#I keep forgetting to make a tag or maybe I did but don’t remember it LOL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

explorevenus · 1 year

Text

something permanent ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors pls dni i will scream

this is a dark fic for a multitude of reasons. if any of the following bothers/triggers you, do not read: yandere!leon, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, corruption/training, forced daddy kink, noncon, forced breeding, body horror, gore, & blood

in other words-- DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.

ahem. now that that’s over.

word count - 4.4k

description - nothing in leon’s life was ever permanent and his life circumstances made sure of that. over the years he was beaten down from a bright-eyed rookie police officer to a weary and angry shell of his former self. when a chance meeting brought you into his life, he knew what he had to do. he knew you had to be something permanent.

tags/warnings - yandere!leon, dark!leon, leon being patronizing and condescending and sickly sweet, fem/afab!reader, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, corruption/training, forced daddy kink, pet names (doll, sweetheart, princess, baby, puppy, etc.), noncon, forced breeding, housewife kink, body horror (spoiler alert he rips your IUD out with his bare hands), slight gore, blood, noncon, stockholm syndrome if u squint, dollification if u squint, descriptions of vomiting, no use of (Y/N)

a/n - ok i genuinely don’t know if anyone even wants this but i personally find it egregious how little yandere!leon content exists out there in this world because listen. i know a lot of people consider leon submissive and breedable but personally i believe this broken angry man just wants a sweet little thing to dote on and take care of to make him forget about the horrors of his life and he will stop at nothing to make that happen ♡ anyways. enjoy. and if it’s not ur cup of tea idc keep scrolling :^)

p.s. this is obviously a very canon-deviant, borderline crack fic so it’s not really established which leon this is outside of referring to the events of re2 being a long time ago, so go wild with your interpretation of that to read this as whichever leon is ur favorite ♡ i personally like to imagine post-re4 or infinite darkness leon !! ;w;

read part 2 here !! ♡

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ♡

-venus ♡

You were slow to wake, which wasn't particularly unusual... as of late, but your body felt so heavy, like your muscles had dissolved into mush overnight. Consciousness gradually took its hold of you, and as it did, you began to realize that something seemed off. Different. Wrong, even. You peeked your eyes open, vision blurry with sleep, but you could see you were beneath your pink comforter, a plush of yours held closely to your chest, all normal so far...

But your walls aren't navy blue, they're white... They're supposed to be white--

You jolted wide awake, panic coursing through your weak body as you struggled to even sit up. That's when you noticed an unfamiliar, muscular arm draped over your waist, and that dialed up your anxiety about tenfold. It was hard to move, but you were able to turn your head enough to catch a look at the man it belonged to.

Strong, blond, maybe a bit tired in the eyes... maybe a bit familiar looking... but you were crying now, blurring your sight all over again.

"Shh, shh... you're okay, sweetheart, you're safe now," He hushed, holding you closely to him as you struggled. Smooching the top of your head, he spoke into your messy hair, "I've got you. I've got you, princess."

But... how? The last thing you remembered was tucking into your own bed, in your own apartment, and falling asleep there, how could you have possibly wound up in a stranger's bed with zero recollection of ever leaving yours? Your head spun as you tried and failed to fend off the unwanted affection with weak arms. His hold on you didn't dare budge as he continued to coo softly into your ear, to reassure you that you were safe, that he wouldn't let anyone, or anything, hurt you.

The anxiety stewing within you finally reached a tipping point, twisting your stomach into tight knots, and that's when you spoke your first words since you'd awoken. "I-I'm gonna throw up," You wept, clawing weakly at the covers and, well, at him, for freedom.

Thankfully he was quick to act, scooping you into his arms as he sat up and rose from the bed, carrying you to the adjoined bathroom. When he turned the light on, you managed to get a better look at his face as you passed by the mirror, and it took you a second to recognize him, partly due to your state of delirium, but primarily because you only knew him very vaguely. You had only met him once at work many months ago, when he'd sparked up a conversation with you as you made him his coffee. After that, he became a regular at the café you worked at-- you remembered his name was Leon.

So why were you waking up in his bed, with your belongings lying around like you'd lived here the whole time?

Your knees hit the tile and you began retching immediately, flinching as he reached forward to collect your hair away from your face. Puking on an empty stomach is never a fun time, but your nerves were alight with panic and every time you reminded yourself of your predicament, a new wave of nausea would crash over you. He rubbed your back sweetly, but it didn't help.

Once the vomiting eventually subsided, an awful, hollow pain took place of it. Your thoughts were running at a thousand miles per hour. You didn't have the time to acknowledge it, let alone nurse it, outside of clutching your shirt at the waist.

"Let me get you some water, babe," Leon said as he hesitantly stood from your side, eyeing you worriedly like you'd just fall to pieces if he let you out of his sight. "You poor thing..."

But all you could think about was getting out of here. "N-No, no, what time is it? I have to get to work--"

"I don't think so, sweetheart," He interrupted. "You're sick, you should be in bed."

"I'm fine," Much to the protest of your jellied legs, you pushed yourself up from the floor and fought through the head rush in an attempt to slip past him, but he simply caught you at the waist and brought you to a halt. Your ears were ringing, the room spinning around you, and you still weren't sure how to interpret what was even going on here. "L-Let go of me!" You cried out.

He simply hushed you, holding you tightly to his chest and petting your hair as you writhed, failing miserably to get him off of you. "Don't worry about work, okay? Just rest up and get better. I'll call them for you."

Your stomach sank even further-- what the fuck is happening right now?

Despite your thrashing he managed to lead you back to the bed as gently as one would fine china, scooping you up into his arms so he could lay you down exactly where you'd awoken earlier. Your chest heaved with sobs as you shrank into yourself in an effort to get away from him.

His eyes left you for just a moment as he reached for the covers, no doubt to tuck you in-- in a split second decision, you seized that time to scramble out of his bed and break for the door. Sadly, as perhaps you should have seen coming, he was more than strong and fast enough to catch up to you, even caught off guard. As soon as your shaking hand made contact with the cool metal doorknob, he halted you where you stood with a bruising grip on your bicep.

You cried out, trying in vain to peel yourself away from him, but it was no use.

"Come on, silly baby, you heard me," He tsked, dragging you back toward the bed. "No need to be running off anywhere, especially on a sour stomach."

"P-Please--" You gasped through tears.

"I'm sorry, little one, but that's final," Leon hummed with a patronizing but oddly sweet tone. It was as if he were scolding a temperamental child.

He basically wrestled you back into the bed, enveloping you tightly in his arms as he laid down beside you. You struggled against his grasp, but again, it was absolutely no use. He simply pet your hair and pressed soft kisses along your cheek and jaw, attempting to soothe you with restraint and unwanted affection.

You sucked in a labored breath, hiccupping, "Don't do this to me, please don't do this to me... I-I just wa-wanna go home, jus' wanna go h-home... Leon please--"

"Shh... oh, good heavens. You are home, princess," He mused, brushing away a stream of your hot tears with his thumb. "You'll see. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Nothing in Leon's life was ever permanent.

All he'd ever wanted was the American dream, to serve his community and meet a pretty girl to share his life with, to settle down in a big house with a fenced yard and two or three little Kennedys running around, maybe a dog. What he wouldn't give to come home at the end of a long day to his beautiful wife, belly swollen with his children, preparing dinner in the kitchen while the existing little ones play with their toys in the other room.

He would enter, slipping off his shoes with a relaxed sigh and a "Honey, I'm home!" to which the aforementioned little ones would rush to the door to hug him at his knees. He'd put one up on his shoulders while the other tugged at his hand, turning into the kitchen to give his beautiful wife a kiss. She would ask of his day and he would say it was good, but better now that he's home with her. With his free hand he would cradle her belly and ask "What's for dinner, you two?" to which she would reply "Your favorite," and as he smiled and thanked her with a kiss he would be silently plotting to thank her properly after the kids are asleep by fucking her full of his cum.

That was all he'd ever wanted. But, day after day after god forsaken day, the chance grew slimmer and slimmer until it had shriveled into something molecular. He didn't even get through his first day at the police station before everything went to shit.

Because of this, Leon began to lose himself over the years. He was no longer the bright-eyed rookie officer looking forward to his even brighter future. He was a broken man, worn down to the bone by years of death, plague, losing everyone he'd ever loved in one way or another-- Leon couldn't take the loss anymore. He wanted-- no, needed-- something permanent, something to give him even the slightest taste of that dream he once had.

When he met you, it wasn't even a question anymore. He knew you were the one. One way or another, he would have you.

He couldn't court you in the traditional way, of course-- it was too dangerous for you to be seen with him. After all, everything he'd ever touched had a way of turning to shit. So, it began with following you home after work so he'd know where you lived. Soon after that he would let himself in when you weren't home-- you weren't smart enough not to keep your key under the mat, furthering how sure he felt that you needed him to take care of you-- he would take little things of yours home with him just to have your scent around.

At first it was just little things like near-empty bottles of shampoo and stray pairs of panties from your laundry basket. Then it was sweaters from your closet, chewed gum and used flossers from your trash can. He'd pay close attention to your grocery lists and what you kept in your pantry so he'd know what kind of food you liked.

When you did come home, he would sneak out quietly and watch you through your windows, familiarizing himself with your routine. The first thing you'd do when you came home from a long day of work was kick off your heels and change into something comfortable to do your yoga. After a while, you'd pull yourself up from the pink mat and cook dinner. After you'd eat, you'd relax with a book or a video game for a bit before taking a shower and changing into pajamas. Then, you'd brew yourself a mug of tea and retire to the bedroom for the evening where you'd watch documentaries or put on white noise until you eventually fell asleep.

At 7:00 a.m., you'd wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

All he could think about was what he'd do when he finally had you all to himself. Under his roof, you would never have to work another day in your life. Gone would be the days of pouring coffee and baking pastries for random idiots who treated you like shit. All you would ever have to worry about is being pampered, having your entire day to yourself, waiting for him to come home, spending all the money on his credit cards.

And carrying his children, of course.

So, as he held you tightly in his arms while you sobbed and begged to go back to that tiny apartment, all he could think about now was how to fix this. How to convince you he really loved you, how to make you feel truly at home.

The first few weeks were hard for him. Really, really hard.

You were refusing to eat, laying wide awake at night, swinging rapidly between sobbing, screaming and complete apathy. Sometimes he would come into the bedroom and catch you fiddling with the window, or attempting to circumvent the lock on the door by stuffing the mechanism with tissue. You would hit him, kick at him and spit in his face, even as you grew weaker and weaker with malnourishment, not that you really stood a chance before that anyway.

Still, it was hard to watch you shrink in your clothes. It was hard to see your cheeks hollowing by the day. It was hard to hold back your brittle hair while you'd vomit from the nerves, still trying to fight him off of you. It was hard to watch your body tense every time he entered the room.

Just when he'd began to lose hope, he discovered a neat little tool to help you behave. In some countries it was called "devil's breath." The slightest bit of powder could be sprinkled into your water, or over your food, or even into your clothes-- it absorbs through the skin-- and within minutes it would render you quite pliable. Leon didn't want to drug you, of course-- he liked you better when you were lucid-- but it certainly felt like a good place to start, a helpful tool to train you.

When he'd give you a dose, you would let him coddle you without incident. You would lay limp on his chest while he played with your hair and felt your soft skin beneath your shirt. You would allow him to spoon food or tip water into your mouth. You would let him dress you up like his perfect little dolly. You would blush and whimper and whine, and more importantly, not fight him, while he fucked you full of his cum, just like his dream.

There was just one problem-- after about two months of trying daily, it would seem his seed wasn't taking.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the sound of Leon's footsteps nearing the bedroom door grew louder. You glanced over at the clock-- it was 6:15. He was off work for the evening and you knew what that meant.

The lock clicked quietly before the door creaked open, revealing your captor.

"Honey, I'm home!" He smiled excitedly, approaching the bed with a glass of water in hand.

You knew it was for you. You knew he had done something to it. You also knew you didn't intend to drink it.

"W-Welcome home, daddy," You said in a near whisper, forcing a half-smile. While you had definitely lost the majority of the fight in you, that didn't mean it didn't nauseate you to comply with his wishes. "Did you have a good day?"

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he offered you the glass of water while he replied as he always did, "My day was fine, but it's so much better now that I'm home with you, princess."

You smiled at him like it was the first time he'd ever said it, taking the glass with a shaking hand. You stared at it for a moment before mustering up the courage to say, "D-Daddy, I don't want the medicine anymore. I don't think I need it, and it doesn't make me feel good."

"You don't want your medicine anymore, baby?" He asked, tipping your chin up to look at him. You shook your head, rounding your eyes to convince him that much more. "Well, alright, but you have to promise to behave for me."

Now you were nodding, a little bit too eagerly. It was sort of humiliating. "I promise, daddy, I'll behave! I don't want the medicine anymore. I promise I'll be good."

With a proud grin he took the glass from your hand and set it on the nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "That's what I like to hear, babydoll. You know, good little girls get rewarded..." His large hand spread over your thigh, inching up toward the hem of your baggy shirt.

You stiffened, but didn't push him away. He smirked, dipping his head down to kiss at your neck, large hand sliding up your shirt until he nudged it up enough to pull it off. You were bare for him now, save for panties, and given your experience with him you knew it wouldn't be long until those were discarded somewhere across the room. With a gentle hand at your shoulder he pushed you onto your back, your legs hanging off the side of the bed, and you were curious where he was going with that until he sank to his knees in front of you and began pulling your panties down.

Your eyes screwed shut, thankful that he couldn't see your face as he spread your thighs and greeted your cunt with a slow lick up the length of you. You gripped the sheets with white knuckles, pretty much holding your breath to keep yourself from kicking him away from you. His fingertips buried into the plush skin of your thighs to hold you apart as he began to eat you out more passionately, suckling your clit up into his mouth and lapping at your hole like he was starving.

If there was one thing you would give him credit for, it would be his skilled tongue. Perhaps he was crazy and obsessed, but he certainly knew how to translate that obsession into something that benefitted you both. You wouldn't have succumbed to it so willingly if he weren't at least good at it.

Still, it was hard to feel any enthusiasm. His attention might have felt good physically, but it certainly didn't feel good mentally.

You flinched when you felt a fingertip prodding at your cunt. He pulled away just far enough to tsk, "Relax and let me make you feel good, puppy. You said you would behave for me."

"Y-Yes, daddy," You muttered, continuing to clutch the sheets as you tried to control your breathing.

His thick index finger sank into you down to the knuckle, almost immediately curling up to brush against the spongy spot within you that made you see stars. As much as you tried to fight it you gasped, quickly bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, but the sound you'd made hadn't slipped past Leon. You felt him smirk against your skin as he pressed sloppy kisses to your thigh, reaching up with his free hand to force yours away from your face.

"Don't be shy, princess," He spoke against the inside of your thigh, trailing kisses up to your clit. "I want to hear just how good it feels."

You whimpered, hips squirming into his affection, and he chuckled approvingly, bringing his mouth back to you fully to continue eating you out while he fucked his finger into you. Soon after his index finger was joined by his middle, and you keened as he reached more deeply into you than he possibly ever had.

He pumped his fingers in and out for a moment, alternating between lapping at your cunt and kissing your thighs, and just as the coil inside began to tighten he suddenly... stopped?

You waited for a second, catching your breath, expecting him to continue any minute. But he didn't. Instead, he took on a tone that froze your blood as he asked, "Sweetheart, what is this?"

Then, you felt a sharp tug at your insides that made you yelp.

"Leon!" You shouted at him in a break of character, attempting to scoot away from him, but he grabbed your hips to still you. "That hurt!"

Another tug. You cried out, trying as you might to snap your thighs shut and push him away, but he wasn't budging.

"You never told me you had an IUD."

"Well, I do, so stop yanking on it! It hurts--"

The next words out of his mouth truly fucking broke you.

"That just won't do. It's no wonder you're not pregnant yet."

You sat up immediately. "Pregnant?"

He ignored you, tugging at it again. You screamed.

"L-Leon, don't! I can get it taken out by a doctor, I swear, I'll get it taken out!"

He shook his head. "And wait even longer to knock you up, pretty girl? Not happening. It's coming out now."

You screamed again, thrashing in his hold. He withdrew from inside you for just a moment, pinning you to the bed by your hip while he reached for your panties on the floor and shoved them into your mouth to silence you.

"There, there, angel. It'll be over before you know it, like ripping off a band-aid," He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you screeched through the cotton. "I'm gonna give you my babies, I promise. Gonna make you a mommy, and we’ll be so happy."

Before you could properly react he forced his fingers back inside you, yanking at the device until you felt a sickening tear and the unmistakable heat of blood rushing out of you. You curled into yourself, wailing, gasping for breath through the panties in your mouth as he withdrew his blood-soaked fingers, holding up the gory IUD in the light.

"There you are, princess. All better," He smiled contently, discarding the device on the bedside table. "You did so good. You were so brave for me."

You were bawling, shrieking through your gag as your vision blurred into white. Leon kissed up your thighs before standing to unbuckle his belt, and he didn't get much further than that before the panic and agonizing pain got to you and you lost consciousness.

You woke up the next morning with your thighs sore and sticky with blood. You lifted the comforter to see a deep red pool seeping out from between your legs, and the more you started to wake up, the more aware you became of the pain. You were cramping terribly, sweating buckets, your ears were ringing and you felt weak. Leon had left for work already, so it was up to you to get yourself to the bathroom.

Your entire body was trembling as you stumbled out of the bed, dripping blood in a trail behind you as you dragged yourself to the bathroom and crawled into the bathtub. You peeled off your pajama shorts and panties, watching in horror as a mixture of thick blood and cum spilled out of you and ran slowly toward the drain. Once again, you began to cry. Obviously he'd had his way with you after you passed out, buckets of blood be damned.

Even with your foggy, staticky brain, you couldn't stop thinking. Thinking about the fact that he had no intention of taking you to a hospital, so there was really no telling what might happen with your profusely painful and bleeding sex. Thinking about how fucking screwed you were now without your IUD, your best defense against falling pregnant with your captor's child. Thinking about the fact that if he wouldn't even take you to a doctor for this, he must be expecting a home birth if you were to become pregnant, which you doubted he was qualified to handle and therefore had a very good chance to result in your slow, painful death.

You couldn't stand the shivering anymore, so you filled the bathtub with hot water. It felt nice, though it was rather gross that the water was stained a glassy rose color with your own blood, not that you really had the strength to care in the moment.

In fact, you didn't have much strength at all. It wasn't long before you found yourself losing consciousness once again.

"Fuck, princess, can you hear me?"

You were trying to open your eyes, to twitch a finger, anything, but it was so hard.

"Shit. Stay right here, babydoll, I'm gonna get you some help, okay? I promise. I never meant to hurt you... shit...”

You heard some shuffling, pacing and possibly Leon talking to himself in the other room. You figured he was trying to decide whether or not to take you to a hospital. Part of you hoped he would and the other part of you hoped he would just let you die there. More than anything, you just wished you would have let him drug you in the first place so maybe you wouldn't be in this level of pain.

After what could have very well been 20 seconds or 20 minutes, Leon kneeled beside the tub and draped a cold washcloth over your forehead, reaching into the bloodied water to pull the drain. With what little control you had over your own movement you managed to crack your eyes open, which seemed to please him.

"Oh thank god... thank god, baby. I almost thought I lost you there," He huffed, voice shaking. "Listen to me closely, princess. Stay with me. I'm going to take you to a doctor but you have to be a good girl, okay? You have to be good for me and go along with what I say, even if it isn't true. I'm just doing what's best for you so you can get all better, okay?"

You nodded weakly. You weren't in any position to put up a fight, and all you really wanted was an end to the pain. Besides, he couldn't supervise you constantly at the hospital. There had to be at least some opportunity to tell someone what he'd done to you.

He somehow managed to dress you in some comfortable clothes of his, a soft black t-shirt that hung halfway down your thighs and a pair of black shorts with some little socks of yours to protect your feet. Then, he carried you princess-style out to the car where he bundled you up in the passenger seat and buckled you in.

As he pulled hurriedly out of the driveway, he made a phone call to someone.

"Hey, it's me... I need the best people we have in the infirmary, stat. I'm on my way now," He spoke sternly into the phone, white knuckling the wheel. "I'm fine, it's not for me, it's my girlfriend. It's a long story that I'll tell you when I get there, but she's bleeding pretty bad. I found her unconscious when I came home... I appreciate it, thanks. See you in 10."

Leon reached over the center console to squeeze your thigh in reassurance.

"You're gonna be just fine, princess. I'm gonna make sure they make you all better, okay?"

Your stomach sank. He obviously wasn't taking you to a hospital. From the sounds of it he was taking you somewhere he had a good amount of leverage, somewhere everyone knew him, held him in high regard and wouldn't dare challenge his word, let alone take yours over his. You slumped to the side, resting your head on the cool window with a quiet bonk. Leon was quick to ask if you were okay but you couldn't muster up a response. Your ears began ringing again and the world around you collapsed into tunnel vision.

part 2 !!

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy #dark!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #dark!leon kennedy x reader #dead dove do not eat #something permanent

2K notes · View notes

quin-ns · 24 days

Text

The blue IV (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

As you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the touch of JJ’s lips against yours still lingered.

You could feel the ghost of his presence, it didn’t matter that he was across the hall, locked behind a door in his own room.

You lifted your hand, your fingertips brushing against your lips. Your face felt warm and you jerked your hand away, but it didn’t stop the memory from keeping you awake all night.

You couldn’t fathom that JJ had kissed you. You should’ve felt betrayed or something, after all he’d always been something akin to a brother to you, but you didn’t. Not really. You were mostly just confused about why you weren’t upset, and you weren’t sure what to do with that feeling.

In the morning you contemplated hiding in your room or fleeing from the house. You weren’t sure you could face JJ—what would you say to him?

It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, so why did you feel so weird about it? He should feel weird if anything. He kissed you, not the other way around.

Did you kiss back? Even for a second? You were trying to remember.

It’s not like he was a bad kisser. The opposite, actually, but you couldn’t get over asking yourself why he did that.

You couldn’t even feel relief in solving the mystery of what was up with JJ and John B.

Jealousy was hell of a motivator.

Kiara texted you, and you came to a conclusion to your debate. She was up earlier than usual but hey, it was the perfect excuse to get out of the house.

