#one of my friends was like ugh no I’d never want a guy to hold a door open for me just because I’m a girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bro-atz · 5 months

Text

all tatted up— back tattoo

in which: there's a really good reason why san never called you after you hooked up

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 3.8k

content: smut, san gets tipsy/drunk but in this world he's a horny drunk... not a cute drunk..., bedroom sex, unprotected (consensual) sex (remember to wrap it up irl!), tattoos, he calls you kitten a lot, creampies, spanking, a lot of what happened the last time but more?, completely consensual!

author's note: yes i saw the performance yes i stopped breathing yes i cried. two things: 1. help; 2. let's pretend that san didn't have all the brushstroke tattoos in the previous ff yeah? he has the wolf, the hand tattoos, the warrior across the ribcage, and the bands around his arms (i also edited the ff to reflect that...) and yes this is definitely a continuation of all tatted up you're welcome

tag list: @k-hotchoisan @eyeryis apply for the permanent taglist here! part one | part two | part three

“Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?” your bouncer friend greeted you with the most irritating smile.

“Why is your face like that?” you asked with a frown.

“Well… Remember that one guy? The guy who was standing next to you when we had that big birthday party call in?”

Your blood immediately began to boil. San. Choi San. That asshole.

“Tell him to fucking get lost.”

The bouncer flinched and looked at you with slight fear in his eyes.

“W-why? I thought you’d be happy… He was like asking for you, and he was super sweet while—”

“Dude, just shut up,” you took out your irritation on the poor guy. “You don’t know anything. I don’t wanna deal with him, so just get him the fuck outta here.”

“Sorry, hun, but until he comes onto you, I can’t kick him out.”

“Ugh! Fine. Just keep him away from me then.”

He opened his mouth to say another thing, but you were done. You needed, like needed, that drink stat. You greeted the bartender, who was a little busy since the bar was busier that day, and sat your ass down in one of the bar stools and waited for your drink instead of conversing with them like you usually did. And, just as your drink arrived, so did the one human being you didn’t ever want to see ever again.

“Hi, Y/N,” San greeted softly, a gentle smile on his face.

“No.”

You turned away from him, but he just walked to the other side of the stool. You should’ve just gotten up and walked away, but you were stubborn— you were there first, so why the fuck did you have to move? You turned away again, hoping that he would give up the more you kept turning.

“Come on, don’t be like that…”

“What the fuck? You don’t get to fucking say a thing, you prick! I haven’t heard a single word from you since that night, so what the fuck dude?”

You turned away again, but San appeared right in front of you again. He reached out to you as if he wanted to hold you to keep you from turning again, but he stopped. He knew his place.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” his apology sounded pretty sincere (which it was). “I have a reason why, but I’m sure you don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yeah, I don’t.”

You turned away once more, only to turn yourself back this time because you couldn’t resist the urge to confront him. You were pissed, and you seriously wanted him to know that.

“Why the fuck are you here, anyway? What happened to not wanting to go to a bar?”

“My friends wanted to go drinking, so I chose this place in hopes I’d get to see you again.”

“Hah!” you scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “You could’ve called, San. You could’ve even texted. You even fucking said that you wanted to go on a date— you were the one to ask that, not me, so what the fuck happened man?”

“I know. I’m sorry, kitten, I know I should’ve called or texted, but I just got so caught up in my own world.” You held your breath and nearly hiccuped when he brought his face near yours, his warm breath hitting the skin on your neck as he whispered, “But I never stopped thinking about you.”

“I seriously doubt it,” you responded while pushing him away.

“I promise you I seriously did think about you all the time and loved every moment with you! Tell me. How can I prove it to you? How can I make it up to you?”

“No idea. You can try, but I doubt you’ll succeed.”

With that, you stood up, took your drink with you, and fully walked away from him. Truth be told, if you really didn’t want to interact with him, you would’ve just left the bar, and even though it had been a whole fucking month since you last saw him, he still made your pussy tremble. You challenged him already knowing he’d win, but you wanted to see how he’d try to win you over.

So, it completely took you by surprise when you saw him order a beer from the bartender. You thought he didn’t drink, so this was… New. It kind of excited you in a way— you knew how he fucked while he was sober, but drunk? Definitely something you wanted to explore.

San didn’t come to you as soon as he got that beer. No, he stayed at the bar. He finished one beer, then two within thirty minutes. When he got his third beer, he finally approached you. You turned away from him, but then decided that was the worst fucking idea because he could grind into your ass. So, you faced him. He didn’t utter a damn word while he was standing before you. Even as the bar got more and more packed, he just remained standing, but the distance between he and you closed fairly quickly. Then you were pressed up right against him. You could’ve moved away, taken a step back, or fully left, but shit. San was built like a soft but firm wall and you just wanted to lean against that wall all the live long day.

The other reason you didn’t move was because he was so turned on. You looked up and saw that his face was flushed red (most likely because of the beer), but he was acting so nonchalant despite the fact that his cock was ready to burst at any given moment. He was looking away from you and somewhere, God know where, into the bar. Just that side profile and what he looked like drinking his beer while his tight, black turtleneck showed his muscles rippling from the side could’ve knocked you out from the beginning.

San noticed you staring and looked down at you, a slight smirk on his face.

“Will you let me prove and make it up to you now?”

San’s apartment was the same as it was a month ago, but this time things were a little different— you and San slammed his front door open, kicked your shoes off haphazardly, and tore through his place until you reached his bed, your lips locked with his the entire time. His tongue was annihilating yours the more he shoved it into your mouth, his hungry, animalistic kisses wrecking your lips as well.

San tossed you onto the bed and immediately started stripping. He pulled his shirt off incredibly fast, flung it to some place in his studio apartment, and pinned you down, his lips yearning for yours once again. And just as quickly as he tossed his shirt away, he tossed your shirt and bra as well, a short gasp leaving you as you wondered how the fuck he was able to strip you down so quickly.

“Do you want me to prove it first?” he asked you breathlessly in between kisses.

“How?” you barely managed to get out.

You whined slightly when he stopped kissing you to sit up. His hands grabbed onto the waistbands of your pants and underwear, bunching the fabric up in his hands before pulling down and sending them flying at the speed of light. San was a fucking magician when it came to stripping, apparently.

A loud cry of pleasure left your soul and echoed throughout the apartment the second San rushed two of his thick fingers into your pussy. They immediately target the g-spot, and before you could even think straight for one second, he had you cumming, squirting all over his bedsheets.

“Fuck, that was quick, kitten,” there was a hint of a laugh in his words.

“Well, it’s been one fucking month, San.”

“What, you haven’t fucked anyone else since then?”

“Do you think anyone can compare to you?” you shot back. “No one will ever compare to you, you fucking beast.”

San shivered— hearing you call him beast was such a turn on, a turn on he didn’t even know he had— and grinned.

“Well, I’ll make it up to you, but first, lemme prove myself.”

With that, San dove right into your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue pushed its way through your entrance and inside you. You gasped loudly and pushed your head back into the mattress. You were still recovering from the high of your last orgasm, still raw, so him just going at you ruthlessly had you squirming, writhing, crying.

“Oh! Oh, fuck! San-ngh, I’m—”

You couldn’t finish your sentiment. You cried loudly as pleasure washed over you, your pussy convulsing and staining the sheets with your slick. You were practically sobbing at that point, tears trickling down your face, the pleasure simply becoming too much for you to handle.

Just as San pressed his tongue flat against the lips of your pussy and dragged upwards, you reached for his hair and grasped it tightly, pulling him up and away from your pussy.

“You,” you panted, still recovering from the high of back to back orgasms. “Proved your fucking point. You proved yourself. Now make it up to me.”

“How would you like me to do that for you, kitten?” San asked while wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Fuck me senseless. I want to feel your fat cock pile-drive me into next year. I want you to fill me up until I’m overflowing and spilling everywhere. Make those tattoos dance again, lover-boy.”

San raised his eyebrows in surprise first, then smiled with a slight smirk. Wordlessly, he got off the bed and turned around to take off his pants; and that’s when you saw it.

