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joelmillerisapunk · 3 months

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candy hearts

Joel Miller x Reader

masterlist

↳ wordcount: 3k

↳ summary: In the post-apocalyptic world, you and Joel find solace in each other's arms. As you explore an abandoned building, a stray acoustic guitar becomes the catalyst for a passionate night of music and intimacy.

~or~

You find the perfect Valentine's gift for Joel

↳ warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, this is during the outbreak

↳ notes: Happy Valentine's. Will you be mine? 🥹 tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

As you and Joel make your way through another abandoned building, you can't help but feel a sense of relief. It's Valentine's Day, and you're grateful to have Joel's company and a roof currently over your head in the midst of the chaos and uncertainty of the outbreak.

“See If you can find a good spot to set up for the night, I'll make sure the rest of the house is clear.” As Joel starts rummaging through cupboards and drawers, he comes across a stash of old candy hearts tucked away in a corner. "Hey, look at this," he says, picking up the candy and showing it to you. "It's those dumb candy hearts. Must be from before the outbreak."

You walk up to Joel and take a candy, reading the red printed message on it: "U R CUTE." You can't help but smile and chuckle at the simple, heartfelt sentiment.

Joel picks out a candy heart with a message that catches his eye: "Be Mine." He holds it out to you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, will ya?," he says, his voice flirty.

You take the candy heart and look at the hard to read text, "Be Mine, huh?" you say, trying to sound coy. "Well, I don't know, Miller. What's in it for me?"

Joel grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What do you want?" he asks, his voice low and playful.

You give Joel a flirtatious smile and say, "Well, for starters, how about you try to find some blankets for our bed? Wouldn't want to catch a cold on Valentine's Day."

Joel's grin widens, and he nods. "I think I can manage that," he says, his voice full of promise.

As you head upstairs, you continue to playfully banter. "And maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, I'll let you share my body heat," you say, winking over your shoulder.

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll do my best to earn that privilege," he replies, a playful glint in his eyes.

As you reach the top floor, you start scouting for a good spot to set up camp for the night. You come across a large, open room with a few pieces of furniture scattered around, and you immediately feel drawn to it.

"This looks perfect," you say, setting down your bag and starting to unpack your things. As you're setting up your makeshift bed, you notice something in the corner of the room that catches your eye.

It's an old, worn acoustic guitar.

Your heart skips a beat as you make your way towards it, feeling like you've struck gold. You run your fingers gently over the strings, plucking them softly to test their sound. To your surprise, they don't sound bad, but they could sound better. You quickly remember the spare strings you salvaged a few months back from a broken guitar body and pulled them from your bag, excited to replace the strings and surprise Joel.

But just as you start removing the strings, the job proves harder than usual. Taking the strings off is easy, but you aren't paying attention to where they come out from on the guitar as you pull the original ones out. As you continue, you hear Joel's footsteps on the stairs. You turn around just in time to see him enter the room, a stack of blankets in his arms.

"That doesn't look like a bed," he says, his eyes scanning the room.

You grin, feeling a rush of excitement. "No, it's not," you say, pulling out the new strings that you've been saving for months. "But I found something even better."

Joel's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he takes in the strings in his calloused hands. "Where did you find these?" he asks, his voice full of curiosity.

"I found them a few months ago," you say, holding up one of the strings. "I was just waiting for the perfect guitar to come along."

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And you think that there is the perfect guitar?" he asks, looking at the old acoustic guitar with a skeptical eye.

You nod, feeling a sense of determination. "I do," you say, starting to replace the strings.

He starts watching you with amusement as you try to figure out the first string. “Need help darlin’?”

You look up at him pausing, “No, you already ruined the whole surprise part. I'm not letting you ruin this for me too."

Joel grins, shaking his head in amazement and chukles. "You're kinda sneaky, huh?"

You giggle. "Maybe a little," you wink at him.

As you work, Joel sits down next to you, watching with interest and amusement. “You sure you don't need help? Can I just show you how to do one at least?”

You roll your eyes, trying to act like you've got it all under control, but you can't help but feel a little embarrassed. "Fine, fine," you say, handing the guitar over to Joel.

Joel takes the guitar from you, a smug look on his face. "Alright, let's see what we've got here," he says, examining the guitar closely.

Before you know it he's swapped out more than a couple, “Hey, you said you were gonna show me one not fix the entire thing.”

Joel smiles and then begins showing you how to properly replace a string. You watch carefully, trying to commit his movements to memory.

"Alright, last one you try," he says, handing the guitar back to you.

You take the guitar, feeling a sense of determination. You carefully thread the string through then wrap it around the peg, pulling it tight. You turn the peg, watching as the string tightens and the pitch rises.

Joel's eyes twinkle with excitement as he watches you replace the last string. "Not bad at all," he says, impressed with your progress. "You might just have a talent for this."

You smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Well, I've been saving these strings for the perfect guitar," you say, running your fingers gently over the now-tightened strings.

Joel's eyes linger on your hands, a hint of desire in their depths. "I think you've found the perfect one, alright, darlin"

"I hope so," you say, giving him a playful smile.

Joel grins back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, let's see if we can get a tune out of it, shall we?" he says, grabbing the guitar and testing the strings.

You pick up the blanket and pillows from your bag, laying them out on the makeshift bed. "You make yourself comfortable while I finish setting up this bed," you say, glancing back at Joel as he tunes the guitar.

Inspecting the guitar, Joel's fingers find the right chords, and the room fills with the sweet sound of a well-played tune. "Well, I'll be damned. It sounds almost new, whatcha think darlin’ how does that sound?" he calls out to you, his voice rich with the melody.

You can't help but be mesmerized. "Sounds amazing," you say, your voice filled with wonder.

Joel smiles, a sense of satisfaction in his eyes. "I've sure missed playin this thing," he says, strumming the guitar once more.

"Would you teach me how to play that?" you ask.

Joel's eyes light up, and he nods enthusiastically. "Of course, darlin'," he says, setting the guitar down and offering it to you.

You take the guitar, feeling a sense of excitement at the prospect of learning something new. Joel sits you down on his lap, guiding your hands as you place them on the strings.

"Now, first things first," he says, adjusting your fingers on the frets. "You've got to get the grip just right."

You nod, focusing intently on Joels hands, mostly how good they feel on top of yours, so large, so rough. "Got it," you say, feeling the strings beneath your fingertips.

Joel's eyes linger on your hands, a hint of desire in their depths. "That's it baby, just like that," he says, his voice low and seductive. "Now, let's try a chord."

You follow his instructions, strumming the strings as he showed you. "Wow, that's actually not as hard as I thought," you say, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Joel grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See, you're a natural," he says, winking at you. As you continue to practice playing the guitar, Joel's hands rest on your hips, his breath warm against your neck as he watches you play. The room is filled with the sweet sound of music, and you can't help but feel a sense of contentment.

Finally, Joel sets the guitar aside and looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "I think that's enough practice for now," he says. “Come on to bed now, baby.”

The two of you settle into the makeshift bed, pulling the blankets up around you as you snuggle close to one another. "Hey, darlin'," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I'm feeling a little cold. Mind if I snuggle up to you?”

"I'm cold too," you say, your voice low and seductive. "Maybe we can help each other warm up.”

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I think that can be arranged," he says, pulling you closer to him.

As you snuggle up to one another, your bodies pressed close together, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, warming your skin and making you feel safe and protected in his arms. You take a moment to breathe in his scent, a mix of sweat, dirt, and something uniquely Joel, that you've come to associate with him and the comfort he brings. Your hands begin to wander over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his shirt. You can feel the rough texture of his calluses, evidence of the physical work he's done to survive in this new world, and it only adds to his appeal.

You trace your fingers over the lines of his abs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. You move your hands up to his shoulders, feeling the strength in his arms, the way they encircle you, holding you close. Your fingers graze over the rough stubble on his jaw, feeling the way it scrapes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the way they part slightly, welcoming you in. Your hands continue to explore his body, feeling the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his heartbeat quickens beneath your touch.

Joel responds to your kiss, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer to him. You can feel the hard length of his erection pressed against you, and it only serves to heighten your desire for him. Joel's hands wander your body, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. He teases your nipples, causing you to gasp with pleasure.

You break the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Joel," you moan, your voice full of need.

Joel's lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Yes, darlin'?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

"I want you," you say, your voice low and seductive.

Joel's eyes darken with desire. "I want you too, darlin'," he says, his voice thick with need.

He lifts your shirt and bra over your head, tossing it aside as his lips find yours once more. He teases your nipples with his tongue, causing you to moan with pleasure.

You run your hands over his chest again, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. You tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Joel's hands wander down your body, cupping your ass and pulling you closer to him. You can feel the hard length of his erection pressing against you, causing you to moan with need. He trails his lips down your body, kissing and licking at your skin as he goes. He reaches your pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them down your legs. You help kick your pants aside, your body now bare before him. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you.

He stands up, removing his pants and boxers in one swift motion. You take in the sight of him, his body muscular, his erection long, thick, and hard. Joel crawls back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. He looks into your eyes, his own full of desire.

"You sure, darlin'?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

You nod, your eyes locked on his. "I want you, Joel. I need you."

Joel's eyes darken with desire as he looks into your eyes. "You've got me, darlin'," he says, his voice thick with need. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he positions himself at your entrance. He teases you with the tip of his erection, causing you to moan with need. Finally, he thrusts inside of you, filling you completely. You cry out with pleasure, your body adjusting to the massive intrusion.

Joel sets a slow, steady pace, his hips moving in a slow, circular motion. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you, taking exactly what you need. You feel the tension building between you, the pleasure mounting higher and higher like a rollercoaster about to reach the very top of the track. Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his hips moving faster and faster.

As the tension continues to build, you can feel yourself getting closer to coming apart. Each thrust of his hips sends a wave of pleasure crashing through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest as his hands roam your body, exploring every inch of your soft, supple skin.

"Oh god, Joel," you moan, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so close. Please don't stop."

Joel's response is a low growl, his body tensing as he drives deeper into you. His thrusts become more erratic, his movements more urgent as he races towards his own climax. You can feel his cock swelling inside you, the veins standing out as he pumps his hips faster and faster.

"Fuck, m'gonna come," he gasps, his breath hot against your ear. "You ready for me, baby?"

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. "Please Joel, need your come deep inside me."

With a final, powerful thrust, Joel reaches his climax, his cock twitching as he empties himself deep inside you. You can feel the warmth of his seed spreading through your body, triggering your own release as you cry out his name. Your orgasm rolls through you in waves, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. Joel collapses on top of you, his body slick with sweat.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies come down from the high. Joel reaches over into the pile of candy hearts and pulls out a new one. He looks at it for a moment, a smug smile spreading across his face.

"Think this one sums up tonight perfectly," he says, holding it out for you to read.

You take the candy from him and read the message aloud, "Heavenly Match."

Your heart flutters, and you can't help but smile. "Couldn't agree more cowboy," you say, leaning in to press a kiss to Joel's lips.

Joel grins, his eyes shining with affection and love. "Forever yours, darlin'," he says, his voice low and husky.

You smile back at him, feeling a sense of warmth and happiness that you've never felt before. "Forever yours," you say, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bask in the afterglow of your love. As you lie there in each other's arms, basking in the warmth of your love, you realize that amidst the chaos of the world around you, you've found a sanctuary in each other. The abandoned building may be filled with shadows and uncertainty, but in this moment, there's nothing but the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the windows, casting a gentle light on your intertwined bodies.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to Joel, feeling his steady heartbeat against your chest. In his embrace, you find solace, strength, and a sense of belonging that you never thought possible in this harsh new world.

As you drift off to sleep, the sweet melody of the guitar still echoing in your mind, you know that no matter what tomorrow may bring, you'll face it together, hand in hand, hearts intertwined, forever bound by the unbreakable bond of love.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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wildernessuntothemselves · 5 months

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Jealousy, Jealousy... | Final Part

A/N: this is the main ending. there is an alternative ending available for the other boy on patreon. the link for which is found at the end of this chapter.

Word count: 13k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, mostly dom!reader, face-sitting, PIV sex, dirty talk, creampie, handjob, heartbreak.

“Hey, baby.” You greet Yeonjun, giving him a kiss on the lips. “Ready to go?”

You were picking him up to go home after a long day of work for the both of you. You had in mind a night of drinking wine and complaining about your day until you passed out in his arms and you can’t wait to get home already.

“Just a little longer, doll.” He tells you and you immediately start whining. “Junnie… those two bottles of wine I bought aren’t gonna drink themselves. We gotta get cracking.”

He chuckles tiredly. “While I appreciate your efforts to get me drunk, Beomgyu has composed a new song and I need to stay back to hear it.”

“Oh.” It’s still so weird to you how you now have to hear news about what your best friend is up to from other people. You used to know these things first. If this was a few months ago, you’d have already heard the song before anyone else did. But now you’re lucky if you even get to hear it at all.

But that’s for the best. You’re doing good with Yeonjun. You’re doing good without Beomgyu. You’re breathing. You’re eating. Your heart is beating… maybe even for someone else for a change. It may have been excruciatingly painful at first–forcing yourself to step away from him, not seeking him out to try to make things better after your most recent fallout, not jumping at the chance when he reached out himself, pretending like you’re too busy to see him, making up excuses so you won’t be alone with him, building up your walls so maybe one day you can stand in a room with him and not have to hold back every cell of your body from throwing yourself at his feet and begging him to love you, but you’ve gotten a lot better at it.

“Do you wanna listen to it?” Yeonjun asks when he sees your curiosity, but you hesitate. Should you? Maybe you should just wait in the car…

But when you see Beomgyu come out with his acoustic guitar and set it on his lap, you find yourself nodding and grabbing a seat next to Yeonjun. You miss hearing him sing. You miss being privy to his passions and whims. Maybe it's selfish of you to allow yourself the opportunity to witness more of him than you’re willing to give him but you never claimed to not be selfish.

As if Beomgyu shares your thoughts, he glances at you, hesitating for a second and you can see the thoughts flitting behind his pretty eyes–you know him too well. Is he thinking about kicking you out? Does he not want you to hear the song because you’ve been keeping your distance from him?

Eventually though he looks down at his guitar and starts to play, and as soon as the first words leave his lips, your heart drops.

Oh, I’m falling in love

As time goes by

As my feelings grow

I’m becoming more anxious

How deep is your love?

I want to ask

Couldn’t it be the same if not deeper?

Your heart lurches in your chest at the lyrics. Falling in love? Is Beomgyu falling in love with Haeun? You know you have no right to feel hurt by this but you do. Why couldn’t he have loved you? What does he see in her that you couldn’t have given him? Is she prettier than you? Smarter? Kinder? Funnier? What was it that made you fall short of deserving his love?

Seeing you change little by little

I’m afraid I’ll lose you

Not mine

My one minute, one second

Take them all

All my time is yours

Why?

Why have you changed?

Why are you so far away from me?

Now we are at different paths.

It hurts even more that it seems she’s not reciprocating his feelings. She has everything you want and she doesn’t even want it. He’s willing to give her everything but it seems it’s not enough for her. Oh how cruelly ironic.

She seemed to be very into him before, at least after the band got more popular, and with every increase in their popularity, she attached herself to him more and more, but something must’ve gone wrong along the line. You have known for some time that Beomgyu and Haeun have been having relationship troubles but you don’t know exactly what because Beomgyu hasn’t told anyone but you guess it’s really bad if this song is about them.

Is she in love with someone else? Has she lost interest? How could she do it so easily when it’s taking everything in you to do the same. Can she tell you her secret so you can stop suffering and give your heart completely to the man who actually wants it?

How can I go back

To our beginning

When we were looking at the same place

The when we had the same heart

I hope you don’t know it

This feeling

Even though I love you

I still feel alone

He’s hiding it from her, afraid to reveal his feelings–maybe because he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way, that if he reveals them she’ll reject him. You know that feeling all too well. You wish you could protect him from it even if he was the cause of your own similar pain.

As the chorus repeats, you become even more sure that the song is about him. You can hear the anguish so clearly in his voice. Beomgyu has always been so talented, always able to give his all to the song and live it as if it’s his own, but you know him too well. You know this is real pain.

