

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses, voice dripping with disbelief. “You just laughed at me when I was opening up to you.”

“No,” you say and then laugh. You laugh and Dazai stares at you in abject horror. “No, I’m not laughing at you.”

“You’re laughing at me right now,” Dazai squawks. “You’re-I can’t believe you’re laughing at me.”

“Osamu,” you say, smile softening as you look at him. You reach out again, fingers brushing his skin before your palm settles against his cheek again, thumb so close to the corner of his lips. Dazai’s breath hitches, lashes fluttering as his eyes meet yours. “I knew that if we started something, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So I didn’t want to let it start. I… still thought you’d be better off away from me, out of this life, and I wouldn’t have been able to let go if I let anything happen between us.”

Dazai stares at you for a moment, processing the words, and then confirms, “... So you are attracted to me?”

“Yes,” you say, unbearably amused. “Very.”

“... But why?” Dazai asks quietly, voice a bit too vulnerable for his liking.

“What do you mean why?”

He clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling as he says, “I’m not anything special, y’know?” He’s careful to keep his voice light and airy, void of all of the insecurity that’s been ripping him apart since the two of you met. “I just don’t get it. You could have anyone you want—literally—so why me?”

You click your tongue and Dazai hears you shift around again, breath catching when you sit yourself right on his lap, lifting both hands to his face now to force him to look at you. With his face settled between your hands and your body flush to his, Dazai has no choice but to meet your gaze head on and he almost dies at the intense look in your eyes, can hardly breathe.

“Do you want me to show you why?” you hum with a teasing smile.

Dazai inhales sharply, eyes widening at the offer. His lips part to respond but no words leave them, so he just nods. You’re not pleased with that response, clearly, from how you raise your eyebrows.

“Yes,” he rasps out. “Show me. Prove that you want me. Please.”

You don’t even waste a second before you’re leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut and his breath hitches as you press him back against the plush pillows of the bed. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the rough bandages covering his body that are probably prickling your skin uncomfortably, of his chapped lips and hair that’s a bit too dry because he never properly washes it.

“The first thing I noticed about you was your eyes,” you say quietly, pulling away from him so your gaze could meet his. He tries to chase your lips but you don’t let him. “I could hardly look away from them. I tried to walk away from you that night at the bar but every time I looked at you, I found myself lost in them.”

Dazai’s throat spasms, face flushing. “Don’t lie,” he tells you, voice hoarse. “Nobody likes my…”

Too wide. Too black. Too empty. Dull. Hollow. Soulless. All things he’s heard people say about his eyes—no one can ever look him in the eyes for too long before they find themselves uncomfortable.

“I’m not lying,” you say with a soft smile, there’s almost a wistful look in your eyes as you continue. “Right now, they remind me of the night sky, dark and endless, filled with countless glittering stars… I love the stars… They remind me of home.”

Dazai chews on his bottom lip as he stares up at you; he tries to speak but again, he finds himself unable to. You don’t force him to this time though, bringing your hand back to his cheek and running your thumb over his bottom lip as if to stop him from biting at it.

“Under the sun, they’re gold,” you tell him quietly. “The first time I noticed, it was the day we met at the ports. Sunset. You were standing right at the opening of the alley I’d been waiting in with Klaus and the sun hit you just right. You looked so pretty beneath it that I was almost tongue-tied. If we hadn't been interrupted, I would’ve made a fool of myself.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Dazai’s voice wobbles terribly. “You-”

“I’m not,” you murmur. Dazai’s breath shakes as you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips. This time, instead of going back to his lips, you kiss down to his jaw slowly. “The second thing I noticed about you was your smile.”

Too fake. Too teethy. Too strained. Unnatural looking.

“Not the fake one you love to put on,” you say, nipping his skin gently. “Your real one. I got a glimpse of it that day at the cafe—the second time we met—when you realized I’d actually been listening to you that night at the bar. But I really saw it that day at Kido’s when we started talking about poetry… I don’t even think you realized you were smiling, the corners of your lips were curved up and your expression was just so… soft. Peaceful. You looked happy and I think that was the first time I really realized that a large majority of the time you put on a mask when you’re around people.”

When you kiss down to the edge of the bandages around his neck, Dazai thinks you’ll ask him to take them off and he braces himself for the question. Braces himself for the discomfort of being bare in front of someone for the first time… ever maybe, because it’s not like he can say no if you ask him to take them off after he badgered you into this.

But you don’t. You kiss over the bandages as if they’re not even there, you tug at his shirt to get him to lift his arms up for you to pull it off and when you do, you continue kissing down his chest—over the bandages—and don’t even show the slightest bit of discontent about it.

“You’ve seen through me… since all the way back then?” Dazai swallows thickly when your hands rest on his slim waist, breath quickening. “But then why…”

Why did you stay?

“That day at the boutique… I was supposed to cut you off,” you admit quietly, sitting back on his thighs as your hands rest on his hips, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, but you don’t move to pull them off. Dazai’s body is uncomfortably hot, head frighteningly fuzzy, he can only barely bring himself to listen to your words. “My first thought when I realized that I’d gotten my first glimpse behind your mask was that I wanted to see more of you, wanted to see you smile genuinely, wanted to learn more about you, I wanted you. I’d realized I let it go too far—that I was starting to actually fall for you and I was putting you in danger—but even then, I couldn’t do it.”

His breath shakes as he breathes in and out, fingers digging into your thighs. He parts his lips to say something but you continue before he can.

“I spoke to Chuuya that same night—he told me that this had to stop, that I was going to get you killed. The next time we met was at the ports. One of the Port Mafia’s enemies had seen us together,” you say, expression a bit more serious now. “Klaus killed him. I had the entire organization exterminated that same night.”

Dazai thinks that shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did. His heart rate spikes at your words, breath quickening and that pool of heat in his lower abdomen gets impossibly hotter, his mind almost entirely shatters at what you’re saying. Your grip on his hips tightens just a bit, lips pressed together as you look down at him with an unreadable expression.

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu,” you tell him softy. “I have done terrible things for you and I would do them again and again and again.”

“Please,” Dazai breathes out, and he’s not even sure what he’s saying please for, but you do.

You do. As always, Dazai is seen when he’s with you and he can’t help the whimper that spills from his lips, the way his eyes mist over with tears. Dazai is seen and he is loved and-and he’s happy. He’s happy—really, truly happy for the first time since Odasaku’s death.

You lean down to kiss Dazai again—this kiss is sloppier than the last few, a frantic clashing of teeth as your hands slide down his body to pull his sweatpants off. Dazai lifts his hips to help you get them off of him, his own fingers clumsily tugging at your silk shorts to try to yank them off of you.

Once he gets them off, his hands drop down to your hips, pulling you down so that you’re sitting flush against him. He moans into your mouth when he finally gets the friction he’s so desperately been aching for, grinding his clothed cock against your panties. He feels almost dizzy with need, lips sliding messily against yours, nails digging crescents into your hips. He thinks maybe he might be able to cum just from this and the thought is embarrassing but he can’t even stop the way he’s rocking his hips up.

Your lips trail from his down to his neck and Dazai tosses his head back against the pillow when your teeth scrape against his skin before you bite down hard, a lewd moan escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps again, voice breaking over the only word he seems to be capable of saying. “Please.”

You lean forward as you reach between your bodies to ease his cock out of his briefs and Dazai nearly cums on the spot when he feels your fingers wrap around him, fingers sliding against the precum dripping down his length. You rest your forehead against his, lips dragging across his cheek back to his lips as you press the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He almost says it in that moment—foreheads pressed together, sharing the same sliver of air, both of you breathing shakily as his tip just barely sinks into you—those three words, he almost says them. They almost slip out when his gaze meets yours and he sees the soft, enamored expression on your face as you look down at him.

Dazai’s eyes knock back when you sink down on his cock, lips parted in a silent moan, vision white. For a terrifying moment, Dazai thinks he might’ve cum just from the feeling of your walls warm and tight around his cock. His whole body trembles, his head feels foggy and garbled—he’s speaking, he realizes, but he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He can feel his lips moving, can hear something leaving them, but he’s so out of it that he can’t even process what it is.

You nip at his lips once, then twice, before you trail kisses to his ear, savoring in the way he shivers when you tug at his earlobe. You only start to rock your hips when your lips get to that spot behind his ear that makes him entirely incoherent. You suck and nip at the skin as you roll your hips slowly, each drag of his cock against your walls makes him choke over moans.

He’s not going to last long, he realizes absently, unable to even be mortified by the thought considering how focused he is on your body, warm and flush against his. His hands are moving sliding up your body to your chest, back down your body to your ass—he doesn’t even know what to do with them, honestly, wants to touch every part of you all at the same time, wants to make you feel half as good as you’re making him feel but he can’t even think with your lips sucking at his skin and your cunt squeezing his cock.

His moan breaks suddenly, cracking and quavering as it slips into a sob. His breath is ragged and shuddered, and his vision swims. He feels his cheeks wet and your hands leave from where they’re braced on his shoulders to cup his cheeks.

Your thumbs wipe away the tears spilling down his cheeks, you lean down to ghost your lips against his temple, and your voice is soft, so soft as you whisper, “I know, baby, I’ve got you. Let go.”

And he does. The taut cord in his abdomen tightens impossibly more before snapping, his nails drag down your thighs, leaving long red marks, his hips snap up and he tosses his head back against the pillows. One of your hands slides from his cheek to wrap around his neck firmly and Dazai is gone—his vision goes dark and spotty, a choked cry of your name escapes his lips and Dazai cums so hard that he thinks he blacks out momentarily.

You lean down and press your lips against his, moaning into his mouth as your walls spasm around him. Dazai’s breath is sharp and quick, lashes wet and heavy, his body twitches and trembles as you ride out your high on his spent cock. He can feel you panting against his skin, your lips sliding from his to press against his cheek as you try to catch your breath.

And Dazai thinks he could stay like this forever, basking in your presence, the feeling of your body pressed to his, his cock still snug in your cunt and one of your hands cradling his face while the other cups the side of his neck, fingers absently playing with the ends of his matted hair. Your forehead rests against his cheek, savoring his presence just as much as he is yours.

He feels warm, he feels safe, he feels loved.

He feels loved.

You shift back just enough to look him in the eye, close enough so that your nose is still brushing his, that you’re still sharing air. Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and your eyes are soft and adoring as you look down at him. As you admire him.

“I could give you countless reasons as to why I want you,” you finally say quietly, “but when it comes down to it, the main reason is because you’re you, Osamu.”

He feels loved.

Your weekend paradise with Dazai shatters with a single message not even six hours later.

Chuuya: I need you. Going to use Corruption.

smut development: minimal besides some dialogue. she told him that when she saw through his mask, her first desire was wanting to see/know more of him. also tells him what happened after she met him at the ports (ie. having the yakuza exterminated). tells him: i'd do terrible things for you - i have done terrible things for you and i would do them again. then at the very end, she tells him that the reason she wants you is because she's him.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs smut

464 notes · View notes

sohnric · 10 months

Text

plot twist – k. sunwoo

pairing: kim sunwoo x gn! reader

genre: coworkers au, enemies to lovers au. fluff, a poor attempt at comedy. movie theatre! worker sunwoo and reader. bitch boy sunwoo. the reader has anger issues. owner's son! sunwoo being annoying about everything. winter themes, sunwoo is a little kid about stuff but mostly the snow.

wc: 21k

warnings: swearing, a heated make out session. y/n's inner monologue is just my own feelings about this man im sorry. i watched too much of the office when writing this can you tell. also i made sunwoo's sister underage for plot reasons deal with it.

working with kim sunwoo has so far been the worst experience of your whole entire life. just his existence alone is enough to make your day completely miserable– though, one would think that working with movies on the daily would prepare you for the biggest plot twist of your life.

a/n: this took me SO LONG to write woah. i have a humble playlist for this fic if any of yall wanna listen to it while you read <3 a huge thank you goes to my best friend @csenke for being my biggest motivator and hype man when it came to this fic. thank u for being my first ever beta reader hihi i couldn't have done this without you i am forever grateful ily. also im tagging @heemingyu because whe told me to

ho ho ho! this fic is a part of the secret santa event by @deoboyznet ! @kimsohn maya, i was your secret santa this year, i hope you enjoy the fic i prepared for you

TONIGHT'S PREMIERE – UGLY TRUTH (2009)

If anyone ever asked you about your job in the movie theater, you wouldn’t really know what to say.

You see, what may had seemed like your dream job when you were little, acquiring the fairytale vision after going to the cinema for the first time to see the Horton movie when you were just 7, quickly turned into reality one ordinary day during your junior year of university. And it wasn’t even that hard; you just dropped off your CV at the movie theater on the corner of the town's square when you saw the sign that said ‘looking for part-timers’ in a messy, giant handwriting on the glass door– and soon enough, you found yourself in the depths of the vintage-looking cinema, wearing the red uniform the owner gave you, selling movie tickets to teenagers and taking out the trash. It’s hard to enjoy the job when you’re on bathroom cleaning duty, though, and the fact that this is what you once imagined to be the most exciting job in the whole entire world turns twice as boring when you realize just how mundane it really is.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to quit, well, because you need the money.

Do you hate working in the cinema? No. Not really. Sure, it’s kind of boring– especially on the nights when you’re selling tickets at the front and nobody comes in for hours– but it’s not that difficult. It’s not physically or mentally demanding, so you’d say that you’re still on the better end when it comes to work environment. Your boss isn’t a dick and you get paid on time– so really, if anyone asked you if you hated it, your answer would be no.

Until one fateful day, of course.

You’re met with a person that’s going to efficiently change this opinion around in one swift bat of their eyelashes and a drag of their hand through their messy hair.

“So… you’re the new part-timer?” a tall boy asks you one day when you arrive at work. You’re already wearing your uniform when you come through the front door– since you don’t really feel like changing in the toilets that are not staff-exclusive here– and frankly, his voice startles you on your way in.

“Yeah,” you nod, furrowing your brows at the stranger. “And you are…?”

“Sunwoo,” the boy says, matter-of-factly, as if you’re supposed to know who exactly he is now that he’s introduced himself to you. The look on your face may show that you’re still clueless, and see, that’s something that must have played with the boy’s ego. “Kim Sunwoo,” he snickers, “the owner’s son..?”

Blinking a few times, trying to remember if Mr Kim’s ever told you about having a son– he hasn’t– you gasp like a fish on the dry, nodding. “Oh… Hello..?” you mumble, not really knowing what to do with the information.

“Hi,” he says, face stone cold and motionless. Something’s wrong, but you can’t quite put your finger on it….

Well, you’ll have to deal with that later. “My shift starts in 5 minutes, so I gotta find Mr- your dad, and ask him what’s on my to-do list today, but it was nice meeting you,” you try to force out a polite (maybe even warm) smile before you turn on your heel and march towards the staff room, where Mr Kim usually resigns unless he is helping you out with something at the front. See, on not busy days, working at the cinema requires only one person. On Fridays, though, it can get tough. That’s when the owner makes the popcorn while you both sell and scan the tickets at the same time– sometimes you wonder why he doesn’t hire another person to help out with the job.

“Wait– newbie–”

The nickname startles you, again, as you turn around and squint at him. You have a name– and although he has no way of knowing it (other than his father telling him, but seeming that you didn’t even know about his son, Mr Kim isn’t big on sharing information)– but still, you’d love to be called by it. “It’s Y/N, actually.”

“Oh, right…” he hums, “well, Y/N, dad’s not here tonight, so… I’m… kind of in charge,” he says, nodding as he gets the words out, trying to prove his point, “he had other things to take care of, so he sent me down instead,” he explains, watching as your face morphs into one of quick understatement.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nods, sucking on his teeth.

Thick silence overtakes the atmosphere. You feel awkward and out of place.

“So…?” you hum, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

Because a guy your age ordering you around at work is already embarrassing enough for a university student just trying to pay for their groceries. You’re not gonna ask for the orders yourself. You still have some dignity.

“So… I could take the ticket booth and you can clean the screening room, since there are no movies on tonight?” he suggests, rocking on his heels. The boy seems a bit shaken with the new sense of responsibility, but you figure that even his undoubtful awkwardness still doesn't put you above his position.

You mentally sigh. Cleaning is your least favorite part of the job.

Still, you’re not gonna talk back to your boss’ son. You’d like to keep your job for a while longer. At least until you find something better.

“Alright,” you nod, turning on your heels once more and preparing to disappear into the depths of the cinema.

His voice stops you again, though, frustration flowing through your veins. “Don’t forget to mop the floors! Oh, and the bathroom could use a clean as well.”

“Alright,” you nod again, your back facing him.

“Also, you need to get the gum off the chairs, I know it’s kind of disgusting, but there’s a-”

“I know how to do my job, thank you,” you turn, smiling ironically over your shoulder.

You don’t know what it is about the man that makes you so, so incredibly irritated. Maybe it’s the fact that every bit of information coming out of his mouth sounds like he’s mansplaining everything to you. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel humiliated to be told what to do by a man that’s your age. Or maybe, it’s just the sheer fact that you hate cleaning– the one thing he just told you to do.

Still, you go and get the vacuum. You go and mop the floors, you go and take the gum off the chairs and scrape it into a bucket you keep in the pantry in the back. You go and clean the bathroom, even though it’s 10 minutes until the end of your shift (you only work 4 hours on Wednesdays) and you spent almost your whole day cleaning the whole screening room by yourself (the screening room that’s giant and Mr Kim helps you with on most days). You go and wipe the mirror in the bathroom, as well as the windows in the hall.

You say that your work in the cinema is not physically demanding, but by the time you’re out, your back hurts and your knees are all bruised up from getting on the ground so often.

What really sets you off, though, is the sight of the owner’s son sitting in the booth, both legs up on the table and chewing on something, his phone in his hands as he watches, what you presume from the language resonating from the speaker, a silly anime. At least someone had fun during their shift, you think as you leave without saying goodbye to him, slamming the door behind you with a loud bang on your way out.

Quite frankly, you didn’t know what set you off so bad this time. Maybe you just had a bad day. Maybe it could've been fixed with your next shared shift with the guy– you never know.

Little did you know that it was only going to get worse from now on, though.

TONIGHT'S PREMIERE – PALM SPRINGS (2020)

If you knew your boss’s son would play the role of your supervisor from time to time, you probably wouldn't have taken the job when it was offered to you.

Why?

The reason is quite simple– while you go to work to make money, Kim Sunwoo goes to work to make your whole life a living hell. Ranging from always giving you the more difficult task of the day to making unfunny jokes about your performance (he once asked if you ran a marathon after you mopped the whole hall, his grinning figure staring at you from inside of the ticket booth), you’re starting to think that Kim Sunwoo is mentally stuck with the brain of an 11-year old boy.

More so with his recent endeavors. You don’t really know what he’s trying to achieve with all of this, but you’re starting to despise going to work even when you know he’s not on the schedule– somehow, you’re afraid his silly pranks and jokes will follow you and surprise you even when he’s not present. Is this his way of asserting dominance? You really don’t know.

It all starts one day before a movie premiere when Sunwoo walks up to you and introduces you to a new concession item to sell in the snack booth. While you don’t really know why one would even think of new combinations to sell at a cinema, since everyone’s just gonna get popcorn or nachos, you don’t really question the idea much further– Sunwoo’s father owns this place, so he must know the best marketing strategies for his business. The reality only downs on you when you’re forced to promote the “Ultimate movie mix” to every customer– which wouldn’t even be that strange, if the mix didn’t include the weird combination of pickles and candy.

Running on two all nighters and half an energy drink, you didn’t realize the snack stand doesn’t even hold pickles. You were notified the day after by your boss, though, and that wasn’t your best experience.

The terror follows when Sunwoo’s father decides to run a Star Wars marathon one weekend. The flood of customers wouldn’t be as hard to manage when you run the snack stand, but it does get more difficult when your coworker running around with a lightsaber knocks over all the buckets of freshly-made popcorn you just put on the counter for the customers to take.

He doesn’t even say sorry. Or help clean the spilled popcorn up from the floor. Or help you make a new batch.

He just laughs.

Sunwoo just loves to laugh at you. Like that one time he made you wear a giant popcorn costume and stand in front of the cinema for the entirety of your 4 hour shift on Wednesday to promote the new movie airing on Friday. Hardly anyone took the fliers you were desperately trying to force into their hands and when you came back, you saw Sunwoo pointing his camera at you from the big glass window.

The next shift, his dad asked you how Sunwoo did when promoting the movie. You didn’t have the heart to tell him he forced you to do the dirty business instead.

Another time, Sunwoo informs you via text in the middle of your shift that you should clean the bathrooms. The fact itself already makes you furious, but you follow the order nonetheless– because, well, what else can you do? You’re used to cleaning the toilets, since it’s a part of your job. It’s just the fact that a guy your age told you to that’s making you rethink all your career decisions.

The trip to the bathrooms quickly turns traumatizing when you step inside of the tiled room and have the door behind you close with a loud bang, followed by the light switching off. Screeching, you jump and try to escape the room with fear making your heart run faster than Usain Bolt, however, you find the door seemingly locked– the sound of Sunwoo’s snarky laugh coming from the other side making you recognise what just happened and how he’s pulling another one of his childish pranks on you again.

When the door finally opens, you throw the toilet brush into his chest and scream out a “I’m going to fucking quit if I see your face one more time!”. You’re over all formalities.

That doesn’t mean you’re not scared every time you enter a room in the cinema when you work with Sunwoo, though. Your reaction was strengthened very abruptly, you see.

Sitting in the ticket booth, door ajar to monitor your surroundings, you plop your head on your hand and glare at Sunwoo, chewing on your gum. If anyone saw you right now, they’d think you were trying to kill him with your stare, but the opposite would actually be the truth tonight– you were quite enjoying the sight of him wiping the sweat off his forehead and scowling at the neverending flow of customers.

The beauty of having ticket booth duty on premiere night is that everyone bought the tickets beforehand already, meaning that it wasn’t usually busy. Scanning the tickets and running the snack booth were the more difficult parts of the shift, and since Mr Kim decided to show up to work today, Sunwoo was graced with the snack booth duty– something that warmed you up from the inside and made you want to kiss your boss’s feet in gratefulness.

There’s just something about seeing Kim Sunwoo in misery that makes your stomach turn and do cartwheels. You’re in love with his pathetic, tired face.

His eyes meet yours when he takes a moment to breathe– the look behind them is pleading, almost embarrassingly hopeless as he internally wishes he was in your place. You think this serves him right for the weeks of torture, and when he becomes you to come over with a motion of his hand, you just shrug at him and bat your eyelashes in faked innocence.

It’s not your fault he’s on duty tonight. What does he want with you?

His lips mouth “Come here,” which makes you battle a satisfied smile. Poor Kim Sunwoo is helpless in his task. The rush just won’t stop and he’s asked of more than he can handle. You kind of feel sadistic when you truly think about your sentiments, but you think you’re only valid for feeding on his misery.

“Help!” he mouths again, and now you truly can’t battle the laughter anymore. His hair is tousled and sticking to his forehead. His uniform is dirty. The tie around his neck is loose. The sight makes you utterly satisfied.

As he mouths “Please,” accompanied by clasped hands and a pleading look that would work on most women, you finally decide to stand up from the uncomfortable chair in the ticket booth and shake your head in disbelief. You can’t even count how many times Sunwoo left you alone in the rush before a premiere, but you can’t really risk his father finding out you didn’t come to rescue his beloved son, since however you might hate this job, you still can’t lose it in your current living conditions.

Sighing and closing the door to the ticket booth after you, your legs take you to the snack stand. Eyes of enthusiastic customers looking almost high on coca cola and the smell of salted popcorn are on you when you finally reach Sunwoo’s side.

“So I’m supposed to help you with your work whenever you ask, but when I’m left cleaning the whole theater completely alone, you can sit around and play on your phone?” you jab, annoyed with the turn of events. You find a spare apron and tie it around your waist, not really wanting to dirty your uniform as you pour caramel into some buckets of popcorn, hearing your companion chuckle next to you.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Okay, so I’ll be back in the ticket booth after serving this customer-”

“My dad’s watching.”

“This is blackmailing,” you snap back, smiling ironically at your coworker.

Sunwoo grins at you when he hands two cokes to the teenage girls behind the counter, shrugging to himself. “Not my problem.”

You learned long ago that fighting with Kim Sunwoo is a battle you can never win. Logically, you know you’re always right, but the boy always thinks he should have the last word in everything, which makes ending an argument with him pretty much impossible. That’s why you stopped trying to prove your truth. In your heart, you know how it is, and no amount of snarky remarks from the feisty boy will change your opinion.

You two work alongside each other in silence for some time. You’d even say it’s efficient– you make the popcorn and he makes the nachos, both of you taking turns behind the coca cola machine, and after a few minutes in his proximity when he’s not being the butt of the Earth, your brain starts to question why you two can’t operate like this on a daily basis.

Oh, how foolish of you.

You’re quickly brought back to reality when you walk over with the grande size bucket of popcorn towards the counter, meeting halfway with Kim Sunwoo’s chest.

It takes everything in you not to scream, but the restraint is deleted as soon as you feel something cold dripping down the front of your uniform, your white button-up suddenly sticking towards your chest in a big, dark-brown pool around your waist area. One sharp look into his eyes is everything it takes you two to come to a mutual understanding of what your next action is gonna be– Sunwoo quickly puts the now empty cup of coca cola onto the counter and puts a hand towards his head in self-disappointment.

“Kim Sunwoo, are you fucking incompetent?!” you scream out, the sensation of your cold shirt sticking to your already sweaty skin making you want to crawl out of yourself and scratch your coworker’s eyes out with the claws of the demon he wakes up in you.

“Look, you don’t have to-”

“I just washed this yesterday, there’s a line of people waiting for their snacks up to the fucking front door, you just ruined the popcorn I made so now I have to redo it, and you just decide to spill this onto me?!” you continue with your rampage, not really caring about the eyes of everyone on you, just letting out all your built-up frustration that creeps inside of you every time you see his face.

“As if I did this on purpose…” he grunts as he turns around in his place and reaches for napkins, not really putting much thought into his actions as he presses the material into the damp place sticking to your skin.

The image startles you– Kim Sunwoo almost in physical contact with you, a paper napkin soaking up some of the coca cola flooding the surface of your skin– and as you watch his slender palms run over your front, your eyes falling to the fluffy hair at the crown of his head, you feel heat rushing to your insides, making you jump away from him.

“Sorry-” he mumbles out as you forcefully pry the napkin out of his hand, gritting your teeth.

“I’m starting to think you’re making me do everything just because you’re useless,” you spit at him.

Rolling his eyes, Sunwoo pokes his cheek with the tip of his tongue. “It was an accident.”

“Don’t care,” you grunt, walking away from the booth, “I’m going to change in the back, you better not burn the place down with the popcorn machine before I’m back,” you comment, sending him a sharp glare over your shoulder.

All that accompanies you to the staff room is Sunwoo’s loud sigh and a sugary-sweet tone he offers to one of the customers as he throws the ruined popcorn into the trash. “I’ll be right with you, miss!”

If anyone asked you if you hated your job now, you think you’d say yes.

Who are you kidding?

You’d definitely say yes.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – THE HATING GAME (2021)

You were quite pleased on your way to work today. It’s Wednesday, which usually means it’s not as busy. The weather is cloudy– good enough to not make you gloomy, but not quite sunny enough to make you wish you were outside instead of being stuck in the cinema the whole afternoon– and you packed a home-made sandwich with you to eat on your lunch break. Which is whenever, since you’re on ticket booth duty today– another great news.

The best thing about today, though? Kim Sunwoo isn’t working today.

That alone is good enough to make your whole entire day better. The sun shines brighter, your breathing is lighter, the air is clearer and the birds chirp louder when you know you don’t have to interact with the hellspawn that day. It’s like his absence alone is enough to heal all your wounds and delete all your worries– who cares about the fact that you’re barely getting through your Biology class when you know you won’t have to stare at Sunwoo’s face as you contemplate dropping out of university during your shift?

Maybe you should thank him, in a way.

And with all of this knowledge, a smile plastered on your face as you’re prepared to sit through your 5-hour shift in silence with an occasional swipe through your social media and a well deserved chicken-mayo sandwich towards the end of your shift, it’s quite natural for your smile to freeze and your spirit fall the moment you see the mop of dark brown hair walk through the doors of the cinema.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” you mourn as he walks by, only realizing you said the sentence out loud when the boy looks at you with a scowled face, a scoff escaping his throat.

“Didn’t know we were speaking to each other in third person now,” he says as he stops in his tracks and plops his head into the door to your booth, infesting your calm abode with his presence.

Deep breaths. In and out, Y/N. In and out…

“Hello to you too, Y/N,” he smiles, irony dripping off his tongue, “having a good day so far?”

“It was better without you here, thank you,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at him when his eyes flash with something akin to a victory– it seems you both take joy in making the other one absolutely miserable with your presence.

“Sweet,” he nods on his way out, grinning to himself. “Well, I won’t be long, so don’t let your mood drop too much.”

With that, he’s out of the ticket booth. All that’s left behind him is the smell of his cologne– the tingle of lemon and bergamot filling your nostrils in a way that makes the fine hair at the back of your neck stand up all alert– and silence. It makes you wonder about his whereabouts– you can never know… what if he’s setting up a trap for you somewhere? You wouldn’t be half surprised. You make a mental note to yourself to be twice as cautious when going to the bathroom next time. Just to make sure.

Before you’re able to think of any possible situations that Sunwoo could get himself caught in (while completely ignoring the fact that his father is somewhere in his office in the back– for all you know, he might just need to talk to your boss, like a son does sometimes), the woodworm of your thoughts appears in your view again, two rolled-up tubes under his shoulder as he walks over to the front door.

“Wait! What are those?” you ask, eyes zeroing on the very clear posters in his grip. The shiny white back of the big posters you have to sometimes put up in the front of the cinema are unmistakable to anything else.

“Posters,” Sunwoo replies, calling over his shoulder, already halfway out of the building.

“I know what those are–”

“Then why are you asking?” he huffs, shaking his head in disbelief as he takes a few steps towards the ticket booth, eyes meeting yours. His figure fills the door frame as he towers over you, still sitting on the chair. His eyes have a different kind of twinkle in them– you think, no, you know it’s mischief– making the blood in your veins boil at deadly temperatures.

“Because– well,” you huff, already frustrated, “we’re not allowed to take these,” you say, pointing to the two posters under his shoulder like a kid in the candy store. You try to ignore just how embarrassing you must look right in this moment.

“Oh,” he pouts, taking the posters from below his shoulder, unraveling one of them and resting the other one against the doorframe, “so you’re telling me… I can’t take those two amazingly big, shiny, cool posters of the latest Spiderman movie home for me and my friend Juyeon?”

You’re only half-aware of the fact that he’s teasing you right now, sighing at his innocent face. “No, Sunwoo. You can’t.”

“Hm,” he hums, looking at the poster from top to the bottom, seemingly sad about the news, “that’s terrible. Says who?”

“Your… your father, Sunwoo. He told me when I asked him the other day if I could take–”

“You wanted to take posters home from the cinema?” he gasps, looking at you with big eyes. He looks stupid. So, terribly stupid. Dumb. No thought behind his eyes. You want to smash his head against a concrete wall.

…He’s teasing you. It finally dawns on you.

Now, you want to smash your head against a concrete wall.

Still, you admit defeat with a solemn tone in your voice. “Well, I really wanted the Enola Holmes poster to put up in my bedroom…” you mumble.

“And my dad said no?” he asks, eyebrows quirking up towards his hairline.

“Yes, Sunwoo. Your father said it’s prohibited to take posters home from the cinema, that’s exactly why I’m stopping you right now,” you say, tone filled with annoyance. You know he’s enjoying your face full of misery. But still, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s following the rules and orders– if Mr Kim says you can’t take the posters home, you’ll go in the back and tear them into pieces before throwing them into the bin like you’re told to.

If things were going your way, you’d advise Sunwoo to do the same.

A day with Kim Sunwoo in it never goes your way, though. You should’ve been prepared.

“So I can’t take those posters home because my dad said no?” he clarifies, looking like a dummy. Like one of those kids that ask the most obvious questions during exams. Like one of those kids you want to sucker punch in the face.

“Sunwoo–”

“Well, Y/N-ie,” he purrs, the nickname making your hands curl up in fists, “that’s too bad… because I am the owner’s son, so… the rules don’t really apply to me, you see.”

And with that, he sends another sickeningly sweet smile your way before he turns on his heel and marches towards the front door again– not responding to any of your annoyed, infuriated calls of his name. He doesn’t stop at your warnings. He doesn’t care.

And just like that, he disappears just as fast as he appeared. The interaction didn’t last more than 10 minutes, but you consider your whole day ruined.

Fucking Sunwoo and his fucking privileges. And his fucking annoying face.

It’s not even that important. It’s just two posters that would get thrown out to the dumpster in the back at the end of your shift anyway. You don’t even care about those posters in particular– you just with equal rules applied to all workers in the workplace.

It’s not like Spiderman Homecoming is one of your favorite movies… not at all.

You could’ve had that poster. You deserved that poster. You sold tickets for it and served the snack booth when it premiered– not Kim Sunwoo and whatever his friend’s name was.

You kick the wall with your sneaker. It leaves a dirty mark.

You should’ve known the day felt too good to be true.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING (1993)

There’s a new thing Mr Kim is trying to lure more customers into the cinema. He calls it ‘Rewind Thursdays’, where he picks a movie from the past and airs it in the theater again to bring out nostalgia in the whole town. You think it’s a good idea– you remember when the Harry Potter movies had a rerun back when you were little, ecstatic that you finally got to see them in the cinema because you missed out on the experience when they were coming out for the first time. You went even though you saw them all before, and you had a blast. So in your books, this was the best thing that could happen to the little, old movie theater on the corner of the town’s square.

You were overbeared with joy when Mr Kim went up to you during one of your slow Wednesday shifts in the ticket booth with a paper and a pen, requesting you to write down your favorite movies. He informed you that he’d prefer it if they were older, to, quote, really get the nostalgia going, and you were happy to have some say in the list of movies to play for multiple reasons. One, because it meant he valued your opinion, and two, you don’t usually work on Thursdays, so if your favorite movie is on that day, you can go and relax in the cinema while watching it.

This all happened a few weeks ago. You gave the list back to your boss at the end of your shift, smiling brightly just thinking about it, and he told you he’ll get through it and see what he can incorporate.

The plan gets to you on one uneventful Wednesday. You are stuck in the ticket booth again. Today is one of the Wednesdays where Sunwoo is in charge, because Mr Kim is out of town. You hate those days most of them all, but recently, he’s been giving you your freedom and letting you work in the ticket booth instead of cleaning the already clean cinema, saying he has stuff to do in the back. You suspect he just sits around in his father’s office with his legs on the table, chewing on his obnoxious strawberry mints. The image makes you furious only the tiniest bit, because the fact that he’s out of your sight and isn’t ordering you around is enough to calm your nerves. It could always be worse, you remind yourself. It could always be worse.

“I have the schedule of ‘Rerun Thursdays’ all done,” Sunwoo says as he walks up to the ticket booth close to the end of your shift. His eyes look a little tired when he holds up a thick card to you, the design of the poster making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Did he do that?

“It’s ‘Rewind Thursdays’, actually,” you note, pointing towards the very obvious mistake on the top of the poster.

“Oh fuck– you know what, not anymore,” he scowls, taking the poster back from you and pointing glares at the title he mistyped, “I spent 3 hours on this, I’m not remaking it.”

“It looks like a kindergartener did it,” you note, eyes scanning the bubbly font and the orange-yellow combination used throughout the whole design when he offers the paper back to you. It looks like a Winnie the Pooh convention is taking place instead of an event full of nostalgic movies, and you would tell him that, but he beats you to it with a tired remark.

