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munsonslove · 2 years

Note

Hi! I love you writing and I was wondering if you could write a fic we’re Eddie and the reader kinda have like a frenemies vibe going on and then one day they sleep together but Eddie has no idea the reader is a virgin because of people saying stories about her and then they sleep together and he finds out after they did it??

Can I Kiss You?

(18+ only)

a/n: thanks so much for the request, & thank you everyone for 1k followers!!! i’m so happy people are liking my little stories <3 a few notes: reader is dustin’s older sister in this fic, but i make it a point to say that she was adopted, so you can def read this as not white reader still. i also briefly mention the reader’s birth parents passing away when she was very young, so tw for family death. and there’s a part where it’s said that the reader’s last name isn’t henderson (because she kept her original surname after being adopted) so if anyone’s reading this and your irl last name is henderson… just like pretend it’s not for a sec? oh also i hid a taylor swift lyric in here. first person to find it wins! anyways i hope y’all like it!!

summary: Your little brother's annoying DM is always hanging around and trying to bother you. Embarrassingly, you developed a crush on him, you were just too proud to do anything about it.

wordcount: 7.3k

tags/warnings: fem!virgin!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), also adopted!henderson!reader, slight mention of family death, fluff, smut, friends/frenemies to lovers, praise kink, fingering (f receiving), descriptions of masturbation (both f and m receiving), use of pet names (baby, princess), unprotected p in v penetration (she’s on the pill, use condoms irl of course), no use of y/n

“He’s not here,” you deadpan with a roll of your eyes as you open the front door. You weren’t expecting any visitors, so when you heard knocking you were quick to find a makeshift weapon before seeing who it was. Your paranoia diminished when you saw it was merely your little brother's DM.

“I’d be tempted to say ‘how do you know I’m not here to see you?’, but that lamp in your hands has me second guessing myself,” Eddie replies with a laugh, pushing past you to enter your home without permission. “You gonna attack me, princess? Didn’t know you found me that annoying.”

“I’m a young woman home alone, and a lot of really strange things happen in this town,” you explain, setting the lamp back down on the end table. “Sue me for being defensive.”

He shakes off his backpack and tosses on the floor. “Better safe than sorry I guess,” he agrees, though you can hear his amused smirk in his tone. “Why you home alone? Your mom got a hot date or something?”

“Book club,” you correct him while crossing your arms, “And Dustin’s sleeping over at the Wheeler’s.”

Eddie hums in response, licking his lips as he looks you up and down. “Cute pajamas,” he says, winking at you.

At his comment, you realize with a start that your robe had fallen open, and crossing your arms only accentuated the suggestive low cut of your silk nightie. Quickly scrambling to cover yourself and retie the knot, you frustratedly grumble, “What are you even doing here? Dustin didn’t say anything about you coming over.”

He flops down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and settling into the well-worn cushions, making himself at home. “He talked me into letting him DM for a campaign, so I thought I’d stop by with my copy of the Dungeon Master’s Guide. He was bitching about only having the Player’s Handbook and Monster Manual, so…” he trails off with a shrug as he leans forward to snatch the remote to the TV from next to his boot.

“Get your dirty shoes off of my mother’s clean furniture,” you scold before physically grabbing his ankles and forcing his feet to the floor. “Can you at least pretend to have manners?”

“I could try, but then you wouldn’t have a crush on me anymore,” he laughs, then hooks one of his fingers into the belt of your robe, pulling you down to be seated next to him. He rests his arm on the back of the couch behind your shoulders, not reacting when you retort with a curt ‘In your dreams.’

You know that logistically you could make him leave- this was your home, after all- but the possibility of him actually going without protest was very low. It seemed like Eddie’s favorite thing in the world was annoying you, and sometimes you find yourself missing the days back when he barely acknowledged your existence. He was originally two years ahead of you in school, but due to him being held back twice he ended up being a part of your graduating class. You didn’t run in the same crowd, in fact you couldn’t have been further out of each other’s social spheres. You were quite popular, invited to many parties, even won prom queen your senior year. Eddie, on the other hand, only showed up at parties to sell drugs, and didn’t attend prom for any of his senior years.

When your little brother entered high school, you worried about him being bullied. You were aware that most of the school’s population were under the impression that Dungeon and Dragons was a devil worshiping cult, and the Hellfire club along with it. Having been exposed to the game for so long thanks to Dustin’s nerdy interests, you knew better than what the propaganda surrounding D&D tried to peddle to the public, but you held concerns that your status-obsessed ‘friends’ wouldn’t be so easily convinced otherwise. Popularity was never something you sought out, it just came naturally to you, and while it was nice always having weekend plans there was no way in hell you were going to let anyone give your baby brother and his friends any shit. If sticking up for your family made the ‘cool kids’ at school not want to have you in their clique, then that was fine by you. To your surprise, everyone seemed to get the message loud and clear that Dustin and his band of misfits were off limits bullying-wise, and you were able to stay relatively well liked by your peers.

The first time you stood up for Dustin, it was a few weeks into his freshman year in the hallway before first period. One of the guys from the basketball team was giving him a hard time, and you marched right up to the meathead jock and shoved him away. You made sure to get your point across that if you ever saw him fucking with your brother again that you weren’t afraid to fight back. The opposing boy cowered away, not expecting one of the most popular girls at Hawkins to so adamantly defend who he considered a ‘nerd’. Word traveled fast, and by lunchtime the hottest gossip was how you sucker-punched Damian Smith square in the jaw outside of Mrs. Hackett’s classroom this morning. It wasn’t true by a long shot, but you found it rather amusing how much the story got twisted when there were so many witnesses. That day was also the first time you spoke to Eddie.

He had cornered you in the cafeteria, and was attempting to use his ‘bad boy, outcast’ demeanor to intimidate you into leaving Dustin alone. Some of the cheerleaders got the attention of their boyfriends, and pretty soon a group had gathered to see why someone at the bottom of the food chain was messing with you. You called them off with a wave of your hand, then took Eddie’s arm to drag him out into the hall and figure out what the hell he was talking about. He clearly had the wrong idea, because he was telling you off about ‘pretending to stand up for the nerdy freshmen’ and how he ‘knew this was part of some elaborate prank’.

He had no idea you were Dustin’s sister. It made sense, you didn’t look all that similar and you didn’t even share a last name. Your biological parents were family friends of the Hendersons, and they died when you were fairly young. You were legally adopted by your godmother, and were raised as a member of the family. Most everyone who you’ve told has tried to console you after learning the truth, and while it is sad that you didn’t get to grow up with your birth mother and father, you know you were lucky to be a Henderson (by love, not by name). Family is family, even if there’s no blood relation, and that’s exactly what you told Eddie. You let him know that he could accuse you of being one of those airheads whose main concern is how many pages of the yearbook they make it on, but that wasn’t going to stop you from beating the shit out of anyone who tried to give your brother a hard time.

With Eddie becoming a close friend of Dustin’s, even somewhat of a role model (much to your dismay), you saw him pretty often. He was always finding excuses to come over, and you suspected it had something to do with his new life mission of bothering you at every waking moment. The two of you didn’t hate each other per se, on the contrary you actually always secretly enjoyed spending time with the metalhead, despite your differences. That being said, your rapport consisted mainly of jestful bantering, constantly trying to have the one-up in the exchange. You both finished high school together, he actually gave you a ride to graduation (not without a snide comment on the length of your dress, prompting a middle finger from you). Now you were taking a gap year before college and he was staying in Hawkins to focus on his music, the plan being to move to Indianapolis when the final member of Corroded Coffin graduated. With the freedom awarded by not attending Hawkins anymore- from both the stressful preparation for another four years of school and the pressure to stick to the status quo- you found yourself spending a lot of downtime with Eddie. You’re not quite sure either of you would readily call the other a friend, but maybe relationship labels were overrated. All you knew was that if Dustin was hitching a ride home, you could count on Eddie’s van being parked in the driveway for at least a couple hours while he berated you inside.

Lately though, the playful bickering between you two morphed into what almost felt like flirting. Eddie seemed to be laying it on thicker and thicker each time he came to see you, as if he was testing the waters for how much he could get away with without you getting upset. What he didn’t know, however, was that you’ve been harboring a secret crush on him for a while now. After actually getting to know him through the excuse of you both caring about Dustin, you came to the realization that he’s not all bad like his reputation.

Eddie switches on the TV, turning it to your favorite channel without asking and setting the remote back down on the table. It’s the little gestures like these that have you falling harder for him everyday. You lose your train of thought getting lost in fantasies of doing exactly this with him, only while being able to call him your boyfriend. You’re ripped back to reality when his arm shifts from the back of the couch to actually over your shoulders. His face doesn’t show any sign that he thinks of this as overly intimate, so you try to not let any reaction show.

Some hours pass this way, and you wonder how long Eddie plans to stay for. You silently pray that your neighbors won’t say anything to your mom about his van parked in the driveway, but even if they do, the tingling you felt in your chest was well worth it- and besides, no matter what she said, you were an adult. Just as you're thinking this, Eddie stands to pick his bag up off of the floor, slipping the books he brought out onto the coffee table, before zipping it back up and holding it awkwardly in his hands.

“I guess I should probably get going,” he says with a shrug, “It’s getting late, and your mom will be home soon.”

“She said they were going to drink wine,” you respond. “You know Claudia, she wouldn’t drive after having even a sip. She’s going to sleep on her friend’s couch.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes lighting up a little before he purses his lips and looks out the window. “Well, it’s pretty dark out now. I don’t wanna keep you up…”

There’s a brief pocket of silence, neither of you wanting to be the one to suggest what you’re thinking for fear of the other not returning the same feeling. You don’t want your disappointment at the idea of him not staying to be too evident, but you’re not sure how convincing you’re being. Your gaze drops down to his pretty lips, distracted by how he’s biting them, and wishing you could bite them instead. Faintly, so faintly you’re almost unsure if you even really heard it, he speaks your name, bringing your attention back to his eyes. You watch as he gathers the courage for his next words.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s like time stops. You resist the urge to squeal like a little girl with a crush, but that is exactly how you feel. Slowly, you nod your head before moving your lips to say, ‘Yes,’ though no sound escapes you. He drops the bag, and kicks it out of the way when it lands at his feet before taking long strides toward you. The both of you lean forward, and he tilts his head slightly to make room for your noses. His breath fans your lips as he hesitates to close the distance. Impatient after months of pining, you grab him by the zipper of his jacket and finally do what you’ve been dreaming about for so long.

His lips are as soft as they look, and you conclude that your theory about his chapstick addiction is correct. With as much as he smokes (medicinal or otherwise), he must moisturize them pretty often. He actually tastes very faintly of tobacco, and you remember how he said he was trying to quit and only smoked cigarettes when he was jittery. You wonder if that meant that you make him as nervous as he makes you. The dirty taste was thankfully mostly covered up by a strong minty flavor, and that only makes you wonder even more, this time about if he also obsesses over little detail when he knows he’s going to see you. Whenever Dustin would inform you Eddie was on his way over, you would find yourself primping in front of the mirror, making sure your hair fell in place just the right way and your skin was clear of any blemishes. You even did this before you fully understood your feelings for the man were romantic. Picturing him having the afterthought to pop a mint before driving over to see you had you smiling against his lips.

“What?” he laughs, pulling away from you slightly and raising an eyebrow with both curiosity and amusement.

“Nothing,’ you reply, giggling softly. “Just thinking.”

“Oh? What about?” he asks, leaning in once again to peck you chastely before simply resting his forehead against your and gazing into your eyes. He walks you backwards, back to the couch and sits, pulling you down next to him.

You shake your head, still smiling. Your mind was racing a mile a minute and it was too much to explain, especially when the only thing you wanted was for him to kiss you silly. “Not now. Just come here,” you whisper as you thread your fingers through his hair and push yourself flush against him, ending up fully sat in his lap with his hands gripping your thighs.

You two last like this for a while, (mostly) innocently kissing, just enjoying the feeling of finally giving into temptation. Pretty soon, Eddie’s touch begins to roam, and your hips begin to rock. It was very quickly crossing the line from PG-13 to R. When you feel his cock harden beneath you, you make up your mind about what you want to happen.

“Eddie,” you moan while his tongue circles a bite mark he left on your neck, soothing the sting. He dismisses the sound, lost in his own world as his hands find purchase on your butt, assisting your movements against him. “Eddie,” you try again, shaking his shoulders slightly.

He immediately slides his hands up to a more modest area on your waist, and he lifts his head away from your neck to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, and his hair is wild. “Yeah, baby?” he says, sounding out of breath.

“Do you want to go to my room?” you ask. You can tell by the way he glances back down at your lips, then to your thighs, and finally back up to your eyes, that he knows exactly what you are implying.

“A- are you sure?” he forces out, barely believing what he’s hearing.

“I’m sure,” you confirm. “I’m ready.”

You’re both hurrying down the hallway, nearly tripping over each other’s feet in your haste. The walk to your bedroom is short, but after putting off the inevitable for so long, you can barely wait and have to resist jumping his bones before reaching your destination. Throwing open the door, he ushers you inside and shuts it behind him.

Eddie’s heavy leather jacket thuds as it hits the floor, his shirt being discarded soon after. Your mouth waters at the sight of his tattoos, but you barely have time to admire his partial nudity. He’s on top of you in a flash, pressing you into the wall and kissing you passionately. His curious hands rake over your body, and their wandering loosen the knot on your robe’s belt, causing the thick fabric to open slightly and expose your collarbone. Like a man starved, Eddie’s lips never lose contact with you as he rips the tie from your body, almost making you fall with the force behind it. He steadies you with his hands back on your waist, this time underneath the robe, and you can feel his touch so much better with only the thin silk of your nightgown between you. Shrugging the robe off, he helps you pull it down your arms before tossing it onto your carpet, and the cold air of your bedroom is fought off by his body warmth invading every inch of you.

“Do you want this as much as I do?” he whispers gravelly after parting his lips from yours.

He doesn’t need to clarify what exactly he wants, because you want it all with him. “I do,” you confirm.

He leads you over to your bed, a queen-sized four-poster, still unmade from this morning. You climb on top and turn to face him while sitting on your knees. He looms over you, standing at the foot of the bed with you kneeling on the mattress in front of him. His pretty eyes darken as he looks down and takes in your form.

“God, I like you like this,” he laughs from above you, “Is this what I gotta do for you to shut your mouth?”

“You like my mouth” you shoot back, sitting up to reach him and tangling your hands in his curls. You make a fist, thus pulling his hair slightly.

He grunts as you tug on his locks, but doesn’t let the innuendo in your last comment go. “You do have a real nice mouth,” he says as he swipes his thumb against your bottom lip. Before he can retract his hand, you open your mouth and suck the digit into it, swirling your tongue around the tip while looking up at him from behind your eyelashes.

“Fuck, baby,” he brokenly breathes out.

The only thing you see in his eyes is pure unadulterated lust, and you feel your belly grow warmer at the thought of what he was going to do about it. He withdraws his hand only to place it on your neck, his palm on the front of your windpipe. He’s not applying any pressure, so you can’t call it choking, but just the implication of such a touch has arousal pooling in your underwear. His thumb is warm and wet on your throat, and when he trails his hand from your neck to the back of your head, the breeze of air on the leftover saliva makes your skin feel cool. Eddie drops his head and his lips meet yours once again, but only just barely making contact. You try to deepen the kiss, but he’s returned the favor of holding onto a tuft of your hair, making it impossible to press against him more firmly without your hair being pulled. He laughs at your cries of protest, but gives in, sucking on your bottom lip and nipping at it before licking his tongue past the threshold of your mouth.

Kissing like this isn’t the most comfortable, what with the springs of your mattress digging into your knees and your neck craning up to be able to reach Eddie, but you could stay in this position for hours if it meant he was going to keep touching you the way he was. The hand not tangled and tugging at your hair was sliding up your side, dragging the silk of your nightie up. He bunched the fabric up in a fist, which caused it to be lifted enough that your cotton panties were on display. You briefly worry about whether he was going to think the underwear you had on was sexy or not, considering it wasn’t silky or lacy like your nightgown was. It was just a simple and comfortable pair of navy blue panties with a white elastic waistband.

While you were busy overthinking, Eddie bent at his knees and kissed down your jaw, releasing your hair to raise the fabric on the other side of your nightie up to the same level, then backed away to pull it the rest of the way up over your head and off your body. You felt a little self conscious, bare chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that wasn’t even sexy. Your arms went to fold in front of you, but Eddie dropped the silk and grabbed your wrists, stopping you.

“Don’t cover yourself,” he whispers, his eyes glued to your body, “You’re so beautiful.”

Blood rushes to your head as you bite back a smile at his compliment. Any anxiety you previously felt about him judging you vanishes, and in its place comes even more need. Eddie tells you to lay down as he softly nudges your shoulder, and you do as he says with no contest. He hooks his fingers underneath the elastic of your panties before waiting for one last head nod from you. When you give the okay and lift your hips, he slowly pulls the fabric off of you, sucking in a breath when your bare pussy finally crosses his line of sight.

He crawls onto the bed and kisses up your torso, starting at your hip bone and making his way all the way up to your clavicle. The hard tent in his jeans rubs against the delicate skin of your inner thigh as he spends extra time marking up your neck, and you get impossibly wetter at the proof of the effect you have on him. When he pulls away, the mattress dips by both sides of your face due to him propping himself up by his arms. His legs bend as he sits up, successfully caging you in, and he takes a moment to just look at you.

“I’m gonna get you ready for me, okay baby?” he says quietly, one of his hands leaving their spot next to your head as he traces his fingertips lightly down the dip in between your breasts, over your belly button, and caresses your dripping slit.

“Yeah, okay,” you mutter out your consent. With your brain as cloudy as it was, you weren’t entirely sure what he was proposing, but you were at a point by now where you would agree to anything.

His middle digit slips easily past the soaked folds around your weeping hole, and he circles the entrance teasingly, collecting your juices before finally breaching, and just his fingertip enters into you. An embarrassing high pitched squeak escapes from your throat, and you raise yourself up onto your elbows to get a better look at what he’s doing to you.

“You wanna watch as I warm you up with my fingers, princess?” he croons at you sweetly. “It’s pretty, ain’t it?”

You take a deep gasp of air as his finger disappears further into you, his hands are bigger and tougher than your own, and the difference is very noticeable. He bends and straightens his wrist over and over, pumping in and out of you with ease, and the foreign feeling is strange yet pleasurable. Another finger slides inside, and he works them into you, opening you up. He’s determined to make the next step after this as satisfying for you as possible.

“You’re so wet and tight, baby. You’re gonna feel so good on my cock,” he practically mewls. There’s a wild look in his eyes, and it only steers you closer to your climax. “You want that, baby? You wanna make me feel good? Make me crave you all the time, even more than I already do?”

His words are slurring together as he rambles on about how perfect he knows your pussy is going to feel around him. For the life of you, you can’t form any response that isn’t loud moaning, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind one bit. You feel the build up inside of you start, and your entire body tenses involuntarily as you prepare for what you know will be a mind-blowing orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum? My princess is gonna cum?” he asks, and you nod your head to the best of your ability given that the muscles in your neck are locked up. “You’re squeezing my fingers so fucking tight, baby. Show me how pretty you are when you cum. Show me, and I promise I’ll fuck you so good, so right. I’ll fuck you as many times as you let me, and I’ll do it anyway you want. Hard, slow, soft, fast… Just show me how perfect my girl is when she’s cumming around my fingers and I’ll give you what you need”

His promises push you over the edge, and you finish while crying out his name. Literally, you feel moisture leak from your eyes as your head pushes into the pillow beneath you. Eddie leans forward to kiss away the tears, all while still fingering you, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” you hear as you start to come back to the world. His hand slows down slightly, more focused on a deep and sensual rhythm, and you feel his hot breath on your temple as he continues to soothe you through your come down. “Did such a good job, sounded so pretty moaning my name, wanna make you make those sounds forever…”

He trails off as he pulls his hand away, and you both stare at his hand and watch how the light reflects off the glistening slick coating his fingers. He plunges them into his mouth, and groans around them at the taste as your jaw drops in disbelief. It was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Still recovering from both your shock and intense orgasm, you grunt out in annoyance when Eddie rolls off of you and stands up. You’re about to complain at the loss of contact, until you realize his reason for doing so was to unbutton his jeans. You instantly rise. Your head feels dizzy from sitting up too fast, but you push through the lightheadedness in order to give your full attention to what was about to happen.

Eddie hurriedly moves to yank his tight jeans down his legs, stumbling slightly but regaining his balance enough to not fall, then succeeds pulling down the denim and kicking his legs out of it. His legs are pale- as could be suspected from wearing nothing but full length pants in Indiana- and they look rather soft. You want to reach your hand out and graze his calf to see if they’re as soft as they appear, or if looks are deceiving and his dark wisps of leg hair actually have a coarse texture. There’s no time to dwell on that instinct, as very soon after discarding his pants he follows his boxers with them, and you’re distracted by hair in another area.

Eddie’s cock springs to his stomach when he straightens up from pulling off his underwear. The sight of it both makes you want to spread your legs and squeeze your thighs together, but the choice is made for you when Eddie takes your knee with one of his hands and settles between your legs on the bed. His lips met yours as his shaft grazed your soaked lips, brushing against your clit and causing you to buck up into hip, but your hips are pinned down by his pelvis. The pressure allows some relief, but you crave more.

“Fuck me,” you beg, “Please fuck me, Eddie.” You sound pathetic even to yourself, but you’re far past the point of no return as far as shame goes.

“Do you have protection?” he asks, in between kisses. “I didn’t bring condoms. I didn’t think- I didn’t expect you to actually-”

“I’m on the pill,” you cut him off. “Just fuck me.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, “Are you sure, princess?”

“Please, Eds,” you whine, “I need you.”

“You need me, baby?” he smiles against you while you nod your head. His teeth clash with yours as you try to pull him somehow closer to you than he already is. “I know what you need. I’m gonna give it to you, don’t worry.”

He lifts himself up so that he can grasp the base of his shaft, and slides up and down your slit before he positions the head of his cock to be poking your entrance. There was a stinging sensation as he stretched you out, sinking in slowly inch by inch until you can’t take anymore and have to stop him.

“Too big?” he asks, and the tone of his voice leads you to believe he’s asking this with genuine concern rather than inflating his own ego. He really doesn’t want to hurt you.

“I just need a s- second,” you stutter out while adjusting your pelvis, trying to ease the dull ache.

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs while pecking you on the tip of your nose. Your hand immediately flies up to guide his lips to your own, and the emotion behind the kiss distracts you from the tenseness you feel, allowing you to loosen up slightly.

“God,” he moans, “you feel even more perfect than I imagined.”

A smug smirk crosses your face and you lift an eyebrow at him. “So you’ve imagined?” you ask, tilting your head and chuckling.

“Don’t act you haven’t fucked yourself with those fingers of yours while calling out my name,” he responds with a challenging look, “I can just picture it now, your sheets all crumpled from you tossing and turning, your hands cramping up but you ignoring it cause you’re so desperate to cum. Tell me, princess, when we would hang out, how long would you wait after I left to run up here and start rubbing this pretty little clit.”

As he tortures you with these (very true) accusations, his right hand snakes its way in between your bodies to start playing with your clit. He touches the nub with the tip of his thumb, applying pressure before rolling it in gentle circles. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“I asked you a question, baby,” he says, his lips now moving against your jaw as you focus on relaxing and getting used to the feeling of him inside you. “You gonna be a good girl and answer me?”

His vulgar words combined with his hand’s actions send you a wave of slick arousal, and suddenly you’re ready, and you want him deeper. “Eddie,” you whine, “more.”

“Nuh-uh,” he mutters, not moving an inch and keeping that deviously slow pace with his fingers. “I wanna hear about you touching yourself, princess.”

“Ugh!” you groan, kicking your leg out like a kid throwing a tantrum. “Eddie! It’s embarrassing!”

“No it’s not,” he comforts you, his left hand stroking your cheekbone as he leans down to kiss you sweetly on the lips. “When I’m thinking of you, I like to go nice and slow at first…”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat as you realize what he’s about to do. He’s going to tell you about him getting off to dirty thoughts of you. It should disgust you to know the boy who was teasing you and picking little fights for the past almost two years has been fantasizing about you, but it only gets you going more. You force your eyes open to look at him, and he’s already staring deeply at you, his face showing no signs of mocking.

“I think about those pretty lips, so soft. I think about what they’d feel like on my skin, around my cock.” His unabashed admissions are doing nothing to help with how impatient you’re getting, but his fingers stop circling your clit when you try to slide down deeper onto his dick yourself.

“I know you want it baby, but I’m trying to talk to you,” he whispers, “You don’t wanna be rude, do you? You already wouldn’t answer my question.”

“Sorry,” you whimper weakly, hoping that if you play along he’ll hurry up.

“So sweet for me,” he says as his hand starts up again and he nips at the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck. “I knew you’d be sweet. I knew your tough girl act was a show. All the times you got mouthy and bratty with me, you just wanted to be my sweet, good girl.”

“I take off everything but my panties. And then I lay down in bed, with the fan on cause I get hot. And I start feeling up my stomach-”

He cuts you off with a chuckle. “What are you talking about, princess?”

You bang your head on the pillow and start squirming. “I’m answering your question,” you whimper, “You’re taking too long, Eddie, I need it!”

His fingers circle your clit fast and he finally, finally sinks the rest of the way in you, bottoming out and filling you up so deep and full. “Keep going,” he orders as he starts rocking in and out of you at such a cruelly slow rate. As if reading your mind, he adds on, “I’ll go faster if you keep going.”

“Fuck, Eds,” you moan out in ecstasy, your mind empty and only able to think about his cock and what he’s doing to you. But you want- no, need- him to go faster, so you summon every brain cell you have and force yourself to speak semi-coherently.

“I feel up my stomach til I get goosebumps, and I start massaging my tits and thinking about what it would feel like if it was your h-hands,” you start to stutter as his left hand mimics your descriptions, tickling your abdomen as it makes its way to your chest. “And while I did that, I would spit on my fingers a little bit then stick my hand in my underwear, and I would start rubbing my clit.”

“And you imagined it was me doing it?” he interrupts, now thrusting into you a little harder and a little deeper, his hand massaging your breast before taking a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger and rolling it gently.

You nod your head, too lost in the feeling to answer verbally. He really started to pick up the speed now, hitting a spot in you that you were never quite able to reach on your own, and it’s so sinfully delicious that you feel like you’re going to black out from the intensity of the pleasure. He feels so perfect moving against you, the velvety skin of his cock merging so right with your inner walls. You chastise yourself for holding out for so long, if you had known how blissful it would be, you would have confessed the day you realized your feelings. The idea that you could have been doing this for nearly a year has you cursing whatever forces that kept you apart, though a bitter voice in the back of your head reminded you it was your own stubbornness.

“Then what do you do?” he urges you on.

“Um, I would stay like that for a little while,” you continue, finding it difficult to get your thoughts out into full sentences, “and then when I was close I would… um, like stop playing with my tits. So that I could use that hand to finger myself.”

“Fuck, princess. The way you describe it… I bet you look so pretty when you’re touching yourself,” he groans, now pummeling in and out of you in a steady, fast rhythm. His eyes keep switching between watching you and being scrunched closed, like he’s trying to focus on making this last but still wants to look at your face. “I wanna see it someday. Will you show me?”

“Yeah, mhm, sure,” you agree, not even really paying attention to what he was asking you due to being too lost in what you were experiencing. Your orgasm was near, and you wouldn’t be able to hold it off for much longer. “Eddie, I’m close,” you warn, your nails digging into his back as your arms tighten around his neck.

“Me too, baby,” he says back. The rocking of his hips combined with the closeness of his face caused his lips to brush against yours in a repeated pattern, and the intimacy of that only builds your climax up faster. “Where do you want it?”

Eddie Munson, the bane of your existence for the past couple of years is asking you where you want him to cum. “Inside,” you answer without thought. “Inside me, Eds, I wanna feel you leaking out of me.”

“Oh fuck. You can’t say shit like that to me. How am I supposed to keep living my life like normal after this?” he whines, “Are you gonna cum for me, baby? I want you to go first.”

As he finishes telling you this, the wire snaps and you feel electricity shoot throughout your body. Your second orgasm is much stronger than your first, and considering how the first one had you nearly losing consciousness, that was really saying something. The shockwaves make you feel like you’re literally vibrating around him, and being able to feel his dick twitching as he released his load into you only added to that feeling. You were a moaning mess, gasping in and puffing out little breaths of air as you hopelessly cry out, ‘I’m cumming, Eddie, you’re making me cum,’ along with assorted swears over and over and over. His grip on your waist loosened as he wrapped his arms around your middle and held on tight, burying his head into your neck as he rode out his own orgasm. He muttered something into your skin that you couldn’t quite make out with it being muffled, but it sounded suspiciously close to, ‘I love you,’ and your heart leapt at that possibility.

After a few minutes, after you both gathered yourselfs, he rolled over onto his back and you cuddled up to his side. Your head rested on his bare chest and your arms hugged around his stomach, pulling him as close as you could.

“So,” he starts, his arms folded behind his head and a crooked grin adorning his face, “was I the biggest you’ve taken, or does that happen with all the guys you bring home?”

You furrow your brows in confusion as you turn your head to look at him. “What do you mean?” you manage to mumble out.

“I mean, how tight you were. And how you couldn’t take all of me at first,” he says, like it was obvious.

“Well, in sex-ed they said the first time usually hurts. This wasn’t as bad as I was expecting though, just kinda stung a little bit at first,” you explain, laying your head flat against him once more and scraping at the nail on your index finger with your thumb.

Eddie stops moving and is quiet for a good thirty seconds. You start to feel a trickling of doubt, and become anxious that you somehow said the wrong thing. He reaches up to take your hand in his, effectively stopping your nervous finger picking and stealing your attention. When you glance back up at him he’s staring at you with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Princess,” he says slowly, like somehow you were the one in this situation not making any sense, “You’re not telling me that was your first time.”

Oh. You suppose that was a pretty important tidbit of information you withheld that he probably would’ve liked to have known before you engaged in intercourse. In your defense, there was no reason for him to assume you weren’t a virgin. You only graduated high school the year prior, and during your time at Hawkins you never had a serious boyfriend. Even when you were being crowned prom queen, your date to the dance was James McKenna, and he came out as gay the week after graduation before moving to New York. Sure, you were privy to the rumors thrown around in the boy’s locker room about what you did to this guy under the bleachers and what you did to that guy at Skull Rock, but there was no more gossip surrounding you than the average cheerleader.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly feeling guilty for not being completely transparent. “I guess I just thought you knew, or like, would be able to tell?” you say, your intonation changing to a questioning lilt by the end of your sentence.

He starts blinking his wide eyes frantically, his head shaking in disbelief as he tries to think of what to say. That self conscious dread from earlier starts to sneak it’s way back in, and you begin having second thoughts, worrying if he- like your high school friends- thought it was weird that you waited to have sex. He must have noticed the fear in your eye, because he held you tighter against him and comfortingly rubbed up and down your forearm.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” he says, speaking quickly. “I guess I just assumed. I mean, you were so popular. Everyone wanted you, anyone would have been lucky to have you-” you smile and blush at his words- “And those guys on the basketball team were always bragging and telling stories-”

“If a plate of spaghetti grew legs and started walking around, those guys would claim that they fucked it. Why would you listen to that noise?” you interjected, your annoyance clear.

He held his hands up in defense. “You’re right, I don’t know why I believed any of that crap. I know you have better taste than that. I mean, you like me, so that proves you have a much more sophisticated taste in men.”

“Sophisticated is one word for it, I guess,” you mumble while rolling your eyes, before sitting up to grab your nightie from the foot of the bed.

“If you weren’t active, why were you on the pill?” he questions you while rubbing your back.

“I’m a grown woman. I figured it was going to happen eventually, and I wanted to make sure I was ready when it did,” you answer distractedly as you work on turning your pajamas the right side out.

Eddie hums in understanding but is otherwise quiet as he watches you redress yourself, except for a cheeky wolf whistle when you need to bend over to pick up your panties. Once you're covered up again, you turn around to see him staring at you in amusement.

“What?” you ask with a smile, climbing back onto the bed and throwing a leg over his thighs, settling onto his lap. The tips of your noses brush against each other as you see that gleam in his eyes you recognize as him trying to stifle laughter when teasing you. “What is it?” you repeat, shoving him gently on his chest before looping your arms around his neck.

He shakes with silent laughter then leans back to quirk a brow at you. “A plate of spaghetti?” he asks. You grab a pillow to hit him in the head with, but drop it when you’re tackled and pinned down, giggling and kicking your feet as he kisses up your collar bone.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut

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lemonlover1110 · 8 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝟑𝟖𝟏

Toji Fushiguro

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[Chapter 13] Back to the Beginning

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

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“I’m an escort.” Toji says which leaves you wide-eyed. You aren’t sure how to react, other than simply staring at the man. You’re dumbfounded. Dumbfounded even sounds like an understatement. Your mouth is parted, and you’re simply shocked to even hear that. Maybe you should’ve suspected that, but you didn’t. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“Yeah um…” You really aren’t sure how else to respond. You still feel hurt mainly because he hid this from you. You’re gathering your thoughts, and you think about talking this out with him but you aren’t sure if he’ll accept the offer to talk right at this moment; you’re afraid to ask.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, his hand still on the door. You bite down on your tongue, holding back on making a snarky remark due to the words he used not even five minutes ago. You clear your throat, tilting your head to the side,

“Is that any of my business?” You respond as you move to the side to let him in. It’s too cold outside for him to explain something that seems like a mouthful to explain. He walks inside and you shut the door. You watch him take a seat. “Don’t waste time, Toji. I’m tired.”

“Right…” He looks at the ground in shame. You’re not in the mood to comfort him, and you certainly aren’t going to tell him that him being an escort is no big deal. “Momoko and I aren’t dating. She just… Pretends like we are to her friends and her coworkers and parents– Just everyone around her. I look… Presentable enough and I guess she likes that I don’t really try to engage with them.”

“Okay…” Your brain isn’t coming up with the right words to say. “So how far–”

“Just going to events. Doesn’t get past flirting and occasional pecks on the lips.” He answers, and while it’s not as horrible as you thought, your stomach still churns. You don’t like what you’re hearing– But it’s fine, you’re not dating Toji or anything. He’s just your neighbor who you’ve gotten extremely friendly with. You take a deep breath and slowly nod your head. “What’s up?”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? Why are you doing all of this?” Questions flood your head. You aren’t really sure what you’re expecting to hear, but you hope that it’ll put you at ease.

“I didn’t want to scare you away… It’s not something that I’m exactly proud of.” He tells you, fidgeting his hands, not really having the courage to look at you. Toji isn’t a man that’s ashamed of anything but for some reason as he stands before you, he finds himself extremely embarrassed that he’s doing all of this. “I… Just want to save up a lot of money and buy Megumi a proper house, where he has his own room and can go outside and play in his own yard. Fixing cars is not enough with all my expenses.”