I’m drowning in you

Don’t leave me like this

As the bridge reaches its climax, your body shakes, wanting to lunge forward and take him into your arms, to save him from himself even if it would tear you to pieces. But you can’t. You don’t have the right to anymore. All you can do is sit there and wait for him to finish his song, wait for the boys to discuss it as if it’s not his heart being laid out in the open to be dissected.

“What do you think?” He asks once the song is over, biting the skin of his finger, a nervous habit you’ve always quietly found adorable. You would always grab his hand and kiss the poor finger better, scolding him for hurting himself, but secretly you loved it. You loved having his hand in yours. You loved having an excuse to press your lips against him. And you loved the smile he would always give you in response.

“It’s really good." Kai says, impressed. "Didn’t know that someone as emotionally stunted as you could come up with such a moving song."

"Fuck off." Beomgyu mutters, not in the mood for jokes, obviously nervous to see what the others think.

“Yeah, I like it too. You said you’re thinking of having violins in the opening?” Taehyun asks, picking up a music sheet.

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I know we’ve never done that before but I feel like it would really add to the atmosphere of the song.”

"I think it could be fun." Taehyun hums, turning to Soobin. “What do you think?”

"I agree. It's good to experiment a bit while still maintaining our sound which I think this song does really well. It could expose us to more people while still not alienating our existing fanbase.” He praises and Beomgyu smiles, relieved at his song being so well-received by the other members. “I especially like the bridge part. I think once Yeonjun sings it, it would really elevate the song.”

Beomgyu's face falls at that but he quickly covers it up. You furrow your eyebrows. That can't feel good, being compared negatively with Yeonjun, even if Soobin didn't mean it like that.

You look at Yeonjun, who hadn't said a word so far. He was staring at Beomgyu weirdly. Did he not like the song?

You nudge him, giving him a questioning look and he just shakes his head, smiling at you before saying, "I like it. Good job, man."

Beomgyu gives him a tense smile in response, and the group falls into an awkward silence for a few seconds–a weird tension hanging in the air, before Soobin clears his throat and begins discussing how they'll play the song, what parts could be improved and who will get which part. You don’t really listen anymore, just looking between Yeonjun and Beomgyu.

Your boyfriend seems to have gotten over his weird reaction, now focused on the technicalities. Beomgyu is focused too but he doesn’t look as enthusiastic as you expected him to be–as you'd seen him get when talking about his songs before–and it's more proof to you that this is a very personal song to him.

As the boys finally break up after a while, most of them going their separate ways to pack up their stuff and get ready to leave, your boyfriend stays behind with Soobin, still discussing something with him. That’s when you spot Beomgyu alone, putting his guitar in its case, and you take the opportunity to go talk to him, unable to hold yourself back this time.

“Hey, Beomgyu, that song was really good.” You start by saying, wanting to congratulate him on a really good song but also needing an opener. But Beomgyu doesn’t say anything in response, simply giving you a blank look–which fucking hurt but you guess you deserve it–so you continue lamely, trying to get him to respond. “You’re really talented. I don’t think you’re gonna need to moonlight as a stripper anymore.” You try to joke but again he doesn’t really say anything, turning his attention back to his guitar bag which he zips up.

“Umm… Beomgyu, that song… is it about you?” You bite the bullet, and he finally gives you some sort of response, albeit nonverbal. He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Is it about you and Haeun?”

“What?” He frowns and you explain yourself nervously, hoping you weren’t overstepping boundaries that have sprung up in your absence. “Well, the song is about a guy who loves someone who doesn’t feel the same about him and how she’s changing and being distant… is that what’s happening with Haeun?”

He sighs. “Maybe. So what?”

You wince at his callousness, like he doesn’t have time for you. You suppose you brought it on yourself with the way you've been avoiding him. Still you ignore it, determined to tell him what you think anyway. “Well, if it is, you should tell her. Tell her how you feel, she might feel the same way and you don’t even know. You might both be pulling away when all you want is to be with each other.” Yes, you know how hypocritical it is of you to say that but you can’t imagine a world in which anyone would reject Beomgyu’s love. “If you love her then you should tell her, right?”

He snorts. “What do you even know about how I feel? Do you have any idea about the amount of hurt and self-loathing it would cause me if she doesn’t feel the same way? How it would ruin our relationship if she’s not where I am?”

“I know.” You grit down on that same pain. “I know.”

He pauses, his anger burning out as soon as it ignites. Then he asks quietly, “Yeonjun?”

You press down on your lips. You know if you say no then he might figure it out. He might finally discover your wretched secret, so you smile and nod, fully knowing how hypocritical you are being right now. You’re such a fucking coward, you disgust even yourself.

“Right.” He is quiet for a minute, and the atmosphere is charged with weird, unreadable emotions that buzz in your ear and form sparks over your skin. You almost excuse yourself–not really wanting to leave despite how uncomfortable it is but knowing you should. You’ve said what you wanted to say. There is no good reason for you to linger around any longer.

But then Beomgyu speaks again. "Are you happy?"

You pause, frowning in suspicion at the unexpected question, which Beomgyu notices right away and clarifies, "We haven't talked in a while. I wanna make sure you're doing alright." He says, tone genuine… and a bit sad.

"I am." You allow, not being untruthful. You are alright, no matter how bad you feel doing it without him. "We're doing well. Yeonjun is as wonderful as ever. He is sweet and funny and he shows me something new everyday. Which is a bit scary for me–you know how I am afraid of change, but he makes it exciting.”

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.” He smiles at you. It doesn’t reach his eyes but you know he means it. “And I wish I could be there to see it for myself. Do you think you can let me?”

That’s what you were afraid of. This is why you shouldn’t have talked to him. You knew he might use it to try to get back into your life, and you know how hard it would be for you to say no. But you do it anyway. You have to do it for yourself and for Yeonjun.

“I can’t. Not now.” Each meager letter leaving your mouth feels like a blow to the heart. It lays battered in your chest, asking you why the hell you would refuse it its salvation, but you just push it down again, silencing it.

“But I miss you.” His words come out choppy and weak, and you know he’s holding back tears. You hate him for it because it makes you want to cry too. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course, I miss you!” You whisper as if you don’t want the universe to hear it. "I'll always miss you. But I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I'm tired of the whiplash."

"No more whiplash.” He shakes his head harshly, getting closer to you but you step back, causing pain to bloom across his teary face. “I get it now. I've worked through my stuff and I'm ready to be a real friend again."

"Well, I haven't worked through mine.” You stand strong. Or as strongly as you can be under such duress. “I still need time and I will not have you rush me."

He moves back, shoulders hunched down. "I'm sorry."

"I know." You say tiredly before walking away, your bruised heart bleeding out at the bottom of your chest.

____________

Beomgyu’s song has become some kind of a local sensation. It is being listened to by a lot of the young people in your city–resonating with many youths who have gone through similar heartbreaks. From small unrequited crushes to the person you love falling out of love with you–who hasn’t loved more than they have been loved before?

The painfully relatable song has gained the boys a considerable amount of fame online too. They were being asked to do more gigs than ever. They’ve even gotten an interview, which you’re currently preparing them for, dressing them up to look their best on camera.

Like always, you’ve left Beomgyu for last, dreading being close to him still. And he gives you every reason to, staring at you the whole time you fix his clothes.

"What?" You finally ask, and he gives you a dumb look. "What?"

"You're staring." You tell him, and he averts his gaze. You can see from the ear poking out of his long hair that he’s blushing. "Oh. Didn't realize."

Oh, how many times you’ve teased him over the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed. It was such an endearing quality in him, just one of the many small reasons that made up the whole of you loving him.

You got back to styling him, pretending it doesn’t tug at your heartstrings anymore, and he goes back to staring at you.

After a long beat of silence, he asks awkwardly, "So what are you up to? What's new with you?"

"Well, I'm the creative director for this up and coming band's new song." You joke, trying to ease off the tension. Or maybe his cute involuntary reaction softened up your defenses a little bit.

"Oh, are they good?" He grins, falling gladly into your familiar banter.

"They are, but I think their bass guitarist only got the job because of his looks."

He gives an affronted gasp. "What the hell? Hater! What, you think just because he's so pretty he can't possibly be talented too? Us pretty people are always misjudged."

"Oh, you poor pretty boy." You reach out to pinch his chin, before you realize what you’re doing and quickly take your hand away, clearing your throat and stepping back. “All done.”

You give him a tense smile and turn to leave but his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

"Wait." He shouts, and you look down at his hand wrapped around your wrist. He notices your discomfort and immediately lets you go. "Do you want to get together for some food or a movie or something?"

Why does he have to make this so hard? Why does he do this every time?

"Not yet." You repeat what you must’ve told him a dozen times before. You can't slip back into it. Because your skin still buzzes whenever you touch him and your heart clenches painfully around the hole he left in it whenever you see him. You need time apart to fully let the love you have for him go.

"When?” He asks, frustrated. “When will it end? What can I do to help? What do you need me to do so you can be my friend again?"

"I need you to give me space." You say firmly, standing your ground.

“But–”

“No buts, Beomgyu. You’re the one who made it this way. If you had been my friend when I needed you to, we wouldn’t have gotten into this situation. You need to deal with the consequences of your own actions.”

He stares at the ground, not answering you. You sigh, turning around to leave with no restrictions this time.

Though what you said to him about his previous behavior causing a rift between you wasn’t false, it wasn’t entirely the truth either. The other reason you felt you couldn’t be his friend again yet is that you’re still not over him, and you’ve made a promise to yourself and to Yeonjun that you will only be devoting yourself to him from now on, and Beomgyu being there is just going to hinder your progress.

But as you watch the boys do their interview, you can’t help but feel guilty for what you’d said to Beomgyu. You know it was the right thing to do, but seeing him look so glum, his light dimmed and his spirits down, you wish you had held it off at least for later.

He is acting nothing like his normal loud, talkative self. He looks down and doesn’t speak unless directly asked a question. It hurts your heart because you know the people watching this won’t get to see how funny and bright and passionate he is. They’ll see him as the quiet guy staring at his own feet. He might still get some fans who would be into the quiet, sad look but that’s not who Beomgyu is. That’s not what he wants to be known as.

But the rest of the boys are covering for him well, especially Yeonjun. He is so charming, you know he’s gonna be stealing hearts left and right when this airs. He certainly has managed to put a smile on your face despite all the conflicting feelings you’re feeling, and you make sure he sees it whenever he glances in your direction.

_______________

The boys are doing better than ever, more interviews and gigs coming in and filling their schedule up so rapidly they’ll barely have any free time soon. They’re already in talks with a record company looking to sign them. Which is why you’re actively savoring moments like this when you get to just hangout with Yeonjun at the mall, eating a snack as you take a break from shopping–one of your favorite activities to do as a couple.

“Just think, soon enough we won’t even be able to do this. We’d be getting mobbed by crowds wanting your autograph and pushing me out of the way to take pictures of you.” You say to Yeonjun, half-joking. It might really happen one day with how quickly they’re gaining popularity. They might have small fame now but who knows what tomorrow will bring, and you believe in the boys. They’re talented enough to do it, and that both worries you and excites you.

“Well, I’ll only ever have eyes for you.” He winks at you, and you give him a small smile.

In moments like this you should feel happy. You are happy. But your happiness is incomplete. It is shadowed by worry and doubt. Yeonjun is so wonderful. He is so sweet and he can be very caring, but sometimes you can’t help but question how much he really feels for you. It keeps you from letting yourself completely go with him. He tells you words that are supposed to be charming, but they don’t sound personal. They don’t feel deep. You know he likes you, but is he ever going to love you?

Maybe you’re overthinking it. This is what a budding relationship is like–the novelty comes with uncertainty. The first times come with doubt. The young fire sometimes burns. You shouldn’t let yourself ruin it for you.

Yes, your love for him isn’t as old and deep-rooted as your love for Beomgyu but maybe that’s a good thing. It will take time to grow and flourish and become something just as beautiful or even more so. In time, you can learn to let go of your all-consuming love for your best friend, cover that gaping hole that Beomgyu has left in your heart, forget about the way every time you see Beomgyu with her you feel like screaming out so loud the gods themselves will weep–

“Beomgyu.” You gasp, seeing him in front of you. Fuck, he’s like bloody marry. Call his name three times and he appears.

You try to hide, putting your head down and attempting to cover your face with your hair but there is no mistaking Yeonjun’s bright orange head and Beomgyu quickly spots you and makes his way over to you with Haeun of all people.

“Curse your stupid hair.” You hiss at Yeonjun just before Beomgyu and Haeun arrive at the table.

"Hey, guys, are you on a date?" Beomgyu asks as if there was any doubt about it.

"Yes, actually." Yeonjun tells him in a tone that clearly conveys that you don’t want to be disturbed, But Beomgyu doesn’t care, grabbing a chair and pulling it out.

"Oh sweet." He sits down. "How have you guys been?"

“What are you doing, Beommie? We have a lot of shopping to do.” Haeun complains, and every time you hear her call him that you want to claw her tongue out.

"In a minute, baby. Let's rest our legs for a bit." He motions for Haeun to sit down, but she puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to rest.”

“Well then you go on and I’ll catch up with you.” He suggests and she huffs, deciding to sit down after all. Oh, joy.

“But I can’t leave you alone, Beommie.” She whines, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his neck, making you almost hurl.

Thankfully, Yeonjun takes your attention away from them. “So, what new crazy thing is your boss asking from you?”

You turn fully to him, trying your best to ignore the disgusting intruders. “Ugh, don’t even get me started. This morning, she–”

“Boss? What boss?” Beomgyu interrupts, and you clench your teeth, preparing yourself before turning your head to look towards him.

“The editor of Elements magazine. She saw the Frost shoot and wanted me to do a pictorial for them.”

“Oh my god, that is amazing.” He shouts, startling Haeun who was so close to his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

An awkward moment passes after his mindless question. Because we don’t talk? Because we’re not friends anymore?

Eventually, you decide to just shrug. “I guess it must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Right.” He clears his throat, going along. “Well, show me what you’ve done so far.”

You hesitate, glancing at Yeonjun who sighs and gestures for you to go ahead. So you pull up your phone, showing him some of the pictures you’ve already taken.

"Wow this is real artistic shit." Beomgyu awes and you laugh. Trust in Beomgyu to give such an un-nuanced but still somehow very flattering opinion.

“I don’t get it. It’s just a guy in a bathtub.” Haeun speaks up, obviously intending to antagonize you. “My friend Jiwon takes better pictures than this and he didn’t even go to college. If that’s what they teach you at school then you’ve wasted your money.”

Oh fuck no. You may be spineless but you won’t allow Haeun of all people to make fun of your work. You prepare to launch into a screaming match with her condescending ass, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Beomgyu beats you to it. “Your friend Jiwon takes back camera pictures of weird strangers on the street and makes up an exaggerated or completely false backstory about them to try to make the obviously amateur pictures appear more interesting. How fucking original.”

Beomgyu’s quick defense of you makes your heart swell. Some things never change.

“Yeah? Like this is original!” She sputters indignantly.

“I know it’s nothing groundbreaking.” You interrupt their quarrel, “Like a guy in a tub staring longingly at the camera isn’t something that hasn’t exactly been done before but… umm, it’s actually inspired by your song. The colored water is supposed to represent love, you know the “I’m drowning in you” part? It’s killing him but he can’t get himself to get out. He wants to drown in it… I don’t know it may be stupid but I hope you don’t mind.”

"Oh. No, I'm… flattered." He trails off, staring at you wide-eyed. “I didn’t think I would be able to inspire you again…”

“Yeah, well...” You mumble bashfully, a charged moment passes over you as you stare silently at each other.

"Are you done?" Haeun complains, and for once you’re thankful to her for cutting the strange moment. "I'm bored. Let's go."

“We haven’t even eaten anything yet. Take a look at the menus and order something for us, won’t you?” He asks her, but doesn’t even wait for her response before turning back to you. "You know what would be hilarious. If you get the editor to let you do a shoot with the plastic watermelon dress you made."

“It’s not plastic.” You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly which dress he’s referring to. “It’s coral organza.”

