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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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“heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot.

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way.

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably.

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.”

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross.

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before.

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones…

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing.

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers?

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man…

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused.

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour.

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen.

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?”

Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was…

“Yes… Thank you.”

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…”

“Take care.”

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources?

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think.

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor.

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?”

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?”

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside.

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully.

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost.

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing.

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.”

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree.

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground.

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker.

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it.

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply.

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?”

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands.

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right?

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed?

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power…

“N-no–”

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?”

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper.

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls.

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper.

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.”

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–”

“‘M following your scent, baby.”

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love.

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin.

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning.

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.”

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key.

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak.

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper.

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right.

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough.

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts.

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation.

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.”

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again.

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs.

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-”

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back.

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.”

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants.

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty.

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm.

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need.

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.”

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.”

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before.

“You on birth control, baby?”

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…”

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.”

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively.

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back.

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name.

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts.

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me.

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers.

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now…

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together.

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.”

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair.

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones.

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut.

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed.

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he.

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does.

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry.

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision.

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to.

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here.

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time.

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @fushironi, @enchantedsylveon, @keiva1000

link: alpha!geto

link: 1k followers event!

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

7K notes · View notes

crdteezv · 11 months ago

Text

Haechan Fic Recs

[majority of these are smut > minors dni (18+)]

**For the key, when I say extreme, I mean fics that will contain darker themes.

S - Smut | F - Fluff | A - Angst | E - Extreme

Disclaimer: *Some of these didn't have a wc so I added it myself! Another thing, some of these fics can be on the darker side so fair warning*

!!!ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE AMAZING WRITERS!!!

A/N: Whenever I add to the list I’ll reblog this post and keep the updated date down below!!

Last Updated: December 6th, 2024

PERSONAL FAVS

pussy fiend | pt.1 (28.2k) & pt.2 (40.7k) - @domjaehyun (F) (S)

→ college au, enemies to fuckbuddies to lovers, roommate au

spur of the mommet | pt.1 (2.1k) & pt.2 (10k) - @haetrack (F) (S) (E)

→ perv/inexperienced! haechan, use of toys

thrid wheel (ft. mark) | pt.1 (7.4k) & pt.2 (13.7k) - @ncteez (S)

→ vacation setting, exhibitionism, voyeurism, car sex, 3some

pro: love: add (11.6k) - @haetrack (S)

→ perv/switch haechan & reader

stoner!hyuck (0.4k) - @calibabii21 (S)

untitled #1 (0.4k) - @neocentral (S) (E) (D)

→ noncon

[8:52] (1.6k) - @from-izzy (F)

→ established relationship au!, marriage!au, non-idol au!

can i? (3.5k) - @yutaholic (S)

→ exes to lovers

friendly competition (ft. mark) (2.2k) - @perfumejamal (S)

→ bf mark, 3some

womaniser (2.1k) - @onyourhyuck (S)

→ bestfriend hockey player!haechan

fix me softly (3.1k) - @onyourhyuck (S) (E)

→ best friend/switch/himbo/perv/ haechan, dub-con

again & again (2.5k) - @ihaechans (F) (S)

→ established relationship, sub haechan, mommy kink

nice guy (2k) - @luvyeni (S) (E)

→ stalking, non consensual photo taking

anything you can do i can do better (4.8k) - @vnti-vntiety-recs (S)

→ enemies to lovers/rivals to lovers

jealous!bf!hyuck! (0.5k) - @ye4gerz (S) New!!

→ choking, exhibitionist hyuck, jealous/angry sex

11:21 AM (0.8k) - @junrenjun (F) New!!

→ husband haechan, suggestive

f/ck ban (1k) - @iceonneo (S) New!!

→ bf haechan

3:46pm (0.6k) - @markresonates (S) New!!

→ bf haechan, humiliation

ghost house (8.3k) - @smileysuh (S) (E) New!!

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day 14: haechan (0.7k) - @babiesdreams (S)

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4:15 AM (0.5k) - @taexoxosgf (S) (E)

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perv!boyfriend (0.3k) - @luvyeni (S) (E)

FAKE TEXTS

ex haechan - @handlemehyuck (F) New!!

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chuluoyi · 2 years ago

Text

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice�� “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

6K notes · View notes

norrisradio · 4 months ago

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⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x drag racer! reader ⚡︎ WC: 5K ⚡︎ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: sports car, tate mcrae • fast lane, bad meets evil • earned it, the weeknd • the hills, the weeknd • partition, beyonce • swim, chase atlantic • into you, ariana grande • all mine, brent faiyaz • come thru, summer walker & usher • kiss it better, rihanna ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: mannnn this was supposed to be a 1K drabble | also max fewtrell makes an appearance | thank you thank you @haologram for crossing fandom lines to beta this for me lol

⚡︎ SUMMARY: "You drive like you’ve got something to prove.” // "And you look like you’ve got something to lose."

Lando already knows he’s going to hate this.

The underground racing scene isn’t his thing. He’s spent his whole career perfecting precision, shaving milliseconds off his lap times, pushing his car to the absolute limit within the rules.

This? This is chaos. The air smells like burnt rubber and cheap gasoline, headlights casting sharp shadows across the cracked pavement. Too much noise, too many people trying way too hard to look cool, and Max is grinning like an idiot because he loves this shit.

“Tell me this isn’t sick,” Max says, practically bouncing on his feet as he takes in the scene.

Lando scoffs, shifting his weight against some random car, arms crossed. “This is something, alright.”

Max elbows him. “C’mon, mate. Live a little.”

“I do live. I just prefer my races with less cigarette smoke and, y’know, rules.” Lando gestures vaguely to the chaos around them. Some guy in a hoodie is revving his engine like it’ll make his car faster. Someone else is already getting into a screaming match over a bet. It’s all so—

Then he hears it.

Not the shouting, not the music blasting from someone’s half-broken speaker—this cuts through all of it. A low, aggressive growl of an engine, shifting into a sharp screech as tires fight for grip against the pavement.

The kind of entrance that makes everyone turn their heads.

Lando feels it in his chest before he sees it.

The car whips into the lot like it owns the place, sliding to a stop in one perfect, controlled motion. The scent of burned rubber lingers in the air as the headlights cut through the crowd, casting sharp, fleeting silhouettes before they shut off.

And then the driver steps out.

You move like you belong here, like the entire night revolves around you. Fireproof gloves tugged off finger by finger, jacket unzipped just enough to reveal the glint of a chain at your throat. There’s a confidence in the way you walk—calculated, effortless, like you already know you’re the fastest person here.

Lando straightens up before he even realizes he’s doing it.

Max catches it immediately. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Lando swallows. No—he’s seen something much more dangerous.

The night feels different now. The air still hums with conversation, music thumping in the background, but Lando barely hears any of it. His world narrows to the sound of your boots against the pavement, the faint scent of fuel and heat trailing behind you as you pass.

Max is saying something, probably chirping at him for looking interested for once, but Lando ignores him.

You toss your gloves through the open window of your car, barely sparing the gawking crowd a glance. Someone claps you on the back in greeting, another shoves a wad of cash into your hands—winnings, no doubt. You take it all in stride, movements smooth, practiced.

Lando has seen confidence before. It’s in the way Lewis carries himself in a press conference, in the set of Max Verstappen’s jaw before a race. But this—this is different. It’s not posturing, not bravado for the sake of a camera.

It’s knowing, certainty.

Then, just as easily as you arrived, your attention shifts. Your eyes flick across the lot, landing on him like you had already known he was there.

Lando doesn’t look away.

Your mouth curls, amusement flickering across your face. You don’t say anything—don’t need to. There’s a challenge in your gaze, a silent, well?

Max nudges him. “You’re staring.”

Lando exhales through his nose. He pushes off the car, tilting his head slightly, meeting your challenge head-on. “Yeah?” he mutters, just loud enough for Max to hear.

“Yeah,” Max confirms, grinning. “And I think she just clocked you as a rich boy who doesn’t belong here.”

Lando rolls his eyes but keeps his gaze locked on you.

You smirk, like you heard every word. Then, without a second glance, you turn away, walking toward a cluster of racers by the starting line. Someone hands you a drink, another shouts something about a rematch, and just like that, you’re gone.

Lando feels something settle low in his stomach. Not quite annoyance, not quite intrigue—something in between.

Max claps him on the back. “Told you this was sick.”

Lando doesn’t answer. He’s already moving, drawn in before he can stop himself.

The crowd swallows you up, but Lando doesn’t lose sight of you. You move with purpose, cutting through clusters of people with ease, exchanging nods and half-smirks like you own the place. Someone tries to throw an arm around your shoulders—some guy in a too-tight jacket, riding the high of a recent win—but you sidestep him smoothly, barely sparing him a glance.

Max is still talking beside Lando, but it’s just noise now.

The engine of your car still ticks with heat, the scent of burned rubber sharp in the cool night air. Up close, the machine is a beast—low-slung, built for speed, every inch of it tuned for performance. Lando recognizes the modifications immediately. Whoever built this knew what they were doing.

Another race is forming, drivers lining up, engines roaring to life. Someone leans into your space, gesturing toward the starting line, voice eager—challenging. You tilt your head, considering, and Lando catches the quick flick of your fingers against the side of your car—absent, instinctive, like checking the pulse of a living thing.

Then, just as you look up, your eyes catch his again.

This time, you don’t just smirk. You look at him.

Lando lifts his chin slightly, closing the space between you with a few easy steps. He’s aware of the weight of eyes on him, the way a few people glance between you like they’re already anticipating something. He’s the outsider here—money, privilege, rules.

But speed is speed. And if there’s one thing Lando Norris knows, it’s how to race.

"You drive like you’ve got something to prove," he says, voice just loud enough to carry over the rumble of engines.

Your smirk deepens, slow and sharp. "And you look like you’ve got something to lose."

A flicker of something hot sparks in his chest. "Wanna find out?"

It’s reckless. Stupid. He doesn’t even have a car here—his McLaren is miles away from this cracked asphalt, from these makeshift start lines. But none of that seems to matter when you step in closer, tilting your head just enough for the streetlights to catch in your eyes.

"You any good?" you ask, low, almost teasing.

Lando huffs a quiet laugh. "I guess you’ll have to find out."

Max’s car is a piece of shit.

Lando realizes this the second he slides behind the wheel, adjusting to the low-slung seat, the stiff clutch, the god-awful steering. It’s not that it’s bad—Max has clearly thrown a stupid amount of money into tuning it—but it’s nothing like what Lando is used to. The weight distribution is off, the gearbox isn’t nearly as tight as it should be, and the brakes? Terrible.

He flexes his fingers against the wheel, rolling his shoulders. It’ll have to do.

Across the lot, you lean against your car, arms crossed, watching him with an expression that says you’re already picturing his loss.

Lando sets his jaw.

Someone shouts, "Bets in! You know the drill!"

Money changes hands fast. There’s no doubt where the majority of the bets are going—you, the undefeated, the local legend. Max, the bastard, doesn’t even hesitate before handing over a few bills against Lando.

"You’re actually the worst, you dick," Lando mutters.

Max grins, slapping the roof of the car. "Love you, mate. Don’t die."

Lando exhales hard, focusing on the street ahead. The makeshift track is barely marked—just a stretch of cracked pavement, a sharp corner past the old warehouse, and a long straight where the finish line is drawn in neon chalk. Simple.

