#but others have better eyes for setting details in the games than i do so i'll probably be off base lol

[2oul2ilver]

About Gio in masters, I found another rather dubious line in one of his pokemon center conversations: "if you want to protect your dear pokemon, you'll need to be strong. No matter what that takes" . Why do I have a strong impression that he's projecting here?. Maybe it implies that he originally started Team Rocket to get strong enough to also protect his kid but power ended going over his head.

I nearly took a screenshot to answer this since that's what I'm used to doing with replies help

But ooooooooh yeah, I feel like in conjunction with the dialogue I posted there's some heavy implications there. I initially took it way more literally/at face value more bc depending on where he was in his life, it could EASILY be about a pokemon he lost.

But you raise an excellent point, he has a son (i somehow always forget this about him and silver lmao) and that's also pretty realistic that his son - or possibly even his wife/the woman he loved - needed that strength, needed that protection, and somewhere he failed, or came damn close to it. And thus turned to forming Team Rocket.

Given Silver's mom is entirely out of the picture it wouldn't surprise me if it were that something happened to her. Silver.... Has Issues, but they feel more like issues picked up from having Rocket Boss Giovanni as a dad, given his similar fixation of needing to be Strong, and using living things (his pokemon) as a means to an end, in the way Giovanni capitalizes on Team Rocket Grunts' weaknesses to achieve his personal goals.

There's so much to think about with PokeMas Giovanni, it's such a refreshing change from his distant Evil portrayals in other series. Makes him feel human but not even necessarily in some oversympathizing woobifying way, since he clearly speaks from some sort of bad experience but seems. Pretty accepting of his current direction in life.

I'll probably post the dialogue you're referencing here once I find it if only for my own archives, and this rate I'm starting to wonder if, using his son's age and what we know about the timeline of team rocket, I could work backwards to sort out how long he has 'turned to evil to survive' bc I feel like that'd be a telling aspect as well....

#bc we dont know how long team rocket existed Before the events of rby/frlg BUT #i don't feel like any of the situations encountered were sustainable or would have gone without someone else's intervention? #and idk maybe im being too generous given the early games relied on 'useless adult' tropes but that implies to me that like #tr's spike in activity had been recent #hmmm i think mewtwo was implied connected to tr in the games as well as anime too so maybe that'll help more #....maybe that's a LOT more connected directly to this convo if im remembering correctly #much to think on once im awake more and have time to do research #spins giovanni in a microwave #magicalgirl300 #giovanni #pokemon masters ex #since it's about him #also im Sure someone else has done speculative tls but I wanna do my own attempt and see how close I can get lol #but others have better eyes for setting details in the games than i do so i'll probably be off base lol #blablablah

[ddarker-dreams]

Better The Devil You Know.

Yandere Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety. Word count: 2.6k.

You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks. 

It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation. 

You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed. 

It’s better than the chill of encroaching death. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.

For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #reader insert #yandere reader insert #my stuff

[giamee]

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🫀 )

there's a certain beauty and pain in being with someone carnally, and nothing more than that

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | friends with benefits, more angst than smut, like this is basically all angst no smut lol, kinda short too mb

header art (left to right) by pcrow ; artsquirre ; _sekidesu

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ being in a situationship is all fun and games until u catch feelings fr 😕. anyways. let's go thru that pain in this. lowkey i wanna make a part 2 to this with a happy ending cos im SOFT lmaooo

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ALHAITHAM.

BEING IN... WHATEVER THIS RELATIONSHIP COULD BE CLASSIFIED AS was not good for your mental health. in the past weeks that you and alhaitham had started sleeping together, you had been plunged into one of the worst emotional rollercoasters that you had ever been on.

what didn't help was the way he treated you so differently depending on the setting. you understood not wanting people to know, but did he have to ignore you entirely in public?

he wouldn't even spare you a glance as you walk past each other in the halls, eyes stubbornly trained ahead, leaving you steamrolled in his icy trail. and if you dare to try and talk to him- he'd look at you like you've grown a second head, completely shunning you and walking away as quickly as possible.

but it's a different story behind closed doors- in private, he's the sweetest man alive.

he'll whisper such sweet nothings into your ear, wipe your tears so tenderly with his thumbs like a lover would. he'd prop himself up with an elbow just so that he can gaze into your eyes as he pushes into you, even smiling at you as he watches the way your expression changes.

and the way he kisses you is what really throws you- always with such desperation and urgency, like he needs you in order to breathe when it's quite the opposite. he kisses you like he loves you, and the sensation is dizzying, perplexing when those fantasies are ripped from you in favour of reality.

but you know that you won't ever be his. not properly.

if it was meant to be, he'd at least smile at you as he passed. the more rational parts of your brain screamed at you to call it quits before you're sucked in too deep, but some part of you still held onto the hope that one day he would see you then smile.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 THOMA.

IT TRULY HURT TO REMEMBER THAT you weren't actually dating thoma. it was easy to get fooled- he was a gentleman, making sure to treat you right even when you weren't fucking. he'd make sure that you were okay, and he never kicked you out as soon as it was over.

he'd ask about your day, take interest in you and what you're doing. and arguably, worst of all, he wasn't afraid to be seen with you. the details that blurred the lines defining your relationship seemed like an afterthought, if the way his arm wrapped around your shoulders indicated anything.

you were his, unofficially or not. it only took a glance to be able to tell.

you liked to think that he was yours, too. that you meant something to him- more than just a pastime and a stress reliever.

there were moments where it was easier to believe it- with the way his eyes remain transfixed on you as you writhe in pleasure, cries of his name leaving your lips- his little coos and reassurances buttering you up, having you right in his palm, so pliant and willing for him.

maybe he got off on knowing that he makes you feel good in every sense of the word. seeing you happy acting as some sort of foreplay, all so he can claim you as his in every way except the one that you wanted most.

the urge to tell him how you feel, those three little words that dangle on the tip of your tongue and fight to be freed, are a constant struggle. but something inside you, some sick gut instinct, stopped you from blurting it out every time.

the fear of his reaction- disgust? confusion? kept you uncertain. a part of you would die if he didn't reciprocate your feelings. it was better not to know, and keep living in the make-belief of being his without the label.

you could only hope that you would be proved wrong one day.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 WRIOTHESLEY.

DESPITE EVERYTHING, YOU COULDN'T HELP BUT crawl back to him every single time. a never-ending cycle- one that you couldn't escape even if you wanted to.

both of you knew how it goes. you unblock him, play coy for a few messages before he's telling you to come over. you fuck like it's the last time you ever will- it never is- and then you spend the night.

he'll hold you, play with your hair, even kiss you, and you pretend that it's enough. if you're lucky, he'll even lend you a shirt that smells of him to sleep in.

and this facade is fine- while it lasts. but then you remember why you blocked him in the first place- the forced indifference, his refusal to open up. the way it hurt your heart to be pushed aside.

and then you go and ask him what you mean to him. he'll smile at you without mirth, the both of you knowing how this conversation goes. he doesn't want anything serious. you want more.

and then it's tears, you ripping off his shirt and throwing it back at him, storming out of his place and blocking his number with shaking fingers.

you cry yourself to sleep in your cold and empty bed- already sorely missing the warmth of his body as he holds you close to him in his sleep, whether he's aware of that or not.

and you're fine, you tell yourself. you can live without him. and you do, for a little while. honestly, he's the last thing on your mind as you distract yourself with work or seeing your friends.

but then a lonely night gets the best of you, abd you find your finger hovering over the call button next to his name. and you press it, cursing yourself for doing it.

he picks up at the third ring, voice smug as if he knew you couldn't go much longer without him.

and he's right, unfortunately.

you're already out the door, on the way to his apartment.

𝜗𝜚 genshin impact masterlist

#୨୧ gia.txt :: alhaitham #୨୧ gia.txt :: thoma #୨୧ gia.txt :: wriothesley #alhaitham x reader fluff #alhaitham angst #genshin alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x reader smut #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham smut #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #thoma x reader #thoma angst #thoma smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley angst #wriothesley smut #genshin impact fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin smut #genshin x reader

[catboyieejeno]

gameboy :: p.js — one

genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more wc: 18.257k

join the taglist for part two

18+ minors do not interact!

The red letters that flash across your screen read ‘Defeat’, illuminating your dimly lit room with a shy, red hue. The instant the word appears on your monitor, a voice blasts through your headset, erupting in emphatic complaints and protests. You can hear the clatter of a keyboard and mouse being shoved around on the other end of the receiver, and it takes everything in you to stifle your laugh. 

“We definitely could’ve won that!” the boy scoffs, “I swear, sometimes it feels like you and I are the only people with any fucking game sense.” 

“Wow, thanks for the validation,” you joke, instinctively queuing up for another match. Your eyes trail up to the little icon in the corner of the screen that glows green every time he speaks.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, and you imagine he must not look all that different from the little crying cat picture he set as his discord icon. The thought makes you snort, but he ignores you, stating, “I think this is my last game,” 

You nod even though you know he can’t see you, “same, I have class tomorrow,”

“First day of the semester for you, too?”  

You nod again. “Unfortunately. My days of gaming until four and sleeping until noon have come to an end.” 

He laughs, leaning forward in his chair as he realizes something, “You know, I never asked what you’re studying,” 

“Oh,” you blink, “Well, the first class I have tomorrow is just a random credit I needed, but I’m actually majoring in-” 

It takes less than a few seconds for your words to drown out into a muffled buzz, and the only thing Jisung can focus on now is the silky, smooth sound of your voice. 

He would never admit it, at least not out loud, but your voice makes his heart beat just a little faster. The way each and every word rolls off your tongue makes his breath hitch, imagination running wild at the thought of what your lips look like when they mold to form each syllable and sound. 

Every night like clockwork, Jisung finds himself rocking side to side in his desk chair, eyes hanging low and round lips curved up into a smile as he listens to you speak.

It’s so easy to talk to him, too. By now, you’ve lost count of how many nights the two of you rambled off in voice chats, watching shows or playing video games or simply oversharing the details of your lives. It’s only been a few months since you met in a game chat, on that night where he practically harassed you for your discord after you carried him up a rank in-game. You’re secretly grateful he did, though you wouldn’t let him know that; the two of you effortlessly became part of each other’s daily routine, and now, calls with you are his favorite way to end the night. Tonight is no exception.

Jisung begins to mindlessly swing in his chair as usual. He’s humming passively between your small pauses to encourage you to keep going as his hands automatically start caressing his torso. It’s a somewhat innocent gesture, or at least it starts out that way: his palms sliding across the ridges of his abdomen as he listens to your voice. It’s better than music to his ears, and it urges his long fingers to dance closer and closer to his waistband.

“–and I thought about changing it, but I think with an degree in Lit, I could probably get a career in–”

Lost in your voice, Jisung slips his hands into his shorts, holding his balls as he fully zones out of the conversation. He knows you’re saying words and forming actual sentences, but his social awareness has dwindled completely and he absolutely can’t seem to get past how sweet you sound, and how much sweeter you would sound under… different circumstances. He moves up to hold his dick gently and furrows his brows. Almost accidentally, his thumb brushes along the underside of his tip, teeth clamping the inside of his cheek and gnawing on it to ground himself. Just as eager as its owner, Jisung’s dick jolts in his palm, progressively swelling up until it’s flushing bright pink. 

“You’re into English?” He manages to stop daydreaming and hone into the conversation for a fleeting moment, just long enough to ask you that simple question and keep your attention off of his rapidly shifting breath.

He’s blatantly playing with himself now, ever so distractedly. It’s an autonomous act: the way the pad of his middle finger trails over his slit to collect a bit of the pre-cum that has begun to dribble out in pearly beads. He hisses, then quickly snaps his mouth shut in hopes that you hadn’t heard him. 

“Yeah,” he can hear your smile in your words, “I think I always have been. I used to read all the time and—I swear, if you say I’m boring, I’ll personally come over and choke you–” 

As he acknowledges reality for a quick moment, his pace falters. His brows pinch, and he feels confused as he realizes he can’t stop or even moderate his actions, despite the shame slowly beginning to wash over him. The more you talk, the harder he grows. His grip is getting tighter, his strokes needier… he must be losing his mind. With a gulp, he thinks to himself, what would you do if you could see him touching himself like this to you? Would you think it’s sick and twisted or would you offer to help him out? His head begins to throb as the room spins around him, but he really can’t seem to slow his motions. By now, he’s bucking his hips up and into his hand while the other covers his mouth, silencing the whines that threaten to leave his throat. He’s breathing heavily, praying to god you don’t somehow notice his perverted actions. Despite knowing that he isn’t thinking straight, Jisung can’t help the thoughts that continue to fog his mind, rampant and obscene. 

Could you hear the squelching of his hand pumping his cock, covered in his pre-release? Or the way he’s practically panting, reduced to nothing at the mere sound of your voice? He’s not sure whether or not his mic would even pick that up, but even so, the corner of his lips curl into a lazy smile as his mind continues down his twisted rabbit hole. 

In spite of not knowing what you look like, there’s no denying that he wants to give you all of him. He wants to feel himself buried deep inside your throat, your pretty voice vibrating around him as you choke on his length. He feels himself twitch in his palm and he subconsciously nods, picturing it's your walls around him instead of his own inadequate hand. Jisung huffs out once, fucking his fist wildly, picturing how much he’d like to feel himself bust inside of your warm, tight pus-

“Sung? Sung!”

“Huh? W-what?” As he yanks his hand from his shorts, the waistband snaps against his skin and he yelps out at the impact, “Sorry! I promise I was listening, it-its just, I got a little caught up with–” words are tumbling out of his mouth, before he can catch up to them.   

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Hurry, just pick your agent before the match gets–” but the timer runs out, and the lobby screen appears once more as you sigh, “–canceled...” 

Jisung glances down at his hand, separating his fingers and watching how the sticky pre-cum leaves webbed strings between each of his parted digits. His stomach is also wet, and the tent in his pants is growing increasingly painful with each passing second. 

“What were you fantasizing about, huh?” Oh, fuck. The teasing edge in your words makes his nerves tingle, and he throws his head back as you hum into your mic, “Hmm. Well, I guess it was more interesting than what I was saying. Can’t blame you though, the topic of school is boring me too, and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Also, that can’t count as your last game. I literally won’t allow it.” 

You queue up for another game and Jisung sighs, watching the timer on the screen tick away. The picture changes, and the two of you are prompted to start a game. A few kleenex wipes collect the mess on his hand and torso, and he settles back in his chair after tossing them, deciding his neediness will have to wait for now.

Bidding you good night is harder than usual tonight, but he knows you need to get to sleep—you mentioned you had an early class and he had his own, so his selfish urge to keep you talking until he came in his hand would, unfortunately, need to take a raincheck.

After logging off of his computer, Jisung drops his head into his hands with a sigh.

What the fuck even was that? 

A mix of shame and arousal take over him as his cheeks begin glowing a deep shade of red. He lets out a small scoff, shaking his head to himself as he gets up from his chair. His dick is still as hard as a rock, and he can’t help but feel flustered at the fact that he has, quite literally, blue-balled himself. 

With a towel swung over his shoulder and a clean pair of sleeping shorts clutched in his fist, Jisung walks up to the dorm’s nearest communal bathroom. He turns on the faucet, freeing himself of his clothes. The moment his boxers come down past his thighs, his length slaps against the skin below his navel, making him hiss out as he steps into the shower. The cold water, running down against his heated body, seems to be doing the trick of clearing his mind, that is, until his hands find their way to his stomach, rubbing the soap over it.

It’s so hard to expel the thoughts of you when they’re so intrusive and tempting, and Jisung lets his mind drift off once more, imagining how it would feel to be touched by you, sucked by you. All the soft noises you would make are weirdly familiar; he can practically hear them. His head falls back, lips caught between his teeth as he twitches and gives himself an experimental stroke, shuddering as his thumb glides across the slit of his sensitive tip. He clenches his eyes shut tighter, letting out a shaky sigh and letting the water continue to trickle down his body. He doesn’t know what you look like, other than your hair color which you mentioned the other day. Despite that, he still tries desperately to piece an image of you together behind his eyelids, picturing what your lips are like. And just like that, thoughts of you flood him, and he shudders at the vision of you on your knees, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, begging to taste him and take all of him. He longs to feel you swallow around him—to grab either side of your face and thrust into your needy mouth until the tears slip from your eyes and your pussy is dripping from the need to be fucked.  

Getting lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realize how loud he’s becoming and how fast his fist is working his dick. Jisung's highly anticipated release is only seconds away when a loud knock startles him, lunging him right back into his body.

“Yo, man! How long are you gonna take in there?” His friend and next door neighbor, Mark, shouts from the other side of the door, knocking again and ruining Jisung’s fantasy once and for all. 

The boy takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow, not trusting his voice to not crack otherwise, “Uh.. Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.” 

It takes everything in him to slow his hand to a stop and pry it off of his shaft, deciding that perhaps, he shouldn’t entertain his filthy thoughts any longer. He quickly finishes showering with another unnecessary interruption from Mark, then drags himself back to his room and gets into his bed, forcing his eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. The longer he lies there, however, the more restless he grows. 

His dick feels sore to the touch and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. Every time he adjusts his shorts or moves his legs, his balls throb from how full they are. Knowing he has class to get to the following day, he tries to convince himself that maybe he needs a release to get to sleep. It’ll tire him out, and then finally, he’ll be able to get some rest…There’s at least a bit of logic to that theory, or that’s what he tells himself, anyway. 

Against his better judgment that pleads with him to just shut his eyes and count sheep, Jisung huffs out and slips his hands into his shorts to begin touching himself for the nth time tonight. This whole time, he had been unknowingly edging himself and now he’s so, so undeniably and incredibly desperate to cum that it literally hurts. 

His free hand brings his phone up and unlocks it, thumb swiping quickly in search of the discord app where your contact resides, the little green bubble next to it signifying that you’re still online. He hovers over the call button, taunting himself with the idea of making a call to you at this time. One little click, and he’d hear your voice again. Just one click and he-

sung ᨐฅ started a call. Today at 11:54 AM

Shit, shit, shit. 

He rushes to hang up, but you’ve answered no more than a ring later. 

“Hello?” 

Jisung holds his rather unsteady breath, staring wide-eyed at his phone. His dick pulses in his palm that now rests still. 

“Sung?” 

As gently as possible, he lays the phone down on his puffed up chest, letting out his breath slowly so that you don’t hear him.

“I’m gonna assume you called me by accident… ” you sigh out in disappointment, growing quiet in uncertainty. For a second, Jisung is convinced you’re gonna hang up, but when you stay on the line, he peers down at the screen curiously. 

Your icon lights up green and there’s some shuffling on your end, presumably from you getting comfortable in bed. 

He hears you yawn and smiles fondly. 

“I’m tired,” you mumble, “are you asleep? I was actually excited that you called. Maybe it’s my fucked up schedule… or, maybe I’m just dreading tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know…” 

You’re speaking slower and quieter than usual, but you’re speaking, completely oblivious of the fact that he’s thinking of the dirtiest things that involve you, getting off while you think he’s sound asleep. 

“It’s always easier to sleep once we’ve talked so,” you pause, then sigh out jokingly, “I guess I'll just talk your unconscious ear off until I fall asleep…You don’t mind, right?”

God, no, he thinks.  

Jisung silently celebrates your decision with a pump of his hand, shuffling a bit to get comfortable as you go on about genshin and cats and other things he can barely pay mind to. It takes no more than a few strokes, shallow ones where he caresses the angry head of his dick to the velvety sound of your slurred and drowsy mumbling, for him to bring himself to come so fucking hard. 

His knees lock as his cock springs up in his clutched palm, spewing streams of white cum all over his stomach, chest, and thighs. The muscles on his abdomen ache from the way they contract, eyes and jaw shutting tightly as he challenges himself to remain quiet. The sheets aren’t spared from his thick load either, his nut dripping down the sides of his tummy to make dark, round puddles on his bed. His toes curl as he tries his hardest to not gasp out when the pleasure dissolves into sensitivity, digging his head back into the pillow with a hand clasped over his lips. 

A few minutes later, the blurriness in his vision is relieved, along with the ringing in his ears. You’ve stopped talking; instead, the receiver picks up your short and shallow breaths, as if you’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open. Cute.  

As he assesses the aftermath of his much needed release, he wishes he could snap a picture and send it to you, so that you’d wake up knowing this pathetic mess he made was all for you, because of you.

Alas, he can’t, and he hangs up once he’s completely sure you’re resting. With his eyelids feeling much heavier than before, he manages to toss his phone onto the nightstand before he, too, drifts off to sleep.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The following morning, Jisung wakes up in a bit of a panic. The first thing that throws him for a loop is the fact that his alarm didn’t go off at all. He quickly realizes he forgot to set it amidst the activities of the night before. The second thing that strikes him is his own hand that rests on his stomach, stuck in some kind of damp, sticky liquid. In his half-conscious state, he lifts his fingers and his puffy eyes widen as he identifies the clear fluid that decorates his tummy as his drying release from the night before. 

“Ugh…” He grimaces, sitting up in his bed. His phone, which is less than half full of battery since he forgot to plug it in, blinks back the numbers 8:38 at him. Jisung’s eyes widen as he remembers that his first class of the day, of the semester, is at 9. 

“Fuck!” In a flash, his blanket is flung off of him and his legs are swinging over the edge of the bed. He moves to grab some tissues from his nightstand, making aggressively desperate attempts at wiping away his cum. When the Kleenex sticks to him instead, he digs around his drawers for a pack of wet wipes, snatching a pair of pants off of the floor at the same time and practically yanking them up his legs. 

Despite almost falling over, he manages to get them on and clean off his torso… for the most part. A random sweatshirt is tugged on over his head and he runs his hand through his hair a few times to tidy it before passively telling his reflection, this will do. 

Moments later, he’s rushing downstairs and outside of the dormitory with his unzipped backpack hung over his shoulder. He rushes to unlock his bike, cursing as he fumbles with the keys. Once he’s on, he starts pedaling to the Science building on the other side of campus, heavily dreading checking the time in fear it’ll read some absurd number and he’ll wind up being much later than he anticipates.

The breath that’s been caught in his throat all morning is only released when he steps through the door of the lecture room to see that the professor hasn’t walked in yet, and that the clock reads that he’s 6 minutes early.

Finally slowing his rushed pace, Jisung does a quick once over the room to scan the faces of his fellow students before taking his seat somewhere near the back. Thanking the heavens that his notebook and textbook didn’t go tumbling out of his bag in the midst of his previous hurry, he tugs them out, flipping them open and writing the date on the first page. His laptop, which is where he had planned to take notes on, sits in his dorm room where he left it on his desk. Everyone else has theirs out, but he’ll just have to bring his own next time. 

There’s a distant click, and the door on the lowest level of the lecture hall opens. Through it walks a relatively tall and slender lady, heels echoing rhythmically as she strides over to set her dark bag down by the podium. Her hair is tied back high and tight, so much so, that all of her features look like they're blending into her hairline. She looks like she’s somewhere in her mid-to-late fifties, and from the instant she walked in, the entire class went silent.

She clearly has a presence that commands attention and undoubtedly, she fits the visual profile of a strict college professor quite well, especially when she picks up the chalk and scribbles her surname onto the green chalkboard beside the larger projector screen.

“I’m Professor Hwang. Welcome to AST1002, also known as Descriptive Astronomy. If you’re here, that means you took AST1001 with Mr. Kwon last year. He has since transferred to a different department.” 

There’s no audible response, although some disappointment does flash across the faces of the students in the room, all of whom did have (and seemingly would miss) Mr. Kwon. Professor Hwang doesn’t seem to notice the lack of responses, and continues speaking as she pulls some papers out.

“Firstly, I’ll take attendance. Then, I’ll pass the syllabus around. I would like for you to note,” she pauses to place a pair of red glasses high on the bridge of her nose, “that attendance is mandatory for my class, and worth 20% of your grade. I’ll go over pop quizzes and weekly quizzes, as well as the initial class project, when each of you have a copy of the syllabus. That being said, I look forward to seeing you all here every class. Please call out when you hear your name.” 

As she starts to take attendance, Jisung takes the time to sigh into his hands, both exhausted and dreading the fact that he’d have to spend three days out of the week rotting in a lecture hall to attend a class he expected to be fun, or at the very least a break from his much more difficult core classes. By the looks of it, that’s no longer the plan. 

It’s easy to zone out quickly while his mind is still foggy, no doubt from the lack of sleep and the subsequent abrupt awakening that followed. He had just begun an attempt to read the syllabus when something made his ears perk. 

Immediately, his head snaps up in pursuit of a soft and airy voice that just responded to Professor Hwang. It’s so quick and in passing that he almost thinks he might have imagined it in his delirious state, but the way the hair on his limbs stands on end is unmistakable. His eyes dart around the room, hitting his classmate’s heads like targets, but there’s absolutely no way to identify the individual who just spoke. 

Could it be… No. No way. 

Jisung is no stranger to daydreaming about you, but he isn’t completely delusional. He knows the chances of being not only in the same city, but the same university and class as you are absolutely slim to none, so he stops that train of thought dead in its tracks. 

It does segway him into thinking of you, though. You’re obviously not here, so he wonders instead what class you are in at the moment. He tries to picture what you’re wearing on your first day of class, trusting you look more put together than him in his old hoodie that is slightly sticking to the dry cum on his stomach. Do you like your classmates? Your professor? He sincerely hopes you have a more tolerable one than he does. 

“Park Jisung?” 

With a slight cough, he spits out a weak “h-here.” and instantly grimaces, raising his shoulders autonomously as if he would get scolded for stammering so pathetically. The professor, to his relief, doesn’t even glance up from the roster. Then, he feels quite silly for even thinking he would get reproached for that to begin with. In his defense, she’s a rather intimidating woman, and his inner monologue is so loud and flooded with thoughts of you that he fears she may have heard it. 

She finishes calling for attendance, resorting to striding up and down the aisles as she begins to dissect the syllabus. In an effort to pretend he’s paying attention, Jisung glances down at the size twelve font on the page, skimming over the words without really taking anything in. During one of the professor’s paces, a pen she had resting on her ear slips and falls towards the ground with a slight clatter, and it seems a student picked it up for her, because there’s a slight mumbling, followed by a sharp “thank you,” and a very, very recognizable,

“You’re welcome, Professor.” 

His eyes widen at once. Alright, call him crazy, but now he thinks that it really might have been your voice. The familiar timbre, warm and delicate; a sound he’s heard for months on end and knows embarrassingly well… The thought of being in the same room as you out of sheer luck and coincidence makes his abdomen twist and his palms sweat so bad, he has to wipe them on his pants.

He hates that he can’t fully tell, in fact, he’s almost ashamed that he can’t; before today, Jisung would have sworn up and down that he knew your voice better than even his own, but you sound so far and so quiet that he can’t completely bet all of his marbles. Then, he quickly realizes calling it ‘your voice’ definitely makes him sound delusional, even in the safety of his own forgiving conscience. He decides to call it ‘the voice’ for now, at least until he’s a hundred-percent sure. 

An irritatingly long hour and half later, the only sound that continues to ring around the lecture hall is Professor Hwang’s monotone one, reciting each and every itemized assignment and rule on the never-ending syllabus. There’s less than fifteen minutes until class is over, and she shows no signs of stopping her dissertation. 

“As for the class project: In pairs of two, you will research a constellation extensively to create a presentation on its formation, who cataloged it, and the Greek myth that may accompany it. Please note that this is the first and last time we will talk about constellations in this class, since they are not cosmic phenomenons but instead, a mere roadmap to the objects and themes we will be focusing on. Consider this strictly as an opportunity to familiarize yourselves with another classmate and show me your interest and effort in the subject. That concludes our syllabus,” Thank God, Jisung thinks. 

 “Any questions?” She glances around at a hand that floats in the air, near the front of the room, “yes?” 

“Will we be able to select our partners?” 

“No. Partners will be assigned at the end of the week. Yes?” She calls on another hand. 

“As for the constellations,” Wait, that’s it! That’s the voice—that’s your voice, he’s completely sure of it!  “Will you assign those as well?” 

Jisung elongates his neck to try and peek over the heads in his way. It is you, he’s positive now, but you’re turned away from him, and he can’t fully make out which ‘back of the head’ is your ‘back of the head.’ The echo in the hall makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint who just spoke which means he can’t pinpoint you. For some reason, he finds himself slightly panicking, desperate to finally see you in person.

He follows Professor Hwang's line of sight as she answers that she’ll assign the constellations on Friday too, and finally finds you, seated between a few other students. A few more questions are thrown around, but his eyes never leave you, anticipating the moment he catches a glimpse of your face. 

Naturally, his first instinct is to approach you as soon as class is out, but when he sees you spin around to pick up your bag that hangs off your chair, he finds himself glued to his own flimsy seat. Feet stuck to the ground, legs not budging, and air hitched in his throat at the sight of you. 