“Well, if my father wanted this to look professional, he should’ve hired someone to do it,” he mutters, obviously hurt by your harsh words, “I used Canva. I don’t know how Photoshop works and my dad can barely operate the computer, so this is what we’re going with, okay?” he says as he explains, big eyes suddenly bearing into yours. “Unless you wanna redo it yourself…?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then this is the final poster,” he says, “I’m gonna hang those outside when we close,” he notes, watching you scan the movie titles. The event will take place in 4 weeks from the middle of November to the middle of December (right in time for Christmas movies to air, since you’re certain Mr Kim has another Christmas-themed business tactic up his sleeve).

“Did any of your movies make it?” Sunwoo asks, surprisingly friendly. You can’t remember a single casual conversation with the male– all you two do it either give each other the silent treatment or scream at each other (more like you scream at him, but he always deserves it…), so you’re kind of surprised at the change. Not pleasantly surprised. Just surprised.

Eyes falling to the second movie on the list, you feel yourself nodding as you smile. It’s like a dream come true– you can finally see your favorite movie in the cinema for the first time. You don’t know who to thank for this miracle, but something in your insides feels very grateful.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to seem unaffected. You’d rather kill yourself than to show any signs of emotion in front of Kim Sunwoo. All he deserves to see is your stone cold face.

“Which one?” he asks, seemingly interested.

“National treasure,” you hum, pointing to the movie on the list, having Sunwoo nod to himself. You expect him to say something to you– perhaps engage in a conversation like a normal person would– but suddenly, he gasps and takes out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, offering it to you and playing the role of the manager again.

“Oh, by the way,” he starts, watching as you unfold the paper, “I know we don’t usually work on Thursdays, but since my dad decided to do all of this, we kinda have to, since he wouldn’t be able to handle the premieres on his own, so… Here's your schedule for the next 4 weeks,” he says, clasping his hands together in front of him.

It takes everything in you to not correct the male and tell him that those are technically not premieres, but when your eyes land on the little Excel table Sunwoo printed out for you, the feeling is overpowered with one of deep disappointment.

“I work the second week?” you ask, as if the question might magically change the schedule.

“I mean, I think you can read…” Sunwoo hums, shrugging to himself.

A heartbeat passes by of you staring at the schedule, a pit opening in your stomach at the realization. You only work 2 Thursdays out of 4, noticing the fact that you rotate with Sunwoo (with him somehow taking the first week, much to your surprise), but for some reason, one of those days had to be the day when National treasure is on.

And sure, you might think this is good– you can just watch the movie while you work!

Wrong.

Working means either staying in the ticket booth the whole time in case a customer comes, working the snack booth the whole time in case a customer comes, or cleaning the bathrooms. Working means also standing in front of the screening room sometimes, making sure no one is going in without a ticket in the middle of the movie.

There is no time for you to watch National treasure if you’re working.

Sighing, you decide to do something you always prohibited yourself from doing– you ask Kim Sunwoo for a favor. “Listen… my favorite movie is airing the week I work, so I was… wondering if we could exchange shifts? So I could go and watch it?” you ask, looking at your coworker with what you presume are pleading eyes. You hope it works on the boy– he looks like the type to fold under a tender gaze.

“So you want to get out of work only to still come?” Sunwoo clarifies, snickering.

“Pretty much, yeah,” you nod, tapping your fingers on the table.

“Well, the schedule is set,” Sunwoo shrugs, “I can’t do anything about it.”

Eyes sending darts to the very middle of Kim Sunwoo’s forehead, you take a few calming breaths before you speak up again. You don’t want to blow up on him when you’re asking him for a favor– you don’t think this approach would help you much in the situation.

“Why?”

“Because,” he shrugs.

“Because?” you repeat. “That’s the reason?” you say, a weak laugh dragging out of your throat.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he mirrors your previous response, the blood in your veins already growing hot from the confrontation.

“Sunwoo, you– come on,” you say, “just this once, please? I’ll take the first week. We can just switch, what’s the difference?”

Sunwoo tongues the inside of his cheek, eyes pointing towards the paper. “Schedule is schedule, Y/N. You have to follow it,” he says, an innocent look glazing his big fuckass boba eyes. Oh how you despise that look. It’s the look that tells you he finds this all so, so amusing, but won’t laugh in your face in hopes of teasing you some more.

“Oh, amazing,” you say, throwing the schedule to the table, “I knew I could always count on you ruining my day, Kim Sunwoo. And I bet you did the schedule as well! You knew it was my favorite movie, so you made me work that week. Very nice of you, you dumbass. Thank you very much,” you grunt, annoyance flowing through your brain and making you truly merciless– you have no proof of Sunwoo even knowing which movie of yours made it in, or proof of him making the schedule– you don’t care, though. All you want at this moment is to claw his eyes out and pop them in between your fingers to ease the anger on your insides.

You can’t do that, though, so a screaming match will have to do the job.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he scoffs, eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t even know which one your favorite movie was, so how could I do this on purpose? Plus, I didn’t even make the schedule, my dad did–”

“As if I would believe that,” you roll your eyes, huffing. “You’re all owner’s son privileges this, owner’s son privileges that, but when I ask you for one thing, one! Single! Fucking! Thing! You can’t do it,” you bite, words dripping in spite.

“Look, I really can’t-”

“You can’t do this one thing for me?” you cut him off, the question sounding like an ultimatum.

“No,” he shakes his head, seemingly unaffected by the conversation.

“Because…?” you demand a valid reason.

“Because I just can’t,” he shrugs, casual and cool.

The world stills for a moment. You calculate your next move. Blood rushes in your ears, you see red. Your eyes fall on the clock– it’s 4 minutes after your shift. That’s it.

You take your coat draped over the chair, stand up from the chair and dash towards the front door. You can’t stand being around this man any longer– all he does is bring misery into your otherwise, already boring life.

Speedwalking out of the place, you yell out a harsh “Go fuck yourself!” over your shoulder, leaving Sunwoo to close the cinema by himself. You don’t even change out of your uniform before you go– your head is too clouded with anger to remember to do so. Cursing out your coworker isn’t the best thing you could do in this situation, more so when he’s the owner’s son, but suddenly, you don’t really care about losing your job at the cinema anymore.

Maybe you should quit yourself, actually.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (2003)

In your books, there aren’t many things worse than working three days in a row. You can only think of so many even when you try hard enough: like going to school in your pajamas, getting sick on the day of an important event, ripping your pants on the metro, standing outside of the cinema in a popcorn costume for 4 hours…

Yeah. Not too many.

So naturally, on the third day of your work week, putting one sweetened coffee into your stomach after another, barely keeping your head up from the lack of sleep you’re getting in between classes, work, and writing your essays until 3 in the morning, you beg god for a calm shift. It’s Wednesday, the first week of Mr Kim’s ‘Rewind Thursdays’ event, and it just so happened that you were set to work the first half of the week while Sunwoo got the other half.

The only thing keeping you going is the fact that you and Sunwoo will now basically not see each other’s face for the next four weeks– with the exception of Fridays and Saturdays, the premiere days. You’re getting a lot of shifts this month, but hey… Christmas is coming. At least you’ll have plenty of money to buy gifts for everyone this year. (Or not. You’re very underpaid.)

Entertaining yourself by watching the world outside of your window and mentally betting on the race of raindrops falling down the glass surface– because your phone battery almost ran out during class this morning and you forgot to bring your charger with you– you hope you don’t fall asleep right in this moment. Your boss is somewhere inside and if he oh just happens to check up on you (which he never normally does, but you can never be too sure), you’re certain you’d lose your job after taking a nap in the ticket booth. Some things just can’t be accepted.

Cat fights with his son? Perfectly acceptable. Sleeping on the clock? Not so much…

Eyes drooping when the third raindrop race doesn’t go the way you bet on in your head, you figure you can just rest for a second or two… Eyelids shielding your irises from the orange hues of the lights inside, your brain already turning off and preparing a happy dream for you, you think that taking a nap is not such a bad idea right now…

Wrong.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the noise of a thunder– actually, no, that was just someone’s voice– wakes you up and makes you jump in your chair, your knee hitting the bottom of the table making you hiss in sharp pain.

“Fuck, man–”

“Didn’t know taking a nap was in the job description,” Sunwoo grins at you through the glass window of the booth. His eyes twinkle in amusement as you drag your hand through your hair, trying to smoothe it down after tousling it in your weird sleeping position.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” you mutter, not even meeting his eye.

“Oh?”

“Yeah… just had… my eyes closed…” you hum, scratching the back of your neck. Clearing your throat, you look back up at him with an disinterested look on your face. “Anyways, what do you want? You’re off today.”

Scanning his figure, fully taking in his appearance– the fabric of his dark gray hoodie a little stained with raindrops (you bet he ran from his car into the building without an umbrella. He seems like the type to be embarrassed about umbrellas.), the fabric of the garment enveloping his head and shading his face a little from the ugly yellow lights. His face is a little flushed– you presume it’s from the running– and his hair is falling into his face. You can barely see his eyes behind the curtain of chocolate locks– he really needs a trim.

“Damn, didn’t know you hated me so much that you can’t stand seeing me on my off days,” he jokes, leaning on the counter as if to stick his face as close as he can into yours. Thank god for the glass shielding you two– you think you’d give him a fist to the nose if you ever felt his breathing on your skin.

“I do,” you agree, impatiently drumming your fingers on the top of the table, “so tell me what you want so you can disappear again,” you say.

“I just went to check up on whether you were sleeping or not so I can tell my dad to fire you–”

“Kim Sunwoo–”

He puts his arms up defensively, eyebrows raising at your threatening tone. “Okay, not really. I don’t actually care that much. Besides, you promised to quit yourself anyway, so,” he explains, shrugging to himself, “believe it or not, I’m here to buy tickets for a movie.”

You shoot him a stare, the look in your eyes dead, stone cold as you ponder on his words. It’s cold outside, it’s raining, and Kim Sunwoo just happens to decide to buy tickets for a movie today. In a cinema that he works at. In a cinema that he works at tomorrow.

“You work tomorrow…?” you mirror your inner monologue, kind of confused at the turn of events.

“You know my schedule? I’m flattered–”

The irritation is slowly creeping into your bones again. Actually, it has been since he arrived, but the more he talks, the more agitating the whole encounter feels. Maybe you should tape his mouth shut the next time you see him– you bet the day would be so much better if you don’t have to listen to him talk.

“Why don’t you just buy the tickets tomorrow when you work? Didn’t have to walk here in the rain,” you explain, sighing to prove just how annoyed you are with his presence.

“Because I kinda need them today,” he says, clarifying to you with the tone you use when you explain mundane things to a child.

You don’t know what he did in his past life to get the ability to annoy you each and every time you meet him, but you’d like some of it to get back at him in your next life. Why you’re even thinking of past lives and the possibility of meeting Kim Sunwoo in your next one, you’re not really certain, but if it helps you to not smash the glass separating you two, you guess you can get behind the thought process.

“Okay,” you nod, painfully calm for the amount of screaming you’ve been doing internally, “what movie?” you ask, turning your body to the computer on your right and breaking eye contact with him. If he’s a customer, you’re going to treat him like one– no small talk and no arguments. You won’t ruin your day even more over a man that doesn’t know what chapstick is. (You don’t stare at his lips, just for the record. It’s just painfully obvious when he talks. Sometimes you want to reach over and pluck away the dead skin with your fingers– you won’t, though. That would be weird.)

Sunwoo straightens his back as he fishes for his wallet in the front pocket of his jeans. “National Treasure,” he smiles, making you break into cold sweat, “two tickets, please.”

Like a scene in a horror movie, your head turns without moving the rest of your body, eyes twitching when you see him standing at the other side of the booth, calm and collected. Suddenly, the scene makes sense– he bought the tickets to see your favorite movie on the day of your shift. Of course. He just has to rub it in your face.

Not only are you working that day. You will also most likely serve popcorn to him as he goes inside with whoever he is buying the second ticket for. And you will try not to trip him on his way inside the screening room.

It was a smart move for him to not go inside the ticket booth with you, even though he has all the right to. You bet he knows you’d claw his eyes out if you had the chance.

“You have to be kidding me.”

“What? I can’t buy tickets for a movie?” he asks, innocence dripping off his tongue.

Breathing deeply– while trying to contain the demon that’s begging to crawl out of your insides and tear him into 25 different pieces– you smile ironically at the male, gulping before you speak. “That would be 12 dollars, please,” you say, your customer service voice turning kind of eerie.

Not even letting the male choose his seats– he lost the privilege when he decided to come and buy the tickets for your favorite movie– you print out two tickets with the worst possible view (the ones in the first row, far right. If Sunwoo loses his neck because he has to look up at the screen for the entirety of the movie, well, who are you to hate that) and offer them to your coworker.

Like a mind game, the male slips them into his pocket without even looking at them, not breaking eye contact with you sitting behind the booth.

“Have a nice day,” he says as he takes two steps back before fully turning and escaping through the front door, figure dashing towards the old Prius parked in front of the building.

Bawling your hands into fists, you try the breathing exercises you found the other week. Calm your body and your mind, the title said. You knew you’d need those when you saved the post into one of your boards on Pinterest.

Still, you can’t help yourself. You simply cannot. You let it out– it’s not healthy to keep negativity inside.

He can’t hear you, but you still mutter a spiteful “I hope you choke,” under your breath as you settle back into the uncomfortable surface of the chair.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – YOU’VE GOT MAIL (1998)

Remember the time you said you didn’t really mind having more shifts in November, because it meant a bigger paycheck? Yeah… that was true. For a few days.

Until you got a phone call one day from none other than Kim Sunwoo– whose number you didn’t even want to save into your contacts, but after his insisting that it’s for work purposes, did so under the name ‘dumpster raccoon’– telling you that you have to get to work immediately, that his dad said so, and that it’s an emergency.

Do you believe him? No. Absolutely not.

His tone of voice was too calm to be in an emergency. If his dad wanted you to come to work today, he could’ve called you himself instead of making his son do it. And also, you really don’t know what’s so important to take care of on a Wednesday, since it’s the slow day of the week, but still– you angrily took off the facemask from your face before the timer even went off, shut your laptop with a half-watched episode of The office in your Netflix window, changed out of your comfy clothes and marched towards the cinema.

Because you never know. He might be saying the truth, after all. And if that was the case, you didn’t want to be caught disobeying your boss.

You get to the old movie theater on the corner of the town center at 4 in the afternoon. The sky is already getting dark and you feel the coldness of November seeping into your bones, and so you waste no time in getting inside and chasing the heat of the vintage-looking interior. Your boots make a thudding sound as you walk across the hall, seeing Sunwoo sitting in the ticket booth in his usual habitat: with his phone in his hands and his feet up on the table, chewing on his favorite strawberry mints. Now this sight screams emergency if you’ve ever seen one.

“What was so important for you to call me to work and then chill in the ticket booth all afternoon?” you ask, spite slipping off your tongue with every word you speak.

Sunwoo looks up at you from under his eyelashes, hair still slightly shielding his eyes. He doesn’t even have his uniform on– there’s a gray hoodie enveloping his torso (you swear he lives in this garment. You wonder if he even washes it sometimes) and black jeans hanging off his hips– and the more you stare at him, the more you feel like punching him in the face.

“Oh,” he hums, stretching out his limbs from the hours of sitting on the chair unmoving, “dad said to tell you to clean the screening room. Since it’s Thursday tomorrow, and all.”

The look on his face is innocent. He looks like he just told you the most casual piece of information– and truth be told, he kind of did. The whole thing is just not making any sense right now.

“I should clean the screening room today? You’re on the clock, though, why don’t you do it?” you ask, frustration clearly written all over your face. You were looking forward to having a self-care day today, so you can only imagine how tired of his endeavors you are right in this moment.

“Yeah, but I am on ticket booth duty, so I can’t,” he shrugs, frowning a little to prove his nonexistent point.

“It’s Wednesday. It’s not busy. You know you can do both.”

“Look, it’s not me, it’s my dad–”

“Is it? Is it, Sunwoo?” you huff, arms flying into the air. “Or are you just using me to do the work you don’t feel like doing? Because it really does seem like that right now,” you bite, running your hand through your hair in exasperation.

“Do you want me to call him?” Sunwoo asks, tone of voice suddenly threatening.

A heartbeat passes. You continue to have a staring contest with him. The fury inside of you rages like a storm. Still, you nod to the feeling of authority coming from your actual boss, and so you wordlessly turn on your heel and march towards the screening room, ready to clean the place in the least amount of time so you can go home and back to your selfcare endeavors. (You’re adding printing out Sunwoo’s face and throwing darts at it to the list of activities. You think you really need that right now.)

The screening room is dark when you come inside, and as you reach towards the lightswitch, you almost fear something jumping at you. See, the traumatic response from being locked up in the toilet from your coworker is still very present in your bones. When you stop working here, you’re going to ask for financial compensation for all the damage this boy did on your mental health.

You walk down the aisle of seats and try to inspect the damage. No movies air on Wednesday and there was only one kids movie going on Tuesday, so you can either expect it to be almost clean, or full of snacks that fell off the hands of grabby children during the cartoon. The more you inspect the place, though, the more it seems like… somebody already cleaned it before?

The floor is clean. The laminated surface under the seats has no smudge of dirt on it, like someone already mopped the place. And when you think back, the bins were empty as well.

The screening room was definitely cleaned before.

Which means that Sunwoo brought you here for absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, the lights go out. The whole room falls into darkness, and the anger inside of your veins very quickly mixes with panic as you try to climb up the stairs on the side of the screening room and escape. Your throat gets dry as you yell for your coworker, not really caring if your next outburst is going to get you fired or not.

“Kim Fucking Sunwoo, why the fuck did you call me to clean an already cleaned screening room?!” you yell, not really knowing if he hears you or not. Doesn’t matter– it feels cathartic to do so anyway.

Your feet stumble on the awkwardly-long stairs, your figure almost falling to the ground. Managing to hold yourself up and steady your body before your head hits the sharp corner of one of the stairs and makes you die, you continue on with your small tangent. “You really think this is funny? You’re having fun pranking me all the time? I hate your guts, Kim Sunwoo, and I hope you burn in hell!”

A bright light suddenly illuminates the screening room, coming from somewhere behind you. When you look over your shoulder, the screen is white for a few moments before the opening credits of a Jerry Buckheimer film flash on the big surface, halting you in your movements. The sound is a little too loud in the speakers, but it gets adjusted the moment you almost lose your hearing. The moment you see Nicolas Cage appear, it’s clear as day.

There’s a movie playing. And the movie playing is National treasure.

You think you’re hallucinating. This is surely a fata morgana.

Standing in the middle of the screening room, your mouth hangs agape and your eyes go wide as you watch the first few scenes of the movie. Ben Gates already learns about the hidden treasure passed down through American history when you feel a slight nudge to your shoulder, making you turn your head to see a tall figure staring you down with a bucket of popcorn in their hands.

You are confused. So utterly confused. The movie was on last week. You’d know– you worked the snack booth that day. The screening room is empty and it’s Wednesday– what’s going on?

“Can you sit? Or are you just going to watch the movie standing in the aisle,” Sunwoo grunts, balancing the big bucket of popcorn and two drinks in his large hands, the sight comical and almost making you want to watch him suffer some more.

Caught off guard, though, you let him back you into the aisle of seats, your figure slouching into one of the red cushions like a rag doll. Sunwoo takes place next to you, placing the big bucket of popcorn into your lap, before he settles into a seat as well and focuses his eyes and attention on the movie.

“What… what is this?” you ask, frozen in the seat.

“Hm?” Sunwoo frowns, looking at you. “National treasure,” he hums, “I thought you’d know, since you threw a scene about it that one time.”

“I- I know that, I just…” you trail off, still surprised at the turn of events, “what’s going on right now…?”

“We’re watching National treasure,” he notes, talking to you as if you were slow.

“What…?”

A sigh escapes Sunwoo’s lips at your utter confusion, his hand coming up to the bucket of popcorn in your lap and throwing a handful of the snack into his mouth before speaking. “Look, Y/N. You said you wanted to watch your favorite movie in the cinema, so that’s what you’re doing. Enjoy my owner’s son privileges for once,” he shrugs, watching as your face morphs into an unreadable expression.

That explanation satisfies you for a bit. The shock in your insides, though? Still present.

There’s something about the whole gesture that makes your stomach feel uneasy. Sunwoo did something nice for you– out of the kindness of his own heart– and you really don’t know why he would even think of something like this. You two aren’t on the best terms either, after all. Maybe he finally went crazy.

Or maybe you did and this was all the result of your imagination. Either or.

Yeah, you must be the one that’s gone batshit insane. Surely. You’re certain of the fact when you reach for the popcorn and accidentally touch his hand, the two of you deciding to get some at the same time, and your stomach does a flip and your brain makes a sign for you to quickly retract your hand– but the feeling of his slightly cold hand against your fingertips is now engraved into your memory and won’t leave and let you focus on the movie no matter how hard you try.

“You wouldn’t have to do this if you just let me switch schedules with you that time,” you note, “just saying.”

“I couldn’t,” he shrugs.

“Huh? But you bought two tickets..?”

“Yeah, but those were for my friends. I had to drive my mum down to grandmas that day, so I couldn’t go or take your shift that day,” he hums, not once breaking eye contact with the screen.

“If you would’ve just said so, I wouldn’t have made a scene about it–”

“Yeah… but I enjoy watching you make a scene,” he grins, shifting his attention towards you for a second with that lazy smirk playing with his lips. His hair is falling into his eyes and you have the urge to get it out of his face with a motion of your hand while also scolding him like a mother to finally get a haircut, just so you could see the twinkle in his mischievous orbs.

“You need to get serious help, then,” you grunt, pointing your gaze back towards the screen, unable to look at his face for any longer. He’s being annoying again. You’re annoyed.

“Probably,” he admits.

You two sit in silence for a while, the only sound accompanying you being the movie playing out on the big screen in front of you. You think this is the calmest you two have ever been around each other, and you’re starting to think that if Sunwoo just didn’t talk, you two could even get along.

Something touches the side of your thigh in the darkness of the room. Eyes darting to the source, you notice Sunwoo’s thigh pressing against yours, the cause of his obnoxious man-spreading, and something about the closeness of his body and the smell of his citrusy cologne makes you feel like your chest is heaving in on itself. You can’t stand him around you. You two can’t share this close of a space.

“Are you not leaving?” you ask.

“No,” he hums, “should I be?”

“Well, you’re on the clock…”

The man snickers, shaking his head in disbelief. “Y/N, you and I both know that the possibility of someone coming to buy a ticket on a Wednesday afternoon is close to zero. Me being there makes no difference in today’s sales.”

His hand knocks into yours again as you reach for more popcorn. You gulp, nodding. “Right…”

“And I wanted to see the movie to see if it’s really that good to make a scene about it,” he teases, another playful look sent your way from the corner of his eye.

You grunt, rolling your eyes. Oh how you hate his guts…

And even though you love the movie, you pray for it to end quickly. The more time you spend with Sunwoo forced into your zone of comfort, the more uncomfortable you feel– even the slightest movement of his body affects you and makes your brain turn on overdrive. It’s strange and it’s weird, and you don’t understand how hatred for a person could manifest in such reactions.

It’s better that you didn’t notice you two sitting in the love seat. God knows you wouldn’t handle that well. You’d rather die than to hold on to that knowledge.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – CLUELESS (1995)

They say that you only start realizing just how stupid people can be when you work in customer service. As one of the only three employees of the small, vintage cinema on the corner of the town’s square, you can only agree with the sentiment– you have a lot of stories to tell about the wonders of the human brain.

Like that one time you got screamed at because the movie tickets were ‘too expensive’ – because naturally, you should be able to change the price of them when asked. Or that one time you got screamed at because the movie tickets were sold out– because naturally, you should add more seats to the screening room just for the two middle-aged women to sit on during the premiere of the newest Orlando Bloom movie. Or when somebody yelled at you for the toilets being full after the movie– naturally, you are supposed to throw people out in the middle of them peeing. Or build new stalls. Either or.

They say that you only start realizing just how stupid people can be when you work in customer service, but truly, you also realize just how rude they can also be for no reason at all.

Much like today. It’s Friday, which means it’s premiere night. The tickets to all movies this week are sold out already, so no one is on ticket booth duty, and much to your relief, Mr Kim took the snack stand himself. Your responsibility for the day is scanning the tickets and then making sure no one is getting inside during the movie without a ticket.

It’s not a hard job. Not at all– you would even say nothing about working in the cinema is hard, when you don’t have an annoying coworker trying to make your whole life a living hell– but you see, customers love to make your job harder just by being unreasonably rude about things that are clearly out of your control.

“Sir, I really can’t let you in, I’m sorry,” you say, tone of voice polite despite screaming on the inside. In front of you is standing a tall man, maybe a few years older than you, the expression on his face full of anger and vexation. They say a customer is always right. You agree only when the customer looks like they could wait for you after work and beat you up in the bushes. Sadly, that still doesn’t mean you can let the man inside without a valid ticket.

“What do you mean? Little one, I’m telling you I bought the ticket here, so if you don’t let me in–”

“All tickets purchased for the screening should be able to scan through this, sir, and if it doesn’t work, I am not allowed to let you inside of the cinema,” you try to explain, getting kind of desperate. The line behind him was forming and the movie was supposed to play in a few minutes, so if you wanted to scan all the tickets in time, you had to be quick.

He wouldn’t budge, though. His eyebrows are furrowed and the guy behind him seems to be getting angry as well, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up alert, like a cat when it senses danger. You try your hardest to keep your tone firm, hands clasped politely behind your back. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir, or maybe check in with the owner about the issue? I don’t have the competence to–”

“Listen, I won’t be talking to anyone, because you will let me in, okay?”

“Sir, I can’t-”

Your sentence is cut off by the man again, his fury making you take a step backwards in fear. “And if you don’t, you will see the consequences.”

Gulping, you try to think of a way to get out of this situation. Mr Kim is too far away for you to call, and he is also busy– the line is long and Sunwoo isn’t working today. It’s just the two of you today, so your options are getting slimmer. You can’t let that man in without a working ticket– it seems like the one he’s showing you is either a fake one, or bought in another cinema– but it seems like if you don’t, he’ll have you dead before the next morning.

“So?”

Opening your mouth to answer (although your brain is still empty and you don’t even know what more to say), a low voice coming from behind you startles you in the middle of your crisis. “Is there a problem here?”

Turning your head to the source of the voice, you’ve never been more relieved to see Kim Sunwoo in your close proximity. You watch as he puts a rolled-up poster to the ground behind you before he takes another step closer towards your figure, his expression stone cold and glaring at the man in front of you.

“Your coworker here won’t let me in to watch the movie,” he complains, hand waving around in a threatening way.

Just having Sunwoo around makes you more confident. Clearing your throat, your eyes dart to your coworker, seeing his face morph into irritation. “It won’t scan his ticket, so…”

“If it won’t scan your ticket, it means it’s invalid and we’re not allowed to let you in,” Sunwoo says, tone of voice way less polite than the one you were using before.

“That’s ridiculous-”

“You are ridiculous,” Sunwoo grunts, annoyance clearly written all over his face. “You were asked to leave, so maybe you should.”

Truth be told, you’ve been in a couple of arguments with Sunwoo before. In none of them has he ever looked and sounded like this, though. You and Sunwoo argue with spite– sparks flying waiting to start a fire, curses and harsh words thrown around carelessly in moments of heated hatred. His tone is stern, but never threatening. Never mean. Not in the way he’s being right now.

It makes you stare at him wordlessly. He seems to be taking the lead in the situation, reacting territorially to the man in front of him. You can’t say you don’t feel safer with him around– you would be lying.

“Maybe you could just let me in and get this over with–”

“And maybe you could fuck off,” Sunwoo says back, something in his tone making your stomach feel all light. He looks serious, standing his ground, and the man finally seems to get the memo that he’s not watching the premiere tonight, because he backs off and grits his teeth at the male.

“Your boss will hear about this,” he threatens, making Sunwoo chuckle.

“I’m sure he will.”

Sympathetic looks are thrown your way from the women in the line behind that can finally come up to you so you scan their tickets. You smile at each one and try to seem unaffected by the exchange, but the memory of it still lingers in your brain and doesn’t make you rest easy as you greet the rest of the customers.

You didn’t even realize Sunwoo was still standing next to you, watching you work. He seems to recognise your shaken-up composure, tone of voice sympathetic and quiet as he asks: “You okay?”

“What?” you ask, surprised by the question, “oh. Yeah, I’m fine. He was just… being a bitch, the usual.”

“Yeah,” he snickers, “why didn’t you just scream at him like you do to me? I bet that would scare him away,” he notes, making you roll your eyes at the comment.

“Because he looked like he could beat me up, Sunwoo.”

“And I don’t?” he gasps, suddenly offended.

You scan the boy up and down, pretending to think it over for a few before you shake your head. “No,” you shrug, “I could beat you up.”

“Excuse you?” he gasps, crossing his arms at his chest in a defensive stance, the shock on his face mixing in with amusement.

“Don’t believe me? Wanna try?” you test, the conversation suddenly flowing freely, without you even noticing. You don’t pay it much thought, but you guess getting along with Sunwoo is easier when he’s on your side. Most of the time, he’s not, though– and maybe that’s the problem.

“Okay,” he nods, “meet me in the back when you’re off. No weapons allowed, we’ll do it the street style. This is a battle of fists,” he points a finger at you, the sentence making you sigh dreamily and point your eyes towards the ceiling.

“You can’t even imagine how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Sunwoo smiles at that– that dumb, boyish smile you usually so despise– and shakes his head at your antics. The conversation dies down a bit after the exchange– with you scanning the tickets and trying your hardest to make it through the line before the movie starts, when your coworker, dressed in none other than his signature gray hoodie and black jeans, nudges you with his elbow. “Want me to stay for a bit, or are you good now?”

“I can take care of myself, Sunwoo,” you sigh, “you can go about your day.”

“Well, it didn’t seem like it a few minutes ago–”

“I can take care of myself when I’m not confronted with a tall muscled man that is threatening me, Sunwoo,” you repeat, looking at the rest of the line, “so with him gone now, you can go about your day. What are you even doing here, by the way? I thought you were off today.”

“I am,” he nods, rocking a little in his place, shifting weight from his heels towards his toes, “I was just… here to drop off something for you,” he says, clearing his throat and pointing towards the poster he was holding when he first approached you, the shiny tube now resting against the nearest wall.

You shoot the boy a curious look, eyebrows furrowed in question. You don’t get to ask for clarification about the character of the poster, because he abruptly cuts off your train of thought, speaking fast as if to avoid making any more conversation with you. “I’ll see you in the back after you’re done for that fist fight, then. Bye!”

And before you get a chance to say anything back, Sunwoo swiftly turns on his heel and awkwardly marches towards the front door. You don’t have much time to inspect the thing he dropped off for you, but after you’re done with scanning the tickets and have time to breathe when the movie starts, you allow yourself to peek inside–

only to see a National treasure poster staring back at you, surface glossy and glimmering, as if you just opened a chest full of gold.

As you take the poster to the staff room with you (while also wearing a huge, embarrassing grin on your face for someone staring at the face of Nicolas Cage), making sure it’s safe and sound until you can bring it home with you, you wonder why you haven’t been civil with Kim Sunwoo before.

It’s good to have a taste of his owner’s son privileges sometimes.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – ME BEFORE YOU (2016)

The day is Friday, the 1st of December. Mr Kim’s ‘Rewind Thursdays' event is over and while Fridays are always the premiere days, meaning you usually have to work the evenings either in the snack booth or in the ticket booth, your boss told you you can have the night off under one condition– you come in the morning (since you told him your classes are done for the semester, he’s been keen on making you work at random times of the day) and help Sunwoo with Christmas decorations in the cinema.

And, well, who are you to say no to a free evening? Maybe you can finally have that self-care time you’ve been needing before your exam season starts.

“Can you get the ladder from the back?” Sunwoo asks, tone of voice not at all interested. You don’t know what the reasoning behind his mood is, but you figure it’s either the fact that he had to get up before 12, or the fact that he doesn’t really seem like the type to like decorating.

“Why don’t you get it?” you huff, wiping your forehead off the sweat that’s cumulated on it over the time you spent bringing out all the boxes full of decorations out of the staff room. “I brought everything in, maybe you can do some work for once.”

One would think your dynamics with Kim Sunwoo would shift after he’s been nice to you on multiple occasions. And sure, you don’t really fight with him as often and he hasn’t pulled a prank on you in a while, but some days, his whole presence is still just as annoying to you as it’s been for the past couple of months. There’s not really much you can do about it– especially not when he’s bossing you around and not doing any actual work himself.

“I built the christmas tree,” he grunts, opening one of the boxes full of ornaments, squinting at the contains with disgust on his face. “And I put up all the other useless stuff before you got here too,” he says, pointing a glare at you.

Looking around the theater, you notice various types of decorations all over the place. There’s some mistletoe hanging off the ceiling (which has you wondering how he even got it there in the first place) and garlands framing all the doorways– the greenery making the whole place decorated in a very vintage tone. It’s fitting to the theme of the cinema, though, and you can tell that Sunwoo really can’t be arsed to do any better, so you don’t mention it out loud in favor of avoiding another one of your petty cat fights.

Admitting your defeat, you storm back into the staff room and carry out the tall ladder, struggling to fit through the doorways and to cross the corners, praying to all higher forces that you don’t accidentally scratch off pieces of the wall on your way to Sunwoo.

You put down the metal construction with a loud thud, making the boy look up at you from beneath his bangs, the silent curse evident in his eyes. You don’t know what’s up with him, but again, you won’t ask. You try to tell yourself that you don’t really care either, but with every glance towards his direction, the question keeps bugging you and dancing around your brain.

You force yourself not to care.

Watching as he tries to untangle the Christmas lights, struggle evident in the frustration written all over his face, you sigh and walk over to him, taking the bundle of wire out of his hands and threading your skilled fingers through the lengthy cable. You’re an expert in untangling– you don’t own bluetooth headphones, so you do this pretty much every day before listening to some music. Your headphones love to tangle in your pocket no matter how neatly you try to keep them in your pants– it’s a mystery. Almost like the Bermuda triangle.

“I can do it myself,” Sunwoo huffs, eyebrows furrowing when he watches you work your magic.

“You seemed like it too,” you ironically note, letting the spiteful side of you win, enjoying yourself when you’re rewarded by the snarky roll of Sunwoo’s eyes– everything is back to normal. You two aren’t friends, you don’t like to be in each other’s presence, and no number of shiny stolen posters and private sessions in the screening room will ever change that.

“Hold this,” you say, thrusting the end of the cord into his hand, walking a few meters away from him as you detangle the lights, watching as he impatiently stomps the floor with his heel, reminding you of Snowball from The secret life of pets movie.

When you’re done and the Christmas lights are now a straight line of wire, you slowly walk over to the tall tree in the middle of the room, wrapping the lights around the fake forest-green needles. You’re glad that the lights are long enough to cover the whole thing and you don’t have to untangle another ones, and when you’re done, you watch your coworker plug them in, examining the small, colorful light bulbs.

“Okay, now the ornaments,” you say, more to yourself than to anybody in the room, as you waltz over to the boxes and take out the decorations varying in shapes and sizes. You don’t really know what color scheme Mr Kim wants you to go for– and you doubt Sunwoo is aware either, so you just take out the ornaments you find the most pretty and hang them all over the tree, making sure each branch is covered.

Sunwoo stands around for a while, unmoving as he watches you, before he sighs to himself and finally decides to help. You leave him be, thinking that it’s for the best if you two don’t speak today when he’s in such a bad mood, but you break that promise almost immediately when you stare back at the tree after retrieving some more ornaments from the box to your right and notice the almost painful clash of colors.

You should’ve known you can’t trust a man with decorating. The beautiful contrast of the baby pink and brown ornaments you put on the tree is now ruined by the green ones you intentionally left on the bottom of the box. The colors don’t go together at all and you want to claw your eyes out every second you have to stare at it.