“Woah, wait, stop,” you told him as you pushed yourself up and crawled over to him.

“W-what?”

You grabbed the waistband of his pants and sat his ass down on the edge of the bed before running your palm over and down his spine. You seriously thought the tattoo was going to rub off, so you were completely taken aback when it did not.

“When— What— How— Huh?!”

“Oh, yeah, that,” San let out a light laugh. “That was part of the reason I never called.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“I got that tattoo like two days after we slept together. It was healing, kitten. I wanted you to scratch my back and show me how fucking good I make you feel.”

Your face got hot red as he explained himself, your entire body flushing with lust and desire.

“And you can’t really scratch a tattoo while it’s healing,” he continued to explain. “Otherwise it won’t turn out as pretty as it did.”

“Fuck…”

You, at first, were going to tell him that he still could’ve fucking called, but knowing you, the second you heard his voice, you want to fuck him immediately. He definitely played it safe.

“It’s all good and healed now, though, so go ahead.” San smirked as he quipped, “Scratch away, kitten.”

The horrible pun made you want to not fuck him anymore, but once he finished stripping down entirely, that opinion immediately changed. God, his cock. You dreamt about it ever since you slept with him the first time, and you even told yourself you’d do anything to have this cock in your life again.

Turning around so that you were on your hands and knees, you looked over your shoulder and wiggled your ass, making San’s dick twitch and rise higher. Running his tongue over his lower lip before biting his lip, San got on the bed and knelt behind you, his hand resting on your asscheek.

“Raw,” you stated the second you felt his hot touch on your skin.

“Of course.”

San rubbed the tip of his cock along your folds before swiftly thrusting into you, his cock gliding in because of how wet you were. You cried out when his waist hit your ass with incredible force, the sound of the slap drowning in your moan.

Quickly and without remorse, San pounded away. He would slap your ass sporadically, and you would yelp every single time. Your asscheeks got redder with every slap, and the stings of his slaps immediately subdued when he gripped your ass so fucking hard that his fingers were digging into your skin.

“You like that kitten, don’t you?” San bit out, his voice low and nearly growling. “You like this beastly cock ripping your insides into shreds, huh?”

“Yes! Fuck! Oh, God! Ye-es!” you responded in between each slap of his waist against yours.

San pushed your upper back down so that your ass would raise and your back would arch with a slope that made his dick go insane. His thrusts sped up when your ass was in the air and you were pressing your breasts on the bed. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you cried out for the man more and more, the pleasure making your eyes fog up and your tongue nearly loll out of your mouth.

“S-san!” you cried loudly, trying your best to overpower the sound of his thrusts into your red, sore pussy. “I wanna— Angh— Hold your hands.”

There were two things San could’ve done: one was to bend over you and press his hands over yours as he continued to fuck you from behind, and the other was to flip you around and lace his fingers with yours properly. He opted for the latter.

You were on your back, your legs splayed out so your pussy was on fully display. San filled your pussy so quickly and pushed himself in between your legs with such force you felt like he was going to split you right open. Lacing his fingers with yours, San had your hands resting on either side of your head, pinning you the same way he would even without your hands tight in his grasp.

San wasn’t thrusting as fast as he was earlier, but God, he was slamming his pelvis into yours so fucking hard that your ass was digging into the mattress. The harder he thrust, the closer he got to your cervix— he was going so deep into you that you were losing your sanity with every slam. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, and you were chewing on your lower lip trying so desperately to at least keep your words sane since the thoughts in your head were anything but sane.

“Kitten, don’t do that,” you heard San say in that baritone voice with tiny pants in between word.

Your eyes were barely able to focus on his face as you tried to make eye contact and see what it was he was telling you not to do. It wasn’t until his thumb pulled on your lower lip and he quickly sucked on it did you realize he didn’t want you to keep quiet.

“Don’t hold back. I want you to scream my name, make me go deaf.”

“FUCK!” you immediately cried, moans and groans and other profanities tumbling out of your mouth. “SO GOOD! SAN! HARDER, OH GOD I’M SO FUCKING CLOSE!”

“Oh yeah, there we go kitten,” he said with a slight grin, satisfaction laced in his words. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

San sped up the tiniest bit, and you fucking lost it. You flung your head side to side as the pleasure made you writhe entirely. San grabbing and squeezing your breast did not make it better at all. You so badly wanted to cum, but you weren’t quite there yet. So, you did as he told you to. You wrapped your legs around his waist, then your arms over his shoulders, your nails immediately digging into the skin on his shoulder blades. You clawed at him, yearning for more.

“FUCK! FASTER!”

You heard San’s throaty chuckle in your ear as he dropped his head and gave you exactly what you wanted. He was moving so fast that the whole bed was shifting back and forth with his power. You clung to his back and cried his name when he finally rammed just hard enough into your cervix. You came loudly, your cunt clenching as you entire body trembled, your orgasm fully wrecking you.

San fucking lost it when you clenched that hard around his fat cock. After quickly grabbing both of your arms, the insatiable beast was pinning you down and hovering over you, sweat dripping down his face, neck, abs, and arms. His eyes were hazy, and his jaw was clenched tightly. With the way he was holding your arms, you felt like could snap them in half at any given moment. That look of his— that incredible intense version of San— made your cunt tighten.

His eyes got sharper, and he definitely dissociated. He held both your arms up above your head with one hand while choking you lightly with the other. Just seeing him grit his teeth and look at you with such intensity while constricting your breath made tears roll down your face because it felt so fucking good.

Your mind went blank when San slammed his waist into you without remorse, his cum rushing heavily into you. You felt his cock twitch and throb as he came, a deep groan leaving his body.

San pushed himself up and held onto your waist, raising it up slightly as he continued to move in and out of you, cum still spurting out of his cock. Finally, he pulled out, and along with his soft, thick cock came a flow of his cum. He caught his breath and watched his white stickiness trail down from your red, raw pussy in between your asscheeks and over your hole— and just like that, he’s hardagain.

You felt his cock stiffen and rub against you as it rose up. Before the man could even say anything, you were moving (pretty slowly because your hips and waist were on fire) towards him. You lightly pushed his shoulder back, and it was his turn to lie down on the bed.

Spreading his thighs out, you knelt in between his legs and took his firm dick into your hands. You stroked him up and down with both your hands and watched as the man ran his fingers through his hair and held it back, gasps and grunts leaving his lips with every stroke. But you wanted more— you wanted to hear him beg and leak profanities from his rosy lips.

Slowly, you took him into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the head of his cock briefly, the man’s breath hitching. You slowly lowered yourself, taking more and more of him in. But, you took in a little more than you were able to. The tip of his penis hit your throat, making you gag.

“Ngh, yes, kitten. Just like that.”

You pressed your hands into his thighs as you continued to blow him. You wanted to mix it up when you gave head— for instance, you took him in completely, then would release as if you were sucking on a lollipop, or you just moved quickly while moaning and humming. Regardless of what you did, San fucking loved it. When you moved your head all the way up gasping for air, the mix of your spit, your cum, and his cum all mixed together and trailing from your mouth and tongue to his cock was too much for him to handle. You took him back into your mouth once more and moaned, the vibrations finally getting to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck— kitten, I’m—”

San couldn’t finish what he was saying because you pushed yourself all the way down on his cock once more and gagged, the gag sending him to pure bliss. He immediately reached out for your head and pushed you down as he came into you mouth with a loud groan.

Seconds later, the high wore off, and San looked at you to see him gazing at him with the glazed, wide eyes of yours that fucking turns him on, your cock still in his mouth. You waited for him to calm down before gulping down his cum, his eyes locked on you. You sat up and wiped your lips with your thumb to lick the rest of his cum that lingered on your face off.

“Oh my fucking God,” San groaned and squeezed his eyes shut before immediately sitting up and pinning you down.

You let out a little giggle as you felt San’s grasp on you tighten, his eyes and lips quivering as he said, “Goddamn it, kitten! Why are you so naughty?!”