You’re so, so much prettier than he could have imagined with whatever unoriginal features he tried to piece together in his lacking mind, and that fact makes him both exhilarated and completely nauseous. 

He’s barely been looking at you for a few seconds when he feels his insatiable cock growing fast in the confines of his pants, with no regard for its owner and the fact that he has to stand up within the next minute or so to exit the hall. Jisung curses under his breath, awkwardly rising to his feet when most of his classmates leave, his bag clutched tightly in front of his groin. He prays you don’t glance over, not even because he has a semi-hard on he’s failing to hide with dissimulation, but because he’s staring at you like some sort of freak and can’t seem to look away. 

There’s nothing he wants more than to come up to you and say hi and confess he’s the person you’ve been gaming with for months. He’s pictured it countless times before, you’d think he’d have it down by now, but your beauty is intimidating, and he simply cannot and will not make a fool of himself in front of you by greeting you with a raging boner. 

You walk out of the classroom and Jisung’s heart settles in his chest as he sits with his decision to stay anonymous for now. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

“She was obnoxious, you have no idea!” 

“My teacher wasn’t much different,” he admits, a small, knowing smile toying at his lips, “she seemed like a real bitch,” 

It’s later that same evening, and talking to you doesn’t really feel the same anymore. It’s much harder, because now, Jisung can vividly picture you, sitting in your chair with your hands on your keyboard and mouse. Every word you say, his imagination is right thereafter, picturing your pretty face clear as day in the forefront of his mind. 

The moment he got home, he fucked his fist until he came in his hand. It took about five minutes, and then he pumped another one out in the shower, (a much needed shower, at that) where he finally washed away the remains of the night before. 

After he had lunch with Mark and the other boys from his floor, they had invited him to play basketball. At the same time, however, he received a direct message from you, explaining you didn’t have any other classes for the day and asking if he could get on earlier. 

It’s a little ridiculous, but now that he’s seen you, now that he knows you’re so much closer than he initially thought, he can’t wait to talk to you again. And so he quickly came up with an empty excuse related to his studies, took the berating from his friends like a champ, and rushed upstairs to log into his PC and open up your chat. 

“Not only do we already have a project, but we don’t even get to pick our partners.” 

I know! He thinks. 

“Like,” you start, and he pictures the way your cheeks fill up with air as you let out a huff, “what if I get stuck with some weirdo?” 

Instantly, Jisung stops palming himself, letting his hand climb back up to the mouse slowly.

He probably shouldn’t let that innocent statement affect him as much as it does, but he can’t help it. He has the advantage, right? Or, at least it seems that way. 

When everything is laid out, he has the upperhand of knowing who you are—you haven’t seen him, yet… but what if you did see him, and he wasn’t at all what you were expecting? Or even worse, what if you got paired together for the project and you thought he was weird or the two of you didn’t get along? That option is far less likely, since there are well over fifty students in AST1002. 

“I don’t know,” you start, “I’m considering switching out of the class-” 

“No!” Wow. Good going, Jisung.

He catches his slip-up and quickly blurts out, “I-I mean, it might not be that bad! You should… at least give it a shot before you try to switch out, right?” 

“I guess you’re right… The add and drop period at my school is until next Friday, so I'll try it out until then.” 

Great! Perfect! Good save. The only problem now is: Jisung has a little over a week and a half to somehow convince you to stay in his class and at the same time, not completely butcher his introduction to you. Approaching you now seems practically impossible, but he needs you to stay in the class, even if it means he has to come up to you first. He can’t be bothered to care that his insistence is for his own selfish intentions, if it means getting to see you three times a week. 

“But anyway,” he clears his throat, changing the topic as quickly as possible, “how did your other class go?” 

“Much better than the first, the teacher let us out early once he covered the books we’d be analyzing this semester and attendance isn’t mandatory since most of the material is online or in the library. I think I’ll swing by there one of these days to see if I can get ahead on some of the assignments.” 

“Oh, so you’re a nerd?” You gasp and smack his character in-game a few times. He laughs, calling out, “okay, okay, truce! You’re not a nerd then, just an overachiever.”

“How so?” 

“We’re barely a day into the semester and you’re already trying your homework that I’m sure isn’t due for at least a few weeks,” 

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s right. With a bit of playful flirtation twisted into your tone, you hum out, “What can I say? I like to please.” 

One of his eyebrows perks up, “is that right?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He can hear your smirk through the screen, and now, he can vividly picture it, too. 

Jisung scoffs, backing away from your character so that he’s out of your sight. He cowers into a corner in game;  this way, you don’t notice how he stops moving when his left hand leaves the w,a,s,d keys to cup and rub his needy bulge. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Wednesday’s class is somehow packed and entirely uneventful at the same time. The first of Professor Hwang’s dragging lectures is so loaded that Jisung actually thanks the heavens that he remembered to bring his laptop. Otherwise, his notebook would have been about halfway full already, and his hand? It would have fallen off. 

On another relevant note, he’s struggling to stay focused because today, he is sitting much closer to you. Intentionally, of course. There’s still a few rows between him and you, but in this new seat, he can glance at you as often as he’d like without straining his eyes or stretching out his neck to make his gawking painfully obvious. He can clearly make out your smooth skin, along with other details he wasn’t able to notice before like your beauty marks and your dainty earrings. You’re paying unfaltering attention to the class for the first hour, but after the sixty-minute mark, you appear to have become bored. He catches the way your pencil starts doodling along the corners of your notebook and it takes everything in him not to snort when you scribble down a wonky looking cat. 

He’s so distracted by you, that every couple of slides, he glances back to the projector to see that the class is now on an entirely different topic than the one he last managed to jot down. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re a much more enthralling sight than quasars and supernovas. 

Halfway through the lesson, you decide to peel off your little black cardigan and hang it on the back of your chair, exposing your arms and neck and shoulders to him. Your hair is tied up neatly right after, giving him all the more to gawk at and envision. Jisung has to remind himself that he’s in a classroom just so that he doesn’t start fantasizing about how it would feel to grip your hair up in a similar fashion and fill your throat up with his dick.

With great difficulty, he directs his focus to the board instead, typing quickly into his laptop all the notes he manages to catch before the slide changes again and Professor Hwang’s narrow eyes can scan the room to see who’s paying attention. 

When the class is over, you start talking with the girl next to you, aimlessly reaching back for your bag. The gesture makes your cardigan fall, and Jisung has to fully bite his tongue to keep himself from calling out your name and giving himself away. He waits to see if you’ll notice, or if someone nearby will alert you, but neither one happens. Instead, you stand up, still engrossed in your conversation, and make your way towards the door. Instantly, he jogs down the aisle and between the seats to grab it and wordlessly hand it to you, but by the time he makes a move to head in your direction, you’ve already left. 

He feels disappointed at first, but the feeling quickly shifts into relief. Wordlessly hand it to you? Does he want your first impression of him to be awkward and borderline rude? No and definitely no. This problem has a simple solution—it’s a blessing in disguise; he’ll take your cardigan home and bring it to you on Friday and maybe, if his courage allows, he can introduce himself then. 

“Hey! I noticed you left your sweater here last class. I brought it for you. Oh, and by the way, it’s me! I’m @sung.ie. How did I know it was you? I can recognize your voice across a huge lecture hall.”

Yeah… he’ll think more on that later. 

With your cardigan clutched in his fist, Jisung sighs, making his way outside and towards his bicycle. He tucks the clothing item into his backpack and pedals back home, wondering how he’s going to manage to give it back to you since you always get to and leave class before him.  

He knows some of his friends and dorm-mates have their own class today, they had exchanged schedules during lunch a few days ago, which leaves him to hope and pray you’ve decided to skip your class and get online. As he parks his bicycle downstairs and locks it, he slips his phone from his pocket and opens discord, but your bubble remains gray and cold. You’re offline. 

Maybe you haven’t gotten home yet. He checks his phone again when he gets upstairs, and again when he goes inside his dorm, tossing his bag aside and crashing on his bed. He checks after losing a round of candy crush, and again after replying to a text from his mom. 

By the looks of it, you were in class, or at the very least, not available for the moment. Jisung sighs, pretending he’s not actually as disappointed as he feels. It seems a bit dramatic to feel the need to kill time until he gets to talk to you again so he resorts to doing physics homework—a short baseline his teacher assigned that wouldn’t be graded—and tricking his brain into thinking the former is not what he’s actually doing. 

When he pulls his bag off his desk chair to grab his laptop, your cardigan comes into view, and he pauses to look at it. He sits like this for a moment, wondering if he should fold it nicely on his dresser so he can remember to take it to you, but his hands act before his mind can catch up, reaching in and basically shoving the material toward his face. 

With his nose buried in your scent, Jisung inhales deeply, sinking into his chair as his legs grow weaker. The trace of your floral softener is the first aroma he gets, and then, the smell of your perfume peeks through, soft and sweet and very fitting for you. Once more, his treacherous hands are acting for themselves and he’s suddenly undoing his belt single-handedly. 

Once his dick, growing by the minute, is out and clutched in his palm, he finally retracts your sweater. With little hesitation, he wraps it around his erection and pumps once, throwing his head back in immediate relief.

It’s a fucking miracle that his room is the last one at the end of the hall, and that his next door neighbors, Renjun and Jaemin, are both in their afternoon lectures, because nothing would have been able to muffle the wanton moan that rips from his chest as he strokes himself with your scent. His hips are bucking up into the air, and in only a few minutes, he’s broken a slight sweat. His balls tighten from sheer sensitivity at the act of fucking something directly related to you. 

A cry of your name, followed by a few more pumps and he’s coming inside your mangled cardigan, his white release breaching the thin material. It seeps through it like light through a veil, gathering thickly on top before spreading into a dark, wet patch. There’s a shudder that passes through his bones as he sits back, burying his cock into the fabric and keeping it there until he’s given up every last drop. 

The only thing that snaps him from his post-nut bliss, is the distinct discord ring-tone that blasts through his headset. His computer monitor turns on as your icon appears and simultaneously, his heart and dick both twitch. 

“Hello?” With his output device swung over his head, he presses the green ‘answer’ button and speaks into the mic, hiding his slight shortness of breath with a yawn. 

“I’m so glad you answered,” you beam, and he does too, “I was worried I had called while you were in class or something,” 

As he speaks, he wipes the remnants of his cum off with your cardigan and puts it aside on his desk, tucking his softening (and still very sensitive) dick away into his boxers, “No, you’re good. I had a class earlier today but now I’m free.” 

“What a relief,” you sigh, “Would you want to have a little homework ‘sesh’ with me? I just found out the library doesn’t have any available labs. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate much with you but at least I'll be in good company.”

“Like an e-date?” 

“We can call it that,” you grin, then he pictures your expression becoming a gloom one to match your slightly sadder tone as you admit, “Sometimes I wish we went to the same school so we could meet up and study at a coffee shop.” 

He snorts, unable to help but crack a joke, “Like a real date?” 

Your laugh makes his heart swell slightly. When you reply, “Maybe,” it starts flipping wildly in his chest. 

God, you can’t even begin to imagine how badly he wants that. 

“That would be nice,” he agrees humbly, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “What class are you gonna study for?” 

There’s a pause before you speak again where you hum in thought, flipping through a few pages and shuffling through your bag. Jisung joins you, grabbing his laptop and school supplies, “I have a project for my astronomy class. It’s related to constellations and I wanna start researching them so that I can make an outline for the assignment,” 

He looks through his math notes with his brows furrowed down, “I thought she was gonna assign them on Friday?” 

Your icon flickers as you reply, “She is, but I want to—wait. How did you know that?” At your words and the realization of his untimely slip up, Jisung’s body goes rigid. He can only imagine the confusion on your features, and he’s quite relieved you can’t see the look on his. If his eyes were to open any wider, he’s sure they might just slip out of his head. 

“Oh, um,” he clears his throat mechanically, then gulps in an effort to lubricate it and keep his voice steady, assertive, certain. “You mentioned it on Monday, remember?” 

“Did I?” You didn’t, but he really hopes you think you did. “Probably,” At that, he lets out the air he’s holding, shaking his head slightly at himself for being so careless. 

“But um, yeah,” he starts before you can give it any further thought, “If she’s assigning them Friday why are you working on it today?” 

“Cause she’s also assigning partners on Friday, and I don’t really know anyone besides the girl who sits next to me and I doubt I’ll get paired with her. I want to make sure my grade is secured, you know? I’ve never liked group projects. I feel like all the work gets dumped on me.” 

He’s still not entirely sure what you mean to do, or how you intend to create a blueprint of sorts without knowing what it was for, and so he stops flicking through his page of notes to look up at his monitor and ask, “But if you don’t know which constellation you’re gonna work on, how are you gonna make an outline?” 

You ponder his question for a moment, then mumble out, “She didn’t mention a rubric or anything, so I figured that as long as I plan out the different sections and give the project a structure, half of the work is cut out, right? I can just assign parts at that point.” 

“You’re that kinda person in a group project? I’m sorry to whoever gets partnered with you,” He’s not sorry, not at all. He’s rather envious, actually, despite his attempts to sound indifferent or amusing. Being granted time to spend with you at your place or his, or at the library or the local campus cafe, would be a no less than perfect ice breaker. Jisung would make sure you never felt like all the research and assembling depended solely on you—in fact, he could see himself now, spending countless hours perfecting the details of his assigned part and inquiring about other suggestions to improve the project, just to impress you or at the very least, satisfy you. The reality that someone else would get to do all of that in his place is disheartening. 

You guys had rarely ever talked about school before now, since neither of you actually were enrolled in any classes when you started chatting, but now that it’s relevant, he feels like he understands a whole different side of you. You’re organized, and obviously very studious. Hell, you’ve been itching to get started on assignments that haven’t even been assigned yet. You’re responsible, dependable, funny, beautiful, and every time he thinks of you lately, he realizes that his innocent crush is slowly becoming an insatiable one.   

“Hey! I’d be very nice if it was you, you know. Show you some favoritism,” the corners of his lips twitch upwards—“But I’m also glad it’s not you,”—and fall down again. 

“What? Why?” He tries to not sound too offended. 

“I’d end up talking your ear off, Sung.” 

“I’m already used to that, don’t mind it. Kinda like it, actually.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He nods curtly, even though there’s a monitor and an entire school campus between you and him and he knows you have no way of seeing his gesture. There's a moment of silence that you spend taking a brief breath as a glow tinges your cheeks. 

With a stifled laugh, you open your mouth again, “I think it’s just because you like me that you tolerate my rambling,” 

“No.” He’s quick to clarify, “I really do like it.” He loves it. 

“And me?” your voice is much quieter, almost giving the impression that you’re shy in asking something so decisive and direct. Jisung, emboldened by your vulnerability, and the distance the screen puts between you two, answers with certainty. 

“I like you, too.” 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

 “The constellation project, as I mentioned during your first class, is a tool for you to acquaint yourself with your classmates. It will be due in 3 weeks, and you can check the syllabus for specifications regarding that. After today, there will be no changing partners or constellations so should you need any changes to be made, you have until class is dismissed. Listen closely as I read out the pairs for the project. I will not repeat myself.” 

The sharp tone he’s growing more and more distaste for by the day drowns out as Jisung glances over at you. Today, you’re sporting a bone-colored long sleeve and corduroy pants with half of your hair held back in a shiny clip. You look ravishing. Truthfully, he can’t really tell if you’re wearing makeup or not—although he concludes it doesn’t matter. Your features are soft and pretty nonetheless, and your cheeks have turned rosy from the dropping autumn temperatures. 

“Yu Karina will be partnered with Lee Heesung. Your constellation is Cassiopeia.”

When you walked into the lecture hall this morning, there was a hot coffee cup with the campus cafe’s logo on it clutched in your hands, which you sipped on while shivering. Taking your usual seat, you greeted the girl next to you, who Jisung now knew was called Yu Karina. 

The dark haired girl perked up when Professor Hwang called her name and waved down the aisle at who he can only assume is Lee Heesung, her partner, then whispered something to you. You looked over at the boy and back at Karina, nodding and giggling with her. 

“Jennifer Huh, partnered with Ning Yizhuo,” Professor Hwang referenced her other list, “Constellation: Cancer.” 

The two girls greet each other with a look and a smile, but Jisung pays little mind. He’s listening intently—for the first time—in anticipation of hearing one of your names be called. He doesn’t exactly know your full name, only a nickname he refers to you as, the one attached to your discord handle. Otherwise, pinpointing you that first day of class would’ve been much easier. 

“Park Jay and Lee Sohee, your constellation is Orion.” 

Sitting there, he realizes that in all the months you’ve talked, he’s never once asked for your full first name. Is that strange? What kind of friend is he if he doesn’t even know your name? In all fairness, you never asked for his, either, so he supposes it’s okay. Would have been useful to know, though, at times like this. 

After his small confession of ‘like’ on Wednesday, the two of you went on studying your respective subjects, with the occasional (and inevitable) distraction here and there. Admittedly, he thought his comment would be forgotten rather quickly. It wasn’t like he outwardly poured his heart out to you, so he figured you’d move on and just crack a joke or two about it later. There was a change, though; a strikingly obvious one to Jisung, who hangs on your every word like it’s a tether that keeps him from floating. And, even if he didn’t pay such close attention to you, there’s no way he could have missed the new flirtatious ambiance that flourished afterwards. Flirting with you is not uncommon by any means—the two of you playfully tease each other with frequency, but it’s nothing he’d allow himself to look into too much, for his own sake. 

That changed in the hours following his comments. All of Wednesday evening, the two of you went back and forth, feeding each other compliments in the form of banter. Again, he thought it would end there, but on Thursday afternoon when you logged on, he asked how your progress was going with the outline, to which you texted back, “I was thinking of you all day. Didn’t get around to doing much else.” 

It wasn’t the only message from you that nurtured his feelings, either. There were enough substantially flirty messages from your conversation that night, that he was able to scroll through them and reread them a few times before bed. 

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 6:49PM

hi did you smile when you saw my name pop up on your phone just now

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 8:22 PM

you’re so cute

i can barely think 

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 9:14 PM

i feel like my day doesn’t make sense if we don’t talk 

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 10:58 PM

i should get to sleep 

but i don’t wanna stop texting you

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 12:02 AM

goodnight, sung <3 miss you til’ you’re back

Now, as he eyes you with a boyish, lovesick gaze, watching you doodle your stupid little drawings as you await your assignment, he finds himself praying for the courage to come up to you after class.

Professor Hwang calls your name next, something he only realizes at the fitting similarity of your nickname and the way your pen meets the table in alert to being called on, head lifting up and eyes blinking expectantly. 

“Your partner will be,” 

Jisung holds his breath, chanting in his head ‘please, oh, please let it be me,’

 “Lee Chan.” 

Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere, then. He ignores the way his heart sinks into the pits of his stomach, unable to help but observe your curious gaze as it looks around the filled seats. For a fleeting moment, you meet his eyes, but he doesn’t react or claim to be Lee Chan who you so evidently are in search of, and so you pass him and keep studying the aisles. After a few seconds, you find no one gazing back, even after you slightly stand to peer above the nearby heads that obscure your view. 

“Your constellation is-” 

With a cautious raise of your hand, you interrupt Professor Hwang gently, “Excuse me, Professor, but I don’t think my partner is here.” 

For a moment, her lazer-like gaze looks like it could light you on fire, a consequence of daring to interrupt her, but it softens only slightly as she realizes the truth in your statement, scanning the room herself and calling out for the missing boy. Upon receiving no call back, she thinks for a moment, then looks back down at her clipboard and crosses something out. 

“I did mention attendance was mandatory, didn’t I?” This she mutters to herself, “No matter. Instead, you’ll work with,” she gives the paper another once over, then clicks her pen and speaks, “Park Jisung.” 

In an awkward burst of both excitement and confusion, Jisung darts out of his chair. His knee hits his desk with a clang, and his laptop would have gone flying if it wasn’t for his quick hands that catch it before it can fall. The loud ruckus turns several heads in his direction, including Professor Hwang’s and more importantly, yours. 

Feeling an awful lot like a deer caught in headlights, Jisung blinks as the two of you make eye-contact, then he takes his seat again, very quickly by the way. “Uh, that’s me,” he announces, heat spreading across his face and eyes darting around, “Sorry.” 

Does he feel more sorry to his teacher and classmates for disrupting the classroom, or to himself and you for the absolute fool he has just made of himself? As much as he’d like to tear his gaze away from yours and cast it to the ground in embarrassment, it remains stuck on you, awaiting your impending reaction. 

You’re rather unsure how to feel, though given, a little surprised at the commotion. You offer him a small smile through pursed lips, and Jisung nods, willing with all his might for a hole to open in the ground beneath him and swallow him.  

“Thank you, Mr. Park, for your remarkably clear confirmation. Your constellation is Gemini.” 

You turn in your chair to face the front again, scribbling down his name in the corner of your notebook, as well as the constellation you’d been assigned.

“He’s cute,” Karina comments to you as you look over at her, and you finally let out a small laugh you had been holding in. 

“He is. Clumsy,” you snort, “but cute.” 

“We both got cute partners. We should meet up at the library later and all get started on the project together,” 

You nod enthusiastically, going back to your outline that sits at the ready on your laptop screen and making quick work of labeling the different sections evenly. If it wasn’t so obvious for you to spin around and steal a glance, you might have done so again. You’re certainly tempted to, thinking back to seconds ago and realizing you hadn’t really noticed him the last two classes. 

Jisung watches your exchange with his dignity at serious risk. He’s entirely unable to hear or make out what you’re saying to each other, and it makes his pulse pick up and his mind race. He considers many things as he watches the two of you talk: firstly, asking to change his partner, but then realizing that would be an awful idea. Once you knew who he was, how would you ever forgive him for immediately ditching you? Absolutely not. Cowering had gotten him nowhere so far. 

Then, he considers switching out of the class himself, and disappearing, never to reveal himself to you—but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Incapable of checking out of your life so quickly and denying himself the treat that is seeing you three times a week (and now, possibly more), he cans that idea, too. 

As Professor Hwang finishes reading off the list of names, he begins planning what he’ll actually say to you, as that conversation is just minutes away. There’s less than a half-hour left of class, which means he has to think hard and fast. 

As he busies himself with the grueling task of picking an appropriate and redeeming introduction, he doesn’t hear the new instructions from Professor Hwang, which are to find your partner and begin brainstorming, as well as exchanging schedules to set aside time outside of class to work on the presentation. A shadow falls over his desk and consumes his work space in darkness. When his curiously squinted eyes trail up to find the source, only to land on you, hovering above him with your things clutched in your arms, he grips his seat to keep from jumping out of it for the second time today. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

So much for having time to figure out how to approach you. His heart does a leap of surprise in his chest in place of his physical body, and he resists the urge to clutch it.

“No.” He replies shortly. 

With your unfaltering, kind smile still present on your face, you laugh softly and place your things down, introducing yourself. 

“You’re Ji-sun, right?” 

“—Sung.” he politely corrects you. When you don’t immediately react, he wonders if you had even heard him. He doesn’t put it past himself to have imagined that he replied to you, between his sweating palms and nervous jittering, and your pretty self sitting just a foot away, he’s barely keeping it together.  After a moment that feels infinitely longer than it actually is, you raise your eyebrows slightly, round lips parted to ask your question with a palpable hesitance. 

“W-what?” 

“Jisung,” he quickly replies, pronouncing the ‘g’ clearly and masking the way his eyes widen with a heavy blink that honestly, may not serve as any better of a guise. He pleads with himself to get his shit together but luckily, you don’t seem to notice. 

“Oh, sorry… Sorry, It’s just—nevermind. Hi, Jisung.” 

“Hi, Y/N.” He savors the way your name feels on his tongue but keeps his enjoyment brief. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” you start, lifting the screen of your laptop to reveal the very same outline you had started working on during your last call with him, “but I already made an outline. If you wanna scrap it and start all over, we can—” 

“No, It’s fine, we can use this,” when you give him an unsure look, he smiles reassuringly, “It looks brilliant.” 

“Thank you.” There’s a pause that is filled only by you clearing your throat, “Ok, I have a literature class right after this one on Mondays and Wednesdays. The rest of my classes are online, so I’m free at any time, really. I usually like to study at the computer labs in the library, it’s nice and private there and I find it much easier to focus. But if you don’t want to go there, we could always go to the cafe or the square for some fresh air. Oh, and either one of our dorm rooms works fine if you’re okay-” 

To experience your presence on a phone call is one thing, but to experience it in real life, with your clear voice so arresting and your silky, smooth lips within reach, is absolutely mesmerizing. He’s fighting the urge to glance down at your mouth, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to sustain eye contact, as lovely as he decides your eyes are. Another thing that is becoming exponentially harder, and more sensitive all the same, is his cock, springing to life with an eagerness to greet you. 

There’s a bit of panic that flashes across his features as he senses the strain it’s causing in his pants, and only when you look down at your outline does he dare to sneak a glance down at his own groin where as expected, a noticeable imprint was beginning to develop. In a desperate gesture, he slides his notebook over his lap, suppressing a hiss, and leans forward to pretend to use his own laptop. 

“Any of those work for me,” 

“Okay, great,” You notice the time and turn back to him. “You can just message me when you’re free.”

“Sure.” 

“And here’s my number—” you reach over, sliding the protective notebook from his lap and placing it on your desk, scribbling your number in the corner. Jisung immediately readjusts his hoodie, throwing the hem of it over his boner. Professor Hwang dismisses the class as you pass it back. 

“Call me whenever you’re free.” With a spin of your heel, you wave goodbye to him and rejoin Karina, who waits for you  at the door with her partner.

Jisung lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and looks down at the number you wrote. Beside the digits, written in very neat handwriting, might he add, sat perched on a wobbly branch a little black cat that he recognized from his hours of staring as one of your doodles. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The time is 4:33PM, and Jisung has drafted over a dozen messages on the iMessage app addressed to your number. None of them have exactly made it to you yet, courtesy of his thumb that keeps pressing backspace and wiping out any trace of a remotely embarrassing text. It’s the next day and no introduction or invitation to meet up seems like it’s good enough to send, though he knows that inevitably, he has to text you first. You left your number behind with the doodle that he has since stuck to the corner of his PC monitor, but you never took down his; so now, the ball is in Jisung’s court, and he knows that if he waits too long, you’d think he was avoiding you or the project altogether. 

Realistically, he knows a simple “Hi, it’s Jisung,” will suffice, but he can’t bring himself to send you such an unoriginal and boring message. After pondering for a moment, he then decides the best solution would be to do some research, and then call you with his findings—this way, his interest in the project would be clear, and he knows how important that is to you. 

At once, he peels your cum-stained cardigan off of his lap, though not before stealing a glance at the day’s new additions, and places it aside. He tucks his spent dick into his short and turns on his monitor, typing the name of the constellation into Google and investigating nearly every website he could find with any useful information. 

In the nicest handwriting he can manage, Jisung bullets a list of all the facts and history he could find on ‘Gemini’ within the hour, including the stars that make up the constellation, the myth behind it, and other relevant statistics. It isn’t until he has filled up an entire page front and back—partially—that he picks up his phone again and makes another attempt at contacting you. 

Feeling slightly more confident, he types up his message. 

To: 555-111-0205

hi, it’s jisung from astronomy. i did some research and i wanted to show you what i found. let me

know if you’re free to exchange notes. Sent at 5:52 PM.

Jisung rereads over his message for any flaws, though there’s nothing he can do about it now that it’s sent, anyway. After he deems it an okay first message, he takes a breath and moves to put his phone down, but it buzzes in his hand instead. 

Incoming call at 5:54 PM From: 555-111-0205

“Hi-”

“Hi! Sorry to just call unannounced but I’m walking to the library with all my stuff and I can’t really text. I was able to book us a computer lab for the next two hours so If you want, we—can you hear me?” 

He sits up straighter, “Yeah! Yes, I can hear you,” 

“Oh, good, so—wait, hello?” Your voice shifts in volume and proximity, as if you pulled your phone from your ear to check the call screen, then brought it back, “Oh, sorry. I-I thought I had accidentally called someone else… nevermind.” Instantly, Jisung realizes instantly that you must have recognized his voice. It makes sense, seeing as you’re used to hearing it specifically on calls. You seem to show no further suspicion as you continue speaking, though, but perhaps, he should keep talking on the phone with you to a minimum. 

“Do you think you can make it? Otherwise I can go work on my own. I saw your text and instantly booked the room. Sorry for not checking in with you first,” 

“I’ll meet you there,” He replies quickly, grimacing at the instinctual effort it takes to try and make his voice deeper. 

“Okay! Great. I’ll see you there, then.” You hang up, and then your text message comes through with the lab room information just minutes later. 

Jisung all but lunges out of his chair and rushes to face himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection. Besides his hair that looks slightly disheveled, he looks alright. He doesn’t want to make you wait long for him, so he quickly grabs his laptop and his notes, shoves them all into his bag, and flies out of his dorm room with the laces of his sneakers left untied.  