You pulled on fresh clothes for the day and swung your door open.

The universe had a sense of humor, because JJ did the exact same thing. At least, the second part.

He was standing in his doorway across from you in only his boxers. You averted your eyes when you realized that.

“You’re not usually up this early.”

He sounded just as awkward as you felt. You swallowed, eyes flicking anywhere but his tan, exposed skin.

“Neither are you,” you replied, familiar warmth rising to your cheeks. “I’m going to Kie’s.”

“Do you…” JJ trailed off, swallowing back the words.

His instinct was to offer you a ride that way he could make sure you got where you needed to go safely, but it was too soon for both of you evidently.

You took a breath and met his gaze. You could feel him watching you.

“I don’t really know what to say here,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“That makes two of us.”

The silence that followed felt so thick, filling the air around you.

“If you hate me now, I get it,” he said, voice low, and you could tell he was giving himself hell for it.

You almost laughed at the notion. Almost, but didn’t.

“I’d never hate you, JJ, don’t be stupid.”

Just the thought was absurd—how could he even think that for a second?

“I’m kinda running that department right now, actually.”

“What if we just… forget it?” you offered after a moment.

JJ’s brows twitched up. He hadn’t expected that.

You hadn’t planned on it either, but you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. Scream at him? Ask him to do it again? No, ignoring it and going back to normal was the only logical choice.

“Okay,” he agreed.

There was something hesitant lingering in the background. You felt it too.

You took a breath. “Okay.”

“So do you want a ride to Kie’s then or…?”

“She's gonna pick me up,” you informed, maybe a little too quickly. JJ got the hint.

“Right. Got it,” he replied in the same tone.

You nodded a little, then turned down the hall. You were going to wait on the porch, that way you could make a clean getaway. If you got in her jeep quick enough maybe she wouldn’t try to stick around to say hi to JJ.

“Hey Y/N?” JJ called right before you turned the corner. You looked back at him, noticing a hint of worry before he masked it with the smallest of smiles. “Thanks for… y’know, not hating me.”

Again, you nodded. You then disappeared, and then wished you had said something, but you were already on the porch. You weren’t going to go back inside, back to the uncomfortable conversation you had just left.

Instead, when Kiara’s jeep eventually appeared, you climbed in and didn’t look back. You just needed to get your mind off of things, and a girls day would help with that.

Except Kie wanted to talk about last night, because of course she did.

The two of you ended up sitting on her bed leaning against the wooden headboard. The Youtube video on her laptop had been long forgotten as she persisted in getting an answer from you about what happened with JJ. You wouldn’t give her details despite how bad she wanted them.

“Are things good now at least?” she finally asked instead.

You swallowed, resisting the urge to lick your lips. JJ had taken up residence in the back of your mind the entire day.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” you replied vaguely, not quite meeting her eye. “He was just being protective of me. You know how it’s been.

Kiara hummed, seemingly agreeing. “He seemed way more pissed, but if it’s cool then it’s cool. I don’t get the big deal anyway, you’re your own person,” she started. “The ‘protective big brother’ thing can’t last forever.”

As she said the words, paired with air quotes, you cringed. Overnight you decided you didn’t like that title for him anymore, not when you knew what his lips felt like.

“He’s not my brother,” you muttered, more so to remind yourself of that fact. It wasn’t exactly cut and dry perfectly fine, but it could be worse right?

Kie gave you a look of concern. She heard, and hadn’t been expecting it.

“Are you sure everything is fine?”

You nodded, forcing out a chuckle. “Yeah, I already told you.” You nudged her with your elbow and she let herself smile, but it appeared to be cautious.

You ended up deciding to spend the night at Kie’s, texting JJ in the afternoon what your plans were. As strange as things felt, you didn’t want him to worry about where you were all night. He read the text but didn’t respond. At least he knew. You didn’t bother notifying Luke, you never had and it had never been a problem. He didn’t care.

You did worry about JJ though, hoping that nothing awful happened in your absence.

Your stomach was still churning with guilt when last minute Kiara asked if you wanted to go to an outdoor movie when the sun started to set.

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed, starting to feel claustrophobic in her bedroom anyway. “What movie?”

“Not sure, but Pope and JJ are going so if it sucks we can all make fun of it,” she replied.

A part of you was glad JJ wasn’t home alone with his dad (a big part, actually). The other part felt a rush of anxiety at the prospect of seeing him. What would you say to him? Could you two actually pretend everything was normal?

You’d seen JJ tell pretty believable lies, but he wasn’t exactly a professional at being able to hide his emotions.

Then again, he’d kept his real feelings hidden from you for who knows how long.

It was too late to back out. Kie was already searching for her car keys, with shoes on and her hair up, ready to go.

You were quiet in the jeep, which she might’ve noticed if you hadn’t requested to blast music with the windows down. Anything to drown out your thoughts and Kiara’s potential questions.

When Kiara pulled into the parking area of the field, the sun had already set. Perfect for a projector movie night.

That was one of the fun things about living in Kildare, the random little events that went on. Movie nights were common in the summer. Everyone would bring their own chairs and blankets, a projector would get set up, and concession sales would fund the whole thing. It was on the Kook’s side of the island where Kiara lived, but it wasn’t uncommon for both sides to attend, and it was peaceful for the most part.

You and Kie each grabbed a chair from the back of her car. They were dinky little beach chairs, but it was better than sitting in the grass.

It was a little crowded when the two of you began to weave through people, searching for the two boys, your main light source being the large projector.

Finally, towards the middle, you saw Pope stick his hand in the air and wave. You had just enough light to confirm it was him.

“Hey, they got a decent spot,” Kiara commented, leading the way to the them. You only hummed in response.

Pope and JJ already had the area set up. A blanket they both sat on, a cooler that JJ leaned his back on, and a big bag of pretzels Pope probably snatched from his family’s cabinet.

“You guys made it just in time,” Pope said, smiling up at you and Kie. “They’re starting in a few minutes.”

Your eyes flicked to JJ, who had adverted his gaze from you. He seemed really interested in the loading screen up ahead.

Kiara set her chair down next to the blanket, and you opted to put yours next to her. It was inconspicuous enough, no one would think you were putting space between yourself and JJ (even if you were).

“Is John B coming?” Kie wondered, asking no one in particular.

Pope glanced to JJ, which you only noticed because you had done the same thing. Had JJ told Pope?

No, definitely not. Pope would’ve had something to say about it for sure. He wouldn’t have asked you all to hang out in such a casual manner if he knew.

“Don’t know,” JJ said, opening the cooler and fishing out a beer. He popped the cap off and took a long drink. “Did you guys let him know?”

“No,” Kie said, dropping down into her chair.

“Well, there’s your answer,” JJ said with a shrug.

Kiara made a face.

“So you still have an attitude?”

“Can we just watch the movie?” you jumped in, sitting down in your chair.

The movie coming on a few seconds after your words halted any argument that could transpire. You were relieved to say the least.

You focused on the movie, trying to get into it, not letting your gaze wander. You made back and forth comments under your breath with Kiara, and sometimes you’d lean past her when Pope had something to say. JJ was quiet, which was abnormal for him. He was always talkative during movies, cracking jokes alongside you. If it wasn’t for the tension lingering between the two of you you might’ve forgotten he was even there.

You thought about trying to make a joke to get him involved in the little conversations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Nothing sounded clever enough to say aloud to him. You used to not think about how your words would sound to him, but now you concerned yourself with it. What you’d say to JJ if you could manage it, or if he was at least overhearing your comments to Pope and finding amusement in them—you cared too much about that all the sudden. Did he think you were funny?

Trying to be normal with JJ around was significantly harder than you thought it would’ve been, despite being the one who suggested it.

How were you supposed to be casual around your step brother who kissed you? You hadn’t thought it through in the morning, and it became clear to you that both you and JJ knew things weren’t copacetic. Problem was you didn’t know how to fix it.

You could feel JJ looking at you every once in a while, but you avoided his eyes. Not only did you not know what to say to him, but even if you did, the two of you couldn’t exactly talk about it in front of your friends.

After about an hour into the movie, the opportunity arose when JJ stood up out of nowhere.

“I’m gonna get something to eat,” he mumbled, making his way to the little building nearby.

“We have pretzels left,” Pope offered, but it fell on deaf ears. He looked at you and Kiara once JJ was out of earshot. “Is he still mad at John B about yesterday? He’s been weird all day and John B isn’t even here.”

When Kie turned to face you, you realized he was just talking to you.

You shrugged and said, “I wish I could tell you.” Neither of them looked convinced. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not his keeper.”

“No, but you live together and you’re the person he trusts the most,” Pope acknowledged, worry in his tone. “If he would go to anyone it would be you.”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?” you asked.

Pope shook his head.

“They’re best friends, even when they argue they get over it,” Kie reminded.

“Did he ask you to not invite John B?” you continued questioning Pope, remembering JJ’s comment from before.

“No, John B’s working tonight. Something with the Cameron boat.”

“He definitely still seems mad at him,” Kie said, a knowing tone in her voice as she looked to you. “You never told me—what did he say to you when you got home?”

You could’ve lied but your brain wouldn’t come up with anything.

“Nothing really. Can we just watch the movie?” you asked instead. “Please?”

Everything had been fine just a day ago and now it was all so overwhelming.

Pope and Kie exchanged a look, but didn’t discuss further. It took about ten minutes for Pope to speak up again.

“JJ still isn’t back…” he noticed aloud. He craned his neck to look towards the snack line, but it was definitely no use. “Maybe someone should go find him.”

Someone. He meant you, didn’t he? You gave Pope a look, and he shrugged.

“Do you want me to go?” Kiara offered.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, not really, but you got up anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you walked to the small building, searching around for a sign of something familiar—blonde hair, his shirt or anything to tip you off. It took a bit of wandering, but you eventually found JJ. He wasn’t in line, but around the back of the concession building.

He was alone, sitting on the ground, a flask in his hand, and his back against the stone wall.

“You disappeared,” you commented, drawing his attention. You approached him, leaning on your side against the wall next to him.

Blue eyes turned up to you.

“They send you to find me?” he guessed snarkily. “I’m fine, thanks. You can go.”

You scoffed at his tone. “This is your plan, then? To hide back here and get drunk?” You guess whatever was in the flask was stronger than beer.

Something between a look of sadness and frustration crossed his features.

“What else am I supposed to do? Clearly you can’t stand to be around me,” he shot back, glaring up at you.

You were taken aback, jaw falling slack.

“I was the one that said we can forget it and go back,” you reminded.

JJ scoffed at that, getting to his feet, leaving his flask to fall to the ground.

“Then why can you barely look at me?” he asked, gesturing with his hands, defeated. You proved his point as you failed to meet his gaze directly. “I mean seriously, even Pope knows something is going on.”

If this had been a regular conversation, you might’ve laughed. Even with how smart he was, Pope could be oblivious sometimes. It was one of the running jokes amongst your friends. But now didn’t feel like a time for jokes.

You straightened up, standing across from him, holding your ground.

“I’m looking at you right now,” you stated, albeit with much less conviction than before. You did indeed meet his eyes, but it was forced, and meant you had to see the pain in them. You hated seeing JJ in pain. “It’s not too late to pretend things are normal.”

JJ laughed. It carried all the hurt he was struggling to keep in, the sound lacking nearly all humor. He took a step closer.

“Don’t you get it? There is no normal. Not for me,” he confessed, deeper emotion creeping into his voice. “There never has been and you—you act like you can’t even be around me now so I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.” The whole time he had been moving toward you absentmindedly, only noticing the close proximity when you had to look up to meet his gaze. He took a shaky breath, eyes pleading with you. “I can’t stop feeling the way I feel so just—just tell me what to do.”

“JJ…” you started softly, not knowing what to say to fix this. He must’ve been carrying this around for so long and all you wanted to do was help.

You weren’t sure who was more surprised when you pulled him into a hug, JJ or you. But he fell into your embrace regardless. He circled his arms around your waist when you wrapped yours around him. He held you tight, pressing his entire body to yours, like you could slip away any second. JJ’s head fell to your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but run your hand soothingly across his back. You could feel his heart racing in his chest and smell the fresh alcohol on his breath. He didn’t sound buzzed but it would’ve been his goal if you hadn’t interrupted.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you assured quietly.

Something about your words made him straighten up. You saw how his eyes glistened and the pout on his lips. The bruise on his cheek still lingered. A strand of his hair had fallen into his face and you brushed it back into place.

You always knew JJ was handsome, but right now, looking at him, the word beautiful came to mind. There was something about him that made it hard to look away.

Your eyes fell to his lips, recalling how they had felt pressed against yours.

You and JJ hadn’t always been close, but now you could hardly remember a time when you weren’t attached at the hip. It didn’t matter how recent that change had happened. He was always there to make you smile or comfort you in his own way, and you did the same for him. He always looked out for you, and you took care of him when he needed it the most.

Your relationship had never been very sibling-like the more you thought about it. Siblings weren’t close in the way you and JJ were. Why did it take you so long to realize that?

The proximity had to be clouding your mind. You felt overwhelmed by JJ’s presence and just… you glanced around, making sure no one was around to see. You two were alone behind the building, the movie and people sounding miles away.

Ever so delicately, your hand rose to his uninjured cheek. You heard JJ’s breath hitch as you leaned in. He lowered his head and let you kiss him softly, meeting you halfway.

You didn’t know what had come over you, but heat filled your body at the way his hand fell to hold your waist.

JJ made an attempt to deepen the kiss, and you let him. His tongue tasted yours and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you.

That triggered something in him. JJ turned the both of you, backing you against the wall. Your back hit stone as he pressed himself against you. His kiss became more desperate, like he was afraid he was dreaming and might wake up. You tangled a hand into his hair and he groaned into your mouth before kissing you harder.

What the fuck were you doing? This was about the last thing you had planned and you didn’t even understand why it was happening. It was like the moment he kissed you just a night ago your brain was sent in a confusing spiral trying to place what you felt for him now that another option had opened up.

But had it really? This was wrong, it didn’t matter how good or how natural kissing JJ felt. It didn’t matter if you had come to the realization your relationship was more complex than you initially assumed. You both knew you shouldn’t be doing this, it was evident from the way you hid what happened from your friends, so how could it be okay?

You let your hand fall from his hair the deeper you sunk into contemplation. Your body pressed further back into the wall. You were retreating, and JJ could tell. He parted from you, noticing the way you turned your head away as if to prevent him from leaning back in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked carefully, nose nearly brushing your cheek.

“We…” You were trying to catch your breath. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

You heard him swallow, stunned.

“You’re sorry?” He stepped back, face shifting between a flurry of emotions as he tried to figure out what to say to you. You wouldn’t know what to say to you either if you were JJ. “First I kiss you and you ignore me, now you kiss me and you’re sorry?”

You met his gaze, begging him to understand. Tears stung at your eyes and you blinked them away. You had a lapse in judgment and you knew you fucked up.

“I know, and I—“

“Don’t apologize!” You winced at the way he raised his voice, but you guessed you deserved it. You really wanted to sink back into the wall when his eyes filled with sorrow. You’d never been the cause of him looking at you in such a way and it felt awful. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“That’s the last thing I want,” you professed, throat thick, but he shook his head.

“Then tell me what you want.”

What did you want? It shouldn’t have been a question that puzzled you, but in that moment, you found yourself without a true answer.

So, your mind went to the default, trying to preserve some sense of morality.

“We just need to forget it, alright?”

JJ scoffed. “You said that before and look how well that worked out.”

Your heart clenched in your chest as you said, “I mean it this time.”

JJ eyed you for a long time, silence heavy between the two of you. He was trying to figure out what to say to that. Obviously he didn’t agree, but how could he argue?

“Whatever,” he finally muttered.

JJ scooped his flask up off the ground. His hand pressed to his chest and you knew how deeply you messed up. He didn’t spare you another glance as he stormed off, leaving you teary eyed and alone against the wall with the knowledge that you screwed things up worse than he had before.

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just an ask or reply to lmk 🫶

The blue taglist: @empath-bunny @juniebugg @lashay28 @redhead1180 @mariaeirhnh @wearemadeofstardust0 @obxwatcherficreader

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank #step brother!jj maybank #step bro!jj maybank #stepbrother!jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #step brother!!jj maybank x reader #outer banks #obx #the blue #quin-ns writing

131 notes · View notes

wondernus · 1 year

Text

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement.

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce.

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm.

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

#svthub #svthub.collab #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x yn #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios

1K notes · View notes

the-boy-meets-evil · 11 months

Text

some habits are hard to break | feat. jungkook

(where you know that jungkook is the last person you should keep running back to, but neither of you can seem to let the other go.)

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader genre: angst, smut, est. relationship rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~12.5k warnings: the relationship isn't healthy (but they're very human), miscommunications, misplaced hope, bad habits, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cheating (reader on unnamed boyfriend), mentions of past trauma (reader), mentions of therapy, mentions of mental health struggles (reader), explicit smut: unprotected sex (don't do this), fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), handjob, semi public sex (behind a closed door at a club), teasing, hair pulling, light choking, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything

a/n: she is finally here! i did not expect this fic to take me this long, but here we are. thank you to one of my favorite humans @ugh-yoongi for reading this over and assuring me they weren't terrible, just human. this story feels personal to me so that was reassuring.

a/n 2: lauren has asked for a pt 2, so i’ll be writing that after i get through both my collabs due in august 💕 banner/divider credit: my bby @classicscreations who always comes through tagging: @pjmparadise @axialitae

Every single thought is the same. You know better than to send the text sitting on your phone. You know precisely why it’s wrong. You know that nothing is ever going to change.

Here’s the thing. You’re in a healthy, stable relationship with someone who’s good to you and for you. He’s honest and caring, funny and sweet. Despite all of your baggage, he never makes you feel less than, never makes you feel broken. This is the first time in your life that you’ve been able to lay all your shit on the table and have someone accept it unconditionally. And he always does what he says he’s going to. You’re never up waiting at 2 in the morning, wondering where he is because he hasn’t called or texted.

So, yeah, things with him are good, great even.

But…

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? As soon as there’s a but, it’s like you can’t see all of the good. It’s all just a placeholder before what may be the worst three-letter word in the English language. You wonder if it means there’s just something fundamentally wrong with you. Who looks for the “buts” of every situation? Why can’t you just appreciate all the truly wonderful things in your relationship?

Because you’ve had the one thing you’re missing. You know it exists and it’s hard to forget.

Your boyfriend is great, perfect, even, in almost every way that matters. It’s just, you’re not exactly…satisfied. And you know that you could guide him to be better for you in that way. He just seems a bit sensitive about it at times and you don’t want to make him feel less than since he never does that to you.

This is exactly why you’re staring at your phone. Paralyzed because you both want to send the text and know you really can’t. Your body remembers his, remembers the way the slightest touch sent your heart racing. You try to also remember every word he’s ever uttered to you, too, because he’s always been very clear about who he is.

It’s fucked up that you’re even considering it, beyond wrong that you typed those 5 words out in an empty conversation thread. (Even though you usually keep every conversation, you deleted this one after you got serious about your boyfriend. You say it’s to keep the temptation away, but really, how well is that working now?)

You: what are you up to?

Just like that, your need to fill your desires wins out against every other rational thought you have. Part of you hopes that he doesn’t respond. It’s been months since you last spoke and you know he’s got a short attention span. Maybe he’ll spare you having to make a final decision.

Jungkook: out getting some drinks with friends

He doesn’t. His answer comes in far quicker than you expect it to and you get that same feeling in your stomach. Like anticipation mixed with desire. You’re so fucked.

Jungkook: what are you up to?

Tomorrow you’ll look back and realize this is a chance to bow out, to realize that this is a mistake. That you hadn’t sealed your fate when you sent the first message. You could still just bow out and walk away, leave the message unanswered.

You don’t.

You: nothing, just at home alone Jungkook: what about the boyfriend? You: away for work

You know that you should feel bad now. A normal person might realize that this was destructive behavior, that you’re purposely sabotaging your own long-term happiness for instant gratification. At least, that’s what your therapist tells you.

Jungkook: I can be home in 15 minutes, I’m just around the corner

The message is really your last chance, whether you consciously think about it or not. There was no preamble with Jungkook. He assumes you’re texting him so you can come over. And he’s right, isn’t he? You weren’t exactly texting to catch up with someone you weren’t ever friends with anyway. No, you’re both adults and you know what this is. Just like you’ve always known.

You: give me 30 and I’ll be over

Was there really any other outcome? From the moment you opened Jungkook’s contact to start a text, this was the inevitable end. You can pretend that you have control and you were on the fence. But, you know the truth, and so does Jungkook. He knows it from the moment your name appears on his lock screen. This only ends one way, the same way it’s ended countless times before.

Thirty minutes later, after cleaning up and getting dressed, you stand on Jungkook’s doorstep. There’s a moment where you genuinely question if this is smart. Smart is the wrong word, you think. Of course, this is fucking stupid. You could ask 100 people and every single one of them would probably tell you to turn around. So no, this isn’t smart. The real question is if you’re going to do it anyway.

Jungkook opens the door before you even knock and the question dies. There he is, in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt, like the true fuckboy you know he is, and your body remembers. It remembers every kiss, every touch, every tremble. It starts to react without your permission. By the smirk he’s wearing, you can tell Jungkook remembers too.

“Right on time,” he says, leaning against the door frame like he needs the support.

“Are we gonna have a whole conversation out here?” It’s a challenge and a mistake all rolled into one.

He doesn’t answer, just moves aside so that you can step past him. There’s a moment, as you’re stepping past him and glancing around his apartment, of nerves. Of wondering what the fuck is going on. But his apartment hasn’t changed, not that you expected it to, and neither has he.

“Want anything to drink?” he asks, moving around you to the kitchen. He looks back over his shoulder at you, a confident smirk on his lips. “We could do a couple shots.”

“Trying to get me drunk?” you wonder. Still, you follow him into the kitchen.

“No, definitely not.” His answer is swift and his eyes roam over you, appraising. “You just seem a little on edge.”

“Wonder why that is,” you huff out.

Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes still trained on you. “If you don’t want to be here…”

“I didn’t say that either,” you respond.

There’s this weird tension settling between the two of you and you’re not really sure what to do about it. Not really sure how to get out of your head for even a second. That’s when you feel Jungkook’s hands on your hips, pulling you back against his body where he still leans against the counter.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he says and dips his head to kiss along your jawline.