All you do in response is run your tongue over your lower lip, bite it sensually, and then let out the tiniest giggle, provoking him once again to completely demolish you.

San woke up mildly confused. He usually got morning wood, but he was extremely turned on— how was his morning wood that intense?

Then, he blinked the sleep out of eyes to see you pressed into his chest, your arms wrapped around his torso. He looked a little closer and saw that you were fucking cockwarming him this early in the morning. You planted a little kiss on his chest before moving away from him slightly to gaze at his dazed and confused face.

“Good morning, handsome.”

“Fu-uck kitten, you… You’re really…”

San couldn’t find the words after that— he was speechless. So, he did the next best thing and showed his gratitude by grabbing you by the neck and kissing you roughly this early in the morning, his thumb pressing into your neck a little too much, so much that it turned you on and made you roll your body against his, making San take in a deep shuddering breath.

“Just saying,” you purred into his ear. “If you ghost me again, this is what you’ll miss out on forever.”

You then swung your leg over his waist and intentionally rolled your body into his this time. Then, you took his hand and moved it to your ass, the man immediately rubbing and clenching your ass cheek.

“So, will you ghost me again?”

“Fuck no,” San said definitively. “God no.”

“What about if you get another tattoo?”

“Even if I get another tattoo, I’ll let you scratch the shit outta it— Fuck, Y/N. You’re so fucking perfect. I will never ever ever let go of you now.”

He leaned in to whisper, “You’re mine, kitten.”

“Good boy.” You grinned and kissed his chest lightly. Then, you brought your finger to his neck and trailed a line while saying, “Now, about that neck tattoo…”

#ateez #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez san #choi san ateez #san ateez #broatz #choi san smut #ateez smut #idc if the back tatt looks like he got cupping done im still struggling w the he completely stripped on stage bit #cromernet

642 notes · View notes

capslocked · 1 year

Text

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god–

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:

What kind of journalism career is this?

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.

You tilt your head, quizzical.

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.

(Albeit woefully precarious.)

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide.

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk.

Monday.

5:00 p.m. rolls around.

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again.

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.”

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss.

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum.

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

2K notes · View notes

lonely-cowboy · 2 months

Note

hi!! how are you? i just wanted to tell you that i am obsessed with your writings omg :’((( i can’t even put into words how happy i am to find your account, the way you write connor is just <33

i was wondering if it’s okay to request something where connor is being protective over fem!reader?maybe some hurt/comfort with fluff in the end <3 I don’t have a specific scenario in my head, so it’s totally up to you, and i would love anything you decide to write for this request!!! also, you are totally free to ignore this if you don’t feel inspired enough by this request, it’s absolutely okay! ♡

thank you! have an amazing day and please sorry for my english, it’s not my first language

ugh thank you my love this is so sweet to hear!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post, midterms have not been fun my friends. i fear this is not my best work, but i hope you can still enjoy our silly android boy <3 you have an amazing day too!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

helping hand

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: connor comes to help you when you don't need him. again.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: graphic(?) violence (connor shoots a guy oops)

author's note: i write way too many first kisses and this is no exception. prepare for silly goofy domestic married fluff in the future bc that's what i live for

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You could’ve handled it all perfectly fine on your own. You didn’t need Connor’s help, you didn’t want Connor’s help. You were entirely capable of taking down a runaway vigilante on your own.

Sure, maybe it was stupid of you to run off on your own to the crook’s last known location the second the call was made. But he had been only three blocks away from you. What were you supposed to do, wait for backup? Of course not. You had the opportunity to catch a known criminal, so you took the risk. It was all part of the job.

You found yourself at an empty construction site with your gun drawn and pointed at the runaway criminal. You inched closer to your target– some crazy, murderous, anti-android protestor, there were a lot of those these days– slowly drawing your cuffs. You reached forward to restrain his wrists, fingertips brushing against his skin.

And then you were on the ground. You had been practically tackled, your temple striking the rocky earth hard enough that it looked like the world was spinning.

You sat up uneasily as you tried to orient yourself. Who in the world would have shoved you like that? The only indicator was your attacker’s quick “Sorry, Detective.”

You grunted in frustration as your vision cleared, focusing on the one person you did not want to see: Connor.

In all the time it took you to readjust, Connor had taken the vigilante to the ground. He stood overtop the criminal who groaned between crazed laughter. Connor’s foot pressed firmly into the criminal’s chest, a gun– that certainly did not belong to the android– pointed directly at the laughing man’s face.

You moved slowly from the ground, holding your surely bruised side. Your gaze was locked on Connor’s trigger finger, anxiously anticipating gunfire. You feared what it could mean if Connor pulled the trigger.

“Connor,” you warned quietly, your voice steadier than expected.

As you approached, you noticed the twitch of his finger. His LED was cycling through every color imaginable, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he held the criminal’s gaze.

“Never even think about touching her again,” Connor spit, his voice so cold that it frightened even you.

The pinned criminal only laughed, an ugly wheezing sound as Connor’s foot dug deeper into his chest. “An android in love, huh? Never thought I’d see–”

Connor’s foot rose quickly, stomping hard on the crook’s face until he was knocked out cold. From the impassive look on Connor’s face, you could tell he was practically seething. But that didn’t matter. Now was not the time to comfort him because you were equally as angry.

With an agitated huff, you shoved Connor by the shoulders as hard as possible. He barely moved at all, only adding fuel to your fire.

It was then that Connor seemed to snap out of his daze and remember you were there. He turned to you abruptly and discarded the gun, his hands finding their place on your biceps with a firm grip. His eyes immediately scanned over your frame, analyzing you for any damage. The only damage he found was what he had done.

The crease between his brows returned as he reached up to touch your throbbing temple. When he pulled his hand back, his elegant fingers were tipped with your blood.

“Did he do this?” Connor questioned, an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, Connor,” you snapped, shaking off his hands. “You did this! And it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me do my job for once!”

His LED blinked a steady red. Funny how it matched the blood on your temple.

“Detective, I was only trying to help,” he reasoned feebly.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Connor! I was handling this just fine on my own! And then here you come to save the day yet again, all knight in shining armor! Acting like I’m your damsel in distress, in need of saving!”

“Did you know he was armed?” Connor asked dismissively, quizzically cocking his head in a way that usually enamored you but only seemed to irritate you now.

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out as you processed Connor’s words. Armed? No, you hadn’t known he was armed. But if you admitted that then you would’ve looked stupid, like you needed Connor’s help. Like you were some damsel in distress.

When you didn’t answer, Connor gestured to his forgotten gun. “That was his. He was preparing to shoot you.”

“I could’ve easily disarmed him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms arrogantly. “I’m a trained professional.”

“The probability of success was 29%,” Connor stated matter-of-factually. “A majority of outcomes would have resulted in your death, Detective. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this job,” you growled. “This job is all about taking risks, Connor. I knew that when I signed up, and you should too.”

Your harsh tone made Connor pause, though he was quick to recover. He was determined for you to understand.

“If I can prevent your death, then I will. I won’t let your pride stop me,” he said.

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing into a thin line at the reality of Connor’s words. You knew he was right. He was right, he was right, he was right. But you refused to acknowledge that.

When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out besides a yelp.

So quickly you could barely process what happened, Connor’s grip on your arms tightened as he spun you around. One arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his chest protectively while his other hand moved to your holstered gun.

A single shot was fired. And an accurate shot, you guessed, by the sound of a slumping body.

Peeking past Connor, you found the body of your runaway criminal, a bullethole pierced right through his skull. You made note of the gun beside his fallen body, the same gun Connor had carelessly discarded.

You felt Connor return your gun to its holster before his hand moved to your chin. He turned your attention away from the dead body, forcing you to focus on him instead.

“I know you’re capable, Detective,” Connor murmured, his voice full of a fondness you hadn’t noticed before. “But that doesn't mean I can’t help. I feel better knowing you’re safe than assuming you are.”