In the brightly, yellow-lit hallway, Mark and Chenle are popping out of their respective rooms, a basketball clutched under the younger boy’s arm.

“We were just about to come grab you,” Chenle starts, “Let’s play some ball. Jeno’s meeting us at the court,”

“Can’t,” Jisung shakes his head, “I’m going to the library,” he tries to not get offended at the way the two boys snort loudly in disbelief, looking at each other as if they’ve both had the same thought. 

“Yeah, right.” Chenle scoffs. 

With a blink, Jisung replies meekly, “I’m serious.” 

“Since when do you go to the library?” Mark brows pinch and he adds, “It’s the start of term. You’re already studying?”

“Since now, I guess. I have a project for a class so I’m gonna go meet up with my partner at the library, but I’ll catch you guys later.” 

“Alright, alright. Oh—remember there’s a party next week at Jaehyun’s frat for syllabus week.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” His answer doesn’t seem to fully convince Mark, Chenle, or even himself, but they seem satisfied enough, because they let Jisung go without any more pestering. He flies down the flight of stairs and out the front door of the dormitory. 

The cold September air is biting at this time in the evening, feeling particularly cool on the apples of his cheek, which glow from the light layer of sweat that develops during his jog over to the library. It’s a considerable distance away, which is part of the reason why he, in his two years of being a student at the university, has never seriously stepped foot inside of it. Studying in his room is much more convenient, but you seem to like the library, so the twenty-minute-walk there, or in this case, fifteen-minute-jog, will simply have to be adopted as a new way to get in some brief exercise a few times a week. 

More than likely, you have already arrived, and Jisung doesn’t want to make you wait too long for him, especially since there’s a two-hour time limit on the room and he intends to spend as much time with you there as he can. He wipes his cheeks with his gray sleeves and climbs up the stairs of the building quickly, swiping his student card at the door and stepping inside. 

The ceiling is massively tall, seemingly taller than when he once saw it during freshman orientation, and the endless rows of shelves are filled with books, ranging from thin, colorful novels to thick, leather-bound classics. It’s quieter than he expects it to be, even for a library, and he clearly can hear the pitter patter of his feet as he follows the sign labeled ‘Study Rooms and Computer Labs.’ 

The guy at the reception desk in this section seems to be a volunteer, his student ID and name tag shining on his shirt. He glances up from his book when Jisung approaches, nodding once. There’s an awkward silence that feels rather loud as Jisung fumbles with his phone, flipping it between his clammy hands as he searches for your message. 

“Computer Lab 4C?” 

Wordlessly, the boy nods again, then slides over a clip-board with a sign-in sheet clamped to it. 

It’s surprising to see how many lab spots are filled up so early into the term, names scribbled along the lines and time-slots. Your name stands out, partly because of your familiar handwriting, but particularly because of the empty line beside it, where he signs in before handing the clip-board back. 

“Down the hall, second door on your right.” 

It’s Jisung’s turn to bob his head once and the boy looks back down at his book. He makes his way down the hall until he reaches the correctly labeled door. His hand reaches for the handle, but he withdraws it. Should he knock? Or maybe send you a text? Or both? 

To: 555-111-0205

hey again. i’m outside :) Sent at 6:18 PM.

The door creaks open from the taps of his knuckles bumping against it, and he peeks his head in timidly, finding you sitting in one of the desk chairs, nearly hidden behind your laptop and a stack of books. You look up over the screen, eyes squinting in a smile. 

“Oh, I had left the door open for you,” you stand up, holding out a cup for him, “and I got you coffee… didn’t know how you liked it so I just got you the same thing I order,” 

There’s a fluttering in his stomach as he sets his bag down. There’s no chance he can manage to meet your eyes after such a gesture so he casts them to the ground instead, graciously reaching out to receive with both hands the drink you offer him, “You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, “but thank you. I’m sure your order is great,” 

“I wanted to! It’s just—I mean, I did drag you out of your room in the cold and on really short notice—A hot coffee was the least I could do,” you shrug, “One of my friends works at the cafe and I was there doing some work for my literature class before I got your message and I figured I’d grab us both something before I headed over here… Sorry, I’m talking too much. Here, sit down.” 

He’s not exactly sure what to say, so he takes his seat beside you in silence, but not without a small smile decorating his face. The notes he had taken down to show you are retrieved from his bag, as well as his laptop. There’s a low screech of your chair dragging across the floor, and he turns to find you’ve scooted closer and you're leaning forward with your cheek resting on your palm, eyes intently looking at his research. 

“It isn’t much. I’m sure whatever you found is much more substantial, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.” Jisung explains, sliding the paper over to you. As your eyes scan the page, you make a few comments along the lines of ‘Oh, this is a good point,’ or ‘We should mention this.’

You seem to be very carefully reading his work. Meanwhile, he takes advantage of your preoccupation to let his eyes rake over your person. 

The first thing he notices is that you’re wearing a different cardigan, and he suddenly remembers your black one is still on his desk, unwashed and covered in his cum. Your hair looks soft, and when you mindlessly swing it over your shoulder, he catches a whiff of your lavender scented hair wash, and it makes him gnaw the inside of his cheek. You’re not quite close enough for him to catch the perfume you’ve decided to wear tonight, though he can vividly picture the gentle florals that linger still on your cardigan. His eyes trail down, and it’s only then that he notices your skirt—or blatantly, the length of your skirt. Your smooth thighs are exposed, full and fleshy and pressed together, and he suddenly wishes they were wrapped around his head. 

“Jisung? You okay?” 

“I–Yeah, sorry.” It’s clear that you’ve noticed his staring, and he all but rips his eyes away in embarrassment, “I was just wondering if you were cold,” He gestures down at your legs shyly, pretending the content he’d written on the paper was more interesting the sight of your plush thighs. 

For a moment he expects some harsh comment or outburst, but you laugh instead, smoothing the material down a bit, “No, not in here, at least. And the walk over was short, so,” His lips are pursed and his cheeks are burning, but you spare him from any further humiliation when you reach across him to turn the page over and quietly gasp, muttering some surprise under your breath at how extensive his work is. “This is really good. We can use pretty much all of it.” 

Failing to hide his beaming at your praise, he snaps his head over to you, “You think so?” 

“Yeah, I mean—,” The screen of your laptop changes over to a page of notes, “I pretty much wrote down all the same things. I’m actually so relieved, I was worried I might get paired up with someone who wasn’t gonna contribute.” 

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t switch out of the class now, huh?” 

Distracted in the notes and in the taste of his coffee, he misses your quick, confused glance his way. Smoothly recovering before he notices, you slowly nod and present to him the layout where you had already taken the liberty to assign him his designated parts. Not that he expected anything else; it’s endearing to see his name labeled over specific sections, color-coded in a blue, bolded font. He wastes no time in pulling up the screen of his computer, exchanging emails with you so the two of you can get to work on the shared document.

The time passes quicker than he hopes, and he realizes just how much he likes spending time with you. Talking with you online is one thing, but sitting beside you as you sip your drink and hum mindlessly, fingers typing away or flipping pages in a book? Completely different game. He’s sure that if it wasn’t because he relieved himself earlier today, he might have popped a boner from the simple act of being in your presence. 

Every once in a while, you make an occasional comment regarding a point or two you thought was worth mentioning or adding, and he’d oblige, making a note of it and sharing his thoughts here and there. Occasionally, he manages to steal a look at your thighs, which he swears you’re bouncing and squeezing together on purpose, but for the most part he keeps his focus on the task at hand. 

Towards the end of the night, there’s a moment where your hands brush his as you point something out on his screen, and Jisung swears he’s never felt more like a teenage boy in his life. He practically flinches at the contact, failing to mask his awkward reaction and pretending he really meant to fix his hair.

Bidding you farewell is possibly the most difficult of the tasks this evening, even more so than pretending he isn’t completely infatuated with and aroused by you for a whole two hours. When you stand from your seat and walk with him out of the study room, and subsequently, out of the library and into the cold, Jisung faces another of his many dilemmas related to you. He’s not sure if he should offer to walk you back to your dorm, or at the very least halfway there. Perhaps, offering you his jacket would be appropriate, since your skirt wasn’t doing much of a job at keeping you warm. 

“You live close by?” 

“Yeah! Just a 5 minute walk,” you point your index finger, “In that dorm right over there.” 

Jisung nods once, then decides to indulge his impulses. “Here,” he slides his hoodie off with a little less coordination than he would’ve liked, holding it out for you to take, “so you aren’t cold.” 

He can’t tell if your cheeks are red from the temperature again or from his gesture, but he hopes it’s the latter. The moment you take his sweater, pretty eyes wide in thanks, he sucks in a breath. It’s much chillier now that the sun is gone, and he fights the urge to chatter his teeth when he offers you a lopsided smile. 

“T-thank you,” you tie the sleeves around your waist, covering your lap. 

 “I’ll see you in class?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod, flashing him a final grin before you spin on your heel to head home. 

The twenty-minute-walk-fifteen-minute-jog back to his room feels eternal. All of his hair is standing on end, but picking up his pace too much means that the icy wind, which has so graciously decided to blow in his direction, would just become harsher. His palms soak up the little warmth on his stomach, tucked under his t-shirt, as he alternates between speed-walking and jogging. The minutes drag on and on until finally, his building comes into view and he breaks into a run. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The following morning when he walks into his astronomy class, he follows his usual routine of checking for you in your seat and is almost distraught when he finds it to be empty. It’s not like you to miss a class, and he contemplates reaching for his phone to check-in on you. It isn't until he pans his vision over to his own chair that he spots you. You’re accompanied by Karina and her partner, Heesung, taking up the empty seats beside his own. 

On your desk sit two coffee cups like the ones from last night, and he pulls his lip between his teeth to hide the grin that fights to break out.

You look up when you spot him, and Karina and Heesung look up, too. 

“Hi…” 

“Hi! Jisung, right?” Karina extends her hand out and he takes it, nodding to confirm, “I’m Karina and this is Heesung.” He mumbles another small hello to the boy, who acknowledges him before looking back at his computer.

“Good morning,” you greet as he sits, placing his cup on his desk. “You never told me whether you liked it or not, but I figured you’d grow to like it eventually.”

“I-thanks but,” 

“I know: Didn’t have to, but I wanted to. So just say thanks, yeah?” 

There’s a familiar burning on his cheeks that always seems to make an appearance when you’re around, but he doesn’t bother masking it this time. 

“I wanted to ask you if you would be free to study tonight?” 

Instantly, he bobs his head up and down, and you book the study room on your computer just moments before Professor Hwang strides inside the classroom, her glasses on the tip of her sharp, pointed nose. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The frat house where the seniors stay is practically next door to Jisung’s dormitory, which is why when Mark, Chenle, and Jeno come banging on his door on Saturday night, he realizes he can’t use walking so far in the cold as an excuse to stay home. He also can’t use studying as an excuse anymore, since Mark had already caught him leaving the dorm a few times throughout the week to go study with you. That, and he ran into Jeno as he was entering the library just the night before. 

“You’ve been studying plenty,” they’d say, or “We told you about the party last week, no way you’re not going.” 

Anyway—the point is, he’ll have to endure tonight, despite his wishes to stay close to his PC for the chance that you’d want to hop into a game. He’d prefer to spend the night talking with you, but that’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. With a somber look on his face, he shrugs on a jacket and opens the door for his friends, who practically drag him outside. 

Jeno slings his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders as if to prevent him from fleeing, and the four of them climb down the stairs and onto the path toward the frat. If Jisung strains his ears, he can already pick up on the sounds of the party, even from here. 

“You think Chaewon will be there?” Mark asks no one in particular, but the boys all respond simultaneously with groans of distaste. 

“You dated her three semesters ago, why do you care?” Chenle starts, “isn’t she seeing Jungwoo now, anyway?”  

“That’s exactly why I care,” Mark grumbles, foot kicking a rock along the pavement. “He’s one of the RAs. If he’s there—” 

“He’s always there,” Chenle interjects, earning a glare. 

“—then she’ll be there, too.” 

“So, what happened with… what’s her name,  Minjeong? Why don’t you hang out with her?” 

“Nah,” He turns to Jeno, “She’s sweet and all, but I found out from Giselle that her and Chaewon are friends, so,” 

There’s a chorus of understanding, albeit a bit pitiful, “aah’s” and “oh’s” as the building comes into view. A few people are gathered at and around the entrance while others litter the parking lot with phones and solo cups in their hands as they wait for friends. Among them, and Jisung has to do a double take to make sure, he spots Karina, who waves someone down from the direction of the main courtyard. For a moment, he thinks it might be you who appears from between the treeline, but it’s Heesung who jogs over to meet her and he realizes how silly his thought was in the first place. 

In the months he’s known you, you’ve never once brought up a party. In retrospect, you don’t seem like the type to like partying at all. He can picture you clearly now, tearing through textbooks or novels for your literature class, or maybe even typing away to him on Discord and asking if he was online. 

He isn’t and can’t be tonight, and he’s very sorry about that, for the record. 

Maneuvering through the crowd of tipsy college students isn’t too difficult,and neither is their entry. The door is propped open, and Jaehyun, with his signature snapback that he wears backwards on his dark hair, calls them over from the drink bar. 

“First problem I see here,” he starts, “is that none of you have a cup in your hand.” 

“We’ve barely made it through the door, man,”  Mark laughs, clapping up Jaehyun and moving aside so he can greet the rest of the guys. 

“That’s no excuse, you should be sipping on something by now.” He waves his arm, “Take a look around, boys! This is what life is gonna look like for you guys next year—and the year after for you, Jisung.” 

Jisung gives a curt, disinterested nod amidst being handed some fruity, fizzy, white claw resemblant that probably wouldn’t taste much different from an Alka-Seltzer. He cracks it open upon being prompted to by Jaehyun, who initiates a “cheers” between the friend group. The moment the alcohol touches his tongue, Jisung grimaces, taking a few long chugs in hopes that the effect will kick in quicker and make the long night that awaits him a little less long. 

“Do you know if Chaewon is here?” 

Wordlessly, Jaehyun fixes his cap and points a single finger toward the couch, where Chaewon sits besides Jungwoo, leaning in to hear him over the music and giggling at whatever he says in her ear. The boys look over at the couple, then quickly glance back at Mark, whose face falls despite the fact that he knew to expect this. 

“Tough,” Jeno gives him a pat on the shoulder, “Hope you have better luck the rest of the night. I’ve gotta bounce,” 

“Yo, what do you mean bounce?” 

He gestures toward a girl standing near the beer pong table, who looks slightly familiar to Jisung, though he can’t quite put his finger on it, and smirks, “She smiled at me the moment we walked in. I’ll see you later, but I honestly hope I don’t.” 

The realization that his friends, in search of their hook-ups for the night, would eventually be abandoning him one-by-one kicks in just then, inviting Jisung to down the rest of his bubbly drink in one go. 

Mark rolls his eyes, “You ever notice Jeno is always the first one to get a girl?” His comment earns a few hums of agreement.

“I’m gonna go find Jaemin,” with his phone clutched in his hand, Chenle turns towards the door, “he just texted me he’s outside with Sullyoon and her friend.” 

“Wait, Jaemin is—he’s setting you up and not me?” Chenle only shrugs at Mark’s question, replying with a blunt and concise “yeah.” 

“I’m not a dog like Jeno though, so I’ll definitely see you guys later.” 

As if noticing he was facing the same unfortunate fate as Jisung, Mark turns to the youngest boy with a fearful look in his eyes. Jisung only shakes his head and takes a quick look around, “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone here, so…” At this, the boy sighs in relief, handing Jisung another drink in solidarity. The two lean against the counter as Jaehyun looks between them, snorting. 

“Mark, there’s so many girls here.” 

“I know, but—” 

“But Chaewon.” 

Mark nods, echoing Jaehyun in a quiet, maybe even embarrassed voice, “But Chaewon…” 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he adds sympathetically, “I’m caught up on my ex, too.” 

“Uh…” there’s a pause. “Which one?” This comment lands Mark a shove, playful, for the most part. He rubs his shoulder and hisses while Jaehyun, on the other hand, sloshes around the little liquid left in his cup and grabs the closest bottle of alcohol to him, along with whichever random mixer he finds first.

“The only one that really mattered.” He tilts his newly filled red cup back to drink from it, but his eyes peek over the rim and he pulls it from his lips to sigh out,  “Speak of the devil and she doth come,” he raises his brows and announces, “there she is now.” 

Following his line of sight, Jisung trails his vision toward the front entrance and at once, the sight makes each and every one of his limbs seize up. There’s a twisting and turning in his stomach that almost invites the seltzer he chugged to make a reappearance, and he’s pretty sure the color has drained from his face as he watches you walk inside the frat house behind Karina and Heesung. 

So many things go through his mind in such a short amount of time that he fears he may have had some sort of out-of-body experience or hallucination episode; it wasn't really you he was seeing, it couldn’t be. The way your skirt clings to your hips makes him grip his cup tighter within his sweating palm, and the lacy, corset top you’ve decided to wear, which shows off a tasteful bit of cleavage, causes him to swallow down the saliva that had pooled on his tongue. 

It was a more provocative outfit than he’d even seen you wear, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, he’s sure he would’ve instantly become bricked up. 

“And of course she’s wearing that shirt…” Jaehyun fixes his cap for the second time tonight and straightens out his shirt, “Alright, wish me luck.” 

It’s not like Jisung would have interjected anyway, he didn’t really have the grounds to, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought before Jaehyun headed in your direction with decisive confidence. Part of him hopes he was referring to someone else as his ex, perhaps even Karina, since there isn’t another girl in your immediate vicinity besides her, but his bit of hope is crushed as he spots Heesung’s hand intertwined in hers. Surely, Jaehyun wouldn’t be coming up to her if she showed up with someone to his party. It leaves him to reach his regretful conclusion just as his friend and you make eye contact, recognition flashing across your features, along with something else. 

Unable to torture himself further by watching your exchange, Jisung tears his eyes away and grabs another drink to make this very, very long night ahead of him somewhat bearable. He turns to Mark, who he didn’t even realize had been talking this whole time, but the loud music and the cloudiness in his mind muffle out his speech. 

“—I mean this just sucks! I guess we still have each other, maybe we can find some girls who—” 

When did you even date Jaehyun? You hadn’t mentioned him once in the months he had known you. And also, why  did you date Jaehyun? Not that there was anything wrong with him, other than his habit of cycling through girls every semester. Mark’s “Which one?” comment had some truth to it, but he would have never expected you to have been on Jaehyun’s roster. It takes him a second to remember that Jaehyun is still his friend, but even then, he can’t fight the bitterness that settles in his bones. What did he mean when he said that you were the only one that mattered? How significant was your relationship with him? There’s too many questions circling his mind, and it isn’t until he downs the fifth drink that they start to blur. 

Currently, he’s passing the time conversing with Mark and following him around the party, but more importantly, avoiding you in fear he’ll steal a glance and you’ll be locking lips with your ex. He spots Jaehyun by the bathroom a bit into the night, but thankfully, you aren’t near him. It’s in the middle of a beer pong game with Mark when he dares to glance around in search of you. 

First, he spots Karina and Heesung, making out on the couch where Chaewon and Jungwoo once sat. You aren’t near them. Then he spots Jaemin and Chenle dancing with the girls they had met up with, but you aren’t dancing, either. 

He’s relieved to find you aren’t with Jaehyun when he spots him, finding instead that his friend is flirting it up with a different girl who is certainly not you. The sight completely pisses him off, and somehow makes him feel immense relief simultaneously. Right around this time, he decides he’s had more than enough of the party. You aren’t here anymore, and Jaehyun’s face is making him fucking sick. Mark is slurring his speech enough that he wouldn’t notice if Jisung just slipped, so he does just that, though he does make sure to mention to Chenle that he’s leaving on his way out so he can keep an eye on Mark.  

Outside, the cold is unbearable. The previously crowded lot is empty for the most part, except for a few people puffing clouds of smoke into the air by a bench. Not even the alcohol in his system is enough to warm him up, so he can’t even imagine how a joint could be worth sitting outside for.

The only other person sitting outside is squatted down by the curb with their knees curled up to their chest. As the autumn leaves crack under Jisung’s feet, they turn their head around. 

“I told you I don’t wanna—Jisung?” 

Your big eyes widen in his direction, and you shoot up from the ground. Jisung’s brow lowers in concern and he notices the only thing you have to cover up is a flimsy cardigan. You and your damn, flimsy cardigans. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

“Sorry for snapping I—sorry,” you shiver involuntarily as a gust of wind blows through, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I thought you were someone else.” 

There isn't a sliver of hesitation before Jisung shrugs off his leather jacket and begins to wrap it around you, grumbling, “Are you crazy? You must be freezing,” 

“I’m fine—“ 

“This should help,” 

“But- Jisung, how many of your jackets am I gonna take—” 

“As many as you need to.” Your lack of a response makes him look back up to meet your eyes, round and much warmer than the rest of you was right now. He clears his throat, guiding your sleeves into the arms of the jacket as he jokes, “or until you bring your own.” 

You smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as the warmth engulfs you, along with the smell of him and some cheap cologne only a college student would buy. He’s tugging the collar closer to cover up your exposed neck and chest, eyes flickering down at your bare skin despite being well aware that you’re looking. Where this newfound boldness came from tonight, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that his boldness is always rather short-lived when it comes to you, and tends to appear and disappear like random spurts of energy—he’ll take advantage of it this once. Especially now that he knows you’re Jaehyun’s ex and the most he might even get to do is gawk at you, he intends to make it worth it. 

“You must be freezing now, though,” you start, “should we go somewhere warm?” 

“How about the library?” 

You laugh, looking at him in disbelief, “The library isn’t open at this time, much less on the weekend,” “Right…” 

“Wanna go to mine?” Your suggestion makes his breath hitch for a second, but he manages to respond with decent clarity. 

“You live by the library, though. That’s like a half-hour walk. I don’t think you’ll make it that far without turning into an icicle,” 

“Well, I don’t really wanna go back inside…” he knows why, so he offers something else. 

“My dorm is five minutes away. We could go there if you want, b-but if you’d rather go somewhere else—”

“Okay,” you nod eagerly, “let’s go.” 

As Jisung leads the way, speed-walking to beat the chill that spreads through his newly uncovered limbs, he turns his face to you, watching as you tuck the lower half of your face into his coat. 

“I don’t know if you want to work on the project or—” 

“God no,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I’m not that much of a buzzkill, dude.” You jog a little to catch up to his longer strides, “Besides, I have like three shots of Pink Whitney in me,” 

“Foul.” 

“I know. Can’t think about a project right now,” 

“I’ve had a bit to drink, too.” he admits.

“I can tell. You’re stumbling.” 

He snaps his head around, down to his feet, then back to you. “What? Am I?” 

There’s a small, stupid smile on your face as you shake your head. “No.”

He can’t pinpoint why this banter with you is so easy, why it feels so right. Or perhaps, he can, but regardless, his heart leaps in his chest as he scoffs, not fighting the shit-eating grin that spreads on his frosted cheeks. 

"It’s that building right over there,” he points.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was close,”

The two of you climb the stairs and he opens the main door for you, watching you sigh out in bliss as you step into the warmth of the hall. You bounce around in a cute way that once more tugs at his heart-strings, still looking all puffed up and adorable in his jacket that entirely engulfs your frame. He leads you up another flight of stairs and onto the floor his room is at, and once the two of you stop in front of his door, he pats his jean pockets. 

“Oh my uh- my keys are in the pocket of the jacket.” 

You mimic his recent action, patting around until you find his keys, holding them out for him to take. 

Somewhat awkwardly, he fumbles with them until he manages to fit it into the lock, opening the door with one hand. He gestures for you to enter his room with a small shrug, “Make yourself at home.” 

As you step inside, Jisung makes it a point to quietly thank whatever higher power compelled him to make his bed this afternoon. The rest of his room wasn’t perfectly organized by any means, but at the very least, his bed, which you now sat at the foot of with your legs bouncing, was neatly made. 

“You have your own room?” You mutter in surprise as you look around the small space and notice the lack of a second bed. The tall boy beside you just shrugs again, toeing off his shoes in the corner as he pulls the door closed. 

“Yeah, uh… I’m one of the RAs for the sophomore class.” 

“Wow,” you sigh, “I wish! I mean, I love sharing a room with Karina, but it’s nice to have space for myself sometimes.” 

“That’s why you’re always at the library?” 

You nod, sliding your palms across his duvet, “It’s nice and quiet,” your fingers move to grip and release the material, and he blinks harshly to erase the sight of that from his mind before it causes him to spiral. It didn’t prove to be very useful, though, because your still-exposed thighs move and press together, just as they did at the library, and his dick gives a little twitch in response.

“I’ll get you some clothes to change into, that way you’re more comfortable.” he decides, more for his sake than yours. You don’t answer, continuing to look around, taking in the details of his computer that flashes in a bunch of different colors. 

“You know I gave up extra storage in my bedside table to be able to keep my PC? I let Karina take it to her side of the room so I’d have space for my setup.” 

Rummaging through his drawers, he pipes up, “you game?” as if it wasn’t something he already knew about you. 

“I love it. I stayed here for most of the summer just because I had my computer here.”  

Jisung picks out a pair of sweats for you and one for himself, along with a t-shirt he knows he recently washed, then he turns, handing it over to you. “I’ll change in the bathroom down the hall and then wait outside. You can crack the door open when you’re done,” 

“Thank you, Jisung.” 

There’s a gentle sincerity in your tone that makes him wanna say “anything for you,” but he settles for pursing his lips instead, leaving to let you change before he can embarrass himself with any baseless comment you wouldn’t really get. The effect of the drinks still hadn’t completely faded, and he fears he’s capable of saying just about any of his stupid thoughts out loud right about now. 

You weren’t completely sober either, not by any means. The trashy vodka your ex offered you in an attempt to reconcile was as bitter as the end of your relationship with him, and it was flowing through your veins and giving you that light-headed buzz. You stand up and slip off your boots and Jisung’s jacket, along with your skirt. Your top requires a bit more precision, the lace getting twisted and tangled in your uncoordinated fingers. There’s little huffs and puffs of frustration that leave your lips during your struggle, and you’d almost consider asking for help if it wasn’t completely inappropriate. 

Finally, though, you manage to get it off and slip on the change of clothes Jisung has so graciously provided. They’re warm and they smell good, and they’re much more comfortable than your outfit which is now folded on Jisung’s gaming chair, alongside your purse. 

When you look up in admiration of his impressive keyboard, which looks to be custom made, and your eyes trail up to his monitor, you notice something on the corner of the screen. The mindless doodle you had drawn beside your phone number that day in class had been very carefully cut out and stuck onto his screen with tape. 

“You okay?”

His voice calls from outside, quietly as if not to disturb you even though it’s you who is occupying his room. 

“Yeah, I’m almost done!”

“I thought that she was gonna assign them on Friday?”

Sung had asked you that on call, in regards to the constellation project you mentioned you wanted to start working on. Not Jisung, Sung. Sung, who is not in your astronomy class and would have had no way of knowing when or even what your professor would be assigning. 

“You’re Ji-sun, right?” 

“—Sung.”

The nickname sounded very right coming from his lips, from his voice. You never gave his nickname too much thought, because truly, Sung could just be a display name. And if it is his real name, it could stand for anything: Sungmin, Sungwoo, Daesung, Ilsung, Jaesung… Jisung. 

And then, you recall the time you spoke on the phone—specifically, the time you had to do a double take at your screen to make sure you hadn’t actually called Sung. It was the first time you had spoken to Jisung on the phone, and it’s the only way you had even spoken to Sung… something about it seemed so, so strangely familiar. 

Could it be… 

“Alright, I’m done!” Your announcement comes after the realization that he’s been waiting outside for a few minutes already. 

“Coming in…” He warns, eyes still cast to the ground in case you weren’t decent. They slowly make their way up, and something flashes across his features at the sight of you. You try to ignore it, still preoccupied by your growing suspicions. His computer is on… meaning…

“Let me let Karina know I left… I kinda just walked out on her.” 

Jisung nods and takes a cautious seat on his bed a few feet away from you. 

As you open the discord app on your phone, you scroll to the top to find his contact and type out a simple Hi, clicking send with your heart beating faster than usual. It’s an impulsive act, but you can’t help yourself. If there’s even a chance… 

Instantly, his screen lights up and through his headphones you hear the familiar chime of the notification coming in. 

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

If it’s possible, Jisung’s face grows even paler than it already was naturally, and even more gloom than it appeared earlier in the night when he identified you as Jaehyun’s ex. All of his features are alert and in shock, watching as you spin around to face him. 

“Sung? Right? That’s you?” 

He’s struggling to read your expression, and it’s beyond obvious. The only change in his demeanor is the now tensed up shoulders and the redness that takes over the white on his cheeks. 