“Sunwoo, those colors don’t go together at all,” you say, point and blank– no sugarcoating, no offensive words, just straight facts.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that tree looks terrifying, and it’s all because you ruined it,” you say.

Okay, maybe you are overreacting just the slightest. But isn’t there fun in making your coworker completely out of his mind? Is this your roles being reversed for the first time? Are you finally winning this little game?

Nevertheless, you are enjoying the outburst that follows from Sunwoo. Mainly because he looks like a child throwing a tantrum as he huffs and takes off the green ornaments he put on to the tree and throws the handful back into the cardboard box, not really caring if they break or not. You’ll be replaying this scene in your head forever before you go to sleep, for the absolute frustration and annoyance on his face is one of your biggest trophies. Right now, though, you’re battling the urge to laugh.

“Fine, do it yourself, then,” Sunwoo says as he walks away from the tree, choosing to sit on the floor cross-legged, taking out his phone and scrolling through social media.

Again, you don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but you force yourself not to care. You have a job to finish here so you can go home and enjoy your day, and that’s why exactly you just shrug and finish putting on the pretty ornaments, admiring your work every once in a while when you take a break and stare on the tall tree, kind of breathless from the beauty.

You’re not really big on Christmas, but you must admit that this is fun.

The sound of Sunwoo swiping through Instagram reels is the only thing accompanying your actions, and as you look over your shoulder and see his almost sad face, you bite your lip just to not ask him what’s the matter. You’re not supposed to care. And you don’t.

“Can’t you put some festive music on?” you ask instead, your lips just begging to have a conversation with the male, despite your best judgment.

“No,” Sunwoo barks back, not even taking his eyes off the phone as the sound of the reel changes into another one, a swipe of his thumb across the screen showing him another video.

Nodding to yourself, you carefully try to pick out your next words. Not really sure how to address the male, you choose to approach him with a hint of humor you’re not sure he’ll appreciate. “What’s up with you? You’re bitchier than usual,” you say, scanning the male with cautious eyes.

Sunwoo stops for a while– a millisecond of him halting his scrolling, an action you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t trying to see any shift in his composure– before he speaks up again. “Nothing,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” you say, a tone of voice full of doubt.

When you conclude that you’re not getting more answers out of him, you nod to yourself and dart back towards the Christmas tree, making sure you make more eye contact with the glossy ornaments than with your coworker sitting behind you on the ground. Not much time passes by before he speaks up again, though, tone of voice quiet and hesitant.

“I’m just not in the mood today,” he sighs, “I have a final next week and it’s stressing me out, I haven’t slept well in quite a few days, my dad’s making me work more than usual and on top of that, I absolutely hate winter.”

“You hate winter?” you choose to focus on the least serious topic of the little rant, not really knowing when your boundaries lay in discussing the more serious ones.

“Yeah,” Sunwoo chuckles, “it’s like a shittier fall. It’s cold and dark all the time. It would be different if it snowed, though. I love it when it snows.”

Snickering at his sudden confession, you shake your head. “You’re like a little kid.”

“I remember you calling me a child once,” Sunwoo hums in agreement.

“That was different,” you say, hoping to cheer the male up at least a bit with your usual quarrel.

“I figured by the way you threw the toilet brush to my chest,” Sunwoo laughs, the memory of torturing you fond in his brain. The poster he gave you almost made you forget about the fact that he managed to make your life a living hell for quite some time– maybe you should consider this a wake-up call.

The conversation quiets down for a bit, even the sound of Sunwoo’s Instagram reels discontinued as you two marvel in the now much more comfortable silence. Testing the waters, you clear your throat before speaking up again. “Don’t worry about that exam, by the way. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“How would you know?”

“You’re clever. You need to be clever to come up with all various ways to make my life more miserable,” you say, smiling when you hear him let out a breath of air through his nose, signaling a silent laugh.

“Any advice on the sleepless nights?” he asks, tone of voice light and humorous.

“Less things in your head,” you hum, putting the last ornament onto one of the branches, satisfied with your work. “Or melatonin.”

“Noted,” he nods, sharing a smile with you.

Walking over to the boxes stored a few feet away from the male, you open up the slim one thrown on the side, holding up the star. Your eyes meet his, a carefree twinkle in your orbs when you try to cheer up the boy’s inner child by doing a child's favorite activity. “Do you want to put the star on?”

He fails you, though. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You decorated it all yourself, so you can do the star,” he shrugs, not really into your idea.

“Oh come on–”

“I don’t feel like standing up,” Sunwoo grunts, the joy on your insides finally dying down when you get a taste of his usual composure– the one that really can’t be arsed with anything.

Sighing to yourself, you waltz over to the tall ladder, and despite your biggest worries, you continue climbing up the metal construction even when it wobbles and makes you fear you’re gonna fall. The whole thing is kind of unsteady and makes your heart thump in your throat, but you choose to get it over with and finally climb to the very top, outstretching your arm and putting the star on top of the tree, the decoration process now done and freeing you off your today’s work responsibilities.

Something akin to satisfaction beams in your insides as you climb down the ladder, and now, you’ll write this off to you being a little too excited with the vision of a face mask and popcorn at home– but your leg slips on one of the steps and despite the ladder being now magically steady, your body comes crashing down to the floor.

A yelp fights out of your throat, hands go flying in a desperate need to steady yourself or hold on to something that would make you not fall hard against the marble floor, when a miracle straight down from heaven comes to rescue in a form of flesh holding you up and shielding you from the fall, a grunt landing in your ears when your body settles into soft fabric of dark gray.

Head snapping to the source of the arms around your waist, surprised at the person’s strength used to balance you two on your feet as you fell (well, your knees buckled, but still, they haven’t yet hit the ground), you notice a pair of chocolate orbs staring down at you through a curtain of dark hair, wide eyes scanning your face and breathing out a puff of air.

“Look where you’re stepping next time, for fuck’s sake,” Sunwoo huffs, watching as your brain tries to process the near-death experience.

Registering his arms firmly placed around your waist (now realizing the soft fabric was the hoodie he’s been living in for the past few months), the citrusy scent of his cologne makes your head spin, eyes scanning his face in quick motions, as if not aware of who was your savior. You wonder how he even got to you on time (not really noticing him walking over to the ladder as soon as he saw it wobbling under you, holding it down to keep you from toppling over), and when your eyes curiously gaze at his chapped, yet plush lips, the warmth in your stomach makes you finally snap out of it.

Untangling yourself out of his limbs, much like you did with the Christmas lights a few minutes ago, you clear your throat and try to get your breathing back to normal. Your knees are a little weak, but you write that off to the shock of falling.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you just agreed to put the star on,” you complain, straightening your clothes as you walk over to the empty boxes nearby, stacking them into one another and avoiding all possible eye contact with the male.

It’s working– at least that’s what you keep telling yourself– up until you hear him chuckle and see a pair of hands taking the tower of boxes out of your hold, a charming grin sent your way as he walks away from you to the staff room. “If you say so.”

Okay, so it’s not working.

You’re fucked.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – THE PROPOSAL (2009)

“So… I was thinking,” Sunwoo starts one day, a bundle of rolled-up posters stacked up in his arms like a pyramid, puffs of cold air making clouds appear in front of his face as he speaks, “would you want to go see a movie with me?” he asks, tone of voice casual, as if he was asking you about the weather.

The poster you’re currently putting up into one of the glass holders outside of the cinema almost slips out of your frozen fingers out of shock, your heart skipping a beat. “Huh?” you hum, taking out a container full of pins out of your coat pocket and securing the poster to its designated place. “You want to bring money to your father’s competitor?” you joke.

“What? No,” he quickly replies, furrowing his brows as he shakes his head. “I meant, like, here,” he says, nodding towards the building to prove his point, taking a step aside when you close the glass door of the poster holder and move towards the next one, 3 more movie banners left to put up outside of the cinema.

The wires in your brain work on full force, trying to clear out any confusion caused by his sudden invitation. Sure, you two have gotten closer ever since you talked with him at the Christmas tree a week ago, but still, you didn’t know it was enough to hang out outside of work hours.

Instead of focusing the conversation on this unpredictable development, you turn towards clearing out the logistics instead. “How would we even do that? We either work at the same time or you work when I don’t and the other way around,” you say, taking the next poster from him and putting it up.

All of the movies airing the next two weeks are Christmas movies. Some of them are old, some of them are premieres, but still– you can’t really imagine watching a festive movie with your coworker. Up until last week, you thought of him as the next reincarnation of Grinch.

“I could get my sister to switch with me on a day you don’t work,” he hums, sheepish about his preposition. There’s something bashful in his tone, something shy in his gaze as he watches you put up the movie poster, but you try your hardest to ignore it for the sake of your sanity. You’re already having a hard time dealing with the fact that he appeared in your dreams twice since he caught you in his arms last week. You don’t need to add the switch in dynamic to the mix.

“Isn’t she underage?” you ask, snickering.

“Yeah, and?” he shrugs. “It’s a family business, Y/N. Everyone has to be included, underage or not.”

A laugh erupts out of your throat at the comment, shaking your head at the boy in disbelief.

“What would you even wanna see? Those are all Christmas movies,” you say, moving along and focusing your attention to the glossy material in your fingers.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” he says.

“Oh, it is,” you mutter, “I don’t like Christmas movies.”

Sunwoo grunts. “Well, I don’t really care. I saw your favorite movie with you, so you can return the favor and see my favorite movie with me,” he speaks up, making you roll your eyes at his words.

“There’s no way any of those movies is your favorite,” you note, doubtful tone haunting the boy.

“You wouldn’t know,” he laughs, making your heart do cartwheels at the sound, his teasing making you feel warmth despite the cold breeze trying to make your bones freeze into blocks of ice.

“I won’t go unless I believe you,” you say, grinning as you close the glass box and take the last poster out of Sunwoo’s hands, watching as the boy puts his frozen fingers into the comfort of his warm jacket, shielding them from the cold.

“Not fair.”

“Very fair, actually.”

“Oh come on,” he sighs, shaking his head in disagreement, “I thought we could watch a Christmas movie as a celebration to the end of semester,” he says, tone of voice almost pleading.

Securing the last banner into its designated place, you turn towards Sunwoo with an examining look on your face. He seems to be completely serious, eyes big pools of honey as he watches your face morph as you think. Something in your stomach makes it feel like it’s flying, making you clear your throat as you avert your gaze towards the line of Christmas movie posters on the brick wall. “Fine,” you gulp, “so what do you wanna watch?”

“The Polar Express,” he says, pointing towards the A3 scale you put up last, showing one of the movies that were older, but Mr Kim decided to air anyway– as if he was aware.

Fuck, you think. That’s my favorite.

“Absolutely not,” you cough, “I hate that movie.”

“Huh? How?” he sighs, face full of disappointment.

“Just because. It’s too long.”

“It’s not even two hours?”

Eyes quickly darting towards the poster, pupils shaking as you look towards the airing dates at the very bottom, you chew on your bottom lip, trying to find a way out. “You’re working on the 18th.”

“Okay, then we can go on the 19th,” Sunwoo says, determined to make you watch the movie with him. Why? You don’t even want to know at this point.

“I go home for Christmas break on the 19th,” you say, shrugging. “See? It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Y/N, come on–”

“Listen, can’t we just go back to hating each other instead of you annoying me about this stupid movie?” you sigh. In the whirlpool of events, you forgot just how insistent Sunwoo could be– who knows, maybe this was the real reason why you were so irritated with him in the first place.

Slowly walking back towards your workplace, hearing Sunwoo’s sneakers hit the ground behind you as he trails after you like a lost puppy, a sense of momentarily victory flows through your veins when you recognise that you found your way out. There was no way Mr Kim would let his underage daughter work instead of Sunwoo, and you truly were leaving home the evening of 19th. You already had a train ticket– you’re not gonna change your plans because of a man you despised just a few days ago.

“I never really hated you, by the way. Besides, you’re only saying that because you hate the movie,” Sunwoo grunts, chiming in front of you– making you think he’s being petty and doesn’t want to talk to you anymore, surprising you when he opens the door for you and offers you a solemn gaze, waiting for you to walk through the entryway and go back to work. (For you, it’s sitting in the ticket booth in silence. For Sunwoo, it’s pretending to work in the back, since his dad is absent today again)

Reciprocating his gaze, noticing the disappointment behind your coworker’s eyes, you feel something in your stomach drop, the weight of it so heavy you quickly avert your look.

“Maybe,” you shrug.

And maybe, the true reason is something completely else.

The words resonate through your brain– ‘I never really hated you, by the way’. Funny. Then what were all those months of torture all about?

You decide you no longer want answers.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – WHEN HARRY MET SALLY (1989)

You can’t believe you’re doing something nice for Kim Sunwoo.

Shoes hitting the gravel, your scarf pulled up so it covers your nose from the ice cold air, a hat hugging your head in warmth and shielding you from the aggressive weather, you start to contemplate your choices and your next moves. A sigh escapes your throat when your eyes land on the marquee above the entrance of the movie theater, teeth chewing on the inside of your cheek as you shift your weight from one foot to another.

Pulling out your phone to check the time, a shiny 7:24PM stares back at you, pushing you to walk up to the door of your workplace on your day off, 24 minutes after the beginning of The polar express.

You feel silly. You feel oh so stupid when you push the door open and your body is immediately engulfed in warmth, the yellow dim lights of the cinema making your eyes slowly adjust to the brightness contrasting the darkness of the outside world. You feel like you must have gone crazy, especially when your insides start to get all light and bubbly, hints of nerves tingling at the tips of your fingertips and the deepest corners of your stomach. There’s no turning back now, you tell yourself– and when your feet automatically take you to the ticket booth, gaze landing on the boy with his bangs in his eyes and an expression worthy of a kicked puppy on his face, you suddenly feel like your trip to the cinema was all worth it.

Clearing your throat, you notify your coworker of your presence, his big, doe eyes staring at you in surprise. Sunwoo’s mouth goes agape, shock overtaking his features when he takes in your appearance. (You bet he thinks you look laughable– your eyes teary from the cold and your figure stoic, numb limbs hanging by your side.)

“What are you doing here?” he asks, the question not as aggressive as it sounded out of your lips every time he paid a visit to the cinema on his days off for all these months.

“Uh… I forgot some things in the back and I wanted to take them home tomorrow, so I came back for them,” you hum, the practiced excuse slipping out of your lips with ease, “can you come help me?”

Sunwoo looks even more surprised at your question– although there is now a hint of confusion in the mix. What could you possibly have in the back to need his help with? For as far as he knows, you only ever kept your work uniform in your locker. “What? Can’t you get it yourself…?” he asks, noticing as you shake your head in disapproval.

“It’s… it’s on the top of the lockers and I can’t reach it, so-”

“Grab a chair…?”

You didn’t really expect to have Sunwoo question your half-assed excuse. Truly, you thought this was going to go smoothly– but knowing Kim Sunwoo, you should’ve known it was never going to go the way you planned. You’re determined to win, though.

And so it’s the time to bring out the big guns– men never say no when you praise them and make yourself look incompetent.

“Please? I don’t feel like bringing a chair and you’re tall enough. It will only take a second…” you pout, watching as the male in front of you sighs and stands up from his seat, nodding at your humble request.

Sunwoo follows you as you walk down the corridor, your heart thumping with the start of your little plan. Your steps are calculated and your movements carefully programmed, the nervousness in your stomach making you even more giddy with every meter of distance you two cross.

Before you two get a chance to make it to the back, you make a swift turn and open the doors to one of the rooms on the left of the hall, dragging Sunwoo by his hand and tugging him inside. His body stumbles against yours, but the door closes behind him faster than he can react to the impact. Steadying the boy back to his feet, you watch him with anticipation, awaiting his reaction.

The truth is, you haven’t thought the plan out this far. The depiction of it in your brain always ended with you sneaking him into the projecting room and his curious eyes peering into yours. Something about the image of the events always made you feel too overwhelmed– you never dared to imagine the situation further. (That would mean admitting some hidden desires to yourself, so you never even tried. That all makes this situation twice as nerve-wrecking, though.)

“What… are we doing here?” he asks, eyes darting around the darkness of the projection room, the only light illuminating his pretty features being the movie playing behind the glass of the small booth.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to watch The polar express with me?” you ask, voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“I… did…” he mumbles, confusion making him stumble over his own words.

“Well, you are working and I leave tomorrow, so I figured I had to find a way…” you shrug, watching as Sunwoo looks at you a little frozen, big eyes staring you down, gears turning in his head. You can’t really read him– you don’t really know if he’s going to laugh at you or send you home for ruining his shift. You don’t know if he appreciates the gesture, or if he thinks you’re being embarrassing. You don’t know if he registers the slight tremble of your hands and the lightness of your breathing, you don’t know if he realizes how much his reaction could make your day or completely ruin it (just like always), and so, you panic– and when you panic, you ramble. “I know we are technically not supposed to be here– well, me, at least– but I think that being with the owner’s son could make my boss let me off even if he somehow finds out, which I doubt he will, but–”

Sunwoo’s face starts slowly morphing, the slightest of shifts slowly adding up to a change of expression, having the male break out into the biggest, happiest grin you’ve ever seen him sport. His eyes light up and glaze your features in the softest of touches, his head shaking in disbelief. “Oh, you’re adorable.”

“What?” you ask, your heart doing seven somersaults and five cartwheels, eyes a big pool of surprise.

“You did this for me?” he beams, his grin so big and pretty it takes your breath away. Butterfly wings tickle in your stomach at the sight, having you mentally curse yourself– hold it together, Y/N.

“I- I mean, I didn’t really do anything, we just sneaked in–”

“This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me,” Sunwoo hums, the teasing tone making its comeback in his voice, “actually, this might be the first sweet thing you’ve ever done for me–”

“Well, okay,” you roll your eyes, an embarrassed laugh dragging out of your throat as you turn on your heel and walk closer to the little table in the opposite end of the room, needing to avert your gaze from the boy for at least a second. The air is suddenly too heavy and it’s hard for you to breathe, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Eyes focusing on the screen in front of you, your brain tries hard to focus on your favorite Christmas movie. Failing, your head running thoughts full of conflicting emotions and erratic exclamation marks screaming the name of the boy behind you, you ask yourself how and when exactly you’ve gotten yourself into this mess.

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten this job in the first place.

Ears painfully alert, listening to each sound heard in the small projecting room– the shuffling of Sunwoo’s feet as he nears your figure, the muffled noise of the movie playing in the screening room in front of you, the resonance of your own heartbeat in your ears as Sunwoo’s hands suddenly sneak around your middle, your jacket squeaking from the contact of his limbs as he hugs you.

“What–”

“Don’t fight me, Y/N. Just this once,” he hums, voice deep, but still a bit hesitant. It’s like he’s walking on unsteady land, cautious of his movements in fear of making you run away. He’s in a new territory, in your personal space– the scent of his cologne fills your nostrils again as his head settles itself on your shoulder, the two of you silently watching the movie for a few seconds, not really knowing how to proceed.

There’s something intimate in the way he holds you, in the way the movie is a mere background noise to the marathon of your thoughts, the blue light illuminating your faces as you both try your hardest to keep your cool.

A flashing thought of just how much you from a few months ago would hate the position it’s in right now passes by your brain, making you instantly feel foolish. Oh how much you’d love it if you stood here unaffected right now– there’s no way to battle the warmth flooding your insides right at this moment, though.

“This is nice,” he mumbles, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Thank you,” he says, your insides squeezing at the sincerity. It’s not often you get to see this side of Sunwoo– the sweet, patient one, the side of him that makes you feel safe in his arms and appreciated with the soft tone in his words. And while you realize you don’t hate the playful side of him just as much as you thought you did, you must admit the novelty of the situation makes you feel a bit more joyful than you’d like to admit.

The weight of his head disappears from your shoulder, making you feel momentarily disappointed by the action. You expect him to pull away and take a seat on the chair, to finally focus on the movie playing in front of your eyes, the thought alone making your spirit fall. The fire in your inside lights up like a match thrown into a pool of gasoline just as fast again, though, when you feel soft lips come in contact with your cheek.

They stay only for a second before they disappear, an airy laugh landing in your ear a second later. “Please don’t run away now,” he says, tone of voice uncertain, telling you that now the ball is in your court– your next actions could either make him the happiest man on Earth, or completely break him.

The choice is yours.

Your head turns his way, eyes instantly locking with his brown orbs searching for any signs of discomfort in your face. Slowly, as if still processing the events of before, your eyes trail over his features– the awfully handsome way his face was sculpted, the softness of his eyes and the sharpness of his jaw, the slope of his nose and the plushness of his lips. They’re not as chapped today, making you wonder if he started wearing vaseline, and before you get a chance to stop yourself, you start wondering of the way his lips would feel on yours, imagination running wild.

He heaves out a shaky breath, your eyes darting back into his– as if to ask for approval, see if he’s okay with it. There’s a dazy look in them, gaze pressed to your lips, then to your eyes, then your lips again– a look you take as an invitation as you act against all your best judgment and lean towards him, pressing your mouth against his.

As if testing the waters, you make the kiss short. It was long enough to engrave it into your brain, though– to remember the way his perfectly shaped lips pressed against yours, the way the world stopped just for a moment, the way he tasted of the strawberry mints he always eats at work whenever he has nothing to do.

Sunwoo seems to find liking in the action– lips glazing yours again, pressing another peck to them before he deepens the kiss, the tingling in your fingertips intensifying and the excitement bubbling in your frame making you turn in your position, front facing him and pressing up against his chest. His hands quickly adjust, slipping under your opened jacket and settling on your clothed waist, the slightest contact making your knees weak and settle your bottom against the table behind you, hands grabbing the fabric of his sweatshirt.

He pulls back to catch some air, a boyish grin breaking out on his face, forehead knocking against yours in a sweet, giddy manner. “I’ve wanted to do this for months,” he huffs.

The sentiment makes a thousand question marks appear in your head– why did he make your life a living hell, then? Why did he pull pranks on you and make you hate every second spent with him? Why did he make you so furious each time and argued with you about the smallest things? How could Sunwoo possibly have wanted this for months, when you just only started noticing his attractiveness a few weeks ago?

“Why–”

“I’ll tell you later,” he says, cutting you off as he presses his lips against yours again, your mouth automatically welcoming his presence. Brain erased of all previous questions, his kisses working like a spell, you focus all your senses on the man in front of you.

Having your hands feeling up his abdomen, Sunwoo hesitantly asks for entrance with his tongue, running it along your lower lip until you welcome him in. You like this type of power battle much more than the one you had going on until now, and with each new movement, you feel yourself falling apart under him.

His fingers tug down on the sides of your jacket, pulling it down. You don’t need it anymore– with how heated you’ve gotten, you are actually kind of happy that it is gone. One of his cold hands sneaks under the hem of your jumper, fingertips trailing up and down your side, the other one tugs down the hat from your head, discarding it somewhere on the table behind you before it finds its place on the side of your jaw, angling your head in a way that allows him to deepen the kiss even more, the contact of your lips growing firmer as seconds go by.

Your scarf is swiftly untangled off your neck, Sunwoo’s skilled lips blindly trailing down the side of your mouth towards your jaw, feathery kisses ticking you before he gets more bold and sucks on the side of your throat, a shaky breath shyly escaping your lips.

“Sunwoo…” you say, tone of voice not really present, no real intention behind the call of his name.

The boy hums against your neck, having you gasp again when he lightly bites the softness of your skin, your hands shooting up to tangle in his hair when he licks the spot to soothe it after. Threading your fingers through his locks to ground yourself, you can’t believe you ever hoped for him to get a trim.

His hands firmly hold the underside of your thighs before he hoists you up on the table, continuing his confident attack on your neck when you’re sitting comfortably on the hard surface. It’s not like you didn’t feel excited, the tiniest bit thrilled at the mental image of his possessive marks all over your throat, but you were glad it was freezing outside and you could wear a turtleneck to hide the bruises from your family tomorrow. He nuzzles his nose into the hot skin of your neck, the action making you grin in ecstasy and endearment.

Getting lost in the way he was handling you, his touches firm, yet delicate, acted out in a way that makes you feel safe and comfortable with his passionate ministrations, you almost don’t notice the door swinging open, the figure of your boss like striking like the lightning in the doorway of the screening room.

“Sunwoo!”

The boy jumps, his body quickly ungluing itself off yours, as he listens to his father scolding him. “I don’t care what you two have going on over here, but you’re on clock! There’s a line waiting for the tickets for tomorrow’s movie and someone has to sell them right now.”

The boy clears his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Coming,” he says, trying to keep his composure. His hair’s a little tousled, cheeks rosy and lips puffed– the image that will haunt you in your sweetest nightmares now– and before you get a chance to say anything or let your brain process the events of the last few minutes, your panic works faster, making you act.

Quickly scattering for your things, you run out of the projecting room without saying goodbye to either Sunwoo or your boss, never once looking back.

You think of what you’ve done on your way home, bones freezing now that they weren’t in his presence. You try hard to regret your actions, but you don’t find it in you to do so– it’s kind of hard with the feeling of his lips still playing with yours.

Even though you’d hate to admit it just a few weeks ago, you must do it now.

Kim Sunwoo does make a really good kisser.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005)

There are many thoughts swimming around your brain as you walk through the coldness of the town the next day, your duffel bag hanging off your shoulder. There’s a conflict between the actions of your body and your thoughts – feet on their journey to the train station, but head stuck in the small projection room of your workplace, your coworker’s kisses occupying your every sober thought.

It’s not surprising, but you haven't heard from Sunwoo since you left the cinema last night. Not a single text or a call– but you figure that this is just your dynamic. Sunwoo’s never been much of a texter when it came to you. He’s never had the reason to text or call you, unless it was work-related, and you think it will stay that way, even though you did make out with him just last night.

Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he just didn’t feel like pondering on the events any longer– maybe it was just a one-time thing for him and he didn’t put much significance to it. You wouldn’t know– it’s not like you’re suddenly an expert on the way he feels and operates.

You, though? How do you feel about the turn of events? Despite not wanting to admit it to yourself, the answer came to you the second you tried to fall asleep last night, every soaring thought in your brain showing you the reflection of his dazed look, desires of wanting him to look at you that way all the time oh so skilfully infesting themselves into every crevice of your neocortex. You want Sunwoo to like you. You want Sunwoo to want you. You want Sunwoo to be so enchanted with your existence that he thinks about you before he goes to sleep at night– just like you have done for the past few weeks.

The answer comes to you again when you feel something wet fall on the top of your cheek, making you turn your eyes towards the sky. Your breathing comes out in puffs of air as you watch the magic happen right in front of you– and as you watch the snowflakes scatter all around the place, you are in another inner argument. While the rational side of your brain is screaming at you to keep walking to the station so you don’t miss your train home, the delirious side is cooperating with your feet for once, your figure crossing to the other side of the street and walking over to the place you could get to even with your eyes closed at this point; all because you suddenly remember the conversation you had with Sunwoo when you were putting on ornaments to the Christmas tree.

It’s the first snow of the season.

Kim Sunwoo loves it when it snows.

Speed-walking towards the vintage movie theater at the corner of the town’s square, you feel something akin to childish excitement bubbling in your insides, a hint of nervousness inviting itself into your insides when you push the door open and aim straight towards the ticket booth, where you know Sunwoo will be sitting, wasting another shift away.

He’s there– eyes pressed towards the window, gaze following the snowflakes kissing the cold ground. You expected more excitement in his character, more childlike joy in his figure– and after taking in his composure: shoulders slouching and fingers picking at the skin of his cuticles, you suddenly feel silly for coming.

Well, here goes nothing, you think.

“Sunwoo,” you call, making the boy snap his head towards you in surprise, big eyes meeting yours the moment he recognises your voice.

You don’t receive a verbal response for a while. The boy just stares at you, a bit hesitant and clueless. His face reminds you of a small puppy trying to take in the new situation in front of it. His lips are formed into a small pout, gears in his brain turning and trying to process the reality of having you standing there, face beaten from the cold.

Clearing your throat, you try to take charge of the situation. “It’s snowing outside,” you say, eyes peering out of the window, all thoughts suddenly escaping your brain, words blanking off your tongue, “and, well… you said you like the snow, so…”

The boy’s mouth hangs agape, a twinkle in his eyes slowly appearing once again when he stares at you, your nervousness doing wonders to your conversation skills. “I- I don’t even know what I wanted to say with that, it’s just- I don’t know… I saw it was snowing and I automatically came here, so-” you stutter, the sentence cutting off as Sunwoo jumps to his feet and grins, wordlessly taking your hand into his and dragging you outside.

The duffel bag falls off your shoulder somewhere in the middle of the hall, discarded to the floor, before Sunwoo sharply halts in his steps and runs back towards the ticket booth, still dragging you with him by the hand. The boy grabs something off the table, the item not visible in your rear point of view, and before you have a chance to register what’s happening, you’re outside of the building again, coldness instantly slapping you in the face.

It’s dark out, but the heaviness of the snow provides enough light in the silent evening for you to see where you’re going under the yellow lampposts on the street. Instantly noticing the lack of Sunwoo’s warm hand in yours when he suddenly lets go, you turn your head to look at the male.

Terror fills your veins when you notice him gathering snow from the ground and pressing it into a tight ball, a screech escaping your throat when you watch him swing it at you, a playful, boyish grin playing with his features. The male chases you around and most of the snowballs don't even hit your running figure (he does have an awful aim), but you still duck anyway and try your hardest to win your snowball fight.

Numb fingers creating snowballs and halting them at his tall frame, but missing most of the time due to his fast reflexes, you laugh and let go of all the worries and questions clouding your judgment. Sunwoo looks enthusiastic, so much more lively than when you found him in the ticket booth just a few minutes ago– but that’s still not enough for you to let him win.

Gathering the icy texture into your hands, you run towards him, taking advantage of his inattention as he’s bent over and taking more snow into his hold, and halt the whiteness into his face just as he straightens his back and wants to prepare for his attack.

More laughter bubbles out of your chest when you watch him drop his snowball to the ground, admitting defeat. The snow is all over his face– slowly running down his cheeks like teardrops, redness tinting his nose and the sides of his face.

The male shudders from the cold, and you instantly start feeling bad. Only now you realize that he ran out without a coat, a gasp escaping your throat. “Oh god,” you mourn, hands flying towards his frozen face to wipe off the snow from his cheeks, fingers carefully tracing over his cold skin. His eyes open as he watches you, something in his gaze so tender you feel yourself melting even in the middle of the snowstorm.

The male shuffles his hands into the front pocket of his gray hoodie, taking out the item you now recognise to be the hat you accidentally forgot in the projecting room yesterday (and already mentally paid goodbye to), his frozen fingers tugging the fabric onto your head.

“Why are you putting this on me? You’re the one that’s freezing over here!” you scold him, shaking your head at the male.

He rewards you with an amused grin, watching your next moves. Acting on auto-pilot, not really putting much thought into your actions, you unzip your jacket and step impossibly near to the male. Holding the jacket open, you hug him around his middle, making sure you are sharing the warmth with him and keeping him as close as possible, shielding him from the cold with both the fabric of your puffer jacket and the heat radiating off your body.

Faces just inches away from each other, you peer at his face. He wears a warm expression, eyes peeking out from behind his dark bangs. Clouds of breath escape his mouth when he speaks, voice quiet, as if to not ruin the atmosphere. “I thought you would regret it,” he says, making you break out into a foolish smile.

“I thought so too,” you nod.

“And you don’t?”

Shrugging, you reply. “Not really.”

“Why?” he asks, suddenly doubtful. “You said you hated me. Which was odd to hear, honestly, since I did all this to get your attention anyway and I thought it was just how our dynamic works, but… I could see how it could be annoying to you…”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes at the sudden revelation. It’s sickeningly sweet how endearing he looks when he doubts himself, explaining himself to you in a nervous blabber. “I don’t hate you. At least not anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” you shake your head, a tender gaze shared between the two of you, “I actually quite like you, I think…” you mumble, a little bashful to admit it out loud.

“You do?” he asks, the twinkle in his eye glimmering twice as much as ever before, tone of voice playful, yet laced with honest joy and surprise at your confession.

“I do,” you nod, voice barely louder than a whisper as you watch him lean closer towards your face, cold nose bumping into yours before he angles his head, breath mixing in with yours in the few seconds before he dares to kiss you again, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is sweet. The kiss tastes of strawberry mints and the first snow, of unsaid confessions and longing looks sent your way every time you weren’t looking. The kiss makes your stomach fill with a thousand little butterflies, it melts away the ice around you, the two of you like a spark of a fire in the middle of a snowy land.

His actions have your composure faltering, hands untangling from behind him and moving up to cradle his face. He melts under your touch, leaning into you as your fingers trail over his cheekbones. Holding on to him, thumbs padding his soft skin, you’re reminded of the cold only when he breaks off you and shudders again, teeth clattering from the freezing temperature.

“Let’s get you inside,” you say, planting a short peck to his lips, “before you turn into an icicle,” you giggle, watching as he scrunches up his face.

“I won’t,” he shakes his head, “love warms me up,” he grins, making you roll your eyes at his bold statement.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“But you quite like me anyways, no?”

Sighing, moving away from him and tugging him back inside the cinema, you shake your head at the boy. “I’ll think about it on my train home,” you bite back, opening the door to the theater and aiming towards the duffel bag you dropped on your way out.

Sunwoo watches you with a warm gaze, an adorable smile playing with his lips. His figure seems to be visibly taking in the heat again, his face adorning a flush, pink color.

“So I take it as you’re not quitting anymore, then?” he teases as you walk back to the door, both of you ignoring the customers waiting for their tickets in the line in front of the forgotten booth.

“We’ll see,” you shrug.

“I’ll text you the schedule for January?”

“You better text me about something else too, Kim Sunwoo,” you bark back, opening the door towards the cold landscape, “or you’re gonna have a very uncomfortable return back to work in January!”

The boy laughs, the noise like a Christmas carol to your ears. “Noted.”

Slipping outside, you watch as he waves at you goodbye, your feet dragging through the snow towards the train station having more pep to their step now. You don’t even know if you can make it to the train on time, but you surprisingly have no regrets– you can always catch the next one, right?

Mentally wanting to slap yourself for the lovesick grin playing with your lips, you sigh.

The male that once made your life a living hell is now the one you look forward to seeing the most once you come back after Christmas break. It’s kind of strange, really.

One would think that working with movies on the daily would prepare you better for the biggest plot twist of your life.

2K notes · View notes

changbunnies · 4 months

Text

Slow Bloom (18+)

♡ Pairing: Inexperienced!Changbin x Experienced Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff and smut with a lil plot <3 a tiny bit of angst during the build up but it doesn't last long at all!

♡ Word Count: 8.5k

♡ Summary: In which a misunderstanding while cuddling leads to discovering exactly how Changbin feels about you.

♡ Smut Warnings: not intended to have overt dom/sub dynamics but i may have written bin a bit subby lol oops, references to porn watching, kinda pervy bin?, his lack of experience is not outright stated to the reader as it is implied that they already know, nipple play, thigh grinding / humping, fingering (f rec), protected piv

♡ Notes: so quite a few ppl showed interest in an inexperienced binnie fic after i posted my inexperienced chan fic and i am here to deliver <3 this was also the perfect break from the longer, more plot heavy fics i've been working on as this took a lot less mental effort :') i hope you enjoy this while waiting for those!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There aren't many things in life that make Changbin nervous.

He navigates the world with security and confidence, sure of himself and in the actions he takes. He can speak in tense or awkward situations with relative ease, nerves never eat him up in social settings, and he's never afraid to speak his mind or do what he wishes to.

But then there's you. You, while laying in bed next to him with an arm draped over his body and one of your legs tucked between his, make him extremely, effortlessly nervous.