“I don’t,” you respond.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers against your skin as he continues to kiss down your neck.

The only thing that comes out for a second is a hum when Jungkook lightly sucks at the base of your neck where it meets your collarbone. “No.”

“Are you sure?” He’s pulled back now and looking you directly in the eye.

You take a breath and then another when your heart starts to speed up. The only thoughts are of his lips on yours, his fingers grazing along your body. Slowly your fingers trail up his arms and he doesn’t move at all. Just watches you and waits for you to make your decision. Leaves it all up to you.

So you do the only thing you can, the only thing you were going to do once you sent that text. You let your fingers find purchase in his hair and you press your lips hard against his. He’s turning the two of you around in an instant so it’s you pressed into the counter. The kiss is hard and desperate, like you’ve both been starved and this is the only way to solve that. His hands feel like they’re everywhere and it’s still not enough, not completely what you need. Nobody has ever set your body on fire just from kissing the way Jungkook does. It’s bliss the way your brain goes almost silent except for thoughts of him. And you know he’s just as turned on, can feel it in the way he’s pressing against you.

Jungkook kisses down your neck again and you don’t even bother to hold back the moan. When you feel him lightly sucking into your skin before pulling away, part of you wishes he’d do it harder. Wishes he’d leave a mark. Wishes for something to show what you’re doing here tonight without you having to say it. He doesn’t, though, and you know he wouldn’t even if you asked.

Instead he pulls away, smirks at your whimper from the lack of contact, and reaches for the hem of your shirt. He’s still asking permission, so you give it. Your shirt and bra disappear in record time and his mouth is back on. Softly kissing down the space between your breasts and across the underside of one. It’s too much, the way he knows exactly what you need, the way his lip ring teases you as he moves across your skin, the way he stops to just look at you when he knows he’s driving you crazy.

Well, you think, two can play at that game. Before he even realizes what you’re doing, you’re spitting into your hand and reaching inside his sweats and boxers (since he’s annoyingly still clothed). You’re slowly dragging your hand along his length, moving painfully slowly. He groans when you slide your thumb over his tip and pulls back.

“Fuck,” he says and slowly pulls your hand out.

“What?” you ask, actually confused.

“Come on, I can’t fuck you against this counter but if we don’t get out of here, I’m gonna try,” he says and pulls you along into the bedroom.

Jungkook kisses you hard and lightly pushes you back onto the bed. You prop yourself up to watch him quickly undress. You love watching the way his muscles contract with each movement, love the lean lines of his body, absolutely love everything about him. If he sees you watching him, which you’re sure he does, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans over you, kisses you hard again as he pulls your pants and underwear off nearly in one motion.

“Eager,” you taunt.

“You won’t be saying that when you can’t walk tomorrow,” he says.

Before you can answer, Jungkook is flipping you over so that you’re on your hands and knees, pressing down on your back so your ass is in the air. You’re a little surprised, because usually he takes his time with you. Not that you’re complaining. He moves on the bed and then you hear a bottle opening seconds before you feel the cold liquid at your entrance. He may be a lot of things, but he always makes sure you’re taken care of.

Despite his words, he still slides into you slowly and lets you adjust to him. His hands grip your hips tightly as he rolls his hips into you almost carefully, like he’s not sure if you’re adjusted. It’s bordering on painful that he’s so still.

“Fuck Jungkook, move,” you whine.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Just fuck me, please fuck me,” you beg and you hear the low chuckle.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he says and snaps into you hard.

“Fuckkkkkk,” you draw out.

Removing one hand from your hip, he presses you back down into the mattress. You arch your back further so he has a better angle and let the pillow muffle your moans. It mixes with his own groans and the slap of his skin against yours every time he buries himself fully inside you. There’s something frantic about it and you’re sure this is what you’ve been missing. Sure this is what you need. He removes his hand from your hip again and roughly slaps your ass.

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you yell.

He slaps your other ass cheek and it makes you scream out again. Yes, this is what you need. Someone to be a little rougher with you. Someone who doesn’t treat you like you’re going to break or worry if you can take it because he knows. He knows exactly what you can take and exactly what you like. Him pulling on your hair is only further proof of that.

And then he’s pulling you to him, so that your back is against his chest. The new angle has him hitting deeper inside you, reaching that spot that nearly has you seeing stars. Jungkook moves his hand out of your hair around your neck, gripping lightly.

“Do you like that, baby?” he whispers roughly in your ear.

“Yes,” you moan out.

“Because I fuck you the best,” he continues.

“Jungkook, fuck, just fucking choke me, please,” you beg, unbothered by how much you’re begging him.

That doesn’t need any answer from him beyond his fingers tightening around your throat. It’s the perfect pressure too, just like every other time he’s choked you while fucking. It makes you feel a little lightheaded but also like everything feels that much more amplified. Every hard thrust into your cunt pushes you closer to the edge. Every breath sounds louder. Everything is just more.

He also knows your body to know when you’re close. You almost whine when he removes his hand from your throat because you felt like you were about to come. And then he rubs a thumb over your clit, continues to make sure you come first, like always.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout.

“Come on baby, I wanna feel you come,” he says into your ear.

It’s the only permission you need as you let go. Somewhere, in the haze of your high, you can tell that he’s coming too, that his release comes just after yours. It’s all you can do not to slump against his body, though. His arms are strong around you as he pulls out so that both of you can lay down on the bed.

A few minutes later, after he’s cleaned you both off and you’re lying together in bed, you wonder how you’re going to extract yourself. You’ve never really felt awkward around him, so you’re not really sure why you do now.

“I should be going,” you say and start to sit up.

Jungkook is quick to pull you back down. He meets your look of confusion with nothing but desire. You think, not for the first time, it’s the kind of look that you drown in. The kind of look that ruins you.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

“Home?” you offer.

“Why?” he fires back.

“I don’t know, Jungkook, we already fucked,” you say. Part of you is a little exasperated at having to spell it out.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you leave here when I haven’t even tasted you?” he asks.

Fuck.

(He follows through with exactly what he says. It’s slow and measured, like he wants to pull apart every thread you have one by one. Like he wants to ruin you for anyone that isn’t him. Like he doesn’t know he already has.

The lip ring is new since the last time you fucked him and you’re not sure if you’ll even be able to tell when he’s between your legs. Until you’re praising him so loudly you’re sure his neighbors must hear. Or maybe it’s just because he’s so good at getting you off. Even if tonight, he takes his time, brings you to the edge over and over before finally letting you slip over.

It’s the early hours of the morning by the time you’re both worn out. You offer to call a ride, only to have him insist you stay. It’s much too late to be going anywhere when he’d be worried if you were safe or not. So you stay and it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in awhile.)

The wait is excruciating. Your boyfriend comes home tonight and it’s terrible timing, you know, but you also know that you have to tell him what happened. It isn’t fair to him to just go on without knowing. He’s one of the kindest people in the world, doesn’t deserve this. He’s not broken like you, something you’ve pointed out since the beginning. Maybe those intrusive thoughts were right and you just aren’t built for healthy relationships.

Although you haven’t told many of your friends what happened, you had to confide in a few. Each of them tells you that you shouldn’t tell him what happened. They say that it’s just one of those things where confessing might make you feel better, but it’ll only make him feel shitty. It’s hard to know how he’ll feel. Shitty is probably fair. But, you think they’re wrong about how you’ll feel. Getting this off your chest will just replace one weight with another. Wanting to come clean isn’t about clearing your own conscience. It’s about honesty and him having the ability to make an informed decision.

It actually goes far better than you thought, somehow. He’s hurt, how could he not be? Despite that, he’s calm in the conversation. Instead of breaking it off there and then, which is what you expect, he suggests taking a step back. It’ll allow the relationship to be less defined and maybe less serious. You can’t really believe it when he says that he’s there to work things out with you and give you the space to figure out what you need. It breaks your heart a little bit more, somehow, to see him so patient with you. You don’t deserve it.

Instead of seeing this as a failure, he wants you to see it for what he sees it as. This is just a slip, a step back. There’s been so much trauma in your life that it’s natural for you to have moments where you slip. He’s hurt, yes, he’ll admit that, but he’s not angry with you. At the end of the day, he genuinely cares for you and he’s willing to do whatever it is the both of you need in order to move forward. You both agree that therapy as a couple might be important. However, he insists that it can wait while you sort through how you’re feeling.

Overall, you think you feel okay about it. Things will look different with him for the time being, but you can actually see past this moment in time. That’s new for you. You’re feeling hopeful for the future and you even let yourself imagine a future with him in it. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world after all. Maybe this is just something you actually needed to close a chapter.

Weeks go by. Therapy is back to being once a week, sometimes twice when the sessions fit into your work schedule, and you do trust this therapist. Really, you do. She listens to everything you say and interjects in meaningful ways. It’s clear that she’s actually listening to you and giving you genuine feedback, rather than some previous therapists that only asked how something made you feel. Sitting in that office has forced you to face a lot of deep-seated issues, everything from your childhood to past relationships to the deepest recesses of your mind. Sometimes you don’t really want to relive those moments, but she’s always done a good job of explaining why you need to do the work.

But…

And there it is, again, that stupid three-letter word that brings everything to a screeching halt.

Despite all your therapist’s work, there’s a part of you that doesn’t see the future anymore. Therapy is wonderful and you’re actually really thankful you found this therapist. You’re sleeping better, you feel lighter, and the world doesn’t feel like it’s going to crush you every day. Maybe she’s a little too good at her job, though, because you’re wondering how to move forward. Your boyfriend is perfect…for someone. And you’re not sure anymore if that someone is you.

It’s been weeks and he’s still just content to take the backseat while you do whatever work you need to do. It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid, but you want him to fight for you. You want to see that he is actually upset over what happened with Jungkook. It’s not healthy, you know that and your therapist reminds you it’s not healthy. You’re doing everything you can to make your brain catch up that it’s not healthy. You can’t shake it, though. All the doubts and insecurities creep back in when he still doesn’t seem bothered.

So you do the only thing you can think of, the thing your therapist disagrees with. Well, disagrees with the reasoning, not with the idea itself. You break off the relationship. He tries to approach it in such a way that leaves the door open for you both to come back to it down the road. You don’t want loose ends, so you lie. It hurts to see his face crumble when you say you just don’t love him and he should find someone that does. It’s cruel. You hate yourself for doing it. But you think it’s easier this way. This is too comfortable and you don’t want to string him along.

Then, you make the second decision your therapist disagrees with and text Jungkook. After seeing she can’t make you see her perspective on the break-up, she suggests spending some time alone to learn more about yourself. That’s terrifying. If she could hear your thoughts, surely she would not suggest leaving you alone with them. They’re intrusive and self-sabotaging and just loud, so loud.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook is happy to hear from you, happier still to know that you’re unattached again. Not that he minds being discreet, he’s happy to confine things to the four walls of his apartment. It’s just that he also likes to get you dressed up and go out. He’s always liked having someone pretty on his arm, even if he’s just at some local sports bar.

That’s not where you end up tonight, though. Your head is especially loud and you want some quiet. Need to get lost in something other than the potential mess you’re making of your life. When Jungkook suggests a club a friend of his owns, you say yes before he even finishes asking. The place is familiar to you and it’s perfect, in all its noise, low lighting, and crowded spaces. There’s no better way (at least as far as you know) of quieting your brain than going somewhere even louder.

It’s easy to get lost, several drinks in, as you press your back into Jungkook on the dance floor. The tight dress that seemed like such a good idea rides up your thighs now, with a little help from the light sheen of sweat covering your body and a little more help from Jungkook’s hands that grip you tightly.

Everything is familiar. You’ve been here before, to this exact club with Jungkook, more than once. And it’s the kind of easy you’re looking for now. As his hand inches further up your thigh, you press further back into him, looking to erase any space between the two of you. Tonight is just to forget and Jungkook is excellent at that.

Maybe if you were a little less drunk, you would stop his hand. You are in public, after all. As it is, you really don’t care. He likes to tease, gets off knowing someone may see, and you’re not in the mood to put a stop to it. Tonight, he seems even more daring than usual. He lets his thumb graze the thin layer of fabric at your core, likely feeling how much you want him. You shudder as his warm breath tickles your ear.

“There’s a storage closet in the back that might be unlocked,” he says, voice low with desire.

And that’s new because you’re certain that of all the times you’ve fucked Jungkook, none of them have been at the club. It’s been close, getting a little carried away under the table in one of the VIP booths, running his hand up your shirt on the dance floor, but you’ve never fucked him here. You’re also a little too tipsy to register that at the moment when all you want is him.

It’s too loud for you to answer him so you just squeeze his hand and nod. That’s all the permission he needs, anyway. Before you can give it a second thought, he’s pulling you off the dance floor and down a hallway. He looks around like he’s not completely sure where he’s going and then sees a door.

The door opens and you’re both in without another thought. Jungkook crowds your space, pressing you against the closed door and stealing your gasp with his lips on yours. Your hands find purchase in his slightly shaggy hair and one of his hands digs into your hip, holding you firmly in place. Like there’s anywhere else you would rather be in that moment.

From the moment his lips make contact with yours, you remember why you ignored your therapist and walked away from your relationship. It’s just a kiss, granted a pretty heated one, but still. It’s just a kiss and your whole body is alive in a way it hasn’t been since the last time you were with him. As he trails kisses across your jaw and down your neck, you can feel the heat he leaves behind with each touch.

Jungkook also never makes you feel self-conscious about the way your body responds to him. Not that your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend now, ever said anything about your moans, but he was also really quiet in bed. And you stopped reacting as much, because it wasn’t the best part of your relationship. Not that you want to be dwelling on that now. Not as Jungkook is working his way down your body, clearly just as turned on as you, eliciting soft moans as he goes.

When he drops to his knees in front of you, you think you may really be done for. He lifts one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder, your dress hiking up around your hips in the process. You lean back against the door for support as his tongue makes contact through the thin fabric. It’s another tease, a Jungkook specialty, and you find you don’t much care. Thankfully, he quickly moves the fabric to the side. The movements of his tongue, fast and slow and fast again, are perfect. Your brain goes blank, just the kind of blank you need. No thoughts except for his tongue on you and the bliss of it. Even the thud of the bass out in the club dulls to background noise. Every one of your senses is present in this moment in a way you haven’t been lately.

His movements quicken and you knot your hands in his hair both to find purchase and to let him know that you’re close. Not that it’s hard to tell by the increase in your moans. He knows what he’s doing and he knows that he’s got you on the edge. You want to tell him that you want to feel him inside you and can’t make yourself speak the words. A second later it doesn’t matter. He slides one finger in, then quickly adds another and your brain goes fuzzy.

He pushes you over the edge too fast, you want to savor more of this moment, more of him. You register that somewhere in your bliss coming down from the orgasm. You need more of him, more contact, more of whatever it is that makes your brain go quiet. You’re catching your breath and refocusing when you notice his pants down around his ankles. Did he get that hard just from getting you off? He’s already pulling a condom on and you’re almost relieved.

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” His confidence drips off of him when he’s like this and you wish you were the kind of girl who had something witty to say back. You wish, at least now, that he didn’t affect you like this.

Instead, all you do is shake your head at him. You don’t trust yourself to speak and he doesn’t seem to mind. In one movement, he puts his hands on the back of your thighs and picks you up, still keeping you pressed against the door. The next second, he’s slowly sliding into you, letting you adjust. It’s the only break he gives you before setting a fast pace. Your legs tighten around him and your nails dig into his back. You’re sure they would leave a mark if he didn’t have a shirt on. Part of you hopes maybe they still will.

One of the best parts about Jungkook is that he doesn’t ever need to ask what you want, he just seems to know. He knows what you like and when you want something faster like this or when to take his time. It’s like he’s mapped your body with the way he’s able to hit just the right spots in just the right way.

Your head rolls back against the door, eyes closed and brain numb. Even then, he manages to bring you back to him, kissing up your neck until you meet his lips. The kiss is messy, capturing each of your moans as they escape. Jungkook’s grip on your thighs is as strong as the pace he’s setting and it isn’t long before you’re falling over the edge again.

A pleasant daze settles over you as you do your best to look presentable so that you can leave the club. (You don’t succeed and you definitely look just fucked, but the club is in full swing and the only people who might be able to tell are the poor workers that have to stay sober).

“Do you want to come back to my apartment?” Jungkook asks the question, one hand gripping yours while the other pulls up Uber on his phone to order a ride home.

And it’s kind of funny, how he asks like he doesn’t know the answer. In the time you’ve known him, Jungkook has been a lot of things, but he’s always been confident above all else. So it catches you off guard that he asks.

“As long as it’s okay with you,” you say and he smiles that easy smile.

“Of course,” he says.

You can’t really place the feeling that settles over you at such a small exchange, everything is crowded with the lingering effects of alcohol and sex. But something feels different and you think you like it. Almost like a part of you is waking up.

The next few weeks pass in somewhat of a blur. You’re happier than you can remember feeling in a while, much more fulfilled in all aspects of your life. Despite some reservations that your therapist has, you agree to start seeing her every other week unless something changes. You’re hoping to drop it back down to once a month but understand her hesitance to make such a big change so quickly. It would be a shame to ruin all that forward progress, after all.

Most of your free time is spent with Jungkook, a fact that your best friends are quick to point out with some version of the same cautionary advice. They want you to be careful, want you to remember your history with him, don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. It seems like they just don’t understand. Yeah, you and Jungkook have been here before, multiple times, but this is different and they just haven’t seen that.

Every other time led up to this. It took a relationship falling apart for you to realize that none of the other times with Jungkook were failures, they were just your “right person, wrong time” moments. Now the timing is right for both of you.

You knock on the door to his apartment, surprise take out in one hand, realizing belatedly that maybe you should have given him a warning of some sort. What if he was busy or had already eaten?

“Oh hey, what a nice surprise,” Jungkook answers with a smile as he steps aside to let you in.

Suddenly, you feel kind of silly for the momentary worry that showing up like this would be too much. Jungkook seems like he meets you at each point, so this shouldn’t be any different. It also helps that you’ve known each other for years and you know the way to his heart (through his stomach with only his favorite foods).

The whole thing feels surprisingly normal in a way you weren’t expecting. Jungkook makes small talk as he gets plates from the kitchen and sets them down for you to eat. He offers you a drink from the fridge, gets one for himself, and it’s just…easy. The whole thing with him is easy and you’re so thankful that you took this chance. As it turns out, he’s exactly what you need. Maybe he’s even the reason your last relationship ended the way it did. Not that you would ever say that. For all his outward strength and his image, Jungkook can be surprisingly sensitive. The last thing you’d want would be him feeling responsible for causing other people pain.

You’re not really sure why you do it, but you mention that your friends have a lot of warnings about the relationship. In what should be typical Jungkook fashion, he brushes it, reassures you that you know what’s happening and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter what your friends think because you’re both happy and living in the moment. You smile at that. This is definitely the best kind of happy.

Once you’ve gotten plates of food, you settle down together and Jungkook pulls up Netflix. He’s got a whole list of movies and shows that you can pick from, all things he wants to see or thinks you’d like, he tells you. And that’s sweet, isn’t it? That he sees something on Netflix and saves it in case you want to watch it together. It makes your heart constrict a little bit. It doesn’t feel like something you do with someone who’s only casual. Surely his thinking about you, when you aren’t around, is a positive sign.

You sigh happily and let him decide what it is he wants to watch. Not that the two of you ever really finish anything. It’s the thought that counts though. And Jungkook seems to be thinking of you. For a second you wonder if this is just the list he’s created for anyone he has over, you haven’t talked about seeing other people. Until you realize that most of them are thrillers. It’s your favorite genre but probably not good for generally inviting girls over. You really need to stop second-guessing everything with him.

Another few weeks go by as easily as breathing and that small part of you that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop gets even quieter. You’re not even thinking that this feels different anymore because it is different. Instead of late-night (or really any odd hour of the day) texts, you’re making actual plans on when you’re going to see each other. It doesn’t feel like a fuck buddy, it feels like someone you’re moving along with in a different way. There’s a lightness to every space of your life now, a lightness that looks a lot like Jungkook.

Of all the things Jungkook is good at, and there’s a lot, because he’s hyper-competitive and doesn’t like losing, cooking is decidedly not one. That suits you just fine, though. Cooking is an absolute favorite of yours and cooking for someone you care about makes it all that much better. It had taken a little more convincing for Jungkook agree to you coming over and cook for him, he didn’t want to be a bother, but you were glad to be here now.

“I know this isn’t really what we do, but I have a family wedding to go to, for my cousin, and I was wondering if you’d come with me? It’s kind of last minute, I know. I just wasn’t expecting to have to go alone,” you say and Jungkook puts down his fork. You’re nervous again and you’re not quite sure why.

“Sure, why not?” Jungkook says easily.

“Really?” The question is out before you can stop it.

“I like spending time with you,” Jungkook says, “we have fun.”

“We do, yeah,” you agree. “It’s just…it’s like 2 hours away, so I got a room. And you’d obviously need a suit.”

“This may come as a surprise, but I have been to a wedding or two before, so I have plenty of suits. And what kind of idiot would I be to turn down an overnight date with you?” Jungkook is smiling as he says this and it puts you at ease.

“It’s in 2 weeks, which is really soon,” you say. Jungkook pulls out his phone.

“Friday or Saturday wedding?” He’s looking through his calendar to see what he’s got going on.

“Saturday,” you say and he puts his phone down.

“That’s fine, I’ve got something going on Friday, but Saturday and Sunday are all yours,” Jungkook says.

Easy. Everything is just easy. You weren’t even really thinking of asking him to come to the wedding when you decided to cook for him. It just seemed like the right timing to ask and your cousin had just texted you that afternoon asking if she should change the seating chart. Although she said it wasn’t a big deal, you know she’s secretly going to be relieved to not change anything.

Not planning things also really is your motto these days. You weren’t planning to stay over at Jungkook’s when you offered to cook. Yet you wake up in his bed the next morning all the same, like it was a foregone conclusion the second you stepped over the threshold.

You figure now that Jungkook is coming with you to a family wedding as your date, that your friends will get off of your back about him. And most of them do. It’s been over two months of seeing him, which makes it feel more stable. Mostly, they’re happy if you’re happy and know you’re enough of an adult to handle your own life. Most days, at least. It’s just one of your closest friends that’s holding out. Not that he doesn’t like Jungkook, because he does, he’s just also been friends with you since you were kids and he’s seen how this has gone.