“Looked like plastic to me.” He shrugs with a mischievous grin on his face.

“That’s because you're fashion illiterate.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very fashion forward and hip.” He proclaims, sounding decidedly NOT neither fashion forward nor hip.

“Yes, because a punk guitarist wearing ratty shirts and ripped jeans is so revolutionary.” You drawl teasingly and he pouts, pulling at his shirt. “Hey! You were there when I picked these out. You said I looked cool.”

“Yeah, she’ll say you look cool wearing a garbage bag.” Yeonjun scoffs and you blush, realizing that you’ve completely neglected Yeonjun as soon as Beomgyu got here. You move back from your huddled forward stance to lean against your boyfriend.

“What?” Beomgyu asks and you quickly brush Yeonjun’s comment off. “Nothing. Now Yeonjun is very stylish. He knows all the trends and he knows how to make them work for him.”

Beomgyu snorts, glancing at your hand that is caressing Yeonjun’s chest. “I don’t follow trends. I make trends.”

“That’s right, baby. You’re a trendsetter.” Haeun coos, getting her hands on him too, touching him much more inappropriately than you were touching Yeonjun.

But Beomgyu ignores her once again, asking you, "How did you even reach the editor of Elements?"

"Oh, Yeonjun knew her." Your hand falls down to wrap around Yeonjun’s, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Of course, Yeonjun knows the editor." For some reason that piece of information really seemed to annoy Beomgyu. But you ignore his unnecessarily snarky tone and turn to smile at Yeonjun, hoping he’d forgive you for your earlier mishap. “Yeah, he’s amazing, isn’t he?”

"Yes, he’s great.” Beomgyu mutters, standing up. “I think me and Haeun have stuff to do. Let’s go, baby."

"Yes!" She claps happily, standing up too.

"Oh, okay. Bye, I guess." You mumble, watching them abruptly scurry off as you try to process the weird interaction. "What's wrong with him?"

“Maybe he’s just being his usual weird self.” Yeonjun shrugs, removing his hand from yours, making you frown. "Or maybe he feels inadequate because I was able to get you the job and he couldn't."

"That's ridiculous." Why would Beomgyu feel inadequate about that? He doesn’t have any obligation to get you work.

"Is it? If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too."

"What?" The world suddenly screeches to a halt, as does Yeonjun. He looks at you, slowly contemplating something as if he doesn’t know that the world has stopped and is waiting on him.

Finally, he sighs. "I tried to ignore it. Partly because the idiot is trying to hide it and partly because I like you, but ever since we got together, it's been pretty damn hard to ignore. Beomgyu is clearly in love with you.”

"No. You’re getting it wrong.” You shake your head, hoping to get rid of the cotton that has replaced your brain, your thoughts feeling fuzzy and slow as they travel through it. “He's just upset because he thinks us dating will drive me and him apart… which I guess has been true."

"No, he's upset because he wants to be with you and it's killing him to see us together.” Yeonjun clarifies, irritated at having to explain to you how some other guy is in love with you.

"How can you be so sure? Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to tell me. I have eyes…" He looks you up and down. "And well, I'm not stupid like you two."

"That's ridiculous." You denounce once more.

"You said that already."

"Well, it is! Beomgyu doesn’t love me. I mean as a friend, sure but not… like that."

"Oh my god, I'm dealing with two idiots. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m explaining this to you but here goes,” Yeonjun exclaims in frustration, obviously not enjoying this conversation any more than you are. “Think about it, no guy gets this worked up over just a fuck. His first explanation of his anger being just because he’s afraid our relationship is going to ruin the band was total bullshit. It was just to throw you off his scent and have a way to get you to stay away from me without revealing anything. And his second explanation is even more bullshit. Why the fuck would us being in a relationship make you lose him as a friend if he didn’t hold anything but platonic love for you? Why does he get mad every time you and I take a step forward in our relationship? Because he’s fucking in love with you. He literally wrote a whole song about how he’s secretly in love with you and it’s killing him that you’re not his!"

“That song was about me?” You ask and he gives you a look as if to say he can’t believe a single human being can be this dumb. “No, it’s obviously about the girl he’s been ignoring the entire time he was sat with us just so he could talk to you.”

Your mouth opens slowly, tongue dry as it forms the words. "Let’s say he does love me. Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"Why wouldn't you just tell him?"

You sputter uselessly for a while, not really saying anything. Until you give up and just stop, submerging the both of you in a suffocating silence. You’d think that your thoughts would be racing a million miles an hour right now, trying to process all this information, but nothing is going through your head except one question.

Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me?

You’re only taken out of your looping thought when Yeonjun sighs again. "Well, this was fun while it lasted."

"What?" Your mouth hangs open, your frozen brain somehow still having enough power to be shocked.

"You're obviously still completely in love with him. When he's there it's like you don't even see me. You don't see anyone else." Yeonjun says defeatedly.

"No, I–" You try to deny, but he gives you a pointed look, daring you to lie to him.

“Okay, I love him but I’m with you.”

“Only to get over him.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. My feelings for you are real. Don’t you dare deny that.”

“Maybe, but they’re not as strong as your feelings for him.”

“But they can be.” You insist–trying to convince yourself or him, you don’t know. Maybe if you give me the chance to–”

“To what? Wait and see if you’ll finally look for me first when you walk into a room instead of him? Pretend that I don’t know that time and distance haven’t dulled your love for him one bit? I can’t go on in a relationship where I know my partner will always be thinking ‘what if’. I won’t let myself be hurt like that by you. Not anymore.”

You tear up. You were hurting him? You didn't even think he cared all that much. You must be a terrible judge of character to be getting both boys so wrong. “I’m sorry, Yeonjun. I never meant to hurt you. I really, really tried.”

You really did. You didn’t do this just to get over Beomgyu. Yes, it was part of it, but you liked him too. You really thought this could work, and you really think it would have if Beomgyu wasn’t in the picture, and so you did everything in your power to take him out of it. You moved out from your apartment. You cut Beomgyu off. You dedicated yourself to Yeonjun.

But how can you stop your heart from beating for Beomgyu? It’s entirely out of your control.

"But you did anyway.” He says and you wince, one tear escaping your lashes and falling down the left side of your face. “Do you hate me?”

“I could never hate you.” He sighs, and your lips tremble as you confess, “I wish you would. It might make me feel better.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to feel better.” His words pierce your heart, and you know you deserve every ounce of pain it inflicts.

“That’s fair.”

You’re both silent for a long while–you trying to keep your tears under control, not wishing for him to see it as any intention to garner sympathy or guilt from him, and him sitting there quietly, his thoughts entirely hidden from you, but you know there is pain and anger in him. You can feel it radiating off of him.

But eventually your tears dry out, and you gather enough courage to ask one last thing of him. “I know I have no right to ask this but can you not tell Beomgyu about us breaking up? I don’t want him to know yet. But don’t worry, I’ll gather my things and move out. You won’t have to live with me.”

"You're not done playing games?" He frowns and you shake your head. "I'm not. It’s just because you guys are working out that record deal and if anything goes wrong, I don’t want to risk ruining things for you.”

“Fine.” Yeonjun graciously accepts. “And you can stay. I’m not gonna kick you out into the street. I’m not that kinda guy.”

____________________

Despite your love for Beomgyu, your break-up with Yeonjun wasn’t easy. You really liked him and had grown attached to him. And even though you still lived together, you hardly talked when it was just the two of you alone. You realize with time just how hurt he is by everything even though he tries his best to hide it from the others–not just because they think you’re still together, but because he has always refused to burden his younger members with his troubles, ever the selfless older brother. It’s one of the qualities you both admired and despised about him simultaneously. You wanted him to share his fears and worries, to lighten the load on his shoulders, and for a short while you were able to do that for him, but now that you’ve broken up, he’s left to carry all of it by himself again and with heartbreak to boot.

You feel incredibly guilty about it, and you mourn for the love that could’ve blossomed between you had you not been so hung up about your best friend. The best friend you still haven’t talked to by the way.

Yeonjun's words have not left your mind since the day he revealed everything to you. No moment passes by when you don't think about them. But you haven’t confronted Beomgyu about it yet because the record deal was still underway, and because you weren’t sure if Yeonjun is even right about it all. What if he’s wrong?

Yeah, what? You'll ruin your friendship with Beomgyu? It's already in shambles anyway. Still, the rejection will be brutal. You've lived in the shadows for years. You're used to ignoring your feelings, that kind of pain is familiar to you now, but if you reveal them to Beomgyu and he shoots you down, you might not bear it.

You'll tell him soon enough though, after the party tonight. The boys have finally reached an agreement with the record company and the contract has come through. They're officially signed to a label now and tonight’s party is a small celebration of that.

You’ll do it after the party tonight. You’ll ask to talk to him after everyone leaves and you’ll confess everything. You're ready to come clean and end it all. Well, as ready as you can be.

But as the party drags on, you get restless, and when you spot Beomgyu alone, refilling his drink, you can’t help but steal a little moment with him.

“Congratulations, Beommie. I hear your song sealed the deal.” You smile widely, your lips buzzing with the desire to tell him what you really want to say–that you love him, that you’re proud of him, and that if his song is really about you then he needs to know that you’ve always been his.

“Yeah. I’m not so useless after all.” Beomgyu’s reply is short and bitter.

“What?”

Yeonjun’s words ring in your ears. If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too. Is this Beomgyu being insecure like Yeonjun said?

But before you can get him to clarify what he means, Haeun comes running over, incapable of leaving him alone for more than a minute. Can you really blame her? If you had him, you would never let him go either.

“Baby, there you are! My star boy.” She throws her arms around him, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss that makes you want to vomit.

You quickly retreat, not having missed the soft-core porn you used to witness while living with Beomgyu. Fucking Yeonjun, is this what he calls Beomgyu being in love with you? You don’t see him pushing her away or anything. He seems pretty happy with the kiss if his tongue in her mouth is any indication.

"Foul." You mutter, swigging your cider, almost choking on it when a voice speaks up next to you. "That can't be good for the heart, huh?"

You look at Yeonjun sheepishly, not sure if you can talk to him about this. After all, you did break up because of your love for the man currently getting his face sucked off by Haeun. So you just settle on mumbling out a weak yeah.

"Well, you know you could always fix it by confronting him about his undying love for you." He tells you and you can’t help but snort, annoyance overcoming your trepidation. "Yeah, right. He's so heartbroken, he's going to drown his sorrows in her pussy."

“He’s just doing this because he thinks we’re still together. If he knows you’re free, I can guarantee you he’ll be dropping her so fast she won’t hit the ground before he’s on his knees for you.”

“How can you be so confident?” You ask and he shrugs. “Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.”

He walks away, leaving you to think over his words. Funny, that’s how you feel about the sight still playing out in front of you, the disgusting view getting burned into your retinas.

Deciding you needed a break, you slip away from the living room, heading towards the bathroom to wash your face off. But on the way there, you pass by your old room, stopping when you see the door slightly cracked open.

Your feet take you inside without you realizing it, compelled by curiosity to see what he’s done with the room in your absence. Has he turned it into a gaming room? Is he using it for storage? Is he letting her use it as her own? Oh, god, you really hope not. Anything but that.

But you’re surprised when you step inside and find it mostly empty except for your old mattress and a few items you must’ve forgotten during your move. A T-shirt here, a sleeping mask there–they were all strewn around on your bed with the odd piece of clothing from Beomgyu himself in the mix.

You step closer, examining the items when something in particular catches your eyes. A flash of pink under a pillow that makes you reach forward to pull it out, realizing just what it was once it’s in your hands–a pair of pink panties. Your pink panties that you’d been missing for a while. Why does Beomgyu have this? You thought he just used this because he was so pent up he needed any form of release but now Haeun is never off his dick so why does he still do this?

Could Yeonjun have been right all along?

As you continue to hold it in your hands, puzzling over it, you hear the door open and close behind you and Beomgyu’s panicky voice calling out your name.

"What are you doing in here?" He squeaks as if this wasn’t your room. Well, your old room but still. It’s not like he made any changes to it yet.

You turn to face him with the panties in your hands, silent, and his eyes grow wide as he stammers, trying to explain himself. “These are old.”

“They’re wet.” You say plainly, which means he has just used them, and he knows it too.

He scoffs, attempting to appear unaffected. As if this is just a completely reasonable situation that you’ve blown way out of proportion. “Well–it’s just–they were on hand.” He gives you what may possibly be the flimsiest excuse in history.

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

"Did you leave these out for me to see?" You question, and he rushes to deny. "No! I just forgot to put them away."

His eyes widen again at what he just said, basically admitting that he took them from you on purpose to do with them exactly what you had in mind. God, he's such a stupid loser.

You walk towards him until you’re standing right in front of him, leaving him no room to breathe. “Make everyone leave.”

“It’s our celebratory party, I can’t just–”

You grab his hand and put it under your skirt, pressing his fingers against your warm pussy. “And I want to give you your reward. Make them leave.”

He looks at you, shocked, and suddenly you realize what you're asking of him. You're coming onto him after weeks of ignoring him. You're asking him to have sex with you when he has a girlfriend–when he thinks you have a boyfriend. Oh god.

But then he gulps and says. "Okay."

You watch from behind the door as he stops the music and kicks everyone out, telling them that he doesn’t feel good and needs to rest, and when Kai complains loudly, he asks him if he’d like to stay back and hold his hair while he vomits. That quickly convinces everyone to take the party elsewhere, even his girlfriend. But one person knows better, and you see him peeking around Beomgyu to catch your hidden eyes. You share a look before he turns around and leaves the apartment. This is it. You’re going to do this.

As soon as Beomgyu comes back, you pull him into a kiss, releasing your overflowing nerves with each frustrated and needy moan you let out against his lips. Fuck, you missed kissing him so much. His lips may not be as soft as Yeonjun’s–he may not be as good of a kisser–but god does he still make your heart sing.

“Strip.” You order when you finally tear yourself away from him, though Beomgyu doesn’t make it easy, resisting you the first couple of times you try and pulling you right back into the hungry kiss. But you finally do, and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to follow your cue then.

After he’s all stripped down, he looks at you, gaze speaking of his own need to devour you. “Will you strip too?”

“Do you want it?” You ask, putting on an alluring voice but deep down you were just nervous about letting him see you fully for the first time. Even though your experience with Yeonjun has made you gain confidence, you’re still insecure, especially when it comes to Beomgyu. You want to impress him. You want him to think you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You want him to forget about her. You want him to only think of you.

Naturally, that is a lot to live up too.

Beomgyu nods enthusiastically, somehow managing to come across as adorable in this situation. “Yes, please. Take it all off.”

He tries to reach out to do it himself but you shake your head, pushing him onto the bed.

“No. We do this my way.” You tell him, and he nods again, keeping himself in check.

You reach for the zipper on your dress, hesitantly letting it fall to the floor. You aren’t wearing any bra so now you are almost nude except for your panties as you stand in front of him.

“Fuck. You’re so hot.” He takes his cock into his hand, pumping it as he leers at you. You should feel dirty having him openly masturbate to the sight of you but it makes you feel so fucking good about yourself. It’s just what you needed–for him to show you how much he wants you. “Please, take off your panties too. Wanna see your pussy.”

Despite his lewd display–or more accurately because of it–you’re given the courage to finally fully undress yourself in front of him, overcoming years of insecurities of what he’ll think of your body and any unfavorable comparisons he might make.

“Oh fuck–” He licks his lips, squeezing his cock as he stares at your pussy. “You’re perfect.”

“You think so?” You ask demurely, trying to hide your shock. Is he really telling the truth? It feels like it but you still need confirmation after years of doubting yourself.

“God, yes. Your tits are divine. I wanna suck on them and play with them all night. Your little pussy is so pretty, I wanna be buried in it forever. Come here, please, ride me, sit on my face, anything…”

Is this what you were worried about all these years? He looks pretty fucking happy with what he’s seeing. Why were you so scared? You’re so mad at yourself for wasting all this time with self-doubt when you could’ve had him long ago.

“You really need that?” You throw your panties at him, feeling more confident than ever after his proclamations. “Isn't this usually enough for you?”