It wasn't always this way; at least, not as far as he can remember. You've been friends since forever, and closeness such as this is par for the course. He's used to impromptu sleepovers, to you making yourself comfy in his space, tossing your belongings to the floor without a care before you take over his bed.

He's used to cuddling while watching tv, to squeezing each other into tight hugs, to limbs tangled under blankets. He's used to the lingering smell of your shampoo mixed with perfume, used to the feeling of your breath tickling his skin when you pull him close, to the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips.

He's used to it, and it doesn't affect him; or so he thought.

Somewhere along the line, something within him shifted. Whether the reason lies with you or with himself, he doesn't entirely know. What he does know is that he no longer sees you the same way he did when you were growing up together. And it wasn't until that shift occurred that he realized maybe "your friend" isn't the only thing he wants to be.

Maybe it's a natural, gradual progression from where you both began, a shift in desire brought on by new maturity and life experience. Maybe you've been this radiant and beautiful since the very first day you met, but he was too young and oblivious to realize it then.

Maybe it's because of that strange, sharp and twisting feeling in his gut every time he sees you with a new partner. If it wasn't for you showing interest in other people, would he have ever realized at all that what he feels for you transcends what he feels in his other friendships?

While he loves his other friends, he doesn't get jealous when they bring a new partner around, or talk about their love life to him. He doesn't spend every night lying awake thinking about them, nor does he wonder what it'd be like to kiss them. He doesn't dream about seeing their bare skin, or about touching them, about them touching him.

He doesn't imagine their tongue lavishing over him, or of returning the favor to them. He doesn't fantasize about them in dirty, naughty scenarios, during his private moments in bed or in the shower. You occupy his every thought, to the point that even while watching porn he has to close his eyes and imagine it's you making those sounds instead, replacing the scene before him with a mental image of you and him together.

That's what makes Changbin especially nervous right now. You're cuddled up to him, as you always are when you spend the night at his place, but he can't get his brain to please shut the fuck up and stop pushing him to the brink of embarrassing himself.

He needs to stop thinking about the placement of your hand on his stomach, just above his waistband. He can't linger on the fact that your tits are pressed against him while you hug him, or about how pleasant the soft, content sighs that leave you sound to his ears.

If he thinks about any of it, he'll get hard– and that'll easily be the most mortifying moment of his life, because you would definitely notice with the way your leg is snaked between his and resting between his thighs. It's moments like this when he misses the days of innocence– when cuddling with you like this didn't feel quite so intimate.

He makes a conscious effort to focus harder on the tv in front of you both, playing some sitcom he has long since stopped paying attention to. He guesses the jokes are landing if your occasional giggles are any sign, but if you asked his opinion on anything going on he wouldn't be able to answer. Changbin has never been the type of person who was easily able to divide his attention, but God, does he fucking try.

Because if you realize he's getting hard, and you feel it, there are very few scenarios he can imagine where you're okay with it. And if you decide to question him on it, he'd be done for-–because there's no way he'd be able to outright deny his attraction to you. Playing it off would feel too much like lying, and this is not the kind of scenario he imagines when he thinks about the way he'll admit his feelings to you.

You've noticed since the beginning that his body has been tense; you've been cuddling since you were young, and you're more than familiar with how he feels when he's relaxed. It's almost amazing how someone so muscular can still feel so soft when their body is at rest– and right now you can't help but notice that he feels very far from soft.

You tried to ignore it and focus on the show you're watching, and it worked for some time, but the longer he stays tense the more you can't help but wonder if you've been bothering him lately. It's become a growing pattern– you touch Changbin, in some ways small and menial like a passing tap to his arm as you slip past him in the kitchen, or large, in which you hug him tight and envelop him with your entire body.

Either way, the reaction is the same; he instantly tenses. You're not sure if he intends to do so, or if it's an unconscious reaction he doesn't even realize he's doing, but it hasn't gone unnoticed by you. The two of you have always been a match when it comes to being clingy and affectionate, but maybe that isn't the kind of attention he wants to get from you anymore.

Are you being overbearing? Did you unintentionally do something wrong? Maybe he wants to distance himself from you but is just either too nice or too scared to say it out loud and hurt your feelings.

When you tilt your head to look at him, his cheeks are pinker than they were just moments ago, with his gaze fixed solely on the tv. You're sure he can feel you looking at him, but he doesn't turn his head to meet your eyes. You want to believe he's just really engrossed in the show, but you can't help but doubt it. You know him, and you're certain that for whatever reason, he's avoiding your gaze.

"Am I bothering you?" you ask abruptly, and perhaps a bit more vulnerable than you would've liked. Not that you can help it, really; you just really care about Changbin, and you can't stand not knowing if you've done something to upset him or make him want to separate himself from you. You have to know, because you can't stand it any longer.

"What? No, I– what?" Changbin finally looks at you, furrowed brows peeking out between strands of his long, messy curls. You didn't expect him to be so surprised by your question; admittedly, it is sudden, but this has been building for weeks hasn't it? You thought he'd be relieved that you're bringing it up first so that he doesn't have to.

You've never been happier to be wrong, or to see such genuine confusion on his face. Thank God. "Sorry, I just.. You've been acting different lately, and I thought that maybe it was because I did something wrong," you explain, following it with a small, awkward laugh.

Really, you're relieved; at the same time however, you do feel a bit embarrassed and silly to have been questioning what's been happening with him now that he's so clearly taken aback. You jumped to conclusions and got a bit ahead of yourself, it’s true– but.. If that’s not it, then what is it?

Surely there’s a reason– his behavior wouldn’t have changed if everything is really the same as it's always been. If nothing's wrong, why does he tense up every time you try to act affectionate with him? Why does he hesitate to meet your gaze when he never had a problem doing so before? Why does it always feel like he's putting distance between you?

Changbin swallows, you notice– a nervous response that you guess is from putting him on the spot. Because if it's not what you've been thinking, you need to be provided with another explanation– an explanation that only he can offer you. He needs to clear up this misunderstanding if he doesn't want you to wrongfully think you've done wrong by him, but what can he say that also omits the truth he isn't ready to admit?

His cheeks grow pinker, and you can tell he's struggling to find words– something you'd typically never expect to see in your charismatic best friend. You've untangled yourself from him enough to lift yourself up, weight propped up by your elbow while you look directly in his eyes. He's slightly beneath you at this angle, eyes having to travel up to meet your own, and again he swallows.

He's so fucked. There's nothing he can say right now other than "I really fucking like you and being this close to you all the time is making me crazy."

But he can't actually say that. Changbin wants his confession to come with a grand, romantic gesture. He wants to say the sweetest, more perfect words he can come up with. He wants to be a man of action, someone as cool as they are sincere, someone who can make you swoon with suave, but genuine effort. Admitting his feelings to you now, like this, would be the furthest thing from charming, or cool, or perfect.

As if all of that wasn't enough, now he has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander down to look at your chest– because he's been chubbing up since the moment you started cuddling, and if he catches a glimpse of your cleavage now, he's done for. It feels vaguely pathetic to be this affected by you when you don't even realize you're doing it to him.

Changbin's eyes act against the purposeful efforts of his brain and travel to your chest, met overtly with the sight of your breasts pressed together. Fuck. He looks back up to your face quickly, hoping you haven't noticed where his eyes wandered. He wishes he could reach between your bodies and discreetly adjust his pants to hide his growing erection, but he can't, and God help him, you're going to notice any second now.

And you're looking at him so sweetly and earnestly, patient and caring, totally unaware of what you're doing to him and what his actual struggle is. He wants to clear everything up, doesn't want you to feel like the fault of what he's going through lies with you, he wants to answer every question you have, he really does– but he's found himself in a vicious cycle.

Trying not to think about the position you're both in, of how pretty you are looking down at him, or of your chest that he can't seem to ignore despite how badly he needs to focus on anything else just makes him dwell on it even more. The more he tries not to, the more space it takes up in his mind, until it's entirely clouded, preventing him from conjuring a thought worthy of being spoken to you.

Fuck thinking of an excuse or explanation, he can't think of anything other than your tits being so close to his face. He wants nothing more than to kiss them, to feel your fingers running through his hair as he sticks his tongue out to lick your nipples, has thought about squeezing them between his palms so many times.

So can he offer you a reasonable enough excuse that hides the truth of the matter? Absolutely fucking not– not when all he can think about is how you'd feel and taste. "Changbin?" your questioning voice snaps him out of it, looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights behind his thick rimmed glasses.

He looks guilty, face entirely flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears. And you're convinced now that he was trying to spare your feelings, and was stuck on finding the right way to break it to you. He didn't know what to say, and was trying so desperately to think of something that wouldn't crush you.

He can see the hurt wash over you, and he opens his mouth, ready to blurt out anything in a futile attempt at damage control, but you're already speaking before he even gets the chance to try. "You don't have to spare my feelings, you can be honest, just tell me–" you say as you start to push yourself away from him, very clearly misunderstanding the situation that's been unfolding.

Before he can even begin to figure out if he should be relieved or devastated by your incorrect assumptions hiding what he feels, the process of moving your leg from between his causes him to let out a gasp that takes you both by surprise. You feel it– his semi-hard erection brushes against your leg as you attempt to move it out from between his thighs.

"Oh," is suddenly all you can manage to say. Is Changbin attracted to you..? Is that why for months he's slowly but surely become so different in your presence? When you look back to him, he's covered his face with his hands over his glasses, his pouty bottom lip quivering in what you can only assume to be mortification over his body betraying him.

The question now is, is this simply a physical reaction to being close or something more than that? Would it happen to him no matter who was pressed against him, or is it you in particular that causes his body to react this way? You won't know until he tells you, but you hope more than anything he wants you as much as you've always wanted him.

The idea that he may view you romantically is not something you ever allowed yourself to consider a possibility, but oh, how you've wanted it. Changbin has always been perfect to you; a gentleman in all aspects, attentive, considerate, thoughtful, your very best friend. You always thought you'd be lucky if someone like him were to love you, and you always held your partners to the standard he showed you.

You thought that even if you couldn't have Changbin, you could at least have someone like him; and while no one ever made you feel the way he does, disappointing you in one way or another, you still tried. Perhaps it was unfair, as no one can compare to Changbin, but if he wants you then you'll take him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Even when it wasn't entirely conscious to you, your heart has always belonged to him.

He flinches when you call his name again; your tone is soft, but he's still afraid to meet your gaze and discover what kind of expression is on your face. He thinks he'll die if he sees anything even remotely resembling disgust or anger. He cares about you so much, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if you lost your trust in him because of this.

You reach for his hands, and despite his nerves threatening to eat him alive for perhaps the first time in his life, he lets you take his hands away from his face. The apprehension in his eyes is clear, though there's a flash of relief when he can see that you're not upset with him. "I'm sorry, really," he blurts out quickly, feeling like he should apologize even if you aren't going to chastise him for getting hard simply from being close to you.

“Does this happen a lot when we..?” you ask, watching as his blush spreads down his neck while he hesitantly nods. You’ve never seen him so red and shy before– and honestly, you like it. You’ve always considered Changbin to be cute, but this is cute on an entirely different level; you hope this won’t be the only time you get to see him this way. But before that can happen, you have a more pressing question to ask him.

"Do you want me to help you?" is the next question to leave you, and fucking hell, does that send him reeling. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re even asking him so casually. And while it isn’t the way he pictured something happening between you after his many months of pining, he could never say no to you– he's been obsessively thinking about you all this time, how could he say anything but yes?

Still, he hesitates regardless; not because he's unsure about continuing, or because he doesn't want to, but because what if it means different things for the two of you? For Changbin, it'd be everything. You're the only person he's ever liked this much, he might even be in love with you, and he doesn't think he'd be able to recover from having a casual fling with you. He'd never be able to go back to before and pretend he doesn't feel as much for you as he does.

"If you say no, we can pretend this never happened," you assure him when you see the nervous hesitance in his eyes. It's not what you'd want to hear, but he deserves to be offered an out if he needs it; because as much as you want him, you don't want him to feel stuck and uncomfortable. And then you continue, hoping more than anything that he shares the sentiment of your next words, "But I think you should know, I really like you, Binnie. And I'll be really happy if you say yes."

With your admission, all his doubts and fears are cleared in an instant. Really, that's all he needed to hear to be sure what he plans to say next is the right thing to say to you. It's not how he ever intended to ask you this question, but he’d never dream of passing up the opportunity presented to him– the opportunity to be yours, and for you to be his in turn. "If I say yes, will you be my girlfriend?"

He’s smiling, sweet and cute as he asks, and it makes you smile too– because this is much more like the Changbin you know and love. He giggles when you accept, and as the word "boyfriend" leaves you in reference to him, absolutely giddy to finally be yours. Maybe this is better than the way he always pictured it would happen; because this is more organically you, what is more natural to your dynamic and the care you have for each other.

Leaning down, you softly press your lips to his, and even just a gesture so small is enough to spread goosebumps over his skin. It's so soft, slow, every sensation lingering even as you pull away to take a breath before kissing him again. No kiss he's ever had before compares to how it feels to kiss you; he doesn't think he's ever felt as positively electric as he does right now.

Is it normal for every touch of your lips to make him tremble so much? And his heart is already beating so fast, thumping loudly against his chest with each additional kiss and tracing touch of your fingers over his body. Down his arms, over his chest, underneath his shirt and across his stomach– all of it adds to the sparks in his veins.

His hands explore you too– eager, and a bit clumsy, but you find his enthusiasm infectious. He's so perfectly warm and soft, and you can't resist the urge to squeeze him in your hands– his soft tummy, his love handles, his defined pecs; you squeeze everywhere your hands can reach. Changbin lets out a soft, surprised squeak the first time, but he quickly grows used to it, and finds himself mimicking the way you touch him.

He starts with the leg not tucked between his thighs, hand trailing up and down the length of it before he squeezes. Then he moves on to your hips before traveling to your backside, then your waist, and finally your breasts. Even just feeling them over your clothes excites him beyond words, eager and happy to be touching you like he's dreamed of so many times before.

He likes the pleased hums and sighs you let out almost more than he likes the act of squeezing you in his palms, each sound just as pretty and soft as you are. He shivers when he feels your tongue swipe across his bottom lip, and he eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue slipping inside his mouth and swirling around his own makes him practically vibrate with desire for more.

Changbin follows you when you start to pull away from the kiss, eyes remaining closed for several seconds before he finally opens them to look at you. His pretty lips, still wet and parted, turn into a pout when you've gone further than he can still reach. His pout vanishes, however, when you start to pull up your shirt, and it makes you giggle; he really is just so cute.

You weren't wearing a bra beneath your shirt– you never do when you're relaxing before going to bed, even at Changbin's place. You always felt comfortable enough around him that you didn't feel like you had to sacrifice your comfort during your sleepovers, assured in the fact that he'd always be respectful towards you even if he happened to notice.

And while you're comfortable and confident, there's still a certain tinge of nervousness that bubbles up in the back of your mind that comes from being exposed to his eyes now. Tits are pretty– doesn't matter who they're on, or what shape they're in, they always look good; but it's almost funny how simply showing them to the person you like so much makes you nervous regardless of this fact.

You're not ashamed to say you've slept with a lot of people, and that a majority of said people have seen you completely bare– but there's none you've ever liked quite as much or in the same way that you like Changbin. It makes it more intimate somehow, so real, and you suppose that's the part that makes you nervous.

But oh, how his gaze fills your stomach with butterflies– because you don't think anyone's ever looked at you the way he is right now, with eyes sparkling in awe as he takes the sight of you in. He looks at you with pure wonder and adoration, in a way that is as sweet as it is full of lust and desire.

In his eyes, you may as well be one of the 7 wonders of the world– something worthy of reverence and worship. He'd do it if you'd let him– worship you until the sky itself falls and everything around the two of you crumbles. He'll show you in any way he can, with every kiss and every touch, that you always have been and always will be the only one for him.

"Can– Can I touch them? Please?" he asks, polite, sweet, and full of hope that you won't deny him. It's a little funny, considering how just moments ago he was touching you all over– but it's sweet too, how considerate he's trying to be now that you're bare before him despite how eager and worked up he is.

And really, you'd never dream of denying him anything– but you do have a request of your own to make too. "If you take your shirt off for me first," you tell him, fingers ghosting over his torso, "I want to touch you too, want to see every inch of you."

"Oh," he blinks, his cock that has been semi-hard for the better part of an hour stiffening more as it twitches in response to your words. "Yeah– yeah, of course, want you to touch me too," he finally breathes, wasting no time in lifting his back off the bed to pull his shirt up and over his head.

You giggle at the urgency in which he gets his shirt off, and he smiles back at you when he falls back against the bed. He knows he's eager and excitable, and he has no shame in showing it– he's wanted you way too much and for way too long to act like this is just a typical Saturday night for him.

Even if he makes a fool of himself, he'll be happy and it'll be worth it– because it's you he's doing it for, doing it with, and that's all he's ever needed. "You're so cute, Binnie," you tell him, and he smiles brighter, cutely scrunching his nose that way you love so much, and does whenever he's truly happy.

His hands reach for you first, cupping your breasts with an adorable pout of concentration and determination on his face. He's careful with his squeezes, well aware of how strong his grip can be and not wanting at all to hurt you. He rubs over your nipples with his thumbs, and then between his fingers, licking his lips as he watches them get hard enough to gently roll them.

He looks to you for approval, blinking up at you with hope for praise and affirmation that you like it, that he's doing it right. It makes you want to coo at him– but you resist, and simply reach your hand to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb as you instruct him to keep going. He all but melts into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm and closing his eyes for just a moment to relish in it before he continues.

Changbin sticks his tongue out next, watching you carefully as he brings it to one of your pebbled nipples. You meet him halfway so he doesn't have to strain his neck from lifting it off the pillow, leaning closer to his face as you move your hand to thread your fingers through his curls.

His eyes stay on you as he alternates between where he licks, one of his hands always playing with the nipple that his mouth isn't giving attention to. The moan you let out when he sucks one into his mouth makes his cock throb, and truly, he's never felt as blessed as he does right now, with one of his many fantasies finally becoming a reality.

Still, he's thirsty for more– he wants to feel you everywhere, to hear your pretty voice sing him praises, to become so absorbed in each other's pleasure that everything else in the world fall away. He wants to envelop you with his body, he wants your touch to consume him, he wants you to both be equally messy and dirty and engrossed in bliss.

"Touch me now, please, anywhere, want you to," he pleads after releasing your nipple from his mouth with a small pop. His face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, dark eyes soft and pleading behind his glasses, lips wet and hair a mess– you don't think you've ever seen anything more perfect and alluring than this.

It makes you want to dote on him, and you'll do just that– especially if it's something he wants as badly as you. "Anything for you," you oblige, giving him a quick, sweet peck to the top of his head before your hands are once again traveling over his body. You scoot down just enough to be able to reach his neck, pressing kisses beneath his ear before trailing them down.

Changbin intended to keep playing with your chest as you touched him, but he quickly loses focus, sucking in a breath and eyes fluttering closed as your tongue presses against his sweet spot. It's almost overwhelming for him– your hands squeezing the thick muscle of his arms and pecs while you tongue dotes on him, body squirming when your teeth lightly graze over the sensitive skin near his pulse point.

Similar to when you first squeezed him in your hands earlier, another squeak of surprise escapes him when you brush your thumbs over his exposed nipples– you guess no one's ever done that to him before. You hesitate a moment before repeating the action, wanting first to make sure it's something he's open to experiencing again. He's biting his lip and looking at you not with apprehension like you half expected to see, but curiosity and excitement.

So you do it again, and he gasps, back arching off the bed as his teeth sink further into his bottom lip. Fuck, he never thought he'd be so sensitive there– and he whines from deep in his throat when you comment on it. "You're so sensitive, Bin," you whisper in near awe, and he's half tempted to cover his mouth with his hand to suppress the moan you threaten to bring out of him with your soft fingers.

His cock is the hardest he thinks it's possibly ever been. You can feel it prodding against your thigh, and poor Changbin, he's so worked up and eager for stimulation that he can't help but grind it against you as you continue to rub his nipples between your fingers. In a different scenario, it'd be the bed or his own hand he'd be helplessly rutting against– but your thigh is all he has access to.

It makes him feel positively dirty, naughty, but he can't stop– even when the friction from the fabric of his clothes overwhelms him, his hips don't stop moving against you. You look down between your bodies, watch the wet patch on his pants grow as he continues to rut against your thigh.

You want to take one of his nipples into your mouth, but you don't want him to lose the friction against you– so you bend carefully, conscious of keeping your leg pressed against him between his thighs as you wrap your lips around the nipple easiest for you to reach. He whimpers– a high pitched sound you never expected to hear from him as you swirl your tongue around his hardened nipple.

"Fuck, oh fuck, oh my god–" Changbin whines, bringing up his hands to once again cover his heated face. It's so embarrassing– how good it feels, how loud he's being, how he just can't seem to stop himself from seeking the delicious friction your thigh provides him. Overwhelming too, how close he is to cumming already, his body taut and high strung.

His hips begin to stutter, sweat steadily building on his brow, his stomach clenching as he tries his best to hold back the inevitable. "Are you close, Binnie? Gonna cum just like this?" you release his nipple from your mouth to ask him sweetly. Against your expectations, he quickly shakes his head– as if fighting against himself before he lowers his hands and looks at you with glassy eyes.

"Don't– don't want to," he tells you after another obscene whine, "wanna fuck you first, don't wanna cum until I fuck you." The way he looks at you as he says it makes your heart jolt and stomach twist. Messy hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, pouty bottom lip swollen and red, eyes pleading and desperate.

God, he's fucking cute– positively delectable. You'll have to save eating him for next time, though; right now, you just want to give him everything he asks for. "You want to fuck me?" you ask him, reaching your hand down to dip under the waistband of his pants and underwear. It's sticky and wet, pre-cum smeared all over the inside of the fabric.

He keens, nodding eagerly as he squirms beneath the touch of your soft, warm hand. It's such a contrast from the prior sensation, but just as equally overwhelming. You stroke him slowly; just enough to keep him worked up, but not enough to make him cum. His eyes are fluttering closed, hands twisting the sheets beneath him, hips jolting up to meet your strokes.

"You're so thick, Binnie," you tell him, and he throbs from the compliment, whining almost helplessly. It's true too– you're not just saying it to make him feel good. It's not the longest you've ever held, but it's definitely the thickest– you can't even wrap your hand entirely around it. "Think you can help me get ready to take it?" you ask, needing to suppress the urge to giggle when he enthusiastically nods.

"Anything! I'll do anything for you, anything you need," he babbles, and you thank him with a sweet kiss that he happily returns. He whines when you stop touching him and pry yourself away, hips chasing your touch even though he's the one who wanted you to stop– his body just can't help it.

He watches breathlessly as you stand from the bed, sliding your thumbs into the waistband of your pajamas and slowly pulling them down along with your panties. He decides to follow your lead, scrambling to lift himself from the bed and pull the rest of his clothes off in one quick motion.

Both bare, you take a moment to stare at one another. You get a better view of Changbin's drooling cock, while he finally gets a glimpse at your pussy– and fuck, is it the prettiest thing he's ever seen. How did he get so fucking lucky?

You come back to the bed, and instead of letting you crawl back on top of him, Changbin gently guides you to the side of him and onto your back. You spread your legs for him once you're comfortable, and he props himself up on his elbow, looking down at your body, so gorgeous and perfect.

He isn't well practiced, so he mimics the actions taken in one of his favorite, more intimate porn videos. He starts with kissing you, slow but messy, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His hand travels down the length of your torso, and he can't help but gasp and break away from the kiss when he reaches your core, and your arousal coats his fingers.

"Oh my god, do you– do you always get this wet?" he asks, almost mesmerized by how effortlessly his fingers glide between your folds. "Only for you," you answer; you don't know if he believes it, but it's true. The only other times you've ever gotten this soaked were in the privacy of your bedroom, when you touched yourself with Changbin's image at the forefront of your imagination.

He continues to rub his fingers up and down between your folds until his fingers are completely coated, and only then does he finally ask, "Can I.. is- is it okay to put my fingers inside?" He blushes when you smile at him and nod, spreading your legs further apart while telling him exactly what he wants to hear. "Yeah, please, I want you to."

He presses the tips of his fingers to your hole before he slowly pushes one inside, watching in breathlessly awe as it disappears inside your warm, wet heat. You're so slick that it slides in and out easily, and soon enough you're instructing him to add another, and then one more, to which he easily obliges.

He can't decide where he wants to look more; between your legs, where his fingers thrust steadily in and out of you, or to your face, beautifully contorted in pleasure– so he ends up alternating between both. "Is this– is it good for you?" he asks the next time he looks at your face, desperate to perform well for you.

If there's anything he can do better, anything he needs to do differently, he needs to know– he'll follow any instruction you give him in a heartbeat. "Your fingers– when they're all the way inside, can you curl them for me, please?" you ask, and he's immediately doing exactly as you tell him, curling his fingers right against your sweet spot.

"Like this?" he asks, sliding his fingers out and quickly pushing them back inside, curling them to hit your spot, and then pulling them back out to repeat the motion. You let out whines and breathless moans, voice quickly growing shakier and shakier as you try to keep talking him through it.

"Y-Yeah, just like that, keep– keep going just like that," you tell him, voice unsteady between your whimpers and moans, but it's easily the prettiest sounds Changbin's ever heard– he just knows he'll become addicted to them.

He's addicted to everything about you, really– all of it is so captivating. The sounds you cry out, as well as the ones coming from between your legs as his fingers thrust in and out of you. He's mesmerized by how your thighs tremble and twitch when he picks up his pace, by the rapid rise and fall of your chest, by the way your eyes roll back as he drives you closer to sweet release.

"Bin, Binnie– 'm so close, just need– need a little more," you tell him between quick, shaky breaths. "Tell me," Changbin requests, slowing down the motion of his fingers just enough for you to be able to speak with more ease, "tell me what you need."

"Here, touch me here," you instruct, reaching your hand down to point him to your puffy, neglected clit. "With your thumb," you add after you show him, and he nods, pressing his thumb to your clit as he resumes the previous, quick motion of his fingers inside you.

He can feel you clench tighter around his fingers, while the sounds that escape you soon pick up in volume. Your thighs squeeze together and limit the motion of his hand, so he sticks to simply curling his fingers while rubbing your clit with his thumb. It only takes a few more strokes of his thumb to have your back arching off the bed, his name coming out in a choked sob.

Changbin doesn't slip his fingers out of you right away, instead keeping them inside until your breathing starts to steady and your thighs relax. "Was it.. did I do okay?" he asks after you've caught your breath, and God, the way you smile at him– he's sure he's never seen anything more radiant.

"You were perfect," you answer, leaning up to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a kiss. "So perfect, felt so good," you continue between pressing kisses to his lips, "want you now." A shiver is sent straight down his spine; is this finally, really going to happen after so many nights spent hoping for it? “Do you have protection?” you ask after pulling away, and he pouts as he considers it.

He did have some, but.. how long has it been since the last time he had sex? He’s not confident he even remembers where he put them last; it hasn’t really been something pressing on his mind considering he discovered casual flings weren’t really his thing, and he thought the only person he wanted to have sex with, you, was unavailable.

“Uh, I think so! ..maybe?” he mumbles as he crawls over to his nightstand and starts haphazardly shoving things aside while searching through it. You giggle as you sit up and crawl over yourself, deciding to help him look for one in his messy drawer. “Ah, there’s one!” you point to where you see the corner of a packet sticking out from under the book you’re pretty sure he’s been reading on and off for like, 6 months now.

“Thank God,” you hear him mutter under his breath as he lifts the book up to grab it, and you giggle again; you don’t think there’ll ever be a time you don’t find him endlessly adorable. It wouldn't have been a big deal if he didn’t have one, of course, as you usually carried around spares in your bag, but there was something really endearing about his urgency to find one.

He’s pretty sure that the condoms expiration date hasn’t passed, but he still checks first regardless– better to be safe than sorry, and all. “All good?” you ask as you watch him check it over, and smile when he crawls back to you and plants a giddy kiss to your lips.

“Yep! All good,” he smiles, settling himself between your legs after you rest back against the bed. He’s honestly pretty nervous, but his joy to be with someone he loves so much does wonders for distracting his brain from the fear of not performing to some imaginary standard of perfection in bed.

Changbin stops when it’s time to open the condom, staring at it for a moment as if considering what to do. You’re about to ask him if he needs help, but he ends up speaking again before you can. “Uh, I know tearing it open with my teeth is sexy or whatever, but I think I’d fuck it up so I’m not gonna do that,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. Your silly boy.

“Don’t worry, you’re already plenty sexy without doing stuff like that,” you tell him. “Am I?” he asks, another cute smile spreading on his lips when you nod, and confirm that he’s very sexy. Cute too, you tell him, easily the cutest person in the whole world. And his eyes crinkle and nose scrunches in the way you love again as he giggles.

What amazing duality your boyfriend has; so strong and intimidating in physique, but with the softest, sweetest personality you’ve ever known anyone to have. He’s so perfect.

He rips open the packet with his hands, and the condom slips from his fingers when he first pulls it out, but he thankfully manages to catch it before it falls on you, or the bed. "My bad," he says with a shy, slightly awkward laugh; maybe he's more nervous than he initially thought.

He's suddenly extremely conscious of how fast his heart is beating, and of the tremble in his hands. "Want me to help?" you ask, smiling at him sweetly when he timidly nods. "Ah, yeah, if you don't mind," he mutters, and you quickly sit back up, placing your hands over his.

"Keep this one here," you instruct as you bring his hand to the base of his cock to hold in place and keep still. "And then we're gonna roll it down, like this," you guide the hand holding the condom to the tip of his cock, helping him spread it smoothly down his length with your fingers atop his.

If it were anyone else, he might feel embarrassed or a little ashamed over needing help, and for needing to be guided like this with something he feels most guys his age already have perfected. But with you, it just feels sweet and intimate; he can tell there's no judgment, and you're not going to make fun of him for not quite knowing how best to do things.

He's safe with you. And he's glad that out of all the billions of people in the world that he could've met, befriended, and then fallen in love with, that it was you.

You lay back against the bed after Changbin thanks you for your help with a kiss, but you notice he still looks nervous, so you hold up your hand to offer it to him. He smiles as he takes it in his, and you give him a reassuring squeeze after he intertwines his fingers with yours. He uses his other hand to align himself with your hole, and takes a breath before starting to finally push himself inside.

You both squeeze each other’s hand; Changbin because fuck, it already feels so good even with just the tip inside, and you because even with 3 of his fingers prepping you for his cock, it’s still a stretch. He’s pushing inside slowly, and it’s thankfully to both your benefit– because he’d definitely cum if he didn’t, and you’re sure there’d be a sting if he pushed it all in at once.

He whimpers as he bottoms out, his hand still squeezing yours as he tries desperately to ground himself. “God, you feel so good, can’t– can’t believe how tight you are, oh my god,” he whines, absolutely sure that if it wasn’t for the condom he would’ve cum from the very moment he felt your walls squeezing around him.

“You’re big,” you reply breathlessly, reaching your free hand up to the back of his neck to pull him down, closer to you, “so fucking big, feel so full.” “Fuck, don’t say that, I’ll cum–” he groans, and you can feel his cock twitch and throb, as if it to confirm to you he means it. A kiss is the only apology you offer now that his lips are in reach of yours, and he lets go of your hand to prop himself up on his elbows.

He rests his forehead against yours when he pulls away, and slowly, he starts to pull out. “Gonna– gonna fuck you now,” he breathes, pulling out almost completely before slowly pushing back inside, “gonna, oh– fuck, gonna make you feel good too, promise.” You bite your lip, muffling a whine as he continues to build his slow, but steady pace. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked slowly by anyone, but fuck, it feels good.

You hold his face in your hands, kissing him deep and messy, with your tongue shoved as far into his mouth as it’ll go. You’re both panting by the time one of you pulls away, and oh, when he looks at you– his heart feels like it could stop right then and there. You’re so beautiful, he’s so in love with you, and the way you look at him so full of tenderness and adoration makes his head spin.

He buries his head into your neck as he starts to fuck you faster, genuinely afraid that he’ll cry if he looks in your eyes any longer. You wrap your arms around him, clinging to his body as you start to roll your hips to meet his thrusts and help him to hit your spot. He moans your name, one of his hands snaking underneath your body to pull you even closer.

You’re pressed to him, chest to chest, bodies hot and sweaty. His face feels unbearably hot, and when he lifts his face from your neck, the lenses of his glasses have almost completely fogged over. “Bin, oh my goodness,” you giggle as you reach up to take his glasses off for him, and he giggles too, though it’s quickly cut off by another moan.

It’s easy to tell that he’s getting close, and it really comes as no surprise– he’s been so hard for so long now, and he purposely staved off his orgasm just for this moment. His thrusts become more desperate, the throbbing of his cock more constant as he squeezes and holds you tighter. His pace isn’t perfect and his thrusts aren’t precise enough, he knows, but he hopes he’s still doing well enough to at least uphold his promise to make you feel just as good as he does.

He can feel you trying to snake your dominant hand between your bodies, and he pulls away from you enough to make it easier for you once he realizes what you’re trying to do. He tries to watch, but the very moment your fingers start to rub your clit, you clench around him and it makes his eyes roll back as he moans.

Changbin whimpers when you moan his name, hips stuttering and thrusts becoming erratic. “C-Close, oh my god, ‘m so close,” he whines, begrudgingly letting you go so he can dig his fingers into the mattress instead so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you. His knuckles quickly turn white, and though it makes him emotional to do, he looks you in the eye.

It’s now that it really sets in just how much Changbin cares about you. There’s no one else he’d ever do this with, no one in the world he wants more than he wants you, and you can see it in the way he looks down at you. His furrowed brows and watery eyes, his bottom lip that trembles, the desperate, almost pathetic cries of your name. He lets you see his most vulnerable self, because he trusts you and loves you.

You reach to his face, cupping his face in your hand to guide him down to you. He thinks you’re going to kiss him, and you are close enough to, as he's able to feel your breath against his lips. But you don’t– instead you whisper words that make his world tilt on its axis, a loud, desperate moan escaping from deep in his chest as he cums.

"I love you.”

He fills the condom with long, thick and sticky spurts, his entire body trembling. In turn, it only takes a few more strokes of your fingers to cum again, your eyes rolling back as the white hot pleasure licks over every inch of your skin. Changbin collapses first, careful to fall in a way that won’t completely smother you beneath him.

He pulls out slowly after he catches his breath, and then carefully removes the condom from his softening length. He leans over your body to toss it in the trash bin near his bed before he falls back down next to you, and wraps an arm around you to pull you closer. You end up in the same cuddling position you were in at the start of the night, with Changbin half on his back, and you with an arm thrown over his body and leg tucked between his.

You’re naked this time, there’s an “Are you still there?” pop up on the tv that’s since gone ignored, and you told Changbin you love him. So it’s better, he thinks; everything about where you are now is better. “I love you too,” he finally says, and you giggle, scooching up so you can kiss him. “Took you long enough to say it back,” you say, and he giggles too, happy beyond words to finally have everything he’s ever wished for.

network tags: @skzstarnet @ksmutsociety

#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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coco-loco-nut · 6 months

Text

Book Club - Part 3

Pairing: Grid X Reader, Lance X Reader

Summary: lewis get a new song inspired by one of the book they read that week, a little lance relationship focused as well

a/n: even as an avid reader, i struggle so much choosing books for this 🥲, sorry if this one sucks

requests open 🫶✨ masterlist

—————————

“Alright boys, get ready to swoon!” You pull out copies of your chosen book, The Dead Romantics. After reading classics and adventure, and thrillers, you chose chick-lit. It had been recommended on other book club chatboards, so you deemed it safe for the guys.

“Same time, same place next week,” Daniel grabs a book and walks out. The rest file out of the motor home, books in hand. You follow Fernando to Aston Martin.