“I– I don’t know what to say, Toji.” You’re simply shocked. Maybe you should’ve expected it, but you were hoping he was a waiter or something along those lines. Not an escort. “I guess… You have to do whatever you have to do.”

“So what do you think?” He asks when you sit in complete silence for a minute, although it feels like it’s an eternity. He finally looks at you, watching as you stare down at your thighs. You really don’t know what to say, it’s not something light.

“You should’ve told me sooner.” You have no other words. Maybe if you found out sooner than you would’ve taken the news better. It’s not that you’re upset but… This is all so confusing for you. “I guess there isn’t that much trust between us and… It’s not something that you’re exactly proud of.”

“I mean, do you look at me differently now?” He questions, and you do. But mainly because he tried to hide it. He just makes it seem like he’s actually sleeping with them and– God, the idea of him sleeping with other women makes you upset.

“Did you… Fuck any of them?” You ask, and he quickly shakes his head. That makes you feel a lot better, but you still feel pretty weird. “I guess, I do. I just thought you would’ve told me. Considering that I almost consider you a boyfriend.”

“I guess sometimes things aren’t how we want.” He responds. You sigh, and he stands up from the bed, beginning to walk towards the door. His hand lands on the doorknob, and he turns to look at you. You stare at each other for a moment before he speaks up, “I hope things don’t change between us.”

“I hope so too.” You muster to say. He opens the door and exits, making you lay down on your bed. You don’t want things to change, Toji has been making you feel so good.

But you know things will change. There’s no way they can remain the same after finding out the truth.

It’s not because he’s an escort– Well not entirely. You feel weird knowing that Toji’s been hiding this from you. The idea of Toji kissing other women for the sole purpose of money makes you sick. You doubt that you’ll be sleeping tonight.

You’re more concerned about what he’s doing, rather than questioning who sent you the photos. Who knows about you and Toji? You have an answer, but you don’t really care to think about it. Your main concern right now is your relationship with Toji, a man who you thought you had a possible romantic relationship with.

You want to say that things remain unchanged, but they aren’t. You’re awkward around Toji, the same way he’s awkward around you. The only reason you interact now it’s because of Megumi, and it makes you feel upset because you were sure a relationship was developing.

Slowly your walls were coming down and you’d allow yourself to be with the man that you were starting to like more than a friend. Sadly, things didn’t turn out the way you were hoping.

You try not to dwell on it, maybe you’re just not meant to be with each other. It’s fine though, your hopes weren’t up too much. You won’t deny how weird this whole arrangement is. You feel like you’re trying to coparent Megumi even though he’s not your son. At least now Toji is paying you some money, even if it isn’t a lot.

You want to act like everything is okay, but for some reason you find yourself upset when he’s working late nights, and your mind wonders just exactly what he’s doing. At least it doesn’t get past kissing; at least that’s what he told you. You aren’t quite sure if you can believe Toji’s word.

The first week of February strikes you, and you’re shocked to realize just how fast time is going. It’s been over a month since you’ve had your conversation with Toji, over a month since he last kissed you. You don’t miss it, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t like Toji all that much either way. That sentiment slowly fades away. A little too slow for your liking, but regardless, it’s leaving.

As Valentine’s day approaches, you find yourself a bit saddened though since you were expecting to have a Valentine’s this year. First it was Kento, your late husband, since you expected him to last longer. That hope clearly vanished, but as you got closer to Toji, maybe he could be your Valentine.

The most unexpected thing though is when you’re in your apartment taking care of Megumi. He has a little backpack– Which isn’t exactly so little. It reaches past his knees and he has to be careful with it. You have no idea why Toji got that backpack for him since it’s plain black and boring, not to even mention twice his size. He’s looking for something there.

“What are you looking for, GumiGumi?” You ask him, crouching down to help the little boy that looks determined to find something. He finally pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper that’s folded in half. It’s a card, and it’s filled with attempted shapes. You squint your eyes, trying to make out what it is. “What is that, honey?”

“Would you be my valentine?” He asks, as he extends his arm to you. You feel your heart soften, your bottom lip sticking out as you put your hand over your heart. He’s simply the cutest. You always knew you wanted kids but this just confirms it even more. You hug him.

“Of course, baby.” You respond. You kiss his temple, a big smile on your face when you look at him. Maybe you won’t be so lonely this Valentine’s day, you still have Megumi who is almost like your son. Knowing Toji, he’ll be busy. “Do you want to do something special? Maybe go to the movie theater or get something to eat?”

“Can we get ice cream?” He asks, a spark in his eyes as he mentions the cold treat. You end up nodding in response, causing the biggest smile to come to his face. Then he asks, “Can daddy come with us?”

“If he’s available, yes, baby.” You answer. When you fully stand up, you put the card down on the counter and you ask him, “Do you want anything specific to eat, Megumi?”

“No.” He shakes his head. You walk over to the fridge to look at what ingredients you have that can make a quick and easy meal. You’re not really in a cooking mood.

You hear your phone ring, and you furrow your brows. You grab it to see an unknown number calling. You’re about to hang up the call since lately a lot of weird numbers have been calling you. Something urges you to pick it up, and when you do, you almost regret it. You heard your name, and you aren’t sure whether you should confirm or deny.

“This is her.” You end up confirming it. Your eyes widen when you hear it’s from the hospital, and you feel your heart drop. You remember a similar call years ago, and it ended up in you losing so much. “Who is in the hospital?”

Your eyes immediately dart to the little boy who opens his notebook to scribble with his crayons. God you hope it’s not– “Toji Fushiguro? I’ll be on my way.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #anime #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #daddy toji #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fic

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scar-crossedlvrs · 10 months

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Imagine.. (smut)

Chris or anyone basically forcing leon to go get loose at a Club and then he end up getting a hot dance with reader... Leon decides to ask her number and they meet up pne or two times. From there on, maybe their friendship starts forming.

Please dont feel obliged to do it ofc!

Leon S Kennedy - Won't You Follow My Body Rhythm ?

I immediately thought of re2 / rookie!leon when i read this, so i hope you don’t mind being my first try at rookie!leon. please try to enjoy my 2nd public attempt at smut and my longest piece of writing as of late.

i 100% didn't listen to this song like half the time i was writing this so honorary title.

cw for: smut, f / afab!reader, alcohol consumption, oral ( f receiving ), public-ish?, leon's real awkward, s.t.a.r.s chris redfield

18+ minors do not interact. gentle reminder that all of my works sfw or not are intended for 18+ audiences.

The inbox is open for requests.

“Dude, just try and relax.”

Chris’s voice was muted by the sounds of the crowded club, despite his proximity.

“When you said we were going out for drinks, this isn’t what I expected.” Leon shouts over the music, raising his drink to his lips. “I thought we were going to the usual spot.”

There’s a laugh from the other man. “It won’t kill you to try something new every once in a while, rookie.” Chris claps a hand to the blonde’s shoulder. “Besides, this isn’t so bad. Pretty sure the girl at the bar’s been eyeing you since we walked in.”

“I doubt it.” Leon rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his drink. Despite his words, his eyes move to scan the direction Chris had indicated, unable to see much in the dim lighting. “I don’t see anyone even glancing in my direction.”

“Fine, don’t trust me.” Chris rolls his eyes in turn and shrugs. “I’m not sulking in the corner all night with you though. Jill should be here any minute, just try and do something fun while I’m gone.”

Before Leon could protest, the other man disappeared into the crowd with a casual wave.

He was going to need another drink.

At least one.

—

Elbows propped against the bar, you bring your drink to your lips as someone pulls out the stool next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here?” His voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance over to him. “ It’s the only spot open.”

He had caught your attention earlier, your eyes glued to him since he had walked into the club. Up close, you had a better look at his handsome features, pretty blue eyes framed by a fringe of dirty blonde hair and a jawline you couldn’t help but want to run your fingers along. He’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting to look anywhere but directly at you.

Cute.

“Go ahead.” red painted lips curl upwards as you gesture to the seat. “I won’t bite you.”

A relieved smile blooms across his face and his shuffling stops as he slides into the seat, doing his best to catch the attention of the busy bartender so that he could order.

“First time here, no?” you break the quiet between you after his drink is placed in front of him, curious.

His brows raise as he sips at the overpriced old fashioned. “Is it that obvious?”

“Has been since you walked in the door.”

There’s a sudden look of realization at your words, and his face is suddenly tinged pink. You let out a stifled laugh at the reaction, only causing the blush to spread a little bit further down his neck.

“Don’t worry, you just need to relax a bit.” you reassure him with a smile.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that tonight.” he chuckles slightly, letting some of the tension in his shoulders drop. “Chris wouldn’t stop saying the same thing.”

“And he’s right. You should.” your eyes glimmer in the dim lights as you lean a little closer to him. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a few ideas to help you out.”

He’s flustered again, thanks to the mixture of your proximity and the suggestion in your tone. Sputtering into his drink, his eyes widening in shock. “I…” his voice trails off as he glances away from you once more.

“Oh, calm down.” you straighten back up with a laugh, easing some of the closeness between the two of you. “Just teasing a little.”

The words do little to lessen the blush on his face as he stares into his drink. “Right. I knew that.”

“Sure, I’ll believe you this time.”

He falls quiet for a moment, sipping on his drink as the flush ebbs from his face slowly. “The name’s Leon by the way. Leon Kennedy.”

His eyes finally find yours again as he speaks and you nod, offering both your name and your hand to him in turn. Leon hesitated for a moment, before taking your hand in his firm grasp. Your lips curl upwards, hand lingering in his as your eyes glitter mischievously.

“Well, Leon.” Your words are slow and deliberate. “I think I’ve got the perfect way for you to let loose a little bit. C’mon.”

You quickly down the rest of your drink with your free hand as your fingers tighten around his. Slipping off of your barstool, you tug at his hand. Confused, he reluctantly finished his own drink before following you as you led him towards the dance floor.

“Oh, no. No, no, nope.” Leon blurted out the moment he realized. “Not happening.”

“Yes it is, I promise it’ll be fun.” you stop somewhere in the mass of already dancing bodies, pulling him closer and guiding his hands to your waist.

“I can’t dance, I’ll just embarrass myself and you.”

“Nobody’s paying attention. It’s easy. Besides, I’ll do all the work. Just follow my rhythm okay?”

Despite his protests, Leon’s hands remained on your waist albeit rather stiff. Taking this as a good sign, you drape your arms over his shoulders and inch a little closer. “Just move with me and try to have a little fun. It’ll come to you.”

Hips move, and you ignore the fast pace of the pulsating music to instead ease him into the movements. It didn’t take very long for his tense shoulders to relax under your touch, the hands on your waist slipping lower to grip at your hips. Satisfied with this reaction, you pick up the tempo, matching that of whatever was blaring over the speakers. He has to take a moment to adjust but quickly corrects, tugging you closer to him.

Before long you’re pressed close to his body, his chest against your back as your hips grind into his. Fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place and you bring a hand to his neck, pulling his face a little closer as a smile blossoms across your lips.

“I told you it was easy.”

—

“Oh fuck.”

The words spill from your parted lips, back pressed against the car door uncomfortably as his tongue drew messy circles around your clit as fingers pressed into your thighs.

This was becoming a familiar sight, the two of you sprawled in the ever so slightly too small backseat of Leon’s beat up Jeep after one too many drinks. You had slipped him your number that night, before he could be swept away by his original companion. Since then, he had been calling at least weekly to meet up.

You never declined.

And it usually ended with your dress hiked up to your waist and his face buried between your thighs.

Who knew the awkward guy you met at the club, the one that swore he couldn’t dance, was a natural when it came to eating pussy?

“You look so pretty like this.” eager, icy eyes stare up at you as Leon pulls away from your dripping cunt for only a moment before diving back in with a soft groan. “ ‘n you taste so sweet.”

Manicured fingers weave their way into his hair as lewd mewls escape you. The tug on his scalp only acts to encourage him, lips closing around the bundle of nerves as he inches you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Lee ‘so good.” breathless, you manage to whine “ ‘m gonna cum.”

He hums against your clit, his grip leaving one of your thighs in order to slip two of his fingers into your slick, clenching cunt only adding to the already overwhelming sensation of his tongue.

“You can do it, pretty. Jus’ let go.” he urges, fingers moving, curling to find just the right spot causing you to buck your hips upwards.

Fingers tighten against his scalp as you feel the tightly wound knot within you snap, vision blurred as your orgasm washes over you in waves. Teeth sink hard into your lower lip, barely able to hold back the stream of whiny swears that spilled from your lips as you came undone around his fingers.

Leon stayed buried in your pussy as you rode out your high, eagerly lapping at the mess you made until you released your grip on his hair. There’s a dorky smile plastered on his lips as he finally raises up, wiping the mess of slick and saliva from his face with an arm as he leans in to press his lips to yours.

“You know, one of these days I’m gonna have to take you out on a real date, right?”

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #tea writes things

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jisungsdaydreamer · 10 months

Text

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER ONE | 18+

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

THE LOVE FRUIT

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

«SERIES MASTERLIST»

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

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

“What is love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heartbreak.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, well, well.

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

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

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

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

“I still don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!” Sana gasps in faux surprise as you take your seat next to her. “So nice of you to join us… thirteen minutes late.”

You clench your jaw and force a smile. “Oh, well, you did just call me an hour ago, so.”

Sana returns your sarcasm with an aggressive beam, showing off all of her perfectly aligned, blindingly white teeth. Mina watches the venomous exchange in amusement, while Irene just rolls her eyes.

“Let’s get to the point, ladies.” Irene leans forward, and the other two follow suit, like they always do.

You stay put in your chair, comfortably leaning back, like you always do. “I’d love to know why you called me to brunch, Irene. You know this isn’t my scene.”

“Nothing besides your damn computer is your scene,” Mina retorts, sipping on her mimosa. Irene purses her lips to hide her grin, while Sana openly cackles.

You glower at them, saying nothing. The Golden Trio sat around the array of gourmet dishes like hens around a feeding hopper, craning for the best cuts and chances of picking on you, as usual.

“Can you just stop wasting my time and tell me why I’m here?” You take a swig of water, already counting down the minutes until you can make up an excuse and leave early.

The girls exchange knowing glances before Irene zeroes in on you. Even though she’s the oldest out of all four of you, she still looks the most stunning, with her cherry lips and elegant features.

“Y/N, we’ve been thinking that it’s time for you to find someone.” Irene reaches across the table and grasps your hands, making you cringe in surprise.

You raise an eyebrow at Irene, already dreading what path this conversation is taking. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Irene delicately cuts into her vegetable omelet, taking a small bite. “We just want you to be happy. And we know that it’s been hard, ever since Jisung.”

At the mention of your ex-boyfriend, you wrench your hands out of Irene’s grip. “Don’t you dare bring him up.”

Mina smacks her lips, nonchalantly reapplying her magenta lipstick. “I told you that she’d be angry.”

Irene sighs, massaging her temples. “Be reasonable, Y/N. This is for your own good. You’ve been alone for too long.”

“That is not for you to decide.” You nearly want to laugh out loud at this point. “This is my business. Not yours.”

But then again, the girls have never been able to respect your own feelings. You are their puppet to string along and their doll to dress up. To them, you’re not a real human being, capable of making your own decisions— both good and bad.

Two years ago, you were dumped by your first and last boyfriend, Park Jisung. It was a traumatizing relationship, to say the least. For all your life, you’ve struggled with romance and just the whole idea of intimacy, of getting close to someone and truly letting them see you. Jisung had taken your fragile heart, the one you had so cautiously extended to him, and shattered it on the ground.

The months you were with him were so full of emotional abuse on his part, that by the time you caught him cheating on you, you weren’t even surprised. You’d pathetically begged him to stay, crying that you’d forgiven him, but after his initial apologies, he’d left you. What made you the angriest wasn’t the anguish he had caused you. It was how he’d gotten the last word, breaking up with you and leaving you behind to rot. You swore that you would never let someone do that to you again. Everyday, you go to bed alone and wake up alone. Every single day, and you don’t have any intention of changing that.

“Of course not,” Sana says, stabbing viciously at her eggs and making you wince. “But you know, appearances matter.”

Irene shakes her head. “Honey, this lonely, mopey look doesn’t suit you. Johnny says that people are talking, saying that you’re some sort of recluse.”

You scoff, blood boiling at the thought of Irene’s fiancé. He grew up on his father’s bottomless wallet and was no better than any stereotypical rich playboy. All he did was run his mouth and on occasion, his damn country club that you couldn’t even afford to step inside.

“She kind of is a recluse,” Mina interrupts. “Like, just get a life, maybe?”

Mina’s words sting, like they always do. But you refuse to give her the satisfaction, instead answering Irene. “I couldn’t care less about Johnny Suh and what his useless friends at the club are saying. I’m fine how I am.”

Sana dabs at her mouth with her napkin, careful not to smudge her makeup. “You’re not, though.”

Irene glares at Sana, shutting her up, before turning back to you. You recognize the look in her eyes; that soft, cajoling pull that makes anyone do her bidding. That look is why you had not left this toxic company yet, but you’re starting to feel the effect of it slowly wear off.

“Y/N. Just hear me out.” Irene sorts through her violet Kate Spade tote bag, before pulling out a business card and handing it to you.

In spite of yourself, you take the card, feeling the thick, rich quality of the paper, and the gold lettering.

“Dr. Hwang…” You read out loud. “‘The Love Doctor?’ What the hell?”

“He’s a relationship therapist and dating expert. He also runs a matchmaking service and coaches his clients.” Irene explains.

“I have eyes. I can read the card, Irene,” you spit out, turning the paper around in your fingers. “And I definitely don’t trust anyone recommended by you. Especially not some corny weirdo called the ‘Love Doctor.’”

“Oh, get over yourself, Y/N. I know a billion trainwrecks that Dr. Hwang has fixed.” Mina shudders in thought. “He’s pretty good, you know?”

“No, actually. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this stupid Love Doctor.” You grind your teeth, desperately trying not to slap some sense into Mina. “I’m not going to trust a stranger with all of my thoughts… my fears, my hopes.”

“This is such a waste of time,” Sana whines, getting up from her seat and smoothing out her dress. “I’m going to go talk to Chris. BRB, girls.”

Sana flounces away in the direction of the hot bartender mixing and pouring drinks for patrons. Mina rolls her eyes, picking at her acrylic nails.

“She literally has a boyfriend,” Mina huffs, before getting up and following after her.

You turn back to Irene. “Is that how you want me to be? Both Sana and Mina are in relationships, except one pretends to not have a boyfriend, and the other is too bitchy to care about hers.”

“You’re not wrong.” Irene lets out a hearty chuckle, tracing the rim of her champagne flute. “But no one outside of our circle really knows about what’s going on with them, behind the scenes. They’re still perfect.”

“Why does it matter so much? Being perfect? Why does it matter so much to you if I am?” You question her, at a loss.

“I care about you.” Irene folds her hands in front of her plate. “You’re my friend.”

Friend.

That word takes you back to a few years ago, when you weren’t able to find a date to the frat party Johnny threw when you were all in college. You failed to follow Irene’s instructions, and as the expected result, Irene didn’t bother saying anything to you. You felt her anger through her silent treatment, as you stood by the door, feeling like a loser. You watched the rest of the Golden Trio giggle with their own dates, and Irene— no matter how big of a crush she used to have on Johnny before they became an item— was staring at you all night, soaking in your shame and unhappiness. You should have realized back then that the Golden Trio was just gilt. At least, you have now.

You snort in wry amusement, grabbing your keys and slapping down a fifty on the table, your general portion of the meal you didn’t even partake in. “I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m definitely not your fucking friend.”

Ignoring Irene’s pleas hitting your retreating back, you leave The Terrace, vowing never to go back.

On the weekends, you usually either work from home or aimlessly surf the internet. Either way, you’ll be staring at your computer until your eyes hurt. Today, however, you’re determined to prove that you can take a day off and enjoy it. It’s why you walk out of the luxury salon after being scrubbed, steamed, waxed, plucked, and primped all over your body. You don’t even want to think of how expensive it all was, completely disregarding the shiny $200 acrylics adorning your nails.

You spend the rest of the day browsing a vintage bookstore on the Los Angeles marina, devoutly avoiding the romance section like you always did. After splurging on a set of horror novels by the latest trending author, you decide to go home and relax— just because you aren’t outside doesn’t mean you’re moping around, unlike what the Golden Trio believes.

Who needs some hotshot Love Doctor when you’ve got Stephen King?

Sitting back on your couch with your book, you kick out your legs in front of you and attempt to unwind. But of course, you’re one line into the first page when your thoughts get the better of you. You glance across the open-concept layout of your apartment and over at your handbag, which is haphazardly strewn onto your bed; the business card that Irene gave you seems to be an incessant force in your mind. After a few seconds of trying to fight the urge to not let your curiosity best you, you give up, rolling off the sofa and rummaging through the bag to find the card.

Palming the small piece of paper, you settle onto your bed on your stomach, dimming the lights and logging into your computer. You type in the website address listed on the card into Google, impatiently tapping on the mouse. Finally, the page loads.

Your vision is blessed by a soft palette of pinks and beiges, a sparkling layout, flashy buttons and graphics, all designed to reel in even the most technologically inept grandparents. But that’s not what you’re enticed by: a giant picture of the most beautiful man that you have ever laid eyes on is pasted onto the main cover of the website. Immediately, you read further only to find out that this total babe is the Love Doctor that Irene couldn’t shut the fuck up about.

You zoom in on the bio printed below the image, devouring it like the King novel you should be reading instead right now. “What the…?”

Dr. Hwang Hyunjin is a lot of things: a relationship therapist, intimacy expert, dating coach, psychology researcher, and etc. But the title that truly encapsulates his essence is: the Love Doctor, the savant who leads his clients through the pains and triumphs of life, loss, and of course, love.

After graduating from Columbia University summa cum laude and obtaining his doctorate in psychology at Stanford, Dr. Hwang founded SeoulSpark, a practice dedicated to providing guidance and opportunities for any with those special ailments of the heart. The rest of Dr. Hwang’s credentials and outstanding achievements are listed below. In his freetime, Dr. Hwang loves to write poetry, go horseback riding, and take long walks on the beach.

Appointments must be reserved through the ‘Bookings’ page. Dr. Hwang and his associates may be requested on the basis of availability.

A few minutes of getting sidetracked in an internet stalking session alerted you to how in addition to overseeing his own private practice and working there as a therapist and coach, Dr. Hwang also operates a clinical trial on the neuropsychological approach of studying the nature of love at the National Institutes of Health. And to top it all off, he comes highly recommended by Selena Gomez in her latest Vogue interview— turns out, he’s the one who helped her move on from Justin Beiber and find a more gratifying partner— and has even met with Michelle Obama over tea on NPR’s Life Kit podcast to discuss the psychology of relationships. He’s a public figure, a celebrity of sorts himself, but has graciously rejected the title in favor of a more private life.

“Wow,” you murmur. “So he’s hot and smart.”

Irene and her sidekicks are wrong about a lot, but one thing they are right about is that you’re just absolutely lonely. Growing up, you were a hopeless romantic who constantly dreamed of a fairytale romance, romanticizing every aspect of your interactions with others. But a lifetime of being unlucky in love taught you that there is no such thing as true love.

First, there was a series of unfortunately unrequited crushes in high school, all ending in you watching the boy you liked ride off into the sunset with someone else— usually a popular, pretty girl. Then came Holland, the cute boy in your calculus class who seemed like he actually returned your feelings. You both flirted for a while, before Holland ended up secretly coming out to you as gay. And of course, there was Jisung, the dirtbag who told you he loved you and then proceeded to break your heart. Love obviously isn’t on the cards for you.

Therefore, you’re now an insufferable pessimist when it comes to romance. You make fun of every couple you see in public, religiously watch wedding fails on Youtube, and absolutely hate romantic comedies. You stonily ignore the Tinder app that Mina once pressured you into downloading, even though it’s burning a hole into your phone.

You try to fill up that void in your heart by throwing yourself into work or participating in those idiotic “girls nights” that Irene throws, which usually just entail grinding up on drunk trust funders on someone’s yacht.

But on a night like this, you’re bound to confront the truth: you are alone, and deep inside, you know you don’t want to be, no matter how much you pretend you don’t care. Which is why you let the computer cursor hover over the various appointment time slots, considering registration.

Wait, what? You shoot up from your previous position, sitting straight as every ounce of lethargy exits your body. You cannot actually be thinking of this guy’s services, especially when the recommendation came from Irene. But then again, do you really want your decisions to be determined by her? Do you care enough about spiting her that you’ll prevent your own happiness? What if this Love Doctor actually works?

With a groan, you go back to scrolling through Dr. Hwang’s bio once more, weighing your options, when you notice a link at the bottom of the page. You click on it, and it takes you to a video uploaded on Youtube. The bold, glaring red letters and the dark, dramatic backdrop alert you to a TED talk— and a very cherished one, too, with how thunderous the applause is when welcoming the speaker.

Intrigued, you sit forward, promising yourself that your assessment of Dr. Hwang’s TED talk will determine whether or not you’ll see both his physical and evidently intellectual gorgeousness in real life or not. However, from the very first question that he utters, you know your decision.

“What is love?”

You’re sweaty. You’d like to blame it on the unforgiving Los Angeles heat, but you once read that seeing a therapist is like owning your truth. You want to start being honest even before you meet Dr. Hwang, so you accept that the dampness under your arms is due to the fact that you are just really fucking nervous.

After tossing and turning in your bed all night, you tried your best to look presentable. You showered, blow-dried your hair, and put on minimal makeup reserved for special occasions. But the pretty yellow sundress and sandals that you chose— in the spirit of being symbolically optimistic— feel elementary right now, especially now that you’re setting foot inside the most glamorous office you have ever encountered.

Upon observing the magnificently dripping crystal chandelier adorning the ceiling, marble flooring that you’re afraid of scuffing, and a jazz rendition of “Clair de lune” playing in the background, you’re convinced that this place is much too luxurious to be a shrink’s company space. Hell, it’s on the ninth floor of one of the ritziest buildings downtown. But, then again, you definitely weren’t expecting the person that Irene recommended to be this otherworldly adonis, instead of some kind of Karen ready to lecture you about having a “healthy love life” or “putting out”— yes, you do watch too much TV and have quite the imagination, so you try to keep your judgements and lofty expectations to a minimum.

After signing-in with the receptionist— this sweet guy with freckles, sunny blond hair, and an even sunnier disposition— you sit down on the white leather sofa in the lobby. According to the brochure you swiped at the front desk, this place is so big that it has separate wings, like the freaking Hogwarts castle: one for therapy and coaching— or “guidance”— one for matchmaking services, and one for “health,” where clients and employees alike can rewind and socialize. Following a few minutes of rapidly swiping through the home screen and apps on your phone, trying to look occupied and definitely not intimidated by everything, the receptionist calls your name and directs you to Dr. Hwang’s office.

You know you’re incredibly lucky to have scored a session with Dr. Hwang, who’s obviously the most sought-after on the full list of all who work at SeoulSpark. Last night, when you were scouring SeoulSpark’s Yelp reviews (all of them were five-stars), people were raving about Dr. Hwang. Yet, as you walk through the luxe little corridor that leads you to the guidance sector, you can’t help but feel the regret that unfurls in your stomach. Perhaps you were subconsciously following Irene’s orders, that natural instinct to follow and not think still manifesting. Perhaps you were just enticed by Dr. Hwang’s visuals and repertoire. Or maybe, you just wanted to do something with your damn time for once, instead of constantly thinking about how sucky your life is. Either way, this all feels like a mistake, but it’s too late to turn back now, especially since the woman that you assume is Dr. Hwang’s assistant has spotted you.

She gets up from her desk. “Hello there! You must be Y/N.”

“That’s me!” You exclaim, in a way that probably seems too enthusiastic to be genuine. Your eyes trail to the name badge pinned to the lapel of her stylish cream-colored pantsuit. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Jang.”

“Likewise,” she says with a friendly smile that just accentuates her flawless features.

Is everyone who works here just ridiculously attractive?

“Dr. Hwang is all ready for you.”

You quickly thank her, wiping your sweaty palms on your skirt and praying you don’t look scared. The last thing you want to do is freak out your potential therapist with your horrendous love life, even though his literal job is to deal with basket cases of romance. Taking in a deep breath, you warily place your hands on the grand pair of frosted glass doors adjacent to Ms. Jang’s desk and push them open.

A cool gust of air welcomes you into Dr. Hwang’s office, and the first thing you notice is the blinding natural light flooding from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The one time you ever visited a therapist was immediately after the whole ordeal with Jisung; the cramped little room filled with wilted potted plants and dim light from a depressing yellow lamp had made you want to never see another therapist again. This place, however, looks more like one of those glitzy workspaces straight out of a Manhattan legal drama. You can practically see the dollar signs stamped onto everything here, from the panache but tasteful L-shaped sofa to the sultry modern art adorning the blush-colored walls. But the impeccable interior design is not what has got you temporarily incapacitated—

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

A voice as smooth as his honeyed skin and perpetual charm. A fresh breath of air in the merciless Californian heat that constitutes your entire life. A tidal wave upon the drowsy coastline of your heart. Absolute sin in your undeserving ears. You ponder what language even is, if you’ve never heard anyone articulate their entire aura like this in a mere jumble of words. Dr. Hwang smiles at you warmly— a sight that should remind you of a toasty cup of hot chocolate, but instantly spreads a raging, insatiable wildfire through your nerves.

You speechlessly stay rooted to the spot like a damn oak tree as Dr. Hwang approaches you, with the controlled movement and dripping allure of a jaguar. As he nears you, you have to blink multiple times to adjust to how truly dazzling he is, and how the pictures of him online cannot even compare to his person. You would not hesitate to believe him if he claimed that he walked here straight off the runway, but his beauty is rapturous, less of an airbrushed model and more reminiscent of a Botticelian masterpiece.

Maybe Charles Dickens was wrong— you see everything you want in the glittering multitude that makes up Hyunjin’s eyes. Big, soulful, contemplative. A gaze like a midnight reverie. A radiance like black diamonds encased in velvet. They reel you in like you’re silk thread and he’s a needle, like you’re an astronomer and he’s the entire galaxy. You take in the mole under his left eye, and it reminds you of a stray splatter of dark paint on an ivory canvas. It’s enchanting, like a lone star in the night sky.

“You’re good.” You barely manage, now focused on his lips that are just begging to be kissed. A delicate pink, like the lingering stain after eating cherries. Full and inviting, soft with the promises of a good time. On your own lips. On your skin. On your neck.

Those pretty lips curve into an enigmatic smile, Cheshire-like almost. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

The way he pronounces your name so eloquently sends a spark straight through your body. You never thought much of your name, but with how Hyunjin says it, it might as well be one of those irresistible words that Pinterest logophiles save. It sounds lovely, ethereal, sublime. Just like him.

“And you as well, Dr. Hwang.” You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down, but instead, you get a breath full of his scent; he smells like a rainstorm over a field of jasmine. Tantalizingly petrichor, with a slightly floral and sensual edge.

“Please, call me Hyunjin.”

“O-okay, Hyunjin.” A bewitching name for an even more bewitching man.

Hyunjin gestures for you to sit down on the sofa and positions himself on the chair behind his desk, a smoke-cracked glass piece arranged in front of a transparent wall that provides breathtaking views of downtown L.A. You can only imagine what the views are like at night— the city lights, of course. Definitely not of Hyunjin pushing you onto his costly desk and doing you in the dark.

“So, Y/N, darling,” Hyunjin begins, spreading his hands out on the desk in front of him.

Darling?! Ohmyfuckinggod.

You cough. “Sorry?”

“Tell me anything. Impressions, ruminations. Just be honest.”

That’s new and different. You thought Hyunjin would dole out the usual pleasantries, like “how are you” or “the weather is nice,” not ask you to “be honest.” What kind of person expects blatant candor after knowing them for literal seconds? Well, a therapist, probably. And a very eccentric one, at that. So you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Everyone here seems so… happy. It’s weird.” The hot receptionist, Hyunjin’s secretary, and even the janitor wiping the floors in the lobby.

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes squinting into a crescent moon shape that you find very endearing. “Well, they seem happy because they are. Happiness isn’t rare.”

“Feels like it most of the time,” you mutter, your thoughts flashing over to work, Irene, and all of the times that you eat dinner alone.

“That’s why you’re here, no?” Hyunjin folds his hands. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions? And I answer them? Isn’t that what most therapists do?”

“I’m not like most therapists. This is how it begins.”

Of course you aren’t.

As you hesitate, Hyunjin keeps quiet patiently while letting your thoughts unfurl. Maybe it was Jisung, or maybe it was being constantly let down by the people around you, but somewhere along the way, you lost trust in others— you wouldn’t ever let them see who you really are. Ever since, you’ve put up your guard walls, harboring a testy, stormy attitude that scares anyone away before they can ever leave you behind. You put up with the Golden Trio’s nonsense because although they practically used you for their own enjoyment, at least they had never withdrawn for you. You don’t hate yourself, but you don’t feel content with who you are. You never knew if you really would be.

And you don’t know Hyunjin. To you, he’s the man whose photos you pored over on Google, the one who you held a sparse conversation for a matter of mere minutes. You shouldn’t want to be exposed in front of him, but you know you already are, with the way his piercing gaze seems to see right through you. For the first time, you don’t hate the feeling of being vulnerable. You don’t know if it’s the kindness in his bedroom eyes that haven’t strayed from you, or if it’s the warmth that even someone as regal as him exudes, but you embrace the feeling of security that his presence wraps you in. Like your inhibitions are drowning in the distant crevices of your mind. You don’t know what it is that compels you to tell this beautiful stranger anything, but for once, you don’t question it.

“I’m just so tired of my damn life.”

The words come out of you in a rush, a sob, almost, because it feels so good to finally say it out loud. You’ve kept your dissatisfaction inside of you for the longest time, just pretending that the grumpiness is part of your personality, not your sadness, because you’ve always been afraid of what people would say. But when you peek up at him, Hyunjin’s expression betrays nothing. Placid, and waiting for you to go on. So you do.

“Nothing seems to be working. I try, try, and try to do better at work, but lately, even my dream job feels like a burden. I don’t really have any friends. I’m single. I act like I’m fine, but I’m really not. I don’t want to feel like this, like I’m trapped. I don’t want to give Jisung that much power over me, but unfortunately, he does have it all.” A huge weight has been lifted off of your drooping shoulders, but the bitterness still remains on your tongue.

Hyunjin takes a moment to finish up whatever notes he’s jotting down in his cream-colored journal, before looking up at you. “And Jisung is your ex?”

You freeze. You didn’t even realize that you brought up Jisung, and even worse, you completely overlooked how he probably knows a lot more about you than you think. After registering for an appointment, you were redirected to fill out this short quiz filled with questions about your romantic history, your job, and basic information. Like a slightly intruding business dinner in the form of a questionnaire. You couldn’t finish the form without getting slightly tipsy on wine, because of how gut-wrenching it was reliving everything. You forgot that your coach would have access to your answers, after brushing it all off as a silly formality. And you really thought this would all be genuine.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief and skepticism. “You already know, Dr. Hwang. Why bother asking me? You have my questionnaire results. You think I’m hopeless. You’re just being polite.”