“No, please, you said you’d give me a reward." He whines, distraught at the thought of you being so close but not attainable yet again. "I’ve been good.”

“Have you?” You scoff, straddling him, pressing your pussy against his cock and his body goes limp, letting you do what you want. “You’ve been nothing but a horndog, getting your rocks off wherever you can, whether it’s backstage getting sucked off by her or stealing my panties and fisting your cock with them. You’ve been such a bad boy.”

“I’m sorry.” He slurs, mouth hanging open.

"Are you? You seem to be enjoying this."

"I'm sorry." He repeats again, staring at your pussy as it moves forwards and backwards over his cock, covering it in your slick.

"You're fucking hopeless, Beomgyu. You'd do anything to get a piece of me, huh?"

"Yes." He nods eagerly, "Can you sit on my face?"

You laugh, climbing up his body until you’re hovering over his face and digging your fingers in his hair to keep his head down so he wouldn’t make any unwanted moves before you’re ready. "Is my pussy the only thing on your empty brain?"

"Uh-huh." He says dumbly, almost going cross eyes with the way he's staring at your pussy. You fucking love it. This is what you needed–to be needed. And Beomgyu gives it all to you without you even asking for it.

"Good boy." You tell him and he shoots you a searing look at that–at you finally calling him that again–before you sit down on his face.

You try not to put too much weight on him, not wanting to hurt him but Beomgyu has other ideas. He grabs your ass and pulls you down on his ready mouth, tongue flicking out to give eager licks to your already wet pussy.

"Bad–bad boy–" You hiss, pulling at his hair but he won't let go, too intent on eating you out, nuzzling his whole lower face into your pussy, his tongue and lips alternating between long messy licks and needy sucking motions, his nose brushing against your clit every now and then in his fervor.

"Fuck, Beomgyu slow down."

But that word isn't in Beomgyu's dictionary, not when he's wanted this for so long. His fingers dig into your ass, making sure you can’t escape as his tongue presses inside your hole, flicking around as much as he can while your pussy flutters around it.

"So good–tastes so good." He slurs, drool and your juices covering his lower face but he doesn’t even care. In fact if anything it turns him on if his hard, leaking cock that you see when you throw a glance backwards is anything to go by.

"You fucking the air, Beommie?" You pant, not faring much better than him but needing to tease him anyway. "Need my pussy this bad?"

But Beomgyu can't be teased. Not when he's so shameless.

"Yes. Will you sit on my cock?"

"How bad do you need it?" You sit up, pulling away from him and cutting off strings of your combined need.

"So bad. Feels like I might die without it."

"You sound like a horny fuckboy, Beommie. You know I only like good boys." You chastise, and Beomgyu shoots back, "Is that why you’re dating a whore?"

You growl, sinking back on his face, this time not caring so much about your weight over him. "Don't talk about Yeonjun like that."

He turns his face to the side to nip at your thigh in protest so you just straighten his head again and sit down on him fully, not allowing him any space to move. "You know the only whore here is you. So stick your tongue out like a good whore and let me ride it or I'll leave your dirty cock all red and weeping."

He whines in fear, sticking his tongue out for you, not daring to risk it. You move yourself over him, grinding your pussy over his tongue as he stares up at you pleadingly.

“You like it, baby? You like me using you to get off?”

He moans out in response, not having any other way to communicate his agreement and not willing to pull away from you. But you hear a wet noise coming from behind you and you look back to see him fisting his cock, clearly excited by it all. He wants this as much as you do. He has been begging for it for so long, and so you’re not so cruel as to make him take his hand away, but you need to make sure your excitement doesn’t end too soon.

“Fuck, you really wanted this, huh? Can’t help yourself whenever you get a taste of this pussy?” You tease, and he whines again, his cock thrusting into his own fist pitifully. “But don’t get too excited. You want to feel this pussy around you, don’t you?”

The needy noises he keeps letting out vibrate against your pussy, driving you even wilder as you pull on his hair harshly and desperately grind yourself on his tongue, your high so close you could taste it.

“Good boy, gonna make me cum… you want it? Want me to cum all of that pretty face?” You growl, and his hands leave his cock to grab your ass, pressing you so tightly against him, you worry that he won’t be able to breathe.

But Beomgyu clearly loves it. He wants you to do it. He moves your hips so you’re fucking his face harder, faster, all while those slutty eyes of his never leave your face.

“I’m cumming–fuck, Beommie… good boy–” You scream, shuddering as you cum over him. But as you stop moving, paralyzed by the intense orgasm, he starts moving his tongue, lapping up every drop you let out, giving your pussy open mouthed filthy kisses as he wraps his lips around you and eagerly sticks his tongue into your hole to get even more.

You have to pull away from him when it becomes too much, and Beomgyu chases after you, not having had his fill yet somehow. He's still so needy that he ends up pushing you down and laying over you, his lips incessant against yours as his cock lays heavy on your pussy.

You tug on his hair, finally detaching his lips from yours. "That's enough, Beomgyu."

“I made you cum.” He says in a daze, a stupid smile on his face.

“Yes, you did.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb before sticking it in his mouth, letting him suck on it. It’s useless of course. The entire bottom half of his face was glistening with your cum. Not that you were actually trying to clean him up. You liked seeing him covered in you too much. “Ready for your reward, baby?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” He groans, his hips bucking up against you, gliding his cock against your wet pussy. "Wanna fuck you so bad. Can I put it in now?"

"Are you gonna keep being a good boy for me? Gonna listen to my instructions and not let your cock take over your dumb brain and make you hump me like a dog?"

He shakes his head even though he was literally humping you right now. "I'll listen. I'll be so good."

"Okay, Beommie. You can put it in–slowly!"

He rushes to push his cock inside your pussy, only stopping when it's all the way inside you. "Oh god–I'm finally inside you. Wanted it for so long."

This is exactly what you had been missing. This is what you needed that Yeonjun wasn't able to give to you. Beomgyu isn't shy when expressing how much he wants you. He'll beg and plead until you give it to him.

"Can I move, baby?" He asks, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod. "Go ahead. But slowly."

He makes a valiant effort, pulling his hips back and thrusting in slowly, shuddering every time his cock is fully enveloped by your pussy.

“Good?" You ask as if his mouth wasn't hung open, as if his eyes weren't all hazy, as if he wasn't holding onto you for dear life.

"So good. Can't believe I'm fucking you."

Neither can you. You had really begun to lose hope but here you are, laid on your back with Beomgyu fucking you, following your instruction as best he could–the strain of it obvious on his face. It's everything you wanted and you finally have it.

"Can I touch your tits?" He pleads, giving you his classic puppy eyes and you smile. "Go ahead, honey."

He groans, reaching out and cupping them in his hands. "Oh god. Missed them." He leans down and attaches his lips to them, biting and kissing all over them as his hips pick up speed.

"Beomgyu…" You warn, pulling on his hair. He fights against you, looking up but not detaching from your tits. "Don't get ahead of yourself now. You want me to feel good too, don't you?"

He nods, his face still firmly buried in your lips but finally letting go of your nipple to moan out, "Yes, wanna make you feel better than anyone else."

His own words rile him up and he bites down on the skin next to your areola, making sure not to hurt you but still expressing his frustration.

"You're such a bratty baby." You scold him, but in reality you love it. You love how possessive and needy he is acting. It doesn't allow a single negative or insecure thought to enter your mind. How could it when he's so obvious about his need for you? "You can go faster now, baby."

"Oh, thank you." He groans, hips picking up speed.

"Better, honey?" You pant, brushing his wet hair out of his face so you can fully see how lost he is in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him.

"So much better. Never wanna stop." He leans down, kissing you harshly, lips opening and closing around yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth hungrily. His hands grab at your thighs, pushing them against your body as he goes even faster, a constant stream of whines and whimpers released into your mouth.

You force yourself to sober up despite the smoldering fire breaking out in your body from the way he's fucking you so good. You want him to keep going. You want him to keep fucking you until your mind has turned to mush and your limbs have turned to jelly. But you can’t let him have it this easily. You can't let him get away with the amount of pain and suffering he has caused you. He needs to feel it too, even if just a fraction of it. He needs to feel the longing and despair he has made you feel for so long.

"Slow down." You order, pulling his head away from you, doing it extra mean just the way he likes it.

"No, no, please." He cries, not slowing down. "Please… I thought this was a reward. You’re driving me crazy."

"Do you want me to push you down and tie your hand to the headboard to make sure you behave?" You threaten, trying to keep your voice under control against the incessant thrusts of his cock into your poor pussy. "It's only gonna be worse for you."

"No. No. Wanna keep touching you." He blabbers, hands groping at every inch of you he could reach, worried you'd make good on your threats.

"Then be good." You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls on your nipples before kneading the soft flesh.

"I will. I'm your good boy, right?" He slurs, his hips slowing down.

Damn, he's really addicted to hearing you say that, huh?

"Yes, you are. You’re my best boy." You coo, stroking his soft hair and he nuzzles into your hand like a puppy, seeking any form of contact with you.

"Thank you." He groans, fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold himself back, his poor cock screaming at him to just take you like he wants. "So pretty. Look so pretty getting fucked."

"Yeah? Is it how you imagined it when you'd fuck my panties?" You ask but once again Beomgyu has no shame, his hips faltering at the reminder of his debauched actions.

"Better. So pretty. So tight. Could stay in your cunt forever." He almost drools at the thought, and you really believe he'd love to do just that.

"Dirty boy. Dirty little boy going all dumb for me." You stroke his face lovingly and he peers at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, please, hurts… can I go faster?"

"Aw, poor pup, do you need to hammer your cock into my pussy that bad?" You scold, giving his face light slaps.

"Uh-huh… will make you feel good. I promise." He babbles, his hips already going faster as if he's sure you'll give him permission.

"No." This may or may not be the one and only time you get to fuck him. You need to savor it. "Slow down."

Your hands go to his hips, clawing at his skin to slow down his thrusts and he relents, albeit begrudgingly. "You're so mean."

"But you love it." You laugh at his tearful pout. "God, you love it so much you can't stop shaking your hips like a whore. It's like you've never been fucked before.”

"I haven't. You’re my first.” He admits, knocking any remaining breath out of your lungs.

This is his first time. He and Haeun never did it? What the fuck?

"Did you let him fuck you?" He asks, and you stay silent. He knows you’ve fucked Yeonjun. There is no way he thinks you live with Yeonjun and aren’t fucking him. But then again, he hasn’t fucked Haeun, and you were so sure that he did.

"Did you?" He asks again, an edge to his voice and you nod minutely. "I didn't know. I thought you and Haeun–"

Beomgyu's whole face changes. "God, you're such a slut. Fucking two men at the same time."

You immediately get defensive. Yeonjun was your boyfriend. You had dated for months. You’re not a whore for fucking him. It would be more understandable if he’s referring to the fact (or what he thinks is a fact) of you fucking him when you have a boyfriend, but you’re almost certain that’s not what he’s upset about. He’s just jealous you’ve fucked Yeonjun at all. "Just because she won't let you put it in, doesn't make me a slut."

That just angers him more, and he practically bends you in half as his dick pumps in and out of you at a brutal pace, his anger at what you’ve done making him lose it, not caring about your instructions anymore. "I hate you."

You laugh, fighting hard to hide the pain his statement elicits in your gut as well as to keep your voice steady as he practically plows his cock into you. God, he makes you so mad but he’s fucking you so good.

"But you sure love my pussy."

"My pussy." He growls, catching you off guard once again. He bends his head down to kiss your neck harshly, and can already feel the marks blooming there under his teeth. "Mine. Not his. All mine."

"What?” You sputter. Is this it? Is this how he confesses to you? “Beomgyu, what–”

"Shut up." He smacks your ass, not willing to hear your protests right now. "You've played with me long enough. Now be good and take it."

Played with him? What the hell is he talking about? You’ve never played with him. But any attempt to get a sane answer out of him right now is useless as the sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room and Beomgyu latches his mouth onto yours, trying to dominate you in a way he has never attempted to do before–as if he’s trying to prove that you really are his.

And you are. He may not know it but you’ve always been his.

But his strong facade is paper-thin and you can see right through it to the insecure boy below when he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, why did you have to be so pretty?”

“Make me cum, Beommie.” You murmur, moving a hand between your bodies to rest over your pussy, your middle and index fingers on either side of his cock as it fucks into you. “Do you feel how wet I am for you? I’m soaking the bed, baby.”

“Fuck…” He pulls your hand away, taking a look at how wet it has become already before he grunts and pushes one of your thighs against the bed to allow space for his own hand between your bodies, quickly finding your pussy to rub your clit.

“Oh… oh, fuck… baby…” You gasp, back arching as you’re quickly hurled towards your orgasm. “That’s it, honey. Make me cum on your big cock.”

He groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy begins to clench around him. “Don’t talk like that. Gonna make me lose it.”

“It riles you up when I talk dirty to you? Tell you how good you're fucking me?”

He nods.

“Dirty boy.” You moan out for him, “Do it. Empty that cock inside me. Want my pussy dripping with you.”

“Holy s-shit,” Beomgyu cries, and you feel his cum shooting inside of you, his hips not stopping for a second. And though his thrusts become erratic, his thumb keeps up its assault on your clit until your pussy is clamping down on his cock and milking the last drops of cum from him. “Good girl. My good girl.”

He fucks you through your orgasm, babbling on about how pretty you are and how well you took it. He looks so fucking pathetic with his shiny eyes and needy whimpers that before you even know it, he’s ripping another orgasm out of your already fucked out body.

“Goddammit, Beomgyu…” You squeal, toes curling at the very intense second orgasm, your body shuddering with the unexpected sharp waves of pleasure racking through it. And through it all, Beomgyu continues fucking you. You can feel his cock begin to harden once again inside you, and as the brutal second orgasm leaves your body, you wince at the overstimulation, putting your hands against his sweaty chest and starting to push him away.

“That’s enough, Beomgyu. I can’t take any more.”

But he resists you, shaking his head. “One more. Please, one more.”

“No.” You tell him firmly, “Don’t be bad. Pull out.”

He searches your face for any hint of leniency, his big pretty eyes trying to convince you to change your mind but you can’t. He’s fucked you so hard, your poor pussy requires a much needed rest.

You both watch as he slowly pulls out, his once again hard cock glistening with your cum and his, his seed dripping down your ass now that he wasn’t plugging your pussy up.

“Oh, baby, does that hurt?” You coo, grabbing his cock. He lets out a sigh of relief as you begin stroking it. “Yeah. So bad.”

The little shit is milking this, but you play along. “Poor baby. Let me make it go away.” You grin, suddenly speeding up, the slide of your hand so easy when his cock is well-lubricated. You make sure to maintain your position, with him hovering over your splayed open body so he can rake his eyes over it, and you clearly seeing him struggling to choose where to look between your tits that jiggle as you jerk him off quickly, the cum leaking out of your puffy pussy, and your swollen lips as you swipe your tongue over them.

It doesn’t take long for you to have him spilling his seed again, landing on your tummy as he doubles over and buries his head in your neck.

“That’s it, good boy.” You praise him, using your free hand to stroke his long hair that you love so much.

You let him lay there for a whole, catching his breath that is so irregular and stuttered that you almost don’t notice when he starts crying if it wasn’t for the hot tears falling on your skin.

“Beomgyu?” You call out, and a heart-breaking sob breaks out of his chest.

"Please, come back to me." He croaks against your neck.

"What?" You sit up, making him sit up with you and pulling his face away from your shoulder so you can look at him, your heart sinking at the tears streaming down his face. "I can't fucking bear seeing you with him any longer. It hurts so much."

Oh fuck.

"Beomgyu… Yeonjun isn't–" You try to explain that you and Yeonjun had broken up but he cuts you off.

"It's not him, it's you!" He shouts, "I love you and I can't bear it any longer. And I know it's selfish and that you don't love me back, at least not in that way, but then you keep messing with me."

He loves you? He really loves you?

"But I thought you loved Haeun?" You need to know what exactly is happening with him and Haeun first.

"I thought I did too but whenever I'm with her, I find myself thinking of you. You’re always in my head, it ruins every moment I have with her. She hates you too, you know? She can't stand how much I love you. The reason we haven't fucked is not because she won't put out. It's because I only want you. I didn't want to lose it to anyone else but you."