“Lance, your girlfriend is here for you,” Fernando calls for him before you can. “Good choice, I enjoyed this one the last time I read it,” Fernando says before walking to his room, leaving you stunned.

“Hello, mon cœur,” Lance kisses you before grabbing your hand and taking you to his room.

“What is the book this week,” He asks once you cuddle up on the couch. Since he found out about the club, he’s been reading the books with you.

“The Dead Romantics, first one to finish gets to choose the next date,” you hand him his copy before starting your own. Lance’s assistant brings in coffees and breakfast for you both while you read.

“When we get married, would you change your last name, combine ours, let me take yours, or leave our names as is,” Lance asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm, I like the sound of Y/n Stroll, but maybe I’ll still race under my name,” you decide, paying attention to the books, thinking about the predetermined discussion questions.

“Fuck,” Lance groans after his phone went off, quickly bookmarking his page.

“What’s wrong baby?” you ask, bookmarking yours as well.

“I have a meeting with Dad in a few minutes,”

“Oh, want me to come along? I love your dad,” you run your fingers through his fluffy hair.

“It’s okay, it’ll take a while. You are more than welcome to stay here or go and get ready for the drivers parade. Either way, I will see you after,” he kisses you before gathering a couple things and heading out. You finish another chapter and head to your motorhome, dressing yourself in team gear and redoing your hair. Lance waits for you outside your team garage.

By next week, you both have finished the book and have been raving about it to people, you even sent a copy to George. You won the challenge, although you were sure Lance let you win.

“Have fun at your meeting, you are literally bouncing in excitement,” Lance laughs, kissing the side of your head and leaving you in front of Haas’ hospitality. You quickly find the club, who are equally happy with your pick.

“That was the best romance book I’ve read in a while,” Daniel starts off.

“It was my second time reading it. Much better than the first time,” Fernando agrees.

“And the plot twist!” Nico gasps, all of you nodding along.

“I wrote a song about it,” Lewis says nonchalantly, causing you all to pause.

“Lew… what?” You can’t imagine how one would write a song about it. The book was good, but it wasn’t Shakespeare.

“Yeah, the broken hearts, the forbidden nature of their love, separated by the paranormal, the spiciness of the ending. It inspired me, almost like all those songs for Fifty Shades of Grey,” Lewis explains.

“I don’t know how that would work, but I am sure that you made it work,” Kevin says as Lewis pulls out his phone.

You heard some of his music before, and you knew he could sing and his writing was pretty good. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The singing was great, but the lyrics were a little too… sappy for his style. It wasn’t even sensual, he was just singing about falling in love with someone you shouldn’t.

“That was great, Lewis,” Daniel encourages Lewis,

“If racing doesn’t work out, maybe you will have a career in music,” Valtteri offers, maybe you were the only one who wasn’t a fan.

“He already does, he was featured on a song,” Fernando rushes to pull it up on his phone. You swear he is the proud father of everyone in the room.

“Oh! We should do karaoke!” you gasp, excited at the thought.

“I like the way you think,” Daniel grins at you. It is usually never a good thing when you both get excited about an idea, it tends to end up with alcohol and regret, but never fails to be fun.

“My liver can take that right now, I would participate,” Checo says, leading the group in agreeing.

You and the other drivers rent out a bar the next night and make sure karaoke is set up, Lando DJs in the meantime.

“I’m going to sing my song!” Lewis tells you over your jolly rancher shots.

“Slay!” you cheers the shots, tap the glass to the bar, and take the shot. “I think I’m gonna sing Post Malone,” you reply, and Lewis drags you to sign up. Lance appears beside you, slipping an arm around your waist as he looks at the paper.

“Babe, what song is ‘Why Don’t You Love Me’, I have never seen it on an album,” Lance asks and you tell him its origin. “Oh, that’s funny, I’ll film it,” he writes both of your names down for Total Eclipse of the Heart.

A few shots later and Lewis kicks it off with his song, it is actually a lot better drunk. You follow him up with the meme song, getting everyone laughing, before Lance joins you. The two of you surprisingly sounded very good when you rewatched the video the next day, then posted it to your Instagram story.

“Never. Again.” Kevin groans the next morning as Valtteri walks in, excited to talk with the group.

“That was fun! When are we doing that again?”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lance stroll x reader #formula one grid #the grid x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid #lance stroll #valtteri bottas #checo perez #lewis hamilton #kevin magnussen #nico hulkenberg #daniel ricciardo #book club

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tremendum · 5 months

Text

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Me and the Devil; prelude

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 0.4k

summary: Paul becomes betrothed. You are ripped from your nest of darkness and shipped to a new world.

warnings: arranged marriage, mention of reader's family's assassinations.

notes: here's the prologue to my series from AO3 :') this has my own twist that will not follow canon. this is an endgame paul x reader, but will def have elements of feyd x reader mostly in flashbacks (i have a sickness im sorry he just Does It For Me). smut after several chapters, and very plot heavy. <3

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In a shocking show of mercy, the High Council of the Landsraad has decreed the pardon of the last Bourbon:

After a month-long raid at the home planet Sabberon, the House of Bourbon has been eliminated, the Duchal family sentenced to death at the Harko Arena on Giedi Prime. The counter-insurgent attacks by House Harkkonen have been ruled by the Council as 'Penitent Crimes of Retaliation' following the damning allegations of espionage and theft of Harkonnen technology.

The House of Bourbon is succeeded only by the sole heiress and last daughter of the Count, whose betrothal to the na-Baron of House Harkonnen has been abruptly terminated by the High Court of the Landsraad.

The daughter, who carries the bloodline of both house Bourbon and House Ginaz, has by decree of the High Council of Landsraad been pardoned of the Harkkonen order of political imprisonment. The arraignment is set for a few weeks' time.

As once-standing political allies to the House Atreides, she is to be wed to the son of Duke Leto Atreides by the closing of the standard year.

- Collected Galactic News report sent to Duke Leto Atreides, 10191. Caladan.

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A muffled crash of falling plates somewhere in the castle rolls through the dampened halls. Paul doesn't bat an eye.

Servants pass by the corridors, carrying dishes, plates, crates filled to their brim. A celebration had been planned with the news of Duncan's return; a homecoming, an acceptance. From one Great House to another; but something has changed now. Something is much different than it should have been.

He knew there was something wrong when he was woken by his mother earlier than expected; No breakfast, no training, no lessons. He saw it on the faces that stared at him when he passed on his way here - the handmaids and servants whispered secretively in the halls.

And he knows it from the message his father has discarded, still open, on the desk in front of him; stamped by the High Council's signet.

The rain mars the windows outside as Paul Atreides stands, shellshocked, in his ceremonial uniform. If the raindrops were any louder, they may have drowned out the rapid stagger of his breath at the news.

"Married?"

The solemn faces stare back at Paul. "Yes." Lady Jessica affirms, eyes cool as she stares at her son.

He blinks away the shock, eyes flickering to the men in the room. "I thought Duncan was returning with the Count Bourbon and his family." Paul's brows furrow as he stares from Gurney to his father, confusion lacing his body. "Where is this coming from?"

A silence that is as tense as it is regretful.

"Their house has fallen. Duncan Idaho returns from Geidi Prime this evening."

Blood drains from Paul's face, his heart thumping. Why was Duncan returning from Geidi Prime - not the Bourbon's homeplanet, Sabberon? When the Swordsman had been deployed, there was not even a whisper or a word of marriage - not a single consideration of betrothal. He'd been told the expedition was to aid an old ally against the oldest foe Atreides has; The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

What a foolish thing to think.

"I am to be wed to..." Paul starts, but his sentence is interrupted by a choking of his own saliva - if he is to be wed, and his bride comes with Duncan... rage boils within.

Wed, to one of those monsters from Geidi Prime? Anger, hatred; it wars within him, turning up his stomach and burning the bile that rises.

He swallows thickly, schooling his expression. He's known this would happen eventually - to be a future Duke is to understand from a young age that marriage is not for love. It is for the good of the House, of their people.

Yes, he's always expected to marry out of convenience, out of strategy. But to be wed to... to...

"A Harkkonen?" Paul growls. The name spits from his mouth bitterly; Lost momentarily to his emotions, his sharp eyes cut to his father.

A slight tilt of the head, Leto Atreides declines the accusation of his son. "no."

A breath falls from Paul's lips.

"She is not a Harkkonen. She has resided there for nearly four years - she was to be wed to the Baron's nephew."

There's another silence, in which the rain slides down glass panes like tears.

"She's one of Idaho's." Halleck says off-handedly, shifting weight. Paul, in turn, stares at the man. His head swims in anger, confusion, shock. What does that mean?

Paul's bewildered stare must reflect poorly; his father sighs. "Her mother was the middle youngest of the House Ginaz. Duncan Idaho trained with her mother and father., it's why he insisted to go to Geidi Prime - she is the last of the House Bourbon."

Oh. Paul nods, clearing his throat. "And as part of the council's rulings..." His head hurts, heart racing, "Now, we will marry."

"We believe it is for the best. She was nothing but a political prisoner." Duke Leto reasons, his own decision raining down onto Paul's shoulders. "She is still close with her aunt, the concubine of Duke Ginaz. We need their alliance; it's strategic."

The council of Houses Major, choosing to whom Paul is to marry; what a twisted fate. Bitterness floods his mouth, made worse when his own Lady Mother speaks up. "The Reverend Mother finds it pertinent-"

But Paul doesn't hear much after this, besides the ringing in his ears. Your name echoes in his mind like a bell chiming in an empty hall; a plant of the Bene Gesserit.

All part of their political stratagem, and he, in the center of it; to be wed to a woman who was made for another. To be wed to one of the Harkonnen's beasts.

He meets his father's eyes, and they warn him.

Don't push it. What's done is done.

#paul atreides x you #paul atreides smut #paul atreides x reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #dune fanfiction #dune smut #me and the devil; series

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simpxxstan · 2 months

Note

i’ve just finished reading your wonwoo!fics from the 550 followers event and i decided i need to request something myself because they were just TOO GOOD

given that, i thought about police officer!wonwoo (or mingyu, i wouldn’t mind—) who’s like super handsome and hot and all but also super nice and helpful and loves cats and—

and maybe he’s living in the same neighbourhood as y/n and they just feel drawn towards each other? idk, i’m not really good at making up scenarios 😭😭

it can go both ways, starting fluffy and then get smutty or angsty, everything’s gonna be fine <3

all i know is that i need to read something from you again 🫶🏼🫶🏼

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST! so firstly, I apologise if I disappoint you because instead of wonu, I did mingyu, because I had this wildest fantasy about him but I hope you like it still!! And I also added a few twists in the plot, because I wanted to spice it up a bit. I really pray you'll enjoy my version too!

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the content of this event here!

also, thank you to everyone who's interacted with the event <333 your enthusiasm is so so much appreciated! the event is still on till the end of this month so you can still send in requests, my inbox is open hehe :) also to those who have sent in requests, T_T i am SOR SORRY for making you wait but honestly i am trying my best :((( i will answer your request as soon as i can, thank you for your patience <3

genre: strangers to lovers, police and criminal au, smut, fluff, neighbours au

word count: 5k words

warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT police officer!mingyu, discussions of illegal racing, gangs, criminals, criminal activities, gambling (but nothing is explicit except the racing activities). smut warnings: unprotected sex (please please do not do this irl), almost public sex, oral (m. receiving), making out, usage of pet names, size kink, mingyu's a perv for reader

It's been six months since Mingyu has shifted to this town, and he's not regretted it a single day. it's a wonderful, quaint little town, on the edge of the city, that's close enough to the hustle but far enough to not be a site for trouble. The people are lovely and they've really accepted him with a full heart- the old ladies who bring him their delicious cooked food during his lunch breaks, the young boys who follow his gym routine meticulously, the mothers who either shamelessly flirt with him or try to set up their children with him, the fathers who pat his back proudly after a long day of work, the children who run around his clean police station with curious eyes.

After his busy five years in his posting at the city, this feels like heaven to him. He had joined the force in his craving for adrenaline and his innate nature of being helpful to everyone had driven him deeper into the profession. But he's twenty-seven now, and maturity has dampened the fire within his soul, although not his desire for social peace and justice- hence his choice to shift here.

It's not a town renowned for crime, and most of his days are peaceful with minor reports of petty theft or pickpocketing. But Mingyu has his fair share of excitement- being on the outskirts of the city, the edges of the town are less tame than the heart of it. It's a den for many gangs- all linked by the illegal racing grounds outside the town. Mingyu doesn't have any way to reach the gangs- they're being pursued by the force in the bigger cities with far more resources than sanctioned to his police station. But he tries to ensure the gangs and their dirty business doesn't get into his town. And Mingyu has his hands full with it.

But being busy keeps Mingyu happy. He's loved by the townsfolk and he's found a kind of peace here, different and yet beautiful. It's a slow town, and he's fallen into a routine that's good for his slowing-down body and his slowing-down mind.

So it's been a long, long day of work and at the end of the week, he's tired and ready to fall into his bed after eating anything that's in the fridge. But when he's walking up the stairs of his apartment building, his eyes meet a scene that's out of routine.

"Hello? Can I help you?" Mingyu walks up quickly as he sees you struggle to pull up two suitcases up the stairs, along with the clearly heavy rucksack on your back. "No! Thanks, no, I'm fine." "Please allow me, I live right here on this floor." And Mingyu casually picks up the suitcases, with a smile on his face. He doesn't miss the ways your body relaxes instantly and your eyes light up. "Umm, I'm here on this floor too. Just moved in into 309." "And I'm in 311. Right across your flat!" "I'm so happy to meet a neighbour already. I'm Y/N." "And I'm Mingyu."

And Mingyu feels the exhaustion of the day wear out when he sees your whole smile- not a tight-lipped smile, but the one that shows your teeth and your dimples. Well, dimple. There's only one big dimple on your left cheek, and it's a beautiful smile that stays on Mingyu's mind long through the night after you disappear into your flat and Mingyu goes into his own.

Mingyu doesn't know why he's suddenly choosing to skip his daily gym routine in favour of a run through the town at 5.30 am (nearly an hour before he's ever woken up in his entire life). Maybe one day he wakes up at 5.30 to use the washroom but spots you leave the building in your jogging shorts and earplugs. He joins the dots and his body joins them too- safe to say, he couldn't sleep again that morning. And neither the morning after that, because he's determined to join you on your run.

You don't talk much except brief interactions, and your speed is much faster than him, but he doesn't mind the exhaustion. The wink you throw him every time he lags behind and the bottle of water you offer him right after you drink from it too is enough motivation for him to keep running. Of course it helps that you compliment the way his muscles strain through his tank top and Mingyu's chest blows up even further with pride.

And it's so subtle, but Mingyu feels you slowly open up more to him.

It's in the won't you come in for coffee? I make a mean iced coffee.

It's in the I was shopping for groceries and brought you cooking oil, since you were asking for it yesterday. I thought you may not have had the time to go for shopping, since you're so busy at work.

It's in the see this magnet? my baby cousin made it.

And Mingyu goes to you like a moth drawn to a flame. He's drawn to you when he decides to take you out (for a friendly afternoon outing, he calls it officially, but internally he's treating it as a date). He's drawn to you when you show him around the veterinary where you work. He's drawn to you when he sees you eating ice cream on his couch after he's cooked dinner for the two of you. He's drawn to you when you barely touch his arm and tell him that you really like all your neighbours and the entire community in the town is great, but you're especially glad to have found Mingyu because he's one of the only people here who's near your age. And he's drawn to you when you smile for him, that rich, dimpled smile, after he tells you that you're exactly the friend he's been looking for since he's come here.

After that, Mingyu doesn't know what happens in what order. Do you kiss him first? Or does he kiss you first? Do you climb into his lap? Or does he pull you onto him? Do you bite his lip when his hands wander down to your ass that he's been eyeing for weeks now on every morning run? Or does he bite your lip when your hands weave through his hair? It's a blur, and when you pull back for a breath, your lips swollen, the first button of your shirt open, and a hickey already blooming near your collarbone, Mingyu knows only one thing. How he wants. Wants you. Wants more. Wants now-

"Mingyu, I- I don't know how to say this... it's not like I didn't like this. And I- I- umm. Maybe I should leave? Because if I stay I won't be able to hold back and I want to think about this a little bit?"

And oh, your eyes are so wide and so pretty, and the skin of your arms feel like butter under his touch, but he lets you go. He lets you walk away, a shy smile on your lips. He lets you kiss him on his cheek once before disappearing into your own flat, and Mingyu shuts the door and takes deep breaths as he leans on his door.

He's ready to give you all the time in the world to think, but he's sure that he's already yours. He just knows at the end of it, he needs to make you his too.

"Hello, darling."

The tone on the other end is unmistakable, and Mingyu sighs. "Don't try to seduce me, love. It's not gonna work." He's said this before, but the message clearly hasn't gotten through. The honey voice drawls on in a painfully slow pace, "You're late tonight. What's up?" "I was busy," he huffs, his heart still beating fast from making out with you a few minutes ago.

"Busy? Unbelievable." "A police officer can't be busy? Is it so unfathomable?" "No. What's unfathomable is that Kim Mingyu is off his routine. I wonder if there's something new... or someone new?"

The voice laughs, and Mingyu knows it's friendly prodding. His relationship with the person on the other side of the line might be anything but friendly but it's yet again become a part of his routine, and at least the friendly banter breaks the monotony.

"Are you jealous that I talk to women apart from you?" Mingyu smirks, knowing two can play this game.

"I'm jealous that she's taking up my time. You have to show her what's her place, really."

"Don't be rude love. You know I've got my ears on your voice only. Now, tell me if you have any news."

"Oh, getting straight to the point, I see..."

"Oh come on!"

The voice becomes serious instantly. Gone is the sexy drawl, and it's replaced by crisp words that are music to Mingyu's ears. "I've heard Taffy's gang making some noise in the borders. You might wanna come and look at it once for yourself."

"Do you have any more information?"

"Nothing much right now, officer. Look, I'm holding up my end of the bargain but you've got to be patient."

Mingyu groans. It's not good news, and it's certainly not enough news. But he'll take a look himself to make sure he understands the graveness of the situation correctly.

"Okay. When should I come? Tell me when Taffy's men are lurking around the area?"

The voice shifts again into a teasing, seductive tone, making Mingyu jerk at the sudden transition.

"Come tomorrow? Race night."

"Yeah no that's not happening. I'll-"

"Tomorrow, babe. Wanna see you race. A big boy like you likes his fast bikes, don't you?"

The thought of racing sends a spike of adrenaline rushing through his veins, but he knows this is illegal. It's one thing allowing the leader of the races to become his informant so that he can keep an eye on the circuit as well as get key pieces of information that remain hidden to the legal eye. But it's an entirely different thing getting into the centre of the mess himself and be involved in it.

And yet, a part of him wants to feel the thrill again. Tonight, after years, he felt that adrenaline rushing through him when you'd tugged at his collar and kissed him repeatedly. Fuck. It had felt good, hadn't it? One night won't matter, will it?

"I'll be there."

"Fantastic. Can't wait to see you, babe."

Mingyu doesn't see you the next morning. He waits outside your door at 5.30, but doesn't knock, hoping you'll come out eventually. But you don't. He doesn't spot you through the rest of the day either, and it makes him worry. But he's decided to give you your space and time, so he will be patient... at least for one more day.

It's a Sunday so Mingyu has a half-day at work. When he's back from work, his mind is still all over the place. Should he even go to the race tonight? He's raced a bit back in college days, but everything pretty legal. Nothing like the den of vice he knows he's going to walk into tonight. But he also knows that this is the best way for him to infiltrate through the layers of middlemen that stop information from reaching his ears.

By the time 8.30 comes around, there's no text from you. Instead, there's a text from his informant, saved under the codename of layla (he knows it's not her real name, but he doesn't care enough to ask about it).

I'll see you at the circuit tonight, darling. Don't be late.

Mingyu's heart speeds up. Is it wrong to feel excited right now? As a conscientious police officer, he should definitely not feel excited. But as nothing more than a man, he feels his blood become warm at the thought of meeting the woman behind that voice he's spoken to for almost three months now. He's almost 100% sure the voice isn't generated by a voice modifier or AI, but it's also impossible for that to be someone's real voice, so there must be some pitch changes or something along those lines. Nevertheless, their conversations has often made him wonder about the woman herself.

She's a shadow- no one really knows who she is. But about four months ago, when she'd called him up herself to supply information in order to buy protection for herself and her racing infrastructure, Mingyu had yielded instantly by weighing his priorities. And since then, he's tried endless times to put a face to the voice, but it's been a search in vain.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he's gonna see the face for himself and put all his wandering thoughts to rest. Thoughts late at night after a particularly long phone call with his informant, that made him wonder whether the flirting was real or all for show. Wonder whether the woman herself would be as sexy as the voice. And wonder what kind of woman she must be in order to be capable enough to singlehandedly run an entire illegal racing system.

Fuck it, Mingyu thinks, after seeing the clock strike 8.45 and still no contact from your end. He wears a black tank top along with a black leather jacket- intending to fit right into the crowd he expects to see there. He just hopes there's no one else there who'll recognise him. And he certainly hopes nothing will happen to make him regret this decision for life.

You're such a fool, Mingyu, he thinks to himself. You're such a fool for thinking you'd fit in.

Mingyu may be just twenty-seven but he doesn't feel young at all when he sees the crowd at the race. The people here must be of his age, but they all seem so different from him. Perhaps it's because his job has taken away his youth that he'll always feel perpetually distant from even people of his own age.

And so Mingyu stands there awkwardly, stiff amidst a crowd of half-drunk and half-high people, wearing colourful headbands and smearing eclectic neon colours on their skin. He feels out of place- and yet, a part of him wishes he could fit in. He wishes he could have enjoyed his youth like this- on the edge of the other side of the law. He wishes he could have lived like this for even moment of his life- beyond academics, beyond career, beyond mere survival.

"Hi beautiful, looking for someone?" A woman with a cigarette between her fingers strolls up to him. Her hair is flying in the wind, exposing the tattoos all over her skin.

Before Mingyu can say anything, the crowd around him suddenly erupts in loud cheers, and she quickly pulls his hand and drags him towards the centre of the entire crowd. He sees two bikers mount on their bikes- exquisitely reworked to glow in the dark. A woman hops up on a platform in the middle of the two bikers and lifts a gun towards the sky. And as the crowd counts down, she shoots the gun right after 1 and the two bikers zoom out into the blackness ahead, the crowd going wild with cheers for the biker they support.

The scene makes Mingyu's skin feel alive too- the sheer speed of the two bikes, the sound of the engines revving and the general merriness around him induces adrenaline to flow through his veins. When he turns to look at the woman next to him, he sees her looking at him with a curious smile on her face. "Umm, I'm... I'm not really here for the race."

"You're not? Layla told me you would be." The smile on her face deepens, and Mingyu gasps. "You know Layla?" "I do. But that's not important. Let's get you on a bike, hmm?" Mingyu's somehow missed to noticed how her hand's still on his arm, gently stroking his bicep over his jacket. "No, really I don't want to." She steps right up close to him, "But you can try once, pretty boy." Her eyelashes cast long shadows on her cheeks, but Mingyu doesn't care. "I don't want to try." "Let loose for one night." "I'm not here for fun. I'm here for work-" The woman in front of his laughs. "Yes Layla said that too. Don't worry, she's going to work. But only after you race against her."

Mingyu feels his heart speed up. Race against Layla? Fuck. Now, why does that sound so tempting? It makes him only more curious to meet his informant, because why must she make herself so mysterious?

"Are you her friend?" Mingyu knows that this woman is not Layla, because the voice doesn't match by miles. This woman here has a lisp in her voice, unlike Layla's clear diction, and no amount of pitch changing or machine alterations can change that (Mingyu knows that the hard way).

"I'm her sister. Well, kind of. Now, no more questions pretty boy. Next race starts in a few minutes. Let's get you on a bike!" And Mingyu finds himself in no position to protest as the woman drags him away without hearing him anymore.

In the blink of an eye, Mingyu finds himself on a beautiful beast of a motorbike, his entire body drunk on adrenaline. There's so many people he's never even met before, but they're hyping him up. The attention-whore in him goes crazy at the cheers. There's coloured smoke being released into the sky, and Mingyu wears his helmet to prevent it from clouding his eyes. And finally when the smoke fades away, he sees his opponent standing along side him.

Layla.

Fuck.

Still no face to the voice in his head, but it's still an enigmatic visual that draws Mingyu in and reels his mind. He watches the way her black latex pants hug her long legs as she swings her legs over her bike. And he watches the way her helmet covers her face but her hair's still flying in the air. There's something still mysterious about her, and yet so oddly familiar.

But before he can say or do anything, the crowd begins the countdown, and in a second, the gunshot goes off. And Mingyu zooms ahead, revving his engine from 0 to 100 in a moment, a smile spreading on his face as the excitement of the speed injects itself in his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Layla take a spin around the corner of the racetrack, her stable figure undeterred by the sharp turn. Mingyu may not be a professional, but it's not the first time he's racing. He's done this before and he can feel that familiar thrill returning, as he picks up speed and makes up his mind to defeat his worthy opponent.

It's a long and winding course, but to Mingyu it feels like a few minutes only. The cold night air hits his body and makes him feel like he's flying. Soon the ending flag is in sight, and he sees Layla speed up, hunching over her bike, determined to get there first.

But at the last minute, she steps back, her posture loosening as she sits back and watches Mingyu whizz off ahead of her.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath. Knowing she let him win easily hurts his ego, and he slows the bike down as they drive into the nothingness of the deserted roads ahead. When he finally comes to a stop, he gets off the bike and sees her stand a few metres away from him, her helmet still on her head stretching her legs.

"Hey! Layla! You let me win! I would've won anyway- fair and sq-"

Layla spins around and takes off her helmet, her hair whipping across her face, and Mingyu finally sees the face behind the voice.

"Y/N?" Mingyu's eyes are wide, his brain running as fast as his bike was a short while back, as he tries to connect the dots.

The voice is unmistakable, now slightly higher in pitch, and Mingyu wants to kick himself as he realises how big a fool he's been. "We finally meet, Kim Mingyu." There's a beautiful smile on your face, one he's not seen before. There are other things too- there's a nose pin on your button nose, making your features look sharper, and a necklace hanging off your neck, which is odd since he's never seen you wear jewellery before.

"Y/N? H- wh- how?!"

You don't answer him. You simply walk towards him, your hips swaying and Mingyu groans at the sight of your pretty legs in those tight pants. Fuck him for not recognising that ass sooner in spite of being obsessed with it for weeks.

"I thought I should come clean to you, officer, before you make any choices." You casually slot yourself between his legs, as Mingyu leans back against his motorbike. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

He thinks he's a fool for not finding out more about you before falling for you. He thinks he's a fool for maintaining a contact with someone as dangerous as La- you. And he thinks he's a fool for finding you even sexier after discovering this persona of yours.

And he thinks he would be a fool with regrets for all his life if he lets go of you now.

So Mingyu grabs onto your hips, and pulls you closer.

"You've got me by my balls, baby. Got me eating out of your hand. And you know I happen to like it. So it doesn't matter what I think, love. What matters is what you think." His fingers rub against the skin exposed as your crop top rises up as you dangle your hands around his shoulders. You laugh at his words, pressing even closer to him, the air between you two turning to electricity. "It doesn't matter what I think either- because I'd fallen for you ages ago when I first saw you around in town. The new, dashing police officer, Kim Mingyu, enquiring about gangsters and fending himself off prying old ladies at the same time. Since then I've just wanted to make you mine." Mingyu's heart hasn't stopped thumping loudly all night, and at your confession, his body tingles with a dangerous feeling.

"Glad we're on the same page, baby."

"This is my office," you whisper to him in between kisses as you drag him to a shady-looking room at the back of the building that's on the edge of the racing circuit, now deserted because everyone's busy at the races. "Office?" Mingyu giggles, because the term is ridiculous. The place is anything but an office- with the way dishevelled boxes are just stacked everywhere, and instead of desks there are more pool tables and boxes of alcohol. It's a small, dingy place, and the single tubelight at the end of the corridor flickers every other minute, but it's a vibe. Mingyu's not unfamiliar with seedy places in his line of work, but it's so novel to think this is where you truly work.

But fuck him if he doesn't think it just makes you hotter. Because there's something about you being the boss of a pack of hundred delinquents associated with even more hardened criminals that makes his dick chub up real quick.

Like it is right now, when your hands make quick work of removing his jacket and throwing it on the floor as you touch his bare muscle. Mingyu carelessly runs a hand through his hair as he sees you push him onto a chair on a desk that's in your office, the room lit only by the mercy of the distant tubelight and the moonlight streaming in through the window panes. "Fuck, you're so big Mingyu. Let me blow you? Please? Wanted to do this for so long." Your eyes are so pretty as you bend in front of him, fingers lazily rubbing into the tent in his pants, making him hiss. "Go on, baby. Whatever you like. Fuck, but kiss me once more."

And you do. You taste like berries, and Mingyu loves it. Mingyu knows he's got it bad, but he doesn't care. You're on your knees and you want to blow him, and if this isn't the mental image to which he's jerked off for days now, he'd be damned. So he pushes you down in between his knees after kissing you to his heart's content, and you quickly take off his pants. "God," you almost drool and Mingyu whimpers when you take off his boxers too. "You're so fucking big, Gyu. Never seen such a big, pretty cock," you say reverently, as you pump it and it twitches in your hands. Your eyes go wide when you lick it and fit your mouth barely against the tip, and Mingyu throws his head back and moans. He's not going to last long, if just this much has got him feeling like this.

Thankfully, you don't tease him much, eager to feel the heavy weight on your tongue too. So you take him as much as your throat allows, and Mingyu feels himself on the brink of heaven. When you bob your head a couple of times, Mingyu reaches down to tug your hair back and you moan around his cock. The vibrations send him over, and he cums into your mouth even as you continue to suck him. When you finally pull off with a pop, another squirt from his dick leaves a string of white cum on your lips and Mingyu feels himself getting hard again.

"That was so hot baby. You're so hot," he says, as he picks you up from the floor and on the desk. It's so easy for him to manhandle you like that, and you pull him close quickly. "You're hotter, Gyu. Can't tell you what fantasies I've had about you in these last few months." Mingyu smirks, his hands removing your beautiful pants, and spreading your thighs apart as he feels his way through your folds. "Umm? Really? Now don't be a bad girl, and tell me what you've thought about me."

You open your mouth to say something but then Mingyu pinches your clit, and any words fall away as you moan out loudly. Your hands steady themselves on his biceps as Mingyu begins to finger you painfully slowly- to the extent that he can hear the squelching sounds, and it drives him crazy.

"Tell me, Y/N."

When your breathing slows down as you feel Mingyu driving two fingers into you at a steady pace, his eyes fixed on yours, biting his lip in concentration, you tell him softly.

"Before I shifted into the flat... I wondered what you'd be like from up close. Because I'd only seen you from afar. And after hearing your v- aaah- voice, it just got worse." You feel Mingyu stretching you, hitting your g-spot repeatedly as he kissed your neck.

"And then when I did shift in... fuck. It was so hard to not give in to you. Whenever you looked at me with your puppy eyes and y- y- your smile- ah, fuck I'm g- gonna cum, Mingyu!" You scream as he fingers you through your orgasm, and he licks his fingers clean once you come down from your high.

"Then who asked you to not give in to me?"

"I wanted to make sure you'd like me in real life and not judge me simply as an informant." Your simple, vulnerable words take his breath away, and Mingyu pulls off your top in one go. "Fuck, you're so cute baby. I'd like you in every form, in every life. You drive me crazy, do you know that?" And Mingyu knows that now, as you hold on to his shoulders as he enters you in one go. "God, you're so tight, Y/N. Tighter than your pretty mouth, fuck." He's trying so hard not to cum right now, but as you grip his hair and moan filthily, a stream of curses falling off your pretty lips, Mingyu lets his adrenaline take over. And he thrusts into you without any hesitance, hips moving fast, his balls heavy as he slams against you again and again. The desk creaks, and you pant in his ears, begging him to go harder, and Mingyu can feel the way your pussy clenches him at every thrust.

"Gonna cum, Gyu. Please-" Your nails dig into his nape, and it drives him over the edge. When you come along with him, there's a sharp buzz spreading through his body and he feels like he's gone to heaven.

He holds you close like that for the next few minutes, unable and uninterested in letting you go. When you both finally feel the high subside, you look up at him, a hazy smile on your face. "I really like you, Gyu. I hope you can like me too beyond who I am in this racing circuit. Trust me, it's.... it's not my entire life. I am a person bey-"

He kisses you quiet. "Stop explaining yourself." You try to protest, but he kisses you again. "You know Y/N, I think I liked you from the first day I met you. And I get what you're saying but... trust me. Fuck. I don't know how to say this. But safe to say if I thought you were amazing as Y/N? I think you're absolutely the epitome of perfection as Y/N plus Layla. So hot, so gorgeous, and I love every bit of you."

And then there's that single-dimpled smile again.

"I also like the nose pin. Why'd you take it off?"

You giggle, "Didn't want it to be a deal-breaker once I had my mind set on you."

Mingyu kisses your nose at the pin itself and you shiver in his arms.

"Nothing about you can be a deal-breaker, baby."

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madame-fear · 10 months

Note

Hello sweetness! I am here to requests something from you, feel free to ignore since I know you probably have so many requests right now. But I’m back in my hotd faze and wanted one of my favorite writers to write something. <3

Could I request a Lucerys Velaryon where he is newly betrothed to a lovely girl, us, who he falls head over hells for. The two being very sweet to one another, and the reader being scared to be married to a prince but he is there always. But the plot is about how closer to the wedding date the reader is trying back on her dress and just dreaming and Luke comes in and sees it? I really love lovestoke Luke! Please and thank you.

-Love, Ash.

*ೃ༄ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.ೃ࿐

★amira speaks! : hello my lovely !! 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 Oh my god, you have NO idea how happy I felt when I got your request on my askbox 🥺 I made this as fluffy as possible for one of my favourite writers too, and I hope you enjoy your reading, darling! 💕 — summary : [ — ✧ request. ] — word count : 2.5k

— genre : purely fluff. — pairing : lucerys velaryon x reader.

The word ‘betrothal’ had always been a term that frightened you.

From a young age, you had learned that betrothals were most often — actually, it was always — done as an act of political convenience; to ally different Houses together and strengthen their bond. Knowing it was an unwanted marriage, and often women were unhappily stuck in them, you forever kept yourself reluctantly terrified towards the idea of having to marry a Prince, or a Lord by the time you were a grown girl; not wanting to suffer.

And by the time it was your turn to get betrothed, your parents and yourselves travelled to Dragonstone, preparing to meet the Prince you would be married to in a future. Such overwhelming nerves and fright seemed to burden you more than anything during your entire journey, feeling as if you could melt right in the spot, with a desperate need to get out of there.

But fortunately for you, by the time you reached Dragonstone, you had been blessed with an eternally loving, timid young Prince. It was none other than the secondborn son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the future Lord of Driftmark: Lucerys Velaryon.

You had all been warmly welcomed by the Targaryen Princess herself, whom immediatly made you feel comforted as you noticed her tender, sweet nature around you — treating you as if you were her own daughter. And by her side, awkwardly stood Lucerys. It was nearly impossible to ignore him, feeling his gaze fixed on you the entirety of the time as you were received by House Targaryen.

Much like you, it was quite notorious the young Prince carried a timid nature. By the moment your gaze met with his own gorgeous, vivid green hazel eyes, he rapidly adverted his stare elsewhere, shyly smiling to himself and trying to hide the fluster that kept growing on his pale face as the seconds passed. Luke had both of his arms hidden behind his back at that moment, yes, but you could still tell that he was nervously fidgeting with his own hands and fingers. Gods, you were such a pretty, graceful lady, and Lucerys was already over the moon for you despite having merely shared a brief moment of eye contact together.