Someone stands between the two cars, arms raised.

Lando grips the wheel tighter.

You rev your engine once. A sharp, cocky sound.

Lando’s pulse kicks up. He should win this. He’s an F1 driver. Speed is in his blood, his muscles, his bones. He can read a car better than anyone here—feel the road, sense the grip, anticipate every slide before it happens.

The starter’s arms drop.

Lando slams the gas.

The tires screech, struggling for grip. For half a second, the car stutters before it launches forward, and Lando immediately feels the difference. It’s not the precise, weightless acceleration of a single-seater. It’s rougher, heavier—less forgiving.

But he adjusts fast.

First gear. Second. He watches the revs, the way the car shudders slightly at the shift. Max’s tuning is decent, but Lando has to fight it, keeping the car straight as he pushes through the first stretch.

Then he glances to his left—and you’re gone.

No, not gone. Ahead.

His stomach twists.

You’re already taking the first turn, and fuck, you’re fast. Not just in speed, but in reaction—the way you throw the car into the curve without hesitation, without a hint of fear. Lando should be gaining, but your car barely loses momentum as you swing around the corner, back tires skimming the edge of the line.

Lando grits his teeth and follows.

The back end of Max’s car wobbles slightly as he pushes it harder, forcing the tires to grip through the turn. It’s recoverable, but it costs him time. Precious milliseconds.

You don’t make mistakes.

Halfway through the lap, Lando knows he’s losing.

He’s not slow—he’s never slow—but he’s playing catch-up, watching the way you control the car like it’s a living thing. Every movement is effortless, a perfect balance between aggression and calculation. You brake just enough, accelerate at the exact right moment. There’s no wasted motion, no second-guessing.

Lando has never lost a race like this before.

On the final straight, he pushes harder, shifts faster, coaxes every ounce of speed out of the car. The finish line rushes closer, and for a brief, wild second, he thinks maybe—

But you’re already there.

You cross first, smooth and decisive, engine growling in victory as you ease off the throttle.

Lando slams the brakes harder than necessary. The car skids slightly before stopping. His pulse is roaring.

The crowd erupts. Cheers, laughter, money exchanging hands. Someone claps him on the back, but he barely feels it, still gripping the wheel too tightly.

Then you step out of your car, pulling your gloves off finger by finger. You don’t even look winded.

Lando exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before climbing out. The night air is cool against his skin, but he still feels overheated, heart hammering against his ribs.

You approach slowly, amusement flickering in your eyes.

"Not bad, rich boy," you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe next time you’ll actually keep up."

Lando scoffs, shaking his head. He should be annoyed, frustrated, pissed, but instead—

He grins. "Next time," he echoes. "You better watch your back."

You tilt your head, considering. Then, with a smirk, you toss something toward him.

He catches it without thinking.

Your gloves.

His fingers tighten around the worn leather as you turn away, disappearing back into the crowd.

Max appears beside him, whistling low. "Well, that was humbling."

Lando lets out a breath, still staring at the spot where you stood.

Yeah.

And he’s definitely coming back.

The following month, Max barely gets a word out before Lando’s already moving.

"—the race," Max starts, grinning like he already knows the answer.

Lando doesn’t hesitate - grabbing his keys, shrugging into a jacket, barely listening to whatever chirpy remark Max throws his way.

"This time," he says, twisting the McLaren fob between his fingers, "we’re taking my car."

Max hoots, half-laughing as they step out into the night. "That’s what I like to hear! Rich boy’s got a grudge."

Lando doesn’t respond. He just flicks open the door, slides into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine.

This time, he’s coming to win.

Max barely has time to park before Lando’s door swings open. The hum of the engine hasn’t even settled when he steps out, shoulders loose, expression unreadable—but there’s an edge to him tonight. Something sharper.

The underground lot is exactly the same. Same flashing lights, same heavy bass thumping through cheap speakers, same mix of cigarette smoke and burnt rubber lingering in the air. But Lando feels different.

Last time, he was just an outsider, an F1 driver slumming it for a night. This time, he’s here for you.

The moment he steps out of the McLaren, people notice. Conversations dip, eyes flick his way, nudging and murmuring. They remember. The rich boy who lost. The one who had no business stepping into your world and thought he could keep up.

Lando doesn’t care. He doesn’t belong here, not really, but he walks like he does, like he’s already claimed his place.

He scans the crowd, searching—

He spots you before you see him.

You’re leaning against your car, arms draped over the open window, deep in conversation with someone. The streetlights cast a glow over your skin, catching on the curve of your jaw, the glint in your eyes as you laugh at something said just under the roar of an engine revving in the distance.

Your gaze slides over, meeting his like you expected him. And there it is again—that flicker of recognition, the slow curl of your mouth as your gaze drags over him, lingering just a second too long.

Lando smirks.

Your attention shifts downward, toward the car he brought this time.

It’s sleek. Aggressive. Built for this.

When your eyes flick back to his, he catches something new in your expression. Intrigue.

He takes a step closer, watching as you push off the car, unfolding yourself from your stance with the kind of ease that says you already know how this is going to end.

"Didn’t think you’d come back," you say, voice lilting, teasing.

"Didn’t think you’d lose," he counters smoothly.

Your brow lifts, amused. "Lose?"

Lando tilts his head slightly, nodding toward your car. "We both know I wasn’t racing at full capacity last time."

You hum, considering. "So this time," you say, voice lower now, "you’re actually planning on giving me a challenge?"

Lando exhales a quiet laugh. He takes another step forward, close enough to catch the faint scent of fuel and adrenaline clinging to your clothes. "This time," he murmurs, "you’re gonna have to work for it."

A slow smirk tugs at your lips, something almost dangerous flickering in your gaze.

"You in?" he asks.

You lean in, just slightly. "Always."

The way you circle his car is almost predatory.

Lando watches, arms crossed over his chest, as you trail a slow, deliberate path around the McLaren, fingertips grazing the hood, barely-there touches that send something electric down his spine. You’re not just looking—you’re assessing.

"720S," you murmur, half to yourself. "4.0L twin-turbo V8. 710 horsepower. 0 to 60 in 2.8 seconds. Top speed of… what, 212?"

Lando huffs a quiet laugh. "Done your homework, have you?"

You glance up, and that’s when he feels it. The shift.

The streetlights catch the glint in your eyes, something unreadable, something sharp enough to cut.

"No," you say simply.

His breath catches for half a second.

It’s not arrogance. It’s not bluffing. It’s something worse.

You don’t need research. You don’t need specs. You don’t even need to think about it. You just know.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most terrifying and arousing thing he’s ever seen.

"That’s cute, though," you add, stepping back to admire the car from another angle. "Bringing something that might actually stand a chance this time."

Lando exhales, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to shake off whatever the hell that was. "I’d be worried about you keeping up, but we both know that won’t be a problem."

Your smirk deepens. "Guess we’ll see, won’t we?"

The crowd thickens as people catch on to what’s happening. The air shifts, charged with something electric, something inevitable.

The last time, Lando didn’t stand a chance.

This time, though—

He flexes his fingers once before sliding into the driver’s seat, pulse steady, jaw set.

This time, it’s different.

Lando's fingers tighten around the wheel, his eyes narrowing as the starter counts down. The engine purrs beneath him, responsive, eager. The McLaren hums with potential—his car. His edge.

He’s done his homework this time. He knows every curve of the track, every bump in the road, how the tires will react. This is his race to win.

Max’s voice still echoes in his head, teasing. "Don’t embarrass me, mate. Seriously."

Lando doesn’t need the reminder. He’s already way past that.

The second the starter’s arms drop, Lando slams the gas.

The engine roars to life, and for a fleeting moment, he feels invincible. This time, he’s ready. The 720S surges forward, an animal on the prowl, the weight of the car shifting smoothly under his control. He’s quicker, tighter around the turns, feeding it power where he’s sure the road will grip. The crowd’s energy pulses like a drumbeat, the sharp hum of your engine just behind him.

But then—

You’re there.

Lando doesn’t hear you. He feels you.

The growl of your car is like a whisper in the wind at first, and then—then, it’s a presence. It’s too close, too precise. You slip through the corners like water—no hesitation, no doubt. You’re there when he shifts too late, when he lets a tire drift too wide. There’s no room for error with you.

He feels it, that knot in his gut, that constant pressure at the edge of his focus. You’re pushing him, making him work. He’s sweating, feeling the limits of his car, pushing it to the edge, just like he knows you are. The finish line looms.

A fraction of a second.

His pulse thunders in his ears. He punches the gas. The McLaren leaps forward, tire squealing as he tries to find the last of its power, but it’s too little, too late.

The line.

You’ve crossed it.

Lando watches as your car passes, just a breath ahead of his. The roar of the crowd crashes over him, the cheers fading into a dull buzz as his eyes snap to the space where you’ve already slid into a slow roll. You’re casually pulling off the track like you’ve just taken a stroll through the park.

He doesn’t even get the chance to stop fully before you’re there.

You lean down, leaning in close, close enough that Lando can feel the heat of your breath brushing his skin, warm and steady. You meet his gaze, eyes glimmering with a quiet triumph, and the edge of your mouth curves up.

"Nice try, pretty boy," you whisper, voice low and playful, but there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heart skip a beat.

Then, just as fast as you appeared, you’re gone. Turning on your heel, slipping through the crowd like a shadow, the sound of your laughter hanging in the air like smoke.

Lando stays in his car for a long second, fingers tight around the wheel, pulse racing. Pretty boy.

Fuck.

The air smells like burning rubber and gasoline, thick with heat. Lando should leave—he knows that. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lingers.

Leaning against the hood of his car, he watches you go again. Three more races. Three more wins. Each one more effortless than the last. It’s surgical, the way you move, how the car bends to your will, how you make even the most aggressive drivers look like amateurs. There’s no mercy in the way you drive—just raw, controlled chaos.

He swallows. Fuck, that’s attractive.

Lando’s eyes track every move you make, and Max is none the fool. He notices the way Lando doesn’t even blink when you leave your latest challenger choking on the tailpipe of your car. He notices how, with every second that ticks by, Lando’s grip on reality slips a little further, watching you move.

"You know," Max says, voice laced with teasing, "if you stare at her like that any longer, you might actually catch flies."

Lando doesn’t respond, just shifts his weight, a half-hearted attempt to hide the fact he’s still watching you as you walk toward the starting line again. Max grins, unbothered, leaning on the hood of the car.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, mate,” Max drawls beside him, nudging him with an elbow. “You look like you’re about to start drooling.”

Lando shoves him off the hood, ignoring the sharp bark of laughter that follows. His attention is already back on you. The race starts, but it’s like the world slows, distorting as he watches you go, your movements fluid and effortless, the hum of the engine a symphony beneath you. His fingers itch to feel the wheel, to push something that will give him the same kind of power, the same kind of presence you carry so effortlessly.

Then, as if on cue, you finish, once again besting your opponent with ease. The cheers of the crowd are distant, drowned out by the beat of his pulse. But when he glances back, you’re already looking at him.

And then you’re walking toward him.

It’s deliberate—the sway of your hips, the way the dim glow of streetlights glints off the sweat at your collarbone. You reach out, the condensation on the glass cold against his fingers as you press a bottle of beer into his hand.

“Enjoying the show, rich boy?” you ask, smirking as you crack your own bottle open.