"Beomgyu–"

"But you don’t fucking care. You just see me as your disgusting best friend who you can play with and push away when you're done with him and I can't even bring myself to hate you for it. That's how much I love you. So just please… please give me a break."

“You think I was playing with you?” The idea seems absurd to you. How can he possibly think that? You've done everything in your power to not show how much you love him but never in your wildest dreams would you think that would mean he would see it as you playing with him.

“Weren’t you? I mean the way you spoke to me… you always pushed me away. I had to beg each time for you to even kiss me.” He peers at you, pain and vulnerability shining in his eyes as he recalls the way you treated him.

Fuck, you've been so obsessed with not letting your love for him show that you've done the same thing to him you thought he was doing to you. Knowing that pain all too well, you can’t bear the thought of being the cause of it.

You grab his face in your hands and kiss him, intending to pour out your own feelings the same way he did, hoping to staunch the flood of heartbreak you’re witnessing and calm him down enough for him to realize you feel the same way.

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. He breaks down crying. "You're so cruel."

"No, no! I love you too!" Your hands are in a flurry around his face, wiping his tears, stroking his hair, caressing his cheeks, anything to calm him down.

"What? This is not funny." He sobs, looking like a wounded animal. Your heart aches at the sight.

"No, fuck, I've loved you for years! The whole friends with benefits thing I started was just an excuse to have a way to be with you."

He stares at you in utter shock, the confusion the only thing stopping his tears from drowning you. "But you never even hinted that you liked me. You called me all kinds of names, freak, disgusting, pervert…"

"I thought you liked these..." You trail off sheepishly.

"I did but it still makes a guy think.” He mumbles, his fingers playing with yours nervously. “You wouldn’t let me touch you or kiss you."

"I was afraid if I let you kiss me, I wouldn't want you to stop. And I didn’t want you to touch me because I was afraid you wouldn’t like what you saw." It sounds so silly now that you're saying it out loud–now that you know he loves you and has wanted you just as badly.

"That's stupid. I had already seen it all." He tells you casually and you frown. "When?"

"You don't always shut the door when you're changing." He shrugs.

"Pervert!" You gasp, hitting him with no real power behind it. "What about you? You never hinted at anything either. You only ever talked about my body."

"Well, it did start just physical but I quickly realized that I'm in love with you. Then I kept only mentioning your body because you'd freak out on me whenever I hinted at anything else."

"Fair." You pout, realizing you’ve done as much to hurt yourself as he did.

"I didn't want to let it show that I loved you because I was so afraid you'd pull away like you did a couple of times. And then you were with Yeonjun and it fucking killed me so I had to pretend it was just sexual."

"Oh god, that's exactly what I've been doing.” You cover your face with your hands, mortified at your stupidity. We're fucking dumbasses."

“Yes, we are.” He replies fondly, taking your hands away from your face so you can look at him, refusing to let you hide anymore. "So you'll break up with him and be with me?"

"We broke up a while back.” You admit sheepishly. “He said he can't be with me when you and I are clearly in love with each other."

“So let me get this straight, Yeonjun could tell we love each other but somehow we, the two people involved, didn’t have a clue?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you nod. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t be winning any genius awards anytime soon.”

“We could win the biggest dumbasses award though.” He cracks a smile, pulling you close to him and resting his forehead against yours.

“No one could even compete.” You grin, kissing him. He immediately deepens the kiss, frantic and hungry still.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Beommie. We have all the time in the world.” You tease as if you weren’t just as needy, making him whine. “I can’t help it. You made me yearn for so long.”

“Yearn? Oh, that’s bad. I made you use the word yearn.”

He yanks your legs up, sending the rest of your body flying backwards and hitting the mattress, your loud giggles quickly covered by his mouth as he kisses you harshly, his teeth biting down on your lips in annoyance when you still don’t stop laughing.

“Stop it.” He whines in defeat as he pulls back, and you try to keep your giggles under control, his pout is entirely too devastating to look at.

"Are you gonna break up with her?" You ask and he doesn't hesitate to say, "Of course."

That makes you smile, happy with how easily he chose you, but then a thought pops into your mind and you frown. "You know, I hated her but I still feel kinda bad for fucking you behind her back." You really do. You've never condoned cheating, even if it was on someone as vile as Haeun.

"Oh you mean the same way she fucked the whole football team?" He counters and you gape at him, "God damn. Why did you even stay with her for that long?"

He shrugs. "Needed a distraction. And to not come across as a loser in front of you. I mean you were with Yeonjun. I couldn't just be alone."

"Oh, honey…" You coo, but anything you planned to say is suddenly forgotten as you feel his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Beommie!" You squeak. “What are you doing?”

"You thought we were done? You spread your legs for my bandmate. I'm gonna have to look at him every day knowing he had you first. I gotta make sure you and everyone else knows who exactly you belong to."

It may not be the most healthy coping mechanism, but you’ll let him have it for now. You’re sure you wouldn't be very happy if you were in his position either. Besides, getting to fuck Beomgyu isn’t exactly what you would consider a punishment.

_________

A/N: Click here for the Yeonjun ending on Patreon.

Also for my patreons, you could suggest a scene from gyu's pov and I'll choose one. There will also most likely be some drabbles about oc and gyu's life after the ending (mostly smut featuring our favorite desperate boy lol) and some will be released on tumblr and others will be exclusive to patreon.

Patreons may also suggest a continuation of a previous fic/drabble. I will do my best to release at least something monthly on there.

Taglist: @blxxsss@sanasour@tinkw1nks@lol6sposts@zuzuhasablog@beomsl@seolis-world@stantxtorurmissingout@wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno@leviathanlee26@yomomas-stuff@kurisaiyunobara@girlwholovekpop@zuzuhasablog@viaaasdiary@ho3forkpop@skzvcr@th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

#txt smut #dom!reader #sub!idol #tomorrow x together smut

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dyaz-stories · 11 days

Text

don't get cut on my edges || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: Gojo is easily bored, you're the latest enigma that's caught his interest. He sets off in trying to figure you out. Lucky for him, you're coming on the week-end trip Shoko's planned for the week-end.

“Was I off script?”

You look up at him.

“You’re always off script.”

word count: 5.4k

genre: college!AU, fluff, slice of life

cw: unresolved sexual and romantic tension, reader has anxiety and is socially awkward, she/her is used for the reader, a little suggestive, overall very sweet and fluffy

a/n: this was fun to write! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy my writing here :)

soundtrack

Gojo knows that people talk, knows that they talk shit, knows that there isn’t a soul on campus that doesn’t have an opinion on him. He can tell that eyes follow him around when he walks into a room, that his presence is enough to shift the atmosphere at a gathering, that some people roll their eyes at him while others try their best to catch his attention. It’s a lot to take in, for just one person.

Fortunately, he’s proved to be incredibly gifted in the art of not giving a fuck.

Then again, he’s incredibly gifted in most areas of life. Truth be told, he thinks people aren’t giving him enough credit for that. Sure, they tend to know that he’s a physics major, but that’s just tangential to what they know about the rest of him. He’s not just kinda good at physics, not some dude that goes to college mostly for the parties and then get a meaningless job at daddy’s company, no, he’s the fucking best, and he works fucking hard to be able to claim that title.

But that doesn’t really fit in with the rest of him, and at the end of the day, who cares? He certainly doesn’t.

With all that, it’s not statistically unlikely for him to catch people talking about him.

Well, he’d have to conduct a detailed study to calculate the exact odds, but with how much alcohol is in his blood at this very moment, it makes sense to him that it would happen.

Still, for people to be talking about him at a party he is at, in front of an open window, you’d think they would have some sense of shame. Not that he has any room to talk, because shame is not part of his vocabulary, but like. Come on.

“Gojo really can’t take not being in the spotlight for more than ten seconds, huh?”

That voice, he’s quick to identify, even if he can’t see her face from where’s he’s standing under the porch, belongs to Mei Mei. Aw. Bummer. They’d spent quite a lot of time around each other, have friends in common, slept— Wait, have they slept together? He can’t say for sure anymore. It seems to have slipped from his mind. Oops. Maybe that’s why he’s getting that treatment. Maybe he deserves it.

There’s a scoff, and really, the acoustic of this place are impressive. It feels like he’s straight in the room with those people.

“What else do you expect from someone who’s always had everything served to him on a silver platter?”

And that would be Noritoshi Kamo. Man. That was one of the few kids in the families his parents insisted on frequenting. They used to be sat next to each other at the kiddie table while the adults talked about the important stuff. They never had much in common — not then, not now. And, after all, maybe Noritoshi has a point, after all. His mother wasn’t a mistress, wasn’t turned into an outcast, and he’s never had to pretend he didn’t hear the loud whispers that tarnished her name. Yeah. Sounds like these two aren’t saying anything new after all. Not that he’s gonna change, y’know, but he already knows who he is, and he is all that.

“That seems like a very mean thing to say about a friend,” a quiet voice comments.

The world freezes.

A silhouette appears to go along with the voice, then a blurry face, then the picture becomes clearer. A figure sitting next to Shoko, giving him sweet, polite smiles when he approaches. Not chatty, kinda shy, pretty cute. Would get quiet when he was near, though, so he hadn’t paid a ton of attention. He’s used to giving it to people who asked for it, who wanted it.

You’d never asked.

But you’re… not wrong. He’s not sure why he hadn’t picked up on it himself. It is a mean thing to say.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mei Mei protests, “I love Gojo, but you know I’m right about this.”

“Yeah, and I’ve known him my whole life,” Kamo adds. “It’s just a fact, we’re not talking shit.”

There’s a silence. Gojo’s invested now.

“I don’t know him that well,” you say. “Like I said. It’s just a mean thing to say about someone you hang out with every day.”

“Come on, don’t act like—”

“I think I’m going to go, actually,” you say. “This feels super shitty.”

“What the fuck was that?” Mei Mei laughs, just a second later — presumably after you’ve left the room.

“She wants to fuck him, I guess,” Kamo says.

Well, you’re making one hell of a headway then, because he’d do you so hard after that.

When he walks back in, you’re chatting with Shoko. You give him your usual, close-lipped smile, don’t quite make eye-contact. If you’re trying to get in his pants, you have a very original way of getting it done.

“Who was your friend again?” he asks Shoko, later that night. She answers without looking up from her phone.

“She doesn’t talk much when there are new people around,” she warns him. “Leave her alone.”

“When have I ever bothered anyone—”

She reaches to smack the back of his head, misses and gets the nape of his neck — that’s the downside about being so tall, there’s just a lot of him to hit.

“Don’t make her uncomfortable. That’s all I’m asking.”

He wasn’t planning on that. He’s just— curious. Intrigued.

It’s unlikely to last, though. He’s been known to get bored easily.

You’re already in the car when he gets in. Well, okay, when he gets shoved inside by Todo, despite his protests that his legs are too long for the backseat. You’ve squeezed yourself in the middle seat, with Shoko on one side, and him on the other now. There’s a bag of snacks in your lap, yet you still try to shift yourself to give him a little more room. It doesn’t help at all, but in your defense, the only thing that could help would be to buy a new car.

“Is everyone ready?” Suguru asks as he adjusts the rearview mirror.

“Sure,” Shoko says.

“Let’s go!” Todo shouts.

“No,” Gojo whines.

“Yeah,” you say, completely drowned out under the rest.

“Good,” Suguru hums as he starts the engine.

Gojo pouts, but he doesn’t insist. Well, he doesn’t make any more of a scene than he already has. Truth be told, he could have taken Todo — dude might be all brute force, but Gojo has brains and brawns, thank you very much.

But he’s curious, still, and he hasn’t been given enough information to quite satiate his curiosity. Everything he’s gathered about you says that you mind your business and keep to your corner.

So why did you say that to Mei Mei and Kamo? It makes no sense, but Gojo’s never met an equation he couldn’t solve.

That’s an overstatement. Obviously there are equations he can’t solve. Yet. He’s sure he’d figure it out eventually. Like he’ll figure you out. See? That metaphor does make sense.

Suguru’s music is playing in the car. The sun is still low in the sky, the day is quickly getting warmer, and the phone says that they’ll be at the beach in two hours.

Satoru closes his eyes. Fun fact about him? He can fall asleep anywhere he wants to.

He wakes up with his face smooshed against the window, a hand tapping his shoulder carefully.

“We’re here,” you say, giving him a smile and then shuffling to leave the car from the other side.

Todo’s already running towards the beach, while Suguru and Shoko are getting the bags out of the trunk. Somehow, Shoko manages to sling a bag over his shoulder, but he takes off before she can stuff the cool box containing all the drinks in his arms.

He then lies to Todo to get him back to the car, so that he can carry the damn thing. Shoko better thank him later for that.

He catches up with you, and he sees your eyes widen a little when he approaches, as you visibly search for something to say. He can’t resist the temptation to shoot you a grin. There’s a light breeze in the air, but he won’t be fooled that easily — with his skin, he’s going to need an insane amount of sunscreen, if he wants to survive the day. Which makes him think, actually—

“Wanna help me apply sunscreen?” he asks.

“Huh?” you say.

He leans towards you, looks into your eyes from over his sunglasses. You appear to be fully frozen in place, only swallowing once as he gets closer. His grin gets wider as he takes in all of you, and he’s once more fascinated by the idea that you had been able to say something to Mei Mei and Kamo but you can barely face him.

His gaze drops to your parted lips.

Then the bottle of sunscreen smashes against his cheek with impressive precision.

“Todo can help you put that on!” Shoko offers as Suguru starts setting up a parasol. “Right, Todo?”

“Of course I will, my brother,” Todo say as he appears, but by then, Satoru has already started running for his life.

“Just kick him in the balls if he pulls something like that again,” Shoko says.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you reply, shaking your head in mild horror. “I just— I don’t— know— how to react sometimes. But he doesn’t bother me.”

That statement has her raising an eyebrow at you, filled with doubt, but she doesn’t insist.

“Play nice,” she does warn Satoru once more, later on. “Don’t push it too much.”

“Aw, Shoko, are you saying you wouldn’t approve of me?”

“Do whatever you want to,” she replies, rolling her eyes, “but give her more space. She’s not used to you being… you.”

Satoru rests his chin on his knee. He’s taking refuge under the parasol for now, and you’re already in the waves with Todo and Suguru. You seem comfortable with Todo, laughing at something he said, less so with Suguru. It all looks like a lot of work, all to satiate his curiosity. He’s all about committing to the bit but— he doesn’t know about that one.

This, too, all this thinking and questioning, is a lot of work, though, so he ends up shrugging it off.

“Are we getting in or what?”

“Absolutely not. No— Gojo— Don’t you fucking dare— Gojo!”

Shoko’s full-on shrieking by the time he throws her in the water. You burst out laughing. She comes out screaming for revenge, and Gojo starts scampering around to try and avoid her.

The sun is high in the sky, there’s a light breeze.

The time is good.

“Satoru!” Suguru calls when the watch on his wrist starts beeping, “it’s been two hours!”

It takes a second for the information to reach his brain, but the second he understands it, Gojo’s sprinting back towards the parasol at full speed. You look up, surprised, from the towel on which you’re lying with a book. Shoko doesn’t even bother with lifting an eyelid to see what’s going on.

“You okay?” you ask.

Ah, so she does speak.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, ruffling through a bag. “Just need to reapply some sunscreen. I’m not trying to look like a lobster.”

“Oh,” you say, “so, did you want me to help you with that?”

His fingers finally close around the bottle, and he stills to look at you. Shit. He’s curious again. Shoko’s words are swirling around in his mind, though, and he has no interest in forcing your hand.

“You didn’t look like you wanted to do that,” he says with uncharacteristic caution.

You roll your lips together, glance away from him, and your hand curls into a fist in the sand.

“No, it’s just— Um, I’m sorry about earlier. You— caught me off guard, I guess. I couldn’t figure out what to answer.”

“I usually just go with whatever appears through my head first,” he shrugs as he comes to crouch in front of you — you in the sun, him in the shade.