“It’s different, Jimin,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Have you had The Talk?” He doesn’t put quotes around it, but you can hear them in his tone anyway.

“No, we haven’t had The Talk,” you say, matching his tone. “We’re both adults, like actual adults, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“This time around with him started with you cheating on your ex,” Jimin says in a not-so-subtle reminder. If it were anyone else, you would leave.

“Thanks, I remember,” you bite back.

“I love you, you know that. I just want to make absolutely sure you’re not going to get hurt with this. I need to know he’s in this as much as you are,” Jimin says.

“Can you ever really know that?” The question seems valid enough.

“No, everything in relationships is a calculated risk. But it’s on you to make sure you have all the numbers before doing the calculations,” Jimin says.

“Meaning?” You think you know what he means, but it’s best to be sure.

“Meaning,” Jimin says with faux exasperation, “that the talk will let you know where he stands and allow you to be on the same page. He could lie, but then that’s on him if you get hurt. If you get hurt now, when you haven’t had the talk, that’s on you.”

“Little harsh, Jiminie,” you say, using the nickname to try and soften him.

It doesn’t work and he just shrugs. “We’ve done this song and dance a few times, maybe too many times. I just don’t want to see this end badly.”

“Then have a little faith, he is coming to a family wedding,” you say.

“And some of the way the conversation went makes me a little uneasy,” Jimin admits.

“Just have some faith. This time is different, I can feel it,” you say.

There’s a lot more than Jimin wants to say, a lot more he wants you to hear. But he’s also known you for years and seen you through every one of the Jungkook phases. People change all the time, he knows that. As people grow, the things they want or need evolve. Until you have an actual chat with him, though, Jimin is not ready to say this time will be different. It’s silly because he also knows that you’re going to do what you want, you always have. Not in a bad way, you’re just very stubborn when it comes to listening to advice. All he can do is hope for the best and be there if you need a shoulder. He tries not to think when you need a shoulder. As much as he likes being right, he likes you a whole lot more and he wants this to work.

The wedding goes well, great even. Jungkook is a hot topic of conversation, with a number of your family members gushing over how attractive he is and how good you look together. It gives you a small amount of pride to hear it too, even if it shouldn’t. It’s also good to have someone to retreat to when your family gets overwhelming. The added benefit of them not knowing him is that you both can slip out of conversations much easier. He’s never met anyone in your family and they don’t have as many questions for him. You also did an excellent job of establishing that you and him are very early on in the relationship, so questions about getting more serious are off the table.

Staying in a hotel with Jungkook is also a much better experience than you thought. You’ve stayed at each other’s places countless times over the years, but you’ve never gone away somewhere together. Even though it’s only a few hours from home, everything feels different. Everything feels more intimate. And there’s something to be said for hotel sex too. Everything is new and more exciting.

You reach out to Jimin the day after you get back to let him know how things went. And you’re a little surprised by his response. Instead of being excited for you that it’s going so well, he asks again if you’ve talked to Jungkook about where you are and where you’re going. It’s kind of a buzzkill and you’re quick to tell him so. But Jimin is stubborn too.

Jimin: I love you, you’re my best friend in the entire world, but I’m scared you’re going to end up hurt Jimin: I’ll be here to celebrate once you talk to him and I’ll say sorry when it’s all cleared up, but until then, I can’t fully support it

That hurts. It’s like he doesn’t realize that in not wanting Jungkook to hurt you, he’s hurting you instead. You shake that thought off as quickly as it comes, though. It’s not his intention to hurt you and somewhere deep down, you know he’s making sense. Jimin has been your go-to person for everything in your life since a matter of months into the friendship. The two of you were able to click in a way you haven’t really experienced with anyone else. So yeah, maybe, on some level, you get where he’s coming from and maybe you’ll understand later. Not right now, though. Right now you’re just hurt and a little angry at your best friend for not supporting you the way you want him to.

(Jimin, to his credit, does think he’s supporting you. It may not be in the way you want him to and you may not see it, but it’s the way he needs to support you. There’s a moment where he thinks that he’s the friend you deserve, just not the one you need right now. So he’ll let you be mad at him as long as you need to. Or maybe he’s been watching Dark Knight too much lately.)

This is where you know you’re not always the best at being an adult. Whether Jimin is right or not becomes irrelevant because you’re more concerned with not letting him win. It’s like he tells you something and you have to do the opposite, just because. Which, really, that’s probably something you need to address in therapy. It’s probably not a healthy approach, but it’s where you’re at for now.

Things feel…a little different. Not good different, either. At first, you were positive that it was just the lingering effects of Jimin being Jimin. Even when he’s not speaking to you, since this is not the first time he’s done this, he’s very loud. But days go by and the pit in your stomach only gets deeper. You can’t separate your own thoughts and anxieties to see if anything with Jungkook is actually different.

When you stop to think about it, though, everything with Jungkook should be different. It’s been around three months now. Three months of you spending a truly absurd amount of time together. Three months of movie nights in, dinners out, random trips to the park. Three months of ending up in each other’s bed every time you went over. Three months of you not seeing anyone else. Was he seeing other people, though? Surely not. Would there really even be time?

But…

That nasty word coming up to haunt you again. But, could you really make any assumptions where another person was involved? After all, your ex had no reason to think anything was wrong with you, no reason to think the relationship was coming to a screeching halt. Yet, it did. It did because you stopped talking to him. Well, you didn’t stop talking to him, you said a lot of words. You just didn’t say any of the ones that actually mattered.

It’s impossible to keep the last conversation with Jimin off your mind. You will never tell him he was right, but you’re also constantly wondering if it’s time for that talk. Lately it’s been taking Jungkook longer to do everything. Longer to text you back, longer in between seeing each other, longer to come out of his phone if he checks it while you’re hanging out (something he never used to do).

And, okay, from the outside, you know how any of those things look. It’s just, you’re still really happy and you’re not really looking to give that up. You think that maybe what’s best, for now, is just to take a slight step back, not be the one to reach out to him and make plans. Either he’ll make plans with you or you will have the final push to have a conversation you should have had weeks ago. (Really, you should’ve had this conversation before you blew up your life, but who’s counting?)

Jungkook: hey, things have been kinda crazy with work, but can i see you tonight?

Which answers that, doesn’t it? You ignore your smarter thoughts, most of which are driven by Jimin’s words playing on repeat, and answer quicker than you should. Even though you offer to stop on your way to pick food up, Jungkook says he’s already picking something up and to just meet him at the apartment.

It’s all different now. Before, when things were only happy, you’d be excited that he knew you well enough to pick up takeaway for the both of you. Now, you wonder if he really has been busy with work. There’s something about the text that implies something’s shifted. You hate it and you want to just go back to before. Maybe tonight will be the perfect chance for that.

It’s not.

The silences are awkward and what’s worse is that you can’t tell if Jungkook feels awkward about it as well, or if it’s just you. Actually, what’s worse is you don’t know which you’d prefer. Then there’s this weird space between you while you’re watching a movie. It’s like you’re not really close enough to cuddle and you’re not really far enough away for it to be a normal, friend-sized space between you. It’s just this awkward limbo and you’re trying really hard not to overthink the space being a metaphor for where the two of you are in this weird relationship.

Jungkook is on his phone a lot throughout the movie too, which only worsens the way you feel. He says he’s still got a lot going on at work, that they’re in very real danger of missing deadlines and he’s so sorry. The rational part of you really wants to let it be that. The louder part of you, the one you know is irrational, can’t leave it alone. At least internally. You know you can’t say anything out loud and have it come across right. Your internal monologue is another story, though.

But, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You made a lot of assumptions about where you were with Jungkook, about what the two of you were doing, about it being a relationship. The reality is you’ve been fucking regularly for months now and haven’t bothered to define things. It was perfect at the beginning, when Jungkook insisted that the two of you knew what was happening and what other people thought didn’t matter. It made you feel like it was you against everyone else. Which should’ve been a clue. A relationship should never put you against the people outside of it. A healthy relationship should be able to integrate into your regular life.

You don’t stay over at his place that night. Jungkook offers and even makes it seem like he wants you to. You might even believe him if he didn’t mention getting up early for work and checking his phone. That annoying voice in the back of your head is shouting danger, danger, danger. The ugly thoughts wonder if he actually wants you to stay at all or if he just doesn’t want to be the bad guy for sending you home.

He gives you a kiss in the doorway and you’re on your way out. The last little bit of positivity in the back of your mind is hoping he’ll change his mind, that he’ll come rushing out and say he’s been stupid. Of course he wants you to stay and of course it’s worth it being tired at work tomorrow because he’s missed you, things have been off, and he wants to make sure he fixes them.

But, he doesn’t do any of those things. The doubts firmly take hold of your brain.

The next day, you’re still thinking over what you want to do when you get an unexpected text from him. He’s got a function after work, the kind of thing where you have to go to a bar and pretend you want to be socializing with coworkers off the clock, but it’s okay because the boss usually buys a few rounds. It’s the kind of thing someone might ask their partner to come to, so they’re not so bored.

Jungkook’s message is clear. He wants to see you. After he’s done with the work function, which he warns might not be until later. So he understands if it’s too late for you to come over since it is still during the week and you have to work tomorrow. He seems genuinely excited when you say you’ll definitely still come over and your heart constricts for a second.

You need to set your phone aside, just for a second, just long enough to let your heart settle back down, because you’ve made up your mind. It’s time (past time, honestly) that you have a real conversation with Jungkook. This last exchange proves it. You’re back to being the girl he calls up after a night out at the bar, the booty call for sex. Admittedly, it is the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s not the point. For a bit, you were the girl that he made plans with. And, yeah, he’s asking you before he goes to the bar if you’ll be there after. But, the fact is, it’s still same day and it’s not really anything more than a hook-up text.

The text from Jungkook letting you know he’s heading home comes and you take a couple shots to give yourself the confidence to go through with The Talk. You weren’t planning on driving anyway. No matter how this goes, you’re not planning to head home afterwards so having your car seems more inconvenient than anything.

Apparently, Jungkook only beats you there by a few minutes, which might’ve bothered you in any other situation. The way he says it sounds accusatory in your mind. All you can see now is talking before you lose the little bit of liquid courage you have.

“Do you want to watch a movie or do you just want to…” Jungkook asks, trailing off suggestively.

That pit in the bottom of your stomach worsens. The unfinished question hangs between you like a glaring sign saying he just wants to fuck you. It all just feels really cheap and like another waste of your time. Just another in a long line of mistakes. Only one way to find out, though, and so you take a deep breath and dive in.

“Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you,” you say and that brings him up short.

“About what?” Jungkook asks.

He seems defensive. It’s all wrong. Something in you had been holding out hope that this would go exactly the way you wanted it to. That hope gets harder to hold onto.

“Just…this, us,” you say, hating how you sound so unsure.

“Us?” Jungkook asks and somehow that makes you angrier. Is he being fucking stupid on purpose?

“Yeah, Jungkook, us,” you say with more bite than you intended. “We’ve been doing this dance for, what, like 3 or 4 months? What are we doing, exactly?”

Jungkook’s confused. He gets this look on his face sometimes, like he’s trying to work out a really complex calculus problem and just can’t make things make sense. It makes him look younger, more innocent. It makes you want to protect him. But you can’t afford to think that way, and he doesn’t need to be protected.

“We’re just, I don’t know, we’re hanging out. We’ve been having fun, you know, everything is just easy, which is nice,” Jungkook says.

“Just hanging out and having fun? What, are we back in college?” Your voice raises an octave because, despite all your planning, you really aren’t ready for this.

“I’m not really sure what’s happening here,” Jungkook admits.

“I’m just confused,” you admit in return. “Like we’re always together, we go out on dates. You came with me to a family wedding for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, because I like hanging out with you and the wedding seemed important to you,” Jungkook says.

“It was important but still, what is this?”

Jungkook really still looks helpless and you’re constantly reminding yourself not to take care of him. It’s not what either of you needs. “Why does it have to be something defined? Why does there have to be this big deal?”

“Because we’re grown now, because I can’t keep blowing up my life for…” you start, but cut yourself off, quickly closing your mouth again.

“No, blowing your life up for what? For me?” Jungkook asks and you look away, unable to see him looking at you like that. “I never asked you to blow up your life for me.”

“You didn’t exactly turn me away that night either. You knew I was in a relationship,” you say and he scoffs.

“Yeah, I did know. But last time I checked, it’s not my responsibility to make sure you don’t cheat on your partner. I wasn’t the one in a relationship,” Jungkook says.

“No, because you’re never in a relationship, you’re always just having fun,” you say, voice dripping with disdain.

“And what’s so wrong with that? I’ve never been anything but honest about exactly who I am and what I want,” Jungkook says.

“People change all the time! Excuse me for thinking you’d grow the fuck up and realize actually being with someone isn’t that bad,” you say and Jungkook rolls his eyes again.

“What do you think I’ve been doing? I know being with someone isn’t bad. We’ve been having a great time for months until whatever the fuck this is,” Jungkook says.

“And how many other girls have you been having a good time with at the same time?” The question is out before you can even figure out if you want to ask it.

Opposite you, Jungkook rolls his lips together, like he’s trying to give himself a minute before answering. He can have a short temper at times.

“I’m not really sure why the answer to that question matters,” Jungkook says and you shake your head.

“I should’ve known,” you say.

“None though, for the record. Like I told you, I’ve been busy at work. So, I’m either there, working out, playing video games, or with you,” he says and you come up short.

“What?”

“Don’t take that the wrong way,” Jungkook says quickly. “I haven’t fucked anyone else in months, and I haven’t wanted to either. I’ve been having a great time with you. But, that also doesn’t mean this is something more than it is.”

“Meaning?” The balloon of hope pops just as quickly as it formed and you’re feeling even worse than before.

“Meaning,” Jungkook starts. “I don’t want…this. I don’t want to be fighting with you about some bullshit definition of what we are or where we’re headed. I like you, I do. But my answers to those still haven’t changed from the first time we hooked up 7 years ago. I don’t want that super committed relationship with expectations and check-ins and eventually marriage. I don’t want a house and kids and a white picket fence so the dog doesn’t get out.”

“You make it sound like a death sentence,” you say, completely deflated.

“I don’t mean to, it’s just not for me. It’s not what I’ve ever wanted and I’ve never kept that a secret,” Jungkook says. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe it is like a death sentence for me.”

“It feels like a slap in the face,” you admit and Jungkook bristles at that.

“Why? Because I don’t want the same things as you?”

You struggle to find the right words because that’s not what you meant. “Because you must have known it’s what I wanted and yet we still kept going.”

“I guess I figured you heard me when I said, over and over again, that it wasn’t what I wanted,” Jungkook says. “I figured you heard me and you could make your decisions on what you wanted.”

“It just seemed like…” you start and frown. “We’re always together, it felt like more.”

“So you just assumed that it was something more without even asking me about it?” Jungkook asks and gets a glare in response.

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” you say.

“Is it? I can see it. You’re mad at me, which I get, kind of,” Jungkook admits. “But also, I don’t get it? Because none of this had to happen. If you’d talked to me instead of building it all up in your head…”

“Wow, that was kind of a dick move,” you retort and he shakes his head.

“Or is it a dick move to create a whole relationship in your head and then make me the bad guy for not being on the same page?”

That brings you up short again. Does he have a point? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?

“I do actually care about you,” Jungkook says. “I know that may be hard to believe, but I do. It’s also really fucked up to create a whole world in your head and then turn me into the bad guy for not being on the same page. I always said we were having fun, that it didn’t matter what friends thought, that we’re just going a day at a time.”

“Because you knew, Jungkook, you had to,” you say. He furrows his eyebrows at you. “You’ve always said things like that and for what? What reason do you have to constantly remind me what this is if you don’t think there’s confusion?”

“Once again, it is not my job to force a conversation you may want to have. Weren’t you just saying we’re not still in college? That goes both ways,” Jungkook says.

Round and round and round in circles you and Jungkook go. You’re mad at him for something that he may not even be able to control, something that you’ve always known about him. And you’re mad that he’s known you probably weren’t on the same page for a while. He’s mad that you’ve had so many of these conversations in your head or with friends without cluing him in. He’s mad that he feels like the bad guy.

The whole fight feels pointless, honestly. You both are mad at the other and maybe you both have a reason to be annoyed. Maybe he has a point and maybe you need to take a step back to examine some of the decisions that you’ve made too. Maybe he’s not the only one bringing this house of cards crashing to the floor.

And maybe that’s not something you want to deal with tonight.

The rational part of your brain knows you should leave and call an Uber straight to Jimin’s apartment. That same part knows that even if he has someone over, he’ll drop everything to make sure you’re okay. He won’t even start the I told you so until tomorrow. Because Jimin can be a giant pain in the ass when he wants to, but he’s got the biggest heart in the world. Going to Jimin’s is absolutely the right decision.

That’s why you call an Uber and head to the bar.

After a few drinks, the empty seat next to you is taken by a stranger with fluffy hair and an easy smile. Despite your protests, he takes over your tab so that you can keep drinking. It’s a bad idea, you know it’s a bad idea, and you don’t really care. You don’t really have any room for good ideas right now.

For his part, he actually seems like a decent guy, if you were sober and present enough to notice. He tells you his name, his job, about his friends. You think he even mentions movies he likes. Nothing about it feels like the normal situation at a bar. Then again, it’s a Wednesday night, not exactly prime time to be out picking someone up.

The next morning, you wake up in a too bright room in an unfamiliar bed and immediately start piecing things together. The conversation with Jungkook and your subsequent decision to get completely shit-faced come rushing back. A sense of shame washes over you. This is the part where some attractive guy, usually one you somehow know, walks into the bedroom, maybe wearing just a towel, and you realize what you did.

Except this isn’t a movie, thankfully, and somehow you’re actually clothed in the bed. You’re in an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts, but you also still have your bra and underwear on. Likely a sign that nothing happened beyond you getting embarrassingly drunk last night. Actually, looking around the room, it looks more like a guest bedroom than the master. Did you actually manage to find a decent guy when you were hellbent on making bad decisions?

You aren’t really in the mood to figure any of it out. Your clothes are folded up beside the bed and, when you get up, you hear the shower running. It’s the perfect time to leave without having to have an awkward conversation. And since you were at your quota for those, you grab your phone from beside the table and slip out, thankfully unseen.

First up, your text thread with Jimin. Which is a mistake, of course you had texted him and of course it was barely coherent. But bless Jimin, honestly, because you see he had taken care of calling you out of work. Actually, bless him for having all your passwords and being able to sign into your email to send the message. You know part of him calling you out is also so that he can carry out his Jimin-approved therapy, but you’ll take it. You’ll even take him telling you he was right.

In a slightly uncharacteristic move, Jimin is waiting outside your door when the Uber drops you off. He’s already been shopping for the essentials and he’s got his arms open for you to collapse into him before even crossing the threshold into the apartment. There’s nothing on his face except for care and concern, which really isn’t surprising. His beating you to your own apartment may be surprising, but him being the best friend you’ve ever had isn’t.

Everything kind of pours out of you at once when you and Jimin sit down on your couch, the tears, the self-loathing, the anger, the confusion, the pain. So much pain. Pain over your ex, pain over Jungkook, pain over past shit that you really thought you were over. It’s like the past months with Jungkook were just a bandaid, putting off the day you would eventually feel everything. There’s no putting it off anymore though. Now you’re in it and you’re so thankful for a friend like Jimin to hold your hand.

He’s surprisingly quiet throughout the whole thing. He listens to your thoughts, comforts you during the gaps in speaking, makes sure you have snacks and something to drink, keeps music playing quietly in the background because he knows you hate the silence. He asks questions that are gentle, nothing too heavy or accusatory. The only time he gets firm is when you cry about not deserving a friend like him.

“Yeah, you can be an asshole sometimes, but don’t ever let me catch you talking that way about yourself,” Jimin says, unmoving. “You’re human and we all make mistakes. We learn and we move forward. I won’t let you be mean to yourself, though. That’s what you don’t deserve.”

Once you feel like you’ve said everything that you could possibly say, Jimin informs you that you’re taking tomorrow off as well and that he’ll be staying over. Just like when you were in college. The order for the night was trashy TV and junk food and no wine for you because you’re still hungover and no talking about feelings at all. You can pick all that up again tomorrow, but tonight is about giving your brain a break.

It takes much longer than you expect to really come to terms with what happened between you and Jungkook. You haven’t seen him since you walked out the door. In fact, you hadn’t even texted him until reaching out yesterday to see if he was willing to meet up. It wasn’t to work through things, though, as much as it was for you to heal. And hopefully for him to heal as well.

The past few months have been some of the scariest and most rewarding of your life. You’ve never really been alone, separate from a partner. You’ve gone from one relationship to the next for as long as you could remember and ignored anyone suggesting to take time nearly as long. The fight with Jungkook had been a wake-up call, an unwelcome one at the time, but one that you can now see the value in. It forced you to really look at yourself, at your choices, at everything that led you to that moment, to learn what you actually wanted.

And you don’t really know what you want, but you think it’s somewhere between your ex and Jungkook. Yes, you want something stable and comfortable, someone that you know and that you can rely on. At the same time, you want someone that will challenge you, excite you, keep you on your toes. It was unfair of you to put all that onto Jungkook. Whatever mistakes he may have also made, you want to own yours. Part of you knew that he was never going to be what you needed him to be and rushed forward head first anyway.

Everything led you to this point now, where you wait for Jungkook to show up. He had replied quicker than you expected and seemed happy to meet, despite you being clear on needing to talk to him. Maybe there were things he needed to say too.

The tinkling of the bell over the door catches your attention and you watch Jungkook walk through the doors, somehow exactly the same. It’s only been a few months, you remind yourself, not like he could change entirely.

The next part feels awkward, how do you greet him? You stand, considering what to do, when he saves you the trouble and goes in to give you a quick hug. Nothing too serious and also nothing too formal.

“Thanks for meeting me,” you say and he smiles.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about everything that happened too, honestly, so it felt like a good time.”

And just like that, it’s easy to talk. Really talk. Jungkook lets you go first and you lay out everything you’ve learned over the past couple months. He lets you make your apologies and makes his own. You’re able to take ownership of the mistakes you make, because you really understand them after months working through your shit, and feel like he’s forgiven you for how you handled things. You know that you can never fully expect to get closure in life, but this feels close. It feels like you can actually close the door on a chapter to move forward.