“I—” Are you mad? Should he apologize?

“Did you know all this time? That it was me, I mean?” 

He nods slowly, unable to find the appropriate words to say. 

Two things happen just then. First, your hand smacks his arm, hard. “You fucking idiot!” and Second, you topple into his arms, hugging him. Initially, his hands hesitate to wrap around you, hovering above your waist as you squeeze his neck. 

“You’re not mad?” He asks shyly. You shake your head against him, then lift off with your hands on his shoulders to take a real good look at his face. 

“No! I’m so glad, I thought I was going crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He shrugs again, a gesture he seems to do a lot around you. 

“Since when did you know it was me?” 

“Since I heard you speak on the very first day in class. I recognized your voice.” 

Your eyes soften at this small confession, and you look back towards his desk, “So, this is where you were this whole time while we played? This close? A twenty-minute walk away?” You shoot up from the bed and cross the small distance to the desk, swiping an index finger along the surface, then his mouse, then his keyboard, and all of his other equipment. Your eyes are beaming, looking around and familiarizing yourself with his things. All the things you wondered about him are now laid out in front of you, and it’s exhilarating. 

“I was so excited when I found out,” 

“You should’ve told me,” you repeat, still taking in his pictures and personal items, your profound curiosity surfacing within you. 

“I was worried about making a good first impression, you’re…” 

“I’m…?” you press, turning to him for a moment. 

“You’re really pretty in person.” 

In that moment when you turn away to hide your blush, with the words “you’re really cute in person, too” ready to spill from your tongue in a sweet and shy whisper, a small black pile on the corner of his dresser catches your eye. 

“What’s that—” 

“Oh nothing! It’s just—” 

“Is that my cardigan?” 

Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…

“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—” 

As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut. 

“Are these—” His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—” 

“Jisung.” 

“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”

“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?” 

“I-” 

“Were you?” You ask sternly. 

He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips. 

There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable: 

“Show me.”

*. * ·

taglist: @heartlvrrss @albedoloser @zp00ks @simpforarmihn @toroufriteh @quokkatss @jising-jisang-jisung @camstqr @tangerinehyuck @ma-riiii @minlvrpage @hancafe

there are some users that couldn't be tagged, as tumblr did not recognize their accounts. sorry :((

#nct imagines #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct #nct reactions #nct moodboard #nct dream #nct 127 #nct smut #park jisung fluff #park jisung #jisung x reader #park jisung scenarios #nct dream reactions #nct dream fluff #nct dream x reader #jisung imagines #jisung smut #nct jisung #nct icons #park jisung smut #nct jisung smut #catboyieejeno #catboyieejeno gameboy #jisung nct #nct dream imagines #jisung scenarios #nct dream scenarios

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 14: Uniform - Natasha Romanoff

Summary: You worked for SHIELD and had a huge crush on Natasha, so what do you do when she corners you one day, begging for your help as her zipper is broken and she's struggling to remove her uniform.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, anxious!reader, mutual pining, kissing, flirting, fingering, oral

A.N: Sorry this is a day late!

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“I need your help”, came the sultry feminine voice from your bedroom door, completely snapping you out of the fantasy world you were currently daydreaming about from the book in your hand.

You knew who was there before turning in her direction in shock and surprise. “Help? Me? You need me?” your cheeks warmed at your noticeable stutter with questioning as you looked at the beautiful red-haired woman standing at your door. Natasha Romanoff was smirking at you with her hand on her hip and wearing the tight-fitting black widow suit, recently returning from a mission. She looked dangerous and deadly, but from what you could see, none of her weapons were attached to her anymore, even though she was a weapon. 

Natasha tilted her head to the side, her eyes flicking across the room, taking in every detail of your bedroom, and you wished you had cleaned up before she arrived. Standing nervously from your bed, your book is thrown onto the bedside drawer without marking the page with the urgency to give the woman your attention.

She doesn’t say anything; she just continues to look at you with her piercing eyes before nodding her head in the opposite direction, a sign that she wants you to follow her down the hall. You were a SHIELD agent and are currently staying at the Avengers headquarters as you continue to train for missions. You’d made some good friends here and enjoyed finally being able to use your skills for something that mattered.

This was all until you realised that the Avengers themselves actually lived there, not just the agents. You assumed they had their own homes for privacy, but this was not the case, so day after day, you had to see people like Natasha who could casually walk into your bedroom. Your crush on the Avengers was rampant, having admired her since before even joining the institute. Who wouldn’t find her attractive? She was among the most fierce and beautiful women you’d ever seen.

Natasa, ever the spy, was well aware of the effect she had on others and, most of the time, enjoyed shooting down anyone who attempted to flirt with her, walking away without a glance back at them. But not you. Never you. It is evident to everyone who worked at the  Avengers headquarters that you had a deep-seated crush on Natasha, from the fleeting glances out of the corner of your eyes or how you would stammer and stutter over your words when she was close by. You were fascinated with her, but rather than being a strong, independent woman, you resorted to being a nervous wreck, hardly even looking her in the eye because you were so anxious to talk to the beautiful woman.

This only became a fun game for Natasha, who found your crush incredibly endearing, cute even and found any excuse possible to try to talk to you, even adding your name to missions so that she knew you were close by. The more time she spent with you, the more she developed her crush; she was just better at hiding it. It was a fun little game at your expense, and today, Natasha was hoping it would be the end to it all, bored with the teasing.

Natasha walked confidently down the hall, through a set of double doors and into the Avengers section of the building. You nearly tripped over your feet, trying to look around at the area you’d not been to before she halted in front of a door, entered a key code and walked in. The weapons and expensive dress decorating the indicted where she’d taken you. You paused on the threshold to her bedroom, unsure if she meant for you to follow her in here, but she urgently waved you further so she could close the door.

Hiding your trembling fingers behind your back, you turned towards Natasha, your eyes wandering above her head as you couldn’t stomach looking into her beautiful face. “So, um, what do you need help with, Miss Romanoff?”

Natasha tried not to grin at the formal way you addressed her. “It’s pretty embarrassing, actually”, she began, her posture changing completely as her shoulders hunched slightly inwards whilst curling some of her red hair behind her ears to appear as if she was embarrassed. “My zip snapped during the mission, and now, I can’t remove my uniform, and the material has been specially made, so I can’t just cut it off”.

Your mouth suddenly filled with saliva as you automatically glanced at where her zipper stopped, just above her cleavage. Once you realised you were staring, you quickly looked back down to the ground, finding the carpet incredibly interesting all of a sudden.

“Why are you asking me for help and not the seamstress?” you asked when you finally found the courage to find your voice.

“The seamstress doesn’t work on Saturdays, and you’re one of the only people I trust here, so I need to hold the two pieces of material together at the top, and you somehow shimmy the zip down”.

There was only white noise blasting through your head at her request, and without giving yourself time to overthink, you closed the distance between each other. The tips of your shoes brushed against hers as you lifted your fingers to grab the zip buckle. Natasha could see the tremor in your fingertips as she grabbed the two sections of material and tried to squeeze them together.

It was difficult at first to grab the metal, especially as your hands began to sweat, but ever so slowly, the zip descended lower, inch by inch. More of her skin began to be revealed. Her cleavage, her sternum, then lower over her navel until the very edge of her public area, which, to your amazement, was neatly trimmer and a brunette shade.

As you comprehended what you were actually looking at, you stepped away, hands rubbing at your sides like you’d made the gravest mistake possible, scared that Natasha would be upset for revealing so much of her body. However, the assassin was unphased and began to pull her arms from her uniform, pushing the black material off her shoulders, down her waist and hips and then kicking off her shoes and attire, leaving it in a pile on the floor.

“You… You don’t wear any underwear beneath your uniform”, you whispered beneath your breath in awe before quickly looking at that entertaining patch of carpet on the floor, realising you’d been staring at her naked body. Your entire body heated with embarrassment and arousal as you crossed one leg over the other to try and squeeze your thighs together to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. 

Natasha shrugged at your observation, “I find that the uniform is so tight that I can’t wear any underwear without the seams being seen, so it’s easier to go without”. Nodding your head at her explanation, you continued looking anywhere but at her. Natasha took a dainty step towards you, her smile growing more prominent, “Are you afraid of nakedness?”

You make a point of forcing yourself to look at her whilst folding your arms over your chest. “No, of course not. I just thought it would be polite to give you some privacy”.

Natasha bites the inside of her lips to stop from just outright grinning and laughing in your face. “I don’t mind. You can look”, she quips whilst raising one of her eyebrows suggestively.

You weren’t sure if this was a test, but as your eyes lowered, you thanked whatever gods were listening to this one moment that you would remember for the rest of your life. She was well toned, given her lifestyle and training methods, and scars littered over her body, which was evidence of her work as stabbings or gunshots clearly created them. You were mesmerised by her beauty, from her perfectly trimmed mound, her toned abs, and up to her round, full breasts.

Until that is, something piqued your interest, “Do you have your nipples pierced?”

Natasha tipped her head back and laughed, looking down at her perked nipples with a shrug of her shoulders, making them jiggle with the movement. “Yeah, they’ve made me quite sensitive, but I thought it would be fun. Plus, they’re super cute”.

“You are”, you say, admiring her breasts, but then your eyes go wide in shock, realising what you’d just said and the soft tone you’d said it in. “I mean, they are- the piercings are -I didn’t mean to sound inappropriate, sorry. I didn’t mean- I just- I wasn't, um-”

Natasha took a step forward, closing the gap entirely so that you could now feel the warmth of her skin; she was that close. Her beautiful, naked body within your bubble, you never wanted it to leave.

“It’s ok, I know what you meant. You’re cute when you’re all embarrassed”.

“I…I am?” you say, looking at her like she had grown another head because there was no way Natasha Romanoff just called you cute in any sense of the word, especially when you’re whining away anxiously.

“You are. Might be why I asked you to come and help me rather than the others. Nothing like a cute girl helping to undress me”. You flush at the obvious flirtatious advances, trying your hardest to continue looking into her forest-green eyes that seem to delve deep into your soul. “You’re even more cuter when you’re like this. Reacting more to my words than my naked body. God, I could just eat you right up.” Natasha lifts her slender fingers and runs the back of them over your eyes and around your ear. “I’ve been watching you, y’know?. It's so hard to talk to a cute girl like you when you’re running away from me every time I enter the room”.

“I’m just nervous”, you say and instantly chastise yourself for stating the obvious.

It doesn’t, phas Natasha thought as her other hand gently grasped yours, interlocking your fingers as she stated, “I know. You don’t have to be nervous, Sugar. I only want good things, I promise”.

She lifts the hand that is holding hers, kissing the palm ever so softly and then moves it so you’re holding her face. “You don’t have to be nervous to do anything with me”, Natasha continues, “I want you to feel safe with me. I want to get to know you on a personal and physical way, if you understand what I’m alluding to”.

Your mouth didn’t want to work, with the worry of just blurting out that you were in love with her, so you nodded your head to show your understanding. Being brave, you allowed your fingers to explore her sharp cheekbones, admiring the delicateness of her skin and shocked when she even began to nuzzle into your palm.

“Can I touch you?” she asks sincerely, her eyes wide with hope and yet restrained, not wanting to frighten you off. As your fingers brush through her silky hair, you nod your head, wanting her very much to touch you in any way possible.

Natasha lifts both hands to press against your hairline, exploring your face like she was trying to map every inch of you. Lower she descended, over your cheeks, your nose and finally your lips, pulling on the bottom one with her thumb, which had your eyes automatically dropping to look at hers.

You want to kiss so severely that it almost makes you ache and beg. It seemed Natasha also knew this and had another idea in mind as she implored in the most innocent voice, “Touch me lower”.

You do as instructed, over her jaw and down her long neck, then press her collarbones again, wondering if this is the area where you should stop. However, Natasha raises her eyebrow again in question, so you take that as your queue to explore lower. Your eyes never leave hers as your fingers run down the centre of her sternum, directly between her breasts, until they stop at the base of her sternum.

Deciding to be brave for once in your life, your fingers skimmed the underside of her heavy breasts, and you watched in delight as her breath hitched, chest leaning into the touch. You take this as a good sign and reach for her hard nipples that have a simple metal bar through the centre.

Natasha groans, even though all you’ve done is graze over the bundle of nerves. “So sensitive”, she explains and reminds you of her predicament.

Pulling your hand away, thinking you’d done something she didn’t want, you apologise quickly, “Sorry!”

However, with her lightning-fast reaction, Natashas quickly grabs your retreating hands and pulls them back to cup her again. “I like it. I like everything you do to me and want to do”.

Before you can overthink anymore, Natasha is pressing her face towards yours, eyes closing and lips connecting with yours. Your whole body reacts instantly, leaning closer and mewling into her mouth, pushing harder. Her lips were so plump they felt like soft, warm clouds against your face, and you’re obsessed, crazy for more, never wanting this moment to stop.

But of course, it does as Nat pulls back for a second, and you’re trying to chase after her with your lips, which causes the woman to giggle. “Can I take this off?” she asks, pulling on the bottom of your shirt. You nod, heart beating so hard on your chest you were sure she would be able to hear. Lifting your arms above your head, Natasha removes the article of clothing and begins to admire your black bra. “I love this”. She eyes it for a second before realising that it unclasps from the front. Natasha internally praised you for being so beautiful as she reached to undo the clasp, exposing your breasts to her.

She moans in wonderment at your beauty, cursing herself for waiting this long before making a move. Natasha couldn’t wait any long as her head dipped to lick across your nipple, causing your back to arch to press her face closer, and your fingers gripped into her hair to hold her there.

Something seemed to snap in you, whether the confidence blooming in your core or the anxiety melting away. Either way, you were in this situation, and there was no way you were letting it go to waste. As the red-haired woman sealed her lips around your other nipple, licking and sucking the bud into her mouth, you swiftly pulled her off by your hands behind in her hair, but only to kiss her deeply and passionately.

Whether it was your enthusiasm to kiss her or Natasha’s excitement that you were beginning to feel more confident, something knocked the two of you back so that you were now led on her perfectly made bed. Natasha doesn’t waste a second and is climbing on top of you, straddling your waste with her naked body now hovering over yours. You touch her everywhere now, her thighs, over her arse to pull her hips closer, up her back to then cup her head.

It was everything you wanted and more; couldn’t get enough of her taste, smell, and warmth. Everything about her, you wanted it every day, all the time. She was sweet and delicate with you, but eventually, Natasha too was becoming fevering with her touches and needing more of you.

“I wanna taste you”, she admits against your lips, just as her tongue dares to peek before yours.

“Are you sure?” you asked uncertainly.

Natasha laughed against your mouth, moving to kiss down your throat over the areas that had your toes curling as she confirmed, “Yes, I’m sure I want to eat you out.”

Your only answer was a grin that caused your cheeks to ache with how giddy you felt. Natasha kissed your lips once more before shuffling down your body, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses, tasting every area of your skin she could reach, and spending special particular attention on your breasts. Teasing and sucking on them until you begged her to move lower with how intense your arousal was becoming. 

Natasha noted this, deciding that the next time the two of you were intimate, she wanted to see if she could make you cum just by nipple stimulation. Lower she moved, every touch was gentle and calm, even as she unbuttoned your jeans and began to lower them as well as your underwear down your legs, with the help of you lifting your hips, her fingers still were careful about where she touched.

She then began her journey up, kissing and licking all the places that were most sensitive, like your inner knee and thighs, until she was face to face with the area causing you the most ache.

Her eyes met yours, and a devilish smirk on her lips made you wonder what you had gotten yourself in for as her mouth met your more intimate areas. You broke eye contact first, but only because your body jolted, and you had to force your back to arch, spreading your legs further on the bed as your head tipped back.

Natasha's lips were just as plump and soft against your pussy as they were against your mouth. She kissed you there first, savouring the warmth and liquid that had already leaked from your cunt. The noises you were already whimpering were like music to her ears, so desperate and needy.

Carefully, her tongue licked long strips up your folds before adding pressure and parting them, moving deeper until she was poking at your hole that was already contracting with your arousal around nothing. She contemplated for a moment letting her tongue fuck you, but instead, she paid particular attention to your throbbing clit. Tentative, agonisingly slow circles did the tip of her tongue move around the bud before she pressed the flat front of her tongue and gave it a long lick.

“Natasha!” you cried out, hand moving to grip her hair to hold her there. Nat thought it was adorable seeing you falling apart like this so quickly. She hummed against your pussy which caused vibrations to purr into the nerves, which caused your thighs to tremble and clench with the stimulation.

Nat tickled the backs of your thighs to get them to relax again before travelling the length of the limb until the area where your tongue was still pleasuring. Her middle finger circled your eagerly awaiting hole, and as she sucked on the bundle of nerves, she inserted the finger carefully. In and out and moved before adding a second finger, beginning to stretch your cunt. Your hips began rolling of their own accord, desperate to match the pace of Natasha’s tongue and fingers, which had just started to curl to press against the sensitive spot inside you.

“That feels so good, right there!” Natasha didn’t plan on stopping making you feel this good, but she did contemplate just how pretty you’d look after being edged a few times. She just added that to the lengthening list of things she wanted to try with you in the future.

You had to bite your lower lip as your cries of joy were beginning to echo around the bedroom, still holding onto the red hair and essentially fucking yourself on her fingers and tongue. Opening your eyes, you looked down at the green eyes that were watching your every move.

“Please kiss me”, you asked desperately with a slight quiver in your voice as you were getting closer to orgasming.

Natasha grins, licking her lips and crawling back up your body whilst still curling her fingers, her thumb pressing and rolling your clit instead of her tongue. Her mouth was hungry against yours, forcing your lips wider so she could stroke your mouth's crevices, making sure you could taste yourself from her.

You reach out for her, wanting to feel her body just as badly as she wants to hear you cum, but she has other ideas. The hand you reached for her with was held firmly against the bed as Natasha shook her head. “This is just about you today; there will be so much more time for me in the future. Just enjoy this, Sugar”.

You could have melted at the pet name she’d picked and rushed forward to kiss her feverishly one more, hips rolling and working in time with the curl of her fingers and thumb. She was making you feel so good, expertly touching your body, gripping the back of your head to hold your close.

Resting her temple on yours, she looked at you with glazed eyes and demanded, “Cum for me; I want to see you cum on my fingers, pretty girl”. Her words had your core tightening in arousal, your mouth gaping open to gasp and share the same air as her she was that close to you. “That’s it, you’re doing so well for me. I know you’re close. I can feel it on my fingers; you’re so wet for me, so tight, Sugar. Cum for me”.

Your body convulsed as your orgasm rocketed through your very centre, thighs trembling, arms struggling to hold you up as your pussy squeezed in flutters around her fingers. She didn’t stop her rocking motion; those sweet curls of her two fingers, not under you, had sagged back onto the bed to catch your breath.

Carefully, she eased her fingers out of you, putting on a broad display of her licking your fingers and dramatically moaning at the taste before lying down next to you, resting her head on her elbow.

“Do you wanna go and get some food?  There’s a cute Italian place about half an hour from here”, Natasha asks casually whilst stroking your cheek with the hand that had just been between your legs.

“What? Like a date?” you asked with the tremor returning to your voice as you stared at her with widening eyes.

Natasha takes one look at you and laughs, tipping her head back with how funny she found it. “I’ve just licked you out and had you cumming on my fingers, and you’re getting nervous about a date? You’re too fucking cute, Sugar. Yes, it’s a date. What do you say?”

Your cheeks heat at her amusement, but you’re soon joining her with smiling, nodding your head and saying, “Yes, I’d love to go on this date with you”.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff one shot #black widow smut #black widow x reader #marvel smut #marvel #mine* #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Route to Eutopia - New WIP IF

DEMO(28K) I CHARACTER DOSSIERS I PLAYLIST (TBA)

You have one year left to live.

But are you afraid of dying? Probably not. Since you don’t even know how to live your life. You have been hidden away from public eye since young. And the only friend you have is an Alter, humanoid species born to only serve other people and nothing else. Alters live so ‘people like you’ could live.

That makes the two of you. Alive. But never here. Never lived.

If opportunities arise, would you take a chance to change it? Only you can answer.

In a world where feeling nothing at all is better than letting your emotions rule over you, your choice to break those rules and make a change will paint a new shade of history that no one ever could. 

Hidden behind shut doors to live your quiet life as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, Sole Leader of Eutopia paradise, you never experience anything except for repeating the same old routine your entire life. You are the existence which should not be known, not just for the reason that you are the byproduct of your father and his secret lover. But also because of your frightening ‘Alter-like’ eye color, most of it is silver like any Stargaze–but nevertheless… tinted shamefully by crimson streaks.

You are told to stay away from public eyes for the sake of Palmer’s reputation in which you feel obliged to. However, your life of peaceful solitude will never be the same again after tonight…

Route to Eutopia is a violent dystopian loosely-conceptual interactive story where you are a bystander surrounded by The Chosen One of your own choice. You are to designate whether this story will head towards the direction of mutual peace between Alters– a human-like species believed to be plagued by uncured disease since birth– and Stargazers —a group of survivors whose ancestors once lived on a faraway planet before an inevitable disaster occurred and forced them to flee into another dimension, or towards a doom fate that cannot be reversible.

To be noted; RtE is a heavily-relationship based game (not necessarily in platonic/romantic sense) each of your interactions with any character will determine the tone and purpose of their motivation. Any choice you have chosen, make sure to embrace the consequences of your action at your own expense.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that you don’t need to engage into a romance or specific relationship with any character to complete the story.

RtE also rated 18+ for strong language, suggestive contents, disturbing topics such as racism, sexism, discrimination against queer people, explicit descriptions of violence, murders, drug use and sexual behaviors of certain characters with optional intercourse scenes.

Setting

RtE takes place in a post-apocalypse society where the concept of time is lost and any history known was only speculations at best and rumour at worst. Trying to maintain their sense of utopia, Stargazers built and operated their space colony as a temporary base for self-preservation (in which only fews know details about) called ‘Eutopia’. 

In this dystopian paradise people’s sole purpose of living was fixated on surviving. And in order to do that, the whole population creates a solid ground rule not to let themselves ‘feel’ about other emotions that do not serve for public favors. Hence, you will be challenged to adapt to several situations and handpick the best flavor of your actions based on the emotions you have learnt or developed from your surroundings.

Who do you play as?

For now, you will be playing as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, the leader of Stargazers who already has a wife and two other perfect children, your younger sister and brother. Ones you have never interacted with nor you ever get the chance to.

MCs subjectively considered a white sheet which you can paint anything on by your preferences. Explore the world full of colorful emotions or bottomless pit of numbness by your own choices. 

But remember, Eutopia is a place where everything goes according to one simple rule ‘To survive’ hence the marriage between a man and woman will be set as the norm and only truth, and someone who will state otherwise must face and suffer the ugliness of social standards accordingly. However, I do not encourage any transphobic/homophobic behavior of the characters in this story. Please kindly be assured of that.

There might be a chance where you can start off as other characters, that is, however, still a subject-to-change matter as of now.

Introduction to the Chosen Ones [ ROs]

**Please be aware of mild spoilers below**

Vegaris (M/F) 19 Star-crossed lovers or Nemesis route, The Rebel.

They would do anything to survive, even if it means to betray the only person who trusts them deeply… like you.

Vegaris is an Alter who has so many sides hidden behind closed doors. Unpredictable, cunning, hot and cold are the words that describe them best. Due to their traumatic childhood (much like other Alters on Eutopia), they have a deep-root hatred for Stargazers. Although they were brought in by your family and treated almost the same as one of your father’s own kids. They still witness the unfairness of being an Alter in society and never afraid to point the wrong in other people’s doings. 

Their usual mask, however, is one where you cannot crack open that easily. They always remain calm and composed in front of you, and only show their fangs when circumstances arise.

Dana/Darren Regency (M/F) 22 Childhood friends, Forbidden route, The Face.

For a person who seems to be easy to read as much as an open-book, they sure talk with silence better than with their own voice.

A poster girl/boy for Regency Academy. Your former childhood friend (for some unknown reason, they're trying their hardest to avoid you) and an only child to the Head of Deans at Regency, Sandalphon. They are the precise image of how one should raise a Stargazer. Being a honor student. A model citizen. And a perfect ideal partner. They are assigned to be married with the most capable genetic-wise fiancé. As popular as they appear to be to the public, their private life (as private as it can be) is still a gigantic loophole for most imprudent reporters trying to catch even just a glimpse.

It seems like what they are trying to avoid is not just you, but the entirety of Eutopia.

Sandalphon Regency (M/F) 40 Age-difference, Single-parent route, The Pacifist.

Do you believe in something just because it's true, or it becomes the truth only when you believe in it?

Sandalphon is the most powerful influence among the deans of Regency. A group of people that has control over governing matters even beyond that of Bastien Palmer, the President. For Sandal, they are anything and everything people could ever ask for in a Regency. Kind, generous, well-versed with every branch of knowledge in the universe. Never wrong in anything. And never judge anyone based on their bias.

If only people knew the truth, they’d probably beg to differ.

Maybe they are just good at hiding beneath that gentle facade, maybe a calculated mind with strings to pull works best with neutral suggestions... who knows?

One more hidden character will be revealed in the demo, Into the Madness route, The Savior.

[ Classified info. ]

**There will be two sub ROs and flings to be introduced later in the story.**

More info will be announced.

Demo 1st update : 24/01/2024 Chapter 1 (28k codes excluded)

Datalog is completed roughly til the end of the story. Coding and polishing will certainly take time. Any more updates will be announced solely on this blog.

Reblogging is appreciated. Thank you!

#if wip #interactive fiction #cog #choice of games #hosted games #if demo #interactive game #if game #dystopia #cyberpunk #space opera #interactive novel #choicescript #dashingdon

[writingforstraykids]

Always back to you - Chp.3🖤

Pairing: Minho x m!Reader (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 4332

Summary: Minho and you slowly find your way back together once he's released from the hospital. Minjun's birthday party brings you both closer than ever before ...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, single dad!min, angst, domestic shit

A/N: Thank you for all the love for the first part especially🤭 I'll have a very busy day tomorrow, so you'll get the next part today already instead🤭🖤

PART TWO | PART FOUR

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You immediately take up the responsibility of caring for Minjun, ensuring that Minho has no worries as he recovers. You bring Minjun to your home and transform it into a safe haven for the little boy who is confused and missing his dad.

You set up a schedule that balances fun activities and quiet time, keeping Minjun engaged and content. Mornings are spent in the garden, where you teach him how to plant seeds and water flowers, explaining the nature of growth and the care plants need to thrive—a subtle lesson you hope he translates into understanding his father’s situation.

Minjun enthusiastically takes to gardening, his curious nature soaking up every detail you offer. He frequently asks questions, his large eyes wide with wonder as he watches little bugs crawling around and you tell him more about them. “Does Daddy need water and sun to get better, too?” he asks one day, his innocence tugging at your heartstrings.

You chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. “Something like that, buddy. Your dad needs rest and a little bit of sunshine to regain his strength.”

During these days, Minjun often speaks of his father, his young mind trying to wrap around why his dad had to stay in the hospital. You assure him that his dad is getting stronger every day, and soon, they’ll be back to playing in the park and reading bedtime stories.

In the afternoons, you work on light educational activities like drawing and reading. Minjun loves to draw; his papers are filled with pictures of his garden and the plants and lots of drawings of him and his dad together, often with a big sun shining overhead. You send these drawings to Minho, who calls every evening to say goodnight, his voice always a mix of gratitude and wistfulness.

Each call becomes a little bridge, reconnecting the threads of the small family. Minho’s voice grows stronger each day, and his words begin to carry hope instead of just fatigue. He shares updates about his recovery, about the small victories of a full night’s sleep or a walk around the hospital ward without feeling dizzy.

One evening, as you and Minjun are setting up a board game in the living room, your phone buzzes. It’s Minho, and he’s calling a bit earlier than usual.

“Y/n, hey. I… I’m coming home tomorrow,” Minho’s voice is tentative, almost shy.

“That’s great news, Minho! Minjun will be so happy,” you respond, watching Minjun’s face light up at the mention of his dad.

“Can we… can I come over when I get back? I want to see Minjun, and I… I owe you a proper thank you,” Minho adds, his tone earnest.

“That's okay,” you assure him, feeling a complex knot of emotions at his return but happy for Minjun’s sake.

The next day is bright and sunny, and Minjun is practically vibrating with excitement. “Is Daddy coming now? Or now?” he asks every few minutes, peering out the window.

“Soon, little bug. Let’s go to the garden. We can show him how much everything has grown since he’s been gone,” you suggest, leading him outside.

You're both kneeling in the garden, Minjun excitedly pointing out each new sprout and blossom, when you hear the gate click. Looking up, you see Minho, thinner and a bit pale but smiling as he watches his son.

“Daddy!” Minjun screams, sprinting towards him with a speed that surprises both of you. Minho drops to his knees just in time to catch him, embracing him tightly. His eyes close as he buries his face in Minjun’s soft curls. 