You laugh softly, but you avert your eyes, focusing on the sand as you trace patterns in it.

“Yeah, I think that’s the preferred method, but it— doesn’t— really work for me. So I have— I have a script, kind of, for interactions.”

“And I was off script?”

You glance back up at him.

“You’re always off script.”

For a moment, he just looks into your eyes, and you look back without any of that earlier nervousness. Then you shrink back into yourself, and the smile that so rarely leaves your lips reappears, like a shield that comes back up.

“Sorry. I know— I know how silly this sounds. I also wish I didn’t feel the need to do that, I just, um—”

“All good,” he replies with a shrug. “Sure. Help me with that.”

He throws you the bottle and you miss it, and he can feel you eyerolling at his back without needing to turn around, but when he shoots you a grin from over his shoulder, he can see how your breath catches in your throat.

Softly, your hand goes over his back, your touch gentle and cautious. It feels quite nice, actually, especially when your nails brush over his skin.

“It’s not too cold?” you ask.

“All good,” he repeats.

Shit. He’s invested again.

“Okay, we have the tickets, we have the water bottles, we have the hats, we have flat shoes, we have Gojo, we have the car keys—”

“I’m sorry, why was I just in the middle of a list of belongings?”

“We have cellphones and portable batteries… I think we’re good,” Shoko concludes, fully ignoring him.

“You don’t think we’re just a touch overprepared?” Suguru asks.

“You can never overprepare, my brother,” Todo says, grabbing his shoulder firmly. “If you want to triumph in the face of adversity, you need to know everything about the enemy.”

Suguru opens his mouth, closes it again. He knows how to pick his battles.

Gojo doesn’t.

“We’re going to a festival, not trying to breech the Pentagon,” he deadpans, and then, from the corner of his eye, he tries to see if you’re laughing. He delights in how you lower your head and try to keep it discreet.

“You never know what—”

“If I have to hear a second more of this nonsense, I swear to God I’ll kill someone here,” Shoko announces cheerfully. “Let’s move.”

Finally, after a good fifteen minutes by the door of the Airbnb you’ve all spent the night in, you start moving.

The good news is that you don’t have to get in the car, in the smothering heat, to get on the overcrowded streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. The bad news is that you have to walk there, in the smothering heat, near the streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. Suguru’s in charge of the map, which everyone seems happy with. Gojo had offered to do it, too, and there’s not a shred of doubt that he’d be able to read it competently, but Shoko had insisted the risk of him taking everyone to the wrong place ‘just because it would be funny’ was too high.

She’d been right but like, that was still rude.

The march in the heat and the waiting in line, while painful and unpleasant, as Gojo makes sure everyone around him is well aware of, go pretty smooth. Everything is planned and accounted for. There’s a game plan once they make it into the festival, too, because of course there is, but that’s when things start going south. First, Todo tries to go rogue when he spots someone wearing Takada merch. She’s not performing here, but he’s heard rumors that there would be a stand for her, and he lurches towards the woman. He’d get lost in the crowd immediately if not for Gojo’s lightning fast reflexes.

Unfortunately, soon enough it’s Gojo’s turn to get distracted. What can he say, there’s the smell of sugar in the air, and he needs to know where it’s coming from. Suguru’s the one to get him back on track, as they all head towards the main stage. Because that’s what Shoko’s grand plan leads to: sweet, sweet, close-up spots to watch the Sorcerers, headliners for the festival and also unarguably greatest band of all times, with minimum wait before their show.

There are a couple other close calls, but the group manages to get close enough to the stage. There are people here already, but they’re here for other artists mostly, and they’ll no doubt move quite a bit before the start of the real show. From where they are, even you and Shoko will be able to— Wait a minute.

“Huh,” Gojo say. “Hey, Shoko, do you happen to see (y/n) around?”

“If you can’t see her from up there, why would you think I— Fuck.”

“A fallen soldier,” Todo sighs somberly. “Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for—"

“We should go get her,” Shoko interrupts him. She’s biting her lower lip, staring at her phone. She looks quite worried, Gojo notices as he stares at her.

“Why isn’t it enough to just text her?” Gojo asks. It’s not ideal, and it won’t be easy to find the group in the middle of this sea of people, but it’s not impossible.

“I just— I don’t know if she’ll want to deal with all that” she gestures at the crowd “alone. I’m afraid she’ll say she doesn’t mind and then she won’t have a good time.”

Gojo tilts his head. It wouldn’t cross his mind to say something he doesn’t mean. It’s an incredibly weird thought, actually. But Shoko’s better than him at, well, people, and she might have a point. He also doesn’t want you to have a bad time, after all. With one last glance at the stage, he nods at her.

“I’ll go get her.”

“Are you sure?” Suguru asks. “I can go, if you want me to. It’s your band.”

As if it isn’t his, too. But Gojo shrugs. His attention span is fleeting, and he’s got his sights on something else right now.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll make it back.”

“Thanks,” Shoko says sincerely.

He waves vaguely at her before making his way back through the crowd, earning his fair share of nasty glances. He still doesn’t care.

A few minutes later, he receives a text from Shoko with a screengrab where you say you’re getting something to eat. Sure enough, he has no trouble finding you waiting in line. You’re typing on your phone, not paying attention to your surroundings, and he’s grinning already. He lets himself half fall on you, arm wrapping around your body as he drops his chin onto your shoulder. You jump, glancing back bewildered, but you don’t stay tense long once you see it’s him.

Which makes him feel things, actually, but he’ll unpack that later.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, brow furrowing. “I thought you guys would be in front of the stage by now.”

“I came to rescue the princess, obviously,” he says, and you laugh. You laugh a lot when he talks, instead of rolling your eyes like people usually do.

Maybe you’re a bit too good of an audience.

“I don’t need rescuing, Gojo,” you answer, and it’s interesting how calm your voice is. “It’s packed too tight for me in here. I told Shoko but…” You shrug. “It’s not always easy to understand how it is. For me.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t get it at all.”

Your shoulder’s pretty comfortable, though. And you haven’t tried to get him off of you yet.

“Do you want to order something, too?” you ask, pointing at the food stand. They sell waffles, and just the smell has his mouth watering. “Strawberries and whipped cream, right?”

Gojo pauses.

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it. A few times, actually.”

He’s sure he has, but—

“You were listening to that?”

You blink at him. He realizes how close your face is, with his head on your shoulder.

“Of course I was. You were talking.”

“Shoko didn’t tell you? It’s like, rule number one of being around me, don’t listen to the stuff I say. There’s a lot of dumb shit in there.”

You tilt your head, looking kind of confused.

“I still want to hear what you’re saying.”

Something inside him feels warm all of a sudden. Very warm.

“Yeah,” he says, but his throat is tight. “Strawberries and whipped cream.”

When you step forward to they can take your order, he begrudgingly gets off your shoulder, which allows him to swipe his card before you can get to it.

“I had that,” you protest while he bites into the insane amount of whipped cream in his waffle — he asked for more until the guy behind the counter looked like he was going to murder him.

“I had it first,” he says, and then he sticks his tongue out at you. He anticipates your laugh this time, finds himself waiting on it. When it comes, it sounds just like he wanted it to.

For a while, the two of you sit on a fence. You hand him a water bottle, say that he needs to stay hydrated. With no one else around, you don’t seem to have such a hard time speaking. You’re so quiet when everyone’s there and, well, him and Todo take up a lot of space, when it comes to conversation. Neither Suguru nor Shoko struggle with making their voices heard either, and in the middle of all that, you tend to stay silent. Apparently, that doesn’t stop you from listening.

“Shouldn’t you be going back?” you ask, after a while.

Gojo tilts his head as he thinks about it.

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s find some place where you can enjoy the show.”

“You don’t have to—”

A grin, and then he’s jumping from the fence to come stand in front of you. Even like that, he doesn’t have to look up to meet your eyes.

“And how d’you plan on stopping me?”

Your eyes go wide. He can almost hear your heart racing, and he thinks he’s starting to get a little too high on that feeling. It’s just so easy, so fun, so delicious.

“Okay,” you squeak, averting your eyes and jumping down after him, clearly trying to hide your reaction. “Okay, I’m coming.”

When you start walking by his side, grabbing your hand is just too easy not to do it.

“Wouldn’t want you to run away again,” is what he says as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

You still refuse to look at him, but there is no actual discomfort in your reaction, just what he thinks is uncertainty about how you’re supposed to behave now.

“Have I gone off script again?” he practically purrs.

You glance up, a flash of amusement on your face. Lots of fondness, too, and this time he’s the one who gets caught up in it.

“You haven’t been on script once today.”

“Good,” he says, managing to pass off the emotion that just choked him for a second there as impatience. “Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“I’m always on my toes,” you mumble behind him, but you can’t explain to him what anxiety feels like, so you just let him drag you away. His fingers are long, his hand engulfs yours easily. You like the feeling of it more than you should.

Your eyes are on Gojo’s broad back as he pulls you through the crowd, which parts effortlessly for him. You’re enjoying this.

You don’t think it’s going to last.

Gojo doesn’t think about that though, just like he rarely thinks about tomorrows. What he’s thinking about, as he keeps far, far away from the stage, is how to find a place with enough air around for the two of you. It’s easy for him to get a good look at the stage, and he earns his fair share of pissed off glares — “Seriously, it should be illegal to come to an open-air stage when you’re that tall” — but it takes more work to get the perfect space for you. Finally, his eagle eyes figure out some place that’s just perfect, and he beelines for it with you in tow.

“There,” he says, pulling you in front of him and putting his head on top of yours, just to check that the line of sight is good enough.

Ha. He nailed it.

“Thanks,” you say. There’s surprise in your tone.

“Is this a good spot for you?” he checks, but really, he just wants to hear you praise him?

“It is, but— I thought you said you didn’t get it? My—” You gesture vaguely. “—struggle. With all that stuff.”

Oh right. You actually listen to what he says. He needs to keep that in mind for the future.

“Does it matter?” he asks with a shrug.

You stare. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, and then the crowd starts absolutely howling and you spin around to see the Sorcerersget on the stage. Whatever moment there was there, is forgotten right away. He sees you fish in your bag for your phone, then raise it over your head and tiptoe around, trying to get a good photo.

It’s cute, it’s adorable even, but it’s not very efficient.

“Do you want some help here?” he asks, leaning close to your ear so you can hear him over all the noise.

Your body shivers into him, and he files that away for later.

“Um, yeah,” you shout over the noise. “Here, could you—”

But he pays no attention to the way you offer him your cellphone, and instead he’s bending down, and ignoring your surprised protest as he pushes his head between your legs.

He bench presses a hell of a lot more than he looks like he does, for the record.

With a grunt, he manages to get you up on his shoulders, and some people behind him complain loudly, but whatever, they can wait for you to get the perfect picture. You struggle to stabilize yourself for a dangerous second, and then you stop moving around for a second. Your thighs are supple and warm under his hands and around his head.

One more thing to remember.

“I’m good, I’m good, get me down,” you say quickly, just as he’s storing the thought away.

You seem relieved when your feet get back on the ground, and Satoru lets his hands linger on your waist.

“Was it a nice pic?” he asks. He knows he’s all red in the face, but he’s grinning so wide it almost hurts, actually.

“Perfect,” you squeak. “Thank you. Again.”

Aw. He’s going to get used to that word real quick.

A familiar guitar riff comes from the stage, and you turn away from him once more, but his hands are still on your waist. He uses that to pull you against him and this time, you don’t hesitate to let yourself lean back against him as the two of you move in rhythm with the music.

The concert is a blur after that. There’s a lot of singing, a lot of screaming, basically no time to catch a breath, because the Sorcerers are fucking beasts that don’t let up, not even for a second. At some point, you tell him something, but he can’t really hear, so you crane your neck back and he lowers his head. Your lips brush against his neck, an accident really, but it sends such a jolt of electricity through him, he thinks he’ll go into full overdrive.

The only thing that stops him from chasing after your lips immediately after that is Shoko’s voice, going around in his mind. ‘Don’t push it.’ What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

You move away, and he still has no clue what you were saying. If after that, his hands hold your hips a little tighter, if he pulls you a little closer, he can’t be blamed. If, during one of the more sulfurous song of the show, as you’re swaying against him, humming along to the song, his lips find your neck, he doesn’t want to hear about it.

When he presses a kiss right by your jaw, you turn to look at him. You’re pretty. He’s always thought you were pretty.

Fuck Shoko, he thinks, and he’s ready to put his mouth on yours, to slide his tongue between your parted lips that have looked so inviting this entire week-end, when the riff of the band’s most popular song starts playing, and he loses you attention once more.

Cock-blocked by his favorite band. Fuck his life.

When the song ends, there’s movement in the crowd as the band gets off the stage and people start chanting for an encore. In Shoko’s fool proof, perfect plan, this is when you’re supposed to start leaving. Gojo doesn’t want to — how is he supposed to do anything about how much he wants his mouth on you once you’re back with the other — but this time you grab his hand and pull him away from the stage and he has even less of a clue of what he’s supposed to do about that.

You get to the meeting point before Shoko, Todo and Suguru, which makes sense, considering you were much further from the stage than them. It’s a specific pole that Shoko had pointed to as you were first getting in, and the urge to push you against it and to taste your lips is strong. Gojo isn’t typically one to ignore that kind of feeling. He just goes for it, doesn’t let his brain get in the way too much. He’s not sure what it is with you and your doe eyes and your sweet smile that makes him act different.

Whatever it is, it makes him ask “Did you have a good time?” instead of kissing you senseless behind the pole while watching to make sure Shoko doesn’t catch him in the act.

“It was amazing,” you say. “I don’t think— I don’t think I’d have gotten that close without you.”

“Did I force your hand?” he asks, frowning.

“No, no, that was great, actually.” And there it comes, his favorite words, and then he’ll kiss you. “Thank—”

“There you guys are!”

You have got to be kidding him. The Gods of timing are so set against him, he must have done something to piss them off badly in another life.

“Okay, we should start heading towards the exit,” Shoko announces.

“Nah, we ‘re staying until the end,” Gojo says, burying his hands, balled into fists, in his pockets. He’s being needlessly belligerent, but whatever, she deserves it, whether she knows it or not.

“Don’t be a dick,” she glares.

He smiles at her. And he doesn’t budge.

“We’ll run,” you say, stepping in. “I’m sure we can still beat the crowd if we run.”

She narrows her eyes at you, then at Gojo.

“You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

So many delicious thoughts coming to him, and he can’t do anything about it. Damn it all.

Of course, it ends with the five of you sprinting on the lawn and all the way back to the house. Of course, he doesn’t catch five seconds with you after that. Of course, your face is on his mind the whole night.

Of course, because it’s just his luck, isn’t it, in the morning, Shoko tells him you had to catch a flight early in the morning.

“I told you, don’t you remember? She’s going back to her family for the summer.”

Of course, he doesn’t.

Ah, whatever. It bothers him for a minute, but then the day continues unfolding, and the sun’s warm, it’s the peak of summer, and he only really knew you for a couple of days. He’ll see how he feels about it when college starts up again in the fall. He’s not known for sticking with things, anyway. He’ll probably forget; you probably won’t capture him again like you did; it was probably a fluke.

That, or these will become famous last words.

sequel

thank you so much for reading! i had a ton of fun writing gojo's pov and i hope you enjoyed it too, even if i'm still finding his voice :) please reblog or comment if you've enjoyed this, i'd love to hear from you! getting readers' feedback on my writing is what keeps me motivated to write so if you'd like to read more from me, that's the way to do it!

tagging the people who expressed interest in this: @elidebrey @xstom @chosospookiebear @xmysticredx

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x you #my writing #gojo imagine #jjk imagine #jjk x y/n

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eiightysixbaby · 2 months

Text

the boy is mine (leah’s edition)

my little slice of input for @carolmunson’s writing challenge 🩵

cw: best friend!eddie x fem!reader, kissing, a couple flirty comments, nothing else really just fluff! (1.9k)

prompt rules: the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer. props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook. dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order): "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" // "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true." // “and you like that?" // "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

Your heart is thrumming excitedly in your chest before you’ve even thrown your car into park. The sun is just starting to set, blanketing the trailer park in a cozy golden hue. The air is sweet when you step out of your vehicle, and you take a deep inhale to calm your giddy body.