Apparently he’s been doing a lot of work on himself too. He admits to knowing that you were in deeper than he was and letting it go on anyway, something he’s not proud of and something he hopes you’ll forgive. He’s not there yet but he’s working on better communication, letting partners know what he can give and what he can’t. He’s trying to figure out what it is he actually wants and what he doesn’t. Even though you don’t need him to say it, he also wants you to know that, as cliche as it sounds, it wasn’t you. Not entirely at least. He got so caught up in how good the physical side of things was that he didn’t consider how you were both hurting each other.

Neither one of you is really sure how to leave things. Part of you, and you can see part of him too, wants to ask if there’s a way to move forward as friends. He’s been part of your life on and off for the past 7 years, since meeting when you were only 18 years old. You take the plunge, though, and say that he’s always going to have a place in your heart. You’re just not sure he can have a place in your life, at least not now. There’s a moment of relief on his face. Like he’s happy you were the one to make the call because he isn’t sure he could. He really does have a lot of work to do, he says.

“Do you know him?” Jungkook asks as the conversation is naturally winding down.

You turn your head to follow his eyes on a man wearing dress pants and a nice shirt. He seems caught up in whatever he’s reading on his laptop, slightly shaggy hair slipping into his eyes. You’re about to say no when he looks up and meets your eyes. There’s something…familiar about him. Like you know him from somewhere that you’ve forgotten. Almost like the memory is hazy and you can’t fully grasp it. He smiles, a really nice smile, and then looks back down at his laptop.

“I don’t think so,” you finally answer.

“He keeps looking over here,” Jungkook comments. You look for any sign of anything negative on his face, but it isn’t there.

“Yeah, I don’t know, if I do know him, I can’t figure out from where,” you admit.

“Maybe you should say hi,” he says and you just smile.

“With you here?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles with a shake of his head. He’s standing up the next second. “I actually have to go to an appointment with my therapist.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say and stand as well to give him another hug. Slightly less awkward this time.

“I’m proud of you too, proud of us, really,” he says.

“Take care, Jungkook,” you say.

“You too,” he answers with a smile.

Just like that, he’s heading out the door. He looks back once to smile at you and you wave. You’re wondering if that’s the last time you’ll see him. Maybe it is and maybe that’s exactly how it should be. Things feel better now, easier. There’s no lingering doubts and even though you know you still have a ways to go, you think that you can really do it this time.

But before you can retreat further into your own head, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

“This seat still taken?”

You look up to find the man that Jungkook asked about moments earlier and that’s when it clicks. Yes, you do know him and you finally remember from where. The world certainly works in mysterious ways.

i hope you liked it, it was definitely a ride writing it <3

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #kvanity #bangtantheatrenet #jungkook angst #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts fic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines

681 notes · View notes

alaskasmonsters · 1 year

Text

𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖜𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖞 | 𝖕𝖙. 2 (gojo satoru)

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

content: reader has amnesia, pining, oblivious reader, not actually unrequited feelings, misunderstanding, clown behaviour (gojo IS in it after all), fluff, gojo being a softie

w/c: 7.069

summary: your amnesia still wasn't getting better and your confusing feelings for satoru, a man you didn't even remember, didn't help at all. and why did he keep acting so...weird?

a/n: happy april fools! instead of pranking you with a not funny joke like the majority of the internet i decided to give you a gift! the second part you’ve been waiting for for months haha…🥲 i hope the word count makes up for it a little as this did end up long!! i completely underestimated how much work this would be so forgive me for the v long wait 🙏🙏 i hope i didn’t forget to tag anybody!!this time i also can finally say that this is being posted on April fools because gojo is a jOKE! peace and love on planet earth ❤️ alsoo i coloured the header myself as a little extra hehe.

part 1

So. You were in love with Satoru. No biggie.

You had fallen in love before, maybe even times that lay beyond the reach of your current memories. Loves that weren’t him. Loves that had been lost in the darkness of the six years you couldn’t remember anymore. Years that you feared you would never get back again.

Six years.

You stared back at the reflection in your mirror, hands absentmindedly picking at your hair. You’ve been trying to make it look nice for the past half an hour but whenever you felt like you were happy enough with how it looked you made up your mind and started tugging at it again.

You just couldn’t decide how to wear it, whether to smooth it down or mess it up, or maybe use any product. You couldn’t remember how you used to wear it. This haircut wasn’t familiar to you. Hell, not even your face was familiar to you. Your cheeks used to be rounder, your eyebags weren't as prominent before and you couldn’t tell whether you looked tired or you were just growing old.

“26 isn’t old, you dork”, is what Satoru had told you when you had complained to him about it. It was, though, when you couldn’t remember anything past twenty.

You sighed, dropping your head against the glass of your bathroom mirror, the glass fogging where your warm breath hit it.

Yeah, that you were in love with a man you couldn’t remember was only the tip of the iceberg your ‘life-past-amnesia’ ship was steadily heading towards. It was already a mess by itself, sure, but things were worse, way worse than they seemed at first glance. At least they were in this new life that included curses and amnesia spells.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t remember Satoru. Not how you’ve met or how you’ve fallen in love with him. All the moments that had slowly tipped you over the edge or maybe. Maybe there was only one moment that had made you fall for him. Brutal and quick, like a punch to the face. You had a few pictures, the doodle and the promise of the bowl of rock candy. The candy that you were allergic to but Satoru loved. Candy you probably bought just for him to grab handfuls of it and stuff it into his pockets when he came over to visit. 26-year-old you must be helplessly in love.

The tip of the iceberg though? You didn’t think Satoru returned your feelings. Or the 26-year-old you's feelings at least. Considering how he’s behaved after finding out about your amnesia you were certain that the man only saw you as a friend. Sure, maybe he’s been trying to distance himself from you emotionally, because you not remembering him was hard for him, but that didn’t mean anything. After all, if Satoru felt the same way, if the both of you had been more than friends��wouldn’t he have told you?

Yeah, he was very strict with the “Don’t tell Y/N anything about the past 6 years” rule but certainly, this would be an exception.

Which meant your love wasn’t just helpless, but also unrequited.

You sighed, burying your fingers in your hair again and suppressing the need to rip your hair out.

26-year-old you was such a loser.

You gave yourself a minute to grieve the loss of your nonexistent coolness, then you straightened up again, carding your fingers through your hair to fix the mess you just created.

You’ve been losing your mind about this issue for way too long already. It’s like you couldn’t think about anything else anymore but Satoru and your feelings for him. Which was ridiculous. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this since last week when you’d first realized that you had liked him, back in your living room when he’d confirmed to you that it was him who drew that ugly sketch for you, the one that looked like the drawing of a child.

Well…it wasn’t ugly…it was kinda cute. Knowing him you could imagine he was doing it to annoy you…or maybe because he tried to make you laugh? When thinking of the little sticky note you could almost picture his wide grin and the way he must have praised himself for drawing such a wonderful masterpiece just for you. Maybe he’d poked your cheek and made fun of your annoyed expression. Maybe he had kissed your cheek right after you’d told him to stop being a menace, giggling against your skin, breath warm and tickl…

Not that he’d done that before. Kiss your cheek. Why did you picture him doing that?

You shook yourself out of your thoughts. This was getting pathetic. Now that you remembered your feelings for him it was almost like they were trying to rush back into your body, like a wave being pulled back to land with force. And with the feelings, the wishful thinking, the yearning, came.

Not that any of it was real. Your feelings were just a projection of your subconsciousness because you knew you were supposed to have them! And your thoughts were just you being a hopeless romantic, imagining sweet moments between you and Satoru that never happened.

You barely knew the man. After all, it's been three weeks now, since that day you’ve woken up without your memories. Three weeks. And nothing. Your memories hadn’t returned and you were unable to recall anything from the past 6 years. There was only this stupid feeling of deja-vu you had when Satoru had shown you his eyes and the instinct to call him by his first name when you scolded him. And now those lingering romantic feelings.

But that didn’t count. It was not enough.

Why did you like Satoru? Why were you in love with him? You wanted to know so badly you felt like you were going insane. It couldn’t be just because he was pretty, right? You weren’t that shallow, right?

Not that he hadn’t displayed any good qualities so far. He was funny and attentive, he knew your favourite foods and paid attention to what you told him. At the same time he was one of the most annoying people you remember ever meeting and a little infuriating about 50 percent of the time…okay maybe more like 70 percent. And he thought it was funny, too, when he was being an annoying asshole. He always laughed at your sour expression.

But…his laugh was kind of cute. Even if he was being a prick, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long when you heard him laugh because he kind of snorted when he did and it was ador…Stop.

You grit your teeth and spun around to leave your bathroom. You’ve been spending way too much in there trying to fix your hair, anyway. You were starting to behave weirdly, thinking about Satoru’s laugh and his eyes and his everything.

Fuck. This was bad. Were you actually in love with him now? Not 26-year-old you. But this you. Even without your memories of him? Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

You stomped through your bedroom, glancing at the clock on your nightstand, the time reading 2:30 PM, before ripping open your closet. You had another 10 minutes. You can’t believe you’ve wasted so much time just being distracted with your hair and thoughts. You were sure that when you had entered the bathroom it had only been around 2 PM.

You quickly grabbed some pants and a shirt, deeming both acceptable before slipping into them, almost stumbling over your feet as you tried to climb into the pants and then almost hitting your elbow against the closet door as you pulled your shirt over your head. One look in the mirror and you pulled the shirt over your head again. It looked stupid. Not a good fit with the pants.

You started rummaging through your closet again, internally scolding yourself for even bothering that much. You were only going out to grab food with Satoru. It wasn’t a big deal, you were sure you’d done that all the time.

Satoru had told you he’d pick you up. He hadn’t told you where you were going because it was supposed to be a “surprise” but knowing him it wouldn’t be anything too fancy. At least you hoped it wasn’t. He would have told you if it was, right?

You stopped and looked down at your pants. They would work, right?

You shook your head. Again. You did that a lot now.

You finally decided on a button-up shirt, a little bit too big on you but the material was soft and it looked good. You had to roll up the sleeves a little but then you only had to slip into some shoes and you were ready.

Just in time, because that was the moment you heard your front door open and Satoru’s voice calling your name in a sing-song voice.

You groaned, having half a mind to stomp out of your bedroom and throw him out of your apartment.

“Just because you have a key doesn’t mean you can just come in!” You called through your closed bedroom door – you had expected him to wander into your apartment unannounced.

His laugh was just as cute when the door’s wood muffled it.

“I told you I would be here by 2:30, Yn-chan. I’m on time!”

You looked back at the clock to find he was right. He was on time. Didn’t mean he didn’t have to knock. This was your apartment, after all. He didn’t live here.

You looked at yourself in the mirror one more time, giving your outfit a once-over and letting your fingers smooth down your hair one more time before you opened your door and stepped out of your room.

“One day you’re gonna walk in on me naked and you will not survive that because I will kill you,” you scolded Satoru, waving your finger at him in a warning.

The man just snickered at your comment, grinning widely as his eyes fell on you. His eyes were neatly hidden behind his sunglasses yet again. Still, you didn’t miss the way they looked you over, studying you with badly concealed amusement.

You frowned, tensing. Did you look weird?

“Any special occurrence I don’t know about?” Satoru asked innocently, cocking his head at you.

You blinked. “What? Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately but his grin didn’t waver.

You looked down at your outfit again, wondering if it was too fancy. You knew this wasn’t a date or anything but you couldn’t help but put a little effort into your looks. Maybe it was a little more than you’d usually wear but you didn’t think it was too on the nose.

When you didn’t seem to understand what Satoru was referring to he took pity on you and stepped closer.

“Where did you get the shirt from?” He asked, tone light, as he reached out to tug at our sleeve.

You looked down at it, wondering why he wanted to know so badly. The shirt looked like any other. There was nothing really special about it. Maybe it was a little bigger on you but you had plenty of oversized clothes.

“I don’t know. My closet.” You shrugged.

Satoru rolled his eyes beneath his glasses.

“Try to remember!” he insisted, tapping your forehead.

You sighed, tired of this specific game. Still, you knew you had no choice but to indulge him. He was only trying to help you, after all.

“A gift,” you suggested.

Satoru smiled.

“Very good.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised but excited.

He hummed. “It used to be mine.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. Well…that was something.

“And you gave it to me? Why?”

Satoru cocked his head to the side, looking at you expectantly.

You groaned and hit his arm lightly. “I don’t know! Just tell me.”

The grin that snuck on his face was mischievous with an edge of…something. Something that made you feel a little dizzy. When he answered his voice was deeper than before, an edge of huskiness to it.

“You look cuter in it than I do, Yn-chan.”

You caught yourself before your mouth could drop open, and you could do something stupid like actually swoon. Instead, you scoffed and turned your back to him, pretending to reach for your bag, giving you an opportunity to hide your reddening face from his prying eyes.

Why did he have to say it like that? Was he trying to be a little shit?

Satoru chuckled as if he knew what you were doing. It didn’t help at all with the warmth in your cheeks. You grind your teeth as you slung your bag over your shoulder, then decide against it, only grabbing your keys and wallet to stuff into the pocket of your jacket. You let out a quiet breath to collect yourself before turning back towards the man. He waited patiently with a small grin on his lips.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

You hummed and moved past him to step towards the door. You reached for the handle, then you paused. Feeling Satoru’s gaze linger at the back of your head, you touched a hand to your hair again, fiddling with a strand in the back you felt was not sitting right.

Your lip jutted out in frustration and you had half a mind to excuse yourself to the bathroom to return to your earlier attempt at making your hair sit okay. Before you could do it, you heard Satoru approaching.

Turning back, the apology you were about to mutter died on your tongue as you saw him leaning over you. His expression was serious as he caught your wrist between your fingers and moved your hand to the side before he started softly moving his fingers through your hair instead. You froze, standing still as he combed down once, twice, giving a harsh tug to one of your strands before he pulled back with a satisfied smile.

“Here we go. What would you do without me?”

His voice sounded so so soft.

You swallowed, trying to calm your fluttering heart down as you blinked up at the man who was regarding you with warm eyes. Oh no, oh no no no. 26-year-old you had a point. They had a good point.

“Does it…look better?” You asked nervously, your hand moving up to touch your hair carefully before Satoru batted it away and chided you for trying to mess with his good work.

You glared at him, knowing full well your gaze had lost its heat, and he just chuckled.

“Your hair looks beautiful as always, Y/n chan, I just helped improve it,” he soothed you, waving his hand with a silly grin.

You bit your lip, averting your gaze.

“I guess it’s just different from what I remember.”

He hummed noncommittally. Then he opened the door wide, waving his other hand to motion you to go first. The crooked smile resting on his face at that moment did not leave your mind all night.

—

“You’re such a chicken, Yn-cha,” Satoru teased.

You gasped, offended. “Am not!”

He poked your cheek with a soft chuckle. “Such a chicken!”

You batted his hand away, contemplating for a second if you should just bite it. You had quickly noticed that Satoru drove one to measurements like those. Would you ever consider biting anyone else’s hand? No, not in a million years. But the man was so infuriating sometimes it just awoke this urge in you.

Satoru grinned like he knew exactly what you had thought, wiggling his fingers in the air between you as if to dare you to do it. Sometimes it really seemed like he could read your mind. You blamed it on your apparently close friendship before the whole amnesia thing.

When you didn’t actually attempt to sink your teeth into his skin he let his hand fall to the side and stuck out his tongue. You punched his arm with a huff, leading him to let out a dramatic whine.

You couldn’t believe you actually liked this dork. It was still a mystery to you, even now that you’ve finally accepted your fate. After the not-date, it was hard not to. The night wasn’t very eventful, you had only visited a little ice cream parlour and walked around the city a little.

Satoru had been an absolute menace and dragged you into all kinds of souvenir shops – like he didn’t live here in Tokyo…

But he’d been funny and charming despite everything. He had opened doors for you and had insisted you linked your arms together. “So I don’t lose you,” he had joked but it had sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach regardless. You had even ended up sharing a milkshake because Satoru had insisted.

It had felt like a date. It really had. But it couldn’t have been. Satoru would have told you. If there was anything going on between the two of you he would tell you. He wouldn’t keep something as big as you two being in a relationship to himself. Amnesia rules be damned.

But even if it wasn’t a date, it had only made you understand 26-year-old you’s affection towards him more. How were you meant to not fall in love with Satoru if that was how he treated you all the time?

Didn’t mean you could let him know about that, though.

The man was still pestering you, digging his finger into your side and making you squeal and squirm away.

“Come on, tell me,” he urged you with a whine, “Who is the better-looking sorcerer? Me, and you know you want to tell me, you have to follow your heart, or boring businessman Nanami?”

Yeah…that was what Satoru has been annoying you about for the last five minutes on your way to Shoko’s office. Five minutes. And only because you had passed Nanami on your way there and Satoru had noticed your eyes following the man after he had nodded politely at you in greeting and given Satoru a deadpan stare before he walked past you.

Since then Satoru was relentless in his quest to find out if you thought Nanami was more attractive than him because well…Satoru was a menace. And his ego was apparently very fragile.

“And I told you, I cannot answer this question honestly because your ego wouldn’t survive the fall, now cut it out, you big baby,” you teased him and pushed his hand away.

Satoru shook his head, not ready to give up yet. If the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by.

“You’re such a chicken, Yn-chan. You’re just too embarrassed to admit how attractive you think I am. You think I’m gorgeous. It’s okay to admit I am the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen.”

You rolled your eyes, hating that he was right. Nanami was a very attractive man. Unfortunately, you’ve found yourself more drawn to pretty men with gorgeous eyes and annoying personalities and an ego the size of all of Tokyo. Skill issue on your part.

“Sure, that’s it,” you deadpanned and Satoru hummed with delight.

“Admitting this takes strength, I know.” He gave a solemn nod and reached to pat your shoulder but you shoved him and sent him stumbling to the side, laughing.

You had to hide your smile.

You arrived at Shoko’s office only a little bit later. Satoru knocked but barely waited until the woman told them to come in before pushing the door open and sticking his head through the gap, giving a cheerful greeting.

You heard Shoko groan before being dragged into the office by Satoru, his grip around your shoulder as he pulled you in front of him. The woman’s features softened at your sight, the lines in her forehead smoothing out again. You waved at her with a small smile, understanding the annoyance Satoru was able to awaken in people.

“I’ll leave them in your hands,” Satoru announced, grabbing both your shoulders and pushing you forward like a mother presenting her child.

“They’re not a child, you idiot,” Shoko sighed.

The man’s only reply was a smile, as he patted your shoulders innocently. You glared at him and called him a jerk and Satoru laughed. Before he finally let go of you again he gave your shoulders a squeeze as if to ensure you he’d be back, then he retracted towards the door.

“Remember! No memory discussion! Alright, bye. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” He waved at both of you before slipping out of the office and closing the door behind him.

“I feel like I was just handed off to daycare,” you sighed and Shoko snickered.

“He’s very protective of you.” She said it in a voice that sounded neither like she was excusing his behaviour nor like she was scolding him. “Could be less annoying about it, though.”

You hummed in agreement, taking a seat on the small sofa in the corner of the room. Shoko watched you quietly from where she was sitting behind her desk, tapping her fingers against the wood.

“I can imagine you’re getting frustrated by being asked this so much, but do you remember anything yet?”

You sighed, having expected that question. It’s been almost a month, after all. You knew that this was probably going on longer than any of them had expected. “No? I mean. Other than a few deja vus, if that counts.”

She nodded, staring thoughtfully at the screen of her computer.

“Any other symptoms? Headaches? Nausea? Blackouts? Any physical pain? More tired than usual? Numbness?”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “No, Doctor, no other symptoms.”

Shoko blinked, looking taken aback. Her eyes darted back towards you, then she burst out into quiet laughter.

You frowned, confused.

“You’re still calling me out even without your memories,” She mused to herself when she calmed down, “Can’t help it, really.”

You leaned back into the cushions of the couch, feeling warm at the sound of Shoko’s laugh. For some reason, you felt incredibly pleased.

“So you do this a lot then. Turn on the doctor mode,” you asked her with a teasing tone, wondering if you could get any information out of her without Satoru being around to shush her.

She rolled her eyes.

“You complain about me mothering you too much when you get sick. But wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a difficult patient.”

You lightened up, grinning. “Mh, yeah, I like to ignore my illnesses until they go away.”

Shoko gave you an unimpressed look, seemingly displeased by how unashamed you were about it. You just shrugged. The woman decided to let it go, only muttering something to herself you couldn’t hear from the distance but were sure was about you being a brat.

“Has Satoru been pestering you a lot about the memory thing? I bet he is, that idiot.”

Your smile fell.

“No, actually, he barely asks about it,” you admitted, your eyes falling to your lap. “I feel like he’s pretending to be less bothered by it than he actually is.”

“Oh?” Shoko asked, but she didn’t sound surprised by your observation at all.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You know.”

“Why Satoru is holding you at arm’s length? Take a guess.”

“I don’t know. I barely know him.”

Shoko shook her head, raising an eyebrow at you.

“You know him quite well. You just don’t remember. At least consciously.”

You frowned, sitting up. “What do you mean?”

Shoko leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, regarding you with a calm gaze.

“You said you were having deja vus?”

You nodded, telling her about when you had called Satoru by his first name for the first time and the feeling you’ve had when the man had pulled off his glasses and showed you his eyes. How you’d felt like it hadn’t been the first time.

That last part brought an amused smile to the women’s lips. “Of course, he’d try to copy that.”

You perked up at her words. “So that did happen before!”

Shoko hummed. “Which just proves my suspicions. Subconsciously you still remember the past six years.” She raised her hand and motioned towards you. “You instinctively know how to engage with your environment and with the people you are close friends with. You recognise familiar situations and you still seem to feel the same way towards us. You just fail to consciously access your memories.”

You frowned, not quite understanding what the woman was saying. Were feelings connected to memories? Could you being in love with Satoru be a sign that your memories weren’t as removed as you had first suspected?

Shoko, who noticed your confusion, explained further, “Y/n, I remember when you first got here. It took you months until you opened up to us more and started warming up to Satoru. Even though you are now affected by amnesia you didn’t revert back to that state. You still act as you did a month ago before you lost your memories.”