Lando lifts a brow, fighting the way his stomach tightens at the sight of your lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle as you take a slow sip. He swears you do it on purpose.

You lean in, close enough that the heat from your skin warms his. The air between you crackles with tension.

"You know," you murmur, teasing, "you really do look out of place here. Rich, pretty boy F1 driver, surrounded by all these… real drivers."

Lando’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his chest. "Careful now," he says, his voice dropping, "that’s the second time you’ve called me pretty. I’ll think you’re flirting with me."

You cock an eyebrow, the hint of a challenge in your gaze. Slowly, you lean in, fingers brushing his chain, the cool metal cold against your warm skin as you trace it with an almost deliberate slowness.

"And if I am?" you ask, the question soft, but the implication sharp.

Lando swallows, his pulse quickening despite himself. He should have an answer to that. Something cocky, something that will let him walk away from this with at least some semblance of control. But he’s coming up empty.

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

Instead, you settle next to him, the beer bottle cold between your palms as the two of you watch the next set of races. This time, Lando isn’t just watching from the sidelines. He’s with you, standing close enough that the heat of your body feels like a magnet, pulling him in without effort. You’re right there beside him, close enough that every time someone messes up—a late brake, a slip on the curve—your eyes flick to him, and the unspoken agreement hangs in the air.

At some point, Max disappears—not that Lando notices. Not when you’re murmuring under your breath about a driver’s lazy cornering, not when you hum in agreement at his observations, a quiet acknowledgment that shouldn’t make his chest feel as tight as it does.

For a second, Lando feels like he’s on the same level as you, and the rush of that—of being in sync with you—is more thrilling than anything else in the night. His breath catches as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Watch the way he enters the final turn—if he doesn’t fix that, he’s gonna lose that spot."

You don’t even glance at him, but he sees the small twitch in your fingers as you tap your bottle lightly against your lips, clearly holding back a smile. That hum again. It’s a low sound, the kind that stirs something restless in his chest.

The game continues.

Your eyes never leave his when you take a sip from the bottle you share, your fingers brushing his as you pass it back. A drop of beer spills onto the back of your hand, and before he can even register it, you’re licking it clean, slow and deliberate.

Lando swears under his breath.

The bass from a nearby car suddenly pounds heavier, reverberating through the asphalt. You push off the hood, stretching your arms above your head, body moving like liquid as you cock a finger at him in invitation.

He should hesitate.

But he doesn’t.

His feet move before his brain catches up, like you’ve got some invisible tether wrapped around his ribs.

You dance like you drive—effortlessly. Like you know exactly where to be, how to shift, how to move. Lando tries to keep up, tries to match your rhythm, but you make it impossible. The way your body brushes against his is teasing, the heat of you just out of reach, and it’s fucking maddening.

Then, he gets too close.

His fingers graze the stripe of bare skin at your waist, a feather-light touch, but he feels the way your breath catches, the slight arch of your body pressing into him before pulling away just as quick.

You laugh, low and intoxicating.

“You wanna kiss me, pretty boy?”

Lando nods before he can think better of it.

He doesn’t trust his mouth not to say something stupid. So instead, he leans in, closing the space between you, heartbeat hammering—

Only for you to pull away.

His breath stutters.

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, voice all sugar and sin.

“Then earn it.”

Lando has always been the good guy. The golden boy. The one who follows the rules, the one who does what he’s told—strict diets, early nights, training regimens that dictate every inch of his life.

But you?

You’re the kind of chaos that should come with a warning label.

Every glance, every smirk, every casual drag of your fingers along his chain only coils that tension inside him tighter, until common sense isn’t just slipping away—it’s fucking disintegrating.

His hands find your hips, grip just shy of bruising as you move together, bodies pressing and pulling like a tide he can’t escape. The bass thumps in his chest, or maybe it’s his own heartbeat, the sound of it nearly deafening.

"I think I've earned it already," he murmurs, voice rough, head tipping down until his lips nearly brush yours.

You grin, teeth flashing, eyes dark and dangerous. "Is that so, pretty boy?"

His breath hitches, pulse spiking at the way you tug his chain just enough to make him stumble forward, make him feel the heat rolling off your skin.

"Flirting again, are we?"

You hum, tilting your head, considering. And then—

The sharp nip of teeth against his earlobe sends a full-body shudder through him.

"Did you earn it?"

Lando's never understood the phrase weak in the knees before, but suddenly, it's painfully clear. His legs feel like jelly, his stomach like free-falling through Eau Rouge in the rain. Your breath, warm against his skin, sends heat lashing through his veins, makes his fingers tighten their hold on you, makes the last thread of his restraint snap clean in half.

"Fuck earning it," he groans, hands sliding up your back, tilting your chin up as he crashes his mouth to yours.

It’s reckless. It’s unhinged. It’s like taking Eau Rouge at full throttle without knowing if the car will stick to the track—but fuck, it’s heaven.

You taste like beer and danger, and when you press even closer, molding yourself against him like you were meant to be there, he swears he could die like this, and it would be worth it.

Your laugh—low, indulgent—vibrates against his lips, and it damn near ruins him. You kiss like you drive, all confidence and sharp edges, fingers tangled in his curls like you already own him. And maybe you do.

Lando’s hands trace the dip of your spine, pulling you closer, needing you closer. The crowd, the pounding bass, the scent of burning rubber in the air—it all fades. There’s only you, the press of your body against his, the way your lips part just enough to let him taste you, to let him sink deeper into whatever madness this is.

Then, just as quickly as you gave it, you take it away.

You break the kiss, but you don’t go far. Your lips hover, teasing, a breath away. Lando’s chest heaves, fingers flexing at your waist, fighting the urge to pull you back in. You grin against his skin, breath ghosting over the corner of his mouth as you murmur, “Not bad, pretty boy.”

Lando swears under his breath. His pulse is a wild thing in his throat, his grip tightening. “Not bad?” His voice comes out rougher than he expects, something raw under the teasing edge.

You tip your head, eyes flicking over his face, searching for something—maybe an opening, maybe just amusement. Whatever it is, you must find it, because your grin turns lazy, all feline satisfaction as you drag a single finger down his chest.

“Could use some work,” you say. “But I suppose you’ve got potential.”

Lando exhales sharply, half a laugh, half something that aches. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You smirk, stepping back just enough to give him air but not enough to let him breathe easy. “Come find me when you think you can do better.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the crowd, hips swaying, leaving him standing there, heart hammering, tasting the ghost of you on his lips.

Max reappears at his side, looking far too smug for Lando’s liking. “So,” he drawls, “we’re coming back again next time, huh?”

Lando runs a hand through his curls, still reeling, still burning.

“��Yeah.”

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necessiteez · 1 year ago

Text

HONGJOONG SMUT FIC RECS LIBRARY

disclaimer: I do not own any of these works and they do not represent the real kim hongjoong. all rights belong to the respective writers who made them.

everything listed will be only hongjoong x reader (fem/male/gn) pairing and it will contain suggestive/smut themes. if it includes another member, I will also indicate it. fics will be categorized into aus so it will be easy to find.

I won't be including mtls, bullet lists, and other members' fics. if you are looking for recs with different members I'm sure other atinys have posted their own lists. These are all personal favorites and I'll only be including tropes/aus that I'm comfortable with (there won't be a/b/o, master kink, hybrid aus etc. sorry).

lastly, please let the writers know if you love their works so we can enjoy more of their content. have fun reading!

1. First Floor

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬 you are here ໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

1.5 Secret Room

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

2. Second Floor

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

2.5 Banned Books

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬 ???????? ໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

3. Third Floor

⚠︎UNDER CONSTRUCTION⚠︎

✶ - favorites

╔══ first♕floor ══╗

「 ✦ Vampire!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Honey and Blood - @nateezfics (wc 8.6k)

In the Night feat. Seonghwa - @ja3hwa (wc 2.53k)

✶ People, Running poly, multi-chapter- themoonlightfae on ao3 (wc 50k+)

Sweet Trouble feat. Wooyoung - Atiny_DazzlingLight on ao3 (wc 6.2k)

vampire! hongjoong - @xuchiya

✶ Delicious feat. Seonghwa - @jagibangbangchan (wc 5k)

「 ✦ Friends with Benefits!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ I Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way - @severetimetravelnerd (wc 9k+)

Leave Me With Nothing - @min-gis (wc 5.7k)

✶ Mine feat. Seonghwa - @smileysuh (wc 3.4k)

Naked Truth - @essenteez (wc 6.1k)

Late Night Rendezvous PART 1 - @sanjoongie (wc 1k)

Nightclub Affair PART 2 - sanjoongie (wc 3k)

Voicemail - TgemstoneT on ao3 (wc 3.4k)

「 ✦ Sugar Daddy!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Wetting Your Lips - @k-hotchoisan

Avaritia - @hwaightme (wc 8.3k)

Baby Said feat. Seonghwa - @destiny-fics

Taken - @hwanchaesong (wc 8k)

Never Too Much - @iwannasuckyourmonstercock

「 ✦ Incubus/Demon!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Say My Name - twinmoles on ao3 (wc 7.6k)

Incubus! Hongjoong - sanjoongie (wc 2k)

The King chapter from a series- @destiny-fics

The Library of Illusions - Restricted Section finale of a series - @kwanisms (wc 9.6k)

✶ Jealousy, Jealousy - destiny-fics

The King's Games series - @hanatiny

Their Pretty Pet feat. San, Seonghwa- @written-in-flowers (wc 7k)

The King of Rot chapter from a series - pearlypearlypearl on ao3 (wc 8k)

Demon Line feat. San, Seonghwa - HalaHollow on ao3 (wc 4.7k)

Day 1 - @ocean-ai (wc 2.8k)

✶ Wings and Thorns - @kitten4sannie (wc 3.4k)

Hotel California part 7 poly,multi-chapter - mint-yooxgi (wc 9.9k)

✶ Paradise Gardens part 15 (Hotel California 2nd volume) - mint-yooxgi (wc 23k)

Inferno - pyeonghongrie (wc 1.6k)

Fallen Angel feat. Yeosang- darkmulti

Devil Eyes part 1 - @hwashotcheeto (wc 2.3k)

Devil Eyes part 2 - hwashotcheeto (wc 1.8k)

All Hands on Me - k-hotchoisan

「 ✦ Hongjoong at the Studio ✦ 」

includes: Producer! Hongjoong, Idol! Hongjoong

✶ Sharing is Caring feat. Mingi - @byuntrash101 (wc 5.2k)

0:126am At His Studio - @sanflowerseeds

✶ Audio Angel - @marigold-doms

Make You Feel Better - @hongthoven (wc 3.2k)

Studio Sessions feat. Jongho - Atiny_DazzlingLight on ao3 (wc 5k)

To Make an Album - @bambikisss

✶ Make You Cry for Me (When I Put My Lips on You) - wonuha on ao3 (wc 5.7k)

Studio Time feat. Mingi - @yuta-senpai (wc 1.9k)

✶ Public/Recorded Sex feat. Wooyoung - @hongism (wc 4k)

Fragile - @ilwonuu

Attention feat. Seonghwa - @beginningofwonderland

22:48 - @beatteez

Two's Better Than One feat. Mingi - @ateezscupid

After Hours - nateezfics (wc 500)

「 ✦ Soft!Hongjoong ✦ 」

includes: Soft Dom! Hongjoong, Service Top! Hongjoong, Needy! Hongjoong, lots and lots and lots of praise my favorite