“Hyunjin,” he corrects, undeterred by your words. “And I actually don’t. I look at the results after I meet with my clients. I would rather garner my first impression of you on the person you really are, not through an online quiz.”

“Then how did you know that Jisung’s my ex?”

Hyunjin’s eyes crinkle with tenderness. “It wasn’t very difficult. He hurt you, I can see it.”

You swallow harshly, overwhelmed both by the thought of Jisung and the way Hyunjin’s looking at you right now. Compassion, gentleness, understanding. A complete foil to the constant indifference and borderline aversion Jisung treated you with. Right now, you don’t feel ugly, even with your scars so raw, open. You feel seen. You realize that Hyunjin has a way of getting you to open up by saying very little.

“He was my first boyfriend. First love, first kiss, first… well, you know.” You pause, blushing at the words that have escaped your mouth, but continue in spite of your shame. To hell with it. “He made me feel wanted, for once. I mean, I’ve literally been a fake date for my gay ex-situationship, and the first time I tried to get into a real relationship, which was with my former neighbor, he ghosted me after two dates. And then he moved away. Jisung… he gave me everything I thought I needed.”

You look up at Hyunjin, unsure. The tears are already shining in your eyes, threatening to spill out. Hyunjin nods encouragingly, pushing you on.

“We were together for almost a year. And the entire time, he gaslighted me into doubting myself. He always kept cheating on me, I knew that. But I finally caught him screwing his assistant in my bed, right before we broke up.” You close your eyes. “No, before he broke up with me. God, my friends were right. I am so pathetic.”

Hyunjin sets his pen down firmly on the glass table, making you open your eyes. His starry gaze is intense, like that all-too-familiar inferno settled inside of you. “Darling, those are no friends of yours. There’s nothing pathetic about believing in someone, for putting your faith in them. Don’t ever say that again.”

“Right. Because I didn’t tell him over and over again that I forgave him. I didn’t beg him to stay, when he said he was tired of me. When he wanted new things.” You let out a dry laugh. “When it was over, everyone acted like I fumbled. Hell, he works at SM Technologies. Rich, handsome, well-connected.”

“Fuck that hack. That’s not why you loved him, though,” Hyunjin insists, his explicit language surprising you. Even in this way, he seems more poised than you ever could be. “You loved him because he made you feel loved. He accepted you. You lowered your standards for him, and he used you.”

You turn your head away from Hyunjin, not wanting him to watch you cry. But you know he’s already seen the tears streaming freely down your cheeks. “So, are you supposed to help me move on from here? Find someone new? SeoulSpark has matchmaking services, right? I mean, it’s been two years, and I’m still not over it. Sorry I’m a fucking antiromantic.”

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to shake his head. “Darling, you’re misunderstanding me. I don’t help my clients find relationships. I don’t care if you walk out still single or if you’re polyamorous. I care that you’re happy, satisfied with who you are, romantically. I’m here to guide you through that. Let me help you.”

The tears that had dripped so effusively onto your skin dry as Hyunjin holds your gaze, studying your features and saying nothing. And then your stomach chooses that inopportune moment to grumble, and very loudly indeed. In that astoundingly mortifying moment, you swear to never, ever skip breakfast again.

Hyunjin clears his throat, rising from his seat. “Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? Or eat, maybe?”

“Um, a mango?” You don’t know why, or how, but your brain just zeroes in on mangoes. You don’t even like the damn fruit. Who the fuck would specifically ask for mangoes, instead of something reasonable, like coffee, or tea? You glare up at the ceiling, cursing your emotional dry spell for making you act so embarrassingly.

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

You gulp. Now you’re imagining Dr. Hwang— er, Hyunjin— chopping up a bunch of whole mangoes like he’s in Fruit Ninja, before erotically eating each slice, licking at the flesh, juice slowly dripping down that chin sculpted by the gods. Two seconds ago, you were crying about your evil ex and now you’re dreaming about Hyunjin starring as some sort of a seductive sensei.

What the fuck?!

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t know that.”

Hyunjin is unfazed by your awkwardness, simply walking over to the pink-pastel minifridge in the corner of his office and bringing out a paper bowl of unfortunately pre-cut mangoes that you accept gingerly. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” You cautiously place a cube of mango in your mouth.

Your eyes suddenly widen at the sweet yet tangy explosion of flavor on your tongue. Creamy yet juicy, refreshing yet indulging, just succulent on your lips. Hyunjin giggles at your amazed reaction to the fruit. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” You chew on the tart skin of the mango and swallow. “Do you know where your secretary might have bought this?”

“Wonyoung didn’t buy it, I did.” Hyunjin grins, sipping on his own glass of water. “5-Star Grocery. I went just today, actually.”

You finish off the rest of the fruit in no time, swiping the mango residue on your fork clean with your lips. When you’re done, you look up from the bowl to see Hyunjin gazing intently at you. You were probably taking forever to eat, and he was waiting for you. “Oh, sorry about that. This was really good.”

Hyunjin shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, it’s not that.”

You curiously tilt your head at him, wondering what’s got him so worked up. “Did I say something, Dr. Hwa- I mean, Hyunjin?”

“No, you didn’t.” Hyunjin stands up and takes your bowl, throwing it away in the disposal for you. “Let’s get back to our conversation.”

You nod, your thoughts fluttering back to Jisung, the ache replacing the lust that reigned inside of you, moments earlier. “I have tried to see other people, but it’s been hard.”

“How so?” Hyunjin clicks on his pen, putting it in a position ready to write.

You toy with the hem of your dress, your face heating up. “I tried using Tinder. I even matched with this one guy, San. We got dinner. But later that night, when… when we were about to um, have sex, I just couldn’t. San was really nice and understanding about everything, but I felt so bad. I’ve only slept with one person before, Jisung, and I don’t know. It’s so humiliating.”

Hyunjin frowns. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. First, it’s normal to be wary of intimacy after a long-term relationship. And second, we all have varying levels of sexual comfort. You’ll find your own pace. Our sexuality is essential to our health, and there’s nothing humiliating about it.”

“It’s not like I’m not experienced, though,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin looks up from his notepad and raises an eyebrow at you. You sputter over your impulsive words and try to explain. “It’s just that I have trouble being vulnerable with others, both physically and emotionally. There was only Jisung. And he wasn’t that good at it, to be honest. But I thought it shouldn’t stop me from finding out by myself what I like. That’s all.”

For a second, you think Hyunjin will make fun of you, but he just solemnly nods. “Absolutely. I always tell my clients this. There’s nothing wrong with masturbating. It’s incredibly healthy, whether or not you’re in a relationship.”

You exhale shakily, your cheeks aflame. You know it’s his literal job, but you can’t help but feel both admiration and jealousy at how straightforward Hyunjin is while talking about sex. His whole aura seeps with confidence, like it comes easily to him. Your self-consciousness could never. “Right.”

He sighs in thought, scribbling into your notepad as you restlessly wait for him to say something, fidgeting in your seat. Hyunjin then sets his notepad aside, logging into his sleek Apple iMac computer and rapidly typing into it. “I have something for you to do, darling.”

You immediately tense at the thought of more work, especially if Hyunjin is going to be your grader. “Like, homework?”

Hyunjin laughs. “No. Think of it as a fun little task. Remember, nothing I ask you to do is obligatory. You choose to be here.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.” You square your shoulders like a soldier. Whatever your assignment is, you’re going to knock it out of the park and impress Hyunjin. Definitely because you look up to him as a person, not because you want him to rail you into the next century.

Hyunjin leans forward, like he’s about to indulge you with a delicious secret, and you find yourself doing the same. “I want you to write down on paper one thing you love about yourself every day of the week, starting today. Bring the sheet to me when we meet again next week.”

You sit back, your heart sinking while your mind wakes in panic. And of all things, the assignment has to be this. You could fib your way through it, of course, jotting down the stupid, trivial aspects of yourself that aren’t so bad. But considering it all, asking yourself that question would really make you face the ugly truth: do you even love yourself?

“Wait, what do you mean? Like, what does it have to be? Physical? Emotional? Professional? Personal? I don’t think—”

Hyunjin smoothly cuts you off. “Like I said, this is your choice to complete. And it can be anything you cherish about yourself. Anything. This is your opportunity to show-off.”

You shake your head, frustrated. “But why, though? I don’t get the point of this.”

“I need to be able to get an idea of what specific path will best fit you, whether it’s solo therapy to help your mindset and esteem, matchmaking to get you connected with individuals who complement you, or coaching to provide you with guidance in potential relationships. So for now, I want to get to know you. ”

“If you wanted to get to know me, you’d ask questions like, ‘what do you do,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color,’ Hyunjin,” you say, irked. “This is just going to be another thing I fail at.”

“Darling,” Hyunjin says, firmly but gently. “Your profession and favorite color, while intriguing, isn’t knowledge I need to work with you. The most important service of all is helping my clients’ self-perception and confidence in romance, and I need to know what level you are on. Take it slow, it’s okay. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The familiar warmth spreads throughout your body. Compassion, gentleness, understanding. You harbor so much insecurity that it affects so much of your daily life. You don’t go out. You work yourself down and out. You wallow in your misery. You’re a pessimist who doesn’t believe in true love. And you receive endless judgment for it, because really, who wouldn’t be disgusted by someone like you? But being with Hyunjin feels different, because he is accepting you for who you are and promising you the guidance you’ve always needed.

“We can assess what aforementioned action to take next week, when I’ve had time to assess you,” Hyunjin declares as you agree, ripping out a piece of paper from his notebook and writing down the task on it for you to take home.

And then you’re pulled back into reality. You’re well-educated and smart. You have a good job that pays well. You like to read Scientific American in your freetime, because sometimes, you would rather face the facts than meld into opinions. And you know exactly what’s happening right now. It’s barely been your first session with Hyunjin, and you’re already getting attached to him, because he’s giving you the kind of care and attention that you’ve been craving. It’s a phenomenon called transference, you know that. The butterfly garden flitting in your stomach is a mere sensory illusion, you know that. But you also know that you are feeling something.

As Hyunjin hands you the slip of paper, his hands brush yours lightly, and you can’t help but exhale sharply at where his skin has made contact with yours. Maybe you’re touch-starved, but you can’t help but feel like a longing character in a Victorian romance novel. You look down at his hands as he retracts them. Large, smooth palms, and long fingers decked in silver rings.

“But that will be all for now, darling.”

God, he’s sexy.

“Really? Is that all?” You glance at the rose gold clock hanging on the wall behind you. It’s barely been thirty minutes. “We’re done so soon?”

Hyunjin grins at you, flashing those crescent moons once again. “I didn’t know you were that eager to stay here.”

You clear your throat, furiously blushing. “I mean, I thought the session would last longer. So I’ll come back next week then.”

“This was a diagnostic, darling. And yes, I’ll see you next week. You should make an appointment with Wonyoung before you leave.”

Hyunjin beams at you pleasantly while you reluctantly grab your purse, and you briefly wonder if he looks just as lovely when his partner pleasures him— if he has a partner. But then again, there is no way someone as good-looking and sweet as him is single. The thought of Hyunjin fucking someone simultaneously sparks envy and turns you on, and you quickly shake it away.

“Thank you so much, Hyunjin. And um, I’m sorry if I came off as kind of coarse, it’s… I’m working on it.” You tilt your head towards him, hoping he gets what you’re trying to convey. You’re not amazing with words, or controlling your emotions very well, and any product of that today was not meant to hurt him.

“You did nothing wrong. I’m glad you decided to come here, Y/N.” Hyunjin walks you across his expansive office.

“And I love your nails, by the way.” Hyunjin states, his gaze pointed down at your hands. “Pink’s my favorite color.”

You flush a pink that’s deeper than the object of his compliments. Pink, huh? You wonder about what other pink things that Hyunjn may like. Pink roses? Raspberries? Flamingoes? You’d bring them all to him if he asked.

Hyunjin graciously opens the door leading to the corridor for you, and you shoot him a small smile, as he returns it. His hand skims the small of your back as he leads you out, and you pray that you don’t look like a lustful maniac. Unaware of your internal frenzy, Hyunjin waves goodbye to you as he lets in his next client waiting outside and shuts the door behind him.

Wonyoung asks you a plethora of questions about your availability next week, your mind stays on Hyunjin while you schedule your next appointment. You don’t waver even when you exit the SeoulSpark and unlock your car in the visitor parking lot, collapsing into the seat in a daze. Even when you find yourself plugging in directions on Google Maps to find the quickest route to 5-Star Grocery, your thoughts don’t stay from Hyunjin. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin.

You take your time strolling through the multicolored aisles of 5-Star, blankly gazing at all of the overpriced foodstuffs while daydreaming about the way that Hyunjin’s hand had accidentally brushed against you, even if it was inadvertent. You want his fingers on your body. In your body. In your mouth. Anywhere, and everywhere.

You brighten up as you near the produce section and spy the hefty crate of what you came for: very expensive imported Indian mangoes. But without a second thought, you place a generous pile of the fresh fruit into a plastic cover and put it into your cart. And you swear you can catch the lingering scent of Hyunjin from when he was here earlier today. Rainstorms. Jasmine. Danger. You practically combust at the thought of Hyunjin scouring the baskets of mangoes for the very best picks with those crescent moon eyes, wishing it was you instead that he could have been gazing so purposefully at. On the way out, like some kind of a divine coincidence, you notice that a local florist has set up their stand at the entrance of the grocery. As you approach, the overflowing clay pots of jasmine crowd your sensations.

The drive back home feels like it lasts hours, when in reality, the store is only a few minutes away from your place. As soon as you’re inside your apartment, you throw open all of the window shutters, dismissing the ominous weather forecast on the radio. A much bigger tempest brews somewhere else. The late evening breeze through your windows is like a pirate sailing into your mind, hoarding your sanity and coaxing in all of your disgraceful thoughts. And you welcome the ship like a safe harbor because it’s been far too long since you’ve ever felt this outrageously alive.

The tiny light in your kitchen provides some leeway for you to work, as you stow away your groceries in the fridge and bring out the glass cutting board that your menace of coworker gave you as a gag gift; you would burn the whole house down before cooking anything, and he knows that. Yet, you kind of feel like goddamn Gordon Ramsay as you cut through the mango dexterously to produce those perfect cubes that Hyunjin presented you with.

With a sigh, you collapse into one of the mismatched chairs at your dining table. You once slaved away into late nights at this table, blue light glasses perched on your nose while you were engrossed in lines of code. Nowadays, you sleep late for less productive reasons or just because you are in a destructive mood and planning your future world takeover. But you have a feeling that might change soon.

Slowly, you put a piece of the sweet mango in your mouth, savoring the saccharinity and longing for it to pervade all aspects of your life beyond your palate. You find that it tastes a little less delectable because Hyunjin isn’t here with you, but you finish the entire bowl of fruit nevertheless. Still not satisfied, however, you bring out a second mango, still searching for that spark you had felt earlier.

This time, you don’t even bother cutting the fruit, instead breaking the skin of the mango with your teeth and allowing the juice to leak onto your tongue. A little better, but you wish you were biting down on Hyunjin’s plush lips instead. You feel like you’ve been hexed by the Love Doctor, because there’s no chance that a romantic Scrooge like you is fantasizing about the emotional and physical reincarnation of Aphrodite.

Yet, he must have shot you with his quiver of arrows, rendering you clinically insane, because as you reach for your third mango, you feel your free hand trailing down to the place between your thighs that’s begging for your touch. You spread your legs so that your knees are facing out on either side of you, and your dress has now ridden up to your hips, exposing your now wet cotton panties for no one to see.

But you imagine that he’s watching, stroking himself and getting off along with you. Not even bothering to slide them off, you push your panties to the side and finally press your fingers against your aching cunt. Chewing on the delicate skin of mango, you slide your fingers through your drenched folds, thankful to finally get a chance to relieve yourself. As you concentrate on the fruit’s taste, you wonder what Hyunjin would think of your own, sucking on his own fingers after fucking you with his pretty hands. He’d push you down to get a complete taste, attaching his mouth to your pussy to get both an idea and a release.

Moaning out loud, you circle your clit, enjoying the flickers of pleasure coursing through you. Not minding the juice now dripping down your chin and onto your collarbone, you pull down the front of your dress, freeing your breasts. You gently pinch your nipple with your left hand and let out a small gasp, craving for Hyunjin to be the one inducing such sinful pain into you.

“Just like that, darling.”

“Oh God, Hyunjin!” You call out his name and squeeze your breast, now fucking yourself on your fingers while simultaneously grinding the heel of your palm against your clit for that delicious extra friction.

“So good for me.”

Waves of ecstasy wash over you as you ride out your high, sloppily thrusting and circling your hips on your soaked hand. You come to the final thought of Hyunjin pushing a slice of mango down the valley between your breasts, tracing and cleaning the sticky juice with his tongue. And there’s the spark, igniting a whole flame of fulfillment deep inside of you.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you fix your dress and get up from your chair, taking out a paper towel to wipe the mess of your arousal and fruit juice on the seat. Your cheeks burn with the after effects of your release, and yet, you don’t feel any shame. Instead, there’s a strange sense of liberation that you are starting to come to terms with.

Clipping up your hair, you make your way over to the desk in your bedroom and take out a fresh sheet of paper. Armed with a glass of freshly puréed mango juice and accompanied by the tantalizing scent of your jasmine plant, you pull out a pink gel pen and let the words pour out.

“So, Y/N. Were you able to do what I asked?” Hyunjin cocks his head expectantly.

You reach into your handbag and pull out the paper, passing it to Hyunjin with trembling hands. “I did it.”

You came to SeoulSpark straight from work, deliberately skipping your usual jeans and blazer combination for a skinny pencil skirt paired with a powder-pink button down that matches the walls of Hyunjin’s office. Slightly transparent silk stockings disappear under the skirt, which skims the top of your knees.

When you were pulling on your barely-worn cream slingback pumps in the morning, you had wondered what this entire outfit was for. You had stood up and gazed critically into the mirror, and all you could feel was empowerment. Because for the first time, it felt like something you were truly doing for yourself. You weren’t proving a point. And you knew you weren’t dressing for Hyunjin either, but rather, because of him. He made you question if you were treating yourself right, and you wanted to answer it well. The pink blouse was a playful touch that you couldn’t help.

Hyunjin takes his time reading through the paper, and this time, you’re the one observing his every reaction, from the quirk of his brow to the way he occasionally licks his lips to wet them. The latter action sparks a memory of one week ago, when you indulged yourself in absurdly fantasizing about those very lips all over you. You press your legs together, ignoring the dull throb in between, and try not to think of it, focusing on the unsexiest things your mind can come up with. Climate change. Warts. Donald Trump.

“This is a good list to start with.” Hyunjin looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “All true, right?”

You nod, feeling a shy smile erupt on your face. “Yeah, I was kind of surprised with how doable-ish it was.”

“May I ask how? If I recall, you were quite opposed to this task last week.” Today, Hyunjin sits on the sofa with you instead of at his desk— too close, yet so far.

You finger the one of the buttons on your blouse, mind already on the truth. But of course, you would never tell Hyunjin how masturbating to the thought of him made you feel aligned with your own body and sexuality, and maybe a little more willing to dare to think of what you like about yourself. Now that would be inappropriate.

“I just did some thinking,” you finally say after much deliberation.

Hyunjin crosses one of his long legs over the other. “Interesting.”

“I guess.”

“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Hyunjin lightly taps on his notepad with his pen, waiting for you to speak.

You give him a suspicious look. “Depends on the question.”

“Are you happy with yourself?”

His question confounds you, and yet, in a way, you also know why he asks it. A basic list of things that you like about yourself isn’t enough to turn over that table of insecurity and stagnant mindset that has hurt you for too long. It makes you understand that everything wrong in your life is because of an intrinsic cause, that ugly voice inside of you. Not because of something else… or someone.

“I don’t think I am.” You bite your lip. “But I want to be.”

“Can you tell me why?”

You groan. “It stems from how I feel so undesirable right now. Like, I don’t want to be lonely, but I am. I mean, I’m kind of a shooting star for everyone. A fleeting moment of love, of comfort. I really wish I could be the fucking sun.”

Hyunjin leans forward swiftly, grasping your hands and startling you with their warmth. “You’re not a shooting star. And you’re not just the sun either. You are the whole solar system, honey. Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

Damn. The solar system?

You hate when Irene calls you “honey,” but on Hyunjin’s tongue, it sounds loving, sweet, not like a patronizing ridicule.

“Thank you,” you whisper, trying to ignore the way your heart is hammering in your chest. “But you’ve known me for, like, two seconds.”

If you don’t know any better, you would say that Hyunjin almost looks taken aback. But his features smooth over quickly. “Darling, I’m a professional. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You have a good heart. There is no reason why you can’t have everything you want.”

You try to focus on his words and take them in, but Hyunjin— simply the sexiest thing you have ever set eyes on— has deemed you beautiful. It’s both flattering and heart-fluttering, to say the very least. “Well, why don’t I? Why don’t I have everything I want, then?”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “You just haven’t met the right person for you.”

You inhale at the husky tone of his voice. “And you’re going to help me with that, Hyunjin?”

“Yes. You don’t need therapy, definitely. The first step I take with my clients is acceptance. That comes with therapy, but you were able to identify the problem and acknowledge it. I say we address it now.”

“What do you recommend we do, then?”

Hyunjin clears his throat and flips to a new page in his notepad. “I’ll be your dating coach.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “What does that entail?”

“We need to fortify your self-esteem, first of all. So, confidence coaching. You’ll be getting weekly sessions with me in which I provide you with tips and guidance, almost like interactive lectures. In due time… you can be set up in our matchmaking office, if you’d like.” Hyunjin scribbles into his trusty notepad. “You made a good start with the list. Let’s get better.”

And you do. The next few weeks are like a bandaid on your wounded heart and mentality. Hyunjin helps you through building up your confidence, never once pushing you to run, only walking by your side. You expect him to give you information on pickup lines, how to dress, appropriate forms of touch, the science of love, and anything else that may improve your dating prospects, but much of his coaching is simply focused on you. You get one-on-one seminars from Hyunjin on the art of conversation, in which he guides you through being yourself, instead of being who you think you need to be. Hyunjin structures elaborate role-playing scenarios and critical thinking exercises in which you are coaxed out of your shell. And most significant of all, he teaches you that the most important relationship you can have is the relationship with yourself.

You have always known that Hyunjin isn’t just any regular relationship therapist— or dating coach, or intimacy expert, or whatever other fancy moniker he adopts— but throughout your meetings, you come to feel like the boundaries have become blurred. Since the first time you saw him, he was able to read you like one of the glossy magazines stocked in the main lobby. But you slowly notice the fine details about him as well, from the neverending stack of classic poetry books on the white oak wall mount to how he bites his nails when he’s deep in thought.

The fascination you harbor morphs into a full-blown schoolgirl infatuation, resulting in you stalking his Instagram page and being totally invested in all of his old interviews, scouring for information on his dating status (no, you couldn’t find out if he is single or not). You’re completely enamored with Hyunjin and how free you feel around him. But one thing that doesn’t change is your burning desire for your unattainable guide, and the way you have to relieve yourself with your vibrator as soon as you rush home after your appointments.

You are sure that every single time you see Hyunjin, you’re being embarrassingly obvious, but he maintains his professionality, betraying nothing about himself except for a disarming smile. So you stay quiet, keeping your Hyunjin-affliction to yourself. But even in the face of your inappropriate struggle, for the first time, happiness doesn’t seem so foreign to you.

In spite of the honeymoon phase of your crush, in which you have blissfully daydreamed about Hyunjin, you still have your job to get to— gone is the racy maroon lingerie set you bought to spice up your solo sessions. However, your boring work suits and blazer-and-jeans combinations have been pushed to the back of your closet, in favor of you walking into the office wearing tight sheath dresses and skirts that show off your curves. You always believed that getting dolled up was strictly for special occasions or your man— when you thought you had one— but lately, you’ve been loving dressing up for yourself and enjoying the feeling of being sexy and liberated.

“Y/N! Get your ass over here!”

Your carefully curated mind bubble is rudely burst open when your boss yells for you from his office, not minding if the peace of the rest of the workers is preserved or not. You tie your hair up and dust off your skirt, making your way over to your boss’s office for what feels like the millionth berating you know you will receive.

“Yes?”

Mark Lee— your boss, who in your opinion, makes Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada look like a saint— turns around in his cushy Arhaus swivel chair, raising his eyebrows at your harried stats. Most people know him as the eccentric but lovable CEO of NCT Corporation, one of the world’s most prolific venture capital firms. However, you know him to be a truly two-faced monster that takes a sadistic pleasure in seeing the people beneath him crushed.

“Is something wrong? Because there shouldn’t be.”

You force a smile. “You called me here, Mark.”

He lets out a mirthless guffaw, slapping his thigh. “Right.”

You roll your eyes as he shuffles through the papers on his desk and produces a small Manila envelope for you. Mark holds it out to you, and you take the packet.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Curious, you tear open the envelope and pull out a thick piece of stationary paper, an invitation to a networking event for tech entrepreneurs. Your pulse immediately begins to pick up, and you even dare to begin to dream of attending this golden opportunity. “Is this for me?”

“Kind of.” Mark clasps his hands together. “You’re planning this party!”

Your hesitant smile melts away. “What? I’m not your assistant, Mark. You already have one.”

“I know…” Mark trails off, popping a gummy bear into his mouth as he starts to spin around in his chair. “But no one is more passionate than you here, so you should do it.”

“But I’m busy with my actual job. I should be going to this party, not planning it! You know that.” You feel the frustration rise up in your chest like a tsunami, and you struggle to keep it at bay. “Come on, Mark. What the hell?”

Mark narrows his eyes at you, chewing on his fifth gummy. “No profanity, please.”

You nearly ball up the invitation and throw it onto Mark’s face. “You literally just screamed at me to get my ass in here.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.” Mark snickers, crumpling up his gummy bear packet and attempting to shoot it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. When he misses, his expression sours and he glares at you. “You should really check out the instructions I sent you and get to work. Even some SM Tech officers will be in attendance. For example, the director of the Dream division.”

Your heart drops. “What?”

Mark smirks malevolently, leaning closer towards you. “You know him, right? Jake, was his name? Or was it Jisung?”

You grind down on your teeth, fuming. Mark is just trying to rile you up, and it’s really working. He knows perfectly well that Jisung is your ex-boyfriend, as both Jisung and him are golf buddies at their exclusive course in Pasadena. However, he loves to play dumb to get a reaction out of you, and you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You swallow back all of the disgusting insults you wish you could hurl at him, if you were braver and not hanging on to your job by a thread. “Don’t recall. I’ll take care of the party.”

You turn on your heel and march out of Mark’s office, purposefully slamming the door hard on the way out. You hear Mark’s cackling behind you, but you don’t dare to look back, because you don’t know what you’ll do. You slide into your cubicle once more, and have to resist the urge to turn over your whole desk like Wreck-It Ralph.

Years ago, in your final year of college, you founded ITEM Technologies with one of your classmates for your senior project. You hadn’t expected your professor to be so impressed that she submitted your portfolio to California’s biggest entrepreneurship competition, and you definitely didn’t expect for it to win first place, which meant you got access to a whole network of potential investors for your start-up. You had already accepted a job offer to be a software developer at NCT, but the thought of becoming your own boss through ITEM pulled at you like anything. Securing funding for ITEM through SM Technologies would be the final key in the system of locks keeping you from your dream, and the exclusive invitation to CODA— Silicon Valley’s biggest annual networking lunch for start-ups— was the ticket.

However, the day before the event, Jisung had broken up with you, and you had forgotten all about CODA, instead sleeping in after a whole night of crying. Later, after you woke up and realized what you had done, you found out that SM’s latest investment would be in Dream, a growing media company headed by none other than your new ex, Jisung. In twenty-four hours, he had both killed your dreams and your heart. And in due time, without proper funding, ITEM Tech would eventually fail, like many other promising but ill-fated start-ups.

And now? Jisung is living it up in your dream job while you’re groveling in the footsteps of your nightmarish excuse of a boss. Just touching a keyboard once filled you with so much joy, but now, you would rather smash it into bits before pressing a single key. Now you have to map out some stupid party for other start-ups. You’re a developer, not an event planner. You glare up at the ceiling, as if asking a higher power for an explanation for your crappy life. A moment later, your computer pings with a new email.

Like he’s a telepathic deity, Hyunjin has sent you a GIF of a baby llama waddling around a small pen, with text below that reads, “keep calm and llama on.” In spite of yourself, you laugh to yourself, and without thinking, you type in a response thanking him and ending in a winking emoji. Right after you send it, you fill up with regret. Was that inappropriate? The emoji? Too much? With an exasperated sigh, you stand up from your desk, shutting down your computer and heading over to the elevator, punching in buttons for the next floor. However, as soon as you open the door to the office of the one person who could probably talk some sense into you right now, you regret it. Afterall, he’s your part-time friend and full-time menace of a coworker.

“Fuck… don’t tease me like that when I’m not there,” Minho groans, before sighing wistfully into his phone. “I’ll be home soon.”

You silently gag, mentally slapping the shit out of yourself for walking in on a phone sex session, of all things. Minho hadn’t answered when you knocked on his door, so you had just assumed that he needed to be woken up from one of his notorious naps.

“I love you too. I’ll see you in a little bit.” Minho ends the call and turns around in his seat, happily humming to himself with a lovestruck expression on his face. He nearly falls out of his chair when he sees you hovering over him with a smirk on your face. “Jesus!”

“Seriously? Here? Now?”

“Shut the fuck up. I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Suuure.”

Minho rolls his eyes at your silly expression, unamused and crossing his arms. “Can I help you, Y/N?”

You rub one of your nails, thinking of how Hyunjin once complimented them. “You’re like my only friend.”

“I know.” He watches you collapse into one of the chairs in front of him. “But what happened to those Golden Bitches?”

“Golden Trio,” you correct, although Minho doesn’t miss the hint of a grin on your face at his intentional mistake. “And I’m done with them. Finally.”

You put your head down on Minho’s desk as he reaches into one of his desk drawers, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers and tossing them to you. “Talk.”

“It’s, um, kind of bad, though.”

“I’m listening.”

Everything comes spilling out of your mouth: brunch at The Terrace, your new unpaid party-planning gig, and of course… Hyunjin. Your explanation is much more censored than the real thing, of course, because there’s no way you’re going to talk about your whole mango expedition with a married man. That is a whole new level of breaking boundaries, and you’ve crossed enough to know.

“Well… that’s basically it.” You swallow nervously, and suddenly, your throat feels very dry. “Mark sucks, and I’m thirsting after my therapist slash dating coach.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Minho says gently, a color that you weren’t even sure existed for him in public. His teasing persona always overtakes the tender one exclusively reserved for his other half. “The whole Hyunjin thing is probably just temporary. You’re still adjusting to considering romance as a possibility again.”

“Okay.”

“The right person will come along. It’s long, and it’s hard, but that journey will be worth it.”

“Says you. You and your wife are literally perfect. I mean, college sweethearts? If your life was a music soundtrack, it would be one of those cheesy love playlists that annoying couples make together.”

Minho just chuckles. “We had our ups and downs. But yeah, we kind of are perfect. She is perfect.”

He softly smiles to himself, gazing at the beautiful portrait of his wife that’s framed on his desk. He’s in his own world now, and you pat his shoulder. “Thanks for the help, Minho. You should go home.”

As you exit the NCT headquarters, you can’t help but feel your heart squeeze even tighter in your chest. Witnessing such a wholesome moment should have given you hope, a glimpse of a future you could have. Instead, it reminded you of what you can’t have right now— who you can’t have.

You appreciate Minho’s efforts to make you feel better, but he just doesn’t know the full truth. Because your chat with him pushed up something very unpleasant that you’ve been avoiding for a while now. Your pink-loving, classic novel-reading, luxury-shopaholic dating coach is more than just the object of your explicit fantasies, all unbeknownst to him. You’ve started to love the person you become when you’re around him. You love how much more confident and happier you’ve become because of him. Hell, you have genuine feelings for him.

You are so fucked.

Spanning his entire career as a relationship therapist (and all of the other job titles; for God’s sake, he’s the Love Doctor), Hyunjin can’t really come up with any thorns in the rosebush. Sure, there have been a few snags, like that time his clients literally brought divorce papers to one of their meetings (he managed to convince them to take a romantic vacation to Bora Bora and bond more as a couple; it worked). Or when another client confessed to committing adultery with the family’s nanny halfway through a session (after persuading the wife not to murder her husband in the middle of his office, Hyunjin set them up with recovery counseling; that also worked). Life was predictable, but enjoyable. Just the way he likes it.

Every single day used to begin the exact same way. He woke up at exactly five-thirty, before doing his favorite low-impact yoga routine in his home gym. Hyunjin liked being up early enough to watch the sun rise from the balcony of his West Hollywood penthouse, while drinking a cup of loose leaf Darjeeling tea, of course. His post Sun Salutation breakfast consisted of two slices of whole wheat bread topped with two organic scrambled eggs and extra virgin olive oil. He’d shower and spend a while wandering his walk-in closet, deciding what killer outfit to wear for work, his third favorite place after South Korea and the Taj Mahal. And then he drove to SeoulSpark in Cami, his beloved baby pink Cadillac that he splurged on after getting on Forbes 30 Under 30.

Every single day used to end the exact same way. He’d leave work by six, after finishing up the last of his meetings. He’d browse on his MacBook for a nice recipe before cooking his dinner while jamming to Mariah on his Spotify Premium, and change the station to classical while eating. He took another shower, but taking more time to do his special avocado hair mask and full skin-care routine. Then Hyunjin liked to cozy up in his Versace bathrobe while catching up with the latest episode of Love Island and cuddling with his paw-dorable shih tzu, Princess Diana. Oh, and, he couldn’t unwind without kicking his feet back and downing a glass of pink champagne. And then he went to bed by eleven.

That was all before you, of course.

The day he met you, he was reminded of the sun. Yes, the way you roughly turned your chin to the side or rained down on him with your sharp words was more evocative of a thunderstorm. But then there was that dress, a pale yellow fluttering above your knees, and how your wide eyes had so expressively taken in your surroundings when you stepped into his office. The slightly awkward way you greeted him, when you harshly avoided his gaze when you were embarrassed. And the way you looked at him, your pretty lips pulled into a stubborn pout, but really, he could see the soft curiosity in your gaze. You were so mad at the world around you, all he wanted to do was take you onto his magic carpet and show you a new one.

He also really, really wanted to just rip that dress off your body and fuck you senseless. And when you started to eat that mango? He had to scramble to think of a list of unsexy things to avoid a boner right then and there. Chipped nails. Gonorrhea. Andrew Tate.

The following weeks weren’t any better, either. He felt like an inexperienced, horny teenager once again, lusting after the tiniest flash of skin. In your last meeting, Hyunjin had fixated on the tiny rip on your stocking that barely exposed the soft skin of your thigh. You hadn’t even noticed, but God, he was trying not to go crazy in his seat.