So the loss of memories wasn’t really the issue, you just couldn’t access them.

“So…what do you think I should do?”

She shrugged. “Trust your instincts.”

You sighed. Right. Your instincts. Like you could trust them when they were so ridden with your wistful yearning. What if you told Shoko that your instincts were screaming at you to wrap your arms around Satoru, bury your head in his chest and stay there? That your instincts were screaming at you to grab his face and kiss him. That your instincts were telling you that the two of you should be dating and that it was unfair how you were stuck with those feelings instead of 26-year-old you who actually knew how to deal with them.

Shoko clicked her tongue and let out a snort, making you look up with panic. Had you said any of that out loud?

“What?”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe that jerk pulled the eye move but not that stupid hand thing with Infinity on you.”

“Infinity?” you questioned, feeling like the word felt familiar to you.

“It’s one of his curse techniques.” Shoko looked up to the ceiling, pursing her lips.

Then she started to explain to you, as simply as possible, what Infinity was and how it worked. You listened to her with wide eyes, feeling yourself grow a little dizzy.

“Infinity?” You echoed.

“Infinity.” Shoko repeated again, raising an eyebrow at your pale face. “I know you don’t remember anymore but there is no need to look so terrified.”

“So no one…can touch him?”

“Without his permission, yes. The jerk turns it off sometimes when he pleases.” She rolled her eyes.

At your silence she turns to you, a frown twisted her face. “What is wrong?”

“I just…we’re kind of touching all the time.”

Shoko gave you a look and you blushed, cheeks exploding in warmth. That sounded…not like you had wanted it to sound.

“No…not like that, it’s just- casual, I guess. But…”

Shoko grinned. “I see.” Then she burst out into laughter.

You felt yourself blushing even more, lips jutting out in a pout. “What’s so funny?”

“The asshole always turns it off around you. It’s probably subconscious at this point.”

You blinked. “He does?”

Shoko lifted a brow, giving you an amused look. “Surprised?”

“I- of course!”

Why wouldn’t you be? You wouldn’t put it past Satoru to turn on Infinity whenever you hit his arm or shove him just to annoy you.

Shoko just shrugged, eyes twinkling with mirth as she told you, “Some motivation to remember I guess.”

“Shoko!” You whined.

The woman just chuckled again. “You could try to surprise him. Touch him when he doesn’t suspect it. Just to test the theory.”

Yeah…maybe you’d do that.

—

You sighed, watching Satoru empty the bowl of rock candy you’d just restocked the other day, grabbing a handful of them before throwing himself back down on the couch. Your eyes followed his fingers as he skillfully unwrapped each candy with one hand before Satoru stuffed them into his mouth. He hummed appreciatively every time.

You couldn’t believe a 26-year-old you was so desperately in love with him to be indulging this behaviour.

“I didn’t stock them up just for you to eat all of it within a day.”

Satoru turned his head a little in your direction but his glasses were hiding his intended side-eye.

“But you got them for me, didn’t you?”

He grinned as you stayed silent, knowing he’s seen right through you.

“You’re so sweet, Y/n-chan.”

You huffed. “Shut up. Who says I got them for you?”

“You’re allergic and as you’ve said before I am the only one who’s shown up to your apartment the past few weeks. Who else would you get them for?”

You leaned back in the chair, eyes resting on the bowl on your desk. “My secret boyfriend obviously.”

Satoru hummed. “I thought you came to the conclusion he didn’t exist.”

You bit your lips, glad he has turned with his back towards you again so he couldn’t see your conflicted expression. Maybe you’d just come to the conclusion that you wished Satoru was the secret boyfriend…

You couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation Shoko and you had had that day. About Satoru’s distance, about your lingering feelings despite the memory ‘loss’ and about Infinity. Especially that last part hadn’t left you any peace. What reason was there for Satoru to shut it off around you? Even when you threatened him with your chopsticks? Or was it just another amnesia rule? Did he want you to remember Infinity by yourself?

You frowned, eyes gazing towards his seat on the couch. He was still happily munching on his candy, his back exposed to you.

What had Shoko said? You should try to test him by touching him when he didn’t expect it? This way he couldn’t just shut it off at the last moment. This way you’d know for sure if he automatically disabled it around you.

Your fingers itched and you balled your hands into fists to stop yourself from tapping them against your thighs. You were sitting close enough that if you leaned forward you would be able to touch him. He was still busy with the candy, making happy noises.

Your eyes zoned in on the uncovered patch of skin on his neck, a pale stripe peeking out between his hair and his collar.

Satoru made a questioning sound in the back of his throat and you realised he was still expecting an answer.

“How do I know you’re not just keeping him away from me? Maybe it’s just another one of your amnesia rules.” You tried to joke, keeping your voice steady.

He snickered, shoulders shaking as his head fell forwards a little, exposing even more skin of his neck.

You stared at it, feeling your heartbeat out of your chest.

“Though I definitely have the power to do that I don’t think-”

You pushed your finger against the skin of Satoru’s neck.

The man stopped, neither flinching nor moving away. He just waited.

Your eyes went wide, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your finger. He hadn’t activated Infinity. He couldn’t even have known that you would touch him. Your mind was reeling.

“Sorry, you-uh-there…there was a hair!” You yelled out, voice rising an octave, as you swiped your finger down his skin to pretend like you were brushing it away.

Then you quickly snatched your hand away.

“I see. Thank you.” Satoru’s tone was unreadable again. And he still didn’t turn around.

Not that it would have helped ease your mind to see his expression, not when the glasses were hiding his true feelings by covering his eyes.

“Of course.” You laughed awkwardly, now wanting nothing more than to bend forward and press your lips to the spot you had just touched.

You shock yourself out of that thought. Get a grip.

You cleared your throat. “So you have… the power to keep my secret boyfriend away, huh?”

It was meant to lighten the mood, maybe get rid of the sudden tension you felt between the two of you. But Satoru stayed quiet for a while.

“I’m the strongest.” He said it like it was a fact and for some reason, you didn’t doubt him.

You smiled. “Maybe he’d get very upset if he found out you ate all his candy and would try to fight you.”

“I’d win,” Satoru insisted, finally turning around to look at you, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

And then with one smooth move, he bent over the back of the couch and snatched the bowl of rock candy from your desk. You gasped, watching in shock as the man dug his hand in the contents and fished out even more candy than he had before.

You jumped up, reaching for the bowl.

“Give it to me.”

“Nope.” Satoru laughed, holding his hand out of your reach.

You bent over the back of the couch, stabilising yourself on his shoulder as you climbed half over the backrest, Satoru’s laughter filling the air with your annoyed yells.

“Satoru stop being a little shit. I just bought these. That’s way too much sugar for you.”

You reached over him, catching his wrist and almost losing balance and falling but were able to catch yourself in the last moment, luckily not smashing your foreheads together in the process. Wait…foreheads?

You froze, hands still holding his wrist as you realized that you were now sitting in Satoru’s lap.

Like actually sitting in Satoru’s lap. Butt on thighs. Sitting.

You…what?

You couldn’t move, you tried to will yourself to do something. Anything. But your body didn’t respond, too overwhelmed that you were sitting on Satoru’s lap.

The man looked unbothered, eyes twinkling with mischief as your cheeks exploded with heat and you kind of wanted to slap him because what the fuck?

You let go of his wrists and quickly tried to move back and out of his lap but had to have Satoru save you from losing balance and almost falling backwards in your attempts. Which he did by grabbing your waist with his hands and pulling you back in his lap, letting go of the candy still in his hand. The sound of them clattering to the floor filled the following silence.

“Careful,” he chided you, voice playful.

You stared at him, eyes darting between the dark lenses of his sunglasses and across his face as you tried to work out what was happening.

“See something you like?” he teased, hands still comfortably resting on your waist.

That’s what you noticed suddenly. He hadn’t let go of you. No, he was keeping you in his lap, like he wanted you there. And what he just said…was he flirting?

Seriously flirting?

You reached forward, not knowing what possessed you as your fingers traced the frames of Satoru’s glasses before softly plucking them from his face. The man didn’t stop you. He remained still, unblinkingly staring up at you with those blue eyes that mirrored the sky. You folded the glasses absentmindedly and clipped them to his shirt before your hand reached for his face again. The cap of your finger brushed the skin of his cheek, barely able to notice the softness of it when you came back to yourself. What the fuck were you doing.

You reeled back, almost falling out of Satoru’s lap again if it wasn’t for the man’s grip around you.

“Why are you fighting it?” His voice was suddenly serious.

You blinked, overwhelmed by what had just happened, what was still happening.

“Fighting what?” You breathed out, flexing your fingers in his grip.

Without much explanation, he pulled your hand back to its previous position a few inches away from his face before letting go again.

“Trust your instincts and stop fighting them, otherwise your memories will never return.”

You swallowed.

“What if it’s not instincts?”

He cocked his head. You didn’t continue your sentence.

What if it was merely your feelings for him? What if you messed things up for 26-year-old you?

Gojo sighed, shoulders falling and for a second you saw disappointment fleet through his gaze before it was replaced with a feigned expression of amusement.

“You’re such a chicken.”

He straightened up and you realised that he was letting you go, that you could get out of his lap now. Instead, you did something stupid.

You grabbed his face with both of your hands and waited long enough to see him perk up in surprise, eyes wide as they stared up at you, and then you leaned down to press your lips against his.

Satoru didn’t even wait until your lips were fully connected before he pushed forward, head tilting until your mouths could slot together perfectly. Something in your chest fluttered as he pulled you closer against him, your chests being pressed together. You gasped into his mouth. He used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips and you followed his guidance, letting yourself sink into the sensation. You shuddered against him, overwhelmed with the feeling of him but at the same time, it felt normal…a little bit like you were coming home.

You both pulled back to catch your breath, not moving far away, noses still close enough to almost touch. This was insane. You couldn’t help staring at him, his eyes looked so bright and a little crazy. You just noticed how impossibly blue they were. Bluer than the sky even, like they contained a whole other universe in them.

You swallowed, tongue darting out to wet your tingling lips, the taste of sugar lingering there. You didn’t pay any attention to it, too distracted by the excitement that bloomed in your chest when Satoru’s eyes darted down to follow the moment.

A laugh bubbled past your throat at the absurdity of it all. Only yesterday you wouldn’t have thought it possible that Satoru would let you kiss him, much less kiss you back. That you’d been sitting here in his lap, all because of…well…

“You deactivated it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Mh?”

“When I touched your neck. Infinity.”

His eyes widened, finding yours. “You remember that?”

You gave his cheek an apologetic squeeze, “Shoko told me.”

He visibly deflated. “So you still remember nothing?”

Yeah…there was still that. Your memories. You swallowed, eyes darting down to his lips again and you remembered what Shoko had told you. What Satoru had just told you. You have to trust your instincts.

“I can’t tell if it’s a memory or more of a feeling. But I think we’ve kissed before.”

“Oh yeah?” Satoru teased, visibly brightening up again.

“Satoru.”

He hummed, fingers squeezing your waist as he pulled you closer against him. Your thumb brushed his cheek and your noses brushed.

“Do feelings count as memories?”

Satoru lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re getting philosophical with me.”

You softly pinched his cheek.

“Would you let me kiss you again?”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Would that help with your memories?”

“Would you let me even if it didn’t?” You whispered, already leaning closer.

“Are you asking these questions to figure me out or because you want to kiss me?” he asked, but his voice sounded hoarse and you could tell that he wanted you to kiss him just as badly as you wanted to kiss him.

“I’m following my instincts,” You muttered and leaned back in to connect your lips again.

Yeah. This was like coming home.

—

After that afternoon you became bolder. Pulling Satoru down for kisses, reaching to hold his hand, sitting close enough your legs were touching, snuggling up to him when you were watching a movie.

To your pleasant surprise the man was accepting your touches with ease, Infinity still shut off around you. You didn’t talk about it at first, happy to just enjoy this new but somehow familiar dynamic you had. But there was really just one explanation for this.

“We’re dating.”

Your statement didn’t seem to surprise Satoru at the very least.

“Is that a question or a statement?” he mused, not even turning around as he prepared your food at the counter of your kitchen.

You closed the distance between the both of you and slung your arms around him, testing, and just like you’d expected, he let you. Not just that, it almost felt like he was leaning into your touch.

“I’m pretty confident,” you hummed, tightening your grip and pressing your face into his side.

“You’re remembering?” Satoru asked but he didn’t sound convinced.

You scrunched your face. “Did I ask you out?”

Satoru tensed and peaked down at you, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Are you guessing?”

You grinned. “I asked you out but you kissed me first.”

His eyes widened. “Y/n…”

Your grin softened into a smile at his hopeful eyes.

“It’s not really remembering, I think. It just…feels right. It’s like I just know it.”

He sighed, reaching out to twirl your hair between his fingers.

“Are you even trying?” He sounded so whiny. It made you giggle again.

“You’re such a jerk. Why didn’t you just tell me we were dating?”

“You need to remember yourself for the curse to wear off,” he justified, but then admitted what you had already suspected, “It was also very funny to watch you squirm and be all flustered around me. You were so embarrassed for wanting to see my eyes.” He giggled to himself. “And to hear about that secret boyfriend of yours you buy those candies for was very entertaining. “

You rolled your eyes. “And you were that secret boyfriend the whole time.”

Discarding the food at the counter the man turned around in your grip so he could sling his arms around you as well. He rested his head on top of yours.

“You never told me you were allergic.”

You shrugged. “You would have made fun of me for being so smitten with you.”

“Because you are! You love me so much!” he sing-sang, rocking you in his arms, making you laugh.

“Yeah, I do,” you agreed softly.

taglist:

@crystal-lilac @duf3h6237 @hufflefluffslytherin @chucky-26o1 @lordbugs @patchi-chi @chewymoustachio @enesitamor @yourbloodyqueen @lady-cryptstone @iwatobiswimbros @kite11 @kurookinnie @spacedaddydinn @nishayuro @cinaiel @marblesphere @zhah-zu @olaf9086 @oriontingz @bloobrryktty

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojou x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #gojou satoru #gojou x you

847 notes · View notes

mochatsin · 9 months

Text

MC GIVING GIFTS FOR THE BROTHERS

You’ve been racking up quite a ton of grimm with all the part time jobs you’ve worked in. You decided maybe you can go a bit off budget for once and spoil one of the brothers as a token of appreciation.

we stan a self-sufficient MC in this household. Just imagine your MC working in Akuber and other jobs earning that sweet grimm.

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

Lucifer

The seemingly endless amounts of paperwork that Diavolo has been leaving on his desk gave him quite the headache. He dreads going to his office every time, expecting to find another stack of student complaints and reports about his brother’s behavior.

Surprisingly though, he finds a bottle tied with a ribbon on his desk. But when he picked up and read the label, his eyes went wide to see it’s one of the finest brands of Demonus.

He knows his brothers well enough to cross them off the list of people to buy him this. Even if this was a prank from Satan or Belphie, the price tag is way too expensive for the both of them to even consider this. Perhaps it's the young prince then?

After closer inspection, he does find a small card for him and he immediately knows it's from you. ‘I bought this bottle for you since you’ve been working so hard. Take a break okay? — MC’

It’s the little sheep doodle at the end of the card that made him chuckle. It’s adorable, he thought to himself. He smiles before taking out his D.D.D. to call you.

“I found the bottle you left at my desk earlier today MC. You know you didn’t have to get me something so grand. I know buying this wasn’t easy.”

You explain that you bought it as thanks for all the times he got you out of the trouble the brothers would drag you in, and for making your stay in Devildom as comfortable as he can provide.

It’s not often he receives a token of gratitude from anyone in the house. For someone to be grateful for all the work he’s done, especially when it’s coming from you, he’s touched and speechless at the gesture.

You’ve been waiting for what seems to be a solid minute of pure silence. “Lucifer? Are you still there?” You asked, before you heard a light laugh from the other end.

“Well… enjoying this bottle all by myself seems rather lonesome don’t you think? After work, come to my room. Let’s have a drink together, just the two of us.”

Mammon

The poor guy has been trying to rack up all the grimm he can get but it’s as if lady luck decides to turn a blind eye. The stock market dropped today and now Lucifer confiscated Goldi because of his failing marks in class.

He’s been pretty much sulking all day. You try to cheer him up by hyping him for his next modeling gig. At least by then he’ll get some spending money right? But it doesn’t feel so comforting when you’re saying that over chat.

You’ve been busy getting some work done in your part time jobs, which means he gets to have less time with you. Making him extra sulky. You promised to drop by his room to give him a small treat once you get home, so at least that might lift his spirits.

He was expecting maybe a free snack, since you work in Akuber after all. What he did not expect was finding you on his doorstep with a paper bag labeled ‘Evil Devitton’ and no way did you actually go there?

He remembered the other day that he was complaining about how didn’t have any cash when the brand released a new watch. You have a little extra grimm to at least buy him this, but this is for all the times he’s helped you in Devildom (and kept you alive) since you’re ‘his first.’

You watched him stumble on his words and stutter, trying to think of what to say.

“T-THE GREAT MAMMON ACCEPTS YOUR TRIBUTE!” He tries to act all cool about it. You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. So he grumbles before letting out a soft “thank you” which makes you smile.

You scold him though every time he’d ask for treats or gifts, since he seems to be forgetting that the watch came from all your extra hard work. You don’t want to keep enabling his bad habits after all.

But you know that he cherishes your gifts. You found him flaunting the watch you gave him on one of his photoshoots from his latest magazine gig.

Levi

He’s been trying his hand at this market raffle. First prize gets a limited raffle-exclusive figurine of one of his favorite characters from this new series, a sales tactic to make people buy the store’s products for one entry.

Last you’ve heard from Levi, his luck (and his allowance) ran out from buying all he can for entry tickets, only to draw the wrong prizes.

He’s even begged for the brothers to buy from the store for a ticket or lend him some money so he can try again. A behavior that’s modeling his older brother. This catches Lucifer’s attention and he makes Levi put a stop to his shenanigans or he’ll do something about his Akuzon account.

Levi has been ranting to your chat while you were out finishing your shift. On the way home you decided to try your luck from that market raffle and behold, you won the first prize item. You know this means more to Levi so you went straight to his door.

The moment he opened, he immediately complained to you when it was announced that someone won the first prize raffle. “It’s just unfair! What if it was just some normie who won it?! Or someone unfamiliar with the franchise?! They’re never gonna appreciate the figurine!!”

When you finally showed him that you won the figurine, he would be excited (and jealous of your luck) because even if it’s not his, at least he gets to admire the figurine in your room.

He only stopped talking when you were handing it over to him, saying that he should keep it since he wants it more than you do. Eyes? Wide open. Jaw? Dropped.

“EH?! WHY WOULD YOU GIVE ME SOMETHING SO PRECIOUS?! I'M JUST A USELESS OTAKU AND-“ he would go on but you insisted.

It’s thanks for introducing you to some of your shows that became your favorites, as well as being your gaming buddy.

Levi.exe has stopped working.

The next day, you find the figurine you gave him on the best spot on his shelf collection.

Satan

Whenever you two would visit the library, he would always borrow the same book about magical spells. It covers 400 years worth of knowledge, so it was so thick that he can’t finish it in one sitting like he normally does.

He expressed that he wished he could add that book to his ever growing collection in his room, but he can’t exactly afford the cost for the book. Not to mention that he’s way too busy with other important affairs (feeding cats) to try to earn for it.

He went home late since there was a lot of work to be done at the council, and the dead hours of night won’t ever stop him from going to his usual spot to play with the stray cats.

He walks back up to his room only to find a big book resting on the foot of his door. Even a few feet away, he recognized the leather with gold imprinted designs and rushed towards it.

He can’t believe the book of magical spells was at his door! How did it even get here? He sends a message to the House of Lamentation group chat to ask.

Satan: Someone left the Index of Magical Spells at my door. Do any of you know who did?

Asmo: ohhh is that what MC has been carrying? Watching them lift that heavy book made me feel tired myself.

Finally getting his answer, he goes straight to your room with the book in hand. You were in the middle of writing your essay for class when he barged in.

“MC! I’ve heard from Asmo, but did you really buy this for me? This must’ve been so expensive! Not to mention really heavy…”

You explained that since you work part-time often, you’ve saved enough extra money to buy him a small thank you gift for helping you with your homework and pass your tests. It means a lot as a transfer student with little to no knowledge about this world.

“You didn’t really have to, your company is quite the treat itself. But I appreciate this. How about I help you with your essay? After that, maybe we can find some spells here that we can learn together.”

Asmo

As an Avatar of Lust who gets gifts from fans, he’s often showered with a lot of luxury brands and products. There’s not much you can actually get him when he seems to have everything he could ever want in Devildom.

You asked permission from Lord Diavolo to grab a few things up in the human world to bring to the House of Lamentation to make your room feel like home.

When you got back, Asmo was curious to see what you brought with you, so you allowed him to see what you have in your room.

You have your stuffed toy, your own blankets, some more of your casual clothes (that he’d love to mix and match on you soon), and so much more personal belongings but what got him curious is that small bag you have on your desk.

It’s a little kit with your own skincare products and personal perfume in a small container to bring along. He insists on having a whiff of your perfume and to your surprise, he loves it!

“I can’t believe it! They don’t have these kinds of scents here at Devildom! It’s probably because we don’t have the same ingredients. Ohh I'm so jealous of you right now dear! Maybe one day I can get one of my own!”

You just so happen to bring the actual bottle of perfume with you, so you dug up your luggage and offered to give him the perfume. The bottle has a very intricate design, since the brand was considered fancy in your world.

At first he was speechless, and you explained that you appreciate the moments he took care of your skin as well as the times he’d help dress you up for any important occasion (since you didn’t have much of a wardrobe when you moved in).

He’ll squeal in delight before giving you the biggest hug “DARLING! You have no idea how much this means to me!!!”

He’d brag to his brothers about receiving a gift from the human world by his beloved MC. Lucifer had to stop them when they also wanted to ask for gifts from you as well, saving you from the brothers trying to raid your room.

Beel

Beel has been studying hard lately since his grades haven’t been doing so well. Compared to Mammon’s, he’d say his grades are fine but if he doesn’t do better in his next test then Lucifer isn’t gonna lift the curse on the fridge that’s preventing him from getting his midnight snacks.