Morning Haze - nateezfics (wc 1.4k)

✶ All Mine - hongthoven (wc 2.6k)

✶ Oxygen - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 820)

✶ Addicted - @justaaveragereader (wc 1.8k)

HJ & Shibari - @mia-tiny (wc 729)

Precious - @latte-fairytaekwoon (wc 3k)

✶ Pretty Pink - nateezfics (wc 2k)

My Angel - @mirror-juliet

✶ You're My Desire - hongism (wc 1.3k)

Day 17: Body Worship - @ateezreactionsandscenarios (wc 1k)

Scream It Louder - atinywooyoung on a03

Keep Me Close - crimsonbubble

Early Mornings - ddeongsami on ao3 (wc 3.3k)

✶ Good Morning Captain - iguessireadfanficnow on a03 (wc 2k)

✶ Sleep Better - @tinyidle (wc 2k)

Need You - @luvryeo (wc 500)

✶ Untitled drabble- @atinycafe (wc 900)

Stay - atinycafe (wc 1.2k)

Be Hongjoong's cockslut - k-hotchoisan

Take It Easy gn!reader- ocean-ai (wc 700)

✶ Through It All feat. Mingi - @felixsramen

Glad You Came - @frenchkisstheabyss (wc 1.8k)

A Hazy Evening gn!, high sex- cheollipop (wc 1.8k)

Untitled drabble - byuntrash101

* First Time

Philoselene - @ncteez

Untitled drabble - k-hotchoisan

✶ First Time - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 2k)

「 ✦ Non-Human!Hongjoong ✦ 」

✶ Here Were Fairies fairy!hongoong - pearlypearlypearl on ao3 (wc 10k)

Ugly Dragon dragon!hongjoong- @thelargefrye (wc 2k)

✶ Shells mermaid!hongjoong - @last-words-ofashootingstar (multi-chapter)

Something Sinister feat. Seonghwa- @hansols-yoda-boxers (wc 5.2k)

Day 3: Mirror Sex Grim Reaper!Hongjoong - sanjoongie (wc 1.8k)

Project Omen dragon!Hongjoong feat. Wooyoung- @atzfilm (wc 40k)

Drowning in Pleasure siren!Hongjoong- @twisted-tales-of-all (wc 2.3k)

🆕✨ Gaze of Stone gorgon!Hongjoong - @ilovejeongintoo (wc 5k)

「 ✦ Bad Boy!Hongjoong ✦ 」

includes Goth, Emo, Punk dark aesthetic Hongjoong

✶ Ohmami - bambikisss

Dark Kiss part 1 - latte-fairytaekwoon (wc 5k)

Dark Kiss part 2 - latte-fairytaekwoon (wc 8.5k)

Ugh, As If - @ennysbookstore (wc 11k)

Ugh, As If bonus 1 - ennysbookstore (wc 5.4k)

Ugh, As If bonus 2 - ennysbookstore (wc 5.5k)

˖ ࣪⭑last updated 07/05/24 ˖ ࣪⭑

#hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez imagines #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong au #fic recs #ateez fic recs #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #ateez hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong

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meganegatari · 6 months ago

Text

complete ellie masterlist ✧˖*°࿐

LEGEND: ✄ = nsfw (blurbs) | ♡ = personal favs | ☆ = 1k+

series:

how soon is now? ☆

➯ sfw. "hallway crush"!ellie x reader. meet-cute + friends to crushes. potentially completed.

superblood wolfmoon ♡

➯ sfw + action/drama. superhero spider!ellie x reader. ongoing.

loser!ellie collection ☆

➯ sfw/nsfw. amalgamation of everything loser!ellie.

one-shots:

10:15 saturday night

➯ nsfw. sub!ellie x reader. fluffy porn w/ plot. 5k wc.

what a loser! ☆

➯ nsfw. ultra loser!ellie x reader. teasing, teasing, and more teasing. continuation in progress. 2.2k wc.

temptation waits ♡

➯ nsfw. sub vampire!ellie bloodsucking denial. technically request but oneshot length/format. 3.3k wc.

where the mulberry tree stands ♡

➯ sfw. heavy angst. rewrite of a greek tragedy. 4k wc.

regret & saudade; loose threads ⭑.ᐟ ♡

➯ nsfw. angsty exes reigniting(?) + sub!ellie. with the sweetest ever, @bloodstainedsapphic. 3.6k wc.

requests:

makeover

➯ sfw. doing gf!ellie's makeup. 0.8k wc.

cut, chew, cum!

➯ nsfw. aphrodisiac chocolates. no dom/sub just horny. 2.2k wc.

no, tell me more ☆

➯ sfw. stoned loser!ellie. 1k wc.

preference (e.w. ver.) ☆

➯ nsfw. smutty ramble. 0.3k wc.

aftercare

➯ sfw. fluffy ramble. 0.6k wc.

so fuckin' sweet

➯ nsfw. tongue pierced reader performing oral on sub!ellie. 1.4k wc.

using a vibe on r! ☆

➯ nsfw. porn w/out plot. soft dom!ellie. 0.6k wc.

gotta be discreet! ☆

➯ nsfw. remote control vibrator usage on streamer!ellie. 1.6k wc.

learnt your lesson?

➯ nsfw. eating out sub!ellie from the back. intro done by @bloodstainedsapphic. 2k wc.

small thoughts & blurbs:

ice-skating lesson

garage home visit ♡

library trip w/ gf!ellie

romcom style window entry

edging w/ sub!ellie

pathetic loser!ellie ♡ ✄ ☆

beach day

dancing in the club ✄ (?)

kissing all over her body ✄

vocal loser!ellie ✄ ☆

subtop!ellie fingering ✄

thigh pillow ♡

cozy night in

new years kiss

hickeys ♡

archery coach!ellie

awkward ellie

horndog!ellie eating r out ✄

see the rest of my characters' works here!!

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cherrygirlfriend · 8 days ago

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─ LIFE AFTER THE BAU ♡

♡ pairing: dad!spencer x lovely wife!reader

♡ summary: celebrating father's day with your husband after he's retired.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! wc: 1k

♡ author's note: happy father's day to my favorite parents. another 5k celebration fic <3

LOVELY WIFE MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

if someone had asked you if you ever thought your husband would retire from the FBI, you'd laugh them off. spencer loved his team, and he loved what he did; and although you were worried sick about him whenever he left, you knew what the BAU meant for him, and you'd never forgive yourself if you'd try to present him with an ultimatum.

but shortly after your second child, jason, was born, the two of you were laying on the couch after having barely managing to wrangle the tyke into bed, a sigh of relief leaving your lips. spencer turned to look at you with a small smile, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear with a soft, thoughtful hum. you turned your head to look at him, and you could practically see the gears in his handsome head turning.

"a penny for your thoughts? not the one sleeping upstairs, of course, but i should have some in my purse." you grinned at your own joke, spencer's lips lifting up into a small smile.

"i've been thinking about... quitting." spencer said quietly, and you raised your brows, thinking you must've heard wrong, "quitting? as in...?" "leaving the BAU." spencer cleared his throat, his jaw twitching slightly, a nervous tick you'd picked up from years of marriage, "penny's going to start school, and you're gonna have to take of both her and jason when i'm away."

"are you... are you serious? spencer, i didn't think you'd want to leave the BAU. they're your family." "but you three are my family too." "spencer, if this is about... i don't know, worrying that i'm not gonna be able to handle two kids then i don't want you to stress over that. we'll be just fine."

"it's not just that." spencer smiled softly, "i'm getting tired of being away from you three. i want to watch our children grow up." "i just... i don't want you to make any rash decisions that you'll end up regretting, honey. maybe we should think about it a bit more."

you had gotten used to living in a small town.

it had been a year since your husband retired from the FBI and you'd moved to a house in a small town some hours away from your old home in virginia. penny would be starting second grade after the summer, and jason had started running around the house.

spencer was now a physics teacher at the local high school, and penny always made him swear that she was smarter and better at physics than all the kids he taught (which was probably true.)

"is it done, penny pie?" you asked, ruffling your daughter's curls. "mmhm!" she hummed proudly, pointing to the cake that now read 'happy father's day!' in the messy scrawl she inherited from her father, meanwhile her little brother kept trying to poke at the frosting, "not yet, jay." you scolded, raising your brows, the toddler's tiny lips twisting into a pout.

the three of you quietly made your way to the bedroom you shared with spencer, your husband softly snoring on the bed, still in deep sleep, "go." you whispered quietly, holding the cake you'd baked with your daughter. you then watched as your two kids rushed onto the bed, penny helping jason up, the two little kids starting to jump and scream on it.

spencer woke up with a slight startle, his eyes widening as he looked between the two mischievous little alarm clocks that had appeared on the bed, a small smile slowly starting to take over his fearures.

"happy father's day, daddy!" penny shouted while jason babbled something similar to it, the two settling down and snuggling up to him. your husband let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss on top of each of their little heads, ruffling their hair. "thank you so much, you guys."

"happy father's day." you smiled as you made your way to the bed, sitting at the edge of it and holding up the cake, "penny here decorated this thing all by herself." "really?" spencer gasped with feigned dramaticism and his daughter nodded proudly and nuzzled further into her father's embrace. "i thought this must have been professional work with how nice it looks." he smiled, looking at the cake that had an almost illegible scrawl accompanied by sprinkles thrown around like it was the mona lisa.

"can we have cake now, mama? pleeeease?" penny looked at you with the puppy-dog eyes nearly identical to her father's, and you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, going to ruffle her hair. "alright. take it into the kitchen and daddy and i will be right there."

you could see the sparkle in penny's eyes brighten, her little head nodding eagerly. she carefully grabbed the cake, and you watched as the girl and her little brother made their way out of the bedroom, jason bouncing with excitement while his sister walked so carefully as if any tiny movement would make her drop the cake.

"happy father's day." you smile, bringing your lips to his for a quick moment, before pulling away when you felt the motion on your stomach, a soft chuckle leaving your lips. "seems like there's two more little ones who want to wish their daddy a happy father's day."

spencer brought his hand to your pronounced bump, and as if the babies growing inside of you could sense their father, the palm of his hand was met with a powerful kick, spencer's smile widening as he gently stroked your stomach with his thumb. he looked from the bump up to your face, "you know, i love you so-"

"MOOOOM! jason's trying to eat the cake with his hand!!"

you and spencer both burst into laughter. "i guess we should go down there before there's no more cake and jason's face is covered in chocolate."

"i guess so." you rolled your eyes playfully and sighed dramatically, "but i have a present to give you later." you winked.

"oh?"

"mmhm. it's all red, and lacy and it has—"

"MOOOOOOOOM!"

taglist: @purpleplumpudding, @cinnamoncunt, @nonietosay, @bawstruly, @scatorcciobabe, @cynbx, @ariieeesworld, @dramioneforevertilltheend, @esotericcangel, @jjmaybankmylovee, @esotericcangel, @lillied31

click here to join the taglist! 💌

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid au #spencer reid ff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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sandsofire · 1 year ago

Text

Check out this fic from Sar!