“I missed you so much, buddy,” Minho murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Missed you more,” Minjun replies, his small hands cupping his face as he kisses his nose. 

You walk over slowly, giving them a moment, before Minho looks up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Y/nnie, thank you,” he says, standing up to face you. “It means a lot.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Minho. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you reply, your voice gentle.

“No, I need to say this,” Minho insists, taking a deep breath. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry for how I treated you. You’ve been nothing but kind, and I took that for granted. I hope I can make it up to both of you somehow.”

“One step after the other. For now, you should rest; we can talk properly later,” you suggest, offering a smile that Minho returns gratefully.

Minho reaches into his pocket, and you can hear him pulling out his keys. He stretches out his hand almost timidly, offering you your spare keys to his home. “You're always welcome. If not for me, then for him, please. I don't want him to suffer just because I fucked up.”

You hesitantly take them, able to tell he's trying to fix things. “I…I'll think about it. I need time, Min.”

“That's okay,” he assures you. “Your replacement is shit, by the way,” he says with a weak grin. 

You chuckle softly. “No, that's you being used to someone handling things for you more than for the others,” you remind him. You inhale deeply and awkwardly rub your neck. “I'll also think about that, okay?” 

“Okay,” he nods, unable to hide the hope in his orbs at the mere chance of you coming back. “I'm sorry.”

“I know,” you assure him. “Me too…Now, go rest, please. Call if you need something.”

“Bye, Y/nnie,” Minjun says, hugging you tightly as you get down on his level. “Love you.”

You swallow softly, a similar surprise lacing both Minho's and your features. “I love you too, buddy,” you answer honestly and squeeze him gently. “Now go home with your daddy, yeah?”

-

The quiet of the morning was filled only by the faint sounds of the city waking up beyond the walls of the small, cozy room where Minho found himself slowly coming to consciousness. As his senses sharpened, the first thing he became aware of was the warm, small body pressed against his side. Gently turning his head, he sees Minjun, his little baby, sleeping peacefully next to him, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep. The sight fills Minho with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love.

Carefully so as not to wake him, Minho wraps his arms around Minjun, pulling him close. The boy, still deep in his dreams, instinctively snuggles closer into his father's embrace. Even in sleep, Minjun seems to sense his father's need for closeness and comforts him with his mere presence.

Minho’s eyes trace the soft, youthful features of his son's face, noting the faint freckles that dust his nose and the gentle curl of his lips. Memories flood through Minho’s mind—the first time he held Minjun, the first steps he took, the first words he spoke.

Recovering from his incident, Minho was forced to confront his own vulnerabilities and the stark realization of how much he relied on the presence of his son. These mornings, waking up next to Minjun, were sacred. They were not just moments of physical rest but crucial for his emotional recovery as well. 

Minjun shifts in his sleep, a small sigh escaping him. His small hand grips Minho's shirt tightly as if, even in his dreams, he is determined to hold on. Minho’s heart aches with an overwhelming mix of joy and sorrow—joy for his son's presence and health and sorrow for the times he hadn’t been there as fully as he wanted.

“Daddy loves you, Minjun,” Minho whispers into his son's dark curls, his voice barely audible. A tear escapes the corner of his eye as he tightens his embrace, grateful beyond words for his return to health and the second chance it represented.

The sun begins to cast its first rays into the room, streaks of light that paint the walls with the colors of dawn. The light seems to coax the city to life gently, and as it does, it also seems to awaken Minjun. The little boy yawns and blinks open his eyes, surprised for a moment to find himself so close to his father.

“Daddy?” Minjun’s voice is sleepy and confused but also filled with an affection that comes from deep within.

“Good morning, buddy,” Minho says, his voice still thick with emotion. “Did you sleep well?”

Minjun nods, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Yes.”

Minho smiles. “That sounds good. Maybe we can go to the park later?”

“Yeah!” Minjun’s face lights up with excitement. “And I can be a hero!”

Minho laughs, the sound rich and full of genuine happiness. “Of course, my little superhero. But first, how about we make some pancakes for breakfast?”

Minjun’s agreement is instantaneous and enthusiastic. As they get up and make their way to the kitchen, Minho keeps his son close, his hand resting lightly on Minjun’s shoulder. Making breakfast together was a simple activity, yet it held so much meaning for Minho, just being home again. 

As Minho watches Minjun clumsily crack eggs and stir batter, he is filled with gratitude for his young son's resilience. He had managed to stay strong and loving throughout the difficulties they had faced.

“Daddy?” Minjun looks up at him, a slight frown on his face. “Are you okay? You look sad.”

Minho is taken aback, realizing that his emotional reflections must have shown on his face. He kneels down, bringing himself to eye level with Minjun, and smiles.

“I’m more than okay; I’m happy,” he assures his son, his hand gently cupping the boy’s cheek. “I’m just very thankful for you, Minjun. You’re my little hero, did you know that?”

Minjun giggles, the sound like music to Minho’s ears. “I’m your hero?”

“Yes, you are,” Minho assures him, hugging him tightly. “My biggest hero.”

Minjun hugs him back, his small arms strong and sure. “It’s okay, Daddy. I take care of you.”

The words, so earnest and sincere from such a young soul, fill Minho with an even deeper appreciation for his son and his eyes with tears. He realizes that while he was often the one taking care of Minjun, his son was also taking care of him in many ways, providing love, motivation, and a reason to recover fully and well.

One week later 

For Minjun's birthday, Minho decided on a cozy movie night—a welcome change from the usual buzz of birthday parties and perfectly suited for their small circle. The boys all love a good movie night, find children's movies hilarious, and, most importantly, they all love Minjun like their own. 

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a soft glow through the windows, they arrive one by one.

Chan and Felix arrive last with a special surprise for the birthday boy. “Jiho, mate, we brought someone with us,” Felix leans down to him conspiratorially. 

“Who?” he asks curiously, eyes growing wide. Chan steps aside and gently pulls you out of hiding. Minjun squeaks in delight, looking up at Minho excitedly. “Daddy, it's Y/nnie!” he says, jumping in place impatiently. 

Minho giggles and gently brushes back his curls. “Well, go say hi, dumpling.”

Minjun doesn't need a second invitation to fall into your arms. “Hey, little bug,” you say quietly. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” he beams happily before moving on to greet the next guest. “Uncle Channie, up!” he says, reaching out for him. 

Chan smirks, lifts him up and throws him into the air above his head a little, catching him safely again. Minho flinches heavily, reaching for Minjun in shock. Felix laughs at him, gently patting his back. “Channie, babe, don't give him a heart attack.” 

Chan laughs, putting a giggling Minjun back on his feet. “Sorry, Min,” he chuckles, and Minho snorts. 

“Alright, come on in, you know the way,” Minho laughs.

The living room was transformed into a fortress of comfort. Pillows and blankets were strewn across the floor, creating a plush sea of soft fabrics that invited everyone to kick off their shoes and sink in. The air was rich with the aroma of popcorn and sweet treats that lined the table alongside a stack of Minjun’s favorite animated movies.

Minho watches as Felix and Jeongin set up the projector, their antics punctuated by light-hearted banter that fills the room with laughter. Hyunjin and Seungmin are tasked with stringing fairy lights around the room, adding a magical ambiance that makes the space feel like a small cinema hall. Jisung and Changbin, meanwhile, busy themselves in the kitchen, popping more popcorn and arranging a variety of snacks on platters. Minho watches his family with a smile, each member contributing to the evening’s success, weaving their love for Minjun into every detail.

The movie starts, the lights dimmed to mimic a theater, and the first frames flicker across the makeshift screen. Minjun sits between Minho and you, a perfect sandwich of his favorite people, his face lit by the soft glow of the projector as he watches with wide-eyed wonder.

Throughout the evening, the adults' eyes often meet over Minjun's head, shared smiles of affection and slight amusement at his captivated reactions to the on-screen adventures. During a particularly exciting scene, Minjun would sometimes stand, pointing at the screen and explaining to you loudly the many details of the plot as he understood them.

"The hero's gonna save everyone. He's strong like daddy!" Minjun's voice is full of pride and excitement, making everyone chuckle, especially Minho, whose heart swells with love and a bit of awe at his son's interpretation.

The room is filled with the sounds of the movie, mixed with Minjun's occasional commentary and the boys' gentle laughs.

Halfway through the second movie, Minjun’s eyelids begin to droop, and he leans more heavily against you, his small hand gripping yours as he fights the pull of sleep. You look down at him, a soft smile playing on your lips, touched by the trust and affection Minjun shows you.

Minho notices this gentle exchange, and his heart is filled with gratitude for your presence in Minjun’s life, especially during the times when he couldn’t be there himself. He makes a mental note to himself to ensure you know how much your support meant to him, perhaps later when the movies are done and the excitement of the day has settled into the quiet of the night.

As the evening winds down and the credits roll on the last movie, Minho gently nudges Minjun awake to blow out the candles on his small birthday cake. With a sleepy grin, Minjun makes a wish and blows with all his might, the room erupting into applause.

"Happy birthday, Minjun!" everyone cheers, making him giggle happily and hide in Minho’s arms shyly. 

Minho soothingly kisses his hair and cuddles him close. Your heart warms seeing them, and glancing around the room, you can tell how much Minho and his little boy mean to everyone. Minho looks almost as tired as Minjun, but both are beaming with happiness. The boys fall back into their usual chatter, and you more or less subtly watch Minho next to you with Minjun still in his arms. They're having a quiet conversation, Minjun resting his head against Minho's and holding onto his hands. You feel the old, familiar warmth spreading through you as you watch them. Getting into that fight with Minho had made you feel awful. You missed your time with Minjun and you realized how used you've grown to Minho's presence in your life. 

Minho's eyes find yours, and your breath hitches at the softness of his orbs. “Minjun's asking if you could read him a bedtime story?”

“Oh, of course,” you nod. 

“The bedroom’s upstairs, second door on the left. You can get comfortable there; he loves cuddling in bed before,” he assures you kindly and watches you leave with Minjun. 

Chan nudges him gently. “You two are alright again?”

“We're working on it,” he tells him, and Chan hums agreeingly. 

“We should wrap it up,” Chan chuckles, and Minho hums agreeingly. 

“Yongbokie and you can have the guestroom upstairs. You'd get home way too late,” he tells him. Chan and Felix live the furthest away, after all. “Jisung and Hyunjin can have the sofa,” he laughs, seeing them already deep asleep there. 

Seungmin, listening in, pouts softly. “I'm tired, I don't want to leave.”

Minho glances at him and Innie, resting their heads on Changbin’s shoulders. “I can only offer you to sleep here with all the pillows and stuff.”

“Sounds great,” Jeongin mumbles drowsily. 

“Mhm, then that's settled,” Chan chuckles, soothingly rubbing Felix's shoulder as the younger one slowly grows heavy against him. “Should we clean up tomorrow then?” 

“Yeah, I'll do it once everyone's gone,” Minho laughs. 

“Lix and I can help,” he assures him, earning a thankful smile. 

About ten minutes later, once Minho made sure everyone had what they needed he made his way to his own bedroom, Chan next to him. “I forgot Lix gets cold easily,” he chuckles and carefully pushes the door open. He stops in his tracks, seeing you comfortably sprawled out on his bed, Minjun on your chest, and a book loosely in your hand. You're both asleep, looking peaceful and content. “Shit, I forgot about Y/nnie,” he curses quietly. 

“You can't really move him anywhere else, look at Minjun,” Chan giggles. 

“And where am I supposed to sleep?” he asks quietly, grabbing a fluffy blanket for Chan and Felix. 

“There's plenty of room next to them,” he says. 

“Chan. I can't just get into bed with my assistant,” he argues. 

“Your so-called assistant is hugging your son and asleep in your bed. I think you're way past that, mate,” he laughs. “It's your bed; just keep your distance or whatever.” Minho anxiously chews on his lower lip, debating a hundred different possibilities in his head. “Or you join me and Lix?”

“No, you two touchy fuckers can have that bed for your own,” he giggles, shoving his chest. “Not interested in a threesome right now.”

“Right now?” Chan teases, and Minho playfully raises his fist at him. “What about-”

“Go sleep, you're talking nonsense,” he laughs and gently shoves him outside. “Idiot.”

Chan giggles and gently shoves him back inside. “I'll hit you if you don't sleep in your own bed tonight. You still need rest, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groans. 

Minho stares down at the scene before him, the weight of Chan's words sinking in. He watches you and Minjun, both deep in the tranquil sleep of the innocent and the cared-for, their faces peaceful and free from the burdens that Minho carried on his shoulders.

Gathering all his bravery, Minho slowly approaches the bed, his movements hesitant but deliberate. As he reaches the edge, he pauses, taking a moment to truly look at you—someone who has become so much more than just an assistant. You have been his support system, his son's caregiver, and his unintentional savior in times of unspoken despair. How could he continue to maintain a mere professional boundary when everything about your relationship had transcended those limits?

Minho carefully settles on the far edge of the bed, maintaining a respectful distance. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. The soft sounds of Minjun's and your breathing soothe his nerves. 

The room is silent, save for the soft ticking of the clock and the distant sounds of the city. Minho turns his head slightly, watching Minjun snuggle closer to you in his sleep. The sight is both beautiful and a stark reminder of the intimate moments he had missed during his recovery.

After a few moments, you shift in your sleep, perhaps sensing the added presence or the slight dip in the mattress as Minho lay down. Your eyes flutter open, and in the dim light, your gaze meets Minho’s. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, your voice sleepy yet filled with warmth. “I can leave.”

“Don't,” Minho says quickly and swallows hard. “He's comfortable here with you; there's no need to leave.”

“You're sure?” you ask, and he hums in response. “Well, you should get comfortable as well. There's no need to hover over the edge of the bed.”

Those words, softly spoken, are like a key turning in a lock for Minho. They break through his last hesitations, sweeping away the remnants of his doubts. He shifts closer, reducing the distance between him and you, and allows himself to relax fully. You turn on your side to face him, your eyes locking with his in the dim light.

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispers, the words thick with emotions. “For everything.”

Your hand finds his under the blankets, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’re past apologies, Minho. I fucked up because I took him without telling you. I didn't think and expected you to trust me; that wasn't fair. You overreacted…which is kind of understandable. I'm sorry for my part in this, and you're sorry for yours. We're okay.”

Minho feels a warmth spread through his chest. He nods, accepting your forgiveness, and turns his attention to Minjun, who murmurs something inaudible in his sleep and snuggles closer to both of you.

-

The early morning rays begin to seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Your eyes slowly flutter open as they meet your face. Stretching your tired body, you slowly realize that Minjun is gone already…and that Minho has gotten a lot closer overnight. You glance down and see his arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to himself. His head is buried in your neck; you can feel his breath dancing across your skin. His hair feels soft against your skin and you wonder how it'd feel if you sank your hand into it. 

You freeze, unsure of what to do next. The warmth of his breath against your skin sends a mix of comfort and alarm coursing through you. This is Minho, you remind yourself, technically, he's still my boss. Yet, the intimacy of this accidental cuddling was something entirely new, a boundary neither of you had crossed before.

Minho stirs, his movements slow and sluggish as he approaches the edge of consciousness. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction when he realizes the closeness you both shared through the night. His eyes open gently, adjusting to the soft morning light, and then widen slightly as he takes in the position you both are in.

There's a moment of silent understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the unintentional closeness. Minho’s eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and something softer, a vulnerability you've seen only in fleeting moments. He pulls back slightly, his hand retreating from where it had found a place around your waist.

“I-I’m sorry,” Minho mutters, his voice a low rasp tinged with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to-.”

“It’s okay,” you interject quickly, your voice soft, attempting to brush off the awkwardness. “We were both asleep. Things happen.”

Minho nods, his cheeks tinged with a blush that he can't hide. He sits up, rubbing the back of his neck—anxious gestures that you’ve come to recognize as his way of coping with discomfort. 

Silence fills the room for a few heartbeats. Both of you glance away, then back at each other, unsure of how to navigate this new, uncharted territory in your relationship. Finally, Minho clears his throat, his eyes meeting yours with an earnestness that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I didn’t intend for that to happen,” he says, his voice steady but soft. “But I can’t say I regret waking up next to someone who means so much to Minjun… and to me.”

Your breath hitches slightly at his words, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. “Minho, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Minho interrupts gently. “I just want you to know that I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for us. For being here, for taking care of Minjun when I couldn’t, for being more than just an assistant, more than just a friend.”

The weight of his gratitude sits between you, heavy and warm. You nod, unsure of how to articulate the jumble of feelings his proximity and his words have stirred in you. 

“Thank you for trusting me, Minho,” you manage to say. 

Minho smiles a genuine smile that reaches his eyes, easing some of the tension. He glances at the clock, then back at you. “I guess we should get up. I promised Minjun pancakes, and I suspect he’ll be storming in soon if we don’t start cooking.”

You laugh, the sound light and freeing, breaking the last remnants of awkwardness. “Pancakes it is,” you agree, getting out of bed. You adjust your clothes, still feeling the warmth of where Minho’s arm was wrapped around you.

As you both head to the kitchen, the normalcy of the routine helps mend the morning’s awkward start. Minjun greets you both with a bright smile, oblivious to the tension from earlier, comfortably on Changbin’s lap. “Uncle Changnin is fun,” he announces, making everyone giggle at his slight mispronunciation. 

“Mhm, of course, I am,” Changbin smirks, shooting the others a glare. “Uncle Changnin is fun..unlike some others here.”

Minho laughs, rolling his eyes at him. “Who wants breakfast?”

Throughout the morning, there are shared glances and shy smiles between you and Minho, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that had deepened in the most unexpected way. As you watch Minho flip pancakes, his laughter mingling with Minjun’s excited chatter, you feel a contentment settle over you. This, you realize, is more than just a job; more than just a responsibility-it’s a part of your life that you cherish deeply.

Later, as you sit together eating the slightly deformed pancakes that Minjun insists are perfect, you catch Minho’s eye, and he gives you a small, grateful smile. You'd be okay. 

PART TWO | PART FOUR

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[onlyswan]

summary: in which alcohol plus k-drama is equals to your and jungkook’s tears.

> fluff / wc: 4k

> warnings: oc’s first attempt at becoming a pro bartender lmao they both drink alcohol!!, alchemy of souls spoilers!! (they watch the ending of part 2), mention of a stab and blood, they cry over character deaths together >:( (sike?) maybeee a little surprise bc jk is so in love y’all idk what else to say </3 💍

note: welcome to the result of my jungkook + aos brainrot. you can read more of inwhich!jk in glasses in this drabble. :D thank you anonie who sent this ask! + as always i’d appreciate it a lot if you lmk if you enjoyed mwamwa <3

—

“i miss my boyfriend.” you sigh dramatically as you slump over the dining table, popping a vodka-soaked cherry in your mouth.

despite being hopelessly in love, you and jungkook don’t necessarily feel obliged to spend every second of every day with each other. of course, it was different at the early stages of your relationship, when you had to cross oceans and move mountains to spend time together, even if it meant hugging for only ten minutes and parting ways again.

however, things changed when you started living under one roof. the burning passion of your love isn’t dying down, no. in fact, you would go as far as saying that it is growing more gracefully ardent. after all, there is no greater peace than knowing that at the end of the day, wherever the street signs and the unmarked paths may lead you to, you and jungkook choose to come home to each other’s arms. is this not the real honeymoon phase, as they like to call it?

he left early this sunday morning to attend a small reunion with his childhood friends in busan, while you spent the day reading a book and painting the numbers one to ten of the little paint by numbers kit you stumbled upon at the book store last week.

it’s a sunny day on an abundant island, with a lighthouse standing close to the edge. and maybe, just maybe, you regret ignoring the simple flower bouquet beside it because the details drawn on this canvas are the literal definition of tiny. you ended up feeling dizzy by afternoon because of the strain it caused to your fucked up vision.

to make matters worse, the doorbell rung at around 5pm, and a minute later you were already unboxing the basics cocktail set you ordered two days ago. it includes a 18- and 28-ounce shaker set, jigger that has a dual-side (ounce and two-ounce) pourers, strainer, muddler, and bar spoon.

to summarize what you’ve been doing with your life lately: you’re trying to explore the random things you’ve always been curious about, in hopes that they’ll help you find new hobbies and interests.

you thought about baking, but jungkook already does that, and quite frankly, you’re not at a place in your life where you have a high capacity for the patience it requires. mixing drinks, on the other hand, takes a relatively shorter time to do. and what makes it even more enticing is that you can take a shot whenever you mess up, as if you’re playing a drinking game.

there’s no better way to spend your sunday evening, right?

“baby, why the hell are all the alcohol outside of the cabinets?”

right… except you’re already intoxicated… and the world is spinning. you’re desperately yearning to hug jungkook, so he can make it stop, but you’re not even sure if he’s coming home or he’s staying over at his parent’s house for the night.

you react belatedly to the confused voice, lifting your head to squint at the man who grabbed a bottle of white wine from the cluttered countertop.

“hey, who are you? the bar is closed. put that down.”

he laughs lightheartedly when he realizes how drunk you’ve gotten. as he places it back down, the bottle clinks against the cold white stone. your heavy head collapses on top of your outstretched arm as he walks towards the opposite side of the dining table.

you open your eyes, one before the other, when you feel a presence hogging your space. a sheepish smile curves your lips as the beautiful face of your dear beloved greets you.

jungkook’s prescription glasses moves with his scrunched up nose as he grins at you playfully. “it’s the boyfriend you said you were missing.”

you reach out for him as soon as he finishes saying the sentence, silently asking to be embraced. slaves to your touch — his hands, which are resting on the sharp edge of the table and the top rail of your chair, eagerly slip down to encircle your waist.

you lazily lean your cheek on his shoulder, revelling in his welcoming body warmth. “why are you back early? aren’t you tired? you should’ve just rested at your house.”

“mhmm, i had to.” he hums, deep and raspy voice making his chest vibrate against yours. “we talked about marriage and all that jazz. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

with an airy huff, you pull away to glare up at him childishly. “i sure hope you’re not thinking about anybody else.”

he runs his tongue across his lips, unconsciously tugging at the silver lip ring with his teeth, but his loving smile stays. “you know that you’re the only one for me.”

“still! i like to hear it from you sometimes.” you giggle before taking a sip from a cold glass of cherry limeade, a refreshing treat you’ve been enjoying since before he arrived.

“vodka?”

“vodka.”

you swallow once more before handing him the glass, swaying your feet under the table as the delicious mixture of sweet and tart permeates your tongue.

“mhmm, wow!” he exclaims after taking a sip, tilting the glass a little bit to the side to look at the light red beverage with knitted eyebrows. “wait a minute- why is this so good?!”

you excitedly tug at the hem of his sweatshirt, begging for more pats on the head. “i had a lot of fun using the shaker.”

he lightly kicks out the chair to your right so he can take a seat, shrugging off the backpack full of clean clothes you packed for him last night incase he wanted to stay longer in busan.

“i did well with this one, right?”

he enthusiastically nods in response as he takes another gulp, chewing on the block of ice that also managed to slip inside his mouth. you melt into his affectionate touch when he cups your cheek with his delicate palm.

“maybe making drinks has been your specialty all along.”

you frown in disagreement. “i’m not sure. i made bloody mary before that one and i don’t know if i did something horribly wrong or it’s just supposed to taste that disgusting.”

amused laughter racks his body as he takes in the endearing sight of your genuinely downcast expression. you jut out your bottom lip in annoyance.

“it really tasted like poison! i got goosebumps!”

“shit, now i’m scared of you actually getting alcohol poisoning.” the back of your hand is rewarded with a sweet kiss by jungkook’s vodka-stained lips. the wide doe eyes behind his glasses meet yours curiously. “your hand smells like coffee.”

“oh- oh! the dalgona martini!” you rip your hand away from his to point at the martini glass standing at the very center of the dining table. “i just finished that. it should still be cold.”

he carefully slides the glass towards him to avoid spillage, fascinated lips forming a pout as he observes the thick portion of dalgona sitting on top of the mixed baileys and vodka. he didn’t even notice it at all because it’s almost the same color as the wood. has his vision gotten that bad?

“this looks yummy. you haven’t tried it yet?”

you shake your head, which you instantly regret because your vision blacks out momentarily. you swallow thickly as you attempt to blink away the shiny, swirly shapes dancing infront of your eyes.

“fuck, no. i already had classic martini, and mule. i’ll throw up.”

“jesus christ, baby. how many drinks did you try making?” jungkook finds himself so worried that he harshly takes off his glasses without reason, putting it aside on the table.

you giggle loudly at his reaction, using your folded arms as a pillow. “that’s all! i promise! besides, didn’t you drink with your friends, too?”

his face glows with uncontainable fondness at the mention of his friends.

“i was talking and laughing the whole time that i didn’t even finish half of my beer.”

your hazy eyes study his jovial and carefree features, and just like magic, they make your heart feel lighter inside your chest. heavens know that you wish for nothing more in the world than to see him this happy everyday.

“i’m so glad you had a great time, my love.”

“me too. i’ll tell you all about it when you’re sober and capable of memory retention.” he pokes fun at your drunken state as he picks up the glass of dalgona martini.

you roll your eyes before impatiently guiding the drink to his mouth. “just drink it already.”

“oing?” he blinks in disbelief, sipping on the glass again as if his tongue could’ve possibly fooled him the first time. ”i actually like this one more. i didn’t expect that.”

you abruptly perk up in your seat upon witnessing his candid review. “what? you’re joking!”

of course… you’re cursed. it had to be the one you hated making the most.

truth be told, you impulsively made the dalgona martini simply because it’s the only drink in the last online blog you found that you had the complete ingredients for.

you were obviously not prepared enough for this activity. but baileys, vodka, sugar, coffee, and water? yeah, any house would definitely have those.

then came your ridiculous dilemma: despite being intoxicated, you’re still terrified of using the electric whisker. and so, you had to do the whisking the hard way. to put it lightly, it was absolute hell. your arms and wrists are sore after shaking and whisking vigorously for the past three hours.

“it’s exactly what i needed after a long trip.” he moans. his shoulders spring up in delight as he licks off the foam around his lips, and you use your thumb to brush it away from the spots he missed.

jungkook grabs your hand before you could pull away, making you audibly gasp when he sucks at your thumb in his cold mouth. his insatiable tongue pokes the inside of his cheek after.

“uh- i think i tasted a hint of soap.”

“‘course you did. i just washed the dishes, you dummy.”

his pink lips part open as he processes your words, but he quickly brushes it off with a shrug. he noisily takes another sip from the glass.

“i can just clean it off my tongue with more martini.” he argues with a dimpled grin.

he grants you with a quick kiss, smudging the foam on his lips and transferring some of it to yours.

“ugh, you’re so sloppy!”

his laughter echoes in your home as he walks away. “i’m taking this with me to the bathtub!”

“don’t take an hour in there again.” you grumble out a complaint. “we need to watch alchemy of souls!”

—

“even if you decide to seal that door, i know how heartbreaking it will be for you, so it does not upset me so much.”

the flashback from four episodes ago confirms that it was foreshadowing this moment — park jin had sealed the door of jinyowon, a deep cave where relics are protected so they won’t unleash life-threatening dangers upon the world outside. lady jin and maidservant kim are stuck inside the collapsing sanctuary, holding back said relics from escaping… and the latter is none other than his wife-to-be.

jungkook anxiously bites the nails of his thumb and pinky finger, switching back and forth. the television screen reflects on the lens of his glasses as his eyes become shiny with tears.

“is this really the final episode? there’s no season three?”

“no, it ends tonight.” you reply in between embarrassing loud sobs, attention trained to the man mournfully calling out his lover’s name over and over again as he clutches her engagement ring to his chest.

the hot tears you fail to catch stream down to your temples, and then your boyfriend’s naked stomach. you’ve comfortably settled on the bed after finishing your nightly routines. your head is lying by the bottom of his ribcage, and that’s where the other edge of the cozy blanket enveloping the two of you rests. you grabbed a small portion of the cotton in a loose fist, and you’ve been keeping it close to wipe your tears with.

“oh my god, i can’t fucking do this. my head is being split open.”

you toss aside the remote control after pausing the episode, crawling to the nightstand to pop the painkiller in your mouth, which you prepared to be supposedly taken tomorrow morning. maybe you’ve sobered up a little, but the combination of the alcohol and the woeful crying have resulted to an agonizing migraine.

with his long and slender fingers, your boyfriend removes the hair that stuck to your tear-stained face before tenderly wiping your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“making my baby fucking cry, too. i need that son of a bitch jin mu to burn in hell.” he curses to release his pent-up anger from the past 29 episodes, referring to the main antagonist of the series. the harshness of his tone contrasts the gentle kiss that lingers at the corner of your lips.

after drinking water, you wipe away jungkook’s tears with tissue paper, gingerly dabbing at the sides of his nose as well. he has a very sensitive skin, and because tears do contain salt, they can cause slight irritation and stinging when he cries. it’s something he once quietly complained about in passing, but somehow, it stuck with you throughout the years.