Usually, other people are the ones who are seduced by Hyunjin’s charming nature, but ever since you, the once calm, elegant, and poised Hyunjin has been prone to being seduced by irrelevant wardrobe malfunctions. And the absolutely inappropriate thoughts of you that have now flooded his brain are constantly floating around, disturbing him. Yesterday, he slept-in, so he had to skip his morning yoga and was nearly late to work. Later, he fell asleep while fisting himself under the covers, forgetting to turn on his mood lighting and 528 Hz nighttime music. And today was an even bigger disaster, because he’d zoned out during his marketing meeting, thinking of bending you over his desk instead of advertising SeoulSpark. Ever since you, none of his days have been the same. Tonight is no exception.

Hyunjin turns the steel knob, cranking up the heat for no reason at all. Maybe he needs to feel the burn of the scalding water on his skin, shocking him back into reality, or perhaps, he needs to hide from his sanity in the steam, too ashamed to look out and into the bathroom mirror.

The water pours down Hyunjin’s back as he steps under the steady stream, dousing himself and trying to forget about you. But it’s to no avail, because he feels his hand already moving down, roving over his Pilates-strengthened abs and slipping down to the one place that’s pleading for his attention.

Hyunjin tilts his head back in the bliss of succumbing to temptation, slightly leaning his cheek against his shoulder as he strokes his hardened length slowly. He sucks in a sharp breath as he squeezes himself, deftly curving his wrist for a more impactful angle. Hyunjin is no stranger to a good lover, but right now he’s resorting to touching himself with the familiarity that only he is entitled to. Although, he would love to teach you about more than just confidence, giving you lessons on how to pleasure him, watching you work like the sexy aficionado that he believes you to be.

In his mind, he isn’t in the privacy of his bathroom, jerking himself off. No, he’s in his office, lying down on his luxe handwoven rug with you on top of him. You’re completely exposed except for the place where your yellow frock is scrunched around your waist, because you were so eager to have each other that Hyunjin hadn’t even bothered with completely undressing you.

Hyunjin tightens his fingers around his cock and speeds up, pumping himself aggressively. He bites down on his lip and screws his eyes shut, as low, breathy moans escape him. He’s leaking already, flushed and throbbing under his palm. Hyunjin pushes a hand against the shower wall for support and whimpers at the thought of you riding him while slurping on that goddamn mango. He’s so delusional for you that you hadn’t even bothered with getting a knife to cut into the mango, instead holding it in your hand and biting into it while bouncing on his cock.

Hyunjin lets out a groan as he strokes himself even faster, and he feels his orgasm rapidly approaching but refrains from releasing. He doesn’t deserve to come, not yet. He imagines your legs spread and your tight walls around him, instead of his own fist. Your cheeks are a deep red now, as Hyunjin pounds up into you, claiming you and making you his own. The juice from the mango is dripping all over your gorgeous breasts, trailing down even further and mixing with your own arousal. Hyunjin wonders about how you would taste. Were you as sweet as that mango you had eaten so damn seductively in front of him? No. You probably tasted even better.

His soft moans have turned into harsh pants as Hyunjin’s hands begin to lose rhythm, unsteadily working his length. Hyunjin listens to your pretty sighs as you look down at him, pleasure and amusement contorting your features.

“You want me so bad, don’t you?”

“I do!” Hyunjin chokes out as a cry as the pressure rises in his core. He’s so, so close, the pearls of sweat rolling down his neck and becoming one with the water.

“Hyunjin…”

Hyunjin’s name slips out of your mouth as easily as he flips you over onto your back, fucking harshly into you. He anchors his hand to your waist, gripping tightly, as you gaze up at him through your half-lidded eyes. Your bare chests are pressed together in a sticky haze of both your sweat and the juice of the mango you have now abandoned for something more satiating. Spurred on by the fucked-out smile on your face, he brings his free hand to your lips and you obediently suck on his fingers, wishing it was his cock instead. But you’re still in control, directing him with your eyes and whispering sweet praises to him. And then you’re clenching around him, your body shuddering underneath Hyunjin’s as you reach the peak of your ecstasy.

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin.”

Your final command makes Hyunjin convulse and tense, his back arching as he finally chases after his release. Hyunjin thrusts into his hand, overcome by the thought of you judging him while he comes. Hyunjin’s knees go weak as he strokes himself through his orgasm, violently spasming against the Carrara marble walls of his shower. His release shoots out in hot spurts, painting his trembling thighs and the walls a thick white.

Breathless, Hyunjin opens his eyes and washes off his shame, but there’s only so much that water and coconut body wash can do. The moment he prepares to step out of his steaming shower, Hyunjin feels anything but cleansed— his situation is quite the opposite. The unholy thoughts that he had touched himself to had done anything but subside, struggling behind the dam in his mind that contains his last shreds of dignity. As he opens the door leading to his bedroom, the shock of cold air conditioning against his damp skin is a harsh reminder of reality.

Hyunjin’s relationship with you is strictly limited to his office, the place where he did not get to fuck you in. Any discourse with sexual content is limited to your personal romantic endeavors that he has no role in whatsoever. You have zero idea about his filthy fantasies involving you, and see him merely as the person who would help you find happiness with someone else. Not him. He’s your therapist, and in clinical terms, you could be his patient.

The mirage of you standing in front of him disagrees, however.

“You’re technically not my therapist— more like my counselor.”

Hyunjin watches with wide eyes as you bound over to him. Smirking, you playfully toy with the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist.

“But I am feeling kind of sick, though, Dr. Hwang. I’m all hot and aching, just for you.”

“Go away! You can’t be here.” Hyunjin shakes his head, quickly walking over to his closet and getting into his silk batik pajamas. “I’m going crazy…”

Princess Diana nips at Hyunjin’s ankles, prodding him to go back to his normal self and snuggle with her while they watch reality TV.

“I just can’t right now, Diana,” Hyunjin exclaims exasperatedly. She gets the hint and slinks away, leaving Hyunjin alone in his bedroom.

He hadn’t even bothered with turning on the lights, the glimmering Los Angeles skyline past his expansive windows casting a pale glow in his room. If mindreading was a real thing, Hyunjin would be done for, because the thoughts that had transpired today would ruin him, shrivel up his reputation and business. If this went beyond the confines of his home, continuing to force itself into his daily life, he could lose everything. His job, his name, his purpose. Nevertheless, Hyunjin feels his hand sliding down once more, like a sinful memory of the past. It’s going to be another long night, and what happens tomorrow is variable. But Hyunjin knows one thing to be true.

He is so fucked.

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE

That was the longest thing I've ever written for one piece. AND IT'S ONLY CHAPTER 1 LMFAO. Anyway, hope you liked it, loves! I'll be hiding under my blankets tonight and screaming about my first published smut scene EVER. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t mind if you leave a whole essay ;) -Dreamy

TAGLIST

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If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

📢 ©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

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harry-on-broadway · 1 year

Text

My Valentine

Word Count: 4.6K || Rating: M

A/N: This is technically a continuation of My Rock Star but you don’t have to have read that to enjoy this one. I’m hoping this has something for everyone in it. Would love to hear your feedback!

*** Being with Harry came with a laundry list of perks.

Access to an incredible closet, the chance to travel the world whenever you wanted, sex with an unbelievably attractive man.

But there were also some downsides.

Like being his caretaker when he celebrated a little too hard.

As usual, you’d taken your time getting ready, knowing you wouldn’t see him until the after party, and you could already tell he’d be in rare form based on the antics you’d seen on the telecast. You were pretty confident he’d already had a drink or two by the time he walked up to the stage to receive his first award, just by how loose he was. You knew the alcohol hadn’t stopped flowing when he started throwing himself at anyone who was near. And you were surprised he was still standing when Tom had to gently guide him across the stage after the last award of the evening.

When you arrived at the restaurant that was hosting the first after party, you had prepared yourself to be attacked by Harry, but were surprised to come across Gemma instead.

“Do you have eyes on him?” you asked.

“Yeah, he’s over there.” She gestured to a table in the back where Harry had one arm around Jeffrey and was using his other hand to gesture animatedly as he told a story. “I thought he had sobered up a little while he was doing interviews after but that apparently isn’t the case,” she added as Harry wobbled, nearly losing his footing until Jeffrey caught him. “Looks like I got the easy shift tonight. I don’t envy your evening.”

“Oh dear,” you said under your breath. “None for me,” you said, to the waiter who asked for your drink order. One of you had to have a level head.

“There’s my girlfriend,” Harry yelled, causing Jeff to cover his ears.

“Here I am!” You walked over to him and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“He’s all yours,” Jeff laughed, patting you on the back as Harry clung onto you, whispering in your ear.

“...and then he gave me the award and we hugged again and then – “

“H, baby, why don’t we sit down,” you suggested, unsure of your ability to support his entire body weight for much longer.

“Oh, yeah.” He righted himself and found a seat at the table, walking on unsteady legs with you close behind.

The booth you found yourselves sitting in was cozy, especially as Tyler, Tom, and Jenny, slid in next to you. Harry, not wantign to be left out, all but laid on top of you trying to not only steal a cuddle, but insert himself into the conversation that was happening to your right. You exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Gemma as you gently pushed Harry back to his seat. She laughed over the rim of her glass and rolled her eyes, quite familiar with her brother’s antics.

“Maybe we can sneak away and have another round of celebrations like we did last week?” Harry whispered to you, his breath hot against your ear as the waiter deposited entrees in front of everyone. “Make you scream my name.”

“As enticing as that offer sounds, I’m going to pass,” you said quietly, twirling pasta around your fork.

Harry pouted. “Why not?”

“Eat,” you told Harry, pointing at the plate of fettucini in front of him. “You need to get something in your stomach. Drink some water too,” you prodded, pushing his glass closer to him. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel fiiiiinnnneee,” Harry retorted, stretching out the last word.

“I’ve got to be honest with you, those do not sound like the words of someone who is fine.”

“What does that mean?” He stared at you blankly.

“Babe, just eat.”

Harry finally relented, tucking into his meal, though he kept his arm around you the entire time. As annoying and petulant as he could be when he was drunk, you had to admit his clinginess was endearing, even if meant many promises he couldn’t deliver on.

The pasta sobered him up enough to rally for the next stop on the party tour, and you dutifully followed him into the back seat of the car waiting outside. He was chatty and exuberant, laughing with Tom and Jenny who were sharing the vehicle with you, ice cubes clinking in his glass of neat tequila. At the club, he made his way around the room, altenrating between dancing with some friends and chatting with others.

You kept to the outskirts of the room, introducing yourself to the few unfamiliar faces you spotted while reconnecting with members of Harry’s team you hadn’t seen recently. All the while you kept your eyes on him, ready to intervene when he’d finally had enough. The afterparties were fun, no question about it, but standing there, sipping your own non-alcoholic beverage, you felt a nagging sensation in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t place, and as Harry found his way back to you, pulling you to the dance floor, you did your best to push it out of your mind.

By 4am, most people had started to head out and you set off in search of Harry, finding him zoned out on a couch, leaning against Jeff, who looked equally out of it.

“H, I think it’s time to head out,” you said, reaching for his hands.

He grinned lazily. “Yeah it is.” He turned to Jeff. “We’re going to –”

“OK, I don’t think we need to talk about that,” you said, heading off any embarrassing comment he was about to make. “The car’s out front babe.” You tried to pull him up, but he was dead weight, far to heavy for you to drag. “I need you to stand up, baby.” After a little more prompting, Harry stood, swaying with each step he took. Seeing how unsteady he was, you felt less confident in your ability to get him home without incident.

“Would you like some help?” A member of Harry’s security team was in front of you, looking from you to the drunken man at your side.

“That would actually be great,” you said, sighing in relief.

“Make sure the car’s out front and I’ll get him there.”

You nodded and ran off, and ten minutes later you and Harry were alone in the backseat, making your way home.

“Could make you feel really good right now,” Harry slurred.

“I’m know you could, but we just need to get you in bed.”

Harry smirked, clearly misunderstanding the meaning of your words. “I seeeeeee,” he giggled.

When you arrived home, you nudged him up the stairs, keeping him upright and facing forward as he slowly planted one foot in front of the other, swaying back and forth as he climbed higher.

“I think I’m ready for bed,” he announced, pulling off his jacket and dropping it in the all. He stared at it, an intense look of concentration on his face as if he couldn’t figure out how it gotten there. “Is that my jacket?”

“It is. We’re getting ready for bed and we’re going to go in here,” you said, steering him towards the bedroom. “Right in here.”

You darted back into the hall to pick up his discarded jacket and when you returned, you found him face down on the bed. “Fuck,” you said under your breath. He couldn’t make this easy for you. You rolled him over, unbucking his pants and pulling them down his leg. You untangled his necklaces, placing them on his bedside table before dragging him up the bed and tucking him under the covers.

After making sure he was asleep, you got yourself ready for bed, changing into your pajamas, before brushing your teeth and washing your face and climbing into bed next to him.

Lying in bed beside him, watching his chest rise and fall slowly, you felt a wave of affection wash over you. He was yours. This silly, drunk, annoying man was yours and you wouldn’t have it any other way. A snore escaped from his mouth and you smiled. You were going to miss him over the next couple of months. You reached up to brush his hair off his forehead, wrapping his curl around your finger as that bittersweet feeling returned. .

You’d gotten lucky through the summer and fall, with your remote job affording you the opportunity to travel with him, but you’d be needed in office when he was in Australia and Asia. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little bit worried about the distance, something you’d discussed with Harry, and the two of you had planned to spend these last couple of days focused on each other. But with the Grammys and now the Brits, time for just you two had been scarce. And tomorrow – or rather today – would be a waste with Harry sure to have the hangover of the century. But you’d take moments like this as long as they were with him.

You wiggled down under the comforter, momentarily freezing as Harry stirred. Once he’d settled, sleeping on his other side, you slid closer to him, hooking your leg over his, wrapping your arm around his chest, and holding him as close as you could.

***

You woke up much sooner than you would have liked, but your empty stomach was more powerful than your need to sleep. Harry was still out cold next to you, and after watching him sleep for a couple more moments, you slid out from under the covers and padded down to the kitchen.

You put on some coffee for yourself, confident that Harry wouldn’t be up for several hours, and found the ingredients for an omelet in the fridge. When you’d finished eating and cleaning up, you sat at the table, coffee in hand, plotting your next move. You definitely had things to do. You needed to do laundry and start packing for your flight in a couple of days, and you should probably figure out what you all were going to do for dinner, but you knew deep down that the only thing you wanted to do right now was be with Harry – even if he was still passed out, completely unaware of your presence. So you poured yourself a second cup of coffee, grabbed your laptop and a book, and made your way back upstairs.

You gingerly peeled back the covers on your side of the bed, careful not to disturb him, and got comfortable. You popped your AirPods in and waited for them to connect before pressing play on an episode of Real Housewives on your laptop.

After 4 episodes and 50 pages in your book, you heard an extremely loud snore come from Harry, a snore so loud that he jolted himself awake. He squinted up at you, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, moving your laptop off of your legs.

“Stop shaking the bed,” he mumbled.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Someone’s in a good mood this afternoon,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s not my fault my head is killing me.” Harry rolled onto his back, flinching as he moved the bed again. “Fuck.”

“Here, take these.” You handed him a couple of Tylenol and a bottle of water watching as he slowly sat up and took the pills, nearly downing the entire bottle of water in one gulp. “Do you want some more?”

“No.” He stared down at the comforter, still adjusting to the afternoon light drifting in from the curtains. “What time is it?”

You looked at your phone. “A little after three.”

“Shit. What time did we leave last night?”

“A little after four.”

“Fuck.”

“I know. So much for just one drink.” He attempted to roll his eyes, but thought twice, cringing at the movement. “You okay?” you asked. As much as you’d love to continue teasing him you could tell he was hurting.

“Yeah, I just need to take it slow.”

“You should probably eat something. What do you want?”

“No clue.”

You sighed, knowing that hungover Harry was going to be worse than drunk Harry. “Why don’t you think about it and I’ll get you some more water.”

He grunted affirmatively and you eased off the bed. In the kitchen, you set about filling up his water bottle and making him some tea. You grabbed a banana as well, before scooping up the beverages, balancing them precariously as you made your way back upstairs.

The lights had been turned on in your absence, albeit on the dimmest setting, and he’d turned on the TV as well, some sports game playing at a low volume. Harry was leaning against the headboard, wrapped in a hoodie. He perked up when he saw you in the doorway.

“Feeling better?” you asked, placing the beverages and fruit on his nightstand.

He nodded. “A little.”

“That’s good.” You kissed his hair. He still smelled like the club from last night. “Maybe you should rinse off later?”

He laughed lightly. “Trying to tell me something.”

“It might make you feel better.”

“No, you just think I stink,” he said, taking a bite of the banana.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “I was thinking I could fix us some pasta in a little bit. If you’re feeling up to it.”

“Pasta sounds good.” You pressed another kiss to his head and climbed into bed next to him. He threw his arm around your shoulders, a practiced and comfortable gesture, and you curled up against his side. “How bad was I last night?” he asked.

“How much do you remember?”

“Not a lot after the restaurant.”

“Well, you had a couple of drinks…”

“Feels like more than a couple…” he groaned

“I rounded down. You did some dancing, introduced yourself to everyone – and I mean everyone – in the room, gave a lot of hugs…”

“Did I kiss anyone else?”

“You tried to plant a couple on Jeff.”

“Just showing him how much I love him.”

“You also extended the romantic offer of a quickie in the bathroom to me,” you said dryly. “Several times.”

“Hey! The last time I won something we fucked in the–”

“I remember, but I highly doubt you would have been able to manage that last night Mr. Only-The-One drink.”

Harry pinched your side and you squirmed in his arms. “You can’t judge me for wanting to spend time with my favorite person,” he said.

You threw your arm over his stomach and hugged him tight, closing your eyes, trying to remember everything about this moment. The feel of his hoodie against your fingers, the sound of his heartbeat, the weight of his arm on your shoulders. You wished there was some way to preserve this.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked, interrupting your reverie.

“I had breakfast and a snack.”

“Would you want to do the pasta soon? I can rinse off and meet you in the kitchen.”

“Yeah.”

Harry stretched before climbing out of bed and shedding his briefs and hoodie, making a half-hearted attempt to toss them into the hamper. When you heard the water turn on, you headed to the kitchen for the third time that day, pulling pasta, tomatoes, spices, and cheese from various cabinets, waiting for Harry to come down.

You’d started boiling the water when you felt him come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, swaying back and forth. “Smells good,” he said against your hair.

“It’s just pasta,” you said, laughing. “I haven’t even started the good stuff yet.”

“Wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about you.” He inhaled again. “Need to bottle this up so I can take you with me.” You bit your lip, willing yourself to hold back your emotions and not let them ruin this moment. “Alright.” Harry released you from his grasp. “What can I help with?”

“I was thinking of doing a pink sauce so if you want to start with that.”

“On it.” Harry rolled up his sleeves and got to work chopping onions and grating fresh parmesan, and the kitchen was filled with a savory aroma as he threw them into the pot. With the sauce simmering, Harry opened a bottle of wine, pouring both of you a glass. You raised an eyebrow at the large portion given his current state. “What?” he asked. “Hair of the dog, right?”

When dinner was ready, you all sat at the table, properly recapping the events of the previous night. You laughed at Harry’s recollection of the ceremony which was hazy at best, but seeing the award show through his lens was somehow even better than being there. You cleaned up together and migrated upstairs soon after, brushing teeth and collapsing into bed under the pretense of getting caught up on Love Island. Harry sidled up behind you, his body conforming to yours as you pressed play, and it was just ten minutes later when you heard his snores in your ear. You smiled, reaching for the remote, careful not to disturb him, turning off the TV shortly before sleep overtook you as well.

***

You had a weird feeling in your stomach when you woke up on the morning of the 14th, something you attributed to the fact that you’d be leaving Harry in less than 24 hours. Trying to stave off the anxiety that was quickly brewing, you decided a walk through the city and running errands was the cure. So, with Harry still in bed, you set out on your adventure.

You arrived back at the house later in the afternoon, letting yourself in and heading straight for your bedroom. If you packed everything up now, that would leave the rest of the evening free to spend with Harry without the looming knowledge of more chores on your to-do list.

When you got to the bedroom, you stopped short, unsure of what you were walking into. Candles were placed on every surface within sight, giving the room a romantic glow. Fresh flowers – roses from the looks of them – were placed around the room, which smelled of…vanilla?

“Welcome home,” Harry said. “And Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I thought we said no gifts!” was the first thing you could think to blurt out.

“It’s not a gift. It’s…ambiance,” Harry said. He studied your face, trying to get a read on what you were feeling. “Do you not like it?” he asked, flustered.

“No, I love it. I just feel bad that I didn’t do anything for you.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” He stepped forward and grabbed your hands, giving them a squeeze. “The last 14 months have been about me. Touring, working on the album, premieres, award shows. And you’ve been beside me every step of the way. Supporting me, loving me. And I did this because, for once, I wanted to do something for you.”

You were speechless. No words could describe what this gesture meant to you. You supported Harry because you loved him, not because you needed grand declarations of love from him. But his insistence on treating you with an equal amount of respect and adoration only reiterated that you’d made the right decision when you first agreed to date him.

“Kiss me,” you managed to get out and Harry happily obliged, scooping you into his arms and kissing you squarely on your lips. His tongue pressed against the seam of your lips and quickly found yours. You panted heavily against his mouth, overwhelmed by the onslaught. You felt the kiss throughout your entire body from your lips to the tips of your toes. It was a like a current was running through you, a current that grew stronger as Harry’s arms moved down your body, grabbing your ass and pressing you against his stiff cock. You moaned at the sensation, all to aware of how empty you felt and how badly you wanted him.

“Can we?” you glanced at the bed and Harry nodded. You pushed him backwards until his legs hit the frame and he laid back, taking you with him. He kept kissing you as you settled on top of his thigh, rolling your hips desperately searching for the friction you needed. You felt Harry fumbling with the hem of your shirt and lifted your arms to aid him in pulling it off of you. Your bra was next, then Harry’s shirt, then you were skin to skin.

“You feel so soft,” Harry said, dazedly as he traced your spine. He kissed his way down your collarbone to your sternum before peppering kisses across your cleavage until his lips locked around your nipple. You were still grinding on his thigh and the combination of sensations was almost too much. Harry pulled his lips away with a satisfying pop, and when you felt his teeth scaping against the soft underside of your breast, sucking a kiss that you knew would leave a mark, you cried out as your orgasm overtook you.

You rested your head on his shoulder, hovering over his thigh as you tried to recover. Harry soothed you, stroking your back and hair, and when your breathing returned to normal, you locked eyes with him. “I need you,” you whispered.

Harry nodded, almost as if in a trance, and started to wiggle around underneath of you, pulling down his briefs and shorts and kicking them to the ground as you pulled off your own bottoms. Completely naked, with nothing between you, Harry eased back on the bed, resting his hands on your hips as you lined yourself up with him. Without hesitation, you sank down on his cock. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Your body fit with his in a way you’d never before experienced. It was like he was made for you. You could tell he was already close to spilling over based on the way his jaw was set, and when you gave an experimental bounce to feel how intensely he stretched you, he clenched his jaw even harder.

“I’m ready,” you whispered, and Harry moved his hips, rocking up into you. You threw your head back in satisfaction as he grazed that spot deep inside of you. His grip on your hips tightened, his nails marking you further as you matched his rhythm. After a few thrusts he stopped, hands squeezing you as a signal for you to do the same. Confused, you looked down at him.

“It’s okay,” he murmumed. “Just wanted to be a little closer. He leaned forward so he was sitting upright, embracing you in his lap, all while driving his cock deeper inside of you.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said as he continued to rock into you. “So beautiful, doing so good for me. So good to me all the time. Just want to make you feel good.” He was babbling, so painfully close to his own release but still putting your pleasure before his.

“It fee-feels incredible,” you managed to get out. You were almost there for the second time that night. On this next thrust, you took his face in your hands, kissing him as your orgasm washed over you. Seconds later, you felt him hot and wet inside you. Your fingers were tangled in the damp curls at the base of his neck, and you pulled his head back to look at you.

“Happy Valentine’s, baby,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m yours.”

***

The morning after was the most bittersweet you’d ever experienced. After spending the night wrapped around him, you didn’t want to let him go, but you reluctantly let him get ready for his flight.

“You should probably get ready too,” he said, eyes unwilling to meet yours, as if acknowledging you would accelerate your goodbye.

You pulled on leggings and a hoodie and sat on the edge of the bed. Watching him toss last minute items into his suitcase before zipping it up. “I just don’t want you to go,” you said, voice breaking. You covered your eyes, trying to hide your tears.

He was by your side in an instant. “I don’t want to leave either but it’s going to be over so soon. You’re going to kick ass on this project and I’ll play a couple of shows and things will be back to normal before we know it. And you’ll be coming with me this summer. It’s only a few weeks.” He squeezed your hand definitively. “We’ve got this.”

“I know.” You sniffled. “I just miss you already.”

“And I miss you too.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, I was going to do this later but…” He stood up and walked to his night stand, rifling through the drawer. He pulled out a small, wrapped, box and tossed it to you. You looked at him curiously.

“What’s this?” you asked, shaking the box.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you open it and see?”

You peeled back the corner of the paper, freeing the box. You turned it upright and opened it. Inside was a delicate sliver necklace with a chain so thin you’d have to squint to see it. It was a perfect match to the one Harry had started sporting over the holidays. Tears immediately filled your eyes.

“Just to make sure you don’t forget me.”

“I thought is was only a few weeks,” you chuckled.

“Can’t take any chances.” He sat beside you again, the mattress dipping under his weight. “But I’m serious. I know how hard being with me can be sometimes and I mean it when I say I’ll never take you for granted. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said. “And I’m already counting down the days until I can see you again.”

***

talk to me!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles ff #harry styles X reader #harry styles one shot #harry fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fic

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runningfrom2am · 10 months

Text

getaway car (r.c)

summary: You and Rafe, who are alike in more ways than you think, get kicked out of class together.

pairing: rafe x reader

wc: 1.8k

tags/warnings: mean!kook!reader, bullying i guess?, highschool!au, swearing

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This particular morning, something in the cool morning breeze woke you up at four am. Wide awake. By the time you paced into your English classroom at 8:01, your uniform perfectly fit (besides the rolled-up waistband on your skirt that had previously landed at a horribly unflattering place above your knees) and an iced coffee in hand, you’d already had enough of the day.

You’d spent the first hour of your day in an everything shower and doing your makeup just the way you liked, all for one boy in hopes you could pass him in the hall and grab his attention. Who was absolutely not Rafe Cameron.

“Oh wow, Y/N- are those fake eyelashes?” The always annoying, better-than-thou attitude having girl who sits in front of you, Ally, asks as you approach your desk.

“Obviously. Same ones I wear everyday.” You reply sarcastically, slamming your stuff down on your desk so it yanks on her hair that she has placed on it. “Dumb bitch.” You mutter under your breath, earning a chuckle from the boys sitting next to you and the seat behind that one- Kelce and Rafe.

“Y/N, let me see!” Your friend who sits behind you says, tapping on your shoulder. You smile as you turn around, avoiding eye contact with either of the boys who were laughing at your comment a moment earlier.

“Oh they’re lovely! They look so soft too! What brand are they?” Bella asks, smiling genuinely and ignoring the scoff the girl in front of you lets out. Bella is the friends with everyone, sickeningly sweet girl, who’s been your best friend since you met at soccer tryouts in freshman year. She had stepped on your toe in her cleats, and stopped the drill to insist you step on her foot back so you were even because she felt so guilty. Obviously, you refused and laughed it off. Everyone loves her- and she’s kind to everyone, no matter what. You don’t know why she’s friends with you, but you balance each other out beautifully.

“Juvias Place.” You reply, fluttering your lashes at her and resting your hand under your chin. “They’re my fave- I’m probably on my eighth pair. And! And they’re like fifteen bucks! Isn’t that crazy?” You grin, letting go of the clearly negative comment the girl in front of you was making.

“Oh wow- yeah that’s crazy.” Rafe cuts in sarcastically and you shoot him a glare.

“Right?” Bella giggles, clearly not getting that he was making fun of you guys. “That’s a really good deal!” She smiles at him, which he returns with a nod, flipping his expression once her eyes land on him. Rafe had always liked Bella as well. He was making fun of her, yes, but he didn’t have the heart to let her know that if she didn’t pick up on the social cues. She just sees the best in everyone all the time, in the way that he doesn’t, and you also don’t.

Sometimes it frustrates you, the way he waves at her in the halls or shouts her name across the field when either of our teams are practicing, (not because you like him or anything, gross) because you know he either A. is making fun of her or B. has bad intentions, which you doubt because he’s never laid a hand on her- as much of an asshole as he is.

You just hate the idea of anyone taking advantage of her kindness. And it’s not like you’re a particularly mean person, but with Bella around, you try and fill that role to protect her. You’re scared that one day she’ll need it, and you’re not afraid to throw hands with anyone who does her wrong.

Class starts and it’s clear that the teacher doesn’t feel like talking this morning, because she just says to discuss the readings in partners that you got to pick yourselves. You instantly turn in your seat to face Bella’s desk, crossing your legs on the chair. “Yay! Okay, we were meant to read chapters 5-10 for today…” Bella starts, pulling the novel from her bag and opening it up.

“Mind giving me the run down? After practice last night I was swamped.” You say, smiling at her hopefully.

“Oh, yeah! For sure.” Bella nods. “First though- down to business, I saw you talking to Quinton this morning.” She whispers, leaning closer.

“Oh, yeah, I brought him coffee.” You shrug and she rolls her eyes at you.

“Okay, duh! Tell me why, tell me everything, did he text you and ask? Or did you text him and offer? Because those are very different. And was it snap? Or did he use your number?” Bella bombs you with questions.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, smiling at her fondly. “Okay, he texted me, number, not snap, and then I offered because I was driving Vanessa and we were stopping for coffee anyways.”

“Number! This is big.” She smiles excitedly, nudging your shoulder. “Next thing you know, he’ll be down on one knee and we’ll be planning your wedding!”

Rafe is glaring over at the two of you, eyes locked onto those fake lashes that he must admit, do look very soft. He rolls his eyes in an effort to get himself to focus on the task at hand, discussing readings he also didn’t do. He couldn’t focus very long considering his partner was fully ignoring him, on his phone still facing the front of the room.

Why do you even like Quinton anyways? That guy’s an idiot- Rafe knows him well, and he knows that besides being a half decent defenseman, Quin is nothing special and is actually known to cheat on his past girlfriends. Why would you waste your time around a douchebag like that?

“Dude- would you stop?” Kelce groans, turning to look at Rafe who is repeatedly punching his back, which started with one hit to get his attention, but continued as his mind wandered and he needed to vent his frustrations.

“No, fuck off. You’re so annoying.” Rafe mumbles, continuing to hit his friend in the back.

“Rafe- for fucks sake, leave him alone.” Your voice distracts him and he stops, shocked that you got involved.

“Why’s it matter to you? Kelce was pissing me off.” Rafe defends, looking at you as you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I literally did not do anything!”

“Exactly- we’re doing group work.”

“Well neither of us read it so what will we talk about?” Kelce says, turning in his seat and trying to rub the aching out of his back.

“Believe it or not, you punching the crap out of your friend because you need endless amounts of attention can be distracting to others.” You say, impulsively reaching back and pulling Rafe’s binder from his desk. It’s always bothered you that he left the sheet that it came with in the front, a flimsy piece of plastic sheet with large graphic letters saying the binders brand and how many sheets of paper it can hold.

“Hey!” Rafe spits, reaching out for it as you pull the plastic sheet out, crumpling it up and throwing it back at him before putting handing his binder back.

“That was bothering me.” You say, and he snatches the binder out of your hands.

“I liked it there.” He mumbles, fully pouting now.

“It did look stupid.” Kelce agrees with you, making Rafe smack the back of his head.

“Rafe, c’mon.” Bella shakes her head at him, hardly looking up from the book.

“Maybe you drooling over Quinton is distracting, have you ever considered that?” Rafe says to you, ignoring her at this point.

“That’s your business how?”

“Oh my god, Y/N, would you shut up for like four seconds? Jesus Christ, you are a walking nightmare!” Ally hisses, turning and smacking her hands on your desk, making you jump.

“That’s actually truly funny coming from you, Ally. Your hair looks like a crows nest and you fucking smell like you haven’t washed your uniform in months. Personally, I’d watch my mouth if I was you.” You spit back, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

Kelce and Bella simultaneously smack a hand over their mouths, trying to stifle their laughter. Rafe makes no such attempts, laughing and nodding, reaching out and gently shoving your shoulder.

“Shut up, Rafe. You’re just mad because I don’t kiss the ground you walk on.” Ally snaps, turning around again to face the front.

“True.” He says, coming down from his laughing fit. “I just kind of think it’s weird, though, that you make fun of Y/N’s makeup when you’re not even pretty to begin with. At least she doesn’t need it.” Rafe says, throwing the balled-up paper you just tossed at him at the back of her head.

You avoid eye contact with him as your cheeks burn from the implications of his comment.

You watch as Ally sniffles, her hand shooting up into the air. “Miss! Y/N and Rafe are calling me ugly!” She shouts out, grabbing the teachers attention when she doesn’t immediately see her hand.

You both simultaneously groan as everyone turns to look at you, the teacher standing up from her desk and pointing towards the door. “You two! Office. Go!”

“I’ll get some notes for you.” Bella whispers as you stand, shoving your books into your bag.

“Thanks, Bells.” You smile sadly at her. Rafe brushes past you as he moves to the door, past Ally’s desk as she looks at him smugly. You follow a few moments behind, stopping at the door as she watches you, pretending to look down and spit into your hand before flipping her off.

“Miss Y/L/N, out. Now!” The teacher urges you out, and you roll your eyes as you step out, adjusting the weight of your backpack on your shoulder with your coffee in your other hand.

You didn’t expect to see Rafe waiting for you, but it makes you smile anyways. Despite your bickering, you are decently good friends. You run in some of the same circles, and honestly you think you have a lot in common. Not that you hangout very much.

“So.” Rafe says, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Are we actually going to the office?”

“Fuck no.” You giggle, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not.”

“Thank god. Me neither.” Rafe laughs as you make your way down the hallway in the direction of the exit to the parking lot. “Are you hungry? We could go get something to eat.”

“Sure. Why not.” You agree, smiling up at him as he pushes the door open for you. “I’ll drive. I’m not getting on that rolling death trap you call a bike.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” He chuckles, following you toward your car.

part two

A/N: i hammered this out this morning and i think it's just so cute

taglist: @slut4drudy , @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @sadfury (i just tagged some mutuals who like my other stuff so if you want to be added or removed lmk!!)

reblogs and feedback are very appreciated as always :)

#rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x y/n

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blegh-110 · 2 years

Text

Have I found you, flightless bird? (2/?)

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Summary: The night finally comes where Tangerine makes his move.

Chapter Warnings: Obsessive behavior, criminal activity, talk of nonconsensual drugging (let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: Happy Monday! Hope this makes your day a little better! Just fyi, I got a job so the next chapter might take a while to come out. Anyways, happy reading!! :)

Tangerine was feeling stressed. Really fucking stressed and worried.