If You Walk Away, I Know I'll Fade

Group: TXT

Pairing: Yeonjun x Fem!Reader

Requested by: @anyamaris

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, College AU, Bad Romance, Angst, Lovers to Enemies

Content & Trigger Warnings: Bad boy!Yeonjun, Florist!Reader, strong language, toxic relationship, Yeonjun is mean, Reader is mean at the beginning, bullying, name-calling and use of derogatory words, heartbreak, hurt feelings, regret, rejected apology, breakup, loss of feelings, hate, anger

Summary: You're used to Yeonjun being mean, teasing people and calling them awful names. You just brush it off as harmless fun, calling the ones that get upset wimps who can't take a joke. But when Yeonjun's acidic words get turned on you, you suddenly realise just how toxic your boyfriend really is.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @liliesofdreamsskz @pyeonghongrie-main @naturalogre @bxffietheblxxdy TXT tags: @spicyseonghwas @you-make-skz-stay

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cultofdionysusnet | @sandsofire

Inspiration: "Gotta Be You" by One Direction (title is from the lyrics)

A/N: If you liked this work and want to request your own oneshot, feel free to send me an ask! This one shot is also my entry for the @cultofdionysusnet spring event "The Language of Flowers"

MDNI banner, divider, and support banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

Event Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"I wish I could give you my pain just for one moment. Not to hurt you, but so that you could finally understand how much you hurt me." - Unknown

You'd always known Yeonjun was mean sometimes in the way he talked about people, but it had never been aimed at you so you never saw much reason to try and break him of the habit. In fact, you often joined in; the two of you ripping a person’s confidence or self-esteem to shreds with just a few well-worded sentences. If someone else called you or your boyfriend out on your behaviour, labelling you as bullies or some such nonsense, you’d say it was just a joke and that they were wimps if they got so worked up over it.

Needless to say, neither of you gained many friends, but that wasn’t much of a concern. Both of you already had a few friends and felt no compulsion to make more. Most of your friends also liked to participate in your verbal warfare, the whole group sometimes ganging up on one poor soul. One such occasion led your victim to tattle to a faculty member, the end result being that both you and Yeonjun were suspended for two weeks. Your parents had come down for a visit after receiving a call from the college and tried to talk you out of your “immature behaviour”, but their words fell on deaf ears.

Things went on like this for a while, until your junior year, when everything suddenly changed.

It started out as a normal morning, waking up and getting ready for the day’s classes. Yeonjun picked you up from your apartment as usual and drove to the college, giving you a kiss before you went to your respective classrooms. After sitting down in your usual spot, you turned to greet your friend Jihua. The green-eyed girl leaned towards you, her blonde ponytail falling onto your shoulder.

“How are you handling things?” She asked, a mix of sympathy and curiosity lacing her tone.

You looked at her in confusion, having no idea what she was talking about.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” You asked. Clearly something had happened that you were supposed to know about already.

Jihua pulled out her phone, tapping the screen a few times before passing it to you. On the screen was a post from Yeonjun’s private Instagram, the timestamp showing that it was posted before he picked you up this morning. The post itself was an extremely unflattering picture of you, and under it Yeonjun had added the caption “Who took my pretty little girlfriend and replaced her with this ugly old fat-ass?!”

Tears blurred your vision, heart slowly cracking in two. Suddenly you understood how all those people you’d said similar things to had felt. They hadn’t been wimps at all, they were probably deeply hurt by those words. Regret and loathing pooled in your throat like bitter bile, and in that moment you were no longer blind to how toxic your relationship with Yeonjun truly was.

Jihua wrapped an arm around you and hugged you tight while you worked to compose yourself. When you were a bit calmer she leaned back, clearly about to pose a question. Unfortunately, the professor chose that very moment to enter the room and announce the start of class. Your friend sighed, giving you one more hug before picking up her pen and facing the front. You copied her actions, the dull ache within keeping you from applying your full attention.

That morning’s classes were like hell, your mind far from present. Even a couple of the teachers seemed concerned by your atypical lethargy, but had other obligations that prevented them from offering more than a passing “are you alright?” Your only response was to nod mutely and go on your way.

At lunch you and Jihua sat by yourselves, avoiding Yeonjun and your other friends like the plague. For what was probably the first time ever, you were glad Jihua never liked nor participated in the bullying. It was nice to have someone with you while your whole world crumbled down around you.

At one point Yeonjun looked like he was going to come over and question your behaviour, but the sight of a potential victim distracted him. You knew you would have to confront him eventually, but you just weren’t ready yet. You needed some time away, a bit of separation, before you could even think about calling your boyfriend out for his actions.

The rest of the afternoon was just as tense, some of the students eyeing you with disgust or whispering to their friends as you walked by. It seemed you were the only one who had no access to Yeonjun’s private posts, and your heart sank at the thought of his poisoned words spreading through the college. Would even Jihua turn against you if all the students believed Yeonjun instead of you?

Your thoughts continued to spiral over the next few days, your grades beginning to suffer as you went about each day on autopilot, going through the motions without a single thought behind your actions. If Yeonjun thought something was off before, he knew it for sure now, and tried to talk to you at every possible moment. You continued to avoid him, along with most others. Jihua was the only one who could get through to you, and even then it was often just for minutes at a time.

Then one day, about a week after everything went to shit, you finally felt able to tell Jihua what had sent you spiralling so deeply. Curled up on your bed under a thick blanket, you broke the tense silence.

“He did it on purpose, you know. Posting that where he knew he could get away with it because I wouldn't see it.”

“How did he know you wouldn't see it?” Jihua queried, looking confused.

“He told me once, back when we first started dating, that he rarely ever posted on his private account so there was no need for me to follow it. And like the little fool that I was, I believed him without even questioning a thing.” You took a deep breath and continued your explanation.

“He knew, he fucking knew, that I had past issues with my self-esteem and body image. I told him that when we first got together, and he promised never to do anything that would damage the fragile progress I’d made.

“After you showed me the post he made that day, I made note of the username and looked it up when I got back to my apartment. He's been making fun of me and my looks for years, pretty much from the moment we met. And this whole time I've been glued to his side without a single clue what was going on behind my back.”

Tears filled your eyes and you quickly blinked them back, afraid any interruption might break your resolve.

“I have been such an asshole to everyone around who wasn't deemed a friend, all for a guy who didn't even care about me. God, those poor people…the things I said…I don't even recognize who I am anymore. I thought I liked the person I'd changed into, but now that the blinders are off, I hate who I've become.”

You sat up, gazing at your only true friend out of bloodshot eyes. “What do I do, Jihua? How do I tell him it's over without letting him woo me back in?”

Jihua thought for a moment, then smiled widely as an idea came to her. “You work part time at your mom’s flower shop, right? And you know a lot about which flowers mean what?”

You nodded in response to both questions.

“Well, find some flowers that will say what you want him to know, send them to him, then cut him off and don't look back.”

There was silence for a moment as you mull over Jihua’s plan. You had to admit, it was right down your alley. And this way, you didn't even have to see him; someone else would deliver the flowers for you. The tiniest of smiles bloomed on your face as you said, ”I think that's just what I'll do.”

It took you a couple days’ research to find what you were looking for, but soon you discovered the blossoms you wished to send: orange lilies, for hatred and/or revenge. On the day you found them, you and Jihua headed straight to your mom's flower shop after classes. Luckily, there was a large supply of orange lilies and soon you had a fair sized bouquet of them complete with a short but scathing note informing Yeonjun that the relationship was over.

“Will he pick up on what they mean?” Jihua queried.

You nodded. “He should, he knows I’m really into flower meanings because of working with Mom. And if he doesn’t know directly what they mean, I’m almost certain he’ll look them up.” You let out a deep sigh. “Now all we have to do is wait until he gets them.”

“How will you know when he gets them?”

You grimaced, already envisioning the explosion of texts and calls you would inevitably receive. “Oh, trust me, I’ll know.”

It took a couple of days for the flowers to reach Yeonjun’s apartment, but as soon as they did he started blowing your phone up. Some of the messages were angry, his temper on full display as he let fly with insults that brought you to tears. Other messages were just straight-up pitiful, you could almost see him down on his knees grovelling and begging just from the way the texts were worded. If it hadn’t been for Jihua staying by your side and helping you sort through your emotions, you might’ve ended up crawling back with your proverbial tail between your legs. As it was, you ended up just powering your phone off to get away from his incessant pursuits.

By the time the weekend passed and you returned to class on Monday, the danger of him winning you back over had passed and you were firm on your decision to distance yourself. Jihua had advised going no contact if he didn’t back off soon, and you kept the thought in the back of your mind as you entered your biology class. Jihua didn’t have this class with you, so you took a seat at the very back where Yeonjun wouldn’t see you since he and the others always sat at the very front.

You kept your head low, working on your project for your drawing class as you waited for your professor to arrive. You heard shuffling at the front of the room and looked up just in time to see Yeonjun and his friends taking their seats in the front row. You see his head start to turn and look down quickly, focusing back in on your drawing. Footsteps move towards you with purpose, and you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder. You look up into Yeonjun’s face, his dark eyes swirling with a mix of unreadable emotions.

“What do you want?” You ask sharply, a tinge of bitterness in your tone.

Yeonjun looks taken aback, but sits down beside you anyway. “Those flowers you sent me…what do they mean? I wanted to look them up, but a part of me was afraid to.”

You take a deep breath and look Yeonjun in the eyes. “Orange lilies symbolise hatred and revenge. You hurt me Yeonjun, and no amount of yelling or pleading will change that. When we first started dating I specifically told you what would hurt me most, and you swore never to do that to me. Then you turn and do that very thing behind my back for years! We are through, Yeonjun, and I honestly regret ever dating you in the first place.”

By this point you are trembling with rage and tears are threatening to stream down your face. You know there’s no way you can pay attention through a class right now, so you quickly gather your things and all but run from the classroom, taking refuge in an empty art room. After calming yourself down, you put in your earbuds and pull out the sketchbook you’d been drawing in earlier. Picking a high-energy playlist to help keep you from falling into the doldrums, you turn to a blank page and start a new drawing, channelling all your emotions into each and every line.

As you drew you reminded yourself that this was not the end. You would move on, and you would be okay. Your happiness did not have to end here, at Yeonjun’s expense. You could be the better person and prove that you could survive without him. Pulling out your phone, you sent a text to Jihua.

You smiled and pocketed your phone, returning to your drawing.

Two years later

A lot had happened since you broke up with Yeonjun, and you honestly couldn't be happier.

Several months afterwards you met a really sweet guy named Yuta, and the two of you hit it off immediately. Yuta was a few years older than you but was almost the complete opposite of Yeonjun, always making sure you knew how beautiful you were and how much he loved you. He made you feel like the most special person in the entire world, and you soaked it all up like a dry sponge.

Not long after the breakup Yeonjun quit showing up at college, and you heard through the gossip grapevine that he was not handling it well at all, going so far as refusing to eat or come out of his dorm room. You couldn't help but feel a little twinge of glee at this, knowing that he now understood how you had often felt. After that you quit paying attention to the rumours, feeling like the chapter had now been closed for good.

One year after you first met Yuta he proposed to you, and you happily said yes. Your life soon became quite busy, between finals, graduation, and wedding planning; but you could honestly say it was the best time of your life. For the first time ever, you felt truly loved and cared for, and it was the best feeling in the whole entire world. With Yuta by your side, you could be wholly and completely okay.

#group; txt #member; yeonjun #genre; angst #au; non idol #au; e2l #au; college #type; oneshot #wc; 1k-5k #rating; 18+#net member; Kpop-stories-21

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 1 year ago

Text

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the endings

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. click here for game day (group) chapter.