The idea of having to leave your home to live with your betrothed was, initially, a complicated thought to process; especially during the first days of your staying in Dragonstone despite how kind and patient everyone treated you. But of course, as you were often sat next to Lucerys during dinner and had some small chats together throughout the day — as awkward as they were in the beginning — you were quick in taking a liking for the future Velaryon Lord. Most definitely, it was his endearingly shy self the one that had carved it’s own way into your heart, and the one that managed to completely twist in a good way your sense of frighten at the thought of the word ‘betrothal’.

Tranquil, leisure strolls through the gardens, hours of reading to one another together, and sneaky late night talks was how you both spent your days until your wedding ceremony arrived. And even, Luke had gone as far as teaching you some High Valyrian so you would know the language and culture of his own family.

Of course, the nervousness regarding your marriage and the wedding continously lingered in you, gnawing every bit of your mind despite having a perfectly sweet relationship with Lucerys. And knowing how you felt, becoming used to freely speak up your mind whenever you were alone together, Luke never failed to comfort and soothe you by expressing his own nerves, but at the same time, reassuring you that he was certain all would go more than well as every preparation for the occassion had been carefully organisated properly.

It was the warmth that the Velaryon Prince constantly offered to you, that made you be over the moon and clouds for him, just in the exact way he felt around you. It had taken no time for you to become his ‘gevie rūklon’ — his pretty flower, being as delicately graceful as the petal of a rose. The one he was more than eager to cherish and show his undying adoration with each day that passed, and you couldn’t help but often thank the Seven for blessing you with such a loving future Lord Husband. With each passing day, you found yourself balancing between the thin string of feeling jittery, and an increasing zeal the closer you were to your wedding day.

And there you stood two nights before your official wedding date, staring at yourself in front of the mirror, simultaneously swinging between such emotions that equally made your heart violently pound against your chest in a way that your hands were visibly trembling. Softly, you adjusted the silk wedding dress that they had prepared just for yourself. As expected, you had already tried the dress on the moment the seamstresses were finished with sewing the very last details — but you were allured into trying it again, imagining how everything would go and practising for the official date.

Faintly, a soft sigh escaped from your nostrils, with a little grin tugging at the corner of your lips. Both your hands were clasped in front of your body, grasping the delicate texture of your dress against your skin. Your breathing became hitched softly, processing the thought of becoming officially married to a future Lord whom you already wholeheartedly adored.

You had spent endless hours in front of your mirror, reading your own wedding vows to yourself and making sure that you wouldn’t either stutter, mess up, or stumble upon your words. And even so, despite already knowing by heart your vows to your betrothed, you still continued to re-read them again, or mentally repeat it.

Your gaze lingered on the ground for a few seconds, admiring quietly the dedication the seamstresses put into your wedding dress, before you managed to raise it to stare at your own face. A nervous frowny grin tugged at the corner of your lips, feeling a flustered heat creeping to your cheeks. As your chambers were silent, the only thing you could ever hear was the sound of your heartbeat increasing by the passing of the seconds, along your soft huffing.

Overall, digging deeper beyond the obvious nerves you felt, there was an immeasurable feeling of joy. The thought of having been blessed with such an endearing future Lord Husband, who had also became your best friend and companion, brought a warming comfort in you that made you eager to the official wedding day. The sight of your own reflection on your dress was more than enough for you to helplessly wander through your own daydreaming.

Dumbfoundedly, your grin became wider as you could already imagine how your wedding would go. And not only you daydreamt about the wedding feast, the way you would be delightfully surrounded by your family, closest relatives, and perhaps how other Lord and Ladies would attend the celebration — but as well, you couldn’t help but imagine how joyful you would be spending the rest of your days by his side, pampering one another with tender caresses, and soft kisses.

Having one another for the joyful and sorrowful moments in your life, and even, having precious little children of your own surrounding both of you. The early prospect you had of how your marriage would be made you nearly melt from adoration. Your gaze remained fixed in your own reflection, smiling to yourself as your mind solely focused and dreamed of what was yet to come.

The door of your chambers were swung open swiftly, yet quietly — provoking a faint creaking sound before it was closed shut. Upon hearing the faint noise, you were quick in snapping out of your little daydreaming, adverting your gaze towards the person entering the quarters. It was, of course, none other than your betrothed; as he had gotten used to entering your chambers in the middle of the night without even knocking, especially when he couldn’t sleep.

A heated dark shade of red crept in your face, gulping timidly as soon as you made eye contact with Luke through the reflection of the mirror. Before managing to mutter a word, his green hazel eyes were fixed on you. The way you so gracefully stood in front of the mirror, using the wedding dress prepared just for yourself that was adorned with dragons and dragonscales imagery, made him awkwardly stand at your door.

Part of him wished to advert his gaze elsewhere, in a poor attempt to hide his overwhelmingly shy fluster; but another part of him, insisted on remaining with his stare on you. Gods, you were such a precious girl— how could he not swoon over you, like he always did? And seeing you in such a beautifully detailed wedding dress made his heart skip one, or two beats. Needless it was to mention the fact that since you were two days away from officially getting married, that already provoked on him some sleepless nights; and seeing you wearing that wedding dress made him feel as if he could melt right there.

The first time you had tried on your wedding dress, he didn’t have the opportunity to take a peek of how you would look. But now, curiousity was eased delightfully. If anything, it served to fuel his already undying adoration for your sweetly graceful nature.

Clearing his throat shyly, his green eyes gazed down to the floor. Both his hands were clasped in front of his body. “I’m... Sorry,” he began speaking meekly. Noticing the timid fluster notoriously creeping on his pale skin made you have to fight back a giggle. “Am I interrupting something, my love?” his eyes lingered on the ground, before reluctanctly gazing up at you shyly. You shook your head in response, before being able to mutter a response.

“Good.” with soft footsteps, Luke approached you. “You can’t sleep, too?” a scoff escaped from you, fixing your gaze on his features as he walked towards you very slowly. “Is it too obvious?” you inquired back teasingly as a helpless grin appeared on your lips, getting a chuckle from him as a response. “I can tell, my love.” as soon as Lucerys stood by your side — noticing him slightly taller than usual —, his green eyes stared at you through the reflection.

The way Luke so endearingly admired how precious you looked for your wedding ceremony made you want to squirm under his gaze, and giggle like a little girl with a crush. “I haven’t been able to sleep either,” his arms remained behind his back, feeling as if his staring to your reflection wouldn’t allow him to do anything else, just... Stare foolishly in love. “Our wedding ceremony is two nights away, and I feel restless.”

Seeing you in the wedding dress was too alluring to get lost in the daydreaming of your near future together. His smile seemed sheepish as his green eyes carefully observed every inch of yourself, treasuring you as his future Lady Wife. You had rapidly turned into his greatest pride, and Luke knew he would eventually show you off to everyone. Not like he wasn’t already doing so, either way.

“But overall...” his arms appeared from behind his back, walking to stand behind of you. Gently, his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, pulling you tightly against his chest in an adoring way. The warmth of his firm embrace was soothing, as he placed his chin on the crook of your neck, moving his stare towards your reflection once again. “I’m proud of having you as my future Wife.”

Of course, all his compliments were genuine — but most of the time, Lucerys appreciated seeing you become flustered at his displays of affection. Your hands were placed on his arms, caressing them gently. “You look more than beautiful,” he cooed, nuzzling the tip of his nose softly against your skin, “I can’t wait until our wedding ceremony. I know you will be such a loving wife and companion, as you already are.” with his words, his lips placed soft kisses on your skin, moving from your neck, to your cheek.

And in his words, there was no lacking in honestly. Each time his eyes took a peek at you, especially at the current moment where you tried back on your dress, his breathing got stuck on his throat; with his heart pounding loudly against his chest. Your giggles with each one of his loving kisses encouraged Lucerys to keep going, and if it were possible, he would shower you in his kisses eternally.

A contented growl spurred from your lips, craning your head lazily towards him, managing to place your lips on the skin of his rosy cheeks. “Sometimes I wonder, what have I done to possibly be blessed by the Seven to earn such a sweet, and attentive betrothed such as yourself?” you could feel his smiling lips grasping against your skin, holding a protective grip around your body.

Sighing, he managed to rest his chin on the crook of your neck, trying to catch his own breathing before continuing to fill you with kisses. Those sleepless nights were more than worth it, marrying such a precious beauty as yourself — and who could blame him? If he managed to even get some rest the two days before your wedding, Luke knew his dreams would be invaded by you walking down the aisle, in such detailed dress. “I can only wonder to myself the same thing, my sweet.” he replied briefly.

Allowing your head to rest against his own, his eyes stared at you through the reflection of the mirror. There weren’t enough words to express his admiration towards you, swooning inwards to himself at the sight of your vibrant grace.

Despite the obvious anxiety you equally felt regarding the ceremony, such as everything going as planned, and none of you stumbling upon your words when it came to reading your vows to one another, there was an exuberant eagerness to refer to each other as your own.

But, if anything— there was one thing that would be difficult for him to overbear during the ceremony. The sweet scent emanating from you was merely intoxicating, and his lips continued to playfully grasp against the skin of your neck, admiring you quietly.

“I do have to warn you,” shortly, he trailed off. His lips became in a dumbfounded grin, drunken with the feeling of a loving worshipping towards your entire self. Adoring you so much, that could make his heart combust at any second. You were bewitching at the sight.

Your eyebrows furrowed in curiousity before he continued, gripping your waist tighter, before one of his hands found your own, and squeezed it faintly. “I plan on not keeping my lips to myself during our wedding, especially if you are to look this gorgeous.”

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jjoongstar · 2 months

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❝LOLA'S LIBRARY❞✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵´

my personal list of all of my fav fics that i really love and would like to reread again for fun. i'll always continue to add more on this list. NONE OF THESE WOKRS ARE MINE!!!

smut🔥| fluff ☁️| angst 💧| most fav & highly rec❤️‍🔥

★¸.•☆•.¸★ ATEEZ ★⡀.•☆•.★

love you goodbye 🔥💧[psh] breakup sex, i legit cried

intertwined☁️[psh] mermaid y/n, siren seonghwa

sleep talker🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] enemies to lovers, one bed trope, vacation au, love the tension & plot

royal library🔥☁️[psh] royalty au, plot twist, legit ult fav, mak lurve giler

(not so) sweet dream☁️[psh] very fluffy, snuggling hihihshs

Red Dress🔥☁️[psh] enemies to lovers, amazing plot

You Come First🔥☁️[psh] drug dealer, dom!hwa went too far, y/n used safe word

Make Me Water🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] friends to lovers, lots of giggling

prefect and t(h)reats🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] harry potter au, slytherin hwa x hufflepuff y/n

I Know It's Over☁️💧❤️‍🔥[psh] historical au, tragic ending, cliche storyline but i cried anyways

The General's Wife☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] possessive military general husband hwa

The Way To His Heart (series)☁️💧❤️‍🔥[psh] joseon era, general sh, arranged marriage, amazing plot, scrumptious storyline, sngt lurve gilerr frr

She's a regular here... (pt.1)🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] drug dealer, legit fav, trilogy

Use me like a drug! (pt.2)🔥☁️[psh]

Baby we're high on you. (pt.3)🔥☁️[psh, khj]

opposite attracts🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh,khj] addams!matz, love the plot

One Day At A Time☁️💧[psh, jyh] royal au, most heartbreaking fic ever, i legit cried ffs, there's comfort at the end

mafia☁️[khj, jwy] mafia au, love the part where she slept on hj's bed

pretty🔥[khj] pure steamy smut, no plot

training wheels🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[khj] prof hj x student y/n, taught her how to suck his cock, ft. woo

Ugh, As If🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[khj] ult fav, y/n has insomnia & he helped her , sngt lurve yurr

Loyalties☁️[khj] criminal hj x detective y/n, love the chemistry, had me giggling, kinda reminds me of sanzu

Dreamy (series)🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[khj] dilf hj, bestie sh's daughter, legit ult fav ever, literally drooling, i love this sm istg, the best one ever, they finally fuck at pt. 6

5:04 am☁️[smg] he help lulled her to sleep

just between friends🔥❤️‍🔥[smg, jyh] pure filthy smut, love all the consents

principia (pt.1)🔥☁️[jyh] prof yuyu x student y/n, got my heartbeat racing

opticks (pt.2)🔥☁️[jyh]

Teacher's Pet🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[jyh] college au, prof yuyu x student y/n, heavy angst (my heart ached sm, i legit cried), "it reopened wounds it never healed", (will reread when i feel like hurting myself again)

outlaw🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[jyh] cowboy yuyu x bartender y/n, amazing plot

cry for me🔥[jyh] pure smut, crying kink, aftercare

whichever way🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[jwy, cs] threesome, has plot, amazing chemistry, kinky

Hardcore🔥☁️💧❤️‍🔥[cjh] teacher jh x student y/n, heartbreaking frr, "you like me...but you love her-", the other women

oh shit, are we in love?🔥☁️[cjh] romcom, college au, bestie to lovers, virgin jh

Ateez Reactions: When You Use Safeword🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[ot8] tbh, idk how to desc this cuz i like seeing them immediately changed from rough & full in lust to soft & concerned

boyfriend!ateez discovering you write smut☁️[ot8] fake text, they're just so funny i giggles too much & accidently banged my head on the wall

★¸.•☆•.¸★ SEVENTEEN ★⡀.•☆•.★

emails i can't send💧[ot13] istg its so devastatingly heartbreaking, highly rec to read during the bloody season

step by step☁️[jww] softie but they were talking bout sex tho

the wolf and the fox☁️[kmg] spy au, the tension btwn the two tho

★¸.•☆•.¸★ P1HARMONY ★⡀.•☆•.★

cinnamon banana pancakes☁️[keeho] soft, fluffy, making breakfast

★¸.•☆•.¸★ OTHERS ★⡀.•☆•.★

idk which category these should go, so i'll place them here:

the better man🔥☁️[san, mingyu] threesome, college au, they fight for y/n

seeing double🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[seonghwa, wonbin] college au, red flag fwb hwa, soft shy wonbin

dividers are by @roseraris

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duckomartinah · 1 year

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"𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓁𝑒𝓎, 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒.

ℱ𝓁𝑒𝓈𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓌𝓈, 𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽, 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝒽𝓎𝓈𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁 𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎, 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒜𝓏𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓁𝑒'𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓎-𝒷𝓁𝓊𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓏𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑔𝑒𝑜𝓃.

𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈?

𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈?

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒜𝓏𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓁𝑒'𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹. 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓁𝑒𝓎'𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓍 𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓅."

✨HELO I'M UNWELL✨

Ok, for a while i thought i'd make something pure comfort because God knows how much we all need it after the season 2 finale BUT! Plot twist, here I am serving some angst 8)

Because yes, because I love them and I'm devastated, because I think I've listened to "Mary on a Cross" 320 times in the last two weeks and I couldn't get this image out of my mind, so I had to put it on paper thanks to the help/collaboration/madness of @gladia-delmarre , who thought of making everything ten thousand times more painful by writing a splendid poem

So, here it is Crowley, who for centuries and centuries has carried the cross of his love for Aziraphale and now can finally abandon himself in his arms (because if the third season will not end with them loving each other forever, I will scream.)

Here you can read the entire poem, do it because it's worth it :'3

✨https://archiveofourown.org/works/49903573

✨https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=4062027

Inspired by Michelangelo's "Pietà"

#crowley #good omens #aziraphale #good omens fanart #ineffable husbands #traditional art #traditional painting #illustration #inking #goodomensfanart #good omens season 2 #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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friedbaekhyunandeggso · 3 months

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found you - ch. 5 (part IV)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! booksmart! sheltered! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only babes, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, pet names (kitten, baby), titjob, praising, unprotected & protected sex, dub/non consented sex, overstimulation, mentions of abusive parents, suicidal ideation, squirting & basically lots of smut

word count/plot: [19.5k!] ara catches gojo's attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins...

ch. 1 , ch. 2 [ part 1 | part 2 ] , ch. 3 , ch. 4 , chapter 5 [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 ]

She shoved him back, breaking the kiss. He lay on the bed, panting.

He sat up, reaching for her, “Ara—“

“Wait,” she stepped back, tugging down her mini dress, “Just wait.”

His blue eyes looked her up and down, “Why~” he whined.

She stepped in between his legs, cupping his chin, “Because I have something for you.”

Excitement bloomed in his crystalline eyes as he stared up at her. His hands squeezed the back of her thighs.

“Yeah?” his voice was low—hungry.

Her long fingernails dragged through his white hair, up his nape to the crown of his head. His eyes never left hers until he leaned forward, opening his mouth to bite at her tits in his face.

Her hands in his hair tugged his head back a second before his lips made contact. A low groan left him.

She kissed the tip of his nose, “wait for me.”

The words went straight to his cock. The look in her eyes didn’t help either, he didn’t want to wait. He wanted her now.

She slipped away from him, making him ache with each step she took away from him.

Fuck. He stared at her hips as she walked towards the closet. Her hair swaying with each clop of her heels. Her legs looked so damn sexy. fuck, fuck, fuck.

She has something for me?

A grin split across his lips as he flung himself back on the bed. He reached down, squeezing his cock through his jeans. He groaned through his teeth.

What you have for me, kitten?

The thought made his cock twist in his pants. It was too cramped in there, the zipper was working overtime. She was taking too long. He needed her.

He closed his eyes, sifting through ideas of what she could possibly have for him. A gift, hm? He could only wonder what she got. She knew everything he liked, from sweets to his favorite shows and movies—she knew everything.

The thought shouldn’t have made him as happy as it did.

His cock throbbed and he hissed.

Fuck baby, I don’t need anything. I just need you—just you.

He reached into his pants, adjusting his cock at a more comfortable angle. He needed to at least appear tame for whatever she had to give him. knowing her it was bound to be something unique and meaningful, maybe even sentimental. whatever it was he’d cherish it. he’d keep it forever.

When he told her that he didn’t want anything from her he meant it-but if she got something with just him in my mind.. Who was he to deny her?

He smiled to himself, thinking of her wandering store to store trying to find something for him. He hadn’t checked her bank statements recently either so it truly would be a surprise.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. His mind racing with curiosity.

Suddenly the closet door opened and he immediately perked up. Her voice came from behind the closet door.

“so… it was kinda hard for me to get a gift for someone who has everything. It really forces you to think outside of the box..”

He smiled slightly.

“.. so I thought really hard and I still came up with nothing. but then I realized, you always say I’m the best thing that ever happened to you-“

“You are.”

“-so here I am.”

She stepped out from behind the door and he gaped.

She wore the sexiest, laciest baby pink lingerie he’d ever seen in his life. The bra was basically see through, barely cupping her luscious tits. The matching thong was made with the thinnest straps, just the sight of it made him pant. and the garter belt attached to her lace-rimmed thigh high stockings…

He was gonna tear her up.

He stood up and she raised her chin, “Sit down.”

He froze, he’d never heard her voice like this. a grin split across his lips as he sat down. He licked his lips as he watched her step closer. The clip clop of her heels too slow compared to his heartbeat.

He naturally man-spread when he sat so when she stood before him, she stood between his long legs. Her skin sparkled up-close.

He reached for her and she swat his hands away.

“Don’t touch me.”

He groaned, “Ara you look so fucking sexy. I’m gonna lose my shit-“

“Then don’t. If you touch me I’ll stop.”

He raised a brow only to freeze when she bent low in front of him. the sight of her tits hanging, squeezed together in that sheer bra as she got on her knees, he nearly came right there.

She stared up at him from between his legs. her heartbeat thumped rapidly in her ears when she saw the look in his eyes. his mouth was slightly open and his eyes—he looked like he wanted to demolish her.

She placed a hand on his thigh to balance herself and his abs immediately tightened. She slowly reached for the zipper of his pants, popping open the one button first. She then flicked at his zipper.

She felt the muscle under her hand on his leg stiffen, “Fuck you’re such a tease.”

She looked up to see his shoulders flexed, veins visible along his arms as his hands fisted the sheets. He was flushed, his jaw clenched. the thin necklace with their promise ring hanging from his neck as he sat slightly hunched—staring down at her.

“Don’t rush me.” her voice inadvertently coming out a whisper.

His eyes were fixed on hers, “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

“You don’t want me to suck you off first?”

“i do.” he answered straight away, subtly shaking his head, “i do. i do. i do.”

She’d never given him a blowjob before, no matter how badly he wanted it or how often he asked. He never forced her to though—which she appreciated more than he knew.

He simply stopped asking for it, especially after she told him she found the concept of it nasty. putting the same cock that would be inside her pussy in her mouth? it just felt wrong. even the thought of it made her gag. He'd even seen her nearly gag while explaining it.

There was no way someone as big as him could fit in her mouth either. She was sure to gag for real if that happened.

And yet, here she was…

“Please.” he begged.

“please, please, please.” he sounded so desperate.

She stared at the bulge in his pants before looking up at him. She didn’t break eye contact as she shifted closer to him, her hand slowly lowering his zipper. She swore she could hear his teeth grinding.

His cock bulged out, pressing impatiently against his Calvin Klein boxers. even the outline of it looked angry. she heard a low choked breath leave his lips.

She glanced up again and nearly stopped breathing. He looked so big over her like this. All of his upper body muscles visible to her since he was shirtless. He could easily grab her and do as he pleased, she knew he was more than capable of it-but to think he was attempting to exercise his patience just for her. She knew she was playing with fire.

but she couldn’t help it.

His mouth partially opened when she slipped her index and middle finger into the rim of his boxers—dragging her long fake nails along his navel, from one v-line to the other. Toying with the elastic band of his boxers.

He groaned, shifting his hips towards her, “Ara, please. please, I need you.”

“I know.” she finally lowered his boxers, letting his cock flip out. It protruded towards her, fully erect and veiny. The light pink head swollen and stiff. She saw a small bead of clear pre-cum at the tip.

It looked so big and daunting in front of her like this. His cock looked longer than the length of her face.

She heard him let out a sigh of relief.

His cock twitched when she leaned towards it, it was just millimeters away from her lips. She met his gaze when she opened her mouth and exhaled over the tip, letting her warm breath cascade down his cockhead.

He whimpered, his cock twitching once more. She saw the bead of pre-cum dribble out slightly and trickle down the side of his cockhead.

“Ara..” he groaned, shifting his hips so that his cock nearly touched her lips.

She leaned away, her hand on his thigh pushing him back.

Her eyes fluttered back up to his, “Don’t move.”

He was panting. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow before he threw his head back and groaned. His hands fisting the sheets so hard, the bed was nearly disarrayed.

He faced her again, his gaze desperate, “I can’t hold back-“

“You have to.”

“I’m about to fucking cum and you haven’t even touched me yet.” his voice was ragged.

“Don’t cum.”

“Touch me, Ara. please fucking touch me.” he begged.

She reached over and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She held her tits up from the sides before leaning over and slotting his cock between them.

She immediately felt his cock twitch between her tits. His cock was so hot.

“ha—ah.” he groaned, tossing his head back as she began to slide her tits up and down his cock. Her tits were so warm, so soft and plushy. fuckkk.

He glanced down at her, at her pretty eyes staring up at him. His cockhead peeked out from the top of her tits as she held them together with her hands, squeezing his cock just right between her breasts. The friction felt so good after being abandoned for so long.

He watched his pre-cum dribble out onto her tits. fuck, he wanted to feel her soft tits in his hands. tease those sexy little nipples and fuck those tits at a pace that would make her cry but he had to be patient. he couldn’t touch her.

He groaned through his teeth and she watched him fall back on his elbows. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

She felt his hips buck as he tried to fuck her tits back but then his abs tightened as he tried to hold back.

“Fuck, you look so hot kitten. Your tits feel fucking perfect-yes-yes-just like that.” he grit out his last few words.

“Gonna cum all over your pretty face.” he rasped as she continued to bounce her tits up and down his length.

He felt so stiff between her tits, she couldn’t believe he was so hard. The sight of his cockhead disappearing and reappearing within her tits was the weirdest feeling but when she felt his cock throb she knew.

Her eyes widened. She saw his brows furrow in concentration as he sat up, bucking his hips into her to fuck her tits faster. The tip of his cock hitting her sternum.

“Toru—“ she gasped out and-just then, felt his cock pulsate. She didn’t want a mess-

Her mouth wrapped around his cockhead, her tongue running circles around his tip as cock throbbed between her tits—letting load after load of thick, hot cum in her mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut, suddenly recognizing the flavor. He’d made her taste his cum a few times before but she must’ve been too out of it to realize what it was. The thought made her shiver.

“ah, ha-aah-“ he groaned sensitively, his cock continuing to jerk between her warm tits as he spurt endlessly in her mouth. Her mouth felt so hot and wet—her little tongue running along the slit of his tip. Fuckkk

She looked so sexy, her pouty lips wrapped around his cockhead-sucking him just right-with the rest of his length stuffed between those big perky tits. He would frame the sight if he could.

She backed away from him, letting his tip slip out of her mouth with a satisfying pop and-regrettably-making his cock slide out of her soft warm breasts as well.

He saw her cheeks were blown up, filled with his cum. Her gaze distraught and he knew she was about to spit it out—

He grabbed her throat, forcing her eyes on him.

“Swallow.”

Her eyes widened.

“Swallow.”

Her eyes watered as she complied. He felt her neck bob against his palm as she swallowed.

She immediately opened her mouth, gasping as she tried to breathe after swallowing such a thing. A bead of cum managed to slip out onto the corner of her lip and he immediately caught it with his thumb.

He smeared it across her lower lip, “Good girl.”

He suddenly gripped her hair, forcing her to look up at him. His erect cock barely an inch away from her face.

“Who taught you that?” he demanded.

“M-millie.” she stuttered out, breathless.

“Millie?” he let out a short, astonished laugh.

He watched her hand come up to the center of her chest, rubbing the spot of her sternum that his cock head had been hitting moments ago when he’d fucked those plump tits of hers.

“Millie’s tryna have your pussy sore for a week, huh.”

“You already do that.” she replied weakly.

His teeth ran over his bottom lip, “Ara..”

She lay on her side, his chest all up against her back. His hand held her thigh up as she felt his warm breath travel down her neck.

She jolted when she felt his cock poke at her cunt.

"Wait-“ she reached towards the nightstand for condoms only for his other arm to wrap around her shoulders and shove her back against him.

“No.” his lips brushed against her ear. “Not today.”

She attempted to close her legs, but his hand under her thigh resisted—keeping her cunt wide open. The tip of cock slipped inside her warmth, making her gasp.

“It’s my birthday.”

Her hands pushed at his arm around her shoulders, “Toru, no—no!” she attempted to wriggle her hips away from him as he pushed more of his cock inside.

“I’ll get you a plan b tomorrow.”

He’d been doing that a lot recently-escaping wearing a condom by buying her a plan b the next day. He'd told her he respected her decision of not wanting to take birth control because her fear of the side effects and yet-by acting like this-he was putting them both at risk.

She struggled in his grasp, her eyes squeezing shut as he forced more of himself inside. His cock opening up her warm depths the deeper he went.

“Stop it, Toru. stop it!”

“sh, sh, sh,” he kissed her cheekbone, his grip on her shaky thigh tightening as he opened her legs wider. “It’s gonna be fine, kitten. Don’t worry.”

He sent one hard, deep thrust to her cunt—making her whine.

He stared at her distressed expression from above her shoulder before slowly grinding his cock into her, watching her expression unravel as she whimpered.

“Just for today.” he murmured into her ear.

He buried his face into her shoulder, sending another harsh thrust to her cunt. She cried out, her nails scratching at his arm around her shoulders as he began to fuck her hard.

“Jus let me have this today.”

fwop. fwop. fwop. fwop.

She felt it—him fucking his cum back into her. it was too much. he just came and hadn’t pulled out, hadn’t stopped.

“Toru, stop—stop. pull out-please—“ she begged.

His hand fisting her hair yanked her head back. His fingers dug into her hip as he bent over her, lips at her ear.

“Why should i?”

fwop. fwop. fwop. fwop.

“You feel so fucking good kitten.” he rasped.

“nghhh.” she felt his cum trickle down the inside of her thighs. His balls slapping her cunt with each rough fuck.

He pushed her back down, his hand still in her hair as he continued to bully her pussy with his cock. Her pussy was so hot and tight. He didn’t want to take his cock out that warmth even for a second.

“Your cunt’s made for me.”

His hand on her hip slid to her ass, delivering one firm slap to her ass cheek. She cried out as her cunt tightened around him.

“Oh? You like that, kitten?”

He slapped her ass once more. He swore her cunt got wetter.

“s-stop!”

“Your cunt is wrapping around me so tight, you sure want me too?”

She tried to turn but his hand in her hair prevented her.

“Hurts.” she gasped out, her ass cheek throbbing where he hit it.

fwop. fwop. fwop.

She moaned, his cock fucking into her ferociously. She gripped the sheets, her thighs trembling.

“You close kitten?”

His voice felt distant to her ears as she gasped. Her body couldn’t take the feeling of all of this. His cock pounding into her, his hand gripping her hair, his hand running down the back of her thigh-collecting his escaped cum on his fingers and smearing it over her skin. It felt like too much.

Suddenly he smacked her ass once more, sending her over the edge. She moaned.

Her moan was music to his ears. He watched her back sexily arch as her thighs trembled oh so badly. He let go of her hair to let her fall forward.

He grabbed her hips, letting his fingers dig deep into her soft skin as he pounded into her relentlessly. He wanted to feel every twitch and squeeze of her pretty little cunt as she came.

He groaned as he felt her cunt writhe around him, her insides wounding around him so tight—it felt like her pussy walls were dying to milk him dry.

He glanced down to see her pussy juices squirt out despite him still being inside—still fucking her. He watched his cum spill out the sides of her cunt as well, mixed in with her yummy pussy juices. the sight was intoxicating.

She was so creamy and wet inside that a delicious sound followed when he continued to fuck her out.

He knew he should stop, let his cum from earlier at least leave her but he didn’t want to. She was mewling so cutely, shaking her hips as she attempted to pull herself off him.

He yanked her back down by the hips. She cried out.

He leaned over her, slipping his hands around her tits as he spoke into the crook of her neck.

“I’m not done yet, kitten.”

“nghhh—toru, please. please!”

fwop. fwop. fwop. fwop.

Her hands were on his chest as her body bounced on top of him. His cock thrusted into her from underneath.

He stared up at her intently as he held her waist. He was breathless-watching her tits bounce with each fuck was an addicting sight.

She was barely able to sit upright on top of him. mascara stains trailed down her cheeks and her pouty lips were reddened and raw from his kisses. god, she’s never looked sexier.

“toruu!” she whined.

He sent another thrust up into her core, “I’m here baby.”

She lifted her hands, pushing her long hair back before resting her hands on his chest again—trying to keep her balance despite barely being able to string one thought together.

She looked down at him. his eyes were so bright, so lustful and hungry. he was truly so wanton for her, it was incomprehensible.

His hands on her waist controlled her, moving her up and down on his cock as he pleased. it felt so good, she couldn’t stop him. his cock head was hitting all the right places.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ara. you know that?” he hissed out, “beautiful.”

She glanced over to see he was looking at her tits, which were flying upwards with each push of his cock. She self-consciously covered them with her hands.

He immediately reached over, shoving her hands back.

“Don’t hide them from me.”

He grabbed her tits in each of his hands, squeezing them eagerly. her tits were big enough that they filled the entirety of his large hands. She moaned.

He could never get over the feel of her in his hands. it always filled him with a heady sensation when he thought of how he was the only one who got to feel her like this—see her like this. to think she’d even let him fuck these perfect tits of hers willingly earlier.

He pumped his cock into her faster. She moaned, throwing her head back. Her perfect neck and tits protruding out just for him.

His eyes ran over the several hickeys along her decolletage. mmm, it only made him want to give her more.

He leaned up, sliding one hand down to her waist before latching his lips to her unattended tit. sucking her nipple like his life depended on it. his tongue circling the perfect hard little nub.

“nghhh!! ugh—nghh!”

Her fingers slipped in his hair as his cock continued to fuck her gummy pussy. His groin was so wet from her juices but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

She was all he ever wanted.

Geto walked with millie upstairs. it was around 7 am. The estate was a mess. Most people had gone home or were passed out sleeping somewhere but Gojo hadn’t been seen for the past few hours.

“Are you sure you know where his room his?”

He shot her a look.

She raised her hands, “Sorry. this place is so damn big. I would get lost even if I came here a million times.”

“I’ve probably been here more than a million times.” he muttered.

Just as they walked towards Gojo’s bedroom door, they both froze. Millie and Geto looked at each other.

The squelching sounds of fucking was audible through the door, alongside Ara’s sweet needy moans.

Millie’s eyes immediately widened before she ran towards their bedroom and pressed her ear to the door.

All she heard was more squelching noises and the sound of low masculine murmurs-Gojo-as he talked her through it. Ara moaned once more.

Geto tugged at Millie’s arm, flushed. “Lets go.”

“No wait-“ she pressed her ear to the door again, “I’m tryna hear what he’s saying.”

His face screwed up, “Why?”

“Cuz-“ another feminine moan left Ara—this time more drawn out, more whimpery.

Millie’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, she sounds so hot.”

Geto closed his eyes, shaking his head. This time grabbing her elbow and tugging her.

“Lets go.”

She was laughing airily, “I did not know she could sound like that, oh my god.”

He made a face and Millie lightly punched his chest, “Oh come on. her moans were hot, you can admit it.”

He continued to walk her down the stairs, “That’s my boy’s girl. I’m not saying shit, that’s weird.”

She rolled her eyes, “Whatever. I’m just glad the plan worked.”

He glanced over to see a smile on her lips, “The plan?”

She smirked up at him, “Let’s just say Ara didn’t know what to get him for his birthday and I had an idea. She hated the idea at first but she knew he would like it. any boy would.”

He grimaced, “What did you corrupt her with now?”

“i didn’t corrupt her. technically that was all your best friends doing,” she shrugged, “but she looks happier now though so I’m just happy for her.”

“Is she happier?” Geto asked.

She raised a brow, “Yeah. why?”

“I dunno. She’s kinda hard to read,” he admitted, “I’m just surprised her Dad hasn’t contacted her yet.”

“She told you about that?” Millie asked, astonished.

He shook his head, “No, Gojo did.”

“Yeah no. Her dad hasn’t contacted her. She hasn’t called him either.”

“She hasn’t?”

Millie shook her head, “She hates him.”

Millie watched the corner of his lips dip into a subtle frown.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Oh-nothing.”

“Tell me.” she insisted.

He ran a hand through his hair, “It��s just a tough situation, isn’t it?”

She sighed, “It is but… at least she has Gojo.”

Gojo hopped into the kitchen a little after 1 pm.

“Marinn~” he was singing until he froze and glanced around, “Oh? y’all are still here.”

Haibara, Toji, Nanami and Geto sat around the island counter. Marin stood on the other side, sliding Toji another plate of food since he’d requested it.

Toji gave him a once-over. Gojo’s hair was rumpled and a few hickeys were visible along the neckline of white T-shirt.

Toji sipped at his coffee, “You had a night.”

“Probably the best night of my life.” he grinned before sliding onto one of the stools along the island, beside them. Toji whistled.

Gojo asked, “What about you guys?”

“Last night was insane.” Haibara croaked out, voice dry from all the singing he’d done, “I did not expect Travis Scott to show up. What the hell?”

Gojo laughed, “I didn’t either but it was open invite for A-listers so-“ he shrugged, “Here we are.”

“He was so chill.” Haibara went on.

Gojo suddenly snapped his fingers, as if belatedly remembering, “Marin.”

Marin’s head snapped up, “Yes, I’m making you a plate.”

“Can you make one for Ara as well? Make her a green tea too.”

“Yes.”

“Let me know when you're done, I wanna bring it up to her."

“Yes sir.”

He glanced around at the other boys, “I didn’t check the house but did security sweep the place yet?”