It’s difficult for him when his hunger preoccupies his mind way too often to focus. Sometimes he’d eat his homework when he can’t handle it anymore, and that’s not a good excuse against Lucifer.

There was a soft knock on his door and when he opened it, he found you holding two big bag of chips in your arms. They were so massive he barely saw your head when you carried it.

You told him that while you were out, you managed to buy a couple bags of chips, cheese puffs, and sweets that you stored in your room. You offered to sneak him a couple snacks for him, as long as he promises not to tell Lucifer about your secret stash.

“MC, you’re an absolute lifesaver right now” he says as he grabs a bag and starts snacking down on it. It was gone in 5 minutes, but it helped bring him back to focus.

You ask if he needs any help but he tries to refuse “you’ve already done so much for me though MC… you don’t have to teach me”

You insisted. Beel was the one who helped introduce you to some Devildom dishes that were safe for humans to consume, and he’s the one that reminds you to eat if you ever forget. Helping him by giving him your snacks is a small token of your appreciation.

For a few nights, Beel would chat if you’re free and you’d go visit his room with a few snacks while you help him go over the lessons.

With your help, he did a lot better at his tests much to Lucifer’s surprise.

Belphie

Belphie was beyond angry right now. He was trying to take a nap in the garden, and he found a perfect spot to remain undisturbed.

Mammon, under Lucifer’s punishment, was in charge of gardening duty. He didn’t know about his baby brother sleeping in the bushes when he turned on the sprinklers. Now Belphie was awake, drenched, and furious.

His favorite cow pillow had to be dried out, as well as some of his clothes that got soaked.

You heard about everything through Beel, he was worried about Belphie not getting enough sleep because he lost his pillow and has nothing to cuddle with. So when you got home, you made a quick stop at this nearby shop to buy him a little present.

Belphie was struggling to get some proper shut eye, not after Mammon ruined his afternoon nap and getting scolded by Lucifer when they ended up fighting and ruined the garden.

He felt something soft press against him and when he fluttered his eyes, he saw that you were holding this big cow stuffed toy with you.

You apologized for waking him. He asks what that’s for and you explain that heard what happened to his pillow. Beel told you about how much he wanted it, so you went ahead and got it for him.

It was your gift, since Belphie was always the one to remind you to rest. He would be the first to see the signs that you haven’t been getting enough sleep, so he would always remind you or even nap with you.

He has this soft smile on his face when he hugs the stuffed toy. It was so soft, just as he imagined it would be when he first saw it on display.

“MC… thanks. I hope that I’ll get to dream of you while hugging this… actually, come here. Let’s take a nap together, you’ve been working so hard lately. You need to rest.”

Belphie was able to peacefully sleep with the cow stuffed toy in his arms, resting with a smile on his face.

------------ OKAY THE COINCIDENCE??? IT’S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE BC as I was writing this I was actually stumped on what MC can give Mammon THEN I GET A CHAT ABOUT THE WATCH THAT HE WANTS!?!?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

355 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Farmer’s Market

This is the same pairing as Double Espresso, but you don't necessarily need to read it to read this.

Simon Riley/reader (hint of Soap/Ghost) 1.4k words Warnings-tags: inferred trauma, PTSD. Pining. Simon sees you again. This is another ramble that I wrote without editing, mind the mistakes.

Simon doesn’t know how to hold a fragile thing. He doesn’t have the stomach for love, or tenderness, or being held himself. He doesn’t know how to make his touch something of affection, and not anguish, and hasn’t known for a very long time.

Soap tried to teach him, once. Tried to hold him together and keep him from ripping apart. Tried to touch him beyond the surface, beneath his skin, to where his soul is rotted and festering, where dark scars of pain are embedded deeper than the memories that have infected his brain.

It didn’t work. Simon knows it frustrated Johnny, but they both try not to dwell on it. It brings him shame, and he tries to push it from his mind like Johnny tried to push past the roadblock but in the end, they both failed. Johnny believes everything is okay regardless. He does not judge Simon.

Simon is not convinced everything is okay.

It’s not Johnny’s fault that Simon is this broken thing. Something worse than broken, actually. Something wrong. Unnatural. Like he’s died a million times over and come back worse and worse, each rebirth a fresh brand of wickedness upon his body. He’s made his peace with it.

At least, he thought he did. Until that day he saw you in the café. When he went running like he was still a scared child.

Now, he’s dreaming about you. He’s dreaming about your voice, about the way the light reflects in your irises like a kaleidoscope, dreaming about the way your fingers turned the pages of the book, delicate and slow. He’s even dreaming about how those fingers might feel against in his skin, and instead of feeling horrified, he feels safe. Loved. Cherished. The dreams don’t turn to nightmares, no dark creatures crawl from the corners of his mind to gnaw on him, they don’t try to tear him apart like he’s used to.

It's confusing and frightening.

Maybe you were magic. Maybe you were magic, and you cast some sort of spell on him. And that’s why he keeps seeing you in his dreams, your body lit like up like a star, a heavenly glow spilling from your skin and bathing him in a gauzy cocoon of hope.

It makes him uncomfortable.

So, he puts you out of his mind. He saw you a single time, why is he dreaming about you? Why is the image of your face, the sound of your voice flitting through his brain at all hours of the day and night? He feels infected.

He takes an extra-long assignment. And then another one. And then before he knows it, three months have passed, and he believes he’s been nearly successful in wiping you from his mind and memories, losing his grasp on the melody of your voice, forgetting the magic he felt when he first saw your face. He mourns it, privately. Mourns the impossible dreams and fantasies of something he knows he’ll never have, something he would never be deserving of.

He believed he had cured himself of you.

But, he was wrong.

The farmer’s market felt like a dream.

He watched you, unable to move, frozen to the spot as you leaned forward to inspect a group of vegetables, bright orange carrots with sprouts of green at their tops, eyes searching carefully for your selection, head nodding along to whatever the farmer behind the table was saying to you. Simon’s heart thundered in his chest while you exchanged money with the man and deposited your bunch of carrots in your canvas bag with a smile, carefree and easy in the warmth of the summer sun. Was he dreaming? He hadn’t been sure. He remembered needing to go the market to pick up some produce, something to last him the next week or so before he left for the next op, but suddenly, he had forgotten how he arrived here. He had forgotten what he had already purchased. He had forgotten almost everything, except for the shadow of a memory that was pushing him closer and closer to where you slowly walked in front of stalls, scanning the offerings and nodding hello to everyone you passed.

You come to a stop in front of a flower table. He watches you trace your fingertips over the petals, longing flickering across your face, bottom lip tugging between your teeth. You seem indecisive and he wonders if you’re considering them for a lover, or a friend, someone in your life that you buy nice things for. Does anyone give you lovely things in return?

Your fingers wrap around the stems carefully, and you place the bouquet in your bag slowly, treating the blooms like they’re glass, cautious with them and ensuring they’re settled where they won’t bruise or break. Your care for their state makes his pulse flutter beneath his skin.

You’re good with fragile things.

He’s just about to slink away when you turn, everything slowing to a snail’s pace as you catch sight of him from the corner of your eye, recognition dawning on your face when you realize who he is.

And then to his complete horror, your feet begin to move. You start to walk towards him, a hand extended as if to say wait. Wait, don’t go.

“Hi.” You say. Hi. Somewhere in the back of his too thick skull he knows he’s supposed to say hi back, say hello, apologize for being a bloody creep, but his lungs feel frozen, and his throat feels tight. You wait, head tilted just so, enough to expose the satin skin on the underside of your jaw, and to his utter shock, he finds himself wondering for a moment, what that skin might taste like. What noises you might make if he put his lips there. He blinks when he realizes you’re speaking again, brain cycling to catch up to your words. “- a few months ago, right?” The café. You’re referencing the café.

SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING. SPEAK. He’s screaming inside. Pleading with himself.

But still, he says nothing, and then watches your sweet face melt into something confused, something wary before it shifts into an emotion he cannot name and-

You say your name. You say it slowly, moving your lips in an exaggerated fashion, like you think he can’t understand you. Your pointer finger jabs into your own chest, to reference yourself. You gave him your name. Why would you do that? He scolds you silently. He could be anyone, a sick man who wants to harm you, who wants to take things from you, things you would never give him. He could be a killer, for all you know. Why would you give a stranger your name?

He is a killer.

When he doesn’t say anything back, you chew on your lip and kick the toe of your leather boot into the ground, bobbing your head. Bloody hell. He’s embarrassed you. Shame scalds the back of his neck, and he averts his eyes, flicking them downwards to your bag, where the colorful group of flowers sit against your hip. You follow his gaze.

“Here.” you rush the word out from your mouth, and pluck a stem free, pulling a brilliantly shaded orange dahlia from the bag and holding it out to him. “For you.” Your face is hopeful, wistful, like you actually want him to have the flower. This must be a dream.

This cannot be real.

He reaches for it. He cannot stop himself, even if he tried. Even if he wanted to, which he does not. In this moment, he really, really wants that flower. Wants to take it home, press it between a too thick book and then slip it between two pieces of glass so he can keep it forever.

His fingers touch the stem.

The tips of yours just barely graze his skin and he holds his breath, waiting for the nausea, for the panic to come bubbling up his throat.

They don’t.

Instead, something else happens. His stomach flips, but not in a sour way. His body tenses, but not in a fight or flight way. His heart, the thing that has been trembling inside his chest this entire time, skips a beat.

This must be a dream.

You’re three meters away when he rockets back into consciousness, mouth blurting the only thing it can manage in that moment.

“Simon.” He calls to your back, and you stop in your tracks to face him, tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“Nice to meet you, Simon.”

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #peaches writes #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #cod fanfic

580 notes · View notes

bit-odd-innit · 1 year

Text

I made a joke tag on this post about how Nancy is genre-aware and can feel the arbitrary love triangle closing in around her but then I thought about it for a millisecond too long and— Nancy can’t shake it: The muggy, suffocating pressure prickling along her skin and cottoning up her lungs. At first it’s easy to ignore. She’s been shaking off the relentless crush of pressure in one form or another for years. They are bigger things to focus on, bigger mysteries to solve. So when she catches Dustin watching her and Steve with what she can only describe as wist she’s confused, but she lets it slide. She thinks, not without guilt, they really only spend this kind of time together when the world is ending. Maybe he’s nostalgic. It’s sweet, in a twisted, broken sort of way. She resolves to make more of an effort when this is all over, but right now everyone needs to focus on what’s important— But then she’s walking through the woods and Robin is talking about rekindling old flames that should have never been snuffed out and it jars her into a stutter step. Because what? Where did that come from? Robin wasn’t there when there was a flame, paltry and dim though it was. Steve’s always been kinder to her than she deserved, so maybe his version of events gave Robin a false sense of their compatibility. Even so, why? And why bring it up now? She can’t parse it now, so she latches to the one thing that makes hope spark in her chest: Robin calls her a friend. Robin considers her a friend. And it’s been so long since someone has earnestly, sincerely called her a friend, she basks in the warmth of it and almost lets herself forget how strange— And then Steve is smiling at her so sweetly and his eyes are shining so brightly and he’s telling her about his dream, about six kids and a Winnebago and she knows she’s meant to be charmed by it all but instead she feels like she standing at the gallows with a noose flush to her throat. When they get a brief moment of calm, she takes Eddie aside.

“Did you tell Steve we should get back together?” He grins, lopsided and smug. “No need to thank me, when it comes to matters of the heart I am but a humble messenger—” “Why?” “Why what?” “Why do you think Steve and I should get back together?” Eddie blinks, his smile sliding off his face, and there’s a dull flicker of confusion in his big bright eyes, as if he just found himself caught somewhere he was not meant to be. But then it vanishes and he’s back to one, beaming and bombastic as he answers, “Isn’t it obvious?” “Explain it to me.” “I—” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his gazes bounces across her features, scanning for the answer he thinks she wants. “Its...That’s what’s supposed to happen.” “Eddie.” She doesn’t break eye contact, keeps her voice steady, encloses her hands around his trembling fingers. “Dig deep. Why did you tell Steve we should get back together?” The color drains from his face, his eyebrows bowing in fear. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know why I said that. I think...” His mouth falls open, working soundlessly, and he huffs out a shaky breath. “I think I wanted to say something else? But I don’t remember...I don’t remember what I, and then that came out instead, and I don’t know why I said it I don’t know why I said it Wheeler what the fuck?” “I know.”

“I’m wanted for murder I don’t care about your relationship woes! I didn’t even know you guys dated until after you broke up, and that was what? Two years ago?” “Almost three,” she says quietly. “Wheeler what the fuck?! Is this...?” He drops his chin to his chest and waggles his hands in a faint circle. Because they are still connected, Nancy’s hands go along for the ride. “Is this him?” “No.” A righteous fury licks its way up from her belly, fanning out across her circulatory system. The muscles in her neck strain as she clenches her jaw. “No, this is something else.”

“What’re we gonna do?” “We’re going to fix it.” “How?” “I’m rewriting our plan,” she replies. And when she sets her shoulders and straightens her spine she feels the pressure that means to crush her push in. And she pushes back. “I’m rewriting all of it.”

#nancy: if the writers of my story will not give me agency then i will take it from them by force #what if the two characters who would be most familiar with story structure worked together to rewrite their own narratives ha ha what then #stranger things #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #steddie

911 notes · View notes

ofallthingsnasty · 7 months

Text

a few days ago I had a little thought about secret admirer Sanji trying to keep things lowkey and how he'd still overdo it. thanks to @tang3r1n's addition, I had to use this as a little writing exercise because it tickles me

tags: secret admirer (and thus unintentional stalker) Sanji, modern AU, crack treated seriously, misunderstandings, i definitely did not write this with the US in mind (everyone drinks) pairing: Sanji/GN!Reader word count: 1k

“Another one?”

Robin’s eyes are dark over her porter. She leans closer, chin perched on her hand, rapt attention all on you.

“Yeah, another one”, you confirm and nip at your beer. Crystal wheat, your third today - and you can tell. Usually - or, at least when you’re sober - the little letters that flutter into your mailbox every other day are not only a great source of discomfort but also… weirdly embarrassing. You’re definitely not as eager to share them with your friends as you are now, when the alcohol has loosened you up a little, breathed some humor into this whole ‘secret admirer slash stalker’ situation that has been going on for a while now.

“Here, get a load of this”, you say, tapping the paper with your nail. It’s a little crinkled from throwing it in your bag but it still smells nice, probably spritzed with some floral perfume. Yeah, creepy.

“‘My darling, you looked simply ravishing today.’ The ravishing is underlined, by the way”, you slot in and turn the letter around to show her. “See?”

She nods and you continue. “‘Blue suits you exceptionally well. It makes me think of the skies when we first met. Maybe you remember it, too? I’ll never forget the first time you looked at me-’ oh my god, I can’t even read you the rest, it's so embarrassing!”

You can’t help but pull a face at your own voice. The letter goes on and on, as they all do - paragraphs upon paragraphs of someone laying it on thick, usually talking about your eyes, your clothes, your body - and then their feelings about those things. It reads like a paperback romance from the 90s, flowery and greased up to the maximum. You hand her the paper, so she can read the rest for herself.

“Ugh. Like, who- who fucking talks like that?”, you mumble into your beer and try to wash down the heat in your cheeks with another swig of sunflower-yellow wheat.

A snort interrupts you, the sound coming from Zoro, who sits right next to Robin. He looks like he’s about to spurt out his mouthful of beer like the jet of a water pistol. Of course he finds it amusing.

He swallows loudly, then barks out a laugh.

“That sounds exactly like- Eouch-”

Robin gives him a close-eyed smile as she shifts her weight around. “... Like a secret admirer, doesn’t it?”

“Secret admirer? Robin, how often do I have to tell you? This person has started sending coffee and donuts in my name to work. My coworkers are starting to talk. How do they even know where I work? This is so beyond ‘secret admirer’ territory.”

“I want free food, too”, chimes Luffy from behind her as he loads up on peanuts before shimmying back to the darts, where Usopp and Chopper are waiting for him. “If you don’t want them, tell them they can send me donuts!”

Very helpful, thanks, dude.

You lean over the edge of the table once he’s out of earshot again, eyes wide as you let them flit between Robin and Sanji, who has been awfully quiet during all of this. He looks weirdly downtrodden as he peers into his own glass, spinning it with one hand. It’s nothing new for him to be a little sulky during your meet-ups - probably another tinder date that didn’t turn out quite as he had hoped.

“I got a fucking bouquet the other day, can you imagine? I even took a- oh, wait-”

You fish your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans and swipe through your gallery to show them a picture of the decadent monstrosity (in your favorite color, no less) that had everyone at work chuckling two Fridays ago. It’s gaudy, over the top, ridiculous - you let your oldest coworker take it home with her because you simply couldn’t stand to look at it any second longer.

“Look at this. Next thing they’ll do is put my head in the center of one of these, I swear.”

Robin says nothing. Sanji visibly pales, then he mumbles into his white wine spritzer.

“Darling, aren’t you exaggerating? Just a little bit?”

“Am I, Sanji?”, you say, dead serious and voice gravelly. “Am I?”

You lean closer until you’re almost nose-to-nose with him, the one too many crystal wheats making you a little animated. You don’t care, suddenly humorless under the dim lights above you.

He pulls back as you shove yourself into his personal bubble, eyes swimming with something. It’s incredibly out of character for him to be so silent about this whole situation and even beneath all of your buzz, you feel disappointment sting in your belly.

“What’s gotten into you, Sanji? Why are you defending this random creep?”, you say, very confused and a little mad. One year ago, when you had troubles with a too-friendly coworker, he had been there - had chaperoned you home after work, had helped you address the situation with your employer. For him to see you so distraught and almost brush you off is more than just a little strange.

“What if they follow me home, huh? What then, Sanji?”

Well, you have officially rendered him speechless. The blond looks like he’s choking on some words that are trying to climb out of his throat but never quite make it through his vocal chords.

“Yeah, what if they’re in this bar?”, mocks Zoro and gives you a pointed look.

“Stop making fun of me, idiot”, you hiss and aim a single peanut at his head. “This is serious.” Of course, you miss.

He opens his mouth to say something but a laugh to your left stops him. Your head snaps back and Robin at least has the decency to cover her mouth as her shoulders shake ever so slightly.

“Why are you laughing now?”

She waves her hands in surrender but that mischievous smile you’ve grown to know and loathe is still on her face.

“Well, I think that this secret admirer of yours should speak up soon, right, Sanji?”, she says and picks up her porter again. “I-”, he starts and somehow looks even more uncomfortable than before. He reaches to adjust his tie and you take the opportunity to butt in.

“I don’t know if I want that, Robin”, you deadpan. “If this continues, I’m gonna call the police.”

There’s a clatter next to you - Sanji is suddenly up from his seat, with both hands on the table. Something about his expression screams deer in headlights.

“I need a cigarette. Now.”

#sanji x reader #one piece x reader #/one piece #/sanji

209 notes · View notes

luvring · 1 year

Text

MORNING KISSES

(time skip) osamu x gn!reader | suggestive (a make-out session), 1.1k

(tag list lmk if u want to be untagged for suggestive posts btw) u do a littol kissin! getting back to writing...bwah. didn't proofread. don't tell me about any mistakes. (/j) ill explode

"i'll get breakfast started 'nd you can come down when y'aren't so sleepy, then,” osamu murmurs before sitting up to stretch. light sneaks in through the blinds, and it casts a striped shadow across his toned back while you watch him fondly. it’s been a while since the two of you got to sleep in, you note. the restaurant’s been doing well enough that your boyfriend’s decided to take the day off to “focus on you instead."

you hum in response, pulling the blanket up to your chin in attempt to keep the cold away. he’s barely made it two steps out of bed when you call his name. “‘samu.”

“hm?” you don’t say anything, and he turns to see an expectant look on your face. he jokingly sighs before making his way over to your side of the bed and bending down. “how could i forget?” he asks, pressing a chaste kiss to your head and standing back up.

you pout a little before hiding under the covers again. it wasn’t exactly the kiss you wanted, but you stay quiet considering you chose to stare in silence as your plea. osamu raises a brow. “why'd you pout?”

“what? i didn’t pout.”

“yes you did.”

“no i didn’t.”

“i jus' saw you?”

“okay? you saw wrong?”

“darlin’."

“i—” his expression is disproportionately serious for his crime, you think, and you can’t help but laugh. shaking your head, you try to wave him off. “it was nothing, seriously. go make breakfast, ‘samu.”

osamu’s face is still scrunched in worried confusion. he's never been one to let it go if he's done something wrong, especially when it came to you.

it takes another second, but eventually his expression relaxes, and he smiles knowingly. this time he kneels fully to be eye-level with you. you blink at him. “what’re you—what’s happening?”

he exhales, and you stare. he’s close enough that you can smell his new shampoo, and for a fleeting moment you wonder if reaching out to touch his hair would be too out of place. he'd raise a brow and smirk at you. say something to embarrass you so he could watch as you'd bury your face back into the pillow and—

a hand is suddenly coming to hold your face, and a thumb runs across your cheek. osamu juts his tongue to wet his lips, and all you can do is continue to watch, flustered. “‘m sorry. i didn’t kiss you properly, right?”

and as if he could hear your “no” before you’ve even opened your mouth, he leans in to kiss you. denial dies on your tongue when his lips meld with yours, perfectly as if they were made to match. it’s gentle and loving, longer than his peck to your forehead. you relax under his touch but all too soon he pulls away to look at you, hand still warm against your face. “was that better?”

you think his voice is as soft as his lips were.

“...maybe.”

"maybe?"