“does it hurt a lot?” he worriedly caresses the back of your head.

you meekly nod in response.

“should we just watch the rest of it tomorrow then?”

“noooo.” you drag out the word, shifting on the bed to return to your previous position. “my pain is nothing to compared park jin’s pain. i must persevere.”

and just like that, your tired eyes begin to water again. jungkook chuckles, affectionately holding your face in his hands. he isn’t surprised to find your skin to be warmer than normal.

“aigoo, your eyes are so red. at least put your glasses back on.”

“fine.” you mumble in defeat as you pat around the mattress, looking for the glasses you haphazardly threw aside when your intense emotions started to take control over you.

his rosy cheeks rise like buns in an oven as he smiles. “i love it when we match.”

—

park jin stands before the greedy individuals who conspired to steal the foundation of jinyowon, the fire bird, which dries up the world when it is awakened. it will be used in a rain ritual to create another ice stone, a ball of energy similar to that of the sun or a star. and to point out the obvious, having it in your possession would mean becoming the most powerful being there is.

“evil always does what it wants without ever stopping. but why is it that virtue always needs to prove itself over and over again?”

“…yes. i do wish to save her. i would do anything to save her, even if it meant i would lose my sanity. but even so, i will stop you from getting what you want. not a single one of you has the right to laugh at me… and call me… a hypocrite.”

you feel jungkook shiver below you. he is immensely engrossed with the actor’s phenomenal performance, flawlessly depicting what ‘seething’ anger means. he puts his tattooed arm underneath his head to get a closer view of the subtitles. these have to be some of the best written lines he’s heard from this show so far, and he hopes to remember them by heart.

the two of you watched with bated breath when he starts fighting against several warriors, and then it happens… jin mu removes the barrier of the fire bird as a threat.

“oh, fuck you!” you kick your feet in annoyance.

park jin is forced to focus his energy on re-sealing the fire bird, leaving him vulnerable to the attacks of his merciless opponents.

“no, no, no.” jungkook chants under his breath, heart thundering with fear. “this can’t be happening.”

you know what is bound to happen. they did show three coffins at the end of episode nine. but denial denial denial is a stage of grief after all, and so, with a broken sob, you squeeze your eyes shut.

when your eyelids flutter open, a sword has already been driven through the center of his chest, and dark red blood uncontrollably spills from his mouth. jin mu spitefully pulls it out from behind before he weakly falls on the ground. jungkook stays quiet, it happens so fast but he feels suspended in time, while your horrified crying carries on.

you unwillingly remove your head from his chest before you can cry a river over his shirtless torso, opting to sit up beside him.

“bunch of cowards.” he couldn’t resist mocking as the group scrambles to leave the place before it completely burns down, jin mu taking re-sealed fire bird along with them.

park jin jolts awakes coughing up blood. he painfully forces himself to lie on his back, and the camera reveals that he’s been holding maidservant kim’s ring all along. with trembling hands, he puts the ring on himself. you cover your own mouth as you listen to his worn out sobs.

a look of love and admiration shines on his dull eyes, and you swear that he smiles softly, before his arms fall limp on the dusty ground.

is the moon watching? and the stars? have they ever witnessed something so gutwrenchingly tragic?

“he wore the ring on his pinky! and it didn’t even fit halfway!” your glasses is left abandoned beside you again as you finally allow yourself to weep freely.

seeing that you clearly need a break after that heartbreaking scene, jungkook pauses the episode.

“that’s so cute, but-” you hiccup. “this is so unfair. they were supposed to get married and have babies!”

“oh, baby. i know.” he coos softly, hugging your side and peppering your cheek with kisses. his own tears drip from his chin and he brushes them away with the back of his hand. “their souls will be together in after life though, don’t you think?”

you gradually grow quiet and calm at the thought he proposed, but- “i don’t think they can make babies there.”

“shit.” he chuckles as his forehead lands over your shoulder, glasses slightly sliding down his nosebridge. “you’re right.”

“this is too much. i can’t-” you blow your nose in sheets of tissue paper before throwing them in the bin you dragged next to the bed earlier. “it hurts so much. they just wanted a peaceful life together.”

the two of you grieve for the what if’s and what could’ve been’s. he can’t possibly think of anything more tragic than being forced in a position to choose between the love of your life and the humanity; only to end up perishing at the hands of the evil who made you do it.

and what did he have left? a lifetime’s worth of love to take with him to the grave, and whatever’s left of his pride and dignity? jungkook wouldn’t want any of those. he only wants you.

he lifts up his head, a small smile playing on his lips, swollen and cherry-colored from the nervous nibbles of his bunny teeth. “we’re crying like this and they’re not even the main characters.”

“need to sue the writers for emotional damages.” you groan, tense muscles slowly relaxing in your boyfriend’s embrace. “how many minutes left?”

“40 minutes.”

“i can’t even open my eyes anymore. sorry, babe. my head-”

it’s almost as if it’s been dunked underwater. the throbbing pain spreads numbing pressure from your temples to the back of your head.

“i told you we can finish it tomorrow. it’s fine.”

jungkook briefly leaves your side. the television screen turns black after he pulls out the plug. he throws away the crumpled tissue papers, and then he places your glasses on the safety of the nightstand.

“how cute… don’t fall asleep on me yet.” he fondly coos at your half-asleep figure. “you’re dehydrated. drink some water first.”

a straw pokes your lips. with your eyes shut closed, you hold onto his wrist to steady the tumbler as you take a long sip. by the time you let go, the water has reached the line indicating that there’s only three quarters of it left.

you softly fall back on your pillow with a ‘thump’, turning your back on him to face his empty side of the bed. he also drinks his share of the water before filling in the blank beside you.

he hums in acknowledgement when you pull at his arm to make it your personal pillow, leaving his own glasses on the nightstand as well before facing you.

you give him a small hazy smile, threading your fingers through his soft and luscious hair. “love your pretty and healthy hair.”

“i love you.” he whispers like a confession as he strokes the back of your head. “close your eyes now.”

“i love you, too.” with a peaceful sigh, you nuzzle your face against his chest. “jungkook?”

“hmmm?”

“were you happy today?”

a lump grows in his throat, bigger than the one he felt when he was browsing through engagement rings online. emerald cut, cushion cut, round cut. sapphire, ruby, diamond. size 4, 4.5, 5, 5.5, 6, 6.5… he was hanging on the thin line that separated excitement and anxiety. the two-hour train ride passed by like a radio song he didn’t pay attention to. but you don’t need to know about that. not right now.

he swallows it down, embracing you tighter. “i still am… happy. if i delete those scenes from my memory.”

“me too.” you mumble before succumbing to the void of darkness beneath your heavy eyelids.

—

between the alcohol and the coffee that he simultaneously drank, it looks like the latter won the upper hand. more than twenty minutes later, jungkook is still wide awake, overcome by his clamorous thoughts. the conversations he had with his friends echo in his mind, and he paces back and forth between your shared past and future. the future… there is no future if there is no you.

he closes his eyes, instructing himself to focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest instead of the things he cannot control.

he kisses the top of your head. “i love you so much.”

however, he won’t be able to sleep peacefully until he learns what happens next. he needs the closure because he would truly despise having a bad dream about them. after all, they didn’t show maidservant kim dying. there is a glowing firefly of hope he’s been enchanted to follow into the abyss of the night.

with careful movements, he wears his glasses and his wireless earbuds. he holds his phone using the arm you’re lying on, while his hand under the blanket absentmindedly rubs your back, palm smoothly running up and down the expanse of your skin.

his jaw slacks open only three minutes after he picked up where you left off. jang uk, the male lead of the show, reveals to those grieving infront of the three empty coffins that their loved ones did not pass away.

the following scene unveils park jin, alive yet unconscious on a bed, and maidservant kim who is holding his ring-clad hand, weeping for the traumatic night the two of them suffered.

jungkook chuckles in great relief, blinking away the tears from his glassy eyes.

“fuck, they’re alive.”

—

“fuck, they’re alive!” you almost choke on the haejangguk, a hangover soup, that you started to heartily eat not even two minutes ago. “i almost died crying last night and it turns out that they lied to me?!”

jungkook chooses to feign ignorance. he innocently watches the screen with his wide doe eyes, bunny teeth biting at the rim of his glass of white milk.

“wow, i’m speechless.“ he squeaks out. “how did they even get rescued?”

—

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#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

[sjyfave]

see you again.

pairings: alpha friend! jay x omega! female reader

genre: smut!

wc: 6.5k

warnings: alpha/beta/omega dynamics, implied pantry sniffing/tasting, spanking, biting, light blood, light spanking, oral (male and female receiving), bite marking, unsafe sex

this is the longest fic i’ve ever written omg?

it had been weeks since you felt this much abdominal pain, hunching over in your bathroom. you squinted at your bathroom counters, trying to recount the last time your heat showed up.

you didn’t have a mate, nor did you want one. having an inner omega wolf had enough of a stigma as is, and the moment you learnt you were one during your puberty ceremony at twelve, it had been a wrap for your self esteem.

ever since you found out, you’ve found most alpha men and women to be very overbearing with their personalities. they walked with their heads high and rightfully so, as they were treated the best in wolf hybrid hierarchy.

omegas were seen as the primary baby makers, omega men being the main targets for abuse though their abilities mirrored any other alpha or beta man.

you picked up your cellphone, swiping upwards on the screen for your keypad. you quickly punched in your password, swiping aimlessly to find your health app. another sharp pain runs through your stomach again, causing you to crouch fully, wind knocked out of your lungs.

“i swear to everyone i love—if this is my heat i’m jumping out of my fucking window.” you threatened out loud, your thumb hovering over the app. you pressed it with your eyes closed, taking a quick peak at the top of your screen for updates.

cycle tracking: your heat is expected to start in the next two days.

“fuck!” you yelled, dropping your phone to the ground as you held onto the counter for balance. “that fuckin alpha comes over today for this stupid shit we have to do for work.” you talk to yourself, trying to come up with a game plan.

you had a big set of files you needed to put together with your coworker, park jongseong. it was due the following monday, and time had been ticking for a while, but you didn’t care enough to work on it sooner.

jongseong—also known as jay—didn’t care enough to message you about it either.

that was, until this friday afternoon. hence why you’re up this early—though it wasn’t early at all—trying to figure out why your stomach was paining you this bad.

you didn’t truly know if jay was an alpha himself or not, but you had an inkling in the way he spoke to you.

anyone could be assertive, but alphas always found their way around words better than betas and omegas did.

while betas were seen as being very easy to read emotionally, they were pretty secluded. this trait had them usually confused with alphas, until someone smelt their scent.

omegas on the other hand were built to be open books. books that alphas could easily read and dissect without saying a word.

and that jay was; the reader of your book.

you and your other omega friends would vomit out information like it was nobodies business in the presence of alphas, and you found yourself digging your own grave a few times with jay. he was kind, always listening attentively without judgement. regardless, the moment he would move out of earshot, you’d beat yourself up about it, wondering why you had to tell him in utter detail about how terrible your last heat was.

and now he had to step into your small, one person apartment. not only step in, but also sit in, his sexy scent sticking to any and all furniture he touches.

you fall down to sit on your bum, weakness in your legs. “i’m so screwed.” you commented one last time, your phone pinging with a new text message.

you picked up the phone, your vision a little slower than usual, your heat coming in fast.

park jongseong:

hey

just reminding you i come over at 1pm

and im driving rn so don’t cancel cuz theres no chance

‘i’ve never been more screwed in my fucking life’ you think, huffing out once with an eye roll. ‘what time is it?’ you ask in your head, glancing up at the time on your lockscreen,

12:49

‘fuck!’ you exclaim, shooting up to stand, your left leg pulling you onto your right knee as you stood up as fast as you could. you almost pass out at the sudden movement, closing your eyes to catch balance.

your mouth was dry beyond belief, and your hands were clammy. once you opened your eyes, it was almost as if everything had a bokeh effect, only coming into frame seconds after each blink.

you were sick as hell. and now one of the most observant people you knew was gonna step into your house.

you picked your phone up to unlock it, using it as a clock as you set it on the bathroom counter again, closest to the shower, open to the clock app.

not only was jay observant, but you gave him all the information he needed for him to be observant.

you decided the best first course of action would be to take a quick shower, stripping your clothes off from the torso down. you ripped your t-shirt off, the fabric slightly sticking to you from the sweat on your back. you pulled your shorts down, stepping out of them with your right then left leg. you paused looking at your waist, dreading pulling your underwear down.

you knew they’d be covered in slick, but you hooked your thumbs in at the hips, pulling them down.

of course—as expected—they’re soaked.

your panties are lined with lightly viscous coating, shiny with a soft hint of your omega pheromones.

each wolf had their own natural scents, resembling different natural flowers. you smelt of lillies—the most popular scents to carry being either peony or lavender.

you never cared if you smelt better than the next omega anyways, because you always swore you’d never mate.

you firmly believed dildos were more than enough, and bumping clits with another wolf, whether alpha or omega was a lot more fun to you mentally.

maybe you said that to feel better about the fact that you were the only one in your friend group without one, but who could really tell?

you reached into your glass wall shower, pulling the door towards you with your left; your right hand reaching for the shower handle. you put the handle up and to the left for hot water, pulling away to pull your hair together to shove it into a shower cap, waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in.

you were terrible with time management, hence why jay was coming over to you instead of you meeting him.

you looked at your phone quickly, realizing how late it really was, so you quickly hurried, jumping in.

you washed as much slick off your inner thighs and out of your vagina as possible. ‘do i have liners?’ you questioned, remembering the low count you mentioned to yourself the last heat you had.

you kept washing your body regardless, chanting the word ‘liner’ in your head as a reminder, turning your back to the shower water, sighing at the feeling.

• • •

you hopped out of the shower the moment your stoped the water, feeling slick lightly ooze out of you relentlessly. you ripped open your cabinets with your wet right hand, left hand holding your towel around your body.

there’s one box, but it’s empty.

“what is my luck today?” you yelled, near tears. you usually kept empty boxes of important products on your kitchen counter or bedside table to remind you to buy more, but it obviously slipped you the last time.

you tapped your phone screen with a wet hand, noticing your phone still had some setting to auto lock after a few minutes.

1:06

you slammed your cabinet as you ran out of your bathroom, rushing to your dresser. you took out your favourite double lined underwear, and some baggy sweatpants. you dried yourself off quickly before running back to the bathroom to wipe up some excess slick with tissue paper before putting your underwear on. you ran back to your dresser, towel on floor as you picked out a sports bra and t-shirt—your stomach ache switching to your boobs.

you reached up to deal with your hair to feel your shower cap, ripping it off as you threw it down with your towel. you grabbed your bra to pull it on, hissing lightly at how hard your nipples were once the fabric hit them.

you then reached for your top to pull it up and over your head, pushing your arms through the short sleeves quickly. you heard a knock on your door, side eyeing your room door to your left. ‘no way that’s him.’ your inner dialog notes, picking up your towel and shower cap before you heard another ding on your phone.

you walked back to your bathroom, throwing your towel up and dropping your shower cap in the sink. you eyed your mess of clothes on the ground but grabbed your phone instead,

park jongseong:

bro open the dooorrrrr

please it’s cold and scary out here

pleak 🙏🏻

you couldn’t help but smile at his texts, always managing to make you laugh; even if it’s only a little. you texted back, holding the last message down as it opened to send a message, “cominggg!”.

you walked out of your bathroom, looking for your laptop as you left your room, heading for the door down your little hallway and to the right. you unlocked the door with your left hand before yanking it open.

his scent hit you like a ton of bricks. your eyes did the same blur effect from before, eyes hot as you scanned the room in embarrassed panic. your knees buckle lightly as you almost close the door on him, his left hand coming up to stop it.

“y/n?” he asks, forcing you to mask, standing up straight with a light shake of your head. “sorry, i’m just tired… come in.” you answer, stepping back as you let him in. jay ignores the obvious discomfort in your face before stepping in, workbag in his left hand. you push the door in before locking it, your right hand checking if it’s actually locked out of habit with a quick jerk to the doorknob.

he’s dressed in business casual, a well fitting black t-shirt with black slacks. his shoes are leather, designer sunglasses sitting mid nose bridge. his bangs are a little long, his haircut weeks old. your eyes practically swallow him whole, biting your bottom lip lightly. ‘was his ass always that tight?’ you ask as he kicks off his shoes to stand in his matching black socks.

he’s speaking to you—and you’d hear it if you could listen over your heartbeat.

he walks throughout your apartment, walking straight across the front door to sit at your couch. it shares a wall with your bathroom, across from your wifi tv. he plops down, legs spread as he rambles on, his right hand expressing everything as his other hand places his bag down on the small coffee table in front of him. he takes off his sunglasses, of course bringing the case for them with him in his bag.

you finally snap out of your dazed state, blinking twice. you’re confused, looking up to see jays eyeing the way you don’t respond.

“y/n?” he asks, his brows frowned. “yup!” you answer, looking around quickly before walking to your right from the front door to lean on the kitchen counter. you watch the way jay looks at his wrist watch on his left arm momentarily; ‘god he’s sexy’ you thought to yourself, watching the way he now scowls lightly as he looks back at you, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.

“did you listen to anything i just said?” he asks, his tone harsh.

“yes! i was actually. what’s the issue?” you lie, attitude strong and defensive in response.

“i’d love to hear you recite to me everything i just said. give me a recap.” he rebuttals, facing you completely as he sits back, his right arm up on the back of the couch, arm touching the wall.

‘did he always have this gorgeous tan?’

you look around aimlessly, trying to see if you caught anything he had mentioned beforehand.

all you can remember is mentioning how he had a tight ass.

fuck.

“okay i didn’t, i’m sorry.” you admit defeat, jay rolling his eyes to the left as he looks away, facing the tv. his head slowly turns back to you as he looks you up and down lightly.

“if i’m honest, we’re already screwed for monday, but more specifically, you’re screwed.” he threatens, pulling his arm off the couch to reach into his bag to grab his macbook. “mr. de luca already doesn’t have you in his best graces.” he continues, opening his laptop as he pushes his case over.

“but i agreed to do this with you because i know you’re so good at everything you do, besides your time management.”

oh how sweet. you roll your eyes.

he leans on his knees again, putting himself in the same position he had before he chastised you for not listening. “so come sit down.” he finishes, his hands hanging between his legs as his elbows point outward. you move to walk over, but your upper inner thigh rubs against you underwear causing you to pause.

you’re soaked.

jay scolding you like you don’t have any common sense was enough for you to almost scream for him biologically, eyes shifting around as you tried to make up an excuse. “let me use the washroom first.” you answered, but jay stands at that, annoyed.

“you just came out of the shower, it’s been three minutes how could you possibly need to pee.” he interjects. your eyebrows frown at him, annoyed. “how do you—how the hell do you know if i need to pee or not, the fuck?” you jab, jay looking down momentarily.

“you’re right, i don’t know. but i’m not here forever and i have to leave at two. it’s now—“ he looks at his watch. “—one fourteen and we haven’t even tried to get into anything. i also admit, i was a little late,” he motions to himself with both hands “—but i can’t control traffic.” he ends, so you hope and pray he doesn’t smell you as you start to walk over.

“okay fine.” you mutter, jay sitting back down on the couch. you didn’t notice where he was sitting while looking from afar, but as you get closer you notice just how smack in the middle he is on the couch.

‘of course he’s gonna force me to squeeze beside him.’

you come closer regardless, plopping down beside him. his right knee is so close to your left with his positioning, legs are spread unnecessarily. annoyance paints your body language at first, but you calmly cross your left leg over your right for your own security.

you wondered if he could smell you, but you thought nothing of it.

you two start going over the plan for your spreadsheets, jay pulling up multiple tabs with information for you to print or jot down. every word that comes out of his mouth excite you for some reason, his smile sweet with each ending sentence or phrase. he smells amazing, his own natural scent like geranium flowers. his cologne isn’t bad either, complimenting his natural scent further.

• • •

after finishing about five rows of filing, jay slowly stands up, causing you to look up at him. “where’s your bathroom?” he asks, and you almost laugh at the comment. “oh but when i say i wanna use it, i can’t go?” you question, jay laughing.

“you’re an hour away from me drive wise!” he exclaims and you clap once in a laugh before pointing behind you. “it’s in my room.” you answer as he steps around the coffee table to avoid stepping over you.

he heads down your hall to your back right as you sat back in the couch, waiting. you could hear his footsteps, leaving you to wonder where your phone is while you wait. you look around a little aimlessly before looking to see if it’s on on your counter.

you can’t bother to get up and search for it, so you decide to sit on the couch waiting.

‘hopefully he doesn’t take too long—‘

your clothes.

you audibly gasped, shooting up in your seat. your head pounds at the sudden movement, body still relatively weak. you’re paralyzed with fear for a second, heart racing.

you can’t remember if you picked your clothes up off the floor or not.

you get up, turning to walk to your room. your left hand slaps on your bedroom door as you notice the bathroom light on, door still open.

‘there’s no way they’re off the ground if he’s still standing there.’

you could vomit the way you felt, stepping towards the door to see jay bent over your bathroom counter, breathing laboured.

“hey jay-“ “it’s fine.” he speaks in between clenched teeth, your eyes catching the way your clothes lay in the ground, the crotch of your panties face up.

they’re even glistening, to your disbelief.

you never noticed it before, but your aroma fills the room, heavy in the steamy air.

you practically hot-boxed your hot box smell everywhere. “i should’ve cleaned up.” you comment, hoping he wouldn’t speak on the scent and just ignore it.

but ignoring it was the last thing in jays head. he felt guilty for yelling at you earlier, shame written in his features. but he also felt guilty for how unbelievably hard he was, hoping you wouldn’t see it yourself.

his eyes were darker in colour, a slight shift in his mannerisms. he stood tall, avoiding eye contact with you.

his eyes were locked in his own reflection as he watched his features, clenching his jaw.

“i’m good…. we’re good.” he answered coldly, stepping towards you. you stepped back instinctively, letting him brush past you, your eyes almost prickling with tears as his back faced you. you went to touch his left arm to apologize, but he whips it away from you, turning to face you instead.

“please…don’t touch me.” he commented, his eyes harsh. “so you’re mad at me again?” you asked, your inner omega pained.

“no, i’m not. i’m just protecting the both of us.” he answered, your left hand pulling back momentarily.

“protecting the both of us from what?” you ask, accusatory. you step forward enough to touch his upper arm with your index finger, testing. “y/n, please.” he comments, his eyes closed in annoyance at your advances. his right hand comes up to grab your wrist, lighting tossing your hand off him.

“what are you gonna do? are you threatening me?” you ask, feeling overly sensitive about him acting so weird about your clothes. your face is stern, and he can practically taste the anger in your words.

“you think i’m threatening you?” he asks, pained slightly as his eyes reopen.

the colour of his irises are a deeper brown than you’d ever seen them as he turns towards you. “then what’s your issue with me?” you inquire, looking between both eyes for a sign of something other than anger.

“i’m still an alpha, y/n.” he answers, your tense facial expressions falling. your eyes scan his face and upper body, the heat radiating off his frame. “i could smell you the moment i stepped inside your house.” he concludes to your dismay.

“yet you still snapped at me.” you reply, jays left hands palm and fingers coming up to rub at his eyes. “i know. that’s why i feel so bad.” he answers, letting your wrist go as he rubs his face with both hands.

“what are you thinking so hard about?”, you ask, trying to access the situation.

“all of this.” he answers as time stands still, his hands dropping from his face.

“what about this?” you ask, pushing the envelope a little.

“okay, we’re not doing this.” he denies your advance, stepping back. you reach out for him regardless, your right hand tangled in his left shirt sleeve. you proceed yank him back, against your better judgement.

his chest hits yours temporarily, your mouth parting as you almost moan at the contact. “just answer my question.” you loop around, your hand letting his shirt go.

“the smell on your clothes was a lot,” he starts looking up in defeat as his right hands middle finger and thumb wipe his lips corners as he thinks of something to say.

strangely enough, you catch a whiff of yourself on his fingers as he drops his hand again, confusing you.

you look down at his hand briefly before looking back up as you step backwards, slowly turning for the bathroom.

he notices your suspicions, his left hand reaching out for you quickly as he grabs your upper right arm.

the eye contact between you too is strong as you rebound towards him at the force, your eyes scanning his body language.

you catch how unnecessarily tight his dress pants are, the way his breaths are calculated and timed.

“what’s wrong?” you playfully ask, a smirk creeping up your face. “i was just going to clean the bathroom up so you could use it.” you blatantly lie, waiting to see if he’d argue.

“stop with the bullshit, y/n.” there it is; his façade falls.

“what bullshit?” you play, fake confusion in your face.

“enough, y/n. please.”

“did you smell it?” you snap, your head twitching to the left lightly as you say it.

you watch how jays face turns from embarrassment to horror, stumbling over his words.

“n-no but i picked them up, yes—“ you can’t help but smirk in shock, lips parted.

“did you taste it?”

“..no.” he’s too slow to answer, and the way he says it is too unnatural.

“don’t believe you. can i smell your breath?” you ask, regardless of the fact that whatever he did do with those panties wouldn’t be enough for you to smell; especially past where he had previously touched his face.

he doesn’t answer.

“fuck that’s so hot.” you moan in response as your eyelids flutter a bit, nearly stumbling. jays right hand reaches out for your neck before he pulls you in, kissing you with such force you’re surprised your teeth didn’t hit his. your hands come up to hold his right forearm and waist, his right hand hooking around the side of your face cupping around your ear.

his left moves to grab the nape of your neck, holding you firmly in the kiss as you moan at the sudden affection. as the kiss deepens he lets you lead it, fire coursing through your veins as you clench around nothing.

“you wanna taste more?” you playfully ask, your eyes opening as he pulls away.

“if you’d let me.” he politely responds, his eyes shifting back-and-forth between yours.

your eyes gloss over at the comment, pulling away to walk towards your bed to the right. jay walks over slowly, his right hand undoing his wristwatch. you sit up on the bed, looking up at him slightly, your legs on either side of his as he stands so close in front of you.

he places the watch down with his left hand—his right hand pointing behind you. he says nothing, but you scoot to the middle of the bed regardless, your eyes eating him up. he starts to unbutton his pants, looking you in your eyes.

you have the most energy you’ve felt thus far, grabbing the waist of your pants to match his speed. you yank them down and off, throwing them to the left when you realize just how wet you really are.

you upper inner thighs glisten, your panties so wet they practically glisten as well.

jay catches wind of how wet you are with a groan, his pants unbuttoned, still sitting at his waist. he kneels on the bed before walking over a bit, close to your legs. his right hand pushes your right thigh before tapping your left—your legs part for him. that same floral scent from before hitting you harder than it ever had this afternoon, almost catching you off guard.

his right hand lightly trails up your left thigh, the sensation causing your legs to twitch. once his hand reaches your panties, he presses down once, some of the wetness seeping through the fabric onto his fingers.

he moans out loud at this, his index and middle finger lightly pulling the left side of your panties over, exposing you.

“wow..” he comments to himself, his thumb lightly pushing your left labia over, then your right.

his middle finger holds your panties out of the way, pushing you to momentarily think about how loose they’re gonna be on your left leg after this.

“take these off.” he lightly orders as he pulls his hand away—and you do, carefully pulling your legs together as you scoot up momentarily to do so.

you pull them down both legs with your right hand, the fabric tangling with itself until they’re off your legs. you hold them hooked into your right hands middle finger, you looking at him to spread your legs again.

“wanna keep these?” you ask and jay doesn’t hesitate to grab them from you with his left, putting the crotch of the panty between his teeth as he moves to stand. you moan at the imagery, watching as he pulls his dick out of his pants and grey calvin klein underwear. he’s not too long, but he’s thick, sporting a small bush of hair. he drops his pants to the floor, his briefs following as you stares between your legs as motivation.

he moves back up, both articles of clothing falling off his right, then left left ankle. he settles back on the bed, his left hand reaching towards you.

“get up.” he orders as he takes the panties out of his mouth, dropping them beside his briefs. you shift on the bed slightly, sitting down momentarily. jay pulls at his own top, ripping it up and over his head as you fight to do the same, leaving your bra.

you watch as jay falls on your bed, taking your previous spot. jay beckons you to hover over his head as he lays flat on your comforter, eyes heavy.

knee walking to jays torso, you almost hold your breath, his eyes watching as you slowly position yourself near his face, clenching.

the moment you swing your leg over jays shoulder, he moves down just enough to help you position better, his hands reaching around both your thighs to pull you down.

his tongue boldly swipes up between your folds to your clit before circling it. his lips purse a bit around the bud, sucking lightly. “oh my god!” you scream, your hands falling forward, over his head. he hums on your clit in reaction, opening his mouth wider to suck a wider area.

he doesn’t miss a beat or a drop, his tongue chasing and swiping up every new slip of arousal from between your lips.

it’s euphoric. he practically makes out your clit, your mouth hanging open as your eyes close. you start to lightly rock against his lips and tongue and he lets you—encourages you to—using his hands to urge you forward again every time you moved back.