If anyone knew he was an assassin, a brutal one at that, they would have found his state comical. Who knew that someone who kills others as an occupation is feeling sick to his stomach because the girl he likes is no more than fifteen feet away from him.

Tangerine stares at the back of your head through the door for a few more seconds then goes into the bathroom to compose and settle himself down. Fixing any wrinkle in his coat, smoothing out his hair and mustache, as well as putting his rings and necklace into place. He needs to look absolutely perfect and presentable for you.

Before he walks out and makes his way back to you, he reminds himself that there is no way he could lose you. He and Lemon made sure of it. They both had bought all the tickets for the night, so there were no other passengers on the train but you two. This will give Tangerine some alone time with you, as well as the chance for you to know him. He had also bought a ticket that had his assigned seat directly across from you. Next, they paid the workers to help him keep you on the train, as well as some more to keep their mouths shut after tonight. The last thing they did was ask and pay the conductor, who controls opening and closing the doors on the train, to keep the doors closed and locked the entire night. There is no way you were getting off the bullet train until you two arrived at Tangerine's home, which will soon become your new home.

While these thoughts were bouncing around in Tangerine’s head, you were sitting in your seat waiting for the train to take off when you realize just how empty the carriage is. Which surprises you. There would usually be at least half the seats taken, so seeing it empty was a bit weird. Especially when you look out the window and see hundreds of people in the streets. The difference makes you feel just a little uneasy and you start to get bored, so to distract yourself, you dig into your bag and pull out a book and begin reading.

After the first few sentences, you start to get sucked into the story. It’s like the world around you slowly fades away and you are inserted into the novel. You eventually feel as though you aren’t even reading anymore because the words on the pages turn into a movie in your mind. You can clearly picture the descriptions of people and places, and feel what they feel, and-

“Excuse me, miss.” You hear someone say behind you, making you flinch in your seat at the sudden voice with an accent that sounded familiar. You place your book on the table before you turn around, and immediately want to disappear. It’s him again, you would’ve recognized that mustache anywhere. You feel a sense of deja vu as your cheeks heat up and your brain turns into mush as you stare up at him. God, he’s so handsome.

What makes this situation worse was that after being so immersed into a book, you would often get a little woozy because the world had a wiggle to it for a few seconds. So you were feeling extra disoriented.

“I think my seat is across from you, love.” He says gently, giving you butterflies once again, and points to his seat. And just in a short amount of time, seconds, you felt a mixture of emotions. One, that feeling when you can’t breathe or think properly because there is an extremely attractive person in front of you and he called you love again. Two, the feeling of terror because that said person is going to be sitting three feet away from you and you have to somehow act like you’re heart isn’t about to explode. Three, despite the fear, there was a small part of you that was thrilled to have someone so perfect be so close. Plus, he smelled good and you were pretty sure you had already fallen in love with this man.

Meanwhile, Tangerine genuinely cannot believe he is in front of you. After weeks of looking at you from a distance, he can’t help but stare down at you and take you all in. And he isn’t subtle about it either. He feels no shame when his eyes wander from your hair to your nose to your lips and all over tired face.

“Oh, okay.” You hope you sound normal and not like a nervous wreck. The man smiles at you and sits down. The sudden realization really sinks into you that he was going to be sitting across from you for however long. Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour. You just wish the burning in your face would go away, you were getting sweaty in such a short amount of time and it was uncomfortable. A part of you also curses him for choosing the seat across from you and not any of the empty ones all around you.

As he’s settling in his seat and taking off his coat, you quickly pick your book up again, right in front of your face so he doesn’t see you, but don’t even try to read the text. You’re in no state of mind to comprehend any sort of sentence but you just want to take a moment and pull yourself together. But Tangerine doesn’t want to wait anymore than he should. While he understands that he probably should take his time at this stage, he doesn’t want to wait ten minutes sitting in silence, then make his move.

He also thinks that at this point, you’re practically his and he’s yours now, so what’s the harm in speeding up the process just a little?

“My name is Tangerine, by the way. I’m gonna be here for a while, and I, uh, assume you are as well?” He made sure to talk quietly and slowly, not wanting to scare you off. Lemon had told him that he could be a little too straightforward, well, a lot actually. And to not dive straight into the abduction part of his plan. Tangerine was also well aware that you were a jumpy little thing, so he uses his tone and chooses his words carefully.

“Tangerine?” Your eyes peek over your book and Tangerine resists the urge to coo at your shyness. While your agitation doesn’t completely go away, some of it is replaced with confusion. You had never heard such a name, but it was cute. And strangely fitting how someone so intimidating and with a large frame was nicknamed something small.

Before answering, Tangerine decides he wants to mess with you a bit as he’s slightly entertained seeing you squirm in your seat and avoid any sort of contact. Although he isn’t as skilled as Lemon was with reading people, he can still see people’s true character and feelings to an extent. You also aren’t someone who is good at hiding their feelings, you’re an open book and that just made it easier for Tangerine to understand your personality more.

He nods then tilts his head in faux uncertainty, “You know, you look really familiar. Have we met before?”

“Uh, yes, actually. Like three months ago, I think.”

Tangerine’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach, feeling offended that you don’t remember. Two months ago, He corrects you in his head.

“It was only a few seconds though.” You continue.

Tangerine nods his head again, not putting away his confused expression and furrowed eyebrows which makes you nervous. He’s looking at you like you're doing something wrong, “You’re not stalking me, are you?”

Now you’re really at a loss for words. What could you say to that? The answer was obviously no, but the question and his genuine concern shocks you to your core. And you’re aware that your lack of a quick answer makes you look suspicious and you start to feel even more nervous as his eyes are dead set on you.

“I- no, I’m not I promise-” You shake your head and start but then cut yourself off when you see a smirk make its way on his face, one that makes your heart swoon but you also want to slap him for his “joke”. Even though this furthers you more into humiliation, you feel your lips curl into a smile that you try to hide by looking away outside the window.

“That was really funny.” You try to say with indifference but you can’t help but smile widely and let out a breathy laugh that Tangerine wants to remember forever.

He gazes at you for a little while longer. Which, at the moment, is difficult because you're facing away from him and hiding behind your hair. But through the strands, he can see a grin and you stifle a laugh. His concentration is soon broken when you both hear the sound of a door opening and Tangerine sees a woman pushing a cart with various colorful snacks and drinks.

You immediately sit up and dig back into your bag for your wallet, excited for your treats after another long and awful day at work.

“Hello, would either of you like a snack or a drink?” The kind lady asks with a smile. Tangerine nods to you, silently telling you to go first while he reaches into his pocket for his own wallet.

“I’d like a fish biscuit, please, and a…” You pause for a moment, inspecting the numerous flavored sodas and juices in front of you and trying to decide which one sounded good. Tangerine smiles adoringly at you. He finds your serious expression absolutely adorable, the way your eyes went from bottle to bottle with furrowed eyebrows reminds him of a small but angry kitten.

“I’ll have the mango juice. Thank you very much.” You say and are about to hand her the money when Tangerine speaks up suddenly.

“I can get that for you, darling. Here you go,” Tangerine gives the woman five times as much money making your eyes widen, “May I have four more of those biscuits and juices, please?”

“Oh, no, you really don’t have to-” You begin but the woman is already placing five biscuits and five drinks on the table before she states that the train will be going in about a minute or so, then she leaves.

“I really don’t mind, it’s nice to have a friend right now,” Tangerine wants to shoot himself after saying friend. Just the thought of you being anything but his lover makes him feel irritated. But that sweet smile and starry eyes you give him as he pushes the pile of snacks towards you is enough to make his heart slow down. You’re too cute for your own good… and my own good, Tangerine thinks. “Also, think of this as an apology for my joke.” He refers to him asking you if you’ve been stalking him.

“Oh, yeah. That was really mean.” You say in a teasing tone while smiling. You reach for a biscuit and mango juice, ready to eat but the plastic wrapping around the lid slows you down.

“And I’m truly sorry for it, love.” His tone is nowhere near sympathetic and there is a small smirk on his face.

“Well you’re forgiven, and thank you, this is really nice of you, Tangerine.” You look at him shyly then quickly back down to the cap you’re still trying to open. He is so gorgeous and kind that it’s overwhelming to look at him longer than three seconds.

You give up unwrapping the plastic from the cap with your hands and bring the bottle up to your mouth, ready to use your teeth to tear it when Tangerine stops you.

“No, don’t use your teeth. Give that to me.” He takes the bottle away from you and easily tears through the plastic, then gives it back. You let out a small thank you, once again, your heart fluttering at the smallest amount of his attentiveness he gives you. As you’re taking a sip, you watch Tangerine grab a fish biscuit and open it before placing it on a napkin and pushing it to you. Again, a small action that probably didn’t mean much to anyone, but it meant everything to you.

You can’t remember the last time someone showed you an ounce of kindness. And here this stranger is, treating you decently and raising your expectations of men in a blink of an eye. Even though you didn’t have much to offer, you want to repay his kindness back, so you do the same thing, minus the drink part because you struggle to open it.

“Well aren’t you a sweetheart, thank you.” Tangerine wants to lean across the table and kiss your warm cheeks when you push a biscuit and drink to him. You really were an angel, a silent dream. How you remained this way through your asshole coworkers and viscous parents, Tangerine does not know. He would have lost his shit long ago and taken his frustration out on anybody that crossed him.

Before he takes a bite, he takes his blue blazer off and rolls his sleeves up, revealing a couple tattoos and veins running down his forearm. You gulp and have to force yourself to look away, thinking how a man like him is real and attractive and at the same time, not insane or a jerk.

“You’re welcome.” You say timidly and begin eating, trying not to stare. Tangerine chuckles at your response, finding your manners incredibly cute.

“Also, sorry for having a seat so close to you, the guy selling me the ticket didn’t let me choose my seat.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You give him another smile that goes straight to Tangerine’s heart and he withholds himself from wrapping his arms around you and wiping away the crumbs on your lips.

For the next fifty minutes, it felt as though you and Tangerine were detached from the rest of the world. The two of you were completely caught up with each other, acting like little kids who liked one another. You listened intently to the stories Tangerine had about him and his brother, Lemon, when they were younger. You laughed at their silly antics and awed at how he talked about him like he was his whole world. And just by listening to Tangerine, you could easily tell that he’s the type of person who loves passionately. Growing up in a household where you saw your parents fighting more than anything, it was lovely to hear about their brotherly love. And you couldn’t help your mind wander off, wondering what it would be like to be loved by someone like Tangerine, or by Tangerine himself.

You guys also talked about your own hobbies, which he surprisingly liked as well. You brought up Jersey Shore being your comfort tv show, which made Tangerine laugh and ask you why. And you explained that it was just mindless and entertaining television. Then you gave him the full rundown of the infamous note Jwoww and Snooki gave to Sammi Sweetheart in season two, this engrossed him completely, which made you laugh.

Along with this, the books you read and loved, Tangerine did as well! You both discussed events and themes and different characters from different books. He even let you talk about ones you hadn’t read but wanted to. He listened to everything you had to say like it was the most important thing, because to him, it was. Tangerine had been on the sidelines watching you and doing nothing else for two months, and he was longing to know you. So he was more than content to sit back and let you ramble, he felt it was a privilege to hear you speak and know what you were thinking.

You were aware that you were talking a lot and surprisingly, you liked the attention he was giving you. You liked the look he gave you with his chin in his palm and liked that he gave his own commentary and thoughts. This was the first human interaction you had where you didn’t want to run away or were waiting for it to end.

It had not even been an hour, but for the first time in long while, you were happy. You hadn’t smiled widely for so long your cheeks hurt, or felt comfortable enough to want to tell Tangerine everything about yourself. It was overwhelming the emotions you felt, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. But even with this happiness, you felt it was only temporary. You knew that in about five minutes, the bullet train would be at your stop and you would have to get off and go back to your apartment all alone, most likely never seeing Tangerine again. These thoughts came up when the intercom announced that the bullet train will be stopping soon and you physically felt your high spirits evaporate.

“It was really nice getting to know you, Tangerine. Seriously, this has been the best part of my day.” You smile at him sadly as you get up from your seat when the train slows down.

Tangerine doesn’t respond, instead he’s waiting for one of the workers to show up and do their job. He starts to become impatient and irritable, wondering where they were and why the fuck they were taking so long. As you’re gathering your stuff and putting on your coat, you hear the door to the carriage open and one of the workers comes through.

“Hello, I’m very sorry miss, but we can’t get the doors to open at the moment. They seem to be broken.” The woman says apologetically.

“That’s okay, I can just go through the next door.” You shrug and start to walk away when she quickly blocks you from going through the door to the next carriage, “None of them are opening right now, miss. Please sit down and we’ll begin our ride to the next stop.”

Your eyes widen, “The next stop?”

“Yes.” She smiles at you like this situation is not a big deal, like this is a normal day for her, which baffles you. She is about to leave when you're the one stopping her.

“Wait, can’t you just-I don’t know, stop the train for now and fix it? I really need to get home” You don’t mean to sound whiny, but you were extremely tired and just wanted to lay down. You also have another early day at work and need all the sleep you can get so you’re not too inadequate.

While you try to convince the woman to talk to the conductor and ask him to not leave the station, Tangerine is sitting in his seat watching the whole thing, trying not to show any signs of satisfaction or excitement. He was only getting closer and closer to his plan being complete. But that goes away and is replaced with worry when another worker comes in and waves at him to come close. He sighs with annoyance and gets up, hoping something hadn’t gone wrong. The worker leads him to the next carriage.

“Um, mister Tangerine. We’re having trouble with the doors in carriage fourteen, they seem to be broken and they won’t close.” Although it seemed like a small issue, Tangerine was an assassin. And his job required that he think of every single thing that could go wrong in a mission. And right now his mind was immediately going to you walking further down the train, noticing the doors were open, and you slipping through his fingers. He needs to get back to you quickly and make sure you don’t wander off.

“Alright, what the fuck do you want me to do about it then?” His voice was quiet and calm, but the worker knew he was pissed because of his clenched jaw and intense eye contact. He also wasn’t sure what to say.

“Well don’t just stand there, you twat. Get someone to fuckin’ shut the door.” Tangerine doesn’t let the man speak as he walks back and he sees you slumped in your seat with a tired look on your face. He immediately wants to sit next to you and hold you in his arms and tell you to go to sleep, but he is not at that stage yet. But his patience is wearing thin, and he feels he is close to snapping.

“This doesn’t make sense, why are we even going to the next stop when the doors aren’t even working?” You grumble in your seat and look out the window. Tangerine finds your pout cute and has to look away so he doesn’t smile in adoration because he knows you're annoyed and doesn’t want to make you feel worse.

He understands that this is a huge inconvenience for you and that you had the right to be annoyed. But at the same time, he wants to tell you that you won’t ever have to work anymore and that he’s going to love you and take care of you from now on. As cute as your angry little face is, knock that attitude off.

With every station the bullet train arrives at and the doors don't open, the more infuriated you become. And when you become like this, you don't want to speak to anyone, you simply don’t have the energy or interest. And this is a problem for Tangerine, all he wants to do is talk to you. Because of this, his mood drops as well. He is ready to knock some sense into you and reveal that you were going home with him and staying there. He sees you look at your phone to check the time and you huff. This prompts him to check his watch. 8:49.

“You know what? I can’t just sit here and wait anymore. There’s fifteen carriages and two doors between each one, one of them has to work.” You say angrily and start to gather your stuff again. While on your small rampage, you don’t even look at Tangerine once. As far as he knows, you were talking to yourself. And when you’re about to walk away, you don’t say goodbye. And this really hurts and makes Tangerine angry. He’s too caught up in his emotions that he forgets about the doors at carriage fourteen. But he realizes at the last second

“Y/N, sit down!” His tone is a combination of his panic and anger, which causes him to shout and this scares you. It reminds you too much of your father screaming and you flinch, waiting for a door to slam loudly, but it never comes. You don’t move an inch, you’re frozen in your spot with your heart picking up and mind becoming hazy. Tangerine sees your uneasiness and quickly calms down, the absolute last thing he wants is to scare you and make you feel anxious around him.

“Love, I am sorry for my tone, but there is nothing you can do right now. The doors don’t even open until another ten minutes. So just sit down and relax, please.” Tangerine says in a softer tone, but it does nothing to soothe you.

“I don’t want to sit down and relax, I need to get home and sleep! And when they fix the doors, how am I going to get back to my stop?” Your frustration combined with your tiredness causes your voice to waver, indicating that you were close to crying. Tangerine sees your watery eyes and he feels his heart hurt.

“Oh, darling, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I promise. C’mere.” He very gently wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you into his body. And you let him and it feels wonderful to be held so tenderly. Despite the rational part of your brain asking you why you’re letting a complete stranger touch you, you ignore it in favor of the warmest arms you’ve ever encountered. At the same time, it feels strange to have arms wrapped around you, you can’t remember the last time anyone has held you this close.

You close your eyes with your cheek resting on his chest, trying so hard to not let the tears fall and taking deep breaths to calm your beating heart. You feel your face heating up with embarrassment at the fact that you were on the verge of crying like a baby and a grown adult who you barely knew was trying to console you. So you try to swallow the lump in your throat and breathe through your mouth so he doesn’t hear you sniffle. Tangerine of course notices you holding back, and is quite impressed with how quiet you’re able to be, but he’s not going to let you continue with this, not anymore.

You feel a warm hand begin rubbing your back with a firm touch. Up, down, left, right, all around, slowly. You feel another hand stroking the top of your hair, it feels nice. And with his chin resting on the top of your head, you are engulfed and surrounded by Tangerine. All you feel and see and smell is him. Something about the way he’s holding you and making you feel safe makes your tears fall. This is all you ever wanted.

“That’s okay, I know. You can let it out, it’s no good to hold it all in.” Tangerine whispers into your hair when he hears the first sniffle. He doesn’t stop his hand movements when he feels you shaking in his arms and hears your sobbing, but he does tighten his arms around you.

Your cries and heaving breaths are reduced to sniffles and hiccups. You are suddenly aware of what you have just done, feeling like a nuisance.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’m fine, I promise.” You pull away enough to look up at him and find him already staring at you with concern. Tangerine shakes his while gently swiping his thumbs across your cheeks, wiping your tears away.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for the way you feel. And I can very clearly see you are not okay, and there is nothing wrong with that. Sit down, please, let me get you some water, don’t want you feeling ill, do we?” You shake your head and sit back down, feeling cold and drained. It was strange that not even an hour ago, you were the happiest you had ever been. And now, your eyelids were feeling heavy and like someone had just thrown sand in them.

Tangerine sees that you’re close to falling asleep, he doesn’t think you even know you’re about to fall asleep. He quickly runs to the kitchen for some water, hoping to get you hydrated so you don’t get a headache. As he’s rummaging through the fridge he silently curses himself for buying you all those sugary snacks and drinks, that can’t be settling well in your stomach. But when he returns to you, you are fully leaning against the window and he can hear your snores.

He doesn’t know what to do next, so he decides to give Lemon a call for some advice.

When you wake up, you don’t feel any better. Your mind immediately goes to the fact that you are probably further away from your stop, and you’re still tired. The urge to close your eyes and go back to sleep is strong, but you sit up and feel something slide off of you. You look down and see that it’s a jacket, the one you saw Tangerine wearing earlier. You then realize that he is nowhere to be seen, but there is a bottle of water on the table that your dry throat is begging for.

While drinking it, you wait for Tangerine to return from wherever he is but he still hasn’t come. Feeling impatient, you get up and start walking up the train. But with every carriage you walk through, there is not a single person you see. There is a slow feeling of panic arising within you, it feels everyone in the world abandoned you and you were the only left. Before you enter the next carriage you hear Tangerine’s voice and you stop, feeling relieved that he was still on the train with you. You’re about to go back to your seat, but you hear him start to talk.

“Is this really my last resort?... Alright, how much do I give her?... The whole bottle? Lemon, are you fuckin’ insane?”

Many thoughts and questions are going through your head right now. Lemon? His brother Lemon? What are they talking about? What is he giving to who? Why does he sound so angry?

“I’ll give her half the amount, I only want her knocked out so I can get her in the car… She’s asleep right now.”

You feel all the air in your lungs disappear, your stomach is in knots, and a fear so deep in your bones that it’s difficult for you to think or move. You can only hear his side of the conversation, and with each sentence he says, the more terrified you become. If you’re hearing this correctly, Tangerine is talking to his brother about drugging someone, who is most likely you, and taking them to his car after. Then doing who knows what.

“I’ll pour it in her water or something and have her drink it, actually that strawberry soda she likes would be better.”

That was enough to confirm that he’s talking about you. You slowly back away from the door, being careful not to make any noise. When you’re far away enough, you take off to find the closest person who works on the train.

Your heart beats so fast and hard you feel like it’s going to burst out of your chest, not even hours ago you felt the same way for Tangerine, but it was for different reasons now. You run faster through each carriage, not knowing when Tangerine would get off the phone and continue with his scheme. But you feel relieved when you arrive inside the kitchen and see a woman filling up the cart with more snacks. But she looks horrified to see you.

“Oh, thank god. We need to get off right now. That man I was with is going to kill me, we need to go, please.” You grab her and try to drag her to the nearest door, but she’s shaking her head and looks at you apologetically.

“Miss, I am very sorry, but I cannot let you leave at this moment-”

“No, you don’t understand, you have to! There’s a man, his name is Tangerine, he’s trying to kidnap me, please help me-”

“Y/N?”

Your heart stops when you hear Tangerine’s voice. He’s fast.

You don’t look back, you continue to stare at the woman in front of you and silently beg for her to stay. She sadly pats your shoulder before turning away and walking out the same door Tangerine came from.

“Turn around please.” You do as he says, afraid that if you even step a toe out of line, he would pull a knife out and stab you. When you look at him, he doesn’t say anything, he only stares back. But that friendly face you witnessed earlier is gone, instead, a frown is settled on his lips and his eyes are showing dissappointment. You think it’s because of you, but Tangerine is really angry at himself for not putting a careful eye on you. He took his eye off of you for a second, more like an hour actually, and his plan has gone to shit.

“Y/N, I’m not sure exactly what you heard-”

“You were going to hurt me.” You whisper, mentally hitting yourself for interrupting him. You have no idea what he’s capable of, but if he has access to drugs that could “knock” you out for a few hours, then surely he has some sort of weapon on him.

“Not too much. Just enough to… leave you unconscious for a bit. I wasn’t going to do anything too crazy.”

“You think drugging someone without their consent isn’t ‘too crazy’?” You say this with just a smidge of anger and disbelief. You truly cannot believe what you are hearing. He’s fucking insane if he thinks what he was going to do isn’t extremely violating and fucked up.

“I really don’t appreciate that tone, love.” He says with irritation. And you’re back to being absolutely disturbed, that tiny amount of bravery is gone. He takes one step towards you.

“Tangerine, you’re scaring me.” You whisper while backing away slowly from him, afraid that if you went any faster he’ll pounce on you. While stepping back, you hit one of the carts that had the snack and drinks, and you grip it with tight fingers behind you.

“Love, that’s not my intention. I just want to be with you, that’s all.” Tangerine’s irritation is gone and he says this as gently as possible so as to not scare you, but the quick mood switch only increases it more. You're appalled at his honesty and bluntness, he isn’t even going to try and give a bullshit lie explaining what you heard.

“I don’t even know you, please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone, please.” Your voice wavers in fear and the image of him becomes blurry with your tears, cracking Tangerine’s heart

“I just want to take care of you-” He takes a big step toward you and you quickly bring the cart in front of you and, with all your strength, shove it towards him. Genuinely surprised by your actions and sudden strength, Tangerine stumbles back and watches you sprint out the other door. He looks at the clock and realizes it’s exactly 11 o’clock, all the doors in carriage fourteen are open.

You can't remember a time where you had run this fast in your life, everything in your peripheral was a blur. You’re slowed down each time you stop at each door, trying to open them then banging your fist on it in anger when it stays closed. Your thoughts go to Tangerine only getting closer, and this makes you run just a bit faster.

You cannot believe the turn of events. All of your infatuation and feelings for Tangerine were gone in an instant when you heard his plans to drug and abduct you. They were replaced with disbelief and terror. You also feel incredibly stupid, you fell for his charm and they way he made you feel special and cared for. You even let the man touch you and hug you. Now knowing he only did that as a way to make you feel comfortable enough to catch you off guard and snatch you makes you feel sick to your stomach. It’s such an uncomfortable feeling. You’re really about to vomit, your whole body is shaking, you’re lightheaded and can’t think straight.

“Shit.” You whisper when you’re in the second to last carriage. You doubt that the last pair of doors will open, which means that you were screwed if these ones didn’t open. You never prayed before, but this time you do as you ran to the doors and hope to god that they open. You barely stepped in front of them and the doors slid open. You felt a huge portion of worry lift off of you in exchange for relief, but you weren’t done yet. You step out of the bullet train and the first thing you see are two security guards

When you run up to them, they look startled. You think it’s because of the way you look, all out of breath and panicked.

“Please help me, t-there's someone on there trying to hurt me. I h-heard him say he’s-”

“Miss, you can’t get off the train at this moment, please get back on.” One of them says and tries to lead you back on.

“What? No, there’s a man on there that tried to hurt me-”

“Yes, and I understand, but you need to get back on.” The other one says.

“You understand? What the- no, you’re not listening to me- hey, what are you doing, stop!” Their hands are suddenly around your upper arms and they begin dragging you towards the train. You feel another wave of panic and confusion hit you at the same time, and the tears come back.

“No, no, no, let go of me! Stop! Help!” You scream and chant so loud that your throat hurts. You dig your feet into the floor as hard as you can and thrash around in their grip, this catches them off guard and you manage to escape, but only for a few seconds before they catch you again. Their hands around your arms is reminiscent of the two cooks that you worked with and you would much rather be with them right now.

When they have you in front of the train they still have you in their hands before you find yourself on the floor. Inside the bullet train. You feel a familiar pain in your knees along with some sort of liquid, you look down and see blood. You begin crying in pain, but you stand up on wobbly legs and try to escape one last time, but you're once again on the floor when they push you back in.

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying on the floor, but long enough to know that the doors have closed and won’t be opening soon. Then you hear the door to the carriage open, along with the sight of two shoes.

This is it. This is how I’m going to die.

“Oh, darling.” Tangerine sees your bloody knees and makes a mental note to “talk” with the two guards that did this to you. He kneels down beside you, making you flinch. Tangerine ignores your action and takes a closer look at your knee, that’s when he remembers your bruised skin. You’re probably still healing from your bruises and those two guards made it worse.

“C’mon, let’s get you up now.” Tangerine places one arm under your knees and the other under your back and lifts you up. This quick action surprises you and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck so you don’t fall. Being so close to him makes you nauseous again, along with the copious amount of sugar you consumed and the running you did. You can feel your stomach turning and bile making its way up your throat. You start to cry again when you realize you are about to throw up.

Tangerine looks at you and very clearly sees how sick you look. He quickly takes you to the bathroom, places you on the floor, and lifts up the toilet seat. But you shake your head and lean away, you are absolutely terrified of throwing up. The thought of the contents in your stomach shooting back up in a hot, gross substance makes you gag again.

“I know you don’t feel good right now, but you’ll feel much better after, I promise.” Tangerine puts one hand on your back and pats it, while the other hand gently gathers your hair in a loose ponytail. His heartbreak when he sees your endless tears dripping down your face and hears your sobbing, it reminds him too much of when you would cry alone in your apartment. Only this time he’s here with you. And as much as it pains him to do this, he wants you to feel better. So he starts patting your back harder, starting from the bottom to the top.

You try to squirm away but he has a stiff hold on you. Then you moan in pain when you feel your stomach churning, it feels like it’s literally twisting inside your body. With Tangerine patting your back, you feel the contents shoot up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut as it ends up in the toilet. You aren’t exactly sure what happens after that, only that Tangerine somehow got you in a private room on the train and you’re still crying.

“It’s done now, you’re all done now, love. You did a great job, I know that hurt.” It really shouldn’t, but the way he speaks to you calms you down and reduces your sobs to small sniffles. But there’s still a fear of the unknown of what he’ll do to you. You then become completely aware of your surroundings and find Tangerine with a damp towel in his hand and a first aid kit next to him. And he’s kneeling on the ground.

“May I?” He gestures to your injured knees. You might as well let him clean your wound, he’s got you trapped anyways and you’re sure if you try to escape again you won’t make it very far. You nod at him and look away. Tangerine carefully rolls up the bottom of your pants above your knees, quietly apologizing when you whimper when the fabric brushes against your cuts.

The complete silence kills you. You don’t know what to say. But you’re extremely confused and still trying to process the last two or three hours, or four hours. You have no idea what time it is.

You first meet Tangerine, and it’s nice and all, but too good to be true. You find out that the whole time, he was planning to kidnap you. You thought he would have killed you by now or done something else horrific, like sell you to a group of human traffickers. Instead, he’s on his knees in front of you, wiping the blood off your knees and bandaging them up with soft touches.

“Thank you for sitting still, did wonderfully.” He carefully pulls back down the bottom of your pants and puts your shoes on. You didn’t even realize he took off your shoes. And again, you definitely should not be feeling this way, but he’s being so gentle with you that it makes it hard to breathe. You want to kick yourself for feeling this way about a man that wanted to drug and take you away.

You watch his every move as he gets back up and walks to the bar, ready to take any harm he gives you. But he gets a bottle of water out of the fridge, opens it, and places it on the table in front of you. While you thought this was cute and gentlemanlike hours ago, you now know his true intentions and don’t want anything from him.

Even though your throat is burning and there’s a lingering taste of vomit in your mouth.

“Drink it, Y/N.”

You say nothing and look away, hoping that he’ll go away and never show his face again, or maybe the ground of the train will swallow you whole. That would be lovely. You hear Tangerine let out a frustrated sigh and you prepare for a smack or something physical.

“Y/N, please don’t make me ask you again. I understand you’re exhausted and have a ton of questions, but you’re not going back home. You’re coming with me and staying with me from now on. So just accept that and drink your water… please.” Despite Tangerine’s obvious frustration over the matter, his plan hadn’t gone his way, he completely understands where you are coming from. He knows what he’s doing and what he’s done is fucked up and deranged, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew if he ignored the urge then he definitely would have grabbed you off the street or dragged you out of your apartment into the trunk of his car.

And you do not deserve that. He wanted to ease you into his life, lure you in slowly and nicely, then pull the string and trap you in his cage. He wants to show you the wonderful and loving life he can give you, how much he can truly care for you. But with the whole door situation in carriage fourteen and you trying to leave, it’s all a mess now.

When he says this to you, you want to be angry and call him obscene names and ask him what gives him the right to take you like you're an object. But you are not that person, you were never that person to show your anger in a truly furious way. What you do when you become this emotional is cry, but with all the tears you’ve let out today, there is no more. You’re drained. And all the fight in you is gone.

You grab the water and drink from it. The cold liquid feels like heaven when going past your dry throat.

“You should sleep now, you’ve probably tired yourself out.” Tangerine says softly. You nod your head in complete defeat and close your eyes, hoping all of this was a nightmare and you’ll wake up on your old mattress in your tiny apartment. But you knew what had just happened was real.

The only thing you can truly wish for is that whatever he has planned for you, he doesn’t cause too much harm.

—-

What was your favorite part and what are you excited for in the next chapter??? Again, your comments really motivate me to keep writing!!🥰

#tangerine #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x reader #tangerine imagine #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train #bullet train imagine

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romansdoll · 1 month

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.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

Delusional 1

⟡ 1.3k / 18+ some smut

⟡ charlie walker x reader

⟡ crashing over your interaction with kirby about charlie, someone is there to remind you they are always watching.

You hated Kirby. You weren't entirely sure why though. She wasn't an evil person nor did she make you as mad as lets say, Trevor did or the girls in pre calc did. No. She made you upset for a whole other reason. Charlie, your Charlie, was enthralled with her. By her. She was probably some kind of witch that casted a spell on him, because the way he stares at her during the Woodsboro Cinema Club meetings, it has your blood boiling.

To be fair, you didn't know Jill all that well. Your mothers only growing up together. Yours cutting the Roberts off as a whole after Sidney’s mother died. It was too much of a mess for your family to be connected to. But when Sidney moved back to Woodsboro, and bodies started dropping like flies, Kirby had latched herself onto Charlie. Interested in who could be ghostface this time, they basically flirted in front of you. Something that made you absolutely sick to your stomach to watch.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely notice Robbie slid down in the seat next to you, rows back from where Charlie and Kirby were entertaining the club members with their banter.

“If it makes you feel better sweet girl, I don't think Kirby likes him… um like that.” he says gently. Sweet girl being a nickname Charlie coined after you cleaned alcohol off Robbie last year at Trevor’s party.

“Yeah but he likes her that way.” you pout.

Robbie scoots closer to you, “Then he’s missing out.”

Kirby smirks at Charlie, and you all about lose your shit.

“I think the killer is someone close to us.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Charlie and Kirby look at you in sync. Your cheeks flush and you can't find the words anymore.

“I think it’s uh, probable.” Robbie rushes to defend you, “The attacks are personal, and we all know they fall in line with Sidney’s return.”

“I don't think it's someone who knows us.” Kirby basically challenges.

“Why not?” you frown.

“Because it wouldn't make sense. It has to be someone-”

“Wasn't your friend Olivia gutted?”

The room falls silent.

“Okay well I think that wraps up today's meeting. Remember guys the stabathon is currently in the works and emails will get sent out.” Charlie cuts in, cutting the awkward silence. “If anyone has questions you know where to find Robbie or me.”

“You didn't have to go so far.” Robbie whispers.

You know that. That sucked. Badly.

Kirby’s nasty stare blurs everything for you, and you try to decide your next move as everyone shuffled to leave around you. Charlie nods at you as he passes and you watch, fully turning your head to do so, as he leaves out the door with Robbie in tow.

“Is that what this is about?” Kirby’s voice startles you, reminding you someone is there with you.

Fuck.

“What?” you say.

“You want to what? Fuck Charlie? That’s why you're such a bitch to me?” she crosses her arms.

“I don't care about you.”

“No shit dumbfuck.”

“It’s nothing personal.” you lie. Obviously.

“Please don’t lie to me. I see the way you look at him. How you watch him. Then how you look at me. You hate me. Because of him.” Kirby isn’t wrong. You do hate her. You're sure you love him.

“You don't even like him!” you rise out of your seat, raising your voice so slightly. “You play games with him, I watch you do it!”

“He’s my friend you delusional Idiot!” she shouts back.

“I hope you die next.” and with that you gather your bag and rush out before she cant react to your words.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Your parents are usually never home. One is a lawyer and the other is some city council person. You actually don’t know. You don't pay attention, just take the allowance and live in your own world. Which brings you to your current situation; lying on your bed with music blasting while attempting to do your homework.

You don't usually answer unmarked calls. It’s not quite like you. But when the no caller ID phone pops up, you feel inclined to answer, and so you do.

“Helllooooo.” you draw out. It’s either this or hard calculus you really don’t understand and Robbie isn’t answering your texts.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“____. Who’s this? You called me.”