“Yeah, they did this morning. around 10 am.” Nanami grumbled out a second before Marin could answer. “I hope you don’t mind that Shoko and I stayed in one of your guest rooms.”

“Your’re kidding right?” Gojo grinned, “I’d never mind nanamin~”

“Is Shoko still here?” Geto asked.

“Nah,” he rubbed his brow, “We got into a fight this morning so she left early.”

“Damn.” Toji muttered.

“Did something happen?” Haibara inquired.

“Just some stuff. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Haibara nodded, a subtle pout on his lips.

Gojo reached out, patting Nanami’s shoulder, “You’ll get through it. I believe in y—“

Nanami shrugged his hand off, “Easy for you to say. You just had the best night of your life.” he mocked.

Toji suddenly leaned towards Gojo, “Yeah, so what the hell happened? Ara keep you busy?”

“Very,” he grinned, his teeth subconsciously running over his bottom lip as the memories flooded his mind.

“Look at this guy.” Toji smirked, before grasping Geto’s shoulder and shaking it. Geto shrugged him off.

“Did she give you a gift?” Haibara asked innocently.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with mischief, “She was the gift.”

Toji and haibara started hooting and hollering while Geto and Nanami shook their heads.

The sound of the waves washing over the sand felt like therapy without therapy. It was lovely.

Gojo had taken her here on a whim—all because she’d said she’s never seen the beach at night. it was literally sunday. they had school in six hours and he didn’t care. He insisted that she had to see it and here they were.

And he was right. this was beautiful.

She gazed out at the moon reflected in the water. the water appeared black due to the night sky and yet, nothing about it seemed ominous. instead it felt like she belonged here.

The light passing breeze made her waist length hair ripple past her shoulders. She tugged her shrug closer around herself before glancing over to see Gojo wasn’t beside her.

She stopped walking and turned around.

He was a little ways away behind her, following her. His hands in his pockets. The second he spotted her looking, he smiled.

His arm slipped around her shoulders, easily catching up, “What do you think?”

He kissed her temple as she responded, “It’s so nice.”

He grinned slightly, “Right? let’s sit.”

They sat down on the sand. The water rushing along the beachside only a few feet away. Ara stared out at the palm trees swaying in the distance.

He rubbed her back, “I knew you’d like it.”

She drew her knees up to her chest, “There’s no one here.”

“We got lucky.”

According to him, this was a rather popular beach. It was beautiful so she could see why.

“I like.. how it smells.” she felt ridiculous saying it but it was true. somehow the beach smelled calming, reassuring in a silent way.

He kissed her shoulder, “i like how you smell.”

She squinted at him.

He smirked back at her. His eyes dropping to her lips before returning back to her eyes.

“Can i ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Where is your mom?”

She froze, not expecting that question in the slightest.

“I don’t know.” she answered.

“Really?” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Last i heard she was in Turkey. She has family all over the world so she’s always traveling to see them.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

She paused, “Three years ago. She.. used to call but not so much anymore.”

“Does she work?”

“No. Grandpa just sends her money.”

“Are you close with your grandparents?”

She shook her head, “I only spoke to grandpa once on the phone.”

“hm,” he waited a beat before asking, “Are your parents divorced?”

“Ao but they might as well be. She doesn’t call me so i know she doesn’t call him.”

Gojo assessed her silently, watching a frown appear on her lips. A million thoughts running behind her pretty eyes.

“Did she leave because of your Dad?”

“Well at first she left because her cousin passed away so she had to go to his funeral but then when Dad kept calling her and asking when she’d be back she started coming up with more excuses, prolonging her stay and stuff. There’d be times where we didn’t hear from her for months. Dad would get real mad but then she called a while back saying that she plans on staying with Grandpa cuz he’s ill now and there’s no one else to take care of him.”

She sighed, “I don’t know if that’s true or just another excuse but.. I know Dad hates her now. He hates me too. He hates me cuz I look just like her.”

His eyes widened slightly.

She looked down, making shapes in the sand between them, “everytime he looks at me I remind him of her. He said it.”

“He said it?”

“Yeah. He said he would throw acid on my face if he could–said her face doesn’t deserve to exist-”

He caught her wrist, his jaw clenched before he caught a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were filled with tears.

He hated her father’s words. He hated them so much he honestly wanted to drive to his house and rip out his tongue with his bare hands. He wanted to watch the blood pool out of his mouth and then stuff his tongue so far back down his throat til he choked on it. It would be easy-so easy that it wouldn’t bother him at all.

What bothered him was the flat tone she used while saying these things–as if it were a fact that she believed. It made him unreasonably angry to think she could believe anything that came out of that useless man’s mouth.

“He sounds jealous to me-sounds jealous as shit that he isn’t as pretty as you and your mother.”

She snatched her wrist out of his grip, “Is that all that matters?”

“No, no,” his hands slipped under her shoulders, tugging her towards him to lift her onto his lap. Before she could resist, his arm wound itself tight around her back and his free hand caught her chin. He tilted her face up to meet his gaze.

His blue eyes searched her face, the pads of his fingertips gently wiping the tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I just didn’t want you to be sad.”

She exhaled through her nose, a faint smile on her lips, “Too late.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, taking in the familiar scent of cologne and the sounds of the waves crashing along the beach. She felt his lips against her forehead and shivered.

His body felt so warm and strong, cradling her like this–his arms gave her a sense of safety that she never felt before him. It should’ve been reassuring but all she could think about is where it all went wrong.

She opened her eyes, staring at his adam's apple before her before slowly raising her eyes–taking in his defined jawline, the smooth planes of his cheeks, his sharp straight nose, long white lashes. Strands of his thick white hair flipped in the light breeze as he stared ahead.

He looked perfect and he didn’t even have to try. And here she was, barely able to stay afloat. What a lovely couple they made.

“Sometimes I wish I was never born.”

His eyes immediately snapped towards her, “Don’t say that.”

She attempted to get out of his arms but his hold suddenly tightened. His forehead pressed against hers, “Don’t ever say that again.” He poked her nose, “You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me, remember? I don’t wanna think about a world without you.”

“You’d live.”

He shook his head, “I wouldn’t.”

“You would.”

He shook his head more vigorously, “I wouldn’t.”

She stayed silent for a moment, holding his gaze–letting the sound of the angry waves crashing against the rocks speak for them. When his gaze didn’t falter, she sighed–giving up. She lay her head in the crook of his neck, letting her hand rest on his chest.

They both stared out at the view until he broke the silence, “Your Mom had you when she was 25 right?”

Her brows furrowed slightly, “Yeah, how did you know that?”

He glanced down at her, poking her stomach, “You told me, remember? You told me you didn’t wanna have kids til you were 25 just like her.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered. That conversation felt so long ago. She’d been so scared then, saying anything that she thought could help her situation.

His hand slipped into the curve of her waist, his thumb caressing her stomach.

“How many kids do you want?”

She felt her face get hot, “Seriously-”

“Tell me. I wanna know.”

“let me guess, you want a million.”

His arms tightened around her, “i do. i want as many as you want.”

“i wanna fill up our home,” he went on, “jus imagine them running all over the estate, little me’s and you’s.”

Her eyes widened.

“-We’d keep Marin busy, have her babysit them all.”

“Them all?”

“Yeah, she used to babysit me—”

“That’s not what I meant.” she sat up in his lap, “What if I don’t want kids?”

His eyes snapped to hers before slowly searching her face, “Why?” he asked, gently.

She was quiet. A million thoughts running through her mind.

She tried to slip out of his lap but he tugged her back down. His forehead pressing against hers once-more.

“You don’t think you're gonna be a good mama?” the tip of his nose nudged hers as she avoided eye contact, “Hm?”

She turned her head away and he nipped at her jaw, “Tell me.”

She shoved him back, “How can you expect any of us to be good parents, toru? We literally have been raised by the worst people ever. You with a manipulative uncle and me with an abusive Dad. How are we gonna raise little kids with love when we don’t even know what that’s like?”

“We have our love.”

She stared at him.

“We’ll show our kids what love is by loving each other right,” he spoke rather calmly, “We don’t have to treat our kids the way our parents treated us. We never have to do that. If we get lost and confused, we have each other to rely on. Don’t we?”

She swallowed, her fingers inadvertently hooking around his necklace with their promise ring.

She rested her hand flat on his chest, tucking her head into his shoulder, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” she murmured.

His hand ran down her side, lightly squeezing her waist. “Why, kitten?”

“the idea of being a Mom scares me.”

“There’s nothing scary about passing on your pretty genes.” he teased lightly.

She rolled her eyes only to freeze when he felt his hand cup her chin to make her look up at him.

There was a faint smile on his lips as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, “I want our baby to have your lips.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“-want em’ to have your nose-” he nuzzled her.

His hand slipped into her hair, “-and your long long hair-”

Her hand on his chest pushed him back-getting more distance between them, “You don’t wanna pass on any of your features?”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’m pretty but you’re prettier,”

She felt her cheeks flush despite herself.

“-I just wanna be there for the baby-making.”

“I’m nervous.”

He cupped her face, kissing her forehead, “You have nothing to worry about, kitten. You practiced way more than you needed to.”

She looked up at him, “I messed up my parallel park.”

“Yeah, once. Then you did it perfectly ten times in a row after.”

“I still messed up.” she pouted.

“Hey-” he waited until she met his gaze again, “How long have I been driving for?”

It took her a second to remember, “2 years.”

“Yeah and I haven’t gotten a ticket once-”

“-because the cops know you-”

“Because I’m a good driver and you’ve been practicing with me-a good driver-all this time. Why would I set you up to fail?”

She moved his hands off her face and sighed, “Your right, your right.”

She held onto one of his hands with both of hers. She stared down at it for a moment before facing him.

“I’m worried for nothing.” she spoke firmly.

He copied her tone, “You’re worried for nothing.”

“I’m gonna pass.”

“You’re gonna pass.”

She straightened her posture, “I am.”

He smiled.

He watched the car come to a stop in front of him. She jumped out of the driver’s side and ran straight towards him. The second he saw her smile he knew.

She jumped into his arms and he caught her. He was grinning like a madman.

“I passed. I passed. I passed!”

He kissed her head a million times, squeezing her oh so tight. He never wanted to let go.

“Miss, you forgot this.”

They both turned to look at the instructor holding her Birkin. A warm smile on the instructor’s lips.

Ara lightly pushed his shoulder, signaling him to put her down but instead he walked over with one arm under her ass. He reached out to take the Birkin from the instructor.

“Thank you.” Him and Ara said at the same time.

The instructor beamed at them, “You guys are so cute. Y’all remind me of my younger days.”

He smirked at the elderly woman, “I’m happy to help.”

Ara fixed him with a look.

“What?” he looked at her blankly.

Ara watched the instructor’s smile falter before she turned around and walked away.

Ara whispered harshly, “I’m happy to help?!”

“She looks a month away from getting dementia, remembering her younger days is good for her.” he insisted.

She smacked her forehead, “I hate you.”

He merely smiled while walking in the direction of his car.

“How do you wanna celebrate, hm? You hungry–”

She attempted to wriggle out of his hold but he didn’t budge.

“--wanna get food? Or should we go to a car dealership first?”

She froze.

“Gotta get your first car, baby,” he shook her excitedly in his hold before facing her, “I’m so excited that I’m here for this.”

“You want to buy me a car?” she asked, astonished.

“Of course,” he answered simply before grinning, “I’m the best boyfriend ever right?”

her brows furrowed before she hid her face in his neck. she drew her arms tighter around his shoulders as she mumbled, “You ruin it when you say that.”

His grin widened before he kissed her temple, “What’s your dream car?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s gotta be something.”

“Well.. I guess Teslas look kinda cool.”

“Blegh, you aim too low.”

She glared at him, “Sorry I didn’t immediately thinkFerrari. That’s a little out of my tax bracket so-“

“Ferrari?” his eyes brightened, “You like ferraris?”

“Stop it Toru,” her voice came out muffled against his shirt, “I’m not letting you buy me a car.”

“Which Ferrari model?”

“Stop.”

“What color?”

“Stop.”

Millie walked into her closet. She watched Millie’s mouth immediately drop open.

“Holy shit.”

Ara couldn’t help but feel some sort of deja vu because she remembered when she first entered Millie’s closet, she’d once reacted the same. but now her closet was probably a dozen times bigger than Millie’s.

Ara waved towards the left side, “That’s his side.” then gestured towards the right side, “This is my side.”

Her side was half full compared to his-which was completely stuffed to the brim.

“Let me show you the dresses I was talking about.” Ara muttered before walking deeper into the closet.

Millie eyed Gojo’s sneaker collection, “Goddamn.”

“Here.”

Millie glanced over to see Ara remove a few clothes from where they hung and set them down on the island counter at the closet’s center.

“Oh my god,” Millie ran her hand over the material of the several dresses she’d laid out.

She picked out a label for one of the dresses, “This is Saint Laurent? wow..”

She then picked out the labels for the other dresses, “Valentino, Georgia Armani, Eli saab..”

Ara itched the back of her neck, “Yeah, he pulled some of their archived early 2000s pieces cuz he knew I liked them but..”

Millie sighed, “You are living the dream.”

Ara reddened, “You can borrow whatever dress you want. There’s no way i’m gonna wear all these. I barely go to formal events.”

Millie set her hands down on the counter, “Yes, but this is prom. You gotta go all out.”

“I know, which is why this is stressing me out.”

“Why? You have such nice options.”

“That’s the thing. I literally have all these dresses he already bought and custom fit for me and yet he still wants me to tell him a fashion house that i wanna wear so he could get them to custom make me a dress and his suit.”

“That’s… insane,” Millie gushed, “Which brand are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I told him I could just wear one of these but-“

“Uh, no! You have the opportunity to get a brand new dress made completely for you from any high fashion brand? I’m not letting you pass that up.”

She snatched Ara’s phone, “Unlock this and open your pinterest.”

Ara raised a brow before hesitantly doing as told, “Why?”

Once millie saw she’d opened the pinterest app she snatched the phone back, “I’m gonna see your aesthetic and tell you what high fashion house I think you belong in.”

“Thank you so much for wearing my dress, darling. It looks absolutely incredible on you. Give me one more spin?”

Ara smiled slightly before handing off the phone to one of the fashion designer’s assistants. She spun once more for the camera.

“You are a goddess.”

“Please, that's enough.” Ara was flustered enough as is by all the compliments the belgium born, parisian designer Ludovic de Sermon had to offer her since they’d met a few weeks ago. Despite not having known him for long, they got along rather well.

His spontaneous personality fit perfectly with her introvertedness. Something about his creative process with design made her respect him more than he knew.

He’d been awfully patient with her, wanting everything to be absolutely perfect—and here she was, feeling perfect and beyond. and he was terribly upset he wasn’t there to see it.

Unfortunately he had to take a last minute flight back to Paris to check up on his fiancé since he’d gotten hospitalized due to a motorcycle accident. his team was still here, they’d helped her get the dress on.

“It’s never enough!”

She stepped towards the phone to see him on the facetime, his assistant still held up the phone for her.

“Is your fiance really gonna be okay?”

He waved a hand, “Don’t you worry about him. He just has a concussion and a few bruises—god, the damn boy gave me a heart attack. I swear i’m gonna set his motorcycles on fire one of these days.”

Ara laughed.

“Don’t you spend a second worrying about him and enjoy your prom to the fullest, okay? You only get prom once. Don’t forget to send me all the pictures you take!”

“Alright, alright, I will. Thank you so much for everything once again.”

“No, thank you for being such a stunning sweet soul. I’m here for you if you ever need anything love.”

Ara blew him a kiss the same time he did. The call ended just as Gojo abruptly entered the room.

“You ready ki—“ he froze in his steps.

They both took a second to assess each other.

He wore a monochrome black tuxedo. It was fitted entirely too well, emphasizing his lean waist and well built arms. The contrast of his all-black attire against his pale skin, light hair and eyes—was an alluring mix. It didn’t help that his hair was styled back, with a single white strand curling handsomely over his forehead.

He looked like a celebrity ready for the met gala.

And she looked like a finely cut ruby, glimmering with every move.

She wore the most sensually shaped red dress. It was a rather straightforward design, two thin straps with a sweetheart neckline. the dress was a cool shimmery red from top to bottom, except for the silver vines and flowers blooming along her right hip.

She took a step towards him and he felt his heart stop. her floor length dress sparkled addictively under the lights. he couldn’t look away.

(a/n: if anyone if curious here’s how her dress looks like https://pin.it/14Qe2ZSxm )

He’d never seen her hair in an updo like this. it was an elegant, perfectly messy low bun with strands of her hair falling loose along her sparkly nape. a few strands swooped attractively around the sides of her pretty face.

He fell to his knees.

Her eyes widened, “Satoru!”

He placed a hand over his chest, “I can’t breathe.”

Her concerned expression fell, “Seriously.”

He bent over, placing his hands on the ground in a praying stance. A few of the surrounding team members started laughing.

Ara smiled, subtly shaking her head, “Toru get up.”

“I can’t.”

She walked up to him and folded her arms. “C’mon Toru, get up.”

He finally rose from his praying stance to his knees. He stared up at her. She didn’t need to hear him to know what he was thinking.

How’d i get so lucky?

She felt her heartbeat scatter all over the place. It was hard to focus with him looking up at her like this.

She touched his cheek, “Come on, get up. I have something to give you.”

He slowly stood up. He stared down at her for a moment before one of his hands slipped along the side of her neck, his thumb running down her jaw.

“If i could frame you, i would.”

A little shy smile bloomed along her lips before he saw her gaze rest on his mouth. She clutched the lapels of his suit and rose on the tippie toes of her heels to kiss him.

Somewhere in the room, the makeup artist shook her head. She took out the lip combo she used and tossed it in Ara’s clutch.

Gojo sighed into her lips. His hands sliding down her sides before coming to rest on her ass. He gave her ass a squeeze as their tongues clashed against each others. He swore she was a better kisser than him now.

She broke the kiss, her chest slightly rising and falling as she caught her breath.

Her eyes suddenly widened, “Oh no.”

“What?”

She quickly rubbed away the lipstick on his lips with her thumb. She smiled slightly, “Never mind.”

He grinned, “Is that what you had to give me?”

“No. it was this.” she held up a bedazzling silver flower brooch that matched the design of the flowers on her dress. She pinned it to his lapel, “Ludovic wanted me to give it to you.”

Her hand slid down his chest. The material of his suit felt expensive against her palm.

She didn’t meet his eyes, “You look really handsome.”

He tilted her chin up, a wide smile on his lips, “hm?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“You heard me just fine, idiot.”

“Pleaseee. i just wanna hear it one more time. just one more.”

“No.”

“Pleaseeee~”

She grabbed his face, “You look handsome.”

His eyes widened before he beamed. She didn’t miss the faint blush on his cheeks.

His hands fit perfectly in the curves of her waist, “Thank you…for telling me what I know.”

She shoved him back.

Prom was on a yacht. An actual fucking yacht.

It was unreal.

She leaned on the railing, staring out at the sea. The sun was setting and it colored the water waves with a faint pinky orange hue, reflecting the sky.

She felt her hand itch with the sudden urge to paint. The urge surprised her. She hadn’t felt any muse to indulge in her art hobby ever since she moved into Gojo’s estate–or, sorry, their home-something he always aggressively corrected her on.

She turned slightly, staring at her fellow classmates and peers. They’d all gotten decked out–not one person slacking. Everyone had beautiful pieces on, from jewelry to makeup to outfits to grills. It truly felt like her academy’s met gala.

It felt weird to think about how if she wasn’t living with Gojo she would’ve missed this entire experience. One, there was no way on Earth her Dad would’ve let her go to prom 2. She would’ve never been able to pay for the ticket and then the dress, hair, nails, makeup, heels, etc etc. She once thought it bizarre how people could spend thousands of dollars for just one night’s look but-looking at the people around her-she realized what a production these events were for rich people. It was insane.

Even the yacht itself was decked out. Flowers hung from the ceiling, along with dreamy white curtains along the pergola. The weather was perfect, not too hot with a calm breeze flowing through here and there. The music was tasteful and it seemed the small platters the servers were handing out were tasteful as well since her classmates seemed to be chasing after the servers for more.

Another breeze passed, letting the scent of the flowers waft over her once-more. She found herself wondering if she was dreaming.

Suddenly Principal Yaga stepped onto the mini stage. He cleared his throat on the mic to gather everyone’s attention.

“Hello hello hello, graduating class. Who would’ve thought y’all would make it this far.”

A few laughs arose.

“Anyway, I have a few words to say to this class. First things first, you lot of hooligans will definitely be missed-despite how annoying some of you were-”

Ara zoned out. She’d never been that close with the principal but she knew Gojo, Shoko and Geto were. She wasn’t entirely sure why but she supposed he seemed nice enough. He tried to keep a strict hand over the students but-with the type of students this academy got-it was relatively impossible. Let’s just say money fixed a lot of these students' problems.

“And now, I’d like to announce Prom King and Queen.”

A rush of low murmurs could be heard amongst the students.

“You guys all voted and the results have been collected and counted. I have two crowns here, waiting for our class favorites.” he held up the glimmering crowns.

She smiled slightly, she already knew who Prom King was going to be but Prom Queen– she suddenly felt someone elbow her.

She looked over to see Gojo smirking down at her, offering her his elbow to hold, “Are you ready?”

She frowned only to hear Principal Yaga’s voice bellow on the mic, “Our Prom King and Queen are… Gojo Satoru and Ara Natsuna!”

Ara felt the spotlight on them and reddened. She slipped her arm through Gojo’s and let him lead them through the pathway their fellow classmates made. But she couldn’t understand, there was no way these students voted for her. She barely spoke to them-maybe she did while she was drunk at the parties she went to but she was more than aware of how uncharismatic she was.

She peered up at Gojo through narrowed eyes. He definitely rigged it.

As per usual, her boyfriend was eating all the attention up. He grinned from ear to ear as they walked atop the stage towards Principal Yaga. She was too distracted by all the attention to make out the words they exchanged until Principal Yaga reached out to shake her hand.

“Congratulations Queen Ara Natsuna.”

She shook his hand and offered him a small smile before tilting her head down for him to crown her. Gojo beamed as he watched.

“And Congratulations King Satoru Gojo.” she swore there was a bit of a grumble to his tone but Gojo took it with pride. The crowd went wild as he bowed down to get crowned.

“Everybody, let's hear some noise for our Prom King and Queen!”

Suddenly the crowd hollered thrice as loud. She swore she could hear Millie chanting her name and couldn't help but smile. Rose petals were suddenly thrown all over them. She could help but adjust the crown on her head nervously.

She felt Gojo’s arm slip around her waist and looked up at him, “You rigged it didn’t you?”

“What’s there to rig? Everyone knows you're my queen.” a sly grin slipped onto his lips as he added, “my short, pocket-sized princess.”

She glared up at him, “I’m not short.” -knowing full well that he was a whole foot taller than her.

They’d taken a break from dancing to have a snack. Well, she was snacking. Gojo was knocking back entree after entree like he hadn’t eaten in a week. His appetite never failed to surprise her.

She leaned back in her seat, sipping at her mocktail. Technically it was a school function but she was more than sure people brought things to mix in with their drinks–despite everyone having been body searched by a cop upon entrance to the yacht. If there was one thing she learned about rich people, they knew how to bypass a whole lot of shit.

She watched Shoko slip out two mini-bottles of Jack Daniels from her bra. She eyed her friend, Leah, from across the table and they both stood up to walk towards the bathroom.

Millie suddenly slipped into the seat next to her, “Oh my god, I’m out of breath.” She suddenly whipped out a foldable Chinese hand fan and began to fan herself. The color of it matched perfectly with her dress.

Toji reached over and grabbed that from her, “Gimme that.” He began to fan himself.

“Excuse me.” she snatched it back,

Gojo chuckled beside her, “That’s gotta be the ugliest accessory I’ve seen all day. Did you get that from the dollar store?”

“No,” Millie shot back before stating proudly, “This was hand-made and delivered from China.”

“-ordered off of Shein.” Toji added.

“Ugh, ew.” Millie made a face at him, “I would never but I know that’s probably all you can afford.”

Toji narrowed his eyes, “Ha ha.” he responded sarcastically. Ara had only recently discovered that he’d run away from his family too–a wealthy family as well from what she’d heard. She didn’t know who he lived with currently.

“How’d you pay for your ticket?” Millie questioned.

“I did!” Haibara piped up excitedly. “I wanted all of us to be here.”

“You’re so nice, Haibara,” she batted her eyelashes, “but you honestly shouldn’t have.”

Toji merely grinned.

Suddenly Shoko reappeared, sliding back in the seat next to Nanami-who was eating rather diligently. Geto followed behind her, a plate full of food in his hands. He slipped into the seat between Gojo and Shoko.

“Did you get the lobster?” Gojo asked him, “Shit is amazing.”

“I did.”

Shoko reached over and plucked a gyoza off Geto’s plate before popping it into her mouth, “Mmm, that’s good.”

“You want me to get you some?” Nanami offered. He was such a gentleman.

Shoko smiled softly, “Are you gonna get seconds?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’ll just go up with you when you’re done.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Gojo was about to chomp into his breadstick before he froze and looked over at Ara. He must’ve overheard Shoko and Nanami’s conversation as well because suddenly he eyed her empty plate and asked, “You want me to get you somethin’ Prom Queen?”

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, “No thanks.”

He tapped his cheek, silently asking her for a kiss on the cheek. She merely scrunched her nose before undoing the nearest origami rose napkin. She dabbed the napkin along the corner of his lips.

“You got crumbs everywhere.” she muttered.

He merely smirked, “Thank you mommy.”

“Stop.”

She entered the room to find her night bag already in it. Prom was over but the night had just begun.

Normally staying the night on the yacht would be an additional fee for the students since the academy only booked it for the evening-but since it was Gojo’s yacht that wasn’t necessary.

Principal Yaga hadn’t wanted to host prom on Gojo’s yacht at first—especially when Gojo offered to rent it to him for free. He deemed it unprofessional but once Gojo offered him a discounted price aka half the price of what other yacht companies were offering, he couldn’t refuse.

Shoko was throwing an after party and everyone from prom was bound to be in attendance. Shoko promised to use every square inch of the place, from the outdoor bar, beach club, tennis court, deck jacuzzi, movie theater, massage room and sauna. How she planned on doing all that in one night, Ara didn’t know. All Ara knew was that it was time to change for the after party.

The room was nearly half the size of Gojo’s room at the estate but still eye-catching in its design—it was more modern, resplendent, nothing short of luxurious. She was sure they had the best room on the yacht.

She walked towards her overnight bag on the table only to freeze when she saw the breath-taking view through the glass wall.

She ran over to the sliding doors, pushing them open before leaning against the railing and staring out. The sea churned around them, waves dark and beguiling. The reflection of the stars glittered amongst the water. The moon no where in sight.

That same calm that consumed her when she’d first seen the sea at night with Satoru came over her once more. Easing away all her little anxieties from the night.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t tired. She’d been facing people all day. From the makeup team, to the hair team, to the dress team, then the actual event of prom itself. She’d enjoyed herself but it was nice to have a breather by herself. It was needed.

Even though she knew she wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

As if on cue, she faintly heard the locking mechanism of the door and glanced over her shoulder. Gojo sauntered in the room, tossing his suit jacket on the bed before joining her.

Just as he moved to join her he spotted her phone vibrating on the bed. It seemed to be from an unsaved number. He glanced at Ara, at her slender back as she stared out at the sea.

He picked up the call and held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" A slightly older feminine voice arose from the other end of the line. She sounded oddly familar..

He remained silent.

"Hello Ara? Ara, it's me. Mum. We haven't talked in a while," she paused, "I called your Dad and he says you haven't been home? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

No wonder she sounded familiar, she sounded like an older version of her.

She seemed hesitant as she asked, "Your graduation is coming up right-" he ended the call.

He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment before unlocking it and going to her call history. He blocked the number and deleted any evidence of the call before tossing the phone back on the bed.

He glanced at Ara once more, at her relaxed position against the railing, at her fetching side profile as she turned to face the breeze. She was happy like this, she was at peace.

His arms slipped around her waist as he bent low to kiss her neck, his lips touching her pulsepoint before resting his chin atop her head. He always thought they fit perfectly together like this, with her small back against his chest-like missing puzzle pieces coming together.

He stared out at the ripples along the dark waters. It was captivating. The view of the beach and buildings in the distance. Little speed boats passed by and the scent of the sea that she’d once mentioned surrounded them.

music drifted from overhead, the after party must’ve started.

“Satoru?” she suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

“hm?” he kissed her head.

She turned around, unraveling from their embrace to face him.

“Why do you love me?”

He was gonna make a joke, but then he saw her eyes. This wasn’t coming from a shallow self-deprecating place or somewhere lighthearted, she truly wanted to know why.

It should’ve been easy, expressing his love towards her was always easy but when asked like this–with so much care and directness. For once he felt afraid of what he would say. He didn’t want to say something that would push her away when he’d finally gotten her this close.

But Geto once told him it wasn’t his honesty that was the issue, it was the way he phrased himself that was.

‘There’s always a nicer way to say things’ his words echoed in his mind.

It wasn’t like what he had to say was mean but–fuck, he was growing nervous under her stare. His thoughts were escaping him. It was hard to focus when she was looking at him like that. Like his words would mean something–make or break something. And it didn’t help that he was keenly aware she hadn’t told him she loved him back yet.

He was overthinking–he knew. Only she could make him overthink like this. She was just so perfect, all he wanted in a human being all rolled up in one girl. It scared him–everything about her scared him whenever he thought about her like this.

I don’t wanna lose you. I can’t lose you.

His gut tightened with an incomprehensible rush and he felt that aching need to touch her again. That tremor in his fingers that was only eased with his hands on her skin, his lips on her body.

He shook his head abruptly, his hands flexing at his sides before he offered her a light smile.

“I don’t think there’s just one reason.”

She tilted her head, her curious eyes raking over his face, “Then tell me.”

“You’re smart, you’re thoughtful,” a slight laugh escaped him as he added, “--and really really sexy.”

“And?”

She took a step towards him and he blurted out, “I can’t sleep without you.”

He saw her gaze darken slightly, stepping back, “Oh so it’s just about the sex.”

“No, no. I mean–I literally can’t sleep without you.. by my side.”

Ara’s brows furrowed as she thought about that. Ever since they got together there wasn’t one night that he hadn’t spent with her. Even when she’d wanted to have a sleepover with Milie he always refused, nagging her enough that she decided it wasn’t worth the argument.

She tilted her chin up, “You did it for two months when we broke up.”

“Not by choice.” He reached out to touch her cheek, slipping a piece of her hair behind her ear as he did so. His hand lingering longer than necessary as he chuckled thinly, “You really taught me patience.”

“You think you’re patient?”

“Eh, it’s a work in progress.” he leaned towards her, “but I’ve gotten better, haven’t I?”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he whined before taking her hand and pressing it to his cheek. He pouted, “You taught me a lot, y’know.”

She raised a brow, “Like?”

“I feel like..” he glanced away, the faint pink on his cheeks made her eyes widen.

“I finally know what it's like to have someone care about me,” He spoke leisurely, as if saying whatever came to mind, “I like when you fuss over me. When you remind me of things I forgot or tell me what shirts I should burn. I like when you.. touch my hair and ask me how my day is after I come home from practice or when you like a gift so much you forget to yell at me about the price-” she rolled her eyes at that one “-i like when you yap on and on about something artsy that you forget i’m even there. I like when you leave lil sticky notes around the house saying where you are cuz you know i’m gonna ask.”

He smiled to himself as he went on, “I like when you randomly sit on my lap and nap on me when i’m studying–or when you say my name in your sleep.”

“I don’t!”

His smile widened, “You do.”

“You’re definitely lying–”

He caught her chin, “I especially like when you kiss me when you think I’m deep asleep.”

She pulled his hand off her face, completely red. “I don’t.”

He was grinning, “I feel those pecks in my dreams y’know. They make me all fuzzy and warm inside.”

“That’s because you are dreaming.” she mumbled, turning her back to him.

“I love you Ara.” the gentleness of his voice threw her off.

His voice was lower when he added, “I can’t help but love you.”

She stared down at her feet, at her pointy heels. Her arms tightened around herself as she willed herself to not cry. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I know you feel something too.” His voice was quiet, closer. “I know it.”

“I don’t expect you to tell me–even if I really really want you to.” His voice wavered, “I remember what you said.. about falling for me.. about being afraid to.”

Her eyes flashed opened as she remembered that conversation (end of chapter 2, pt 1). It felt so long ago when she’d tried to hide away from him for one night in the basement–only for him to show up in her living room the next day. She’d been scared shitless. She didn’t know how she managed to make him agree to her boundaries then–even if her boundaries weren’t much. But they were much for someone like him. *

“I don’t blame you,” his voice felt hollow, “after everything you been through, I can’t.”

Her breath hitched when his voice felt closer, “But I’m not your Mom. I’m not your Dad.”

His fingers lightly skimmed her arm, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt his breath trail down her nape, she shivered.

His lips barely touched the helix of her ear, “I’m never leaving you.”

She felt him peering down at her from above her. His tall frame hovering as close as it could without touching her. He reached his left arm over her to grasp her right forearm. He turned her around.

She stared up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

He silently searched her face, his gaze the softest she’d ever seen it.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Her heart ached. She glanced down but he swiftly grabbed her upper arm, forcing her eyes on him. The speed of the action nearly made her stumble, her hands instinctively laying flat on his chest.

“Do you understand?”

He stared down at her, merely taking her in as she held his gaze–seeming to do the same. It took him more restraint than necessary to resist from closing the little distance between them. She was just so flawless, even with the tears on the verge of spilling from her eyes. Her lips were just too close, too tempting to be left unattended.

His jaw locked when her pretty eyes landed on his lips.

Those damn eyes. He’d known her for so long and yet one look in her eyes could make him feel like he didn’t know her at all. Her gaze was always so murky, so alluring. He could never tell what she was thinking no matter how hard he tried. But he’d be a fool to miss the way she was looking at him now.

She looked like she was on the verge of falling off a cliff, with so much to say yet nothing at all. She looked like she was yearning for something–longing for it so badly she didn't know what to do with herself and yet she was fighting it—warring with herself. Locked in this mental anguish he so badly wanted to understand. If he could dissect each and every one of her thoughts, he would.

She grabbed his shirt in her fists, “I love you.”

He was frozen, not sure if he heard correctly. His brain must be short-circuiting right? Right?

They were kissing, she didn’t know who started it. If it was her or if it was him but this was eager, desperate and theirs. Their lips were molded together, pressing and pushing against each other as if demanding the others attention.

She didn’t know when they stumbled into the room or when she’d decided to abandon her heels but she knew what was gonna happen when she was tossed onto the bed. She stared up at him as he stood before her. He grabbed her legs, spreading them open before tossing off the one remaining heel on her foot.

She caught his gaze and reached her arms out. He immediately bent over her, letting her svelte arms slide around his shoulders as he locked her lips in a feverish kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth, pushing through her full lips to swallow her whole—Mmm, I need her. I need her. I need her.

Her sweet perfume filled his nostrils as pressed himself closer against her, pushing her further into the bed from the pressure of his kiss. He tugged down the straps of her dress without breaking the kiss. He refused to leave her lips alone even when he yanked her fitted dress down her waist, her hips—

She broke the kiss just as he dragged the dress past her knees. She threw her head back, needing a breath, only to shiver when he began to nip affectionately at her neck. There was a different fervor to him, a different vehemence. She felt his breath hitch when he finally got her dress off past her feet.

She glanced down when she felt his lips leave her clavicle, only to inhale sharply at the sight.

His belt hit the floor as he unzipped himself at the speed of light, impatient to let his cock loose from his boxers. He was hard, fully hard, his cock head pink and swollen. She watched his cock subtly jolt upwards-throbbing-and felt her cunt tighten.