“oh, jay..” you moan out loud, only imagining how heavy and hot his cock probably is behind you. against your better judgement, you pull off immediately, jays lips still pursed. “what?” he asks, watching as you lift your left leg up. you don’t answer his question, his hands falling on the bed out away from his sides as he watches you, lips and chin shiny.

when you turn your direction to face his feet, he immediately gets it, slapping your right thigh, telling you to hurry.

you do, your right leg hooking over as you’re face to face with his dick, just as heavy as you imagined.

you don’t know where to start at first, but jay simply resumes what he was doing before, now holding your lower back to push you down onto his tongue.

he sucks on your clit in intervals, changing the vibration constantly. you almost gag at how good it feels, saliva pooling in your mouth as you stare longingly at his dick and upper thighs. your right hand comes up to hold it, simply grabbing it at the base.

he moans against you, his left hand slapping your ass once to encourage you as his arms curl up and around your thighs.

you lightly rock on his face in return, getting off on the way his lips and tongue rub against your clit. you lean down further, ass in the air more as you slowly let the drool dribble out of your mouth, dripping on and around jays tip. jays dick twitches at the feeling, and you can’t help but clench at the sight.

“i could lay here for hours.” jay whispers momentarily behind you to himself, his fingers digging into your skin.

“i wish you could.” you respond back softly as he resumes, tensing his tongue as he moves his chin up and down, his tongue swiping between your folds. your right hand collects your saliva as it moves elsewhere before pumping him fully one time, playing close attention to his tip.

“fuck.” he whispers silently, the soft heat of his breath fanning your wet, sensitive skin. you lean down to wrap your lips around his tip before sinking halfway down, your right hand meeting you in the middle. you swivel your hand side to side while stroking the base of jays cock, your lips bobbing up and down at a slow, steady pace. jay thrusts once before twitching, his lips unhooking from their constant abuse against your clit.

it’s all fine to you, continuing to suck him off.

he smells good everywhere, hilariously including his balls. he’s clean from head to toe, the only smell radiating off of him being his own natural alpha scent—the reason why you were drooling so much.

you continue to bob your head, saliva practically pouring out of your mouth at the salty taste of his precum. you bite your bottom lip the moment you pull off with a pop, stroking him up and down with a strong fist. jays sucking against your clit is relentless, so you pull forward, enough for him to not push you back down.

the head was fun, but you needed more to be truly sedated.

“you gotta fuck me. like, now.” you spit, shame out the window. you crawl down before lifting your right leg up and over him again. jay sits up a bit, his elbows holding him up. you finally reach for your sports bra, pulling it over your left shoulder before quickly ripping it off. it comically flings off in the distance with the force you use, and jay huffs a laugh out at the way you don’t bother to look for it.

you climb back up his body, this time hovering over his lower thighs before crawling up a bit more. your left hand comes up to jays stomach, holding him still as you cowered over his erection. it lays heavy on jays pelvis, jays legs bending slightly to plant his heels into the bed. he reaches up with his right hand to lazily grab one of your pillows before stuffing it behind his head, patient.

he watches how you lightly grab his dick with your thumb, index and middle finger. you breathe in and out to cool your racing heartbeat before lining him up, his tip lightly brushing up and down your entrance and clit as you selfishly rub yourself up against his tip—claiming him in omega terms.

he lets you, his hands coming up to lightly rub up and down your thighs as he bites a little of his bottom lip. initially, you put just his tip in, bringing your hands away so you can could lay them on jays chest.

in one swift move, you plop down on, your thighs clenching in anticipation.

he knocks the wind out of you, immediately evoking tears at how good and full you feel.

jays immediately worried, grabbing your hips to stop you as you cry out.

“no—stop—please.” you beg, hands scrambling to get him to stop pulling you upwards. “it’s so good, please.” you confess, his eyes watching between your legs.

you couldn’t be lying, the way you rain down on his length, your scent flooding the room.

he’s astonished, smirking slightly as he watches you bounce slowly, your body—especially your boobs—shaking with your movements.

each snap of your ass against jays thighs clap within the four walls of your room, jays left hand finding your right hand in the heat of the moment. he interlocks his fingers with yours, his right hand coming up to reach for your your neck.

you lean forward for him, your left hand holding you upwards on his upper stomach. he lightly squeezes either side of your neck, slowing blood flow as he watches you shiver incessantly.

he lets you continue riding, watching your face for discomfort. he pulls his hand away from your grip, using his left elbow to hold his body weight up. the moment you get a little too weak to continue bouncing, jay lets your neck go, a loud moan falling from your lips.

his heels dug into your bed, hands grabbing your hips harshly as he moving you with him. he thrusts up as he brings you down onto his length, your mouth hanging open with each meet.

he grits his teeth like before, his eyes piercing into your skull as he watches your head hang and bounce. his stamina is amazing—partially because of his wolf type—but also because of his own fitness routine.

he’s relentless, his face mirroring yours as he gets closer. “fuck, y/n look at me.” he orders, his eyes waiting. his eyes lightly glow gold as he keeps thrusting, and your inner omega nearly howling at the attention.

“i should—mark you too—shouldn’t i.” he comments between thrusts, his eyes on you.

“maybe.” you tease, smiling at the way jay looks away in annoyance, focusing on thrusting.

“okay—yes. you should.” you correct yourself, watching how his eyes snap back to you.

“i don’t think i’ll ever—get dick—this good—from anyone else.” you admit, the tension in the room thick.

he takes this as a green light, sitting up fully to drop you down on the bed between his legs. he slips out of you momentarily as he scoots back, pulling his legs out from beside you.

without missing another beat, he grabs himself with his right hand as he kneels before you, lining himself up between your sprawled out legs. he looks down at you with a smile before pushing in, bringing his right hand up to lightly suck at the tips of his fingers, thrusting slowly.

you’re enamoured with the way he insists on tasting every bit of you, his left hand snaking up to wrap around your neck again. he squeezes the sides of your neck again like before, leaning over you. your head sits still in his grasp, mouth hanging open slightly with each thrust.

your mouth hangs when jays right hand sits right against the fat of your pussy, his thumb rubbing your bud side to side. he bites his lip as he watches your response, his brows frowning.

as time passes, the lack of blood to your head has you dizzy like earlier today.

he’s so close, and so are you.

“want me to bite you, baby?” jay asks, his eyes still lightly glowing.

“yes!” you moan out loud, eyes almost crossed as they lay closed with the constant stimulation.

“you wanna have everyone smelling me on your body as you walk through the office? have everyone know i claimed you?” he continues, working himself up. you can only whine and pant, your hands slowly reaching out for him.

he takes both his hands away from their tasks, collecting both your hands in his right hand, holding them to your chest. he lets out a soft ‘ah’, his left hands thumb repositioning itself on your clit.

he rubs harsher than before, and you can’t help but thrash around. you can feel the buildup in your chest, but you can’t get there until he finally sinks his canines into your skin, no matter the location. “please.” you beg, waiting for the sign.

a loud moan pours from jays lips as he falls forward, both his hands resting above your head, setting your hands free. you snake your hands up his back, encouraging him to lean in closer.

he takes you by surprise, pushing his lips into yours for another passionate kiss, his hands holding your head still.

suddenly, while pulling away, he harshly bites down into the upper inside of your bottom lip. his thrusts transform into a persistent grind.

the pain is unbearable, a soft cry leaving your lips as tears stream down your face. it’s very unconventional as a marking spot, but it triggers your orgasm regardless.

a long moan leaves your lips for the final time, your bottom teeth blood stained as your back slowly arches upwards.

jay pulls his teeth out of your lip as you do so, grinding against you. blood lightly lines his inner lips as he shutters above you, spurts of cum warmly seeping inside of you.

the taste in your mouth is metallic, but it doesn’t bleed past the initial pierce of jays teeth. a light amount of blood sits in each small piercing, quickly healing. jay licks his lips at once, cleaning the rest of your blood as you slowly come to your senses, blinking away tears.

he’s immediately apologetic.

“i’m so sorry, i don’t know why i bit you there—or at all.” he answers, the guilt sinking in. your head is a little cloudy still, but you’re a lot better off than you were before, smiling.

“that was probably the best thing you did today.” you answer, your hands coming up to cup the sides of his face. he still sits inside of you, his body and erection cooling down.

“how do you feel about marking me?” you ask, your eyes searching his. “fantastic. i really do like you, y/n.” he confesses, the corners of your mouth curling into a soft smile.

“i meant it when i said i saw something more in you.” he finishes, leaning down to kiss you softly, your eyes closing. you two lazily kiss one another, your bodies hot and sticky. he pulls away from you to kiss your bottom lip apologetically, smiling.

“fuck, what time is it?” jay asks, pulling his face away to aimlessly look around your room for a clock. when he doesn’t spot one, he sits back, pulling himself out of you slowly.

you moan at the retraction, sitting up in the bed as you felt his and your cum slowly seep out of you. his right hand reaches back for his watch as he knee walks over. squinting at the roman numbers,

2:58

he chuckles to himself, throwing his watch back on the bedside table before climbing off your bed to stand. he holds his right hand out to you, watching as you cup your pussy with your right hand to shimmy and slide off the bed. “why’re you doing that?” he asks, and you look at him through squinted eyes.

“i’m not leaving all this cum on my bed.” you answer, jay laughing once as he pulls you upright, wrapping your arms around his neck with both his hands.

“then lets get you back in the shower, hm?” he asks, his arms curling around your sides. he plants a kiss near your left temple before letting you move your face again, planting a kiss on the bridge of your nose.

© SJYFAVE ON TUMBLR

#enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hyung line #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #park jongseong #enha fanfic #enha smut #enha x reader #enha scenarios #enha ambw #enha imagines #enha jay #enhypen jay hard hours #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jay smut #enha #jay x reader #jay smut #jay fanfic #jay park

[dark-fics-4-you]

In crocodile tears, would coryo pretend to be some hero or something when he gets reader some medical help or like calls for help for her because I know reader would have to go get some medical help for her injuries, like would he say he found her like that and just stays by her side and quietly whisper to her that he can and will get away with his crime and will do much worse to keep his goodboy™️ image up

Or would he just leave her there to let her think about what he said and what he's done and like kinda talks to someone else about his victory and then they walk back towards reader and find her all fucked out and traumatized and coryo just acts all surprised and asks the other person to go get help while he 'takes care' of her before like the authorities or like the ambulance and tells her to stay silent and to just play along so that he could find some way to fix his mess

And if he does find some way to frame someone else for what he did to reader, would reader's parents thank him over and over again and like pressure reader to invite him over or something (y'know just so that coryo can see how similarly they grew up or something, also how furious would he be if he found out that maybe reader is actually just 'better' than him)

Sorry this was kinda long and scrambled up but I've been thinking about crocodile tears all day and I'm geeking out over your fics omg 😭

Please don’t apologize for how long it is, I loooove detailed asks <333

Crocodile Tears drabble

cw: noncon oral m!recieving, noncon kissing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical abuse

I think Coriolanus would 100% try to play himself off as the hero. This is the same night that his mentee won the Hunger Games. Everyone is already celebrating him, and then he reports that he not only found Reader, but that he helped ward off her attacker??? He would eat that attention right the fuck up.

Of course before this happened he would set the record straight with you, maybe he’d do it while he was pushing his cock deep into the back of your throat. “You’re not going to- fuck- you’re not going to tell anyone that this happened, do you understand?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes as his hand wrapped around your throat, urging you to slide your lips up and down his length faster. He couldn’t contain his groans as he watched the saliva drip down the corners of your mouth as you sloppily took all of his cock.

His voice was breathy, and his eyes were fixed on watching you. A far cry from the classmate he had admired many times before tonight, now you looked a mess, lips puffy and eyes red and tear filled. Coriolanus loved how pathetic you looked now. He wondered if you would ever dare to talk back to him again.

“If you ever tell anyone about tonight or about what happened during the Games, I swear to god Y/N, I will fuck you so hard that you’ll be begging me to treat you as nice as I did tonight,” he sneered at you and your stomach turned at his threat.

For a moment, Coriolanus really wanted to cum all over your face. He imagined forcing you to leave the building with his sticky seed dripping down your face and tits, he wanted you to feel humiliated as you walked past all of your classmates.

He knew that the rumors would spread like wildfire, your reputation would be ruined. On top of your friends either witnessing it firsthand, all of your professors would find out no doubt.

However, much more appealing was the idea of Coriolanus coming to your aid, of him saving you from an unknown attacker. If the entire Academy already thought he was a victor, why stop now?

After he came down your throat and forced you to swallow it all, you were surprised when he hurriedly pulled your clothes back on to your limp body, before dressing himself as well.

You were still too dazed to protest when he pulled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking towards the party.

You felt so out of it, and your memory after leaving the control room was spotty, but you remembered seeing concerned classmates and hearing Coriolanus explain that he had rescued you from an attacker and that you needed medical attention.

You also didn’t miss all of your classmates thank Coryo for saving you.

Don’t think for a second that he would leave your side, opting to ride in the ambulance with you, identifying himself as “Y/N’s boyfriend,” and holding your hand the entire way. The EMT’s thought he was whispering words of encouragement and that your panicked look was only due to your injuries and the trauma from the night, but it was actually because of the threats he was calmly hissing into your ear.

“Remember, you didn’t recognize the guy and you didn’t get a good look at him,” he raised an eyebrow and leered over you, “right?”

You nodded, trying not to attract any attention.

“And you don’t even want to press charges, right?” He purred in your ear, hand snaking to the back of your neck and clamping down. You tensed when you felt him grip the back of you neck harder, trying to get a small reaction from you that only he would notice. “Better to just try to move past all of this.”

When you finally arrived at the hospital and got wheeled to a room, you were greeted by your parents immediately, who tearfully attempted to talk with you.

You had only just opened your mouth to speak when Coriolanus interrupted you, “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, she’s not in any condition to be talking right now.”

“And just who the hell are you?” Your father demanded of the unfamiliar blond.

“I’m Coriolanus Snow, I saved your daughter tonight,” his head was held high and when he started recounting his twisted version of the events that had occurred tonight, only you could have spotted the devilish gleam in his eyes. “She’s lucky I got there when I did,” he concluded, “I just can’t imagine what might have happened to my Y/N…”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘my Y/N?’” Your mother asked, looking up at Coriolanus incredulously.

“Well, I wish I was telling you under better circumstances, but,” he cleared his throat, pretending to be embarrassed, “Y/N and I have been dating since the day of our tribute assignments.”

When your parents immediately changed their tone and began heaping thanks and praises onto ‘your boyfriend,’ the man who had just raped you so brutally, he had sent you to the hospital, you felt like you could be sick, and the nausea swirling in your stomach had you reaching for the trash can by your bed and hurling the remains of what was left in your stomach into the bucket.

Coriolanus dotted on you, rubbing your back and whispering words of encouragement loud enough that your family could hear. His faux concern for you was so sickening, you would have thrown up again if you had anything left in your system.

You were in the hospital for 2 excruciating days, and several of your classmates came to visit, all of them bringing flowers or candy or other gifts, but you never got a moment alone with them because Coriolanus stayed by your side the entire time.

When your nosey peers asked you or Coriolanus to recount what had happened, Coriolanus would shut them down, insisting that neither of you wanted to talk about it for your sake.

And while it was true that you weren’t anywhere near being able to talk about what happened that night, that didn’t mean that you wanted him literally at your bedside and never leaving you alone with anyone, not even your family.

If they asked for time alone with you, his grip on your hand would tighten and you knew you had no choice but to tell them that you wanted him to stay in your room, “Mother, I- I just want him here right now, I would feel too anxious if he left.”

They always obliged, never forgetting to thank Coriolanus any chance they got, and by the time you were discharged and you thought you were finally going to have a moment alone to breathe, you were feeling more than ready for some space away from the horrible man.

However, to your horror, you realized that your family had taken what you had said in the hospital after being coerced by Coriolanus too literally.

When he followed you to the car, you thought he was just saying goodbye until he climbed into the backseat with you and you gawked at him before looking over at your parents.

“Oh yeah, we forgot to mention,” your mother warmly replied, “Coriolanus offered to come to our apartment for a few days to help take care of you. We figured it would be good, considering how much he helps your anxiety.”

You felt your stomach drop, a pit of anger and disappointment blossomed in your gut and it took everything in you to force yourself to smile and thank your parents.

Coriolanus’ hand squeezed yours and you tried your best not to cry.

After you arrived at the apartment, Coriolanus helped you out of the car, making you lean on him for support as he helped you to the entrance to the building.

The blond was taken aback by the street you lived on. It was just a couple blocks away from his, and he had walked past these apartments many times, completely unaware that you lived here. It was a modest apartment building, honestly not much better than the one Coriolanus lived in.

But how could this be? Wasn’t your family wealthy at least? As he made his way up the stairs, supporting your weight as you leaned against him with his arm firm around your waist, he couldn’t help but compare all of the similarities to his own apartment.

Hell, if anything your apartment may have been a tad smaller than the Snow’s, although yours was much tidier.

It was around dinnertime when you had arrived and you had just wanted to take a nap before eating, but instead you were treated to some excruciating alone time with Coriolanus, during which he lay in your bed next to you, holding your stiff, nervous body close to him and running his hands over the goosebumps that decorated your skin. Your breath caught every time he paused over one of the bruises that he had left on you, and you winced when he would press the pads of his fingers onto them, silently threatening you.

It felt surreal laying in your bedroom, the place that was supposed to be your safe space, with Coriolanus, knowing that he could overpower you and fuck you at any moment if he wanted. And that fear was exactly why you didn’t try to get away.

You winced when his soft lips came to your bruised neck and he kissed and sucked at the tender skin. The way he had one of your hands pinned, fingers digging in to your sore wrist, reminded you of the first night he assaulted you and you tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes as panic rose in your chest.

“Relax, Y/N,” Coriolanus whispered against your throat between sloppily nipping at your skin. “I’m not going to do anything to you tonight, baby. Gonna wait till you’re all healed up so you can feel every fucking inch of my cock dragging along your walls.”

You let out a quiet sound at his words, but it was hard to tell if it was a sob or a moan and Coriolanus felt his cock throbbing against the material of his pants.

“Although,” he thought aloud, looking down on you and admiring your pretty, plump lips, which were glistening, wet with a mix of saliva and your tears, “maybe I should give you a reminder of what I could do to you if you decided to feel brave and blab about that night, hm?”

You fearfully shook your head and you were about to protest when your mother knocked on your door, letting you know that dinner was ready.

You looked to Coriolanus and he nodded with annoyance after a few moments of hesitation, allowing you to respond, “Okay! Thank you, we’ll be there in a minute.”

He sighed in frustration but got up and began pulling his shirt back on before he glanced over at your teary eyes and messy hair.

“Clean yourself up in the bathroom, you look pathetic,” he ordered and you ran some cold water on your face to try to make the puffiness go down.

When he was satisfied with your appearance, you dressed, trying to swallow your discomfort before you left the room, but when you sat down at the table with your parents for dinner, you still couldn’t believe how it felt to be eating family dinner with that man.

As Coriolanus regaled your parents with stories from the Academy and lies about how you had started dating, you realized that tears had begun falling past your waterline again.

And no one at the table noticed or said anything about it.

#coriolanus snow drabble #dark coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #crocodile tears #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games tbosas #tbosas #coriolanus snow

[irisintheafterglow]

End Game #9 (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: during the final nationals match against kyoto, the captain wins a bet.

wc: 2.5k

cw/tags: mild angst/comfort, established relationship (pet name-angel), mostly just fluff and volleyball, swearing, more fluff and volleyball

note: HELLO VOLLEYBALL!GOJO NATION *crickets except for midi cheering alone at the back of the stadium* uh anyways i know it's been months since i updated this, but i wanted to give you all a gift for the new year starting with the series that brought me a lot of new friends at the beginning of my blog's creation! i can't thank you all enough for the support you've given this series and i hope you enjoy this last (official) iteration :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <33

“Looks like they’ve gotten better,” you observe in slight disbelief while the scorekeepers flip the board to show 25-23. By some miracle, Tokyo managed to rip the fourth set from Kyoto’s hands right when it seemed that all was lost. It still didn’t help the queasy feeling in your stomach. “A lot better.”

“Or, we’re becoming inferior,” Yaga growls with fiery determination burning under his sunglasses. You slide the basket of water bottles from under the bench and stand to grab the box of clean towels. Your coach inhales one more time to speak and you already know what his command will be. “Deal with Satoru.”

“I’ll do my best.” From the start of the fourth set, Kyoto had Tokyo on the run again. Despite their best efforts, Tokyo was struggling to hold up against the relentless pace set by their opponents, fighting to maintain their resolve and willing the other team to break first. Between the time of your first practice match and Nationals, Kyoto’s players significantly improved, much more than your team’s. Though they’d made steady progress over the past few months leading up to these crucial games, it seemed that the slope of Kyoto’s improvement was steeper. It also didn’t help that, wherever you looked, you were surrounded by the most prestigious volleyball recruiters in the world with their shiny reading glasses and slender fingers tapping away at their keyboards. Both teams were essentially under a microscope, none more than the third years that were at their wit’s end trying to prove that they were pro-material. And, whether people acknowledged it or not, all eyes were on your boyfriend and captain of the Tokyo team, Gojo Satoru. 

“He’s overexerting himself to the point where he’s making mistakes,” Suguru says to you quietly when you hand him a bottle. You nod, both of you aware that he’s preaching to the choir. “To the point where I’m noticing, so that means they’re noticing.” He tilts his head up to the stands, where you catch a few Jujutsu Volleyball Society officials conversing with whom you could only assume were Olympic recruiters. The thought of them discussing Satoru’s abilities and reputation in blunt detail makes you wince. 

“Have you talked to him about it?” The vice-captain shakes his head, eyeing his best friend warily. 

“Haven’t had the chance to.” The corner of your mouth turns down and you follow his eyeline, recognizing the familiar fake smile and emotionless blue eyes while he charms some brave fans that pushed their way to the court’s barricades. “Even now, he isn’t taking a break.”

“Mmm, well, you know him,” you sigh. The group of lovestruck girls hand Satoru various items and printed photos for him to sign and he takes them, flicking a black marker over their surface with all the grace of an old Hollywood movie star. “It’s always about others, never himself.” 

“Except when it comes to you, then he gets to be selfish,” Suguru reminds you and you shrug. Your casual response causes his eyebrows to draw in concern, like he was alarmed by your indifference. His tone is much more unsure when he asks for clarification. “Right?” You inhale deeply and shake your head again, gathering what little thoughts you could from the jumbled mess in your mind. “Did something happen between you two?”

“No, no. We’re fine…I think,” you half-heartedly reassure him, but the skeptical raise of his eyebrows tells you he isn’t convinced in the slightest. “He’s just been off, lately,” you admit. “I think the pressure that’s been building up for three years is finally getting to him.” 

“Pretty inconvenient time to crack, don’t you think?”

“Burnout doesn’t wait for you to finish Nationals, Suguru,” you conclude, patting him on the back in farewell before you find Satoru. “Good luck in the last set. And, for the record, the evenness of your gameplay hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Recruiters can see how reliable you are. If they don’t, they need their eyes checked,” you joke before maneuvering between players to find Satoru on the bench, in Yaga’s spot. His eyes are dulled from exhaustion, no matter how much he was trying to hide it. His forehead is covered in sweat and you kneel in front of him to wipe his face with a dry towel. “When’s the last time you drank water?”

“The last time you asked me if I drank water,” he answers and you know he’s trying to force his sing-songy lilt into his voice, but it falls flat onto the court floor. “Thank you, angel,” he murmurs as you swipe the towel over his eyes, allowing him a brief second of relief from the blinding fluorescents above. 

“Of course. I’ll let you get away with it this time, even though I miss those pretty blues,” you whisper and the smallest smile appears on his face. But he can’t bring himself to look at you, not when he’s on the brink of falling apart. It was killing him just as much as it was killing you, watching him stumble during the one moment where he needed to stand tall the most. The pressure was getting to him and his final appearance at Nationals was compounded by the scathing words of his father, the unimpressed stares of Jujutsu brass, and the intense scrutiny from the recruiters he was trying to win over. “Need anything else, captain?”

“A long fucking nap,” he groans and you hum in assent, letting his warm cheek rest in your freezing palm. “This’ll do, for now.”

“Alright, Atlas, but you’re gonna have to get back to holding up the world in about five minutes.” 

“Holding up the world is fucking exhausting,” he mutters. “Being captain is exhausting.” Before you can come up with another comforting response, his eyes suddenly fly open and peer at you with more intensity than you’ve seen within the past few days. He pulls away from your hand and looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s come to some revelation. “You called me captain.”

“What?”

“You called me captain,” he echoes slowly, a dazzling grin breaking out over his face that you didn’t realize you’d missed so much. You’re speechless, startled by his newfound enthusiasm from just one word. “You actually did it.”

“I guess I did,” you respond with obvious confusion.

“Say it again,” he says with all the seriousness of announcing a death. 

“Satoru–”

“Say it again,” he repeats and you don’t realize how close his face has gotten to yours, so close that you can smell the faint minty smell of the gum he’d stolen from your bag. “Please.” 

“It’s good to see you back to normal, captain.” His smile grows even wider and suddenly he’s kissing you, with both hands on your cheeks and leaning over you while you continue to kneel on the floor in front of him. Your face is set on fire, keenly aware of the thousands of eyes that can see both of you and this display of affection. Satoru doesn’t seem to care, though, and the glittering brightness of his eyes is all you focus on when he pulls away. 

“What can I say? You bring out a different side of me.”

“Cheesy lines too? You’re feeling better than I thought.”

“Nothing like winning a bet to light a fire in a man’s heart.”

“You know, if I’d known that was all it took to get you back, I’d have said it sooner,” you chuckle and his lips peck your nose until you gently push his face away. “I’ll ask about the change in behavior after you win. Now, go,” you giggle and he all but leaps from the bench, instantly in top-form and letting his voice boom through the building as he calls his team to him. 

“It’s fifteen points,” he reminds them, who muster up all their energy to look more confident after noticing the shift in their captain’s behavior. “Fifteen points at Nationals for the first time in who knows how long, so make ‘em count. Don’t let me take all of them,” he taunts and real confidence appears in his players, dead set on snatching the points away from Kyoto. “Let’s go!” 

And, just like during the practice match and the match at the beach, no one is safe from the sheer power of Gojo Satoru. It’s as if he’s woken from the dead, refreshed and wielding enough energy to elicit sparks from his fingers and flickering of the overhead lights. When you look at his eyes, they’re not the hollow pits they’ve been for the months leading up to Nationals. Instead, a dark shadow of unrelenting resolve covers his eyes and radiates from his body like an aura, sending shivers down the bodies of opposing players. In true Satoru fashion, he exploits every advantage he recognizes, whether that be a skill of his own team or the pitfall of the opposition. He knows you’re watching, too, and trusts your eyes like they were his own. Kyoto makes a mistake by calling a timeout when they’re down, 13-11, and Satoru makes a beeline for you; in hushed tones, you relay what you see before he can open his mouth.

“Todo’s hiding a limp on his right an–”

“Ankle, and Kamo’s primarily using his left hand to launch spikes. So, that means–”

“Something’s off with his right, maybe a jammed pointer finger or tweaked thumb. They’ll think you’re gonna take the final point of the game to show off to the recruiters, so if you fake a hit on the left edge, bait Todo and the front line to block you–”

“Suguru can blow past Kamo’s weakened right hand–”

“And the Tokyo Jujutsu team wins Nationals,” you conclude as the whistle blows, lightly swatting Satoru’s arm to urge him back onto the court. “Go, stupid. You’re almost there.”

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he calls, skipping onto the court and yanking Suguru by the back of his jersey, pulling him to the side to confirm the plan. He shoots you one last wink before broadcasting a hand signal to the rest of the team behind his back. With Nanami, Megumi, and Yuuji in the front row and Suguru, Satoru, and Inumaki in the back, it was the ideal rotation to shift leverage to Tokyo. A deafeningly powerful jump serve from Satoru immediately throws Kyoto off balance, and it doesn’t take much for Suguru to send Todo’s unsuccessful hit to Megumi, who pulls the same infuriating dump that he achieved during the practice match. “That was bold,” Satoru says to his protégé with pure admiration, “even for me.” Megumi shrugs, but stands a little taller from satisfaction with his point. 

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know you think I’m awesome, even if you won’t admit it.”

“I was talking about Geto,” Megumi deadpans and Satoru’s face contorts into indignance that makes you laugh from your seat.