You don’t need to be inside the trailer to hear Eddie’s guitar. The melodic sound of his acoustic’s strings dance in the summer evening’s breeze, carried right out of his window and into your waiting ears. You smile to yourself, looking down at where your sneakers flatten the grass with each step you take. Climbing the front steps and nearly knocking, then deciding you never need to knock at Eddie’s, you swing open the trailer’s door with a gentle pull. There’s a squeak of its rusting hinge, a sound you’ve grown entirely used to, and it protests once more as you close the door behind you just like you knew it would.

“Ed?” you call out, toeing off your shoes in the doorway.

He doesn’t hear you, which doesn’t surprise you. Knowing him, he’s completely lost in whatever song he’s trying to learn. If you’re lucky he’ll have actually remembered your plans tonight, and you won’t walk in on him butt-naked or something.

The trailer is bathed in warm lighting, the lingering scent of a cigarette hanging in the air. You trail down the hallway, fingers fidgeting with each other as you go. His door is already open a crack, but you give a gentle knock anyways.

The smile he gives you when you appear in his room is radiant, his eyes so fond and eager to see you. He sits cross-legged on his bed, hair pulled loosely off of his face. He looks beautiful, as he always does.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you, a pet name you’ll never tire of hearing from his lips. “Sorry, I promise I didn’t forget you were coming, I just kind of got distracted playing—”

“It’s okay, Ed,” you cut him off, sitting on the floor at his feet. Your chin rests on his knee, looking up at him. “What’re you practicing?”

“Well, uh,” he starts, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s new. Something I wrote.”

“Oh?” you perk up, curiosity peaked.

“I haven’t perfected it yet, though. Honestly I’m not sure if it’s even any good,” he continues, his face reddening slightly. You notice him reach out to grab the notebook that sits beside him, holding it protectively. That’s his lyric book, you know it is, because he usually lets you flip through it whenever you like.

“Hey, don’t be like that. You’re good at songwriting, Eddie.”

“You just say that cause you’re my best friend, ‘n you have to,” he rolls his eyes, smiling fondly at you despite it.

“That’s not even true!” you defend. “I mean, yes I am your best friend, but no I’m not saying it because I have to.”

You look at him so earnestly, your voice so sincere, it nearly makes him crumble. You stare at each other for a moment, something hanging in the air between you, before he clears his throat.

“You, uh, you want anything to drink? It’s been hot as tits out there all day,” he says, standing up and laying his guitar flat on his mattress.

“Did Wayne make any more of that lemonade?” you ask, looking up at him hopefully.

He laughs, a bright little sound. “Yeah. Knew you’d want some, so I asked him to make another batch. C‘mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take.

He hoists you up from your spot on the carpet, not letting go of your hand on your journey to the kitchen. You can’t help but yearn for the warmth back when he eventually lets go, opening the fridge and pulling out the pitcher. Perching yourself on the countertop, you watch as he rummages around for glasses.

“I ran out of like, nice cups. Is this okay?” he asks, presenting you with a red plastic cup with a Care Bear on it. Somehow, after coming to this trailer weekly for over a year now, you’d never seen this.

You snort, accepting the now-filled plastic kid’s cup. You rotate it in your hands, marveling at it. “I didn’t take you for a Care Bears type-a guy,” you wiggle your eyebrows, taking a sip of the sweet and sour liquid.

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, though there isn’t a hint of anger in his tone. He smiles while he says it, pouring his own lemonade into a coffee mug.

“Listen, I’m just saying. They’re very like, sunshine and rainbows! Happiness and love!” you say, pitching your voice higher and waving your hands as you speak.

“Okay? And?”

“And you like that? Forgive me for being taken aback that you, Edward Munson, lord of all things dark and off-putting, are a Care Bears enjoyer.”

That glorious laugh leaves him once more as he moves to stand beside you, his back pressing against the counter and his side brushing against your thigh. You flush at the contact, trying to keep your composure.

“Okay, well, first of all,” he starts, looking at you with a tilt of his head. “It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. There’s literally a bear called Grumpy Bear. Y’know, he’s got the rain cloud? He’s always like, super pissed and mopey.”

“One angry bear doesn’t take away from the overall happiness of the show,” you inform him, earning a scoff from him. “And, the bear on this cup is literally Tenderheart Bear. You own a cup with the leader of the happy bears on it.”

“What’s wrong with Tenderheart Bear?” he asks, holding a hand over his heart as if he’d been mortally wounded. “He initiates all of the new bears, makes them feel welcome. Tenderheart Bear is to Care-A-Lot what I am to Hellfire.”

You laugh, nearly spitting your lemonade all over the kitchen floor. “I know you did not just use that analogy.”

“Oh, I so did,” he says, raising his eyebrows so they’re hidden behind his bangs. Setting his cup down, he moves to stand between your thighs, palms gripping the counter on either side of you; caging you in. “And if you don’t stop dissing the Care Bears, we’re gonna have a problem.”

You’re probably meant to laugh, to shove him away or keep mocking him or just anything that keeps the mood playful. But instead your focus goes entirely to the warmth of his body pressed right up against yours. Your lips part, attempting to get words out but failing, your gaze moving between his gorgeous brown eyes to his mouth and back again.

He scoots in a little bit closer, you feel it, and you watch the way his tongue wets his lips. His eyes don’t leave your face, neither of you saying a damn thing as that unspoken something once again hangs between you.

He speaks suddenly, then, his cheeks pink. “You know, uh. You know that song I was working on?”

You nod, still utterly unable to pull words from your brain.

“It’s about you.”

Your eyes soften, your heart pounding inside your chest. “What?” you ask gently, seeking out more.

“It’s about you. I wrote a song about you. Because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you, every second of every day. And not in the way friends think about each other, this is like, so totally breaching the lines of friendship—” he rambles, no longer making eye contact, gesturing with his hands as he goes on.

“Eddie,” you interrupt, yet he keeps talking. You giggle to yourself, speaking louder this time. “Eddie!”

He stops. He almost looks… scared? Like if he stops talking, if he leaves room for you to respond, you’ll make fun of him or get mad or leave. Or all three.

“I think about you, like, every second of every day.”

“Not in the way that… friends do…?” he asks, his eyes so full of hope it makes you want to scoop him up and never let him go.

“Not in the way that friends do. Definitely not in the way that friends do. I wore this top today hoping you’d think my tits look good in it, so,” you joke, admitting some of your own vulnerability to take the pressure off of him.

And he laughs, softly at first, then a booming, wonderful sound. “Your tits do look good in that top. I thought that the second you walked in,” he grins, covering his eyes with his fingers, peeking through two of them.

You start to laugh with him, until tears are coming out of your eyes, your foreheads pressed together. His hands reach up to cup your face, noses touching.

You smile, getting out the last of your giggles as your lips nearly brush so many times. Up close he’s prettier than ever, you can’t even count how many times you’d wished you could pull him this close and kiss him breathless.

He makes your dreams come true when his mouth meets yours, so tender and warm as your lips move together. It feels like your heart stops for a moment, only to immediately restart when his fingers card themselves through your hair, deepening the kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist and he takes the hint, scooping you off of the counter and walking you over to the couch. Your head rests on the plush throw pillow, the one you know to be embroidered by one of the neighbors who has a little thing for Wayne.

His weight presses on top of you, your body dipping into the cushions beneath you. It feels surreal, kissing your best friend. It also feels right, like maybe you should’ve been doing it all along. You can hear the crickets chirping in the grass outside, the ambient summer sounds waltzing in through the window. It all makes you feel so safe, being here with him on this cozy evening. There’s no doubt in your mind that this is where you should be. That this is how things should be.

His tongue parts your lips, slipping into your mouth as a content sigh escapes you. Your hands tug his hair out of its ponytail before your fingers tangle themselves in his curls, swirling your tongue around his. He tastes like vanilla frosting, a guilty pleasure food that he’ll eat by the spoonful when no one’s looking. You know he’s always got a tub in the pantry, and it makes you smile into the kiss to think about him indulging in his secret snack.

When he finally pulls back for air, his eyes hold so much adoration. You both just stare at each other for a moment before bursting into what feels like your millionth fit of giggles.

“Eddie?” you say finally, your voice soft.

“Yeah, sweets?”

“Can I hear that song? I don’t care if it’s not done yet. It’ll be perfect, no matter what.”

“Yeah. I’ll play it for you. Come on,” he says, pressing one last peck to your lips before he’s dragging you back to his room.

You grab your forgotten cup of lemonade on the way, smirking to yourself as you do. “I’m totally telling Dustin about your Care Bear Hellfire thing, by the way.”

“No you are not!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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probablybadrpgideas · 1 year

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Tourist Destinations Of The Outer Planes

Mechanus: How dare you suggest there would be anything novel or unique in Mechanus?! To cog jail with you!

Arcadia: Like those normal towns with "world best fish and chips" except they're scrupulously fact checked. "Home of Arcadia's 3826th best B&B according to multiple double-blind studies (citations available on request)"

Mount Celestia: Pure and ineffable spiritual bliss in the face of the divine and, after that, a pretty decent pizza shop where you can get a t-shirt with your face when you learnt the true name of God.

Bytopia: Bytopia is the embodiment of the concept of "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" and also the domain of the gnome deities, so if you've ever wanted to see the Great Wheel's only 24/7 prank youtuber live show where all the pranks revolve around how millennials need to spend less on avocado toast, you're in luck! If not, may I recommend the abyssal layer where snakes drink your eyes as a pleasant reprieve?

Elysium: Just a rabbit sat on a rock but because you're in Elysuim it's the best thing you've ever seen. You autodelete all memories of your wedding and children's birth and suchlike for being shit in comparison.

The Beastlands: Who's the best dog in the world? Who is it? This isn't a rhetorical question, there's an objective answer. You can see him for the low price of four acorns and a fancy rock.

Arborea: Don't be fooled by the signs! The natives of Arborea spend their time playing and dancing so they have things like open plan offices and tax return help-desks as vacation spots. Instead ask where the boring parts of Arborea are to be given directions to the firework waterslide music concert video game dance party.

Ysgard: Monuments to epic deeds literally everywhere. So many monuments they start sounding sarcastic. If you successfully get to your hotel room they erect a 15ft statue commemorating it.

Limbo: "Look, you had to be there. Literally, what I saw existed beyond the capacity of human words to describe and I weep tadpoles when I try to recall it in any detail"

Pandemonium: Great acoustic guitar scene. Well, we assume they're good. If nothing else, you have to admire their perseverance.

The Abyss: Go on Demogorgan's tour of all infinity layers! The most fucked up shit you've ever seen or your spinal column back guaranteed!

Carceri: Be in the audience at History's Greatest Monster, where the most evil people in history compete for the crown! If you're lucky, you might get an autograph before they're hurled back into their eternal prisons once more!

Hades: Fuck you.

Gehenna: Tourist traps, in the sense of big holes you fall in and have to give a deamon all your money before it will let you out.

The Nine Hells: The Nine Hells are a wonderful place to visit, with a wide varieties of eateries, vistas and attractions that you should visit before you die! I am not writing this under duress and you should not send help to

Acheron: One extremely dangerous theme park. It's cheap and there are few queues but be aware that sometimes the god of orcs will show up and use whatever ride you're on as a bludgeoning weapon. Overall nice atmosphere, 4 stars.

The Outlands: Alas, I'm pretty sure there's absolutely nowhere worth visiting in the outlands. Sorry guys.

#D&D #fantasy #setting idea #eyes

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nouearth · 9 months

Text

12 Months

peter parker x male reader.

series: 12 Months. part i.

summary: where you couldn't possibly imagine to find love and sanctuary anywhere else, you somehow find it in the presence of a boy named peter.

wc: 4.3k. genre: angst. warnings: loner!reader, sad!reader, implied abuse, implied bullying, high school senior year, slow-burn.

a/n: i'm trying something new with my writing! mostly not using all lowercase because it became a pain to type on my phone, LOL. but i welcome you guys to my fully planned series! it's exciting, but especially kind of scary since school is coming up. i might put off requests to focus on this, if it does well, but if not, i'll slowly update. i guess the reader kind of hits close to home, a little too close, since i've been feeling some type of way recently. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy the first part!

SEPTEMBER.

The big hand of the clock flicked closer to the end of the day, the small hand circling around the circumference to pass time.

Conversations of peers were usually drowned out with the help of your earbuds. The gentle strum of acoustics would counter the excitement of the students’ well-being; friends opinionated in after-school activities, athletes talked about the upcoming game with your rival school, artists boasted over the amount of commissions they’ve received overnight.

For the first time, you heard it all, and took it all in with an inhale, then silence as you stared at Peter Parker. The earbuds were slotted into your ear canals, but today, the wired nubs were worn to merely dull your surroundings as you awaited the intercom to bid the occupants of the building farewell for the day. Your leg shook, bouncing your book bag atop of it, and you held it steady when you hugged it close to your chest, chin resting at the strap. It appeased the throttle in your chest, but every time the classmate opened his mouth for a laugh, it swelled painfully larger. A pump to the husk of a balloon, a breath to the bubble of blue raspberry bubblegum, a vapor to the particles of billowed smoke, it continued swelling and roped your anxiety along for the journey. A part of you needed to talk to him, but the other part begged for reconsideration.

At some point, you forgot to breathe. Feeling blue in the cheeks, you finally exhaled the caught nerves. They drew out of you in shivers, spaghetti boiling in bubbling water if the warmth of your breath could change matter. While the man listened, then talked within his small group of friends, chairs and desks were gathered around to form a circle, you examined him cautiously. If Peter was to turn his head and meet the affection in your gaze, you were lucky to have the window by your side to turn back to, feigning interest in the clouds, the sky, the breeze in the trees. Until then, his smile unmasked pearly whites that rivaled the lights that illuminated the classroom. His russet hair was pushed back, wavy locks that were brushed simply so people could easily follow the pattern with one glance.

“Gooooood Afternoon, Midtown!” The intercom blared, and a warning from your teacher hushed your classmates into a sea of scatters. “Before we send you kiddos off, we would like to remind all of you that the Midtown Tigers will be playing against Weston’s Sea Hawks tonight! Show your support by attending the game and cheering for our team. Let’s show those dirty hawks that tonight will be the night that we can bounce back from our 18th consecutive loss!” It continued with its usual announcements of bus delays and afternoon activities before finally blaring that cathartic bell.

Footsteps crowded the halls, and your classmates joined its symphony in heavy to light strides. While you watched, your pace slowed deliberately as Peter’s friends bid him farewell. You overheard them asking him if he was going to join them in the mall, but he declined, blaming his absence on his aunt. They left one by one, until the only occupants were you, your teacher, and Peter.

“Peter?” You were up on your feet, approaching him from the back of the classroom as you slung the bag over your shoulder. Your voice cracked from the parched of your throat, mousy in performance, and you were unsure if Peter heard you. Your mouth opened again to call to him again, but he turned with a friendly smile, raising his brows in interest, and they closed.

“Oh, hey!” His face lit up when he saw you, or maybe you were convincing yourself. Not even your reflection looked at you the way Peter did. You were even surprised he recognized you. Cared to remember you. He hurriedly threw his books into his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder, meeting you in the middle of the row of desks. “What’s up?”

“I…” You’ve only spoken to him twice. The first was a mere greeting, and the second was a painful answer to his worry.

Are you okay? Yes.

The beating in your chest hiked in rhythms, compelled gravity to rob your voice, but you were conscious enough to steal it back, softly speaking. “I just want to thank you for… last year. I never got to… properly thank you. So, thank you…” You were intoxicated by the amount of times you said those appreciative words, but gratitude sobered you up, offering the latter a small, grateful smile.

“Oh…” The smile on Peter’s face simmered into a relieved line. He then nodded towards the door for you to follow him, and you did, silently by his side. “You don’t have to thank me, (M/N). I did what anyone would do.”

Everyone let it happened, except for you.