⋆˙⟡ wc: member endings are ~1k each, group endings are less than 500 words each! (in total: ~5k)

⋆˙⟡ reader: no pronouns used for reader at all in any of the endings :)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated.

⋆˙⟡ endings summary: choose your own ending! jiwoong, hao, matthew, hanbin, taerae, group (quasi-poly), and group (revenge) are all included. most are angst/fluff and some are suggestive.

⋆˙⟡ warnings: there is no smut in these endings, but they allude to smut that happened previously or suggest smut that would follow these endings. please, minors dni still with this post! member endings are all happy (with angst). revenge ending is also happy, depending on what makes you happy! lol.

I'M SO SAD IT'S OVER. writing the bully series was so much fun! thank you to the anon who suggested it in the first place a couple months ago and for everyone who has given positive feedback/input! i appreciate it so much. these endings are all crafted with so much love! let me know which one you love most. maybe i'll put a poll at the bottom lol. ily, catch you in the next series!!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

jiwoong 🎭

“so i’ll hand out these scripts and we’ll get started right away,” professor lee announces, walking around the room and handing out scripts for everyone’s assigned scenes. mina sits next to you as usual, except this week she’s staring daggers at jiwoong from across the room. you guess it beats her making googly eyes at him.

mina had called you last night to rant again about how much of a jerk “jiwoong-sshi” is. note the absence of the word “oppa”. you were sorry that he’d stood her up, but you knew what kind of a person he could be long before last week.

and she unfortunately didn’t seem to care how much of a jerk jiwoong was when you were the one bearing the brunt of it.

but you don’t want to dwell on it. you’d just fucked him and four of his friends in the campus activities lounge and had no plans to tell her. she’d asked you how the “revenge” went, but you’d kept it all pretty vague. mina was no prude, but she might have the urge to gossip a bit with news as insane as that. you wouldn’t blame her if she did.

still, you didn’t regret what you did saturday. not even a little bit. in fact, it made you feel kind of proud every time you thought about it.

you spend all of class working on a scene with mina in which you play a really outrageous set of characters trying to escape arrest. it’s a role that you’ve never opted to take before— one that requires you to be bold, funny, and brave.

professor lee praises you after you present it at the end of class. “excellent work. what’s gotten into you, (y/n)-sshi? whatever it is, let’s keep peeling back that shell!”

you smile with pride, eyes scanning the rest of the room until they happen to land on kim jiwoong.

he’s smiling, too.

when class ends, you pick your bag up off the floor and toss in your marked-up script. you’d normally throw it in the recycling bin, but you want to keep it this time. as a reminder of what you’re capable of when you’re sure of yourself.

mina giggles as you walk out the door together and into the hallway. “i’m surprised, but you really pulled that off!”

“i’m not.”

both of your heads whip around to find kim jiwoong leaning against the wall behind you.

“you just needed some... encouragement,” he says with a smirk, but there’s a noticeable warmth in his eyes.

“and what exactly do you need in order to be able to show up to a commitment you made?” mina asks with a scowl. your eyes narrow at him, too.

“listen, i–... i’m really sorry, mina,” he responds sincerely. the fact that he even got her name right has you stifling a gasp— let alone the apology that prefaced it. “i shouldn’t’ve stood you up. that was mean. so i’m sorry.”

mina sucks in her cheek, looking at the ceiling as she considers his sentiment.

“but i actually have something else to apologize for, too,” he adds quickly, gaze moving back and forth between the both of you. “i... i wasn’t really interested in you in the first place. i was—... i used you. to get a reaction out of the person i’m actually interested in.”

his eyes meet yours. your lips part in shock at his sudden confession. you stare at him for a long moment, unspeaking until—

“AREYOUKIDDINGMEYOUABSOLUTEDICKOFAHUMANBEINGYOULIETOANDSTANDUPMYFRIENDANDLEAVEHERINFUCKINGTURMOILOVERYOUANDTHEN—.”

you glance over at mina, expecting to see tears running down her face but instead...

she’s grinning. from ear to ear. and not in a joker sort of way— just genuine happiness.

“i knew it,” she says, clasping her hands together in front of her face and jumping excitedly. “i KNEW it! i knew you both liked each other!”

“you—... what!?” you exclaim, eyes bugging at this bizarre turn of events. “what do you mean, ‘you knew we liked each other’!?”

“i’m also confused,” jiwoong says with a frown. “considering i didn’t really know until, like, yesterday.”

“well, i knew you were going to like each other. eventually,” she says with a nod. “you know, shy, quiet person and arrogant, attractive person trope. it’s destiny!”

“if you really thought that, then why did you wanna go out with him so bad?” you ask through furrowed brow.

“‘cause he’s hot. duh,” she says, shaking her head with a smile as if your question was very silly. “can you blame me for wanting a taste first?”

“well, if it’s just a taste we’re talking about—,” jiwoong starts to offer with a smirk.

“one more word and the only thing you’ll be tasting is—” you interject, balling your hand into a fist.

“aw, first lovers’ spat! i’ll leave you guys to it,” mina says quickly before sprinting off down the now-empty hall.

you look down at your shoes awkwardly. “i have nothing else to say to you.”

“then, you won’t mind if i talk?” jiwoong asks, not waiting for a response to continue. “when hanbin made me start bullying you last year, i honestly didn’t want to. you were pathetic enough already without my help.”

“gee, thanks,” you reply with with a frown.

“but then i sort of started to have fun with it. the way you reacted was absolutely intoxicating. you made it all so rewarding— coming up with a new plan to drive you crazy every day,” he explains. “then last week, when we started that competition, i found a whole new way to drive you crazy. and i liked it a lot more.”

“this is the most convoluted apology i’ve ever received,” you remark with a sigh.

“after saturday, seeing you like that... you were far from pathetic. and it made me proud. i think, somewhere along the way, i just became really fond of you,” jiwoong confesses, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “and i also desperately want to buy you better clothes.”

“okay, i’m leaving now,” you announce, turning on your heel.

“what a coincidence. me too,” jiwoong says, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours as he starts to drag you with him down the hall. “you’re hungry, right?”

you start to protest, but as you look at his handsome side profile— dark hair covering the tips of his ears— you realize you are, in fact... hungry.

“starving,” you answer.

he stops walking to look at you, eyes widening with surprise. “yeah? what would you like to eat then?”

staring at his lips, you can’t help but lick your own. “mina’s right, y’know.”

jiwoong’s head tilts, the corner of his lip upturning slowly as he registers your expression. “is she?”

“mhm,” you answer, pressing your lips to his. he responds quickly: soft, lazy, and stupidly addictive. you can’t believe you let him get away last week without kissing you. you could give him just one chance, couldn’t you? “but what she doesn’t know...”

he attaches your lips again, free hand cupping your jaw.

“is that one taste of you...”

jiwoong inhales sharply as you gently bite his bottom lip.

“just isn’t enough.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

hao 🎻

you rush into orchestra on tuesday, already five minutes late. unfortunately, your regular bus never showed at the stop. and then your back-up bus also never showed. which means you had to walk all the way to campus when you hadn’t planned to— your violin case in tow.

rehearsal having started already, you make a beeline for your seat and frantically open your violin case. luckily you’d warmed up your instrument before you’d left your house this week and your bow is ready to play when it hits the violin strings.

or, it would be, if you didn’t just realize you forgot your sheet music.

“oh, for fucks sake,” you mumble, looking up at the sky and begging for the sweet release of death in this tragically embarrassing moment.

a soft creaking noise draws your attention to your left, where you find hao’s music stand is suddenly angled in your direction.

he doesn’t say anything or look at you. he just keeps playing. and so you follow the first chair’s lead.

rehearsal goes surprisingly well. you’re sure you managed to correct all of your mistakes from last week after being able to put more rosin on your bow.

“third and fourth chair are falling behind the tempo,” hao replies when professor ahn asks him for notes about the performance. your eyes widen when he names a violinist other than yourself that needs correcting. “it makes it harder for first and second chair to successfully introduce and complete the next movement.”

first and second chair? hao was voluntarily grouping you together?

professor ahn seems as surprised as you. she nods, writing down her own notes in the binder on her music stand. she waves her hand, dismissing the orchestra for the day. you clean your violin, getting it ready to be put back in its case as your classmates begin to file out of the orchestra room.

“(y/n)-sshi,” professor ahn calls suddenly from the doorway. your heart drops to your stomach at the mention of your name. “you actually played quite well today. i’ll assume it’s because you had the help of the concertmaster’s annotations. don’t be late again.”

you nod quickly, bowing your head respectfully to her. “thank you, professor-nim. i’ll play even better next time.”

you’re left alone with hao as usual, both cleaning your violins with the utmost care. when you finish, you place your instrument in its case before fishing around in the side pocket and pulling out something small.

hao locks his violin case, placing it sideways at his feet. finally, he looks at you.

you hold out the cake of rosin that he’d given you last week and told you to bring to your next rehearsal. you’d be remiss to notice that even though you didn’t show him until after class, he never told professor ahn that you’d stolen it like he threatened.

hao examines the rosin, completely ruined from what you’d both done with it. there was no cleaning it and you couldn’t use it if you tried.

you expect to catch some attitude, but, to your surprise, he smiles. “guess it couldn’t be salvaged, huh?”

“guess not,” you agree with a shrug. “at least you got some use out of it.”

“mm,” he hums after a moment before reaching down and reopening his violin case delicately. his hand disappears into one of the side pockets and pulls out a fresh cake of his premium rosin.

and then he hands it to you.

you stare at it in your palm, wide-eyed. “w-what are you—”

“you’re a pretty decent violinist,” hao says matter-of-factly. “sometimes— not often— but sometimes i feel like you have the potential to be almost as good as me. but you’ll never reach it if you don’t start using higher quality products to care for your instrument.”

“oh,” you reply, brow furrowing as he locks up his violin again. “so you’ve decided to take pity on me now?”

he smirks. “something like that.”

“i guess it’s better than pure hatred,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you tuck the box of rosin into your own violin case.

“i never hated you,” hao says with a frown. you sit back up, lips parting as your eyes meet his. “i didn’t particularly like you, but i only told professor ahn about the mistakes you were making because they were careless. you always came in the next week with those same mistakes completely perfected.”

“so you were motivating me through public shame?” you clarify, one brow piqued in disbelief.

“doing whatever it takes to improve the sound of the orchestra is what sets a great concertmaster apart from a mediocre one,” he explains, deciding to paint himself as a misunderstood martyr.

“oh, i’m sure it was so difficult for you to step up and take one from the team,” you mock, a laugh escaping you at hao’s audacity. “do you hear what you’re saying? you’re so fucking full of yourself. who gave you the right to play god and—?”

hao leans in, connecting his lips to yours mid-rant. your breath hitches in disbelief as he pulls back.

“would you be mad if i said i wanna get to know you better?” he asks, hand resting on your thigh.

you look down at his long fingers on your soft skin. “furious,” is what you answer.

he presses his lips together in a hopeless smile. “i’ll take it that means you don’t feel the same way then.”

“you always think you know everything about everything,” you huff, grabbing his hand in yours and bringing it further up your thigh. “but you don’t. so i guess you will have to get to know me better if you wanna keep being an insufferable know-it-all.”

as soon as a smile appears on hao’s face, it’s replaced by the cutest frown. “i’m sad now.”

“why?” you ask, not sure how your answer could’ve possibly made him sad when it was the one he wanted.