“maybe.”

to be honest, you don’t think your brain has registered his question. all it knows is how light is reflecting in your boyfriend's eyes perfectly, and his messy bedhead hair is still calling for your touch. your gaze is honed in on his lips when they curl into a smile. and then they're coming closer.

osamu’s eyes are heavy-lidded, and you can feel his breath against your skin as his lips brush against yours. he teases, “well, that’s not good enough, is it?”

your only response is a shake of your head, earning a huffed laugh before he closes the distance between you. again, osamu kisses you. and this time your arms reach around his neck as if you could close the gap between you even more—force him to stay with you instead of cook eggs, or toast, or whatever you asked for 5 minutes ago. you don't remember, and you’re not sure you care, or that he’d mind with the way he presses forward and gently holds the back of your neck.

he groans a little when your fingers finally find their way to his hair and pull gently. he starts to pull away, and you whine, only to be met with a chuckle. “yer killin’ me, y’know,” osamu huffs.

yet he kisses you again. and again, and again, and again. his lips find yours and you sigh against them, chest fluttering at the way he gently bites your lower lip.

you maneuver so that he’s forced to get back into bed on top of you. he hovers, one hand beneath your head, and the other clutching the pillow above. the only sounds besides shifting bed sheets are your racing heart, soft breathes, and open-mouth kisses.

a hand eventually lowers to grip your hip and caress your skin. cold fingers slide their way beneath your shirt, making you gasp and reflexively pull him in. a groan escapes osamu when his hips momentarily grind against yours. his kisses get harder, more needy, his breaths heavier and his hold on your waist a little tighter.

your hand travels down his back, and you pull—you know he's strong enough that he wouldn't let himself topple onto you. he complies to your touch, and you become keenly aware of his chest pressed against yours.

but before anything else can happen, osamu pulls away. though not far. his nose brushes against yours and when you open your eyes, it’s easy to see him still staring at your lips. his eyes finally flicker up to yours and he smiles.

he leans down to your ear, and your breath hitches. “you're poutin' again,” he whispers.

“i'll assume that means that kiss was better?”

his breath tickles and you squirm, scrunching your nose and bringing your shoulder up as a defense. “tease. and i don’t know if that counted as one kiss.”

a gust of air is blown into your neck and you laugh before pushing him away. osamu breathes out a laugh of his own before moving back to hover above you. "okay, smart-ass. how about those ones?"

“i guess they were marginally better,” you tease. he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, narrowing his eyes. you get ready for him to blow more air at you, but instead he squishes your cheeks together and shakes your head.

you giggle and grab his hand with your own, not really doing anything to stop him, and osamu grins at you again. there's an almost sickening amount of love in his eyes as he sighs. “let me make breakfast, then i’ll kiss you properly as much as you’d like, alright?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu fluff #osamu fluff #x reader #samu time!!!#reading week was NOT a week for reading Or writing apparently.

860 notes · View notes

cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin.

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that.

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness.

02.

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester.

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time.

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture.

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red.

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao.

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day.

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before.

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do.

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists.

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke.

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater.

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.”

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm.

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him.

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?”

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein.

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.”

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!”

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much.

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05.

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being.

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest.

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations.

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later.

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him.

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks.

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie.

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.”

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06.

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year.

But you let him in anyway.

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years.

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you?

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with.

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you?

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up.

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…”

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you?

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it.

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him.

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long.

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago.

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh.

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love.

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel.

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor.

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all.

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work.

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you.

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end.

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares.

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ?

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist.

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems.

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.”

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao.

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception.

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.”

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at.

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin xiao #xiao fanfic #xiao smut #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #cryoculus

1K notes · View notes

depressedhouseplant · 7 months

Text

🔞 Illusion (Woosan) 🔞

Synopsis: As a joke San’s friends set him up with an escort. Except he falls for the beautiful man he can never have

WC: 3700

Tags: Rich Boy San, Escort Wooyoung, Public Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Top San, Bottom Wooyoung, Brief Homophobic Language, Light Bondage, Polite Suggestion of Sommophilia

A/N: This is the escort fic of which I spoke. It wasn’t one of the better performers. Let’s see what y’all think. Bonus Content can be found here

Wooyoung rested his head on the doorframe as he watched San leave. They were both getting tired of this. Forget tired. Exhausted. Wooyoung knew he would always be San’s dirty little secret. If San expected to keep the life he knew, he had to pretend Wooyoung didn’t exist. His family had only just accepted that he was gay. Now they were on the hunt for a “suitable husband”, as San called it, for him. Wooyoung scoffed as he closed the door. It was the 21st century. San should’ve been able to pick who he wanted to be with. The Chois didn’t see it that way. They were old money- very, very old money and dragged all the traditions that came along with it. Then Wooyoung’s phone dinged in his pocket.

I miss you already, baby. Check your nightstand. 💕

Wooyoung didn’t remember anything being on his nightstand when they left the bedroom. Yet there was a carefully wrapped box sitting there waiting for him. Wooyoung opened it and pulled out a watch. It was a limited edition Rolex. Wooyoung knew they were almost impossible to get. Of course, this was Choi San, not some random person off the street. There was an inscription on the back.

Love you until the end of time - Your Sannie.

Wooyoung quickly texted him back.

WTF? I don’t believe you!

San: I love you too, baby :)

Wooyoung: This is too much & you know it.

San: NOTHING is too much for you. You know that.

Wooyoung furiously wiped the tears out of his eyes. The watch was beautiful and he wouldn’t be lying when he said one of his clients bought it for him. Except that San wasn’t a client anymore. He was the love of Wooyoung’s goddamn life.

When can you come back?

Wooyoung had given up on sounding desperate.

I can sneak away tomorrow night. Take you to dinner?

Wooyoung almost dropped his phone. They weren’t supposed to go out. They could risk being seen and then San’s parents would freak. Even if they didn’t find out that Wooyoung was an escort, he wasn’t someone they’d already vetted.

Dinner?

San: It’s our 6 month anniversary. I want to take you out. Then maybe we’ll make love for hours when we get back, but I expect you to be wearing my gift.

Wooyoung: Make love? Who are you & what have you done with San? LOL

San: I might be a lil stoned.

San had confessed to getting high when he got back from seeing Wooyoung. He claimed it made the transition back to who he was supposed to be easier. Wooyoung had chastised him, but it hadn’t done much. Wooyoung knew would make his drinks a little stronger after San left. It was completely unhealthy, but neither of them had anyone they could confide in.

Wooyoung: Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow night.

San: I love you so much, baby.

Wooyoung: I love you too.

San sent a long string of hearts and kissy face emojis. Wooyoung returned with a heart and a kiss. He carefully put the watch in the box and back on his nightstand. The sheets were still a mess from earlier. Wooyoung had started insisting they put a towel down so he didn’t have to change them every time. He knew he should shower, but he didn’t feel like it. He simply dropped his robe on the floor and crawled into bed naked. Wooyoung had ridden San hard earlier, so the pillows smelled like San’s hair. He buried his face in one and let the aroma seep into his nostrils. It was more than just his shampoo and cologne. It was him. Why did this have to be so fucking complicated? Why was he still playing by their rules? Wooyoung would’ve told his parents to fuck off a long time ago. Of course, San genuinely loved his parents. Wooyoung didn’t. They’d kicked him out of the house when he came out and he’d made his own way in the world since.

Wooyoung’s good looks were how he got picked up by a pimp when he was 17. He lied about his age and no one bothered to check (more likely didn’t care). He slowly saved up enough to buy his way out and try his luck on his own. A few coy smiles and well placed compliments got him in the door with a much higher class clientele. Now he was 25 with an enviable list of clients and a 5 figure price tag for one “date”. Several of San’s friends had hired him for San’s birthday to pretend to be a blind date. The joke ended up on them because not only did the date go extremely well, San became one of Wooyoung’s clients.

Feelings didn’t get involved until they’d been seeing each other twice a week for almost a month. Wooyoung had stopped charging him after only a few times when it became obvious they both enjoyed the sex as more than just escort and client. San was the first one to confess. They were sweaty and half asleep, both on their 3rd or 4th orgasm of the night when San let slip “I love you”. Wooyoung had stretched and rolled on top of San, telling him that he loved him back. Somehow they’d worked up the energy to have sex again and fell asleep with San still inside Wooyoung.

Wooyoung hugged the pillow and sighed.

“Maybe someday,”

The next night Wooyoung was fixing his tie and about to put on his watch when he heard a key in the door. He’d given San a key to save them both the annoyance of having to buzz him up every time.

“And what if I’m not ready?” Wooyoung called from the bedroom.

“Then I guess I’d just have to take you before we left,” San replied. He was wearing the same dark gray suit and sapphire blue tie he’d worn on the night they met.

“If I didn’t already have all my clothes on, then I’d most definitely take you up on that,” Wooyoung kissed him.

“Haven’t put my present on yet?” San noticed the watch in Wooyoung’s hand.

“Maybe I was going to let you put it on me,” he held out his arm and San slid the watch on his wrist.

“Perfect fit,” he grinned.

“Impressive,” Wooyoung smiled back

“I remembered you have delicate wrists,” San took Wooyoung’s hands and wrapped them around his waist. He was bigger than Wooyoung and had initially been hesitant to go hard in bed, but Wooyoung had proved he was more than able to handle him.

“Weren’t you going to take me out?” he asked.

“I am. I might just be skipping ahead to what we’ll be doing in here later,” San kissed Wooyoung’s neck.

“Slut,” Wooyoung giggled.

“Proud of it,” he grinned.

San took Wooyoung to the same restaurant they’d gone to the first time.

“Ah, Mr Choi,” the host said when they arrived.

“I apologize that we’re a little late,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you to the rest of your party,” he replied.

“Party?” San asked.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was supposed to be a surprise. I’m sorry,” he said, leading them through the restaurant. San was almost crushing Wooyoung’s hand. This could only mean one thing…

“Mom, Dad, hi,” San wasn’t hiding his surprise very well.

“San, you didn’t tell us you’d be here tonight,” his mom said.

“Um, yeah, it was kind of a last minute thing,” he replied. Wooyoung was pretty sure he was losing circulation.

“Who’s this?” His dad asked.

“I’m Wooyoung. San’s friends introduced us at his birthday party,” Wooyoung held out his hand. San’s dad shook it and his mom gave a demure nod.

“Maybe we should just go,” San said anxiously.

“We can stay. If your parents don’t mind,” Wooyoung squeezed San’s hand.

“Not at all. Please sit,” his mom said. San pulled out the chair for Wooyoung and he gracefully sat down. He didn’t end up with a client list full of closeted rich guys because he didn’t know how to handle himself in five star restaurants in front of lesser royalty. San sat next to him and couldn’t stop rubbing Wooyoung’s thigh. Wooyoung gave him a calm down look.

“So Wooyoung, what do you do?” Mr Choi asked.

“I’m a social planner,” he replied.

“What's that?” Mrs Choi asked.

“It’s like a personal assistant, but I manage the social calendars of select clients. It’s a bit of a niche market, but I enjoy it,” he replied, taking a sip of wine.

“I don’t suppose we could hire you,” she smiled.

“Unfortunately I’m fully booked, but if you ever need a recommendation, I’m sure I can help,” Wooyoung returned the smile.

“I don’t feel well. Excuse me,” San practically bolted for the bathroom. Wooyoung got up and followed him.

“I can’t believe they’re here. They’re fucking here. All I wanted was a nice dinner with you and then to be able to go back…” San started babbling.

“Baby, breathe,” Wooyoung caught him by the shoulders. “Let me handle this.”

“A social planner? That’s a hell of a way to spin it,” San said.

“If you keep letting me spin it, I’ll have them begging me to be their son in law by dessert. I don’t charge $10,000 a night because I can’t charm men away from their money. However, I can’t do it if you look like you’re 10 seconds away from heart failure for the rest of dinner. Okay?” Wooyoung told him.

“Okay,” San nodded.

“Then we’ll go back to my place and I’ll take you nice and slow. I’ll savor every inch of that perfect cock of yours. I’ll have you whining for me,” Wooyoung slid his fingers down the front of San’s pants. “I’ll have you whimpering ‘Wooyoungie, please. Please let me touch you’.” He flicked at San’s belt buckle with his thumb and weaved his belt loose. He wrapped his other arm around San’s shoulders. Wooyoung could feel San’s erection slowly growing near his fingers.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it, Sannie? You want me on top of you, slowly riding you, with you completely helpless. You remember the first time I tied you up and how hard you came. Then I sucked you off and made you come for me again. Then I got you hard again and finally let you touch me. You remember that,” Wooyoung could feel the tip of San’s dick in between his index and middle fingers. San was panting, but this time it was from trying not to come simply by listening to Wooyoung. “Do you want me to get you off, Sannie?”

“Please,” he begged, digging his fingers into Wooyoung’s back. Wooyoung steered them into a stall and deftly unzipped San’s pants with his thumb.

“You have to be quiet. We can’t attract attention,” Wooyoung’s lips barely grazed San’s ear. San whined. “Good boy.”

Wooyoung gripped the tip of San’s cock between his fingers and rested his thumb under the head. San jumped.

“You have to hold still, too,” Wooyoung whispered. San tightened his grip on Wooyoung’s back and nodded into his shoulder. Wooyoung deliberately massaged San’s dick with his thumb. He whimpered and whined into Wooyoung’s neck. “I wish I could see your pink cock right now. How pretty it is. How slick it is. How it’s shaking and just waiting for me to impale myself on it. I might be getting a little hard thinking about having it filling me up - feeling just how good you stretch me and how it’s almost too much, but not quite.” Wooyoung carefully pressed his hips against San’s thigh so he could feel Wooyoung’s own erection starting to bloom.

“Wooyoungie, please…” San’s eyes were starting to water.

“No crying, darling. Your parents will already have enough questions. I don’t want to have to explain why I made you cry,” Wooyoung pressed harder with his thumb. San jerked and grunted. “I think we’ve been in here long enough.” Wooyoung ran his thumb over the tip, dipping into the slit like he knew San loved. San came bucking against Wooyoung’s fingers and squeezing tears out of his eyes.

“That’s my good Sannie,” Wooyoung cooed as San spilled come on his fingers. San muffled his moans in Wooyoung’s neck. San finished and Wooyoung let go, wiping them down with toilet paper. Wooyoung gave him a quick check for any rogue come stains. He zipped San back in when he determined everything was satisfactory. San’s hands were shaking while he washed them.

“You still look terrible,” Wooyoung said.

“I’m trying not to,” he breathed.

“Let me handle it. Smile, nod, and let your parents pay for dinner,” Wooyoung told him. “This was my job, baby. At least before I became a kept man.”

“Okay,” San breathed.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung kissed him. “Come on.” He led his half fucked out half painfully anxious lover back to the table.

“Everything okay? We were beginning to worry,” Mrs Choi said.

“I’m fine,” San coughed. “Just fine.”

“Honestly, this is a little embarrassing, but this is only our second date. I know San’s birthday was a while ago, but we could never find a good time to meet up. We weren’t expecting to run into you tonight,” Wooyoung smiled the dazzling smile that got men into bed with him and paying for his penthouse.

“San, you never mentioned that you met someone,” Mr Choi said.

“Like he said, it’s only our second date,” San replied.

“How do you know San’s friends?” Mrs Choi asked.

“I met Yeosang a while ago. I suppose he thought San and I would be a good fit,” Wooyoung told her. It wasn’t a total lie. Yeosang had initially contacted him and paid the deposit for their joke. His other friends Yunho and Mingi had made up the difference.

“Mom, is this really…?” San started. Wooyoung squeezed his knee under the table.

“It’s fine,” he replied. Parental interrogation was old hat in his world. At least they weren’t going to call him a worthless faggot. He assumed.

“What about your family?” Mr Choi asked.

“Unfortunately my parents and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I haven’t spoken to them in years and that’s for the best. It’s a shame, really. They pushed away their only child,” Wooyoung stroked San’s knee with his index finger. He knew how to spin anything. Now he was an abandoned only child who somehow had the manners of someone raised at San’s level.

“That’s such a shame. I can’t imagine not having any contact with your child,” Mrs Choi said. Got her. Wooyoung always knew the moment he got his hooks in someone. San was also an only child.

“I’ve gotten used to it. There’s something to be said for learning how to survive on your own in the world,” he replied.

They continued through the rest of dinner, Wooyoung easily fielding all of San’s parents’ questions. He even made a show of trying to pay. By the time San and his dad left to pick up the respective cars from the valet, Wooyoung and Mrs Choi were quite comfortable with each other.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet San’s date tonight, but it was very nice to meet you,” she said.

“I admit, it was a bit awkward to have a ‘meet the parents’ on the second date,” Wooyoung replied with an easy smile.

“San has always been a bit high strung,” she said.

“I noticed, but I promise to take good care of him,” Wooyoung told her.

“Thank you. He needs someone like you in his life. His friends can still get a little...wild,” Mrs Choi sighed.

“Don’t I know it,” Wooyoung’s tone didn’t give away anything. Wooyoung never gave up anything he didn’t want to give. The cars pulled up and their respective partners came to get them.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” Wooyoung said as they left.

“I’ll be back later,” San mumbled in their direction.

“Do you need me to drive?” Wooyoung asked when they got in the car.

“No,” San replied.

“I had your mother eating out of my hand so stop panicking,” Wooyoung told him. “And unofficial permission to date you. You should be tap dancing right now.”

“It’s just...they just...I’m scared…” San said as he put the car in gear.

“What are you afraid of? Tell your Wooyoungie,” he looked over at San.

“They’ll find out that you’re...an escort,” San finished.

“Was an escort,” Wooyoung replied. “Currently you’re paying all my bills.”

“I love you so much. I’m terrified they’ll find out the truth,” San put his hand on Wooyoung’s thigh. Wooyoung tucked a piece of hair behind San’s ear.

“Let’s go home and I’ll make you feel better. You still want that, right?” Wooyoung asked. San nodded.

“Then your Wooyoungie will strip you out of that suit, tie you to the bed, and take you until you can’t stand it anymore. You’re free to cry as much as you want this time, Sannie. We don’t have to make any excuses why tears are coming out of those beautiful brown eyes.”

“I’m trying to drive, Wooyoung,” San huffed.

“Do you want me to stop?” Wooyoung cocked his head.

A beat of silence.

“No,” the other man replied.

“Good,” Wooyoung slid his hand up almost onto San’s cock as he leaned over and undid his pants.

“What are you doing?” San asked.

“Just releasing the pressure a bit,” Wooyoung’s smile curved all the way up to his impeccably sculpted brows. He pulled his hand back away from San’s crotch. “And the best part is you don’t have to leave tonight. You can stay and I can wake you up in the middle of the night sucking your dick. In the morning I might let you fuck me into the mattress. The options are endless, Sannie. Maybe you’ll wake up and decide to slide into me while I’m asleep. Then I’ll wake up filled with your cock.”

“You...you’d let me do that?” San had started to sweat a little and his boner was threatening to expand completely out of his pants.

“You know my limits. That’s not one of them,” Wooyoung replied.

“What if I start to...you know...fuck you in your sleep?” San ventured.

“I’m a light sleeper. It wouldn’t take much to wake me up. It would be a great way to wake up, though,” Wooyoung winked at him.

“I…” San’s brain had all but stopped working. Wooyoung kept smiling.

San practically carried Wooyoung up to his apartment. The concierges had learned to look the other way a long time ago when they saw Wooyoung.

“Tie me up, baby. Please,” San breathed when they got upstairs.

“It would be my pleasure,” Wooyoung purred. He carefully pulled the silk ties out from under the mattress and San obediently lied on his back. Wooyoung swiftly tied him down and sat on his thighs. He lazily ran a finger up San’s quivering dick. Precome was dripping down the tip.

“You want your Wooyoungie that much, Sannie?” Wooyoung swirled the sticky liquid in circles around the tip.

“Yes,” San replied. Wooyoung could see his chest starting to heave. He slithered up San’s body to his mouth.

“I’m gonna make you cry, sweetheart,” he kissed his lover hard. He nipped at San’s earlobe before he sat back up and generously lubed San’s cock. He slowly lowered himself down going only a fraction of an inch at a time. San was already whining. “Did I not satisfy you earlier?”

“You did,” he replied.

“Then why do you sound so needy?” Wooyoung asked as he bottomed out.

“Need...you…” San panted.

“I knew that,” Wooyoung slid his hands up San’s bound arms. “You always need me.”

“Mmhmm,” San nodded as Wooyoung kissed him. He pressed his chest against San’s and slightly bucked his hips. San grunted. Wooyoung took San’s lower lip between his teeth and pulled slightly before he sat back up. He began slowly grinding his ass down on San’s cock.

“You want to touch me, don’t you darling?” Wooyoung braced his hands on San’s thighs, arching his back and exposing his entire chest and hardened cock.

“Yes,” San squeaked.

“How badly do you want to touch me? Enough that I should untie you?” Wooyoung looked down at him.

“N-no, wanna come l-like this,” he stuttered.

“If you’re sure,” Wooyoung ran one hand down his own torso and traced the tip of his dick with his finger. It came back wet with precome. “You want a taste?”

“Please?” San’s pupils were blown wide with desire.

“Open your mouth and stick out that talented tongue of yours,” Wooyoung instructed. San did as he was told and Wooyoung dragged his finger down the center of San’s tongue.

“Taste good?” he smirked.

“More?” San whined.

“No, my love. That’s all you get,” Wooyoung brushed his wet finger down San’s cheek. Then San’s eyes started to water. Wooyoung pulled his hand back and kept slowly working San’s dick. “Now is my baby getting desperate?”

“Uh huh,” San noised.

“How desperate?” Wooyoung prompted.

“Wanna c-come h-hard. Inside you,” the the other man breathed.

“Of course you’re going to come inside me, silly boy,” Wooyoung watched San’s hands flex against the restraints. If he really wanted to, he could get loose. They both enjoyed the illusion more, though.

“P-pound you,” he gasped.

“You want to pound me? You want to wreck me on your cock? What if I let you?” Wooyoung asked. San looked up at him. Wooyoung untied San’s wrists and then his ankles. San flipped them over and began slamming into Wooyoung. He was practically snarling while he fucked him. Wooyoung dug his nails into San’s back every time he hit his prostate. He heard a cracking sound, but wasn’t quite sure what it was. He was too focused on the cock ramming his ass.

“Fu-uck,” he grunted as he started to come all over both of them. San was still growling and bucking into him then fell on top of Wooyoung when he started coming. They were practically glued to each other when they finished.

“Uh, Woo,” San said.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“I think I broke the headboard,” San replied sheepishly. Wooyoung looked up and sure enough there was a sizable crack roughly where San’s hand had been.

“Well, so much for making love when we got back,” he laughed.

“At least you were wearing my gift,” San held up Wooyoung’s arm.

“We got it half right,” Wooyoung smiled.

“I love you, Wooyoungie,”

“I love you too, Sannie,”

#ateez hard thoughts #ateez fanfic #ateez hard hours #minors dni #ateez smut #wooyoung x San #Jung Wooyoung x Choi San #woosan #just fucking write 2k24 #bonus content

106 notes · View notes