“I’m surprised you picked up.” the voice, deep and a little alluring if you were being honest, spoke.

“Why? It's not like homework is any more fun than taking a stranger's call.”

“Well,” the voice says, “there's a serial killer going around town murdering people rather, viciously.”

“I know. It’s pretty awful. Everyone is so scared and on edge. I hate it.” you admit. You roll over onto your back, and begin twirling your hair.

“Are you on edge?” the voice asks, feigning concern.

“I don't know. Part of me is scared but, part of me isn't involved in so it isn't my business.”

“You aren't involved?”

“No.” you giggle and sit up. “My family cut that family off years ago. I barely know Jill and her friends.”

“Just that one girl that got...” the voice says, “What was the word you used? Gutted?”

Your stomach dropped.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“I said, gutted. Isn't that the word you used?”

“Who is this? This isn't funny Kirby.”

“Who's Kirby?” the voice genuinely sounds confused at the name.

“I’m not an idiot you know. Sorry I told you to basically drop dead, but this isn't funny. You're crossing a line.” you stand up, pacing back and forth now.

“You seem anxious.” the voice says. “Why else are you pacing so hard.”

You stop.

“Are you… watching me?” you glance around, one window open.

“I might be. You're a very pretty girl to watch. Especially with a hand down your pants moaning… what's his name again? Charlie’s?”

“Shut up.” you demand. You grip your phone and go to close the window.

“Oh. Have I struck a nerve? Are you no longer in love with him? Moved on so quickly have we?” the voice lets out a laugh and you want to vomit.

“Do you…” you start to shake. “See everything?”

“Yes. When your back arches because your fingers hit that sweet spot, or when you pant so hard I can only imagine how you’d sound being played with by someone.” the voice sounds almost seductive now.

“I’m hanging up now!-”

“You fucking hang up and I’ll gut Charlie like a fucking pig!” he shouts and you yelp.

“No please! No don’t do that!”

“Hard to masterbate to a corpse.” it threatens.

You're in tears now. Full blown tears, and you’re shaking so badly you allow yourself to collapse into a sitting position on the floor.

There's some silence for a little while.

“What do you want?” you ask in a small voice.

“To hear those moans again. I’ve been missing out. Give me a taste.” it replies.

“And you won't hurt Charlie? Right? Promise?” you’re willing to do anything if it means Charlie still breathes. You love him.

“Touch yourself. Over your panties. Now. I’ll think it over.” he demands.

You nod, not that you think they can see, and push your skirt down to your knees and begin rubbing through the cloth.

“Tell me how it feels.” the voice says, breathy.

“Good… feels good. It feels so good.” you mean it. You’re pretty sensitive down there.

“I bet. Slip a finger in.”

And you do that. And it feels good. You’re wet, wet enough that drops are running down your hand. You're a whimpering mess, bucking your hips and essentially riding your fingers.

The voice isn't saying anything, but you don't care. It feels so good. You keep moaning and at this point, drooling on your shirt practically and soaking the rug below you with your wetness.

“Charlie oh please Charlie faster!” you beg no one, you’re orgasm so so close. “Charlie, I need you, please!”

Your orgasm hits you pretty hard, and you finger faster until you’re left a breathing mess. You collapse against your bed and notice that your phone is no longer on call, not realizing that the voice had hung up.

#ghostface x reader #charlie walker x reader #rory culkin #YAHHHH #probs only like 4 chapters but heyy #slasher x reader #ghostface #charlie walker #rory culkin x reader

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l0starl · 6 months

Text

𝐁𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

-𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙨 𝙄’𝙢 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙣𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

‼️𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 3 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲‼️

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬?

sᴏɴɢ: ʙʏ ᴍʏ sɪᴅᴇ (ғᴇᴀᴛ. ᴋᴀᴀsʜ ᴘᴀɪɢᴇ)

ʏᴇs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ 🌚

Words: 1.6k

PART 2 IS OUT 🥰

You recently moved to Brooklyn, it was a cold day out, the air was crisp, as the chilly breeze blew through the trees. You were currently home running late for school, you already knew your mother was going to scold you for it once again. You fix your outfit in the mirror as you put your hair in Afro puffs. You grabbed your bag and keys and rush out the door. You quickly ran to the bus stop in time for the bus, you took a seat and sighed in exhaustion. You watched out the window seeing beautiful sights as the sunlight hits the window, giving it a soft glow.

After getting off the bus you quickly ran to school since you were still late, you barge through the school doors and pass the crowd of students. You open the classroom door, only to spot your teacher staring at you with a glare.

“Your late, I’m marking your tardy, quickly take a seat!” The teacher scolded.

You nod as you grumble under your breath, you take a seat near the back of the classroom, you weren’t paying attention at all in class, you were about to take a nap like you always do, there was nothing important going on in that class, mostly student’s gossiping, yapping, the usual.

You sometimes took naps in this class but as soon as you heard a faint thud sound, you lifted your head off the desk as you spotted a student.

It was miles, no one has seen him since his dad died, but you always spotted him (making eye contact accidentally every time) with his friends as they snickered, except him. He always had a cold demeanor, he was always the talk of the school, even the girls were interested in him because of his cold attitude.

The teacher gestured him to sit down, pointing next to an empty seat that was right next to you. Hise eyes landed on the seat and walked over and sat down, you examined him from the corner to your eye, His hair was in two braids that reached just past his collar. He wasn’t looking at you, but something about his gaze made you look away.

The class whispered and snicked, you couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, but you can tell it was about miles. His gaze eventually on you, it seemed like he was examine you, which makes sense since you were the only one near his desk. You looked straight ahead hoping not to make eye contact, his gaze went away soon after the teacher started to speak.

“Now class did anyone complete the homework?”

You dig through your backpack realizing you left it at home while you were rushing….Damn it..

The teacher went around the classroom to collect homework, then it was your turn.

“Where’s the homework?” The teacher responded with a scowl

“I um, forgot it at home” you responded

The teacher didn’t buy it, but she went back to her desk and started grading

You sign, knowing your mother isn’t going to be happy with you. After a few minutes nothing was really going on, you spotted miles drawing, your curiosity getting the better of you, you slightly lean over to examine. It was a pretty neat drawing, mostly was sketches of things you weren’t sure of, but one caught your eye.

It was the prowler’s design, his gauntlet as well, it looked like extra designs but you didn’t know think much of it. You’ve heard a lot about the prowler, not a lot of people agree with his methods but at least he gets the job done. You decide to look away before he catches you staring, soon after you fall asleep.

You woke up by someone shaking your shoulder, you lift up your head, your vision was drowsy and a bit blurry.

“Class is over” Miles says bluntly

You nodded, you were clearly half awake as you grab your things and jammed them in your backpack. You both leave the classroom as you walk in silence. The only noises you heard was your faint breathing.

“What class do you have next” You ask, trying to start a conversation.

“Spanish” He responded

“Cool, I have that as well”

He nodded as you both walk in complete awkward silence, no one dared uttered a word, but he seemed intrigued by you, you couldn’t quite figure out why.

You both walked inside the classroom as you took the remaining seats that were in the back of the classroom. The room was awkwardly silent, all you heard was the teacher tapping their pencil on the desk. You never really did anything in this class, you had a decent grade but you couldn’t say the same for everyone else.

Mostly no one did their work in this class, you did it but only rarely if you felt like it. You look to the side seeing miles once again, drawing the prowler. You wonder what was so interesting about it to him, but nevertheless you watched him draw, the extra designs look pretty impressive, the page had a neon purple to it to match theme. You look away once again, but your curiosity was intrigued.

What did he like so much about the prowler?

Next class was history, you were assigned with miles but none of you really spoke.

“So, you want to do held and I’ll do the other half?” You ask

“Yeah alright” He responded

In reality you were doing the work while he drew in his sketchbook, you were getting pretty frustrated at the lack of work he was doing and he found it amusing.

“What? You getting mad now?” He asked mockingly

You scoffed snatch his sketch book on purpose, as you examined its drawings, maybe he’ll do his work?……not at all….

He grabbed your phone on the desk

“Give it” he asked annoyed

“Do your goddamn work!” You hissed

He extends his hand out gesturing to give it back for the phone, you sigh as you give it back, snatching your phone back.

At the end of school the bell rang as you stuffed your belongings in your bag, you knew miles wasn’t gonna let that slide when you took his sketchbook.

You quickly left the classroom before he could achieve his get back. You left the school before you were late for the bus, it was pretty dark out at the time, but you sat still waiting for the bus to come.

You looked around at your surroundings, spotting neon purple at the top of a building. It reminded you of the prowler, as you were lost in your thoughts you heard a beep noise. The bus arrived, you quickly went on and took a seat. Today was a pretty good day, you snicker to yourself knowing you got miles pissed about the sketchbook situation…

Oh boy…..only if you knew what he had in store for you the next day….

You arrived late to school as usual, you were about to go to your locker when you found it completely damaged, your notes were ruined, textbooks, you name it.

“Miles” you grumbled under your breath

You knew he was gonna make your life a living hell…..

He started messing with you just to get back at you, but he found your reactions entertaining. He always purposely called you ma, just to see you get red out of embarrassment.

“Hey ma, how ya doing? You still working on that project f’me?” He asked in mocking tone

“Don’t call me that, you haven’t done shit for the project!”

“And I still ain’t gonna, maybe if you ask nicely” he says with a cocky tone, slightly amused.

“Could you please turn in your report?” You responded

“Yeah I’ll do it” he says sarcastically “So who’s house for the project?”

“Mine I guess” you replied

“Alright then”

Nothing much happened other than miles being annoying as ever, it was awfully quiet….it’s never this quiet unless it’s something about the prowler, wonder what he did this time.

After school was over both of them went to her house, she gestured him to follow along as they went in her room.

She grabbed a laptop and sat down at the desk

“Alright so we’re supposed to research about the-“

He completely ignored you, and started doing his own thing….

You grown as you start doing the work, you look over to him and once again, he’s drawing.

“Do you ever do your work?” You asked

“Yeah, I’ll do it later” he replied

You grumbled under your breath, it’s obvious he’s doing this on purpose just to mess with you, you try your best to ignore it, but it just doesn’t work.

You did most of the work, he managed to do a little. His phone started ringing, you took a peek and you saw it was “Uncle Aaron” he got up and spoke.

“Alright im heading out”

You nod as he left, you wonder what that phone call was about but you brush it off. Later that night the news reports that medical supplies were stolen, they assume it was the prowler. You never really payed attention to the prowler, but then you remembered miles sketchbook, he had multiple sketches of the prowler and its design. A noise was heard outside, you perked your head up, and looked out the window.

The night was illuminated with neon purple, seemed like someone was running from something, at least that’s what you thought…. You opened your window to see it closer

and you would’ve thought you would see the prowler….

You quickly close the window, he must’ve saw you. You close your curtains, it was getting late, so it’s better to get in bed. You make your curtains are closed fully, you get into bed and fall asleep

But the neon lights were still there, almost if they were getting closer….watching you….

#miles 42 #prowler miles #miles g morales x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #atsv fanfiction #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #miles g morales #miles g #42!miles #miles gonzalo morales #atsv x you #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #black!y/n #black!fem!reader

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damn-stark · 2 months

Text

Chapter 28 A song for us

Chapter 28 of Sugar

A/N- Lowkey want some angst already 😅😂

Warning- Swearing, some angst, talks of abuse, FLUFF, talks of death, cigarettes, spoilers!! long chapter, some violence but not really, NFSW, semi-public, wrap before you tap it, a lot of kissing,

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Takes place during- Only the beginning of Chapter 222 of the manga

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*SATORU P.O.V. 11 YEARS AGO*

He’s getting away.

He can’t let Suguru get away, but nothing that he said made him come back. So what can he say now? He needs to think. Think!

He’s getting lost in the sea of people, he needs to think…

Wait…

“What about my sister!” Satoru yells out with desperation as he wonders why he didn’t think of bringing you up before. “What about y/n?”

Suguru stops in his tracks and slowly turns back around to face Satoru.

“You’re just going to abandon her without an explanation?! I thought you loved her!” Satoru throws out even though he never came to like the idea of you, his little sister, and Suguru, his best friend, together. He just needs to find a way to make Suguru stay.

“I do love her,” Suguru says back without hesitation. “I’ve tried talking to her, but Shoko says your family took her. Are you really going to leave her there? How could you let them treat her the way they did?”

Satoru parts his lips to argue but he finds himself in disbelief at what was thrown at him.

How dare Suguru say that? He knows better than anyone how protective Satoru is of you. Besides, he doesn’t understand the family dynamic, it’s different from his. It’s not that simple.

“How dare you,” Satoru spats back. “How dare you accuse me of that!”

“And how dare you accuse me of abandoning y/n,” Suguru redirects a lot calmer than Satoru is right now. “I want to explain myself, I want to talk to her, but even if she wasn’t at your family home it’s not like you’d let us talk, would you?”

“Like hell, I would,” Satoru proved him exactly right, making Suguru scoff.

“That’s what I thought. That’s why I told Shoko to rely her a message for me. I couldn’t trust you to do it, you never liked the idea of us together in the first place.”

Satoru takes a big step forward and further furrows his eyebrows and can’t stop himself from spitting out his next words full of rage. “I don’t want you talking to her! I don’t want you seeing her ever again, do you understand?! Leave y/n out of this!”

Suguru swallows thickly and doesn’t make any promises, or assure Satoru of anything, he just turns around and walks away through the sea of people, leaving Satoru alone.

——

*YOU. NOW*

“What?” You probe your brother who seems to be lost in thought.

“Hm?” He probes back and looks up at you from his seat on the gurney.

“Penny for your thoughts? Or are you suffering from some kind of head trauma?” You say and lean against the bed. “That seems to be it because what makes you think you can walk into my house unannounced in the morning?” You remark and smack the back of his head.

“Your door was unlocked,” he points out. “And it wasn’t early, you were awake.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “My door is unlocked because I forgot to lock it, it doesn’t mean it’s a sign for you to barge in, and two, it’s human decency to knock, or at least let me know when you’re going.”

Satoru doesn’t take you seriously because he snickers. “I was hoping to scare off your boyfriend. Which almost worked, did you see the look on his face? He looked like a deer caught in headlights!”

Of course, it’s his inability to be a normal brother and accept who you’re dating.

“Have you even caught a deer in headlights,” you mumble nonsense as you try not to give in to the frustration slowly boiling within you.

“Have you?” He redirects.

You cross your arms over your chest and look out the door in hopes Shoko is approaching.

But she isn’t. Typical doctor-like behavior.

“Don’t pop a vein, sis,” Satoru says and nudges your arm with his foot, making you scrunch your nose in disgust but continue listening to whatever shit he has to say.

“It’s what big brothers do.”

“Perhaps when we were teenagers,” you throw at him over your shoulder. “But we’re adults now.”

Satoru is still finding humor in this. He’s biting back a smile.

“I’m just having a hard time understanding that you love each other after nineteen days,” he remarks. “I mean I wasn't gone long for things to change that much. I mean think about it, y/n, you’re—-”

Thankfully, he gets cut off by Shoko and Ijichi just as he was growing serious.

“All your labs came in fine, Satoru,” Shoko assures him. “Your blood work is normal, and your sleep doesn’t worry me because that’s something you don’t get regardless. You’re completely sane and healthy,”

“You might want to double-check the sane part again,” you interject bitterly. “He’s anything but.”

Satoru gets you back by poking your side with his toe, so you snap back around and smack his arm. “That’s so gross,” you hiss.

Satoru approaches his other foot towards you, but you quickly step back and pull Shoko in front of you to make her act as a shield considering you don’t have Nanami or Suguru anymore to hide behind.

“Thank you for that,” Shoko mutters.

You rest your chin on her shoulder and shrug. “Better you than me.”

Shoko sighs and reaches back into the correct pocket this time to take out your pack of cigarettes.

“Why is this still full?” She asks as she pulls one out and then offers you one.

“Because I only smoke when I’m stressed,” you remind her and take your pack back instead of taking one. “Where’s yours?”

“I’ll finish yours first.”

You sigh but don’t argue, you just light her cigarette with your fire after you put your pack away, and then pull away to sit beside Satoru on the gurney.

“Damn,” Satoru mumbles. “So it’s just the three of us left.”

“Well, there’s that idiot left,” Shoko reminds him of Suguru.

But it’s not like it’s actually him. It’s just his body. Suguru is gone...

“That’s true,” Satoru agrees and then sighs as he drops his head. “I always thought Nanami was the type that would survive one way or the other.”

“Sorry,” Ijichi catches you all by surprise.

“Why are you apologizing?” You quickly press in utter confusion.

“Nanami is dead so why are you still breathing is how that sounded to me, so—”

“Just how low is your opinion of me,” Satoru thankfully cuts him off. “Ijichi, you still have a monumental task to perform, right? Make sure to give it your all.”

“Yeah,” you pitch in to assure Ijichi. “Don’t put yourself down Ijichi. You’re one of us. Just as Nanami was.” You smile and the timid man nods in comprehension as he hides a shy smile by looking down.

“On the topic of Nanami,” Shoko interjects and drifts your attention to Ino walking over. “It seems like Ino has something to say to us.”

You pay close attention to what Ino has to input about your best friend and his mentor. Which doesn’t take long, but the topic still brings you down and reminds you that no matter what you saw, he should still be here. He deserved to live out his dream.

“Before you get swarmed by people,” Satoru pulls you back into the room after Ino, Shoko, and Ijichi left. “I'm going home tomorrow. I want you and Satori to come with me.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to, he wouldn't have said anything otherwise, but you can’t take this so lightly.

“You scared to sleep alone or what?” You tease him, but he doesn’t laugh because he knows what you’re doing.

“I’ll be there the entire time,” he tries to assure your fear. “And it’s not like they can push you around anymore. You’re stronger now. You’re an adult.”

He doesn’t get it, but why would he? He was coddled, he was their perfect son who could do nothing wrong, while you were their second child, a daughter who could never be good enough. He doesn’t get your reluctance even now as an adult.

“I’ll take Choso then,” you try to make it better for you.

“No,” he quickly puts you down and just makes your refusal to accept that much easier. “No boyfriend. It’s family business. They need to see that you’re as much part of the clan as you were then. And they need to see who will lead them after me. I won’t hide her, nor do I want her to fear them.”

“Then you take her alone,” you try to pull yourself out even if it means having Satori go without you. “I’m not going back.”

“You’ve been back,” he quickly brings up your rendezvous that happened 8 years ago.

“It was different,” you quickly counter. “Plus what if you have kids of your own down the line, what would be the point of presenting her to them.”

“That’s doubtful,” he argues. “But that’s beside the point, you won’t make her go alone will you?”

You glare at him and spat. “Don’t use her. Don’t you dare.”

“Y/N,” he cuts in. “It’s just one day. Just for an hour or two.”

“I have a date tomorrow,” you tell him. “I can’t. You can’t make me.” You raise your voice as your fear and anxiety start to heighten.

“You have a date all day?” He mutters in annoyance.

“Does it matter?” You hide the fact that it’s in the afternoon. “I said—”

“You can’t hide from them forever, it’s time to face them and make peace,” he tries his best to comfort you. “Show them they can’t hurt you anymore, and present your daughter, show them that they won’t take her away or hurt her because you and I won’t let them.”

Tears well in your eyes and you whisper. “You promise?” You sound like that scared little girl all over again. “Promise they won’t hurt her or—or me. Promise me Satoru.”

Your brother grabs your shoulders and nods. “I swear.”

You’ll never be comforted, but you give in to try and do what he said. To prove to them that you’re everything they thought you wouldn’t be. “Fine, but we leave no later than 1 pm, I have a date that day.”

Satoru scoffs in displeasure but he doesn’t say a thing about it. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

He pulls his hand away and opens the door for him to walk out first before letting you follow.

“You better be there in time Satoru or I will not go,” you scold him. “Do you understand?”

He snickers. “Yeah, yeah.”

Yeah, yeah, turns to an hour late, or two. For his sake that better not be true.

“Did you meet the new sorcerers yet?” Satoru swiftly changes the subject as you walk towards your students, child, and Choso, and he follows. “From what I’ve been told they’re an impressive lot.”

“Yeah,” you scoff with a smug smirk. “It seems Kenjaku really screwed himself over considering that they’re helping us now.”

Satoru then snorts and as you steal a glance at him you see a malicious look on his face. “I applaud his dedication.” He snickers like a child. “He chose to be screwed to have a child.”

“Eww,” you groan and push him away. “You’re so gross, why did you have to put that image in my head?”

“We’re adults, we can talk about that,” he remarks sassily.

“That’s not the problem here, I don’t want to hear about Kenjaku’s sex life,” you grumble. It’s like hearing about a parent's or a grandparent's affairs, it’s gross and unnecessary information.

Yet your brother doesn’t see it that way, he seems to find joy in the topic and claps loudly. “Yeah I get it, I mean he’s, like, what? Your father-in-law, slash rival, slash hijacker of your husband's corpse.”

“He’s just my rival,” you correct. “Choso and I aren't married.”

“When do you think he’ll propose? I mean, watch out he might get on his knee on your first date,” he teases. “Talk about a deal breaker.”

You roll your eyes over to him and press him a glare, letting him see that you have no protest or attempt to argue about what he thinks is a bad idea.

“Wait,” he slowly loses that amusement on his face and tone. “You wouldn’t say yes, would you? That’s ridiculous. You just met the guy—”

“I didn’t say anything,” you cut him off before you get pissed off. “And he wouldn’t. Just lay off him okay?”

You walk off as you approach who you’re looking for, causing him to come to a stop and watch with growing disdain as you fall by Choso’s side.

“So are you two ready to train?” You tell Kirara and Hakari. “I'm off sabbatical and!” You point at your boyfriend before he could even think of protesting. “No one can say a thing because it’s the doctor's orders, so I’m ready when you are.” You grin excitedly.

Kirara nevertheless lets out a deep sigh and looks at you with pity before they share a glance with Hakari, and then a nervous glance with Choso.

“What?” You probe and start to frown. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re going to take Choso shopping,” they let you know, and your joy turns to beaming excitement.

“No way, that sounds cool, do we leave now?”

Hakari shakes his head and throws his arm around Choso’s shoulders. “No, it’s just us three.”

You frown and immediately pass Choso a confused and soft pleading look so he can reconsider. “What? Come on.”

“We won’t be gone long,” Choso interjects now and holds eye contact without breaking under pressure to your batting lashes.

“But—”

“No, sorry Master,” Kirara quickly rebuttals. “Next time?”

You look at the three of them and narrow your gaze to a pointed glare as you try to figure out what they’re up to since you can’t tag along. But Kirara and Hakari have a poker face, and Hakari is especially good at those. And Choso…he’s good, he manages to keep their secret and instead approaches you to take you by the arms and assure you…he’s trying to assure you…tsk.

“We’ll be back soon, my love. They’re just going to help me pick something for tomorrow. I can bring you something, anything.”

You try to fight it, but the offer is too tempting, so you give in like a sucker. “Maybe some desserts, like Mochi. Or something like Caramel popcorn, or some Daifuku. Something sweet.”

Choso laughs softly and nods. “I’ll bring it all to you.”

You grow flustered and can’t help but lean in for a deep kiss as if he were a soldier off to war.

It’s just the first time you’ll be apart for a long period since you met. It feels weird not having him close now.

Which you have to admit sounds pretty ridiculous, but maybe it’s your honeymoon stage, or all the trauma you've both been through, or the fact that you’re so overly attached to each other, but you just don’t like the idea of being so far apart…

So maybe it’s just your own trauma and fears…

“Do you need money?” You ask considering he doesn’t have an income.

“No,” he quickly retorts. “The only good thing Noritoshi did before he revealed who he really was, was give us money. I haven’t used it so I have plenty of it. Don’t worry about me.”

You sigh and can’t help but smile teasingly as you wrap your arms around his neck and trace a circle on the back of his neck. “Okay, and if you get a message from me saying how much I miss you don’t come running. I just don’t want you to forget about me.”

Choso shoots you a pointed look and quickly rebuttals. “Impossible. I’ll try not to take long.”

You smirk and lean in to whisper in his ear. “If I send you a photo later make sure not to open it in public, okay?”

You hear Choso swallow thickly and feel his body stiffen with surprise. “All right,” he assures you nervously.

You pull back and flash him a teasing smirk before you press a peck on his lips. He doesn’t think that’s enough to send him off so he steals an open mouth kiss from you that you try to fuel with more desire, but he’s suddenly yanked back by Hakari.

“Neither of you are going off to war just yet, we need to head out.” He scolds you two, making you giggle and wave goodbye at Choso as he’s guided away without falter now.

When you return your attention to the rest of the room, the first thing you spot is Satoru wrapping the black scarf Satori made him.

“You’re like a little old lady now, Sugar,” he tells her sweetly as she’s beaming at him for not hiding the scarf she made with her own two hands. “Where’s my sweater and my gloves?”

Satori sighs. “Well, Belinda’s mom only taught me to knit a scarf. A sweater is too hard. And I couldn’t make you gloves because I don’t know how big your hands are.”

You laugh softly as you watch them from afar.

“I heard you need a sparring partner,” someone’s voice in your ear startles you.

“What?” You gasp and spin around to face your intruder with a glare.

“Oh, it’s you,” you mutter at Kashimo. “I know you’ve been dead, or in the state of limbo for like a thousand years, or whatever, but it’s not proper to creep up on women anymore. You know?”

He looks at you unamused and just simply presses you. “Do you want to do this or not?”

You really have nothing else to do since your students and your boyfriend are gone. Plus you really are curious about his fighting style.

“Fine,” you sigh, “but we’ll have to take this outside.”

He scoffs. “Obviously.”

You roll your eyes and start leading the way out. However, before you can leave the building you finally spot someone you’ve been waiting to meet, the lawyer!

Thus you depart from your set path and approach him with a smile, causing Kashimo to groan and wait for you with his arms crossed by the door.

“You must be Hiromi Higuruma,” you greet him sweetly. “I’ve been waiting to meet you since all I’ve heard from the students is how great you are. I’m Y/N Gojo.”

Higuruma holds your gaze as he narrows his dark eyes on you. He doesn’t smile, but you don’t expect him to, since Itadori says he’s like Nanami, serious, and hard to make smile.

“Yes,” he mutters nonchalantly. “I’ve heard about you. Aren’t you royalty or something?”

You share a small laugh and shake your head. “No, not at all.”

“Hm. But you are that killer right?” He doesn’t fear to spit out, making your smile fall right away. “The annihilator who has massacred innocent villages with her technique?”

Now all that curiosity to get to know him disappears. And all you’re left with is annoyance and cynical humor.

“You’re the one the older sorcerers call the fallen right? You’re her.”

He wants to push you? You won’t push back, nor will you crumble under the pressure of his judgment, no matter if he’s some lawyer, or whatever the hell he is. You’ll spit fire right out.

“What?” He asks with his eyebrows slowly furrowing as you start to laugh. “Is their suffering funny to you? Where’s your mercy?”

You smirk and then lean closer to him, making him look at you weirded out.

“What I did, I did for the good of my people,” you sneer coldly. “For the good of my children, and the future generation of sorcerers. Not that you would know of our suffering, or the way your beloved non-sorcerers treat my people and create the mess we have to kill for them. So if you’re looking for sympathy or a way to tear me down with “my crimes,”, I wouldn’t waste my breath if I were you. I believe in justice, I got justice. And I’ll do it again.”

Higuruma deepens his glare, but you just offer him a sweet smile and a sweet goodbye.

“Have a good day. I’ll see you around.” You wave at him and at last, join Kashimo outside.

“Are you ready, Gojo?” Kashimo finally gets to ask. “The first one to step out of the circle...” He pauses and points at the drawn-up circle around the both of you. “Loses.”

You stretch your arms and huff. “Sounds simple enough. And just so you know I won’t pull back.” You let him know.

He snickers as he swings his staff around in his hand to then point one end at you. “I never expected you to. And please don’t give into your humanity if you ever manage to hit me. Fight like a sorcerer or don’t fight at all.”

Oh well, someone's suicidal.

Nevertheless, you flash him a smirk before you drag one foot back and position yourself in a fighting stance that works best when using all your elements—Which is something you will do in this case, even if it is merely training.

However, from one moment to the next but without actually surprising you, Kashimo makes the first move by shooting a lightning strike at you from his staff.

It moves fast as expected, but you manage to actually duck it by swiftly spinning below it. When it gets past you you notice he can’t redirect it back to you, so it hits the tree behind you and cracks it in half.

“My turn,” you mutter before you pull water down from the sky, and manipulate the wind to spin around you as you quickly stand back to your given height. You then mix the water with the spinning air and shoot it out towards him like a fast-twisting cyclone.

Yet he swings his staff so fast that he breaks the cyclone in half and causes it to splash all around him. He then tries to overwhelm you and lunges forward to now shoot lightning from himself rather than the staff.

But from what Hakari told you he doesn’t have an unlimited amount of strikes, he needs to charge his lightning, so after this, he’ll continue with hand-to-hand.

Hm.

Fine, then you won’t duck it this time. Instead, you stomp your foot on the ground, causing a thick body of water to explode out all around you. You then flow the water up like a growing wave with elegant movements of your arms and let the lightning strike hit the water, which slows it down and starts to break it down. So before it can get out you shove the wave toward him.

Kashimo is clever though, he jumps high and flips over the wave. However, you can redirect your elements, you don’t have a limit, so as you spin around him to be across from him again and avoid being hit, you twist the water back around and manage to hit him right on his chest so hard he’s thrown back.

Yet as he gets close to the edge of the circle he manages to slide to a stop inches away from the line.

“How fun,” he mumbles smugly and doesn’t miss a beat, he moves towards you, but you have the advantage and the luck of not holding back, so you swing your arm and hit him with a wind slash.

Nonetheless, that’s what he needed to get close. Even if the slash hurts his torso, he gets close enough to surprise you with an uppercut to your jaw using his elbow. He then counters by swinging his staff over your knees, causing you to be shot with blinding pain as they both break. When he sees you hit the ground he pulls his staff back in an attempt to throw you out of the circle.

However, you ignore the pain and bask your arm with fire before you smash your fist into the ground and seep the flames in the dirt. You then quickly make the earth and fire burst out like a beautiful natural explosion that throws Kashimo back and makes him laugh when he hits the ground.

Because of course, he’s laughing after being hit, he’s an adrenaline junky.

“I charged up my lightning before just for you, Gojo” he shares as he pushes himself up and wipes blood off his lips and nose.

You flash him a smile as you heal your knees and slowly stand up. “Aw, you were thinking of me? How cute.” You taunt and make the dragon mark glow brightly as you prepare to attack, while lightning sparks around his hand before he points two fingers at you and shoots his beautiful lightning.

You’re prepared though and reveal a technique. “Elemental manipulation; Fire dragon.”

A large snakelike dragon made of red-orange flames blasts out of both of your palms and only grows large enough to counter Kashimo’s attack. It could grow bigger, but for now, you make it small to just blast fire out at the lightning bolt.

However, the lightning travels past the cursed energy killing flames, and hits the fire dragon through its mouth. But instead of traveling through the body of flames like Kashimo thought, the fire dragon does its job and kills the lightning strike. Instead of disintegrating the bolt like you thought, the lightning strike kills the fire dragon as well. They cancel each other out, causing a bright and beautiful explosion of fire and electricity that blinds you and Kashimo with its mix of bright blue and orange hues before the incredible force throws you both back.

Yet not enough to get either of you out of the fight. You both get close, triggering you to come up with a last move to determine the winner once and for all.

So without wasting any more time, you use the wind and shoot up to float in the sky, and Kashimo hits the end of his staff on the ground and shoots a bolt of lightning into the sky.

You proceed to manipulate large bodies of wind to pick up in speed and gather around you, causing the entire sky to darken and rumble as if an eerie disastrous storm approached. While Kashimo’s one bolt turns to a storm of lightning that crackles and shows flashes of your intimidating figure before you land on the ground so hard that a crater forms under your feet.

That same wind you aggravated flows down and starts forming a large orb over your fingertips pointed to the sky. Water you had so carelessly left abandoned rises off the ground and mixes with the orb made of wind. And to avoid causing any more destruction you avoid bringing the other elements into this, you leave this to the work of the gusting wind, and the surging water.

Thus to finally end this training spar, you blast the orb at Kashimo, and he shoots his lightning at you at the same time. And to try and avoid being hit you both try to swerve, but both of your attacks are too grande, from one moment to another you’re both hit and thrown back several feet.

One of you is drenched and coughing out the water invading their lungs as they heal all the deep cuts they suffered because of the wind's sharp gusts. While the other is basically seizing because of the lightning circulating their body. But one thing neither of you are, is upset. Once the lightning passes out of your body and you’re catching your breath on the ground, you’re the one that laughs now, and Kashimo, well he doesn’t regret wasting his time training with you.

Maybe he isn’t as bad as you painted him out to be. Is he still annoying? Yes, but…you had fun using your elements, it’s usually so hard displaying them at the level you used them today because of how destructive they can be to your surroundings and a person. But you didn’t need to hold back with him, so it was fun.

“I had fun,” you share as you get up to your feet.

Kashimo was already walking away, but stops and faces you. When you approach him you flash him a smile.

“Thanks.”

His eyebrows furrow and he shoots you a pointed look, but he sighs deeply and interjects. “You didn’t hold back…I see now where your student learned his determination and need to give his all.”

You grin and take that as a compliment. “Let’s do it again,” you suggest and walk away with your phone in hand, not realizing everyone inside the building was watching until you get close to the windows.

“Nice fight!” Takaba yells loud enough so you can hear him from inside.

You offer him a soft smile before you beam as you spot Satori on Satoru’s shoulders clapping proudly.

However, before you can acknowledge anyone else your attention is stolen by Choso’s message on your phone.

Choso: The sky got dark and we heard loud explosions. Your students refuse to turn back, is everything okay?

What a cute worrywart.

You: Just training with Kashimo, don't worry lover ;)

You send that first and then smirk as you follow up with something flirty.

You: Did you know lips could get lonely? I didn’t until now as my lips miss yours.

He takes a while to respond, but you know it’s not on purpose, you did your job. You got him flustered.

Choso: I’ll be back soon. Let’s hope this ache doesn’t kill us both.

You giggle and feel your heart skip a beat as you grow flustered too.

Choso: Oh and Kashimo?

He sends after, but you don’t feed his jealousy, you simply brush him off.

You: xoxo

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

It’s weird being back in your childhood home, especially side by side with your brother. It’s like stepping back in time when all you were was the second child, the scared daughter, and nothing more.

Sure you came back before, when you were 20, but that was different, and you were still young and stupid then. You’re old now, mature, stronger, a mother, a widow, and reunited with Satoru.

Not like it all actually matters when you come face-to-face with your father though. Because the moment your eyes met his, you felt like his fearful and immature daughter all over again. You can’t look him in the eyes even if you’re the one who has the high ground as you stand by Satoru.

“You have come back home to us, Clan Leader,” your father's voice brings you chills as he talks to Satoru.