“i took for granted how absolutely fucking adorable you are when you’re angry,” he whines, a disheartened little pout on his pretty lips. “kind of makes me wish i could keep making you angry from time to time.”

you blink at him, looking around awkwardly as a reluctant smile grows on your face. “i mean—... i guess i’d have to worry about my playing skills suffering if you stop completely. that wouldn’t be very responsible of concertmaster-nim.”

“no, it wouldn’t,” he replies, biting his lip in a smirk. you’re fully aware of what this title does to him. “so what should i do to keep you playing well?”

you look up at the ceiling, considering your options. “maybe you could see what other things in the music room fit up my—” “that’s depraved,” hao scolds, shaking his head at you in shock before a grin peeks through. “are you free right now?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

matthew 💪

with three weeks left of your soccer unit in phys. ed, you braced for an awkward class on wednesday. as you wait outside in the warm, spring breeze with your classmates, you waited anxiously for matthew to show up.

he doesn’t.

coach yang blows his whistle, signaling for you to form a straight line in front of him. luckily one of your classmates asks the question for you.

“coach-nim! where’s matthew hyung?” the younger boy asks in front of you. “we wanted to talk to him about the game.”

“ah, matthew-sshi is on a strict regimen of weight-training and cardio until the championship,” coach yang answers with a sigh. a little quieter, he adds, “and maybe that’ll teach him to stay in line.”

maybe, you think. maybe not.

it’s a surprisingly pleasant p.e. class. your classmates are respectful, giving you as much grace during the game as possible. your sunbaenim from your calc class even pushes you behind him when a ball comes a bit too quickly towards your face.

“thanks,” you say with a smile.

he smiles back. “don’t mention it.”

this class sure was different when someone wasn’t trying to kill you the whole time. that being said, you’re pretty disappointed that matthew isn’t here. you can’t help but wonder how he would’ve treated you today after saturday night.

when class is over, coach yang hands you a hose, some rags and a ball trolley. he still can’t look you in the eye after what happened. “here’s your supplies. shouldn’t take you more than an hour.”

you nod ashamedly, getting to work right away.

“and a word of advice,” coach yang adds over his shoulder. “don’t be afraid to put him in his place from time to time. you played well today without him. it’s nice to see you have some more confidence, (y/n)-sshi. good luck.”

the last thing you were expecting today was a pep talk from coach yang. you walk over to the right side of the field and pick up a muddy, grass-stained ball and bring it over to the hose. washing it thoroughly and buffing any stains with a rag, you drop it into the ball trolley and make your way to the back of the field to retrieve a couple more.

you grab one from behind the goal, turning around to fetch the other one. but as you do, you come face to face with matthew— tossing the ball gently back and forth between his hands.

“hi,” he greets shyly.

your lips press together in an awkward smile. “hi.”

he doesn’t say anything else for a moment, so you brush past him— bringing your ball back to the hose. he follows behind you quietly, placing his soccer ball on the ground beside yours. you pick up the hose and douse them both in the cold water. matthew picks up a rag and kneels down on the ground next to you, buffing the soccer ball you’d brought over.

you pick up the one he brought over, doing the same. “that one was mine.”

his eyes widen, holding out the ball to you wordlessly in an attempt to give it back.

you can’t help but laugh. “i was just kidding.”

“right,” he replies with a nod, returning to cleaning the ball. “sorry.”

you raise one eyebrow at him quizzically. “are you okay?”

“hm?” he asks before nodding quickly. “oh, yeah. i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you question further. “because this is my punishment and you’re helping me when you should be getting ready for practice.”

matthew shrugs. “it was my fault.”

“it absolutely was,” you agree, tossing your soccer ball into the trolley. “and you got away with it scot-free.”

suddenly, matthew’s hand reaches toward your forehead— thumb brushing over the tiny scar from where the ball he kicked had scraped your skin. “i shouldn’t have.”

well this is... new. matthew taking accountability for his actions? you never thought you’d see the day.

“i—... um...” he stutters, starting to pick at the grass in front of him. “i think i should probably be punished. for that. and for a lot of things.”

oh.

so he’d really liked it.

“oh. should i tell coach yang to—,” you play dumb, starting to stand up like you’re about to march right into his office yourself.

“NO! ... no. no,” matthew grabs your hand, keeping you seated next to him. he bites his lip, clearly embarrassed by what he’s about to say. “want you to do it.”

“huh,” you reply with frown. “i thought you didn’t really prefer people who were tainted.”

“you aren’t tainted,” he says, shaking his head. “that—... that was really immature of me to say. and gross. and i’m... i’m sorry.”

you look at him for a long moment, studying his eyes to see if he’s being genuine or not. there’s no obvious signs of lying. he’s very nervous, but it’s not because he’s being untruthful. maybe it’s because he finally is.

“and i can also assume that you said sorry to the waterboy?” you ask, pressing your lips together in an attempt to not laugh at his panicked expression. “and that defense player on the other team? actually, you should probably just draft a mass apology and send it to every university team you’ve ever played against. it would save some time.”

matthew nods sullenly. “yeah. i can do that.”

you have to admit, you like matthew quite a bit when he’s like this. he’s agreeable, apologetic, and distressingly adorable.

“i appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” you reply, patting him on the shoulder gently. “i think... maybe... we could make this work.”

matthew’s eyes light up at this. “really? you’d wanna keep doing... this?”

you smile. “yeah. it doesn’t sound so bad, now that you’re being nice to me.”

matthew smiles with embarrassment, avoiding your gaze. “i guess i should’ve tried this approach last year. but i—... have you ever heard of alpha male podcasts?”

“matthew,” you groan, palm flying to your forehead in disbelief. “you’re gonna unsubscribe from every single one of those, okay?”

he nods frantically. “of course. they didn’t get me anything anyway, except a light ‘roid addiction.”

“do not tell anyone that, oh my god,” you reprimand, hitting his thigh. “you’re also gonna throw all of that out immediately.

“ah, it was so expensive though,” he winces, tilting his head as he weighs the consequences. “can’t i sell them instead?”

“JUST GET RID OF—,” you shout, cutting yourself off when matthew suddenly leans over and kisses your cheek.

he grins. “you’re so beautiful when you’re disappointed in me.”

“you’re—... you—...” you stutter until matthew leans in again, pressing his lips to yours this time. he pulls back, leaving your brain hazy. “please don’t be so mean to me again.”

he shakes his head decisively. “i won’t. i promise.”

you smile, stomach fluttering as he beams at you.

“but, like... you’re okay with being mean to me sometimes, right?” matthew asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“oh, absolutely,” you answer with a nod. “i’ll start now.”

he laughs passively, obviously interpreting this as a joke. “sure, sure.”

you stand up, hovering your foot over his crotch. “finish cleaning these soccer balls. now.”

matthew’s eyes widen with fear, hopping to his feet immediately, bowing his head to you, and sprinting off to the end of the field to complete his task.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

hanbin 📝

“hanbin-ah!” you shout, running down the dimly-lit, empty hallway. how far could he have made it in the few minutes since he’d stormed out of the activities lounge without so much as a word.

“hanbin-ah...”

a banging down the hallway to your right seems to signal his location. you turn down it, running until you reach the end and a long hall of public lockers unfolds before you. to your left is a very distraught hanbin, clanging his locker door about as he holds a small book in his hands.

the floor is littered with torn up pieces of paper, that seem to be coming from the book he’s holding.

“FUCK,” he yells, ripping out another page from the book and crumpling it up— tossing it onto the ground, where it lands at your feet.

you bend down and pick it up, carefully unfolding it and reading what’s written:

what the fuck does (y/n) see in junseo hyung-nim? i thought that poem was for me. could (y/n) really choose him over me? is he better than me? i don’t understand. what did i do wrong?

it’s a diary entry— your name, mentioned twice. the confession contained in it sends a chill down your spine. hanbin had posted your poem about junseo sunbaenim out of spite.

out of jealousy?

you pick up another crumpled paper and unfold it, reading:

i just hung up all the copies of the poem around campus. i got the other guys in on it, too. maybe this’ll teach you not to take people for granted. maybe it’ll keep you thinking about me.

hanbin throws his empty journal across the hallway, sitting down on the ground with his back against a locker as he runs a hand through his hair in distress.

you walk over to him cautiously, standing in front of him and waiting until he looks up at you. you hold out the pieces of paper from his journal and drop them on his lap. “so you decided to ruin my life because you couldn’t have me?”

hanbin reads the writing on the crumpled papers, tears suddenly spilling over and streaming down his cheeks. he wipes them away as quickly as they come. his chin dimples up with sadness. it reminds you of something...

you look in his locker, finding his messenger bag and opening the flap. you dig around gently until your hand wraps around it.

you sit down next to hanbin, back against a locker as you place the little, plush hamster in his lap. he stares at it for a long moment before finally picking it up in his hand and giving it a gentle squish. a tear falls onto the hamster’s nose.

“you found this the other day?” he says, rubbing the back of his hand across his cheeks again.

you nod. “he’s cute.”

hanbin smiles. “i was hoping you’d think that.”

“what do you mean?” you ask, a confused pout forming on your lips.

“i was hoping you’d think he was cute,” he says, running his thumb over the hamster’s fur, “when i bought it for you.”

“what?”

“on the class trip to the national library last year,” he continues. “we sat next to each other on the bus and you pulled three plushies out of your bag like it was the most normal thing ever. and you told me all their names and what they wanted to be when they grew up.”

“hanbin-ah...”

“and we took those polaroids of each other outside on the grass. and ate kimbap at the picnic table in the garden. and ran around together finding the weirdest books we could. and then, in the giftshop, they had a bunch of cute plushies themed off of children’s books and...” hanbin rambles wistfully. “and i bought this one for you while you weren’t looking.”

“hanbinnie, i’m so sorry,” you interject truthfully. you see the full picture now and you never had before. “i shouldn’t’ve been so oblivious as to make you feel like i was leading you on, but i was. and i never should’ve told you about that poem in the first place. i’m sorry.”

he blinks back at you before shaking his head adamantly. “it’s— it’s not your fault.”

“but i hurt your feelings,” you assert, meeting his gaze. “and i never wanted to do that. you were my first friend i made at university. actually, you’re the only friend i’ve made at university. how pathetic is that?”

he shakes his head again, brow furrowing sadly. “it’s not. it’s—... it’s my fucking fault that that happened. it’s... it’s all my fault.”

“hanbinnie, it’s—... it’s okay, you—,” you try to alleviate his burden, like the moral person you are.

“no, don’t do that. don’t say it’s okay, because it’s not,” hanbin asserts, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. “i made you share something you didn’t want to. and i betrayed your trust. and i—... fucking—... all because i couldn’t handle my own emotions?”

you chew your cheek nervously. “listen, it’s okay—.”

“you’re the nicest person on the fucking planet if you can sit here and say that’s okay,” he says, a sad laugh escaping him. “i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but... i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to fully express to you how sorry i am.”

you don’t respond, stunned by hanbin’s genuine apology.

“i could try, though, if you want me to,” he blathers on anxiously. “i could write a hundred thousand words worth of apologies and you could rip them all up and make me start again and—.”

“he looks like you,” you interject suddenly.

he frowns. “hm?”

“the hamster,” you clarify, holding out your hand. eyes wide, hanbin places the hamster in your palm. “he looks a lot like you.”

hanbin doesn’t say anything, his eyes trained on the side of your face as you squish the little plush.