You swallowed hard as you held Connor’s steady gaze. His free hand moved to brush your aching temple. His touch was so gentle you could barely feel it as he wiped away the blood with a frown.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” Connor explained, his voice holding a tinge of– was that regret? “And I only managed to hurt you myself. Maybe you’re right, Detective. You don’t need me. I’m sorry.”

Your hand moved to tug Connor’s hand away from your temple, holding him in your warm grip. His thumb rubbed against your knuckles soothingly as if it was second nature to him.

“I do. I do need you,” you insisted suddenly, surprising even yourself. One minute, you’re practically yelling at Connor for helping. The next, you’re reassuring him that you’ll always need him. You were confusing even yourself, you couldn’t imagine how confused Connor, the poor android. “I… I do. But… not all the time.”

Again, that crease between Connor’s brows returned, your lips forming a smile at the sight.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” you continued with a defeated sigh. “I do need you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be dead, you’re right. You’ve saved me twice today. But that doesn’t mean I need you to swoop in and save me every single time. I can still handle myself.”

“I know… I know…,” Connor whispered, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.

You let a beat of silence pass, watching Connor expectantly. There was something he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. So you patiently waited until he found the words.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

An android in love.

The criminal’s words replayed in your mind as they suddenly came back to you. At the time, you hadn’t completely processed what he said, your anger outweighing any thoughts of reason.

An android in love.

“Was he… was he right?” you asked after a beat to which Connor tilted his head with a puzzled look. Damn him for not being able to read your mind and immediately know what you were struggling to say. “The guy. What he said… He said that you…”

“Are in love,” Connor finished, his tone flat and conveying not a single sense of love.

“Yeah…,” you shrugged.

“If love can be defined by a desire to keep you safe, then yes, I would say I’m in love with you.”

With you.

He was in love with you.

You couldn’t hide your wide grin, ignoring the warmth that had suddenly spread to your cheeks. Seeing your grin, the corners of Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile too. Your faces naturally moved closer together until your noses were brushing, the warmth of each other’s breath against your lips.

Connor leaned closer. Closer, closer…

He was going to kiss you, and you were going to ruin it.

“You know,” you interrupted, pulling back no more than an inch. But it was enough to make Connor frown. “I’d rather not kiss next to the dead guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Connor’s smile returned, an affection glint in his eyes. His hand found yours, pulling you away from the scene.

“Backup is on the way,” he said. “They can handle this on their own.”

With his hand in yours, Connor led you away. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. It was a reassurance. A sign that you were safe with him, that he would do whatever it took to protect you. You returned his firm squeeze. Because you would do the same for him.

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

242 notes · View notes

honeys-hotties · 3 months

Note

ok this is kinda specific but can I request a julien fic where she's not sure if the reader is into girls and they're all out and a random guy hits on the reader and jb pretends to be her gf to get the reader away from him. and the reader plays along and kisses jb so she gets her confirmation and then they just confess their feelings ugh 🥰🥰🥰

i love this request!!! sorry it took me sooo long my loves, i've been absolutely overwhelmed with everything recently, but this one has been in the works for a bit and i'm so excited to get it out!!

My Type-Julien Baker x Reader

julien baker x fem!reader, sorta angsty? but happy ending (of course!) not proofread so i'm so sorry in advance, but i wanted to get something out tonight!

word count: 2727 💗

“When do you want me to pick you up?” Julien asks, her voice coming from the phone propped up on the coffee table. You’re sitting on the couch painting your nails while she watches through the screen, her face close to the camera on the facetime call.

“Umm, what time did Phoebe want to meet us there?” you ask, carefully applying a second coat.

“I think sometime around 9?” Julien says, smiling at the sight of you, deeply concentrated on your manicure.

“Okay” you say, capping the bottle and blowing on your freshly painted nails. “Do you wanna come over and get ready with me before we leave?”. Julien nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that sounds fun. When should I come over?” she asks, getting even closer to the screen. You pick up the phone, careful not to smudge your nails, and laugh at Julien’s expression, her face giant on the screen. “Oh, I don't care, maybe around 7? I can order a pizza or something?”

“Sounds good princess” she nods. “I’ll see you then. You smile and blow her a kiss before hanging up the phone and grabbing a bottle of clear nail polish to go over the red painted onto your nails with a smile.

Julien, however, is much less relaxed. As soon as you hang up the phone, she lets out a huge sigh and immediately calls Phoebe and Lucy to vent.

“Guys, I’m literally going over to her house to get ready with her, which really means watching her get ready, and I don’t know if I can take it.” she says dramatically. “She’s just so gorgeous and smart and funny and cute but I don’t even know if she’s into girls and I feel like I’m going to fuck up and make things SO awkward and if I ruin our friendship I don’t know what I’ll do and I just-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there” Phoebe cuts her off. “First off, that girl is definitely not straight.”

“Oh one hundred percent,” Lucy chimes in. “Remember when she was auxing when we were at the beach and she played girl in red? And when she and I talked for like an hour about Portrait of a Lady on Fire?”

“Yeah, or when all of us were like, collectively drooling over that Angelina Jolie movie? Honestly, shoot your shot JB.” Phoebe encourages, Lucy nodding along.

“I don’t know guys, I really don’t want to fuck up our relationship. I mean, other than you guys, she’s my best friend in the entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Julien, even if she was straight, which for the record she’s definitely not, she would never, ever hold your feelings against you.” Lucy tells her seriously, Phoebe agreeing with her.

“I guess so.” Julien tells them. “Alright, I love you both, I’ll see you at the bar tonight.” Julien waves to the pair before hanging up, dropping her phone onto the table, and dropping her face into her hands.

When you answer the door you’re fresh out of the shower, fresh faced with wet hair, wearing an oversized Green Day shirt, and tiny shorts, and Julien feels like she’s about to have a heart attack.

“Hey, you” you say, giving her a tight hug before opening the door further and letting her inside. “I just called, pizza should be on its way soon!” Julien can hear music playing faintly from your bathroom, and is acutely aware of the smell of your body wash and the fact that you are wearing very little clothing.

“Yeah, sounds good.” she says, walking inside and taking her shoes off, before following you into the bathroom where your makeup and hair products are spread out over the counter. She sits on top of the toilet and watches you dry your hair while you tell her about your day and the drama between some of your friends, looking at you like you hung the moon. Satisfied with your hair, you drag her into your bedroom and sit her down on the bed, pulling different hangers out of the closet.

“Okay, so I have this dress I thrifted,” you tell her, holding up a short, black dress. “It has this really cool neckline, and I was thinking I could do my layer necklaces and those black heels?” You show her another hanger. “I have this skirt too, though, and I thought I could wear it with that red top and my leather jacket? And my boots?” Julien stares at you blankly, but really she’s just picturing you in the clothes you’re holding up and trying so hard to keep her cool. You gently wave your fingers at her. “Hey, earth to JB, you okay over there?”

She starts, and stares at you for a second, blushing wildly. “Oh, um, I don’t, I mean, I think they would both look good.” she stutters, glancing down at her tattooed hands which are fidgeting in her lap. You roll your eyes playfully, laughing gently at her words.

“But which one would look better?” you ask, waving both of the hangers in her direction. “I was kinda leaning towards the dress, especially cause then I would match your shirt, but I really wanted your input!” Julien flushes again at your words, before nodding her head in agreement.

“I um, I think the dress would look really gorgeous on you.” she manages, and you beam at your words, heading into the bathroom to change and leaving Julien a flustered mess on the edge of your bed. Reminding herself of Lucy and Phoebe’s encouragements, she tells herself to get a grip and get over herself, taking several deep breaths as she waits for you to come back.

When you return, fully dressed and putting on your jewelry, Julien swears she can feel her heart stop. You pause, slightly self conscious under her gaze, and cast your eyes down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “What, um, what do you think?” you ask her, slowly meeting her eyes with your own.

“I think you look stunning” she tells you, voice full of sincerity. “I mean, shit, you’re easily one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.”