“Hm.” Satoru hums and makes no effort to make this meeting professional. He doesn’t sit in his designated seat, or care to pay mind to the rest of his clan bowing to him. He’s not even wearing traditional clothing like Satori and you—But you blame that on his laziness rather than lack of care since you won’t be here long at all, and he and Shoko are taking Satori to the amusement park.

“All thanks to my sister,” Satoru lies. It was a group effort. “She basically died to get me back.”

You don’t give away your annoyance or the fact that he wasn’t telling the truth, you keep your composure and slowly raise your eyes off the ground to face them all, every single clan member gathered in this room. Not with that timidness you would face your clan before, there’s no innocent gleam in your eyes anymore. Your fire-kissed eyes basically set the room ablaze with your cold sinister glare—Even when you look at your father who still intimidates you.

“But it’s not why she’s here,” Satoru adds with amusement. “As some of you may know, she was never disowned. So this isn’t some announcement to lift a ban that was never on her, it’s more…to say that she will be an active member once again because of my chosen heir. Satori Geto. Her daughter.”

Satori balls the material of your sleeve as she grips onto your arm and hears the whispers spread around the room as some interest are sparked at the sound of the name Geto. While others look disgusted that Satoru points at a girl.

“Does the girl have cursed spirit manipulation?” Your father asks for himself and the other curious members.

“No,” Satoru brings their hopes down and makes your father immediately uninterested in his granddaughter.

“But she’s still a Gojo,” Satoru adds. “And since I don’t have children of my own, she’s the one set to inherit my title and everything that comes with it, as well as everything I own.” He smirks and rubs Satori’s head. “And it’s not up for discussion either if you have a problem,” his voice suddenly grows serious. “Deal with it, or if you’re feeling ballsy come face me. Got it?”

As improper as he just shared that, people still wouldn’t dare oppose him. Not because he’s their leader, but because of the power and strength he wields.

“All right everyone may go,” Satoru sounds relieved to end this meeting even if he didn’t address the very big fact that the Zen’ins are extinct except for Fushiguro and Maki, which bears the question, which other strong sorcerer clan will take their spot in the big three. You know it’s not really up to him, but he’s the clan leader and he still needs to address that problem and so many others, so the meeting was far from over.

Then again, whereas Satoru loves teaching and guiding the next generation of sorcerers, he doesn’t have much patience for all this. He relishes in the power the family name brings him, the money, in his technique, and how strong he is, but he never cared for his title as clan leader. Which leads you to wonder what you would have been like as a clan leader if you were given the privilege to have that title, and your clan weren't misogynist.

You unexpectedly turned out like the rest of them and don’t harbor any love for non-sorcerers, you’re more proper than Satoru is, you’re more responsible, and don’t think being a leader is a burden. You’re everything your parents wanted in their heir.

“Where should we take Satori first?” Satoru asks with excitement.

You peel your eyes away from your father's retreating figure and look at them with a feigned smile. “Why don’t you two go ahead I want to go see something else first.”

Satoru is about to tag along but he manages to detect the trouble behind your eyes and lets you have your time. “All right, but we’ll catch up. Come on, Sugar, I’ll show you some real cool stuff.”

Satori doesn’t argue, she leaves you to watch her and her Tiger cursed-spirit follow at Satoru’s side with excitement. It’s only once they’re both out of view that you walk over to your room.

You don’t expect it to still hold what you left behind. Your room is probably empty and everything you once owned was probably burnt by your parents or cousins, but you just have that urge to at least get near that door. It won’t take away the trauma you endured, but you’ve gotten this far, it’ll heal some of that pain your young self was left with.

Nevertheless, when you do reach that door you bring yourself to open it and find that you're walking into the past. Everything is like how you left it, it’s all untouched and dustless.

It makes you cry. You didn’t want to, but you can’t stop the tears, or that ache from turning to sharp paralyzing pain even if you had let go of that young girl long ago. And even if it’s all unrecognizable to your eyes, seeing everything as if you never left hurts a part of your soul.

It’s why after standing in silence for a few minutes you need to at least hear the voice of the man you love since you couldn’t bring him to provide you with the comfort you needed.

“Hello?” Choso answers after the first ring. “Y/N is everything okay?” He asks right away since he knew you didn't want to come after he let you rant last night about Satoru basically forcing you.

“I’m fine,” you whisper before you throw yourself on your bed and continue. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

There’s a moment of silence, but you know it’s because Choso is blushing.

“I want to show you something,” you fill the silence and pull your phone away from your ear to click on the FaceTime button. And when the screen clears all you see is the inside of your boyfriend's ear. “Cho,” you chuckle. “Pull your phone back.”

“Oh,” he breathes out bashfully and then lets you see his handsome face.

“Look,” you squeal and show him a picture of you and Satoru when you were 6 and he was 7. “It’s little me and my brother. We were wearing coordinating Yukata’s.”

Choso smiles softly before he squints his eyes to look at the picture better. “I forget the eye color you have now isn’t the one you were born with.”

You turn the photo to look at yourself and muster a grin. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? I tend to forget now too. But anyway,” you breathe out and put the photo away to give him all your attention. “I came to my room and it’s the exact way I left it. There’s no dust or anything. The clothes are the only thing that’s gone, but everything else is the same; even my beloved Legolas posters.” You smirk proudly and admire your first-ever fictional husband.

“Hm…was it your brother?” Choso chooses to ignore you fawning over fictional men to ask what you were wondering too.

But, you have to believe it’s your brother. You don’t want to get your hopes up and think it was your mother.

“I think so,” you give your opinion quieter and with your smirk falling to a frown. “But it’s still strange. It’s been 11 years.”

“Yeah but you didn't stop being his sister,” he says softly.

“Yeah…I suppose.”

Choso frowns through the screen as he sees your deep frown and conflicted gaze, wishing from where he is that he could be there to hug you like he knew you wanted.

“Where are you?” You change the subject to avoid ending the call. “Are you still at home?”

“Oh, no, I came with Yuji. I’ll be here until it’s time for our date.”

You smile giddly and probe. “So you’re going to pick me up then?”

Choso smiles sweetly. “Of course, I won’t be the one driving because I can’t, but yes I will pick you up.”

Your heart swoons and before you can respond with something sweet two of your cousins walk into your room with glares they think are intimidating.

“Oh, Choso, honey, I’ll text you when I leave this place, all right?”

He doesn’t need to be with you to know that something unwelcoming appeared because he knows you in more ways than one. He sees the way your eyes focus past the phone and hardens to a glare.

“Is everything all right?” He asks with concern.

You flash him an assuring smile and nod. “Yep. Everything is all good. I’ll see you later.”

Before he can respond you hang up the phone and swing your legs over the bed to stand on your feet and look at your cousins with a smirk and a pointed glare.

“It’s stupid for you to show up here again,” one of them spats while they ball their fist.

You choose to be a tease and count them to point out the missing triplet. “You’re an incomplete set, what happened to the third?”

The second one seethes and steps forward with their jaw clenched.

“You’re a kinslayer,” the first one snaps at you as if that’s supposed to offend you.

“That term is outdated by a couple of centuries, don't you think?” You taunt them and strut forward to be close to them.

“You think you’re funny?” The second one rebuttals and takes a step towards you. “You killed our brother—”

“He came at me first,” you cut him off smugly and omit the rest of the story because it’s too long for right now. “I was in front of the fireplace and he attacked. I countered, but not because it was self-defense…” you trail off and snicker. “It was justice. The friends with him played with fire and got burnt.”

The first one grinds his teeth and gets his fist ready to try and attack.

Which is so adorable that he thinks he can hurt you.

However, he’s interrupted by your brother. “Do we have a problem here Akeno, Atsushi?”

Both men immediately back down, and that only makes your smirk that more taunting.

“No,” The first one, Akeno, mutters as he pierces his glare at you. “Clan leader.”

Atsushi shoots you one last rageful glare before he follows his brother out of your room.

“They weren't at the welcoming meeting,” you interject casually when it’s just Satoru, Satori, and you. “Will you punish them, “oh great leader”?” You mock him and walk back to sit on the edge of your bed

“No,” Satoru lets out with a sigh as he walks in.

“Is this your room mommy?” Satori asks with excited wonder.

“Yeah, take whatever you want,” you tell her and let her snoop around your room to get to know who you were when you were a teenager.

“What was that about?” Satoru refers to your cousins as he stops to admire the pictures on a picture board that hands on your dresser.

“Oh you know.” you shrug nonchalantly. “They’re mad because I broke their set.”

And he knew that.

“Was this…you?” You refer to your room.

“Nope,” he reveals causally, causing you to grow rigid and shocked. “It was mother. She refuses to clean out your room.”

Oh….

Oh.

This isn’t good for your already aching heart. This only perplexes you.

“Why?” You let out in a broken whisper.

Satoru looks back at you as if the answer isn’t obvious. But it isn’t to you. You thought she hated you for being weak, and for who you turned out to be.

Why doesn’t she hate you?

Hating her would be so much easier if she did.

“Where is Mother?” You ask curiously. “She wasn’t at the gathering either.

Satoru lets out a deep breath before he turns to face you. “Mother is sick. She’s been sick for a while now, but after I was imprisoned she got worse.”

You push yourself off the bed and can’t help but look at him with a pointed glare. “She’s sick? Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

Satoru rests his hands on his hips and shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

You part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out in your confusion. It’s like a part of you is upset that he didn’t at least mention something, as well as worried for the mother who bore you. But then another part of you can’t gather that much will to care either.

“She’s my mother,” you whisper and begin to gnaw on the tip of your nail. “Can…” you shouldn't, but you also want to. “Can we go see her?”

Satoru hesitates as he waits for you to change your mind, but when your head doesn’t rise to take your request back, he gives in. “Yeah, she’s here.”

You let out a deep sigh and nod slowly before you look over at your daughter snooping through photos on your vanity. “Come on Satori, let's go.”

The girl swipes something from the vanity and then runs after Satoru and you as you walk out of your room.

“Look, Mom,” she whispers excitedly and shows you the picture she snatched of Suguru and you when your relationship was very new—“it’s you and Daddy. And you had pink hair.”

You genuinely smile at the picture and nod before you give her some insight. “Yeah, we took that on his birthday. He came to meet my parents.”

Satori looks at the picture in complete awe for a long time before she carefully tucks it into her pocket.

“Do you like the grounds so far, Chipmunk,” you probe. “It’s changed a lot since I lived here, but this was still my home. Do you like it?”

“Of course, there's been remodeling,” Satoru cuts in teasingly. “A couple of years ago a section of our house burnt down.”

You smirk at the mention and press your daughter.

“Well.” She shrugs. “It’s nice, it’s very big, but guess what! Your dad has the same eye color you once had.”

You frown but hide your discomfort. “You met my father?” You ask and burn your glare on the back of Satoru’s neck so he knows you’re displeased.

“Yeah, he was nice to me even if he looks very mean.”

“She met father?” You ask your brother now in an agitated way that Satoru detects, but he does not take you seriously.

“Yeah, we ran into him, he didn’t chat much so don’t worry,” he brushes you off, even if him not telling you before is pretty upsetting.

However, since Satori is here you don’t pick a fight, you just exhale deeply and let it go. Besides, you then arrive at your mother's quarters.

“We’re going to meet grandma,” Satoru announces excitedly. “Is. That. Okay?” He pronouncates each word because he thinks he knows what’s grinding your gears, but he doesn’t have a damn clue and it only works to piss you off.

“Of course,” you sass him between gritted teeth. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn’t.”

“Hm. Just making sure.” He flashes you a smile and then walks in the room so casually, but you can’t match the beat of his drums, you stay frozen past the entrance and dig your nails in the palm of your hands as you try hard not to storm off this property.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Satori’s sweet voice snaps you from your stupor.

Through all the haze in your head, you didn’t even notice she had stayed behind with you rather than following her ever-so-beloved uncle.

“Oh,” you breathe out and assure her with a smile. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She’s like a breath of fresh air much needed in this suffocating place that lets you push yourself just enough to step inside but stop nonetheless behind a delicate wooden divider that blocks the sight of your mother, and of you to her. You only hear her voice as she speaks to Satoru.

“I was so worried I’d never see you again,” she’s basically weeping to him.

“Do you really think they could beat me?” Satoru tries to comfort her through the pain that’s so easily detectable in her voice.

“Y/N saved me,” he still omits the truth. “That’s why I'm here.”

“Y/N?” She asks, but you can’t make out what she feels this time, but you also don’t want to know. “Where is she?”

“She’s here. She’s in this room, but first, Mother, I want you to meet someone,” he says excitedly before you hear his footsteps approach.

“Will you come with me?” Satori asks as she knows what’s about to come.

But you can’t face your mother yet. You only faced your father because he was there amongst the ones welcoming Satoru, but your mother is different and you haven’t been able to build the strength to face her yet.

“Your uncle will be with you,” you hate to turn your daughter down. “I just need a minute.”

Satori pouts, but she doesn’t argue, she doesn’t understand why you’re acting so strange either, but she doesn’t question you. When Satoru appears she just easily finds comfort by holding his hand instead before he walks her behind the divider to show her off to your mother.

A mother you can’t see the face of when Satoru returns to her with a little girl holding his hand, a mother's breath you hear hitch when you hear their footsteps halt by her bed, and a mother you hear move before she asks a question with a gentle laugh.

“Is she yours?”

“No,” Satoru chuckles. “She’s y/n’s.” He announces and you hear silence from her end.

“Mother, this is Satori Geto, y/n’s daughter.” Your brother adds, and you hold your breath to hear her reaction better.

Yet there’s not a thing uttered until you hear Satori break the silence very shyly. “Hello.”

“Satori,” Satoru adds. “This is Junko. Your grandmother.”

“Your name means enlightenment,” you finally hear your mother address your daughter. “Just like Satoru’s. Actually, you have very similar names.”

“My Daddy chose my name,” Satori loves to share that piece of information.

“Hm, well he chose a perfect name,” your mother says…sweetly. You hear the honey oozing off her voice.

“Thank you,” Satori whispers.

Your mother then musters a laugh before she reminisces. “Your mother used to cling onto your uncle just like that when she was a little girl too, you know?”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile but you don’t let it spread, you just start to gnaw on your nails again.

“Really? Was she my age?”

“How old are you?” Your mother asks.

“6,” Satori reveals with a bit more confidence now.

“Ah, then yes. Do you have a brother or a sister, little Satori?” Your mother is curious to know since Satori is the only one she sees before her

“Hm, I had two older sisters, but they’re dead,” Satori shares so casually, making your mother not respond right away this time. She’s quiet for a moment that lets Satoru finally excuse themselves.

“Well, I think we should get going. Y/N and I have things to do. I just came to let you all know I’m back and introduce this one to the clan.” He’s so dismissive and not at all as polite as he should be.

Not like you actually care when it comes to your parents, he just could have dismissed himself a lot differently.

“Oh I thought you would stay longer,” your mother interjects. “But I suppose duties call. It was an honor meeting you little Satori, I hope you come again. Perhaps I can have something to give you then.”

And she’ll love that.

“Really?” Satori asks as you expected, excited. You can practically hear her grinning.

“Yes. Just come again.”

“I will!” Satori exclaims. “Goodbye, Grandmother!”

“Goodbye, Satori,” you hear your mother's voice quiver now over the simplicity of Satori’s last word. And you know that if you could see her you would probably see her eyes get teary, but you stay behind the divider and wait for your daughter to come running to you.

“Mother did you hear I’m going to get a present!” Satori shares enthusiastically, so it makes it hard to keep a frown on your face.

“I heard. Are you ready to go now?”

“Are you?” Satoru interjects as he walks over to join you and your daughter.

“I,” you mutter and pause to look at the path that leads to your mother and heavily consider just walking away without seeing her. It would cause your heart less stress, but…you’re already here, and…she’s sick. If death comes for her tomorrow and you went on without confronting her after 11 years, then you would regret it. So you face Satoru with the choice to waste a few more minutes in this damned place.

“Just wait outside, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Satoru nods in comprehension and walks off with Satori, leaving you still behind that divider as you hesitate some more. Once again you want to just storm off, every cell in your body is yelling at you just to go, but you can’t, you can’t just go. So you take a few steps forward just to the point you’re able to peek past the divider and see her.

She’s much older, of course, her hair is peppered with gray spurts, but her wrinkles are still not a prominent thing. She could pass by as younger than she is if her exhaustion and illness didn't leave a clear mark on her face.

“She has your smile,” she breaks the silence without needing you to fully step out before her. “And your timidness.”

You clench your fists and exhale deeply before you step out past the divider and present yourself to her after a decade.

“Other than that she looks like her father.”

How is it so easy for her to speak to you? You can’t build up the courage or think of a word. You can barely look at her.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she continues to try and get you to speak. “Losing not only one child, but two is a devastation a mother should never bear.”

You break away from the spot you stay glued to and slowly approach her. “Suguru and I adopted them,” you let her know. “But no matter the difference in our blood, and the name on paper, I still loved them as if they were my own.”

Your mother hums and when you get close to her side she’s able to see the change in your eyes. She’s able to see that the fearful and soft girl she once knew was gone and replaced by a stronger, more confident woman with even more radiating beauty that looks almost majestic.

“Y/N,” she whispers with tears rolling down her cheeks.

You push yourself forward and sit by her side which seems to let her think she’s allowed to touch you, but the moment her cold fingers make contact with your warm flesh, you slowly drag your hand away.

“Y/N,” her voice breaks as her eyes gleam brightly with tears. “Please forgive me,” she says since she can read your urgency to leave on your body. “I’m sorry.”

Her words hit you like a piercing blade to the heart, they hurt every single muscle and bring tears to your eyes. For so long that’s all you wanted to hear. You wished to hear her admit that the way they treated you was wrong, that she was wrong for letting them treat you the way they did. After all, you were her only daughter, her child, but now that you heard it coming out of her lips you can’t handle the weight.

It doesn’t matter that she’s sick, or that she’s weeping and pleading. You can’t forgive her either, you can’t love her like you once used to. She turned a blind eye and you got hurt because of it.

“I’ll let you see her,” is all you can gather to say. “I’ll let her come with Satoru if he wants to bring her, but I can’t say what you want to hear. No matter how many times I come back.”

You see her heart break at your words, her eyes express that deep ache, but you can't bring yourself to forgive her. You can work towards not hating her, but that’s the best you can do.

“I am sorry,” she whispers.

You swallow thickly and wipe away the tear that escaped past your eye. “I know,” you mumble before you get up and walk out.

“Let’s leave,” you say in a rush, and Satoru doesn’t protest or prolong your stay this time. You finally leave the damned place and only once you've made some distance between you and your family home can you rest your shoulders and let your racing heart ease to normal.

And it’s also after you’ve gotten away that you finally text Choso.

You to Choso: I’m finally out and I’m on my way home.

As expected Choso responds right away.

Choso: How was it? Are you okay?

You could ramble about your experience but all you want is to forget for now, so you deflect.

You: I’m fine, it was exhausting, but we can talk about it later.

Choso: We can have our date another day then I don’t want to overwhelm you.

You smile at his consideration, but just picturing him in formal attire, and playing out how your date could go is what kept you going today.

You: No, no! Please no. I’m looking forward to it, it’s what kept me going.

You: We’re having our date. You’re going to pick me up and we’re going to have the night of our lives today.

Choso: Okay. Good.

You grin and sigh with bliss.

You: I love you.

You just need to hear it—or read it, whatever.

Choso: I love you too. So much.

Choso: Can you talk? I want to hear your voice now.

You: Of course, I can :) but I won’t. It’ll make yearning for each other so much more intense don’t you think?

Choso: Are you teasing me?

You giggle at your phone and prove that it works because this interaction only makes your ache for him that much more intense.

You: Maybe but now you can recall my sweet voice from the moments I would talk in your ear. And picture my soft lips moving with each word.

You smirk and only a couple seconds pass before you see the three little dots as he writes his response, and then quickly sends it.

Choso: Maybe I should go home and we can go from there? I miss you.

You: Nope you’re picking me up remember? Xoxo.

——

*LATER*

It’s been a while since you’ve been on a date. With the last time being with your husband, a man you had known for a decade.

There were always date jitters even after 11 years because it was always exciting going on dates with Suguru, that never left, but this time it's different because it’s with someone else. This date with Choso is the first, and even if you’ve already skipped ahead and had sex, multiple times, there’s always something so intimate about a date. About it just being the two of you, that's especially more intensified on the first date.

You honestly feel nauseous. But that’s maybe because you have yet to see him. Knowing he should pick you up soon has your anticipation all heightened.

You just need to breathe.

Breathe.

Nevertheless, the doorbell rings and you get startled, but super giddy too.

“Wish me luck worm,” you speak to your worm cursed spirit, who just tilts its head before it watches you leave with your desired shoes in hand.

Once you reach the door you drop the shoes and slide them on before you smooth out your long black skirt and open the door to see him, your beloved Choso at the doorstep with his dark brown hair down, a bouquet of red tulips in his hands to greet you with, and a sweet smile on his face to ease your nerves.

“Choso,” you greet with endearment.

“Y/N,” his breath hitches, and his kind brown eyes widen, before his eyes roam your body as he takes in every inch of you in your expensive beautiful black two-piece set to engrave the sight of you in his memory. “These are for you.”

You take the bouquet from his hands but instead of walking in to put them in a vase, you jump on him and trap him in a loving embrace he returns with no hesitation.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers in your ear. “I’m lucky to have you as my date.”

You seep in his fresh and very outdoorsy musk through your nose before you giggle and pull away, but press your hands on his chest and check him out from head to toe, seeing at that instant that he's wearing new boots, and a new everything actually. He looks quite expensive which lets you know he had help picking out what he’s wearing.

“And you look very handsome,” you compliment him as you fix the collar of his coat. “I just might not let you out of my sight tonight or else they’ll steal you from right under me.”

Choso’s cheeks grow a light shade of red and his eyes flicker down, but they quickly find themselves back on you to continue admiring you like one would a beautiful painting or the moon.

“Let me just put these in some water and then we can go okay?” You let him know before you rush inside to do what you said and return to him to finally head out.

On your way to the restaurant, you find yourselves both nervous and just stealing glances at each other, or holding lingering stares that show both of your desires for one another, and your eagerness to fast forward this evening and pounce on each other to start your most intimate act.

You unknowingly both dreamed of just having a round of sex in the car, but neither of you spoke it into existence because you had a chauffeur. So all you comforted yourselves with was holding each other's hand and resting your head on his shoulder to take in his presence after the chaotic morning you had.

“Is this what you went to buy yesterday?” You finally ask him considering he was very guarded about everything last night when you asked.

“Yes,” Choso says with a soft laugh. “Kirara and Hakari helped me pick out a couple of things, and ultimately this outfit. Yuji tried, but uh it seems he’s a bit clueless about how to dress, or at least that’s what Hakari and Kirara told him.”

You chuckle. “Sounds like them.”

“You smell good by the way,” Choso murmurs against the top of your head before he presses a gentle kiss on it. “That’s my favorite fragrance of yours.”

You smile softly and thank him by pressing a kiss on his knuckles.

“We should take a picture together,” you suggest, and don’t wait to take your phone out and take a couple of pictures before you grab his phone and attempt to take more on his to give his camera roll some company.

However, before you can go to the camera app you come to a halt when you see that he has a picture of Itadori and you on his lock screen. Only it’s a very terribly off-guard one of Itadori, and your picture is one of you sleeping. And he doesn't have them as one single picture, no, he collaged them on a grid, which…ugh!

Your heart can’t take it, he's too cute.

“Oh baby,” you coo at his attempts. “Did you do this?”

Choso clears his throat. “Yeah, I didn’t have a picture of Itadori and you so I tried to make it work.”

Your heart leaps and as cute as this attempt is, you first take a picture of him and you together—Which turned out great might you add. You’re smiling and resting your cheek on his shoulder, and he’s not looking at the camera, he was captured looking at you, but his smile is soft and his eyes reflect his love for you.

“This,” you roll out and help him format his phone. “Picture of us will be your lock screen. And this…” you trail off and go on your phone to send a picture to his phone that arrives right away.

“This,” you continue and save an off-guard picture you took of Itadori and him laughing with each other just the other day. “Is your home screen.”

“I like that photo,” he says softly. “It’s better than mine.” He laughs at himself.

“I intended to send it yesterday but I completely forgot. It’ll work as a placeholder until we take a good picture of him and you.” You tell him before you grin and shake his arm. “I got it! A family portrait in matching winter sweaters. That would be so cute.”

Choso chuckles softly and goes shy. “It sounds great if he wants that.”

You tilt your head and look at him with a comforting gaze. “Cho, I’m sure he will. You’re his brother. He’s starting to appreciate that. I see it.”

Choso looks down at your hand caressing his forearm and sighs softly. “Step by step, right? That’s what you said.”

“Yeah.” You assure him before you lean in and press a kiss on his lips. “I guess we won’t be having our first kiss at the end of the date.”

“That’s a ridiculous courtesy anyway,” he plays along with you. “How could any man look at someone so beautiful and not kiss them? It’d be like dying of dehydration.”

Your face goes ablaze and you giggle before you can't hold back anymore, you make out with him and fill your hunger with just the taste of his lips. You ache for more but you somehow manage to think clearly and limit yourself to just kissing until you finally arrive at the restaurant. Which thankfully has your favorite secluded booth open.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Choso interjects almost hesitantly. “How was your visit to your family home?”

You share a nervous laugh and shake your head. “How about I tell you tomorrow?” You ask as you look up from the menu. “I don’t want to spoil the night.”

Choso’s breath hitches and he immediately expresses his guilt and regret for trying to bring it up. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You reach over and take his hand. “Don’t apologize it’s okay. It really is.” You smile at him before you grin at the menu. “Now, why don’t we focus on what we should eat? There’s so much for you to try, but there’s just so little appetite, hm,” you tap your chin and then point out to different things he should try before you close your eyes and try to picture your perfect meal.

“What are you doing?” Choso gets curious.

“Picturing my food. Should I get some appetizers before my ramen? And what about dessert?” You mumble and then open your eyes to look at him wide-eyed and eager. “We should get some ice cream after.”

“You’ll get cold,” he points out.

You click your tongue in agreement so you then come up with something else that’s desirable. “Boba? Or a coffee?”

Choso laughs at you but you don’t find humor in your indecisiveness, you’re being serious.

“Cho, I’m serious.”

“We can get whatever you want,” he offers no help whatsoever.

“Y/N,” your name is called out in a sing-song voice. And when you look over you see the owner of the restaurant.

“Mrs Kaho,” you greet.

She sets down a bottle of sake that you didn’t order and looks around the booth before she probes. “Where’s my favorite customer.”

You smile at her. “She’s spending some quality time with her uncle and her aunt today.”

“Aww well, you bring her next time.” She says and looks at Choso now with a faint taunting smile. “No Nanami today? Did he finally find a girlfriend? If not I have a niece who just got divorced. They’d compliment each other.”

You choose not to dive into the truth tonight so you have to lie for your sake and the sake of this night. “No Nanami today. But I brought my boyfriend, Choso.”

Mrs. Kaho narrows her eyes on said man and then grins before pouring him the sake she had just brought. “You’re a handsome fella.”

Choso’s cheeks flush and he fiddles with his thumbs. “Oh thank you.”

“It’s good y/n found you, she’s too young and beautiful to be a widow,” she doesn’t hold back from saying. “I feared she’d end up alone all her life.”

You laugh as you shake your head at her daring comment, while Choso smiles at you as he gives her a response. “I’m glad I found her too.”

Mrs Kaho pats his shoulder with praise and finally takes your orders before leaving right away since she said if she stayed any longer she would end up stealing your night by talking with you.

Once you’re alone though the space between Choso and you is quiet. It’s a comfortable silence, and one you almost want to keep because it gives you time to just simply admire him under the soft light dangling over the table, and see the way his brown eyes reflect the sun's hue without needing to be out. They’re so bright and rich, so perfectly brown. And his hair! It looks so soft as it drapes over his neck. And his lips are a paleish pink, thin, but almost always pouty. It makes you want to just kiss it away, they’re so inviting and soft. His skin is soft too and he does nothing specific to have it that way.

He looks nonchalant, but not to you, not anymore, you see every emotion rushing through behind his eyes, in the small and simple movements of his body. Which probably sounds crazy to anyone who doesn’t know you, you probably sound obsessive considering how long you’ve been dating, but after those 19 days of hiding out, living with an ancient sorcerer underground, and now living together, how could you not know how to read him? Or memorize every single detail on his pale face.

If someone asked you to paint him, you would be able to do it blind.

Which…is terrifying. Loving him so deeply scares you because of your current circumstances. You don’t want to lose him because that will truly crush you, but with each running second you are glad to have the privilege to love him too.

“Y/N,” Choso calls out and catches you staring when he drifts his eyes to you.

“Hm?” You probe softly as he swallows back nervously as if he caught you admiring for the first time.

“I…I have something for you,” he shares and reaches in his coat pocket to pull out a small red box decorated with a white bow, and a tag that you see has your name on it when he hands it to you.

“A present?” You quiere giddly. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to get you something,” he rebuttals and watches you with his breath caught in his throat. “I wanted you to own something that I gave you since I had yet to give you something.”

You smile at him with awe and can't argue with that so you give into your curiosity and undo the white bow. Before you can open it you flash him a grin and then close your eyes as you pull the lid off to not spoil the surprise right away. Once nothing else is blocking what he gifted you, you open your eyes, and gasp softly at the beautiful sight.

“Oh Choso,” you muse and pull out a golden heart locket necklace that's decorated with small white diamonds around your October birthstone. “This…” you trail off and look at him with tears in your eyes.

“Turn it around before you open it,” he instructs before you can slide over and kiss him.

“Okay,” you breathe out shakily, and when you do what he says you find yourself with more tears filling your eyes that make it hard to read what was inscribed on the metal. So you wipe away the pesky tears and hold back for now to read the small words.

“For my sun, my moon, my beloved. My y/n.”

You laugh blissfully and keep holding back your tears because if that’s what's on the back then what’s inside is probably only more heart-wrenching.

And alas you stand corrected when you see a small little heart-shaped picture of your students and kids together. All five of them are forever cherished in that frame; Hakari, Kirara, Satori, and your twins, your girls, Nanako and Mimiko.

“I,” you cry. “Oh,” you gasp and cover your mouth as you handle your disbelief.

“Choso,” is all you can say. All your words are lost.

“Do you like it?” He makes sure to ask even if the tears ruining your makeup answer his question.

“Yes,” you mewl and nod at him before you drag yourself around the booth to throw your arms around him. “I love it. Thank you, my love.”

Choso twists around to wrap his arms around you even if it’s an uncomfortable position.

“I love you,” you murmur and tilt your head up to kiss him. And even if you are where you are you move slowly and savor the taste of lips so when you pull back you’re content with what you got for now.

“Could you help me put it on?” You ask and turn around to give him access to your bare neck. “Now,” you add while he very delicately hooks the necklace around your neck. “All I need is a picture of you on that empty spot.” You smile and wipe away the last tears rolling down your cheek.

“I'm sure someone else can fill the spot, like, your brother.” He says making you snort and laugh.

“As if. No thanks.”

You would say he could relate because he has brothers, but he can't. His love for his brothers is too pure.

“No, I want you,” you speak sweetly and turn around when he finishes to kiss him one more time.

“Now,” you say smugly and pull back to reach for your bag. “Since great minds think alike, I actually got you something too.”

Choso shifts in his seat and watches you more intently now as he actually grows nervous as well as curious.

“You shouldn’t have y/n,” he really means that. You love gifts so you actually loved that he got you something. You actually expected something smaller but still picked out with love, or even a ring, but he really surprised you.

“I wanted to,” you brush off his modesty. “I hope you like it.”

You hand him a small box as well and beam at him.

“Open it,” you press eagerly and start fiddling with the rings you have around your fingers.

Choso exhales deeply as he hesitates before he opens the box and gasps with shock. Even more so than yours.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly but also kind of in a scolding manner since he doesn’t agree that you should waste money on him.

“Pull it out,” you encourage him, but he hesitates once again before he wraps his fingers around the silver chain and pulls out a silver rectangular pendant dangling at the end that has a dragon carved on the front.

“A dragon,” he muses. “It reminds me of you.”

You flash him a grin and swoon over the fact that he thinks of you, but that’s not the most important part. He almost misses what you had transcribed on the back, but before you can guide him to it he catches the cursive and holds the pendant still, finding his breath escaping him once again when he reads all his brother's names on the back.

“If I got one of their names wrong, let me know,” you interject as his lips quiver and tears fill his eyes. “The lady that helped me said it can be fixed.”

As if it was possible the love he has for you in his eyes only grows more, and unlike you who found it easy to embrace him, he can’t even move with how shocked he is. So you lean over and embrace him to comfort him.

“I love you, thank you so much for loving me, Choso,” you whisper in his ear for only him to hear.

“Thank you for letting me,” he manages to whisper back. “And thank you for this gift. It’s spectacular. Thank you.”

You pull back and kiss him again before you press your forehead on his and take his chain to put it on him.

“Who would’ve guessed huh?” You add with amusement and pull back. “It’s like we read each other's minds.”

“It seems we did,” he teases. “But now I don’t know how to thank you beyond simple words.”

You smirk and lean over to whisper teasingly in his ear. “I can think of a couple of ways.”

Choso swallows thickly and meets your gaze with his pupils dilated before he laughs at you and presses a kiss on your cheek.

“You’ll have to feed your stamina first then,” he remarks, making you gasp and chuckle.

“Choso!” You pretend to scold him. “How dirty of you.”

He smirks and you can’t help but laugh some more and then dive into more lighthearted humor that makes you both laugh to the point it’s hard to breathe. You almost forget about the food until it comes and that’s all you can think about until it’s done.

After that, after you’ve enjoyed your meal, and dessert (mostly you), each other is all you can think about. The warmth of your hands as you have them intertwined together. The sound of your breaths as you enjoy a quiet stroll towards the next destination Choso had planned out for tonight. And the simplicity of each other's presence.

You could think about the intimacy of each other's lips, of wanting to find an escape to have a quick pleasurable moment, but as of now, as you walked through the chilly evening, all you thought about was the joy of having one another.

“Did you like it?” You finally remember to ask. “I mean I did promise a good meal, so was it good? And say the truth it won’t hurt my feelings.”

Choso lets your hand go, forcing your palm to be slammed with the cold running air. But just as you’re going to ask what he’s doing he pulls his coat off and carefully drapes it over your shoulders to provide you more warmth since he knows how cold you get.

“Thank you Choso,” you whisper and offer him a sweet smile before you take his hand again and repeat your question. “So tell me.”

Choso meets your gaze and his lips tug to a small grin. “I’ll say this.” He clears his throat, making your eyebrows knit together. “I won’t let you eat it alone. If you’re committed I am too.”

He remembers your joke!

“Great!” You laugh and gently nudge him to the side before you hug his arm. “You remembered.”

Choso’s grin turns smug and he nods gently.