“it’s funny, actually,” you hold the hamster up for him to see. “looking at this hamster and trying to be mad at him is a lot like how it feels when i look at you.”

eyes still wide, hanbin’s bottom lip finds its way between his teeth— not sure how to answer to your overwhelming mercy.

“you’re right. that wasn’t okay,” you say as you bring the hamster to your lips, giggling after you give him a little peck. “but this is okay.”

“this?” he repeats.

“doesn’t this feel pretty nice?” you pose, eyes locking with his. “us getting along?”

hanbin nods slowly. “yeah. it does.”

“what do you say we continue this?” you ask with a smile. “indefinitely.”

“i—...” he stutters as a smile grows on his lips as well. “i’d really like that.”

“me too,” you agree, eyes abruptly narrowing. “but it’ll cost you.”

his brow raises, swallowing hard at your words. “absolutely. anything. name your price.”

you hold up the hamster to the side of your face, doing your best to mimic his little expression. “i want him.”

if hanbin’s eyes could turn to cartoon love hearts, they would. but because he’s a human person, his pupils simply dilate. “you—... i—... he’s yours. he was always yours.”

you grin, giving the hamster a hug. “thanks.”

“thank you,” he says, still reeling from your cuteness. “i’ll miss him, but he’s where he belongs now.”

“maybe you can visit him sometimes,” you offer, biting your lip shyly. “you’re clearly his biological father, after all. i’m sure your presence in his life is nothing less than enriching.”

he laughs. “some father i am. i didn’t even manage to give him a name.”

you smile. “he has a name.”

hanbin tilts his head curiously. “he does?”

you nod. “his name is binnie. jr.”

his cheeks turn red at this suggestion. “really? you want to name him after me?”

you don’t answer. instead, you ask softly, “hanbinnie?”

“yeah?” he replies eagerly.

“do you...” you start, finding the confidence to finish your question. “do you still like me?”

hanbin’s breath hitches in his throat. “um...”

“it’s okay if you don’t,” you assure with a sigh. “i just... a year ago, i didn’t even know someone like you would be interested in me. you’re so handsome. and smart. and the soccer team’s star player. i never even considered the possibility that you felt that way about me. but now, i—... i have more confidence. maybe you accidentally gave it to me, but i have it nonetheless.”

he looks at you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“and i think i realized that... i want you to like me,” you confess. “i wanted you to like me the whole time. i just didn’t want to admit it because i was afraid it was too much to ask for. and i—.”

“(y/n),” hanbin interjects with the fondest smile imaginable. “i like you so much i think my chest might explode.”

you can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. neither can he. hanbin brings his hand to cup your jaw, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

“oh and i’m sorry i fucked all your friends right in front of your face,” you say, pulling back momentarily.

hanbin laughs, shrugging it off. “i totally deserved it. and... it was pretty hot.”

“keep kissing me,” you request with a smile.

“don’t have to tell me twice.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

taerae 🎤

after a completely bizarre session of portraits and quotes for the campus newspaper, the boys all awkwardly grab their things and head out the door. as you place your clipboard and pen on the activities director’s desk, you see a familiar backpack shoved behind a chair. you forgot you’d stashed taerae’s bag and phone in here when he didn’t come back for it on friday.

you walk over to it, picking it up off of the floor and slinging it over your shoulder. you shut off the lights, walking down the hallway until you spot your former best friend— sitting alone on the entrance steps to kang hall in the spring night air.

you plop yourself down next to him, placing his bag on the step in front of him. he turns to you, eyes red and watery.

“oh, tae,” you whisper, head falling instinctively to his shoulder.

“why’re you comforting me?” he asks with a sniffle. “you should be punching me in the face or something.”

“would you prefer it?” you joke, trying to get him to smile. “because i can absolutely just—.”

“this is good,” he says with a breathy laugh.

“good,” you affirm, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “i love you.”

“(y/n),” taerae seems to plead. “i can’t—.”

“i love you,” you repeat. “and i miss you so much.”

“i—...” he stumbles verbally, but grabs your hand in his. “i—.”

“when did you lose your virginity?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

he gulps. “uh... a couple years ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” you question, a little hurt that he’d kept this big news a secret from you even when you were still friends. “to who?”

taerae shakes his head anxiously. “it’s not that important.”

“oh, come on,” you urge, squeezing his hand. “i told you i lost mine to sungchan oppa during that pool party at mina’s dad’s house.”

he flinches at this. “i remember.”

“it was that same pool party where you threw up in the pool,” you say with a smirk. “an eventful night for both of us.”

“mhm,” taerae mumbles shortly. he was definitely growing more bothered with each mention of that party.

“and to think, a couple of years later we’d do what we just did,” you muse in an attempt to dig something more out of him. “we’ve come so far from you throwing up in the pool at the thought of kissing me.”

“i never said that!” taerae exclaims with frustration. “you said that. and i just... went with it.”

you shake your head, brow furrowing confusedly. “then why did you throw up?”

“because—... because i was nervous,” he says softly. “i was so nervous to kiss you that i threw up in mina’s dad’s pool and then i was so embarrassed that i couldn’t even open my mouth to deny that i was disgusted by the thought of kissing you.”

you blink at him in shock. “did—... did you have feelings for me?”

after a long moment, he nods. but there’s more tension lingering under the surface. you know there’s more that needs to be said.

“i really liked you,” taerae confesses softly. “i never wanted to weird you out or anything, but i just liked you from the first day i met you. i loved being your friend, but i just couldn’t help it. when you told me at that party that you’d hooked up with sungchan hyung... i just got so jealous. i thought i could be cool about it, but i was drunk and...”

your eyes are wide, clinging onto his every word.

“and i hooked up with someone, too,” he admits with a pained expression. “i thought it might be the only way to make you jealous back, so i—... i—...”

you hold your breath.

“i hooked up with mina!” he exclaims quickly, looking down at his lap in shame.

“YOU WHAT!?” you scream, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look you in the eyes. “that’s not fucking funny!”

“i know it’s not,” he replies despairingly. “i regretted it instantly afterwards. no— while it was happening. i was so disgusted with myself. i hated lying to you, but i just couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. i thought i wouldn’t have to until last year, when hanbin hyung came up to me in the hallway after class.”

your brow furrows at the mention of hanbin’s name.

“he said he knew what i’d done with mina. apparently he had a few friends that went to the party,” he explains sadly. “and that if i didn’t do exactly what he told me to, that he’d tell you what i did and he’d make things even worse for you. i just couldn’t let either of those things happen.”

“how—... how did you even manage to bag mina?” you ask in a daze.

“well, i mean,” taerae grimaces. “it’s mina.”

“she’s a total slut,” you nod, catching on immediately. “more power to her.”

“the most power to her,” taerae agrees quickly.

“why didn’t she tell me?” you wonder.

“oh, that one’s easy,” taerae answers with a shrug. “she said she’d rather die than let anyone know we slept together.”

“that sounds like mina,” you affirm. so the truth was out. it’s hard to wrap your head around everything all at once, but you were definitely relieved that taerae didn’t actually hate you. he was just an idiot.

“i’m so sorry, (y/n),” he apologizes genuinely. “for everything.”

you sigh heavily. “i’m sorry, too.”

taerae’s eyes widen in surprise. “what do you mean? you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“i’m sorry i bragged to you about losing my virginity. i could’ve been more sensitive with that information,” you reply. “and i’m sorry that i said you threw up in the pool, because you didn’t want to kiss me and never asked you what the truth was. i could’ve been more considerate of my best friend.”

“i love you,” taerae says abruptly. “being without you this year was literally the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you nod in affirmation. “let’s never do it again.”

“never,” he agrees with a wide, dimpled grin. that smile you missed so much. you watch it fade naturally, replaced by a fond gaze. but you desperately want to see it again.

so you do the only thing that you can.

you kiss him.

he pulls back after a moment, that perfect grin shining back at you. it’s enough to light up the night sky.

“i know i was using the past tense before, but,” taerae says, biting his lip. “i still really like you.”

you smile, pulling him back in to meet your lips again. “prove it.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

group (poly) 🥵

you look around the room, every boy avoiding eye contact with you in an attempt to quell the awkward tension. it feels amazing. exactly how you were hoping it would.

"so, uh," jiwoong starts, scratching the back of his neck. "are we gonna do those interviews now?"

you shrug. "you can just text me a quote, if you want. probably easier actually."

they all agree nonverbally, the uncomfortable haze still lingering in the air.

"you can also text me about when you'll be free again," you add, the boys heads turning rapidly to look at you.

"uh... which one of us?" matthew asks with a frown.

you shrug. “whoever’s down.”

“you—… you wanna do this again?” hao asks, lips parted in shock.

“why not?” you answer honestly. “i had fun. but if you’re not into it, that’s okay too.”

“i’m into it!” hao replies a bit too quickly. “i just meant that… i didn’t know you would be.”

“i guess before last week, someone would’ve had a hard time convincing me that i’d wanna do this once— let alone twice,” you admit with a smile. “but i think i’ve proved i changed.”

“and you’re okay with… changing?” taerae asks, worry in his eyes.

you nod definitively. “yeah. i am.”

“so, after all this, you’ve decided you just wanna fuck all of us whenever you want?” hanbin asks, standing up from the desk he’s sitting on and walking over to you. “you really think you’re hot enough for that?”

you smile at him. “no one’s forcing you to participate.”

hanbin frowns, studying you as you hold eye contact.

“don’t be too upset, hanbinnie,” you say with a pout. “you’re the one who wanted me to fuck your friends in the first place. you just forgot to consider i might end up really liking it.”

he stares at you for another long moment. and then, he smiles. “i guess you’ve won your own game then?”

you smile back. “i guess i have.”

“then i have to pay the price, fair and square. we all do,” hanbin nods with respect— an undeniable warmth in his gaze. “congratulations.”

you look at the other boys around you— excitement reaching their eyes as you grin. were they really all yours now?

“thanks,” you say happily. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

group (revenge) 😈

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

you look around the room, every boy avoiding eye contact with you in an attempt to quell the awkward tension. it feels amazing. exactly how you were hoping it would.

"hey, is that camera on?" jiwoong suddenly asks, pointing at the camera you set up by the photo wall to take portraits for the campus activities interviews.

at least, that's why you told them you set it up.

"there's a little red flashing light," hao observes with a frown. "to the left of the lens."

"did—... did you record this?" matthew asks, fear palpable in his eyes as he looks at you.

you hop off the desk you're sitting on, grabbing your shorts and shimmying them on. walking over to the camera, you hit the record button again to stop filming. then you, take the camera off it's tripod and throw it in your bag that's sitting on the ground beside it.

"it was a pleasure doing business with you boys," you say, making your way towards the door.

hanbin stands up, grabbing your shoulder. "what are you gonna do with that?"

you shrug. "nothing."

his brow furrows tensely, not sure whether to relax or not.

"yet," you finish.

"(y/n), please," taerae begs from behind you. "please don't post that."

"i'm not gonna post it," you say, rolling your eyes. "i'm in the video, too, remember?"

the boys look around at each other, not sure what to do.

"but if i have to," you threaten, unlocking the door, "i won't hesitate. could anything be worse than what you've already put me through?"

"wait, (y/n)!" jiwoong calls. "we're—... we're sorry. we're all really sorry for everything."

"i'm sure you are," you reply, opening the door and exiting the activities lounge...

"i'm sure you'll stay sorry for a long time, too."

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