You flush at her words, and smile at her before grabbing your jacket and sitting down beside her to put on your shoes. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen too, JB.” you tell her, and miss the way her face burns at your words. “Ready to go?” you ask her, straightening up and grabbing her hand, pulling her into the living room as she nods. “You sure you’re okay with driving?” you ask her, grabbing your keys and phone while she ties her shoes.

“Of course I am,” she reassures you. “You just focus on having fun tonight, okay?” You grin at her, and the two of you chat about the night ahead all the way down to her truck, where she holds the door open for you before climbing inside herself. As soon as the car starts, she hands you her phone, and you pull up the playlist she had made for the both of you, singing along to the music the whole way to the bar. Julien has her hand resting on your knee as you speed through traffic, and you have your window down, the cold, nighttime air rushing through your hair.

Once the truck pulls into a parking space outside the bar and Julien opens your door, grabbing your hand and leading you into the bar, things start to speed up. Once the two of you find Lucy and Phoebe, making your way over to the booth they had claimed and greeting them with tight hugs and cheek kisses, Julien offers to get the three of you drinks, and after she leaves, Phoebe pulls you onto the dance floor. You throw your arms around Phoebe’s neck and she guides your hips to the music, the two of you a giggling, sweaty mess under the flashing lights and blasting speakers of the club. After Julien returns with your drinks, you pull Phoebe towards the table and slide into the booth, leaning up against Julien who lays an arm across your shoulders as you sip your drink.

“Having fun out there?” she asks, her face extremely close to yours in order to be heard over the music and chatter of the club. You nod, grinning, and gesture towards Phoebe

“She’s taking charge,” you say, laughing. “I’m just along for the ride.” Phoebe winks at you, pulling you into her side and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal and laugh. Lucy laughs loudly at the pout on Julien’s face at the loss of contact between the two of you, and Julien rolls her eyes, before quickly excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, Julien splashes water on her face, exhaling deeply and trying to talk herself up. The images of you dancing with Phoebe, the ones of you getting ready earlier, and every single second you had spent with her played in her head as she spiraled into a haze of overthinking and self-doubt. How could someone like you ever fall for someone like her, she wonders, but before she can get too deep into her own head, Lucy barges into the bathroom. Seeing the questioning look on Julien's face, Lucy cuts her off before she can ask:

“I know you too well, JB. I know you’re in here overthinking, but you need to be out there making a move.” Julien tries to protest, but before she can even get the words out Lucy cuts her off again, holding out a hand. “Don’t even try to give me any of that ‘she’s so out of my league’ bullshit either Julien, you two are made for each other and you know it. Now snap out of it and get your ass out there. Go get your girl!”

Julien grins ruefully at Lucy, thanking her for the pep talk before heading out of the bathroom to find you.

Meanwhile, you had wandered over the bar to get another drink for you and Phoebe. Julien was acting weird, barely making eye contact with you ever since you two had arrived, and you were stuck wondering if you had done anything wrong. When she had left the table, you had wanted to go after her, but Lucy insisted that you should stay, that she would go check on Julien. Phoebe had encouraged you to get another drink, so you were sitting in front of the crowded bar while the drastically overworked bartender made his rounds. You were so absorbed in what was happening with Julien you didn’t notice the guy next to you that had been ogling you from the second you sat down, until he opened his mouth.

“Hey you, come here often?” he asked, and you cringed internally, before tuning to find the man. He wasn’t unattractive, but his sleazy pick up line coupled with the stench of alcohol on him and the fact that he was way too close to you turned you off completely to the man. Well that, plus the fact that you already knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t him.

“Um, not really.” You said politely, before attempting to turn back around. The man’s hand on your shoulder prevented you from doing so, though, and you felt panic rising up within you. You tuned out whatever he was saying, searching frantically for Lucy, for Phoebe or Julien behind him, but with no luck.

“Like I was saying,” the man continued. “A pretty girl like you really shouldn’t be here all alone. Let me buy you a drink, then maybe we can keep getting to know each other at my place.”

You felt fear closing over you, your friends were nowhere to be seen and this guy was relentless. “No, really, I’m not interested.” you told him as calmly as you could.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning horribly at you.

“I’m not available.” you hear yourself say, to which the man scoffs.

“That’s what they all say, but I don’t see anyone here for you-” but the man is cut off by a firm hand sliding around your waist.

“Sorry about that, baby.” Julien says, pulling you protectively into her. “Line for the bathroom was crazy long. Who’s this guy?” she asks, pointing to the man whose slimy grin had slid right off of his face. Relief rushes through you at the feeling of Julien’s hands on your hips, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” you tell her, melting back into her arms. “This is, Matt, was it?” The man scowls.

“Mike, actually.” he responds, gruffly. Julien sticks out her tattooed hand.

“Mike, hi, I’m Julien. Her girlfriend.” she says gruffly, her voice and hands on you sending a wave of heat through your body. “And you’re obviously making her uncomfortable, so if you could leave, that would be great.”

“No, you know what, we were having a good time before you interrupted.” Mike scowled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m her fucking girlfriend.” Julien snaps at him, before pulling you into a strong kiss. You relax into her, throwing your arms around her neck and she pulls you in by the waist, standing between your legs and tilting your head gently upwards to meet her lips. You kiss her back feverishly, until she abruptly pulls away and steps back. “He, uh, he left.” she tells you, running her hand across her mouth. “Sorry about that.” she mutters, before turning on her heel and running out the door, leaving you sitting at the bar, speechless.

You stare at the spot where she disappeared into the crowd, heading for the door for a moment, before jumping up and stumbling after her. You pass by the booth with Lucy and Phoebe who are sitting, staring at you with smirks on their faces.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lucy asks, smiling gently as you get closer. “Go get your girl.” Phoebe whoops at her words, and you roll your eyes playfully at the two of them, before turning towards the door and hurrying out into the cold air. Once you stumble outside, and walk a couple feet down the sidewalk, you see Julien in the alley, leaned against the bricks with a cigarette in her hand. You walk slowly towards her, watching as she takes shaky drags from the cigarette in her hand.

“Hey, Jules.” You call softly to her when you’re a couple feet away, and she slowly meets your eyes with her own red-rimmed ones. “Why are you crying?”

“Fuck, I’m so, so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you just looked so uncomfortable and I wanted to make sure you were safe but I wasn’t thinking and-” but you cut her off, surging forwards to kiss her again. Your hands fly into her hair and she drops the cigarette, crushing it under her boot before pulling you in by your hips. She runs her strong hands up your back and bites your bottom lip gently, causing you to moan into her mouth, tugging gently at the roots of her hair. Moments later, you break away, panting, and she rests her forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” you tell her, placing a finger to her lips when she begins to protest. “You did save me, and you showed me that you feel this too.” you gesture between the two of you. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for like, forever!” you tell her breathily, giggling at the incredulous look on her face.

“Me?!” she asks. “I thought I wasn’t your, uh, your type, I guess”

“Well, you thought wrong.” you say, before lacing your fingers with hers, smiling at the beautiful grin that breaks onto her face. “Let’s go tell Lucy and Phoebe good night, and then you can take me home.”

Julien steals one more quick kiss before squeezing your hand gently and pulling you after her back into the bar, laughing as you stumble, and thanking her lucky stars she had been wrong about you.

#julien baker x reader #boygenius #julien baker #honey writes #phoebe bridgers #lucy dacus

132 notes · View notes

slxsherr · 1 year

Text

Feeling Like I Never Should

read part II here

pairing: kirby reed x fem!reader x charlie walker

summary: kirby is your best friend, which is why she knows you and charlie will never get together without a little outside help.

wc: 3077

warnings: fem!reader, inexperienced!reader, inexperienced!charlie, dom!kirby(?), cursing/swearing, descriptions of alcohol & alcohol consumption, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (p in v), squirting, creampie, virginity loss

a/n: this is kinda very kirby centered but for good reason

Kirby is your best friend, and as your best friend she knows exactly when you need a push. Especially when it comes to Charlie. She loved to make the two of you squirm, to tease, to torment, until you were both a mess.