A ripping sound ensued and she glanced up to see him opening the condom he’d just retrieved from his pocket, with his teeth. He tossed the packet somewhere and slipped the condom over his cock with a bated breath. She could see the tension defining his jaw.

Once it was on, he looked back at her. She froze–stricken by the adoration in his eyes. The rampant need, the raging lust and all-consuming love all coalesced in those devastating blue eyes. She’d never felt so coveted in her entire life.

He bent over her, his hand sliding down her thigh as he did so. His forehead nudged hers just as he hooked his finger through her g-string and easily yanked the thin material off-breaking it. Just as she gasped, the tip of his cock touched her warm entrance and she froze.

His cockhead pressed against her warmth, the tip nearly slipping in–dipping in her hot juices but he didn’t move further until they locked eyes.

Her mind went blank.

Her lips were parted, eyes squeezed shut as she felt all of him inside her. She felt so full–the entirety of her body felt like it was completely full of him. She felt him release a deep breath of relief, as if he’d been waiting all his life to consume her like this. His cock throbbed inside her and her cunt coiled around him reactively.

“Ha-aaah.” he groaned into her cheek.

Her nails dug into his back, expecting the worst but instead his hips pressed deep into her–grinding his cock against her deepest parts, making her gasp. Her mind went blank with stars.

He was stretching her so completely, she shivered as she felt it. She felt as if his cockhead was kissing her from the inside when he delivered short, deep thrusts within her cunt–-never letting his cock leave. Her cunt was slick, completely soft with her juices.

This felt different, more personal somehow despite having done this millions of times before. His bated breath cascaded down her neck and his eyes were trained on her face–completely focused on her, memorizing her as if she were the rarest sight he’d fought all his life to see.

She blushed and suddenly his cock pushed deeper inside her, pressing against her most sensitive walls and she whimpered–moaning. Her cunt instantly squeezed around him.

He groaned through his teeth before palming one of her tits in his hand. Her nipple hardened against his hand as he massaged her soft mound. Her pretty sounds making his cock stiffer inside her.

“You love me?” He muttered down at her.

He released her tit to slide his hand down the side of her body, grasping her hip before picking up the pace of his deep, short thrusts–rutting into her faster.

He spoke into her cheek, “I love you more.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders as cried out, “ngh! Toru–toru!”

“More–more–more–more.”

His cock pounded into her relentlessly, her legs tightening around his waist. She swore she felt each fuck in every cell in her body. It was sloppy, intense, and the squelching sounds that followed made her face get entirely too red.

He pulled out, leaving just the tip inside.

“How much?”

She didn’t get the chance to answer, merely yelling the second his cock slid all the way back in. His balls slapping against her cunt with the ferocity of his fucks.

“This much.”

“Ngh~~~~~” she moaned wantonly, her legs spreading wider to let him fuck her harder. Her tits pressed into his chest as her back arched. She was incapable of handling him when he went this fast–fucking her like she was simply his sweet little ragdoll.

Her cunt squeezed around him, eager—hungry. Her orgasm was close. She felt it and it made her oh so needy, so desperate for him. He made her like this.

He pressed down her, forcing her body lower into the bed. His cock never fully leaving her cunt as he delivered brutal, attuned thrusts to her sweet spot–eager to make her crumble. Her soft tits bounced as they pressed against his chest, making him all the more hungry.

His cock forcefully pressed against her g-spot, pressing against it like he was owed something–and he was, he was owed her.

“Ah!~ohhhh~nghh–ha-nhnnn~” her moans were music to his ears.

He pulled out of her spasming cunt, staring down at her pussy to watch her squirt all over the place. Her hips trembled, her luscious tits bouncing with each jolt of her body as she let out more and more juices. Her hands on his arms gripping him so tightly.

He licked his lips, the sight of her like this was just so ravishing—just seeing her like this made him teeter on the edge of cumming himself. His cock throbbed, pre-cum dripping within his condom.

He lightly slapped her cunt, making her twitch, “I love you.”

He kissed her throat as she writhed sensitively, from the aftermath of her high.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” he went on.

“Toru.” she murmured weakly, her voice too small.

“I love you.” he said just as he forced the entirety of his cock into her once-more. The wet sound that followed was completely lewd but the tight fit of her slick, wet cunt spasming around him—

“Ohhh,” he groaned gutturally into her neck before rasping out, “you’re perfect.”

The maid stared at the bed after they were long gone.

Several of the pillows were strewn across the room, only one in the center of the bed against the headboard. The blankets were a rumpled mess, half on the bed half on the floor. The entire white curtained canopy bed frame was caved in, one of the bedposts laying haphazardly on the floor beside it. And to top it all off, the discarded plastic golden packets of condoms were littered all across the floor.

The maid sighed, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You should’ve let me clean the room at least.” she scolded him lowly.

“Baby i swear it’s fine. They’ve seen worse.”

“I don’t care.”

“That's their job.”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Shoko asked from across them.

She didn’t give them a chance to respond when she leaned back in her seat, “Where the hell were you guys last night? I called both of you.”

The limo suddenly jolted over uneven road. The hair that’d been covering Ara’s neck suddenly shifted over her shoulder, revealing the hickey’s along her neck.

“Well that answers your question.” toji answered dryly.

ara’s brows furrowed before realizing. She flushed as she quickly repositioned her hair despite the hickeys already being seen.

“You guys couldn’t wait to get freaky til after the afterparty?” Shoko questioned grumpily.

Gojo’s hand slipped into ara’s, “oops.”

Shoko rolled her eyes a moment before the limo came to a stop. Geto awoke from his slumber.

ijichi opened the car door, “We are at the brunch spot you requested, sir.”

“You mean i requested. If it were up to satoru we’d be at a bakery right now.” Shoko clarified.

“What’s wrong with bakeries?”

“Not everyone wants to eat sweets for breakfast.”

Ara sighed before picking up her macbook and laying down on the bed. She lay with her front to the sheets and her feet in the air.

She hit the backspace button multiple times-with a bit more ferocity than necessary.

She suddenly felt someone smack her ass and turned around to see gojo. He’d just exited the bathroom.

“What the fuck!” she rubbed her ass, “you’re home?”

He sat on the bed, “yeah, just got back,”

He leaned closer to peer at her laptop, “What’s got you huffing and puffing?”

She angled her laptop away from him, “I’m trying to write my valedictorian speech.”

“Oh, i already finished mine.”

He watched her frown and broke out in a grin. They both ended up getting the valedictorian title. despite the school staff picking apart their grades to a T it seems their gpa was the exact same, down to the decimals. it was the first time their academy had dual valedictorians.

“Alright show off.”

He attempted to reach for her macbook, “Let me see what you wrote so far-“

“No.”

“Come on~”

“Let me see yours then.”

He tilted his head, “Why would I show you mine? Your gonna copy it.”

She scoffed, “Why would i need to copy you?”

“Cuz I'm a good writer.”

“Sure.”

“I'm good at everything.”

“Would you stop talking? You're distracting me.” she huffed, annoyed.

“I’m sorry~” he lightly tickled her chin.

She pretended to bite his finger, making him grin.

He pushed the laptop away from her, leaning close towards her.

“Maybe you need a distraction?”

She leaned back, “I definitely don’t.”

He shut her laptop, before quickly burying his head in the crook of her shoulder and cuddling her.

She smacked his back, “Toru!”

His voice came out muffled against her neck, “I just want your attention~” he whined.

Her shoulders sagged as she gave up, “Great.”

He smiled before shifting himself closer towards her. She stared up at him from the corner of her eye before gradually relaxing.

She stared at the fluttering curtains as the wind blew from the open doors leading to the balcony. the sun was bright, hot enough to make you burnt toast tan in five minutes. the breeze brought in the scent of flowers from the gardens.

She inhaled before exhaling audibly.

“You see?” Satoru’s low voice came from above her ear, “Didn’t you need a break?”

She glanced up to see him gazing down at her.

He lightly tapped her nose, “I’m gonna do this when we’re in university too. bug you when you’re too stressed.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Is that what you're gonna do? Instead of encouraging me to study?”

“I don’t need to encourage you. You study too much.”

“Because I can't engrain my notes in my brain after one read through like you.”

“Why can’t you?”

She rolled her eyes, “I would if I could.”

“s’okay, i’ll help you.” he kissed her cheek, “we can pay someone to take your exams for you.”

She raised a brow, “you can?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s insane.” she muttered, “I’d probably get expelled if we got caught.”

“You wouldn’t get caught.”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes, “Are you ever not cocky?”

“I’m not being cocky,” he chuckled, “It’s the truth. They’re professional exam takers you can hire but I know you’d never take that up.”

She sighed, “i wouldn’t.” She only trusted herself to submit her best work.

A moment of silence ensued. He drew circles on her stomach with his index finger. She breathed in another flower scented breeze.

“Are you excited about college?” he asked her.

“I’m kind of.. nervous.”

“Yeah?” he perked up, “Why?”

“Because.. isn’t it supposed to be some of the most memorable years of your life?”

“Yeah but shouldn’t that make you hype?”

“It does but I also want to make sure I don't mess with my future. i hear the connections you make in college can really affect your career.”

He chuckled slightly, “We’re going to Stanford, trust. The networking opportunities will be endless baby.”

“So you're not nervous in the least, i’m assuming.”

“i am a little nervous.”

“about?”

“Well it’s a new stage of my life. i’m gonna miss our academy.”

“I won’t.”

He smirked, “Not even your senior year?”

“What’s there to miss?”

“Think your funny huh?” he tickled her stomach lightly, “We had mad fun this year.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He rested his head on her chest, partially laying over her, “I’m happy we’re dorming together.”

Dorms weren’t supposed to be co-ed but of course, nothing was impossible when it came to him. He’d also gotten them a penthouse dorm as well. The privilege her boyfriend had was truly something else.

Her nails raked through his soft hair, “Me too.” she murmured.

He snuggled further against her.

“Now please, let’s welcome one of our dual valedictorians, Ara Natsuna!” Principal Yaga spoke into the mic before smiling grandly at her.

She walked upto the podium, setting down her speech despite not really needing it. She’d memorized it enough times.

There were so many people before her right now. her classmates all donning their cap and gowns. their parents on the bleachers. the numerous staff looking on at her in anticipation. the cameraman below the stage across her.

Normally in circumstances like this she’d want to bury herself in a hole or pray to the holy god above to throw down a lightning strike and make her disintegrate on the spot but no-for once-this felt fine.

Her public speaking coach had trained her through and through. These people around her.. were just people. at the end of the day, their eyes on her wouldn’t make a difference, they couldn’t affect her unless she let it.

There was no point to letting it affect her when the little shitheads that were her classmates would forget her words anyway.

but it was up to her to make this moment count. a moment she’d worked overly zealous for and yet the only person who seemed to care was her boyfriend. her dad was nowhere in the crowd.

She thought she hadn’t dared to hope and yet..

She stood up straighter, offering the crowd a small smile before speaking once the applause died down, “this.. is such a momentous moment. ever since i stepped into high school, being here, on this stage, as valedictorian is all i’ve ever wanted.”

She paused, “and now i’m here.”

She resisted the urge to swallow nervously and instead tipped her chin higher, “I know people say high school is all about the memories, having fun before the real world starts but-as everyone knows-high school is more than that. It's a foundation. not only for your education and career, but for yourself.”

“I couldn’t tell you everything that high school has taught me but one thing I can say with full confidence is that within these past few years I finally know myself. knowing yourself is the best thing you can do for your betterment.”

“knowing your tells. your viewpoints. your stances. your bias. your dreams. your goals. your choices. recognizing these things can save you in the future.”

“Your dreams, are your dreams. and don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. if you feel yourself straying off the path you envision for yourself, then listen to your thoughts, your feelings, your gut will tell you, if this is right for you—and I believe if it is right for you, you’ll know.”

“You only live this life once. as cliche as it is, I feel like i have to say it because it’s so easy to forget. to get so absorbed in the past, present, future— wherever your mind lies. regardless of how much you think about things, none of it changes. none of it gets pushed to motion unless you do something about it.”

“You are the creator of your universe. what you allow, is what you attract and what you deny is a choice you control.”

“I hope you all make smart decisions in whatever career path you pursue. our jobs don’t only affect us, but generations behind us. Even if all you do is simply inspire people for a moment, anything makes a difference. everything has a butterfly effect.”

“Just like now, high school might be over but this is really just the beginning.”

She dipped her head slightly in a subtle courteous bow.

“Class of 20XX, i’m out.”

The class erupted in cheers, whistles and applause. She smiled before walking away from the mic, taking her speech from the podium with her-despite having not looked at it once.

The principal clasped her hand, shaking it, “That was wonderful, Ara. truly. Thank you.”

He then walked over to the podium, saying a few words that she was too wired up to hear. Just as she walked off the stage, Gojo grasped her arm.

She glanced up at him.

He was smiling so brightly it put the sun to shame. His eyes glittered with charisma as he looked her up and down.

“I’m so proud of you kitten,” his smile turned into something more mischievous, “My baby sounded like she was gonna conquer the world.”

Ara smiled subtly, “thank you.”

There was something in her eyes he couldn’t pin. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it because suddenly they overheard the principal speak.

“..and next up, is our final dual valedictorian, Gojo Satoru!”

He bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Wish me luck.” he flashed her one more bedazzling smile before bounding up the steps. If the cheers had been loud for when she’d stepped up to the podium, it sounded a dozen times louder now. Quite the little nepobaby celebrity he was.

She turned around, watching his tall frame tower over the podium as he adjusted the mic before taking the mic off the stand completely and walking around the stage as he spoke. She didn’t need to focus on his words to know he was galvanizing the crowd. He faced different sides of the crowd as he spoke, dividing his attention to make everyone feel addressed. She wondered if he’d studied that or if it was just another thing that came naturally to him.

She pried her eyes off of him to glance down at her wristwatch. She cleared her throat before walking towards the Vice Principal.

“Your speech was very inspiring, Ara. Congratulations once again.”

“Thank you.” Ara smiled half-heartedly, “I’m just gonna use the bathroom.”

“Of course.”

Ara weaved through a few people before walking towards the outdoor bathroom. She glanced around, making sure there were no people in the stalls before locking the bathroom door. She walked into the last stall to pull out a hidden duffel bag behind the door. She stuffed her diploma in the bag before taking off her graduation cap and gown and lastly, her grad dress to reveal another outfit underneath. She switched out of her heels to sneakers.

She exited the stall to roll up her graduation clothes in a bundle and stuff them into the trash. She opened the duffel bag on the counter to pull out a wig. She hastily put it on, before adjusting it to make sure it sat naturally on her head. She gave herself one last look over before pulling out her cell phone and tossing it into the sink. She turned the sink on, letting her phone drown in the rising sink water.

She turned the sink off before hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder and heading out. She walked towards the entrance of the school, glancing around until she spotted the taxi cab waiting upfront-just as planned.

She opened the car door, “Hi, thank you for waiting.”

The driver nodded, “Of course, ma’am. Heading to the airport?”

“Yes.” she confirmed before sitting comfortably in the back. She withdrew her second phone from the duffel bag, as well as her new ID, her new passport, her new social security card. Everything.

In truth, she’d purchased several fake identities from the black market. After a lot of sleuthing she’d managed to access the black market online. She only accessed it from public computers so it wouldn’t get traced back to her. She’d used these fake identities to sell more than half of the gifts Satoru had given her on different websites. She hadn’t sold some of the flashier items he’d gifted her due to knowing it might garner too much attention and the last thing she wanted was to get caught.

She then created several bank accounts with these fake identities and transferred the hefty sum of her sales to her main fake identity’s account. The one she’d be using from this day forward.

She also used these fake identities to book multiple flights–multiple flights as in 100+. She knew it was inevitable that he would be able to find some of her fake identities but to trace 100+ flights, some of which she had sold the flight tickets to people online? That would be a feat.

But it didn’t matter because she didn’t book the actual flight she was planning on taking with the identities she’d used before. She’d booked it from her main new identity. Sade West. Sade was just an adopted girl who’d lived all her life in Southern California and had just graduated from a regular, public high school. Sade was taking an early flight to the town she planned on going to college in. Everything was already submitted and set for her to attend this college for the upcoming Fall semester. All the cards were already aligned.

The taxi came to a stop in front of the bustling airport. Ara gave the taxi driver an excessive tip in cash before stepping out with her duffel bag. She walked inside the airport and went straight to the bathroom. She entered one of the stalls and changed again. New wig, new shoes, new shirt, new jeans. Everything. She even removed a mini duffel bag from the larger one. The mini duffel bag carried everything she truly needed.

She stepped out of the stall and disposed of the larger duffel bag. She saw a woman eye her astonishedly-Ara supposed she couldn’t blame her. The duffel bag she had just dumped was Burberry, worth more than $2K. It wasn’t her fault that everything she owned was designer.

She almost hoped the woman would steal it after she left, less things for her to be traced by.

Ara looked in the mirror, smoothing down her wig and touching up her makeup. Sade West looked awfully pretty–the kind of pretty that would make a girl immediately wish they were her upon one glance. She’d picked this look on purpose, something stylish and feminine–a completely different aura from what her comfort driven soul would naturally gravitate towards but she liked it. She wanted something different and enticing. She wanted to channel anything and everything that wasn’t herself.

“You’re beautiful.” the woman who’d been eyeing her bag earlier complimented.

“Thank you.”

Ara would’ve been more flattered if her mind wasn’t running a million miles per hour at the second. Satoru’s speech must’ve been done by now. Her fellow classmates must’ve all thrown their caps in the air and she’d missed it. Missed it all. Satoru might’ve even found her phone in the bathroom by now. She’d only thrown it in the sink to momentarily disable it. The phone itself was still on so he’d be able to see that it was in the bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to use it for a while though–Iphones aren’t known for their great water resistance for a reason. The iphone might’ve even died. She couldn’t be sure. Regardless, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to find anything on it anyway.

Her second phone had all her information. The phone she’d bought and kept on her or hidden at all times so she knew he couldn’t tamper with it. It was a weird feeling, using all the things he’d provided her with to get what she wants.

Karma. Is all she could think of it as.

Suddenly a voice spoke through the airport’s intercom system, “Flight Number XXXX to NYC has arrived, passengers please line up at Gate 24 for boarding.”

Ara straightened, staring at her own eyes in the mirror. There was no turning back now. She wasn’t even sure if she’d ever be back in California after this–if everything went according to plan, she probably wouldn’t. California wasn’t her home anymore and if she was honest with herself.. It never was.

Ara glanced down at her hand, at the promise ring on her finger. This promise ring was Ara’s–not Sade’s. Ara had a lot of sadness in her heart, not Sade. Ara was a girl without wings, not Sade. Ara was a deadweight.

Sade didn’t need Ara anymore.

She took off the promise ring.

Four years later

She had just picked up another oil pastel when her wristwatch started to beep. She jolted, dropping the crayon on the floor.

“Fuck.” she muttered.

She stepped off of her stool and picked it up, carefully setting the oil pastel back on the tray. The spotless light wash wood floor now had a smudge of red on it. She quickly grabbed a paper towel and poured some water on it before attempting to scrub the stain off the floor. The little red smudge was now a noticeable stain. With each rub she seemed to be making it worse.

She stopped, staring down at the now light red and bigger stain on the floor with a frown.

“What is it?”

She was immediately drawn from her thoughts at the familiar voice. She stood up.

“Mr. Heim.” she answered in surprise. She tossed the wet paper towel onto the counter nearby and instinctively reached to run her hand through her hair only to see the oil pastel markings on her hands and decided against it. Her hands hung idly at her sides as he slowly approached.

Reese Heim was one of her favorite artists in the flesh. He mainly used acrylics but something about his art always evoked some sort of buried emotions in her. He used dark colors as much as he used light colors–always in some sort of balance that turned out unequivocally perfect. It was always so satisfying, she could stare at his art for days. (a/n: i’d like to imagine his artwork similar to the artist Khaled Alkhani’s work, feel free to look him up)

He was tall and in his late twenties. He had wavy, dark brown hair that ended just above his shoulders. His haircut kind of reminded her of Flynn Rider from tangled. Besides that, he dressed like a tech company CEO. Always wearing semi-fitted black long sleeves or the like.

Reese glanced down at the stain, “Oh, don't worry about that.” His words held a tinge of his Italian accent. He’d been raised in Italy until the age of 18. It’d been 11 years since then.

“The cleaning crew will take care of it.” he added, before his gray eyes flitted to her canvas on the easel. She’d just started it today so it was barely done, maybe just a quarter finished.

He circled around her work station before stopping in front of her canvas. Her breath stopped as he silently assessed it.

She didn’t know him well. He didn’t speak much so when they spoke it was mainly her talking–which never ended well cuz she wasn’t much of a talker herself. She only began working with him recently as well, and it wouldn’t have happened if her favorite curator hadn’t been involved.

She’d made many connections due to her artwork in college but meeting Lynelle Ivo was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Lynelle fell in love with her work-which was a rare, rare thing because Lynelle was one of the most renowned art curators in the world. Lynelle felt so connected with her artwork that she basically became her art assistant, manager and publicist, all rolled in one. It became a requirement for Lynelle to showcase Sade’s art in all of her exhibitions. She even requested Sade to make custom pieces to fit the theme of the exhibitions if none of her previous artwork fit the genre.

It’d been a hurdle to balance it all–to manage consistently making art whilst working on school but all of it was worth it when Lynelle agreed to her wish. Lynelle agreed to let her artwork be made anonymously. It was something Sade had wanted for a while since her artwork was slowly gaining traction and the thought of being well-known scared her more than anyone knew.

Lynelle had told her the interest in her artwork might die down if she decides to release art anonymously because it’s usually the artist that helps drive their artwork to more publicity. Sade had been aware of this and still agreed.

And yet-opposite to what they’d all been expecting-after going anonymous her art seemed to go viral. Lynelle explained that it seemed the mystery of not knowing who the art was being made by added more to her work’s lore. Well, to be fair it wasn’t just the anonymity that made her artwork famous–it was one piece in particular and of course if one piece gets famous, usually interest build’s for the other artist’s works and for them to be anonymous… it all just blew up from there–in social media terms.

Sade herself still very much stayed off of social media so it was mainly her publicist/social media manager, Kory, taking care of that for her. Kory managed her website. While her manager, Dean, took care of her schedule and art sales. Dean was annoyingly repetitive about her deadlines–she knew it was for her benefit but she hated constantly being reminded. Despite it all she loved her team, Lynelle really knew exactly what kind of people she needed by her side.

She wouldn’t have needed a team if Chroma’s Atelier Interactive paint Company hadn’t reached out to her fresh out of college-two months after she’d gone anonymous. The paint company seemed to find out that she used their paint and reached out to contract a sponsorship deal with her for a total of three years, with the potential of extending it. When the money first started to pour in from her sponsorship, she’d nearly cried.

But out of everything she’d experienced in this upward trend, it was capturing Reese Heim’s attention that shocked her to the core. Apparently he’d been invited to one of Lynelle’s exhibitions in Italy and he’d seen one of her art pieces. Apparently he’d stared at it for about half an hour before asking all the staff nearest to get him in contact with someone who could reach out to the artist-nearly making a scene while doing so. He finally was able to get in contact with Lynelle.

Lynelle doesn’t entirely have the best opinion of him as a person but even she agrees his art is something to look at. She’d requested him for his artwork in some of her exhibitions before but it was always a gamble because sometimes he would decline. Apparently he is very picky about where his art is showcased. She supposed he was at the level to be picky since none of his artwork is worth less than 15K.

But anyway, as Lynelle put it–it was the first time she’d seen him ‘off his high horse’ when he asked if she could reach out to the artist to offer them an art studio in his company.

At first, Sade had been elated–even elated didn’t fully describe how happy she’d been with the offer but then she asked Lynelle what exactly would that position entail? Lynelle had explained that Reese had his own art company where he helped young artists have a space to create more artwork and he himself would sometimes assist these artists and showcase them in his New York City gallery.

But that was only if he really liked your art. If your art wasn’t on par with his standards he would have his team redirect you to place your artwork in another gallery of his recommendation. For some up and coming artists he would set them up with a team if he really liked them–but since she already had her own that wasn’t exactly an issue.

Usually his art space had a limit of six months for fresh artists to use his offered art studios—he had the limitation set so that other artists could get a chance but as far as she was aware, she did not have any set time limit. His only request was that whatever artwork she produced in his company’s studio be showcased in his gallery. Which meant fresh pieces.

It was a challenge that she wasn’t taking lightly.

“Oil pastels,” he noted, “Chroma’s not gonna be happy.”

She shifted slightly, “They already know I’m interested in trying new mediums.”

He turned around, revealing a faint smile on his lips. “Do they?”

He eyed the assortment of oil pastels that were laid out on her work table.

“What brought this on?”

“I.. I was inspired by Frederic Paul.” she admitted. (a/n: a real artist btw, feel free to check his works out. they're so pretty)

His left brow quirked up as he contemplated that, “I thought he used oil paints.”

“He does but I wanted more texture.”

He nodded, murmuring, “Oil pastels will do just that.”

His gray eyes flitted to hers, “So you plan on using lighter colors in this piece?”

It was a valid question-even if it threw her off slightly. It was true, she naturally gravitated towards darker colors in her work. In fact, Lynelle said a reason why she felt so attracted to her artwork was because there seemed to be this theme of entrapment. It created a sense of mystery that she supposedly couldn’t look away from.

“I’m not sure.” she answered.

“Do you have an outline?”

She shook her head, “Not a physical one.”

She added after a beat, “Do you suggest I make one?”

“No, no.” he shook his head, “That’s fine. Do what you deem best.”

Her wristwatch began to beep again. She quickly turned it off.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he inquired as she began to take her off her apron.

“Yeah, I have my aerial silks yoga class.”

He watched her shuffle things into her tote bag, “Do you go everyday?”

“Yeah, I mean-no, I go Monday through Thursday.”

He quickly glanced away when he caught himself staring at her in her black Athleta body suit. It covered most of her skin down to her ankles-except for her toned arms-but it was rather fitted. She bent down to re-tie the laces of her adidas sambas and pulled up her white socks slightly higher. She slipped into a black trench coat and flipped her long, neat braid out from the coat’s collar before grabbing her tote bag.

She hung the lightweight bag over her shoulder, “I’m free to go right?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “Yes.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

Just as she passed by him, he suddenly spoke, “Wait.”

She stopped, glancing over to see him standing with his arms crossed. The subtle outline of his shapely biceps could be seen from his stance.

“Friday. We’re having a company dinner, Alyssa insisted on it so.. come if you can.”

Alyssa was his assistant.

She hesitated, “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

They stood in silence for a moment before he faced her.

She took a step back, “Um, See you then.”

She didn’t wait for a response when she headed out of the studio. She shook her head slightly, attempting to shake off the inexplicable tension she felt whenever she was with him.

She was walking down the stairs when she caught Alyssa walking up them.

Alyssa shot her a warm smile, “Have a good day, Sade.”

“Thanks, you too-oh!” she belatedly remembered, “Where’s the dinner at by the way? The company dinner on Friday?”

Alyssa blinked, “On Friday?”

“Yeah, Mr. Heim said it was on Friday.”

Alyssa raised her hands, “Wow, looks like he finally picked a date! I was thinking for it to be at this Mediterranean restaurant called Meduza but we’ll send out a group text, don’t worry.”

Sade nodded slowly, lost in thought for a moment.

Alyssa smiled once more before patting her on the shoulder, “Have a good one.” Before clip-clopping up the steps.

Sade walked down the steps, suddenly remembering herself–she didn’t want to be late. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Alyssa’s words. If Mr.Heim hadn’t picked a day for the company dinner earlier but suddenly picked Friday after hearing that she didn’t have classes on Friday… am I being delusional? Her apartment mate would know.

Just as she pulled out her phone from her pocket, her apartment mate called.

Sade quickly answered the phone, walking as she talked, “Dude, I was just about to call you–”

“Really? Guess what, guess what, guess what.”

“What?”

“So I was walking back to our apartment with all my groceries in my hands, because I forgot to bring the cart–and I only went out to get one thing but whatever. Anyway, it started to fucking pour outside and of course, I don’t have my umbrella so I start fast walking until this fucking asshole rams into me and I literally end up dropping all my shit on the sidewalk in front our building.”

“Oh god.”

“But out of fucking no where, like an angel dropped from the sky this guy comes up to me and he starts helping me pick up all my stuff. He literally gives me his umbrella and puts up his hood and just starts handing me all my stuff–even bagging it all up with me. But yo, when I tell you this man was the most handsomest man I’ve ever seen in my life-like-no joke. He was fine.”

Sade laughs slightly, “Damn.”

“Tall as shit too. Anyway, he was so fine that when he offered to help me bring all my stuff up to my apartment I didn’t decline cuz-”

“You let him into our apartment?”

“I needed the help! My arms were too sore man but wait, just wait-listen. So yeah, he helps bring all my groceries inside and I offer him some water as thanks. We’re talking a bit. He’s actually so funny and nice. He’s so handsome, bro, I honestly thought he was a model but apparently he isn’t, I asked. Even though his outfit was casual, something about him gave old money. Anyway, while we’re talking he sees our group pic on the fridge and points you out. He said he knows you. He said you guys knew each other in High School.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and he was so shook about it too. He kept calling you another name but he said he had to see you. I didn’t want him to wait at the apartment because I wasn’t sure when you’d be back and I didn’t want him to be here for that long either so I told him where you worked. He literally dipped so quickly–”

Sade had just opened up her umbrella and stepped outside of the building, only to freeze, “Wait, you told him where I worked?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want you to feel ambushed when you got home so-”

“What’s wrong with you? Why would you tell a complete stranger where I worked?”

“I-I’m sorry, he just seemed so excited to see you. He had this selfie of you guys together from high school and it looked so adorable–you looked so young. I don’t know. I thought you would be happy.. he said he’s been looking for you for so long.”

Her throat went dry. “What’s his name.”

She could tell her apartment mate, Priya, was thrown off by her seriousness, “I don’t remember.”

“How did he look like?”

“He was tall–like tall tall. White hair-but he looked around our age-and he has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen on this planet…”

Sade had zoned out, her breathing had grown labored and suddenly everything felt like it was spinning around her but she couldn’t move, her feet were planted to the ground and yet she knew… she knew the sixth sense that was nagging at her. She would know that feeling anywhere.

no no no no no no

The sense of doom that sprawled through her nerves was decapitating. She felt like her entire body had gone numb. This had to be a bad nightmare. Just a bad dream she was on the verge of waking up from in a few seconds.

Wake up wake up wake up wake up!

As much as everything in her didn’t want to, her eyes were searching for her. She turned, looking every which way to find the source of the sensation—the source of that feeling in her gut that she hadn’t felt in so long.

Her hair rose on her skin. She found it. Him.

Gojo Satoru stood right across the street from her. His hands in his long coat pockets. A hood covering his head–and as if he wanted to make it any clearer that it was him, he pulled the hood down to reveal the entirety of his ruffled white hair. The wide grin on his lips was unmistakable.

She stopped breathing.

Goosebumps rose along her skin and the bustling city sounds became nothing but background noise.

Suddenly the light turned green and cars began to zoom in between them.

The spell of his imposing stare broke and she gasped–her hand coming to her chest. She thought she was gonna puke but all that consumed her mind was his eyes. Those radiant blue eyes that were surrounded by enviable lengthy white lashes–the eyes that haunted her nightmares from time to time and the eyes that had seen too much of her.

She was running. She didn’t know when she started running but she was. She was running so fast without a single destination in mind. All she knew was that she had to run.

She thought she heard his laugh in the distance but it could’ve been her hallucinating. She just hoped all of this was a hallucination. She prayed it was.

But the sound of her feet hitting the asphalt was too real. The thump of her heartbeat pumping in her chest was too real. The fear feeding into her adrenaline was too real.

She ran across the street just as a car was about to turn, nearly colliding with her.

“Ara!!”

No!

She barely registered passerbys glancing her way as she ran. Had she really heard him calling out her name?

No no no no no no–

Suddenly she felt something catapult into her so hard she nearly hit the floor face first until hands slipped around her waist.

She shoved whoever caught her. No! No, I can’t stop now. I can’t–

“Ara.”

She attempted to run away but her legs were too weak. The force of the shove sent any adrenaline she had out the window. The speed of her actions catching up to her.

She stumbled blindly away from the voice, leading herself into a dark alley.

She was out of breath. The rainwater was making it hard to see. She didn’t remember when she’d dropped her umbrella.

“Ara.”

She was coughing up a storm. Her hand went to the brick wall beside her before she dropped to her knees, heaving as she attempted to catch her breath.

Suddenly she felt a hand catch her chin and push her small body against the alley wall.

She was forced to stare up into those blazing turquoise eyes. The eyes that dominated her nightmares, the eyes that subjugated her body and soul.

Rainwater dripped from strands of his shiny hair and slid down his poreless face. His face had gotten more defined, more sharp–his sculpted jawline more prominent than ever. The shadows under his eyes were just as visible, somehow emphasizing the piercing blue brilliance of his eyes. His lips were glossy, just like they had always been.

It didn’t hit her until the scent of his familiar cologne filled her nostrils. That deep, heedy, expensive scent that she’d be forced to inhale whenever his body moved too harshly inside her, making her hide her face in his neck.

Her eyes brimmed with tears.

His fingers tightened around her chin, “Found you.”

“No.” she choked out, attempting to shake her head but she couldn’t. His fingers around her chin were too firm.

She tried to move from her seated position against the wall but she couldn’t. Her legs felt too weak. Her limbs ached from the excessive strength she’d used earlier.

More tears poured out from her eyes, “No.” she rasped.

“You cryin’?” He asked softly, despite the obvious taunt, “You cryin’ cuz you missed me?”

He slowly looked her up and down, with all the patience in the world. As if taking her in piece by piece before letting his eyes roam her countenance once-more.

He sighed, “Still such a pretty fuckin’ crier, s’not fair.”

“Stop,” she cried, reaching out to push at his chest since he sat hunched over her on one leg. “Stop.”

He didn’t budge. Instead his free hand caught her wrist and his hand on her chin moved to catch one of her tears with his thumb.

“I missed this.” His voice was so low. “I missed this so much.”

She was full on sobbing now.

He leaned towards her, nearly touching his forehead against hers. The air thinned out between them, maybe because she was breathing so fast-consuming so much—inhaling and exhaling all of it-that charged air between their limited proximity. It was magnetic, just as it was intoxicating. It was like breathing in something you knew you shouldn’t, something that made your mouth water but you both knew was poison. You knew each breath would numb your nerves. You knew each breath could kill you. You knew your next breath could be your last.

“I missed you.”

“No you don’t.” she cried, shaking her head as she attempted to stand up. “You don’t!”

“I do.”

He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back down but this time he made her lean against him. Her head landed against his chest, her small frame in the circle of his larger one.

“No-!” She attempted to scramble up but he caught her by her waist length plait and yanked her back. Before she could cry out he withdrew a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and cupped it over her mouth.

Her eyes widened and she thrashed in his arms for a good second before finally going limp. Her eyes fluttering closed.

He removed the handkerchief from her lips before turning it over to the untainted side and wiping all the raindrops and tears from her pretty face.

He kissed her forehead before whispering against her skin, “I found you.”

a/n: u guys, i know this entire chapter 5 has been such a journey from start to finish but u r fr an OG for making it all the way through. In total-with these four parts combined-chapter 5 is 205 pages of manuscript. Can you believe that?? Anyway, wow. Writing this chapter has been choatic but I'm so happy that I can finally share what's been sitting in my head with you guys. U guys have no idea how I felt writing the last bit of this chapter, I felt like I wanted to cover my eyes while I typing it but pls feel free to share your thoughts, questions and opinions in the comments below. I'm so curious to read them all. Once again ty for reading my work!!

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