The hallway was quick to clear as students rushed to spend the remaining hours of their Friday without any regrets. The silence was deafening except for the squeak of your shoes and the whispered gossip between faculty members, and for a place you often labeled as your personal hell, it wasn’t so bad when it was purged of those that spawned that definition in your life.

Maybe you were walking slower, or you were keeping with Peter’s pace, or the hallways had undergone construction to stretch the floors, or the awkward silence between the both of you that blurred your perception, but the travel from your classroom to the exit of the building was a journey.

“Is he still bothering you? I don’t know if he’s in your other classes, but he’s not in mine, so…” Peter spoke up, alluding to the classmate who called you disgusting names, shoved your books to the floor, stole the change of your clothes during gym. And you wished it would stop there, at the actions of the cliché bully trope, but it never did. He pushed the door open, politely letting you out first, and you stepped into the warmth with a small thank you,’ and continued walking with him. Summer cicadas harmonized in their greeting.

“No, not anymore.” You lied, dropping that hand that once held onto the padded straps of your backpack to your side. The dark color of your pants masked the bruise on your wrist when you shoved it deep into your pocket. “I have him in a few of my classes, but luckily he’s preoccupied with his friends.”

“Geez, you got his friends too? That’s… gotta be a loud classroom.” He laughed, and you joined in to delude yourself, and Peter, into thinking everything was okay.

The sound of multiple engines running within the yellow busses reminded you how incredibly enamored you were with Peter. By now, motors would’ve been buried by earbuds, and the walk wouldn’t have been so deafening to your ear canals. But hearing Peter’s voice soothed the damage, and you wished you had a playlist of him saying your favorite words, reading your favorite novels, rescuing you with worried comfort. You wanted to continue the conversation, change the subject, but you never knew how, so it fell to silence. Again.

“I’ll see you around, Peter.” You spoke softly again, paused when you and Peter reached the end of the sidewalk. You were familiar with Peter’s route. He lived in the opposite side of your street, and the curved path to the right practically led him back to his apartment. All he had to do was follow the beige pavement. “…and thank you, again. It means a lot.” A genuine smile, one that you haven’t been able to sprout for weeks, months you could argue, and Peter’s breath hiked.

“Of course…” It took his breath away. The cloudy day was drawing in the last of its colors, but the rare hint of your teeth, the curve of your lips, made the sky above him, behind you, bloom in the softest blues, yellows, and whites. Selfishly, he wished you smiled more, because the release that was pulled from him evened the astonishment of a child seeing stars for the very first time.

“I’ll see you around, (M/N).”

OCTOBER.

The workload in your classes had picked up, and with the part-time job at the local bookstore, you were envious of customers who had finished their backlog of novels. Mainly working adults. Still, there was never enough hours in the day to immerse yourself in the world of a brave protagonist, slaying off demons and dragons in the pursuit of love. You never got to finish the fantasy novel you were reading, but you’d imagine it ended with the hero beheading the fire-breathing behemoth, and its head would be pridefully worn on a stick like cotton candy. Cheers erupted when the character returned, then roared when their love blessed them with one thankful kiss.

The ladder was anchored to the wooden, though creaky, floors as you held your breath from inhaling dust. When the door was pushed open by curious passersby, particles of dust sailed with the draft that was invited in, and you coughed into the crook of your arm whenever one floated into your throat. Though, you couldn’t be too annoyed. It also provided a test to see if the Halloween decorations could withstand the wind as they sat on hooks that were nailed into the ceilings. Spirals of orange and black ribbons roped cartoonish gravestones, black cats, pumpkins, skulls, ghouls, all the mascots of the holiday, from above. The draft animated them in gentle swings, delicate arcs that cooled the confined space of the bookstore, but as far as you could tell, none of them had landed on the ground.

“Looks great, (M/N)! I think we’re good on the hanging decorations!” Your manager, Anna, gave the metal ladder a strong pat before tending to the fallen dust. It shook in fear, and you did too, immediately clutching to the fly to stabilize it.

“Any else? We still haven’t decorated the windows.” You climbed down cautiously, making sure she was in your line of sight because for all you could know, she could be an omen.

“The stick on the ones I got suck, so I was thinking that we’ll decorate it on Halloween? Before opening?” She said, opening the door after to sweep out the culprits of your coughing fits.

“Sounds good.” You collapsed the extension of the ladder once you stepped off, folding it into a thicker shape, and nodded before returning the ladder to its rightful place in the storage room.

“Doing anything fun for Halloween?! Parties?!” Anna’s voice boomed despite the door muffling it. The natural luminous of her voice was something you usually cowered away from, especially when she called for you in front of customers. Luckily, the store was closed, vacant of any witnesses to the flare of your cheeks. Cardboard boxes stacked atop of one another, and for some reason, you were suddenly determined to face your procrastination head-on. “Horror movies?!”

“Uh…” The volume of your voice was still muted despite forcing yourself to make it sonorous. It came out in staggered breaths as you flattened the boxes with your weight, stepping on them at the crease and fold, until you were able to fold them into neat, flat shapes. “Not really! I usually don’t do anything for celebrations.”

“Seriously?” The sound of sweeps came closer to you. They sounded like laughs, almost as if they were mocking you. When you looked up, it was Anna’s fretted expression that reminded you that they were just sounds. No one was here to hurt you. Laugh at you.

It was just you and Anna. And sounds.

“Mm-hmm.” You simply answered, packing the flattened boxes into a trash bag before storing it back to where the stack previously harbored. The room felt bigger now. You exited after switching off the lights, and took Anna’s broom to sweep up the fuzzy stray materials of cardboard.

“How come?” Her shoulder supported her leaning stance as she pressed to the wall, watching you diligently work with crossed arms. She gasped out of realization. “Oh no—did something horrible happen on Halloween? Is that why you don’t celebrate?!”

“No, nothing like that!” You laughed. It was always genuine with her. Anna was at least twenty years older than you, but she still kept the youthfulness of a child. You were envious of it.

“I just…” Big sweeps to walnut flooring kept your mind at ease. The thick hairs brushed evenly, catching lint in the hay. They clung protectively onto the strands the more you brushed, the harder as well. It reminded you of nights, lonesome in your bed. No matter how hard you tried to remove those pesky lints, they always stayed. Always found a way to intrude. “—don’t have parties to go to.”

Nor did you have friends to watch movies with, or a willing family to celebrate with if all plans fell through. It’s been you since you can remember, and you’ve gotten used to it. Though, you’d never admit that to her.

The trail of your voice and the mindless polishing of walnut immediately foiled your discreet speech, but Anna knew better than to prod. From the day you came in for the interview, she remembered the timidness of your slouch, your pattern of speech, your orbs. One could argue that they were nerves, universal tremors one every eighteen year old got when applying for their first job. Then, she trained you. It was just you and her, and the shelves of delicate books. Over the next few weeks, Anna learned that you were as frail as the old spine of donated hardbacks.

Her knowledge of you only sank surface-deep, barely a scratch or a wound. At one point, she thought it was because of her personality: chipper as a mourning dove, loud as her neighbor’s lawnmower on Sundays, but compared to how she met you five months ago, it delighted her to see progress. Slowly but surely, you opened up to her. She knew your favorite color, your favorite meal, your favorite novel, and she was no longer insecure. There will be a time when she’d meet the root of your soul, and if it took a month, a year, or another, she’d wait.

“Everything okay at school?” She’s been meaning to ask. It was an exciting time for a new business, but incredibly stressful as well. Most never made it after six months, especially within an industry where independent bookstores have become increasingly difficult to sustain with the presence of technology. Anna was just fortunate enough to have seen such quick growth.

Anna took the broom from your hand, stashed it back in the storage room, then guided you to a table for two near the entrance of the store. It was her favorite spot because she loved seeing the wonderment of her customers when they left with the book they couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Yeah,” You quickly answered and offered her a simple smile, devoid of any purpose but to pacify her worries. It worked on your parents, and you liked to think that it worked on Anna as well. “Well, they’re doing some construction in the school gym. I heard that they’re planning to add a room for—“

“That’s great, (M/N), but…” Her arms remained crossed, below her chest, and she nodded to the bruise on your cheek. Purple bloomed high on your cheekbone. Occasionally, it throbbed whenever a draft hit your frail skin. You assumed it was its way to kiss it better, and so you would let it in seek of sating the empty feeling in your stomach. “That. I meant the bruise…”

“Oh—“ Out of instinct, your hand reached up to dab at the purpling skin. Numbed at the first layer, but you pressed deeper, and you hid a jolt with a sudden clear of your throat. “Uh… cat— got me. My mom always said to never play with strays.”

It was a lame excuse and you knew it. Anna did too. Before you could see her face scrunch into a stew of concern, you turned the bruised cheek away and looked to the heights of the sky, out the window, and wished you could fly into the night.

On Halloween, the promotion regarding a sale on donated books, though only paperbacks, if you wore a costume propelled the place to a considerable height. The small size of the store felt even smaller, even more so as Anna’s playlist Halloween music blared in the wall stereo. The sound waves and chatters of excited customers confined you, and you shrunk yourself in corners where it would be coldest. Anna took care of the crowd of patrons, while you assembled the paperbacks in a neatly order within the shelves.

Anna didn’t expect you to comply in participating in the event of Halloween, so the elation in her face was immediately framed in your mind when she hugged you tight, bruising enough to beckon the former bruise on your cheek to reappear, in your Where’s Waldo outfit. Simple, but you were a simple man.

“Excuse me?” An inquisitive voice tore your focus from arranging the novels in alphabetical order. You were kneeling to fill the lower shelf that was too low for anyone to comfortable browse through, but maintained the position as the crowd seemed to have closed in on you. “Do you know if this book qualifies for the sale, or is it paperback only?”

You looked up through your artificial glasses, and the size of your eyes matched the roundness of your frames when it embarrassingly didn’t take you very long to uncover who was under the layer of green face paint. “Peter?”

“O-oh! (M/N), you work here?” His eyes also widened, but he was sober enough to reach his hand out for you to grab onto. “That’s fitting, I guess. You always went to the library during lunch—I-I mean, not that I watch you or anything. I just— happened to notice…” The heat from your palm jumped onto Peter’s when you held on and pulled yourself to your feet. You weren’t sure what to respond to first, but the closed distance between you and Peter was distracting. A fleeting feeling in your chest, and it still overstays it welcome when you backed a step away.

Peter’s never been so close to you. He could smell the scent of ocean mist that he likened to previous shopping trips ago. His aunt may would drag him to the nearest retail store and he’d spend every second of the agonizing trip smelling laundry scent boosters while she stocked up on the pantry. He laughed to himself. You seemed like the type to use those.

“Thanks, uh…” You carefully took the hardback in your hand, examining it with several cycles of flips. It was in mint condition. Usually, a poorer state allowed an extra discount. “The sale is only for paperbacks, but…” Your eyes scanned the room. Fewer people now. Anna was still busy entertaining those that came to participate in the costume contest, a sudden endeavor to drive engagement.

“I can make an exception.” There was a swell in Peter’s heart when you gave him a smile, an uncertain small one, but nonetheless, a smile that warmed his insides. He wouldn’t have minded if he had paid full price anyhow, but he also wouldn’t reject the opportunity to save money.

He followed your steps to the back, away from the engaged crowd, and stilled as you began checking him out. “Just one book?” You looked up, and his lips were already parted as if he was about to say something, but he nodded instead.

Another moment of silence as you took his card after applying the sale to his book, and your fingers drummed to the beat of the music to fill it out, awaiting the receipt to print out. Whenever you had the courage to look at him, he was immersed in the ambiance of the bookstore. Smiling to himself, to Anna, to the laughter of the crowd, and you couldn’t help but hide one yourself, to the ground. When Peter faced you again, you quickly looked away in time, and the receipt rolled out in one smooth motion.

“How are you? Is it always this busy? I’ve never heard of this place.” Peter had a habit of stacking multiple questions with his own observations, with statements, with more questions. Rambles, people would call it. He was attentive, curious, and it all made him the more endearing.

“I’ve been doing okay. Tired, mostly. Miss Wilson’s been keeping me up though.” It was your attempt at a joke, and luckily, it landed when Peter laughed in agreement, elated as if he’d been waiting for the culprit of all-nighters to be of subject.

“Right?!” Peter shook his head when you asked if he wanted a bag, and continued, tucking the book in his armpit when you returned it to him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love her—she’s awesome. But chill out on the essays! An essay about our essays is a task sent from the devil himself.”

A chuckle escaped from your lips, and a wider smile brimmed your face in support. For the first time, you felt compelled to talk, to engage into conversation. “Yeah, I missed a few deadlines, but she’s pretty lenient with late work, thankfully.”

“Really? I have a feeling it’s because it’s you! You’re probably her favorite student since you always get the right answers when she calls on you.” He laughed again to escape the awkwardness of his compliment. Subtle, but he hoped you took it pridefully.

Peter looked to the side to see if anyone was coming to conclude their purchase for the night, and was delighted to see the hardwood floor left unattended. “Are you doing anything after this? It’s Halloween, so I imagine people are probably out partying or something.”

“I’m not really a party person.” You nodded to assure yourself, mindlessly rearranging the supplies around the desk to avoid the gaze of his eyes. It sucked you in once, couldn’t look back even if you tried. It was only when Peter turned himself away that you were no longer staring into warm chestnuts. “I only dressed like this since I’d probably look a little out of place if I showed up in my usual uniform, haha.”

“You look cu—“ Peter hurriedly cut himself off, frantic before smiling again. “Nice. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” You returned his smile, soft in form. “What about you? Are you doing anything?”

“Well, I’m not a party person either—oh! There’s this new horror movie that came out a week ago! I’ve been dying to see it,” Peter sparked, gently bouncing on his toes as hope frayed within his words. “If you’re free, would you want to watch it with me?”

“Oh—“ For the first time, you had the option to say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and for some reason, Peter was always at the crime of your firsts. “W-what time? I’ll have to see if it’s okay with Anna if—“

“Let me see…” Light reflected off of Peter’s faced as he searched on his phone, but a buoyant smile that revealed his teeth shined brighter. “One showing at eight, another at ten, and one final one at midnight!”

“Is… midnight okay?” You hesitantly asked, and Peter brightened.

“Midnight is perfect.”

When you left from work, you didn’t bother to call for your parents. It would’ve gone to voicemail anyhow. Instead, Anna took the excited initiative to drive you to the theater despite your assurance that walking would’ve sufficed.

Nonsense! I’m getting my coat. Hold on! Stay right there!

The mystery of what held the rest of the night for you frightened you to the core. What if everything went downhill from here? What if Peter never showed up? What if this had been a prank all along? During the car ride, you breathed, and breathed, and breathed.

And then, breathed.

Inhaled.

Blew in one continuous breath.

Inhaled.

Your chest ran steady again.

That night, Peter made you feel normal. As normal as someone like you could be.

You didn’t plan on getting your fingers buttery, but Peter assured you that his popcorn wasn’t going to finish itself. You shared your sour gummies in return. Peter jumped when a ghost flew to the screen, and you did the same from his own erratic movements. You watched the film through half-closed eyes, peeking between the cracks of your greasy fingers, prepared to be startled by the sound of a door closing, and you laughed silently to yourself because it was silly when you flinched to a cat scurrying away.

While you focused, the structure of your nose and lips, your entire side profile, were handsomely illuminated by the flickers of the screen and Peter took in the animation of your presence, a behemoth contrast of the you he’d known silently for years; the you that kept to himself, ate at lunch by himself, did group projects by himself, studied in the library by himself, walked home by himself. It was pathetic, many would heckle to their circle of friends. Peter overheard the tease and taunts, and he wanted to defend you in those moments. But he couldn’t, not until he knew you.

When you felt the air thicken, you turned to Peter and his gaze unfurled the heavy cloud between the two of you until it vanished into smoke. It sucked you in; his eyes. And you stared wide-eyed, bewildered and lost in the sea of broken stars the screen illustrated in Peter’s orbs. They twinkled with every cut of the scene, sparkling under the terror of the performer’s haunting, until they no longer didn’t when he turned away.

Crimson blanched and wilted into his face, radiated even in the dark when you followed and turned back to the screen. You felt your cheeks rivaling in swatch.

For the first time, you weren’t scared.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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