You like Charlie, maybe more than a friend should, but his obvious feelings for Kirby have stopped you from ever pursuing him as anything more than a friend. But Kirby knows something you don’t, that no matter how much she heckles or taunts Charlie, no one makes him squirm like you do.

His logic isn’t half bad, feign interest in her so that you don’t suspect his feelings for you, but one thing the dweeb never considered is that you might reciprocate his feelings. It’d be cute how oblivious the two of you are if it wasn’t so pathetic. Both of you pining over the other, too afraid to make a move.

“What are you doing tonight?” Kirby asks you, shutting your locker abruptly and startling you.

“Please stop doing that,” you groan, ever the unexpecting victim of Kirby’s jumpscares.

“You know I can’t,” Kirby says, disregarding your request. “So, any special Friday night plans?”

“I’m alone again this weekend, so probably just takeout and—” you begin to say, but Kirby interrupts you.

“And a rager?” She suggests jokingly.

“No,” you shoot down her idea quickly, even if she wasn’t being serious. “Charlie wants to come over to plan Stab-A-Thon and my sister left behind some werewolf trilogy so we’re probably gonna watch that,” you answer, bracing yourself for Kirby’s response.

“Sounds like a hot date,” she says sarcastically, reveling in your involuntary embarrassed reactions.

“Shut up. Why are you asking?” You say, changing the subject.

“Because Jill, Olivia, and I are going to a party and I thought I’d extend an invitation, but you have plans. So, invitation withdrawn,” she answers, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“You’re just gonna end up watching guys fawn over Olivia and Jill spend the entire time on the couch with Trevor,” you tell her, knowing that inevitably she will show up at your house sometime after two in the morning, drunk off her ass and complaining about how lame the party was.

“At least there’ll be some free booze. See you later!�� Kirby says before walking away.

It doesn’t take long for you and Charlie to plan Stab-A-Thon for the third year in a row, sharing Chinese takeout while going over location, equipment, and all the other small details of the club’s most notorious event. Pretty soon you’re both sprawled over your couch, dissecting the first movie that your sister described as a feminist cult classic, your legs resting comfortably over Charlie’s lap.

“Honey! I’m home!” Kirby yells, interrupting the second movie, letting herself in with a copy of your house key that you gave her freshman year. “And I’m really drunk!”

“Is that Kirby?” Charlie asks when you pause the movie, confused.

“Yeah, I guess she decided to bail on the party early,” you say, getting up to bring her to the den.

“Ugh, you were right,” Kirby says when you meet her at your front door, struggling to take off her shoes. “Olivia left with some guy and Jill barely let go of Trevor’s arm. But I got this!” She says, kicking off her shoes and holding up a bottle of tequila.

“I don’t think you need anymore of that, come on, I’ll get you some water,” you say, leading her to the living room.

“Charlie! How’s the werewolf trilogy?” You hear Kirby ask while you go to the kitchen to get her water.

“Basically a high-budget snuff film,” you catch the end of Charlie’s thoughts on the movie when you come back with a water bottle for Kirby.

“Ooh, will it be brought up at the next club meeting?” Kirby asks, pulling your back to her chest when you join them on the couch, resting her chin over your shoulder.

“Maybe,” Charlie says, taking a swig of the tequila Kirby must have given him while you were in the kitchen.

“Drink some water, you need to sober up,” you tell Kirby, twisting in her hold to raise the now open water bottle to her lips.

“And you need to loosen up,” Kirby says, drinking the water reluctantly.

“Only if you drink some water,” you say, handing her the plastic bottle.

“That’s my girl!” She cheers, drinking more water while you turn back around to face Charlie.

Your fingers brush against Charlie’s when you take the tequila from him, lifting the heavy bottle to drink the unpleasant clear liquid. It burns as it goes down your throat, settling hot in your stomach, the heat seeping throughout your body. Your face scrunches at the bitter taste, and you already know Kirby’s gonna have something to say about that.

“Aw, do you need a chaser?” She teases, wrapping her arms around your waist, empty water bottle dropped to the floor.

“Something tells me you didn’t bring any,” you rasp, relinquishing the bottle back to Charlie.

“It’s not so bad,” Charlie says after taking another drink.

“I’ve had better,” you say, nursing the bottle, keeping it away from Kirby as she playfully bites your shoulder.

Without mixers, it’s not long before half the bottle is gone and you and Charlie are about equal to Kirby’s somewhat less intoxicated state. The movie is long forgotten, frozen at the end of the first act. The three of you are squished at one end of the couch, you’re slumped against Kirby, legs thrown over Charlie’s lap, listening to Kirby’s drunken rundown of the party she left and how she stole the bottle.

“Hold on, I gotta pee,” she says, pushing you off of her to run to the bathroom.

“Sorry,” you say, hearing Charlie groan when you’re shoved onto his lap.

“No, you’re fine,” he says, hoping you don’t realize the hard situation he’s in.

“I don’t think we’re gonna finish the trilogy tonight,” you giggle, laying back where Kirby was seated.

“Definitely not,” he says, hands nervously resting over your thighs.

“I’m back!” Kirby announces her return, and you sit up to let her return to her spot.

“That was fast,” you say, shifting halfway on Charlie’s lap, too distracted by Kirby to notice him throwing his head back, his hands just barely gripping your skin.

“God, you’re such a tease,” she says, pulling you off of his lap and towards her once she’s sat.

“What do you mean?” You ask, relaxing into her hold.

“Look what you’re doing to him,” she says, redirecting your focus to Charlie. “He’s pitching a tent just from you crawling over him like a little minx.”

“That’s not—” he tries to deny it, face flushing from being called out, but Kirby cuts him off.

“Are you gonna help him out with his problem or not?” She asks you, both you and Charlie shocked by her words.

“D-Do you want me to help you?” You ask him, head fuzzy from the night’s turn of events.

“Yes,” Charlie answers, and as soon as the word leaves his lips Kirby is pushing you onto his lap.

Your thighs straddle his hips, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders from being moved so abruptly. Looking between them, you’re unsure of what to do, but as your best friend, Kirby already knows of your lack of experience. She moves closer to the two of you, cupping your cheek and turning your head to face her. Leaning in, she presses her lips to yours, kissing you wantonly. You return the kiss, albeit a bit sloppily, lips parting when her tongue swipes at your bottom lip, licking into your mouth. She pulls away soon after, not wanting you to forget about Charlie.

“Kiss him like that,” she instructs you, turning your head back to face him.

You lean in, goosebumps rising across your skin as a shiver tingles down your spine from his intent gaze, pupils dilated from lust and alcohol. Pressing your lips to his, you copy Kirby’s movements the best you can, kissing him sensuously. He kisses you back hungrily, as if he wished to devour you. When your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, he parts his lips just as you did for Kirby, and follows your lead as your tongue meets his. The makeout is messy, both of you new to the act, and Kirby takes the opportunity to move Charlie’s hands to your hips from where they rested on your thighs.

“Move her however you like,” she whispers in his ear, giving him the go-ahead to grind you on his crotch.

Charlie’s hands move your hips slowly, his own hips bucking up to meet yours as you whine into his mouth. He’s not quiet either, low moans escaping him at the lewd acts unfolding. Your nails scratch at the fabric of his flannel, supporting yourself with his shoulders as heat pools in your core. Despite the layers between the two of you, the friction is just enough for a wet patch to appear in your panties.

“Alright, calm down, greedy boy,” Kirby says, pulling you away from the kiss by your shoulders. “Wouldn’t want you finishing before the main event,” she teases, having heard the desperation in his voice as the two of you began to get lost in pleasure.

“Be nice,” you tell her, the words slipping out without thought.

“You want me to be nice?” She asks, her mouth stretching into a devious smile. “Come here,” she says, scooting to the edge of the couch, back to the armrest, where she sat when she first arrived.