Soon thereafter you arrive at the spot where the room is all covered in screens to make you believe, in this instant, that you’re in the deep blue depths of the ocean watching the sea creatures swim all around you. And considering the room was rented by the hour you paid more to use it as long as you wanted and be given the privacy you needed; so no security cameras on, and a locked door. Choso insisted on paying the rest, but you beat him to the punch.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why the ocean?” Choso asks as he admires you watching a pod of whales with your eyes glimmering with awe.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because I can manipulate water,” you muse and smile as the whales start to sing. “Or well I do,” you clarify and drift your eyes to him. “It’s beautiful for one, especially in the most isolated parts of the world where all you see is water, because at night when the water is calm it’s like being in space. The way they reflect on the water is beautiful. But that’s not it, the ocean is also mysterious, it surrounds us, and personally, it holds the most beautiful animals in this world,” you murmur and grin brightly as a whale swims around you behind all the screens that surround you.

“People are like the ocean in some ways if you think about it,” you continue. “We’re rageful, deep, mysterious. Beautiful. Our lives go up and down like waves, and most importantly we can be ugly too, terrifying, like some parts of the ocean.”

Choso tries to answer with words, but all he responds with is a soft hum as he’s completely captivated by the beauty of your words, by the way, you smile so beautifully at the school of blue and black fish as if they could see you.

“Somethings wrong with us,” you point out and finally take a seat on the blankets Choso brought so you could comfortably enjoy the sight of the scenery.

“What is it?” Choso probes as he mirrors you and sits beside you with the inability to keep his hands to himself, or his eyes off you. He needs to be touching you, he needs to be looking at the most beautiful thing in this room, and to him that’s you.

“We tend to view the world behind screens or illusions, or whatever Tengen made us see underground,” you share with a laugh and pull your hand from under his to instead lay your head down on his lap. “Once this fighting is done, once our lives have calmed down we will see the world. Or parts of it anyway.” You grin. “Since the world is big. But I digress. You, me, Satori, Itadori…” you make sure to name him because that’s one of the most important people in his life. “And my students will see the stars in a place where it feels like we’re in space. We’ll see ice caps that polar bears play on, and then the most beautiful ocean.”

Choso laughs softly and gently caresses the scar across your torso with his thumb since it’s exposed by what you’re wearing.

“I would like that,” he commits to your plans, causing you to beam at him. “What else do you want?” He proceeds to ask in a very gentle manner.

You raise your brow and poke him. “What do you want? What do you want to do?”

Choso shakes his head softly and his smile only seems to soften more, making the gleam in his eyes shine brighter. “I have what I want. My brother’s safe and protected with Yuji. I have Yuji who sees me as his brother, and you. I don’t need anything else. But you,” he whispers and lifts his hand to start caressing your cheek. “What do you want, my love? Say it and I’ll give you the world.”

You giggle and lean into his touch to press a kiss on his palm before you answer. “I want to learn how to paint. I see all these beautiful paintings at museums, and online and I’m jealous of the skill. I want to learn. But you can’t buy me skill.”

“No,” he chuckles. “I could get you the things to get you started though.”

You smile. “You can be my model.” You suggest teasingly making him scoff shyly before he continues to press.

“Anything else?”

You let out a deep breath and feel your grin soften to a smile as you think about the next thing. “A sunroom, only instead of clear glass windows, I want a sunroom made of only stained glass windows.”

Choso’s eyebrows knit together making his confusion plain to see. “Stained windows?” He asks for clarification. “Why would you want dirty windows?”

You stare at him in silence for a moment before you sit up and burst out laughing. “Oh, my sweet, sweet love. No,” you draw in for air and grab his face to clarify yourself. “Stained glass is…uh, colored glass. I want colored glass so when the sun is out, the room is basked in beautiful dancing colors.”

Choso doesn’t seem to understand that explanation either so you show him an example and he then gets it.

“Oh. Oh, well now that’s something I can get you,” he says now. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’re cute,” you coo and lean in for a kiss that you don't have to pull away from at that instant. You move slowly, and hold him close, letting him indulge in open-mouth kisses that he slips his tongue into and lights your body on fire with desire.

Yet as you start rubbing your hands on his chest and work them down to pull his shirt off, he pulls back with a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” he whispers against your swollen lips. “Not yet.”

You playfully roll your eyes and try to push him away, but as your fingertips hit his chest he actually catches your wrist and pulls you back towards him, to the point your lips are grazing over each other’s.

“Dance with me,” he says and stands up, leaving your lips once again cold without the company of his next to yours, or on yours.

However, this time you don’t mind. Your eagerness gets the best of you and you accept his offer.

“You didn’t learn with someone else did you?” You tease him whilst he remembers where to put his hands. Albeit, this time you guide one hand on your waist down to grab your ass.

Choso of course blushes even if he’s seen you naked, shares the same bed, and takes showers with you.

“No I just remembered from last time,” he explains as he lets a song play on his phone that wasn’t the same one as before, but romantic nonetheless. “And,” he adds while you start to dance. “Remember. I have knowledge of things, I just haven’t lived those things myself.”

“I know,” you assure him. “I was teasing.”

He sighs with relief and laughs at himself for a moment before he meets your gaze with a small frown.

“With this battle we’re fighting most likely concluding next month,” he shares right as you were going to ask what got him down. “All I want is for you and Satori to go far away. Somewhere not remotely close to Japan.”

“Choso,” you whisper your protest, but he cuts you off and explains himself softly.

“I almost lost you more than once. I don’t want to lose you for good. I can’t lose you. Last year after I saw you, you’re all that I could think about, you gave me hope after a century of darkness and thinking I would forever be stuck as I was. And when I saw you again in Shibuya,” he says and makes you both dance a lot slower. “All I wanted was you. To be near you, to protect you from all the evil in this world. That means this. So please just think about it.”

You let out a deep sigh and don’t comfort him by saying that you will think about it. You can’t lie to him because your mind is made up. Even if you have a reason to stay out of the fight to come, how can you betray yourself too? Ever since you lost a part of yourself to that non-sorcerer who tortured you, all you wanted was to help the next generation of sorcerers; you wanted to protect your people. You can’t do that by avoiding the fight, so your answer is clear and it has been for a while.

“Choso I can't and I won’t, I'm sorry,” you do explain yourself sweetly. “My goal is to help the next generation of sorcerers, to help our people. I can’t do that by hiding and letting others risk their lives. I know you’re just trying to look out for me, I appreciate your sentiment, but I can’t betray myself. And no matter how much you plead, I won’t change my mind. I’m sorry.”

Choso blinks repeatedly in disbelief before he drops his head and stops dancing, making you take his jaw and tilt his head up.

“I won’t let you just dedicate yourself to protecting me either,” you explain. “But I’m strong. I know that.”

Even in your moments of doubt, in the back of your head, you know that to be true. “Even if I had my close encounters with death, next time won’t be the time I die either. I will live for my girl, for my people, my family, and you. I will live so I can continue loving you. Do you understand?”

His eyes fill with tears as he nods softly.

“Good,” you murmur with a sweet smile before you wrap your arms around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder to continue swaying to the music chest to chest.

However, you don’t last long in that position because Choso then pulls back and surprises you by spinning you away from him, and then quickly spinning you back and dipping you ever so carefully so as to not drop you.

“Choso!” You giggle with surprise, and he pulls you back up and presses you close to his chest with a grin.

“What a lovely surprise,” you murmur against his lips as you can’t help but keep glancing at them.

“Did you like it?” He asks with a hint of smugness behind his voice.

“I loved it,” you assure him and lean in to close the gap left between your lips, but stop since you do want to keep dancing with him with your head on his shoulder.

However, Choso is the one who can’t wait this time, he slams his lips on yours and takes no time to slide his hands up to secure your face against his by grabbing your cheeks.

Many other times you pull back to laugh in surprise at his eagerness or smile at him, but this time you fan your passionate flames and kiss him back with hunger. As if it was the first time, or you were one of these horny couples from the old times who had been aching for a kiss, but could only feed your desires with longing stares and stolen touches until now.

You should hold back since you are in a semi-public place, but there’s no windows here, you paid to lock the doors, and shut down the cameras, so no, you don’t hold back, you guide him to sit, and straddle him before you slither your hands to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair.

Choso is so lost in your passion that he lets out a pleased groan that makes his lips break away. But he’s only off you for a second, he doesn’t even catch his breath before he presses a kiss on the corner of your mouth and leaves a wet trail of kisses down to your neck.

You find that those kisses burn you up more so you can’t help but moan softly in his ear, while you work your hands down to the hem of his shirt to pull it off without protest, breaking the connection of his lips on your neck. Yet you don’t go long without the feeling of his lips on you, you grab his jaw and lean down to kiss his lips again.

This time Choso slowly roams his hands down to your back to grab your hips for a moment before he brushes his hands over your torso, fueling your fire. He then caresses your breast over your top, making your breath shudder, and then lands where he desires, on your cheeks to pull back.

“No,” he says between heavy breaths. “I want to be on you.”

You smile with relief after thinking he was going to break this apart to be considerate.

“Wait,” he blurts before he can flip you around. “Not here. We can’t here.”

You peer back and double-check that the door is locked before you look up at the camera and make sure that the light is not flashing. “We can if no one finds out. No one has to know,” you tempt him in a silky voice that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“Just one round?” He asks and leans in to touch your lips with his, letting you both feel your breaths unfurl over the top of your lips.

“One round,” you reassure him and draw in a deep breath before you grin brightly and let him flip you around so you’re on your back with him between your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers with his eyes darkened with desire.

“You are too,” you redirect, making a timid smile break on his face. “Now kiss me or I will flip you around and ride you.”

He snickers and talks against your lips, making you squirm. “Save it for home.”

You try to laugh, but you’re so lost in your desire at the promise of more that it comes out more like a breathy moan.

“I hate making love to you fast,” he keeps talking. “But it has to be done, or—”

“Shh,” you cut him off before you lift your head to trap him in a heated kiss.

Choso laughs in your kiss but doesn’t let it last long because he’s then moving in sync with you, and feeling his member hardened.

He usually likes to explore your body with his lips and his tongue, but there was no time now, he saves that for later and instead helps you take your skirt off. And instead of working to reach your high, he stops to admire part of the red lace lingerie that you wore for him.

“You,” he breathes in and lets his eyes roam your body. “You are a piece of art.”

You laugh softly and grab his hands to press his fingers on your panties so he can pull them down and see your soaking pussy. However, he shakes his head and lets your hands go to instead grab your leg and lean towards it.

“What are you doing?” You probe and look over by propping your elbows on the ground and lifting your head.

However, he doesn’t say his answer, he responds by kissing the side of your knee and slowly grazing his lips up. Which is a move that steals your breath and leaves you like a puddle.

“Keep them on,” he says against your thigh.

You shiver and smile like a lovestruck fool.

“Choso please,” you groan and grab his shoulders. “Any more of that and I’ll cum without you inside me.”

Choso chuckles and moves back over you, but not to kiss you, or take your top off, he’s too impatient to sink into your warmth to worry about stripping you. Instead, he presses a kiss over your clothed clit and then hooks his fingers on your panties and moves them aside, realizing at that moment how wet you are for him.

“Beautiful,” he praises you and presses a kiss on your bare clit before finally moving up to let his face hover over yours. “Ready?” He makes sure to ask.

You nod softly and initiate a slow and sloppy kiss while he lines his cock with your entrance and lets the tip of his cock kiss you before he very, agonizingly slowly sinks into you.

And you can’t say he isn’t usually slow, because he is, every time. Even if you are both eager he likes to feel every inch of your walls with his cock, as if trying to map it out. He likes to see your jaw slowly go aslack, like now, as his fat girth slowly splits you open, and your needy pussy swallows him whole to the point he can’t push in any further.

“Choso,” you cry in his mouth as you feel his tip, every vein on his member, and his smooth cock itself grazes your gummy walls.

“One round,” he reminds the both of you and grabs the back of your knee to lift your leg and hook it over his shoulder before he pulls out until his tip is the only thing your pussy is embracing.

“Choso,” you whine, but he shuts you up by pressing his lips on yours and taking in you for a kiss he slides his tongue into.

And even if you haven’t been having sex long he already knows everything you like. He knows how to make you scream, he knows what to do to make you close your eyes, and scratch his back. He knows how to tease you, and how to make you squirt (which he just learned the other day). He knows every detail about you just like you know every detail about him.

So considering you are on a time crunch he uses what he knows to make this fast, and that's going slow. You like it fast, and rough because you last longer that way, but this way you can’t hold back, it’s too agonizing. So he slowly slides back inside you, causing you to break away from the kiss to tilt your head back and roll your eyes back.

“Choso,” you plead. “Please.”

Said man plants kisses on your neck and pulls back halfway before sliding in and slamming the tip hard against you.

You groan and find stability by holding his muscular shoulder, going unaware of his left hand until you feel his fingers run a strip over your clit before he starts to rub circles over it, bringing you close to the edge already.

“Choso,” you moan to the screens long forgotten and pull your hands away to dig your nails on the floor.

He whines at the feeling of your fluttering pussy around his cock, and even if he’s starting to lose himself in the feeling of you, he manages to find your hand and interlaces his fingers between yours before he starts thrusting in and out just a bit faster. Yet not fast enough, he’s still teasing you by moving slowly and rubbing his thumb on your clit.

You try to meet his thrusts to pick up the speed, but he presses his body closer to you and traps you under him.

“You feel incredible,” he praises you and groans. “My beautiful girl. Mine.”

You find his lips and match the speed of his thrusts with your lips, feeling him groan against your mouth as you tighten around him, your pussy fluttering and your leg pressing closer against him as you near your release since he’s being a damn tease.

“Choso,” you mewl and hold his gaze to bat your lashes at him. “Please rougher.”

Choso smiles and drops his head on the crook of your neck to not give in to what you want since he tends to do what you asked for with a simple bat of your lashes and a look at those eyes he loves so much.

“So—Mhm,” you groan and squeeze your eyes shut as he starts hitting your g-spot. “Good. You’re doing good.”

Choso chuckles. “Don’t,” he can barely mutter between breaths as he feels his release creeping in.

“So close,” you announce and he picks up his pace, making lewd noises of skin slapping as he chases his release and helps you find yours.

He doesn’t hold back anymore, he starts drilling into you so hard tears start to form in your eyes, and you arch your back off the ground, but it's too late for you. Your stomach twists and you're a moaning mess along with Choso who sucks on the skin of your neck and sloppily rubs your clit now.

“I’m cummimg!” You cry out and clutch onto his hand.

Choso slides his lips off your neck and meets your gaze. “Me too—me too,” he shares and goes back to slowly rocking his hips, but that triggers you. A shiver runs down your spine and from one moment to the next you see stars as you squeeze tightly around him and squirt all over his cock.

Choso fucks you through your release and lets out a mess of whines and groans as he can’t hold back anymore, he comes undone, and his seed spills inside you. Rope after rope painting your walls before it leaks out of your hole and mixes with yours now pooling on the once clean blanket.

“Fuck,” you murmur and let his hand go to gently caress his back as he pulls out before he goes two more rounds.

“You were perfect,” he whispers on your lips before he gives you a chaste kiss and then crawls down to drop his head on your chest and rest on you.

“That was,” you chuckle and throw your arm over your eyes. “Great. I really don’t like it when you go slow though.”

“I know.” He retorts smugly.

You sigh with pleasure nonetheless and take advantage that he’s on you to brush your fingers through his hair.

“We should go home,” he says and rubs circles on your side.

“Yeah.”

You pull your arm off your eyes and use both hands to brush his hair while you start to watch the ocean once again through the screens above you.

“Choso,” you can’t help but get all mushy as you come off your high.

“Hmm?” He queries.

You swallow thickly and smile as you see a manta ray swim past you.

“Do you want to know why I love you?” You continue with a honey-filled voice.

“Yes,” he says and lifts his head off your chest to meet your gaze with curiosity.

You grab his shoulders and guide him up to his knees as you sit up without breaking eye contact. “I love you because you have a good heart. Because you’re beautifully human even if you still doubt it. Because as my world went dark when I lost those I loved, you never left my side. And you haven’t since Shibuya. That’s why I love you.”

A wobbly smile tugs on his lips but tears don’t escape, he presses a gentle kiss on your lips before he presses his forehead against yours, and cups your cheeks.

“And you,” he interjects. “Have a strong heart. The strongest I know. You kept fighting after losing your daughters and your best friend. It would've been impossible for a lot of others, but you kept your heart strong. I admire your strength.”

Rather than kissing him, you stay as you are, you smile and grab his jaw, and bask in the intimacy of the moment.

No one could ruin this moment or change your love for him. Ever…

A/N- You best know Choso has that ring on the ready!

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 4 months

Text

'Tis The Damn Season

Javy 'Coyote' Machado x Reader

Description: You've made your closest friends over the past decade as a Naval Aviator. That close friend group only expanded when your best friend fell in love when you were in flight school. Nat and Jake are cute together, you can't deny that. It helps that you get along well with Jake. Sadly, where Jake Seresin goes, so does Javy Machado. You can fly with the man, be the perfect wingman, but when both your feet are on the ground, you can't stand him. You're so sure the feeling is mutual. 48 hours in a car with him teaches you differently. Javy Machado is sweet and funny and you might just be falling in love with him. Or have you been in love with him all along?

Themes: Stuck in the snow, showers, shower-thoughts, hate-to-love, stranded in the snow,

Warnings: Female!Reader This fic is for adults age 18 and older, only! There are some fairly spicy thoughts in this part and 100% spicy happenings in the next part! Please do not read if sexual intimacy is disturbing to you!

Word Count: 3938

Author Note: This is part one of two of Gypsy and Javy's story and was written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge! I had an absolute blast writing this fic for Trope #17, Stuck Together/Snowed in/Stranded. I hope you all love reading this fic as much as I loved writing it! All my thanks go to @desert-fern who was instrumental as I bounced ideas back and forth for this fic, as well as for beta-reading it for me!

Cross Posted on AO3 Here!

My Masterlist

It was supposed to be the start of a fabulous holiday - supposed to be, being the key words. It’s rare, honestly nigh on impossible for you to end up having vacation leave lined up at the same time as your friends. You’re in the Navy, you’re a pilot; it kind of comes with the territory. But what is the likelihood you’d find yourself stuck in a car in the middle of a Colorado snowstorm with none other than Javy Machado? You’re unsure who you should blame because the universe clearly has it out for you.

Well, it's either the universe or Natasha Fucking Trace. Honestly, between mystic powers controlling everything that has been or will be and Nat, you’d pick her any day. A part of you has some sympathy for her. It can’t be easy dating a guy and knowing your best friend and his can’t stand each other. It’s the truth, too. You can’t remember why or when you started to get angry at the sight of his smiling face. Still, it was probably sometime between when he asked you if you needed a booster seat to see out of the cockpit and when he blitzed you on the first of the many flights you’ve taken with him.

Why the fuck isn’t he going home to Louisiana? That’s what he usually does. God, if there’s anyone who’d know, it would be you. After all, you’ve been flying with Coyote Machado for the better part of the past decade. Every year, he’d cash in all his leave and fly home. Like clockwork, he’d return after the new year more infuriating than ever. But your knowledge of his behavior doesn’t explain why he’s in Colorado. You were both on an aircraft carrier in the Philippines, for fuck’s sake. There had to have been a transport to Louisiana via the East Coast. But against all odds, the two of you had been on the same transport and flight, hell, even the same bus to the terminal once you landed in Denver.

Now he’s staring at the same board you are, with flickering red signs as flight after flight gets marked as canceled. Including the one you were supposed to be on. It’s just your luck that Tash and Jake are reporting to Norfolk Naval Base right now. It’s just your luck that the only transport you’d been able to get on had landed in San Diego. And it’s just your luck that the cheapest flight you could get had been via Denver in the midst of what has to be the worst snowstorm the region has ever seen. Reception is spotty, but you huddle in a corner, praying to all the gods you don’t believe in that your call connects.

“Tash?” Her voice is grainy and barely audible, but god, if it doesn’t make you want to cry. “I’m in Denver, yeah. There’s a colossal snowstorm blowing in. My flight’s been canceled.”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it in time.”

“I know.”

“I know. I’ve missed you so much. But I don’t see a way for me to get out of here and get there in time?”

“Yeah, Javy’s here.” You can’t control your eye roll as you say his name. “Yeah, I’ll give him the phone.”

“Yo, Machado. Tash wants to talk to you.” He takes the phone from you like he doesn’t want to touch you, which shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

It’s loud and crowded at the airport, so you can’t hear a word of what he says to Nat. There’s nothing else to do but stand at the window and watch the snow fall and fall and fall. There’s already close to a foot accumulated on the ground, and while you’d been wishing for the snow in the heat and humidity of the ship, you hate it now.

“Here, Gypsy.” You accept the device with a half-smile. “Tash had a pretty good idea, y’know?”

You can’t help raising your eyebrow. Javy swallows, more than a little discomfited at your gimlet gaze. “She suggested we rent a car and drive out to Norfolk together.”

Eighteen hundred miles, and he wants to spend all of that time and distance stuck in a car with you? You scoff, “You couldn’t pay me to do that, Machado.”

“Yeah, I know.” There’s something sad and haunted in his eyes. “I know. Believe me, I do. But this isn’t about you and me. This is about Jake and Nat. They want us there, celebrating Christmas with them. So don’t think about doing this with me. Think about how you’re doing this for them.”

Damn him. Damn him for being right. “How are we going to get a car in this?” People are yelling at the poor airline staff behind the counter, kids are screaming, and Christmas Carols are pouring out of the speakers. It’s chaos - loud, unmitigated chaos.

“You leave that to me. You have your bags?” Before you can think or even respond, he’s cutting a swathe through the crowd, and you’re left standing near two Navy standard-issue duffel bags and your one small rolling suitcase. It takes half an hour before he comes back. In that half an hour, you find you’re glad you’d opted for carry-on bags because the mob at the counter waiting to collect check-in bags descends into an outright fistfight.

Javy’s rumpled, his sweater mussed when he lopes back to you, thankfully with car keys in hand. “I got ’em. We have to head down to the main concourse.”

“Anything to get out of this shitshow.” He chuckles and grabs your bags and his own despite your protests.

The car is old but functioning. It’s tiny, though. It's so small that you’re not sure he’ll fit behind the wheel. It can’t be comfortable when he does end up in the car. It looks like his knees are pressed against his chest, even with the seat pushed back as far as it can go. You’re in the passenger seat because he refused to let you drive, and as expected, you’re surrounded by snow the minute the car leaves the parking garage. Visibility is shit, and it feels like the car is moving at a glacial pace. You’re surprised the roads are open at all, and to add insult to injury, you’re sitting in silence. The radio isn’t working, there is more snow - this time of the feedback variety, ironically - and the car is old, so there is no auxiliary cable or USB cable to connect your phone to. And, well, you’re not a fan of the man you’re stuck in the car with for the next 24 to 36 hours, so the less conversation you have, the better. It’s not even like you can read. You’ve only been on the road for an hour at most when the sun sets. But the roads are still open, and traffic is still moving.

As the minutes turn into an hour on the dark, snow-covered roads, you feel your exhaustion setting in. You’ve never slept well on planes - go figure that ninety percent of the time you’re in a cockpit, you’re flying - but flying commercial somehow makes it work. Strap yourself into a jump seat on a cargo plane, and you’re out like a light. Sleeping on a carrier with planes taking off round the clock and midshipmen screaming outside the door, you’re snoring like a baby. But flying economy? Forget about it. So, besides the few hours of fitful sleep you’d gotten on the cargo plane - because you can’t sleep where Javy Machado can make fun of you - you’ve been awake for nearly 48 hours. Your eyes feel itchy and hot, each blink torturous as you fight exhaustion. The car is so warm, and Javy's silent. Even he can't object if you rest your eyes a little, right?

You wake up to a roar of the word, ‘SHIT’, echoing through the car. You startle, and if you were a cat, you’d be stuck to the upper upholstery, fur ruffled and back arched. A coat covers your lap, the soft, rich wool imbued with spicy cologne. It has to be Javy's coat. When did that get there? The visibility out of the windshield is even worse, if possible, and Coyote’s arms are corded as they clutch the wheel in an iron grip.

“Hey, how long was I out?” He doesn’t even look at you when usually he’d be more than ready to tease you on how you probably have drool on your face.

“Coyote? ‘Yote? Hey?!”

“Javy? What’s going on?” You place your hand on his arm, pretending not to notice how firm and warm it is under the bunched-up sleeves of the soft sweater he’s wearing. “Javy, you’re scaring me. C’mon. Tell me what’s happening. What’s a wingwoman for if she can’t help?”

“We’re somewhere in Kansas, and the snow makes this really hard.” There’s something unreadable in the expression on his face as he snarls at the other, far slower drivers on the road in front of you.

“We should stop for the night then.”

“No.” He snarls the words at you, and that’s when you know something is wrong. “No, I can keep going.”

“Javy, maybe you can, but I can’t. I need to take a break, hit the head, and stretch my legs.”

He doesn’t respond, content to make you worry the longer the silence spirals between you like an oppressive living thing. He pulls off the highway when the next exit presents itself. The motel he pulls up to on the side of the road is rough-looking. It’s small and old, but at least it smells clean, or well, at least clean-ish. As luck would have it - because your luck couldn't be any shittier - there’s only one room left for the night. You slap your credit card down on the counter before he can object. He’s Javy Machado. You know what he’s like better than almost anyone else. You may not like him very much, but you can read all of the signs. He’s not the type to let a woman pay for anything, not when he can pay for her. He can take it up with you when he’s not acting weird.

You push him into the shower once you’re in the room, content to just sprawl out on the bed until he’s done. Really, all you're hoping is that the hot water is enough to snap him out of this eerily quiet, angry mood and back to the pain in your ass you're used to. When he steps out, it’s wrapped in one of the motel’s paper-thin towels, and you have to avert your eyes. There’s just a shadow of a smirk on his face as you pass under his arm with all of your clothes bundled up against your chest, trying and failing to avoid making eye contact with all of his wet, glistening muscles. It takes you far too long for your brain to reboot after that sight, and mortification and anger are your companions as you hurriedly strip off your snow-laden clothes.

You’re grumbling the entire time it takes the shower to heat up because it is not fair that Javy Machado looks like that under his uniform. No wonder every girl within a ten-mile radius of base wants to get into his pants. You step into the shower nearly too early, stifling squeals as the too-cold water splatters across your skin. After a few minutes of determined shivering, you finally step under the warming water, coming out in a steady, roaring stream. At least it’s getting hot now, though it’s not as hot as you’d like. You let the spray beat your muscles into submission, relishing the first moment you’ve had by yourself since you left the carrier fleet hours ago. But you’re left in peace only for a few moments. Unbidden, your one-track mind finds its thoughts consumed by Javy Machado again. It starts off with an innocuous thought, “How did a man that large fit into this tiny shower? He could probably see over the curtain rod!” Then you’re wondering if he’s alright. But as your soapy hands trace over your skin, you start to imagine other things.

You start to imagine water droplets sliding over the ridges of his muscles, skating over defined abs, and collecting in the dip of his collar bones. His hands are big and calloused as they lather soap across his skin and then over yours. Shit! When did you start dreaming of yourself in the shower with Javy Machado? There’s an ache in your pelvis as you clench your thighs together as you dream of how those calloused fingers feel on your skin. You get yanked violently out of the vision when the water goes cold on you. It feels like you’ve been immersed in one of the snowbanks outside. You almost fall as you step out of the shower, but it’s silent. Your face is flushed in the fogged-up mirror, your eyes fever bright as your blood pulses in your veins in the same rhythm as your aching cunt. You inhale and exhale raggedly, trying to get your libido under control. Please let there be a bar near Nat and Jake’s place - please - you need to get fucked so bad that you’re fantasizing about your wingman, of all people, now.

It’s getting cold in the bathroom as the steam dissipates when you finally pull yourself together and get dressed fast in a bid to escape the cold. But it is still silent outside the bathroom - almost too silent. You expect laughter at the very least when you open the door because your warmest pajamas are covered in dancing penguins. Instead, Javy’s sitting on the bed, staring out the open window at the milling snow, looking for all the world like he’s lost something he’s just found.

It’s cold in the room, the motel’s shitty heating is barely able to combat the frigid snow outside, and he’s not wearing a shirt. But he doesn’t even notice the gooseflesh on the smooth, broad expanse of his back and chest. The cold blue light reflecting off of the snow piling up outside makes the room even colder, casting deep purplish shadows over his face and making the room eerie. You check that the door is latched and bolted before walking back towards Javy. He doesn’t move a muscle when you take his hands in your own. They’re like ice. He doesn’t even seem to care when you put the pillows down and fish one of your warm fleece blankets out of your bag. Bless Nat and Jake for not having a fully set up guest room yet because there’s no way you’re sleeping in this bed using sheets you’re not sure are clean. The blankets you brought are going to be perfect for the night. He doesn’t move or do anything until you intertwine your fingers with his own and tug on his arm's broad, burly expanse. He lists to the side without protest, and now you know something is wrong. Javy's not the type to do anything quietly. He's the type to shit-talk all the way while flirting endlessly. He turns towards you as you tuck the blanket around his big form, and when you move to pull another blanket out, his hand tugs you in until you’re in his arms.

The pinched furrow creasing his brow finally dissipates slightly. Something’s wrong, and you’re not sure what it is. If this helps, you’ll stay where you are. After all, you’ve slept in far more uncomfortable beds with much worse companions. Javy smells incredible, like soap, cologne, and something you can't place. You curl in closer despite yourself, letting him drag the blanket even further up around your shoulders. Everything is muffled around you. All you can hear is your breath and the soothing thud of his heart. It would be easy to curl in and fall asleep, but you can’t until you know your wingman is alright. But he seems content to lie there, brown eyes glittering with emotions you couldn’t read even if you tried. There’s barely any space between the two of you. Every breath you take has your chest brushing against his.

With the howling wind and the tink of snow against the window, you feel like you’re in a dream. Finally, Javy’s eyes close, even if he is still indescribably tense. You can feel it in the arms wrapped around you and in the muscles jumping in his jaw. His eyes fly open when your fingers trace the stressed tendons lightly.

“What’re you doing, Gypsy?” You’re unsure how to respond; instead, you trace your fingers over the furrow in his brow. Maybe your touch will wipe the stress frown away from his usually jovial face?

“You’re being awfully sweet, Gyppie.” You snort at the diminutive form of your already short callsign. “And here, I thought you hated me.”

Your gasp is barely audible, but you’re sure he can hear it anyway. “You never let it affect things between us when we fly, but I know you can’t stand me.”

“I’ve spent over a decade wondering why.” His next exhale is a harsh whoosh of breath. “But you’ve never told me, and right now, I think I know exactly why. It’s just me, isn’t it, Gyp? Just me and everything that I am.”

Your voice feels stuck. Trapped, lost, chained up behind a decade of hatred, hatred which wavers like it’s standing on a stool that may just have had all of its legs cut out from under it. You curl into Javy’s embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist like it’ll show him you feel differently. Because you do. At first, you had hated Javy Machado. You hated his effortless grace, charm, and ability to pick up concepts you’d had to work to understand yourself. But then he’d been persistent, and you’d been thrust into his company by the presence of Nat and Jake.

That’s when you’d been able to see past the bravado, the mask he put on every day. That’s when you’d fallen headlong into a more profound and long-lasting crush than any relationship you’d found yourself in. But by the time you realized your feelings, he’d picked up on your stand-offish behavior and realized he couldn’t befriend you. Your crush never faded, but it’s evident that Javy had noticed your initial feelings and acted accordingly. But why would he blame everything that happened on himself?

“I know you’re probably wondering why I’m not home for the holidays right now.” What does that have to do with what he was just talking about? “Just chalk it up to another textbook case of me being myself.”

“I can't say I didn't wonder. But it's not my place to poke and pry. Why you're not heading home to Mama Machado is your business.”

“But you can't deny that you're curious, can you?” You shrug as much as you can with your arms wrapped around him.

“Of course you're curious. But how could I have gone home, Gyppie? How?” There's so much pain in his voice as he growls the words out.

He goes silent then, a frown creasing his face as his jaw moves under your fingertips. Your gentle touch doesn’t seem to bother him, just like the prickle of his stubble doesn’t bother you. In another world, in another life, could you have been sleeping every night in his arms like this? You’re not sure you deserve it. Javy was right earlier. You’ve been rude ever since the day you met him. Would anything have changed if you’d acted differently? If you’d been shy and withdrawn instead of angry and argumentative? That water’s long since flowed under the bridge. Too much time, too much history, too much animosity. All you can hope to do is listen. For your wingman, that’s the least you can do.

But your little nap in the car hadn’t been of much use. The longer you spend pressed against the human equivalent of a space heater, the sleepier you feel. You have to stay awake. This could be your one chance to go from rivals or enemies or colleagues to friends. Maybe you could even casually ask Javy to grab a beer after the holidays? But the first step to all of that is to stay awake.

His hands slide up until they're cradling the back of your head, pulling your face level to his own.

“You're not falling asleep on me, are you, Gyppie?” You shake your head wordlessly, captivated by how you can feel his breath against your lips, practically taste the mint from his toothpaste, and how you could kiss him if you leaned in just a bit further.

“It's okay if you do. You barely slept on the plane. My problems don't mean a thing in the face of your exhaustion.” Once again, you're speechless. How is he so selfless? How did you not notice before this very moment?

“I'm okay, Javy. Tell me one thing that's bothering you, the most important thing.” Your voice is the barest whisper, a sigh as he maneuvers you closer and traps your feet between his calves.

“Well, your feet are like itty-bitty ice cubes, Gyppie. The fuck did you do? Stick ‘em in a snowbank before you get into bed?” You gasp and growl playfully at him, pushing at his chest until he pulls you in even closer.

“But in all seriousness, you've been wondering why I didn't go home.” His words are expelled on exhales of breath, just as quiet as yours were earlier, spilling out in stops and starts. “I can't go home, Gyppie. My brother's wedding is on Christmas Day. But it's not that I'm against my brother's marriage. It's more like his fiancée is against having me there.”

You can’t believe anyone would go so far as to ban Javy from his brother's wedding just because she didn't want him there. You cup his jaw gently, letting your hand curl around to cradle the back of his in a position mirroring how he's still holding you.

“You want to know the kicker, Gyppie? She was my fiancée first. She dumped me because she couldn't stand the deployments and fell into bed with my brother days after.”

“What a stupid thing to do.” You're no longer looking into his eyes, focused on his collarbones. “That was a dumb move, and you know it, Machado. She just alienated herself from most of your family. Your Mama first and foremost.”

His laughter has you giggling, too. When your laughter and his finally taper off, you're left to marvel at how much things have changed.

“You want to know the best part?” You hum in response. “The reason why we broke up was because I was already in love with someone else.”

He doesn’t wait for you to ask or even allow you a chance to get past your shock. His hands tip your head up again until you're face to face, and he kisses you, slow and sweet. Your moan takes you by surprise as you try to pull him even closer, letting him imprison you in his embrace.

“Fuck, this Christmas would've been so different if I'd just told you how much I loved you before we left flight school, Gyppie.”

This time, you tug him in, kissing him slow and sweet until there's molten lava in your veins and there's snow in your mind. It's beginning to feel like a holly jolly Christmas indeed.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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