“He’s not even a setter!”

“I was kidding, captain. Let’s win already,” his student responds impatiently. And win, they did. The final play you discussed with Satoru pans out flawlessly, with all attention going to the captain of the Tokyo team in anticipation of the game-winning point, only to be sent to his right-hand man. The cacophony of cheering and cries of joy is eardrum-shattering, but you don’t care as the rest of the team rushes onto the court and buries Suguru in a dogpile. Your heart swells at the sight of the nods of approval from the recruiters given to Suguru and Satoru, whispering among themselves and writing down their contact information. Despite Yaga gripping his sunglasses so hard that the frames broke, it doesn’t seem to bother him as he slams his palm onto the players’ backs with pride. You even think you catch Todo teary-eyed from the other side of the net, yelling something about being happy for his best friend. Hours of celebration later, as you walk with your hand in Satoru’s down the quiet streets of your neighborhood, you finally get to ask him why calling him ‘captain’ had such a profound effect on his psyche. 

“Being happy about winning the bet isn’t enough?” You look at him doubtfully and watch his cheeks turn a little pinker. “Alright, fine. But, you can’t make fun of me for this, okay?”

“I promise,” you say, making a big show of hooking your free pinky finger in his. “At least, I won’t make fun of you in public for it.”

“That’s enough for me,” he concedes with a smile. “It’s just…winning at Nationals wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve done this year, not even in all three years of high school.”

“What’s been the most difficult, then? You were literally on the verge of burnout today, so I don’t know any other circumstances where–”

“Winning you,” he murmurs, stopping you on the sidewalk and turning you to face him. The streetlights are dim enough to where the moon shines off of his hair and his face seems to glow like a statue carved from marble. “That was the hardest thing I’ve done.” You blink once, twice, and still don’t understand. 

“What do you mean, ‘winning me?’ How am I harder to get than winning Nationals?”

“Nationals was my dad’s dream. It always was. I started caring about going to Nationals when we made that silly bet to get you to call me captain. But, I’ve cared about making you fall in love with me since you took a sip from my soda can during our first year.”

“I’m still not a fan of that fizzy sugar water,” you chuckle and he looks at you so fondly, so softly, that you’re glad his arms have found their way around your waist to hold you up and keep you standing. “You’ve loved me since our first year?” 

“I loved you before I knew your name in class. And then, today, I figured if I could get you to fall in love with me when I thought it would take a lifetime, I could win some National volleyball title.” His pretty mouth breaks into that lopsided grin that you’d fallen for time and time again. 

“‘Some National volleyball title,’” you echo, slightly delirious from how warm he made you feel. “As if I’m more important than that.”

“Because you are,” he vows with utmost devotion that makes you dizzy, kissing you under the spring moon like it was the first time he could finally see you clearly. “You’re more important than anything, and that’s the truth.”

He was infuriating, to say the least, but you’d found that you didn’t mind how much he irritated you as long as he loved you just as much. 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #satoru gojo #jjk volleyball au #jjk au

[sopiao]

hii! hopefully you’re not swamped with requests or studies 😓

but can i request a hyper fem reader (uses she/her) that also wears a mask just as much as ghost? always wearing pink, gets her nails super long and glittery, pink gun, pink knives with stickers. like she is only ever seen in a mask. only way she can express herself is through make up and the 141 always notices little details or changes. even after killing and enemy and there’s blood across their face and mask but still mange to look so cute and bubbly.

could you use the callsign you use? i feel like shark would totally fit this!

have a good day!! ^^

-🧸

OMG???? LIKE?? YESS???????

I FUCKING LOVE RHIS IDEA SM!!

(dw bbg- studies r getting better :))

141 with a hyperfem masked female reader

When your first recruited and joined the task force everyone just stops and stares when you walk into the room.

They’re confused when your face is covered, only eyes being visible, makes them even more intrigued with you.

They’d 100% unconsciously move to the side to make a path for you when you walk by.

I feel Soap would be very interested and excited whenever you get new nails, always super sparkly, pink, pastel, and covered in charms and pearls.

Soap is always the first one to see and the one to pick out your next colors. His favorite combo being pink and green.

Shark would call everyone baby girl when they’re all grown men with balls (hopefully y’all saw that tweet).

“Is you LGB? cuz your gun pink” -Gaz

Constantly leaves glitter everywhere you walk.

Definitely gave everyone ‘1 whore 1” pins with a hello kitty with a pink AK behind her for Christmas. Which they all wore on their vest.

You would give out stickers as a form of praise and reward like teachers would to kindergartners.

Price would keep all the stickers you give or just leave behind in your path.

—

“Soap!” You walk into the rec room, not even bothering to look for him, just calling out his name (not the obnoxious loud kind of yell). He immediately would drop whatever he’s doing, a conversation, a game, a task. Knowing by your tone and excitement in your voice that you already have a new set.

“Oohh! Even better than the last” He says, smiling when you lay your hands out for him, he smiles even more when he sees that you picked charms that he recommended.

“I liked last weeks better, had more glitter” Ghost sudden appearance made you both jump. Almost bumping into him since he was leaning over your shoulder behind you.

Sometimes during briefing, you’d rest your head on one hand and the other would be around Soap’s shoulders, ever so often scratching his head and ruffling his hair like a dog. Some recruits would mistake you two as a couple, they’d comment how they can tell you’re the more dominant one.

—

Ghost would always be next to you, sometimes by coincidence, but mostly by preference. Whenever you two walk into the room together you always call him your twin or your mini-me.

“Can’t tell the difference, huh?” You asks the latest recruits, elbow resting against Ghost, pointing between the two of you. Even though there’s a very obvious height difference, your dramatic lashes and pink eyeshadow boomed through your balaclava, you had pink guns and knives in your holster, pink and yellow glow sticks on your belt, and Ghost was a 6’4 built like a Greek God british man.

But the rookies are too intimidated by both of you that they’re too scared to even disagree. Just nodding vigorously as you skip away with Ghost following behind.

—

“Take cover!” You yell, tossing a grenade across the barrier, signaling you’re teammates about the blow. Within seconds the ground shakes and you can hear bodies being thrown due to the impact. Unexpectedly to them a cloud of pink and glitter exploded along with the grenade.

“What the fuck?” Gaz looks up after a light layer of glitter dusts on top of him. The rest of them looking up and seeing the pink in the sky.

“Rest in pink” You bow your head to pay your respect.

—

“Shark..” Price speaks up beside you, the rumbling of the truck going on rocky terrain constantly rocks your body against his. You immediately snap to look at him, almost making jump from your crazed but happy eyes.

“Why don’t you wipe all that off, sweetheart?” He asks, holding out his handkerchief for you, motioning to the blood that’s splattered across your mask and whatever it could touch on your uncovered part of your face.

“No”

“Why not?” Gaz asks, from your other side.

“I don’t wanna smudge my makeup :(“

—

“Shark, did you do something different with your makeup?” Gaz asks once you walk into the meeting room to meet the rest of them. Yes, you did do something, there are little white and magenta accents in your eye lashes. Gives your eyes and lashes a highlight of color.

“Why yes I did. Thank you for noticing, sweetie” You pinch his cheek and sit on the empty seat next to him.

“You changed your highlighter too” Ghost speaks up from next to you, he can tell with your eye shadow and slight nose contour that you switched to a more finer and brighter highlighter.

“Did you change how you do your eyeliner? Looks bolder” Soap asks, inspecting your eyes closer.

“I think you look nice overall, hun” Price chuckles at how they inspect and comment on every little change of your appearance. Your just proud that you’ve taught your boys well, being able to know the names of every makeup technique and step.

—

“You got a little bit of Shark on you” Price interrupts Ghost mid sentence to point out the small patch of glitter on his shoulder.

A couple days later Ghost stops him for the same thing.

“Cap, you got a lil Shark on you” He taps him on the back and shows a small strawberry sticker that was stuck on his vest.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod men #task 141 #cod headcanons #cod modern warfare #task 141 shark #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #price mw2 #gaz mw2 #ghost x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley headcannons #john soap mactavish headcannons #john price headcanons #kyle gaz headcannons #hai :3 #:3 hehe #i love girls :) #they make me nervous

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Three Peas in a Pod

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader x Jared Padalecki (no J2 action)

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff, poly relationship, brief smut (not explicit or detailed but it's there)

Request by anon: Hi so can i request a J2 x reader one shot where the reader is a normal girl who is dating Jensen and Jared but the fan never seeing her face only hear her voice like twice because she is super shy and introverted person but Jensen and Jared convince her to go to a comic con and the fan meet her for the first time and instantaneous like her? Something fluff and romantic between J2 and reader 

Summary: It's crazy to think a celebrity wants you but two of them? Being in a relationship with them is the best thing to happen to you, and all they want to do is tell the world about it.

Square Filled: poly fic (2022) for @spnfluffbingo

Author’s Note: i appreciate any and all comments! <3

x

Never in a million years did you think you’d end up in the situation you’re in. It all started when you were out grocery shopping when you ran into Jared Padalecki. He had just given his kids back to his ex-wife when he decided to do some shopping for the week. You had the last of an item in your hand when you barrelled into him, dropping and shattering the item. He felt so bad that he offered to give you his that he grabbed.

It was like something clicked in the air because you two couldn’t get your eyes off each other. You were a stuttering mess but he was so confident in both of you that he asked you out right there and then. It all happened so quickly but when were you going to get another chance like this? You were a small-town girl who was noticed by a huge celebrity.

Of course, you said yes.

He took you on a romantic dinner date overlooking the bustling city. You’re not a talker since you like to keep to yourself, but he kept you talking all night. It’s as if you two were best friends rekindling a friendship. He made you laugh, made you feel beautiful, and was super charming. Supernatural happened to be on your “watch later” list but you’ve seen many spoilers and videos of him and Jensen.

What they said about him is true. He’s super lovable, loves hugs, can make you laugh, is dorky, and loves eating. Being with him makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world. How can things get better than this?

He took you back to his place for some intimate drinks where his roommate and best friend, Jensen, lives. Jensen is also newly divorced but is open to looking for another relationship if not something temporary. Being in the same room as Sam and Dean Winchester was a little overwhelming but the alcohol dulled those senses so you could enjoy the evening.

Meeting Jared was like love at first sight if you’re into that sort of thing, but meeting Jensen was something completely different… something raw and vulnerable. He tugged you to him subconsciously because he made you feel alive like you could jump off a cliff and be completely fine. You’re not sure if either man felt the same as you were feeling but you weren't going to say anything to them to scare them off.

They set out some games to play while playing an irrelevant TV show in the background. It was friendly at first until the alcohol promoted Jensen to suggest a stripping game. One thing led to another, and the game was long forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the three of you at that moment.

All you could think about was Jared’s lips on your neck, his hand massaging your breast and tugging at your nipples until they were pebbled and ready, Jensen’s tongue on your pussy, and his fingers digging into your thighs. They used you like a cock slut that night but you were more than okay with it. One thing led to another and you’re now dating both of them.

It’s your first polyamorous relationship but you three make it work.

With you having a job that you can work remotely for, they’d take you whenever they had to do interviews, press junkets, and conventions. You’re not one for the spotlight so you’re content with being backstage while they take all the glory. They have yet another convention that they brought you along with, so you’re in the back room watching a video they made recently.

Jensen and Jared talked about serious issues going on in the world currently and how they would take small steps to try and eradicate some of those issues. They are part of a group that works on removing plastic from the ocean, they donate some of their time at food banks and local shelters, and they donate money to groups looking for resources to make the world a better place.

“Listen, these are real-world issues that we need to start taking seriously today. These kinds of events can affect our children and our children’s children,” Jensen says.

“Jar, Jen, dinner is ready,” your voice comes from off-camera.

Jared and Jensen look at each other and just laugh. They’ve been really careful not to give an inkling of their relationship but then things like this happen and it can’t be helped.

“We’ll be right there,” Jared clears his throat.

“We gotta go. That's our girl.”

They leave it at that, and the comment section is raving about them being in a relationship. There are a few other videos where your voice can be heard but you’re never seen. Most of the fans are happy that the boys are happy, and since it’s 2023, being in a poly relationship isn’t that unusual. All of the fans are wondering what you look like but you’re not ready to give that out just yet.

“Hey, we have to go on now,” Jensen says from the door.

You put your phone away and approach Jared with a smile. He pulls you into him and kisses you. He keeps it short and sweet but Jensen is the completely opposite. He kisses you for much longer and in a more intimate way. Jensen is a good kisser with all the practice he’s gotten on you.

“Okay, don’t suffocate her,” Jared playfully says.

“Break a leg, you two,” you grin and watch them leave.

There is a big TV in the back where you can watch what’s going on stage, and you clap when everyone else in the audience does when they walk on. This convention is going like all the others with them telling stories from set, from their lives, and fans asking all kinds of questions. There comes a time when a fan stands up and asks a question regarding you. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you’re curious how the boys will answer it.

“When are we going to see Y/N? No pressure on you two or her, but just curious.”

“She’s a little camera shy,” Jensen chuckles. “She’s here. She’s backstage but she doesn't really like cameras.”

It’s true, you hate them. Maybe you can give them a little something instead of a full-face reveal. You walk out of the backstage room and over to the edge of the curtains so you’re still hidden from the audience. Jensen and Jared see you creeping up on the curtain, and you stick your hand out to wave at them.

“There she is,” Jared laughs.

Everyone cheers for you which brings a smile to your face. After two seconds, you run back to the room you were in, and Jensen watches you go with a smile on his face.

“We’re working on that part of her,” Jensen jokes.

Maybe one day you’ll be more open to meeting fans and taking pictures because they seem to genuinely love you already, and it’s all thanks to your boys.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#jensen ackles #jared padalecki #jensen ackles x reader #jared padalecki x reader #j2 x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fluff #jared padalecki fanfiction #jared padalecki fanfic #jared padalecki fluff #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn fic #spn #supernatural fic

[twice-in-a-blue-moon]

The Brothers Reacting to You in Sexy Christmas Lingerie

Brothers x GN! reader

AN: I'll make one for the dateables soon. Anyways enjoy! :)

Warnings: There's no smut, these are just suggestive.

Minors DNI!

Lucifer

The moment Lucifer enters his study, he sees you sitting on his desk.

He takes note of the skimpy, see-through lingerie that you have on.

The confidence on your face wavers the longer he studies every detail that wraps around your body.

He smirks before making his way to stand in front of you, lifting your chin up so that you can’t shy away from his eyes.

The same eyes that are becoming devoid of the red hues with each passing second.

“Don’t look so nervous, you look wonderful, my dear. What do you say we take this off though, so that I can drag my lips across every inch of your body and appreciate you properly?” 

Mammon

You’re sitting on Mammon’s bed dressed up in your newest purchase, unbeknownst to him.

So when he walks in, he slams the door shut as he notices you.

His eyes widen and aren’t leaving an inch of you unseen.

Now his face matches the color of your outfit.

He tries to save face and clears his throat as he walks over to get a closer look.

He runs a hand down your neck, cold rings leaving goosebumps in their wake, brushing the material that plunges down your chest.

“Damn, y’look good. Did ya buy this just for me? Well then, why don’t I settle the debt right now. I’m all yours.” 

Leviathan

A grumble escapes Levi as a video call interrupts his gaming session, his irritation subsides when he sees that you’re the one calling.

Picking it up immediately, he’s excited to tell you all about the game, wearing a smile as your face pops on screen.

He goes bright red as his eyes trail down your body and notices you’re wearing very little, revealing so much of your soft skin to him.

He tries to hide his face behind his hands, but can’t help but peak through his fingers to get another look at you. 

Something other than his level in the game begins to rise, and he’s feeling incredibly desperate for your touch.

“Y-you’re going to kill me one of these days… Can you come over? I-I really need you right now.”

Satan

Not much phases this man. He will always catch any curve balls you throw at him.

So when he walks into his room to find you kneeling on his bed, he calmly closes the door and admires the view.

The moonlight from the window illuminates your figure, making you look ten times more alluring.

Do not be mistaken though, there is a light pink dusting his cheeks and a ravenous look in his eyes.

He’ll make his way to you, eyeing your curves through the lace while tutting under his breath.

“What am I going to do with you? You’re quite the tease. So maybe I’ll tease you until you’re begging me to take you.” 

Asmodeus

Asmo squeals in delight when he sees you.

He’ll rush over to you, hands touching the fabric that cascades down your body, the soft brush of his skin on yours as he admires every detail.

He cannot believe that he’s found a partner that rivals him in attractiveness.

He absolutely adores you and this little surprise, and it’s all for him!

Next time, he would love to go shopping with you though. The possibilities of seeing you try on different sets and fooling around in the changing rooms are endless.

“Oh my~ This looks absolutely stunning on you. Why don’t we take it off? I’d love to see the rest of you better~”

Beelzebub

Beel walks into the kitchen to raid the fridge, but pauses when he sees you sitting on the counter with your lingerie on.

Visibly and audibly gulps, the lack of material leaving nothing to his imagination.

The look you’re giving him isn’t helping matters, it’s only enticing him more.

He comes to stand in front of you hesitantly, unsure if he can touch you or not.

When you nod and give him the go-ahead, his hands land on your thighs, running dangerously close to where you want him most.

“I came into the kitchen to get food. Lucky me, I think I’ve found myself a full course meal. Please, let me get a taste of you.” 

Belphegor

Somehow you beat him to the attic room, so when he walks in you’re lying on your stomach on the bed.

Takes a moment to appreciate the lace that runs along the swell of your ass.

Takes another to just appreciate how you’re looking at him, eyes hooded and titillating, yet the pinnacle of innocence gracing your lips.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, walking to the side of the bed. 

Belphie crawls on top of you, shifting you to lay on your back. A smirk greeting you as you turn.

“Seeing you in my bed wearing that has stirred something within me. I hope you’re ready because neither one of us is going to be sleeping any time soon.”

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me brothers #obey me lucifer smut #obey me mammon smut #obey me leviathan smut #obey me satan smut #obey me asmo smut #obey me beel smut #obey me belphie smut #obey me reader insert #obey me mc #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie x reader #jo writes spice

[malum-forev]

Oooh can I get some fake-dating?? Either fratboy or mafia Bucky? Like they come to her rescue and pretend she's with them, saving her from some unfortunate situation!

Hi hiii this is my first time writing Mafia Bucky! Let me know what you think!

 You hated the term man’s game. Absolutely loathed it. Men with their pea sized brains thinking they’re above people of the opposite sex, when in reality the only thing floating around their heads are the words dick, tits, ass. On an infinite loop. 

When you went into the field of law, you thought with hard work and perseverance you would crash the glass ceiling. Paving the road for women like yourself wanting to make it. What you didn’t realize is that what is supposed to be glass, turns out to be concrete. A miles thick concrete ceiling, completely impenetrable. 

You smoothed the fabric of your pencil skirt and impatiently tapped your foot on the floor. The wooden chair outside the DA’s office was becoming an annoying reminder of your future, bolted down outside the door. It felt like you’d always be outside the door.

The frosted glass door opened revealing laughter coming from the inside. Your boss’ booming fake laugh made your skin crawl.

“You better work on that swing by Friday, Kent.” Your senile old boss said. It should be illegal to have fossils like him still on the job, making decisions while they still think women can’t vote. “I’ll leave you with my assistant, she’ll get all the details about the Moranes case.”

“Paralegal.” You corrected even though you knew it would go in one ear and out the other. 

The district attorney, a man older than your father, raked your body. From your pointed heels to your appropriately buttoned silk blouse. “Where have you been hiding this one?”

He all but drooled at the sight of you, a disgusting trait men thought was a compliment. 

“I keep her holed up at the office, but I’ll let you have her if you send the case over to us.” Your boss “joked” but once he saw the stern look on your face he held his hands up. “I’m just foolin’ around. Can’t make a joke anymore without getting a slap on the wrist from HR.”

“I know a few things about that.” The DA laughed, pointing at his older secretary. “How’d you think I got stuck with this one?”

The interaction made your skin boil, there were actual men who thought women’s only purpose in life was to get them hard. And you, sadly, had to put up with it on a daily basis. 

Your boss soon left, hoping you would comply with anything the DA told you to do. Anything to get the job done, was his mentality. 

“How about we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?” The DA’s sleazy smile sent a shiver through your spine.

You looked around the almost abandoned hallway. “I just need to take some notes on the file so, here is fine.”

The district attorney was quickly becoming annoyed. “I wasn’t asking, actually.”

You opened your mouth to try and keep him calm but you felt a hand travel through your lower back and set itself on your hip. You looked down to find a tattooed hand with gold and silver rings adorning the fingers. His knuckles were shades of pink, purple, and blue, sporting a couple of barely healed gashes. If someone were to ask you who you thought this person was, you’d never in a thousand years guessed the correct answer.

“She wasn’t asking either, Kent.” A deep rough voice appeared.

You looked up to find the one and only James Bucky Barnes, head of one of the most prolific and notorious mafia families in New York. 

“B-Barnes.” The DA stuttered. 

“I’m sure you can find a way to make my girlfriend’s life easier.” Bucky stared the man down, his dark blue eyes burning holes through his body. 

“Girlfriend?” He asked, scared. 

“Girlfriend.” Bucky barked. 

The DA gulped. “I’ll have my assistant send her office the files.”

“I’d appreciate if you drop them by yourself.” Bucky lip twitched upwards. “As a personal favor to me and the ladies down at the Spin Top.”

The district attorney furiously nodded, his eyes widening at the words spoken. Bucky was dangling incriminating information like it was no big deal.

Bucky pulled you closer to his side, his hand never leaving your hip. A gentle but firm grip. He waved his gloved hand in a shooing motion. “You can leave now Kent.”

The district attorney tripped over his feet and quickly closed his office door behind him, locking it. 

With a chuckle, Bucky released you. He took a cigarette from his suit’s breast pocket and lit it up.

“He thinks a door can protect him.” Bucky scoffed. “Pathetic.”

“You’re not allowed to smoke in here.” You said, your voice strong.

Bucky bit his bottom lip to contain a smile, you were pure fire.

He looked around the almost vacant office, any person who was there had already turned around. Some were even facing the wall, anything to not make eye contact with the mob boss. “I don’t see anyone telling me to put it out, princess.”

“I’m not some sort of damsel in distress, just so you know.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

Bucky’s eyes never left yours, he cocked his head to the side. “This could work, you and me-“

You laughed. “You and me? There is no you and me, it doesn’t exist.”

Bucky walked towards you until your back was flush against the wall, he placed his forearm over your head, trapping you underneath him. His intoxicating smell filled your senses, woody, smokey, citrus. A combination that wouldn’t work on anyone but him. 

“By the looks of it, you need someone next to you so they take you seriously.” His words were slow and controlled, completely opposite to your body language. Your chest heaved, making the space between the buttons over your chest expand. Anyone else would have looked down but Bucky, he kept his eyes on your face. “I can be that for you. One outing with me and you’ll have every judge, every lawyer, everyone at the palm of your hand.”

“What’s in it for you?” You whispered, your throat suddenly became dry. 

For the first time, he let his eyes travel downwards to your lips. A calloused finger ran from your collarbone to your jaw. “I need someone sweet and innocent, just like you, to help me take over everything. You see, every family needs a head. And there is no head without a neck. But no one seemed to interest me, that is, until I laid my eyes on you.” 

“It would have to be for show, everything would be fake.” You whispered, closing your eyes for a moment to bask the sensation of Bucky hand on your neck. 

Bucky chuckled. “I’ll put on the greatest show, I’ll even have you believing my every word.” 

Pleaaaseee be sure to comment, like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Remember, one comment = one kiss on my forehead! &lt;3

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour

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[sky-kiss]

Raphael & Jaheira: You All Meet at an Inn

A/N: I had to get an intro out of the way before proper sassing down the line. And apologies, I'm out of practice with writing.

R & J: Let's be honest, his taste in wine is so much better than hers

Like many of his kind, the devil was a series of contradictions. 

Handsome but not striking. Languid, but only on a cursory inspection. A more pointed observation would showcase the taut muscles in his shoulders and thighs, hinting that the lazy rolling motion of his wrist was intentional rather than instinctual. And, perhaps most importantly, despite the ostentatiousness of his garb, rich blues, reds, and golds, which demanded attention and respect, few of the Last Light’s patrons truly saw him. 

Jaheira did not fault them for the oversight. The High Harper noted it with a world-weary amalgamation of affection and exhaustion. Few prey animals noticed the hunter until it was upon them. Man and beast were not such disparate creatures. 

She shifted, rolling her shoulders to alleviate some residual tension—the aches that never seemed to properly fade these days, which had faded until only a decade prior. She should turn him out. And aye, much like the aches, even a decade ago, she might have done something about his presence—but where was the harm? He stuck to his corner and played his games. 

In the darker stretches of the night, his attention shifted away from the lance-board and his books towards the door. The devil waited. 

Jaheira waited, too.  

The devil lifted his head, eyes flicking from the Mystra piece to the Harper. He made a show of it, eyes widening, lips turning up in a smile—noticing her, seemingly for the first time. She snorted, arching a brow. He shrugged, expression relaxing into something more neutral and more genuine, motioning to the seat across from him. 

“You know, I rather wondered which of us would bring our little dance to its close,” he began, voice warm and rich. His lips twitched, expression colored with so many masterful little notes—presumed intimacy, natural familiarity…they might have been old friends meeting for drinks in any alehouse. Easiness and charm…the domain of all his kind. His eyes glittered in the firelight. 

The half-elf sunk into the chair, holding her arms out wide. “Shall we continue circling each other like coquettish maids?” Jaheira waved him off. “Who has time for it?”

“Certainly not you, High Harper. All this,” he motioned around them, attention flicking to the window and the shadows just beyond. “Resting on your shoulders…such a weighty calling.” 

“You offer to take it from me?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You are so…uniquely equipped for these travails.” 

Jaheira snorted. “Let us call it experience—hard won over many years of life.” She tipped her head to the side, regarding him closely. Without a room of distance between them, she could appreciate the more minor details of this mortal form: wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, hints of sunspots across the back of his hands, and streaks of gray brightening otherwise dark hair. He felt fully manifest in a way so many of his ilk failed to recognize—the little things grounded an illusion in reality. “Come, tell me what to call you. In my head, it is ‘devil this, devil that’...tedious.” 

His eyes widened. “You shall have to forgive this lapse in manners—it’s the setting, you see. One really isn’t at their best.” He mimed a bow, someone still regal despite the confines of the chair. “I am Raphael—very much at your service.” 

“A pleasant name! Well-suited to this pleasant face.”  

Raphael hummed. With a snap of his fingers, the lance-board disappeared. In its place, a bottle of brandy. She did not recognize the label’s language. “A devil in your house, and yet…we are rather blase.” 

“Do not take it personally.” She ghosted her fingers across the table. “Gods of death, demon princes…after these things—” his muscles drew taut, eyes narrowing as she spoke. “ —your feathers are very pretty, but… you make for a much smaller bird.” 

To his credit, Raphael laughed. He poured them each a glass of wine. As if in concession, he took the first sip—no poison. Jaheira bowed her head and followed suit. The wine’s bouquet blossomed across her tongue—rich and deep, a hint of cherry and leather giving way to softer, more subtle notes. It reminded her of Calimshan—pleasant evenings before the true weight of adventuring settled on her shoulder…when she’d been young, Khalid at her side. 

The knowing glint in his eye said he’d anticipated such a reaction. A smaller bird, perhaps, but cunning. I have survived so many years, his gaze said, and I have thrived for good reason. 

“To walk so freely on the Prime is no small thing. And you do not seem the sort to bind yourself to the whims of mortals…” she tapped her chin. “A cambion, then.” 

“Are we to trade parlor tricks, my dear? Shall I ask if your house qualified you as a ‘princess’ or a ‘lady’ in Tethyr?” 

“A lady, though my youngest will argue that point till she is blue in the face.” Jaheira held up her glass in salute. “Do not take offense—it was a compliment, one mongrel to another.” 

Raphael chuckled. “One mongrel to another.” The cambion sighed, relaxing back into his seat. He stroked his chin, fingers teasing across the whisper of stubble—not quite a day’s growth, perhaps a matter of hours. A testament to his dedication and vanity—over the past week, he’d never moved from his seat by the window. “Shall we be honest with each other, ladyship?” 

“It depends. Will honestly not make your skin itch?” 

“You wound me. I am a paragon of virtue to friends and clients both. And the honest truth is I am awaiting a favorite distraction of mine.” He sipped his wine again. “I dare say they might even solve the lion’s share of your problems. Interested?” 

She hummed. Jaheira settled more comfortably in her chair. “Sing me your song, lovely bird. Perhaps…we may yet benefit one another.”

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #jaheira #high harper jaheira #bg3 fanfiction #sassy old people #sassy old 'not royals' being passive aggressive and bitchy #my writing #i ignored doing an assignment worth 30% of my grade for these hags