You make your way towards her, letting her flip you around to face Charlie when you get close, your back to her chest like before. Her fingers play with the hem of your top, soft lips brushing against your skin as she leans forward, whispering in your ear to lift your arms. You do as she says, arms rising above your head, and she pulls up your top, exposing you to Charlie. He’s watching attentively, you can feel his stare hardening when your bra comes into view, fabric lifting over your head and being thrown to the side.

“Come closer, Charlie,” Kirby says, and he doesn’t need to be told twice, moving closer to the two of you, slotting himself between your legs. “Isn’t she pretty?” Kirby asks, fondling you over your bra, and your breath hitches from her actions.

“Yes, she’s very pretty,” he says, voice low and airy.

“Do you wanna play with her tits?” Kirby asks, pulling the cups of your bra down to expose your breasts. “Go ahead,” she says, when Charlie only responds with a nod.

His hands are surprisingly cold, a shock to your overheated skin. Kirby undoes your bra, sliding the straps down your shoulders and stripping you of the last garment on your upper body before placing her hands on top of Charlie’s. She guides his hands to be less gentle, and you watch through hooded lids as he lowers his head to your chest.

His tongue flicks over your pert nipples, testing for your reaction, continuing when he hears your soft whines. Kirby pulls his hair back, giving you a better view as he mouths at your tits, licking and sucking your hardened buds, skin shining from his spit. She pulls him away from you harshly by his hair, holding him in place.

“If you wanna get your dick wet, you need to prep her,” Kirby says, letting go of him. “Take these off for her,” she instructs, snapping the waistband of your shorts and panties against you.

You lift your hips so that he can pull your bottoms off, and he accidentally pulls you closer to him, your head sliding down to rest against Kirby’s stomach. She doesn’t say anything, watching him push your legs up to slide the last of your clothes off. You’ve got your thighs pressed together tightly, feeling vulnerable being the only one naked, but Kirby doesn’t allow that for long. She forces your legs apart, giving Charlie a clear view of your wet cunt.

“This,” she says, one hand trailing down to spread your folds with two fingers. “Is her clit, play with it right and you both get a prize,” she continues, rubbing tight circles on the bud, making you mewl as your hips buck for more. “Be patient,” Kirby warns you, pulling her fingers away to hold your hips down, ignoring the whimper you let out from the loss of friction.

Charlie’s fingers replace Kirby’s, messy circles leaving you breathless as you moan quietly. Eyes screwed shut in pleasure, you don’t see him moving down until his mouth meets your core. He licks a broad stripe from your hole to your clit, sucking the bud experimentally between his lips. You’re left keening from his actions, Kirby’s hands keeping your thighs from shutting around his head and hips rolling for more.

“Good boy,” Kirby coos from behind you, watching Charlie eat your pussy like a man starved. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm. “Now stretch her hole with your fingers,” Kirby instructs, ignoring your hands gripping the wrist of her hand holding your hips down.

Charlie slides a finger in tentatively, stroking your walls gently. You’re a whiny mess, begging for more, sweet voice echoing through the room. He slips another finger in, your tight walls sucking him in greedily. His thick fingers prod deep inside you, massaging a spot that has your stomach twisting in pleasure.

“Charlie,” you moan his name, breathing heavy as he fucks you open with his fingers, face flushing in embarrassment when you hear your pussy squelching lewdly.

“Is he making you feel good?” Kirby asks, and you nod quickly, thighs trembling as she holds your legs open. “Is he doing a good job?” She asks, enjoying the way you struggle to muster even a non-verbal response as you do your best to nod. “No, use your words, hon. Tell him how good he’s making you feel, how good of a job he’s doing,” she says, watching your glossy eyes meet Charlie’s.

“Feels so good, Charlie,” you say between ragged breaths, mewling when he thrusts his fingers harder. “You’re doing such a good job!” You cry, ears ringing and gripping Kirby’s arm tighter as you begin to teeter over the edge.

“Stop,” Kirby says, and you whine at the empty feeling when Charlie pulls his fingers out, your orgasm ruined. “Shh, don’t worry, love. You’ll get to come,” she reassures you, massaging your thighs. “Take your clothes off, Charlie,” she instructs him, and he wastes no time stripping.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, down to his boxers, slowly moving back to where he was between your legs.

“You don’t need one, you’re both virgins and she’s on the pill,” Kirby says, pushing him to sit back to cushion, moving you onto his lap.

Your thighs shake when you straddle him this time, nothing separating the two of you now. His dick is pretty, pale with a pink, almost red, tip, shiny from leaking pre. He’s got a protruding vein on the underside, you lick your lips wishing you could trace it instead, a trimmed dark patch of curls trailing up.

“Spit,” Kirby says, interrupting your thoughts, holding your hand up to your mouth. “Good girl,” she praises you when you let your saliva dribble into the palm of your hand. “You’re lucky,” Kirby says to you, wrapping your hand around Charlie’s dick. “To have such a pretty cock as your first,” she finishes, pumping your fist leisurely around him.

The sight of Charlie is sinful, almost pornographic moans slipping past kiss-swollen lips. His hair is a little messy from Kirby’s rough handling, blue eyes glistening as he watches Kirby move your hand around him, hips desperately meeting yours for more. But Kirby reminds him who’s in charge, hand holding him in place just as she did you before stopping your movements altogether.

“Now sit,” Kirby says, pulling your hips up and lining him up with your entrance.

Charlie’s hands hold onto your hips as you sink further down, thick head stretching your hole as you lower. It’s not as painful as so many of your friends had said when they told you about their first time, moreso uncomfortable as his shaft stretches you wider than his fingers prepared you for. Your mouth is open in a silent cry, gravity forcing you further down and it feels like you’re being split apart.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asks when you’re fully seated, hands kneading your hips comfortingly.

“Yeah,” you answer, getting used to the full feeling, gaze shifting to Kirby’s, a question in your eyes.

“Ride him,” Kirby says, hands on top of Charlie’s, guiding you up and down his cock.

Your hands find themselves on his shoulders, stabilizing yourself as you’re bounced on his lap. You moan wantonly as the two of you move together, pleasure zinging through your bodies each time your hips slam down. Kirby removes her hands from Charlie’s, one instead softly tracing across your lower back as you lose yourself, trembling as he thrusts up to meet your movements.

A string of expletives leave his mouth, a whispered groan as he no doubt nears his release. It’s cute, Kirby thinks, how desperate the two of you are to finish. You hide your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder, hands tugging at his hair as your hips struggle to keep up with his punishing pace, moaning incoherently into his skin.

But Kirby can’t have that, so she sneaks a hand between your bodies, rubbing frantic circles on your clit. Your whole body tenses up, taut like a string, biting into Charlie’s shoulder to muffle your wail as your release sprays against his stomach and thighs. He fucks you through it, despite your walls tightening to push him out, hips jerking as he pulls you down one last time, coming inside you.

Kirby is your best friend, but even in her drunken state she can recognize that maybe that’s not a good enough excuse for what she did tonight. Driving you into Charlie’s arms just because she doesn’t have the balls to admit she’s in love with you is somehow worse than Charlie’s misdirection strategy. But that’s a problem for hungover Kirby, she thinks.

749 notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 11 months

Text

Spawn's Defeat | Yandere Father Franken Stein

Sitting atop the roof of the DWMA never got old. The wind whispered the town's secrets as the sun rose with a stiff smile. It just felt right to be there. You doubted anyone would understand if you told them. They had to be there to feel the magic of being at rest and seeing the sunrise after a night of battles.

You’d hold their hand, as they stumbled on the misshapen peak and have to assure them as they shakily sat. You’d continue to hold their hand as they let their jaw drop and a breathy ‘whoa’ escape their mouth. Even better they’d shed a tear and lean against you as you watched the sunrise. It’d be then that’d you’d stand lending a hand as they stood, more sure of themselves, reentering through the window you came. Bonded by the beauty you shared on the roof of the DWMA.

Click!

A deep breath in.

A breath out.

“Are you done?”

The familiar scent of smoke. And the gravelly uninterested voice of Franken Stein. A genius meister so masterful he can weaponize his soul. The DWMA’s resident doctor and teacher. And most regrettably your father.

“What’s it matter to you?”

An intake of smoke. You can sense the way he shifts the stick in his mouth, letting it hang on the side to impede his speech.

“Aren’t you my spawn? Aren’t you supposed to do whatever I say?”

You scoffed, “Is your screw loose? That doesn’t sound like any reality I know.”

You kept your gaze on the sun even as you registered the crouching heat on your back. The sound of the screw cranking rang closely in your ear; his smoke-stench breath heated the shell of your ear.

“Nope. But maybe yours is.”

At a speed all too familiar to you he reached for your own, only to clutch at the air as you jumped to an adjacent cone of the roof. Hanging with expert ease as he stood straight, retreating his hands to his pockets.

“Yours needs to be winded. I’d rather do it now.”

He spoke at a moderate tone but the annoyance shone like the glass of his eye-wear. You looked down spying on the early students coming in you prepared yourself to somersault down.

Without a glance at him you spoke candidly,” I’ll have a friend do it.”

Stein watched, taking a tepid drag of his cigarette as he watched his creation merge with the uninteresting student body.

_______________________________________________

The sun was nearly setting, lighting the nurse's room in an orange hue. Dramatically lighting the patient and her guests who looked down at her with various expressions.

‘Ugh! Patty, you couldn’t have sprained both your ankles!? At the very least make your injury symmetrical for us!?”

“Kid! If you’re not going to be supportive then get the heck out of here!”

“Y-yeah! Y-you didn’t even bring a gift! You’re so cruel.”

Death the Kid upturned his nose letting one eye peer at the tearful pout of Patty. Liz glared at him with crossed arms, scoffing as she scanned the room.

“Speaking of cruel where’s that screw-guy? We’ve been waiting here for a while now!”

Death the Kid was the first to turn, recognizing the rising silhouette behind the adjacent curtain. Liz turned in to look in the same direction letting her eyebrow raise as you pulled back the curtain.

“(Y-y/n)? W-wh–” Kid started, cut off by Liz,”(Y/n)? What are you doing here? You playing doctor today?”

You chuckled,” No no not today. Last I checked he went out to talk to Lord Death about something, said whoever ended up coming in would have to suffer by themselves for a bit.”

“Noooo!!!”

Patty wailed. Liz groaned rubbing a hand over her forehead before turning to the desk and the nearby medical supplies.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

“What!? But you’re barely literate in biology! What makes you think you can do that?!”

Kid protested as Liz read and collected what she wanted in a box. She carried it to the playfully fainted Patty collecting the gauze and ointment from her collection.

“Because I’ve done it before. Now move if you're not going to help.”

Kid scoffed folding the cuffs of his suit back. With a confident smile, he stepped towards Patty making her cower at the sheer determination in his eyes.

“Ha! As if! I will be helping to evenly spread the ointment and perfectly wrap the bandages! So that you’ll have perfect symmetry!”

“No! No! (Y/n) get him out of her or Patty won’t be the only one to wrap up!”

You giggled. Stepping in front of Kid to lightly grab the same three tips of his fingers, pulling him in the direction of the door.

“Come on Kid. Let’s step out for a bit.”

“W-w-we c-c-c-an’t knowing Patty s-she’ll j-just mess t-this up!”

Despite his vocal protests, he walked along with you letting you kick the door open to the empty hallway. When you stopped walking he couldn’t help but stare at your smiling face. Jumping with shock as he threw his hands up in the air, realizing you were no longer guiding him out of the room. He stiffly brought his hands to his sides, turning his head away as if to ease the heat spreading across his face.

“Kid?”

He jumped again, turning to you at lightning speeds.

“Y-yes!”

You tilted your head and puckered your lips, purposefully fighting the smirk on your lips as you fiddled with the collar of your uniform.

“I-I need your help. My windup key…it needs to be turned.”

The sentence brought his entire face to a red flush, turning away to dab at the dribble of blood that spilled from his nose. He turned back to you coughing as though he wasn’t the least bit flustered as he beckoned you forward.

He closed his eyes preparing himself for the familiar and vulnerable sight of your windup key near your lower back. Only to open his eyes to see you, not turned around and instead unbuttoning your uniform's top. He flailed for a moment, freezing as you revealed the miniature key-crank in the valley of your chest. He reminded himself to breathe as he turned away bashfully letting his eyes trail to your own, which were looking coy and expectant.

“Y-you moved it…”

“I did.”

Your tone told him this was planned. That didn’t stop the blush that sat comfortably on his face as he turned it to the right. Winding it up as he had done so many times before, respecting the symmetrical horizontal placement that you had instructed him to. He let his hands linger registering the warmth of your body traveling through the metal to him.

“(Y/n) I-”

The door slammed open to Patty stomping out of the nurse’s office in a tangle of gauze. Liz seemed to follow struggling to follow because of the robotic gadget clinging to her leg.

“Wait! Pattie! Just ‘cuz the medicine is working does not mean you're healed! Hey!?”

You and Kid both just looked at the duo running down the hallway in absolute shock. Kid cursed under his breath turning to follow the two, abruptly stopping his pursuit to turn back to you. His mouth opened and closed, floundering to say something to your wide-eyed self. Before giving up, hanging his head for a bit before turning to run.

“I-I-I’LL TEXT YOU LATER! PATTY! LIZ!”

With that he shot off, leaving you in his nonexistent cloud of dust as he gave chase to his weapon partners. You let the creeping smile on your face fall as you turned to the opposite end of the hallway. Specifically glaring at the shadows of the unlit hallway as you clutched the opened ends of your uniform.

“How long did you plan to sit there and watch?”

You sneered as the gray-haired man revealed himself turning his screw. He ignored you dryly snickering.

“Death’s kid? Really?”

You scowled at him, hating the way you’re cheeks still heat up at such an obvious tease. You turned to walk away holding your head up high as you tried to rebutton your uniform. Much to your chagrin, he followed keeping a distance away from you as you went.

“Whatever! Why don’t you just go back to doing your job?!”

“But I am. It’d just be so much easier if the patient was actually willing to take my help over a kid’s.”

You didn’t respond only speeding up, failing to lose him as he only did the same. This continued until you began just running at a full sprint still unable to lose him.

“Will you stop that!? You’re being a creep!”

“Am I? It wouldn’t be all that creepy if you stopped running.”

“No! Stop it!”

Spurred by the adrenaline of the chase you found yourself converting your casual sprint to the soul-powered running you’d do during battles. Darting at insane speeds out of the DWMA, sending any remaining students reeling through the effects of the intense air pressure.

__________________________________________________________

As far as you were concerned the chase was still on and while you weren’t tired in the slightest, something else was slowing you down. Nonetheless, you hopped from rooftop to rooftop casually patrolling the town as well as evading the one chasing you. As luck would have it you did come across a foul soul already on its way to becoming a major threat. Directing your attention to attacking the mutated human, you launched yourself from the building. Using the momentum of your running and subsequent jumping you practically crushed the monster on impact. Splashing the cobblestone in a spurt of crimson blood leaves the floating red soul for you to collect.

Without a second thought, you let yourself land collecting the naughty soul as you squeeze it in your hand. Usually, you would have continued forward, returning to the DWMA, eating it, or giving Death a call but today was different. Your head was foggy and your cheeks tickled. So instead of doing what you would have usually done, you brought the wisp up to your cheek giggling nonsensically at the feeling of it. Completely unaware of the counterpart launching from the shadows to kick you square in the chest. No doubt bending the metal that was haphazardly sticking out there.

Snap!

“O-oh no…”

You drunkenly mused, letting your knees slowly descend to the bloodied ground. Curling against the pavement you began you let your eyes begin to close for a nap. Your newfound opponent would look curious before brandishing their weapon to attack completely unaware of the force being brought behind them.

“‘Oh no’ is right.”

Before it could register they were enveloped in electrifying pain, not only abusing the nerves of their body but its soul as well. And they could barely register the man with a screw in his head twisting it with a sick smile.

“Now usually I’d end you quickly but you’ve made a grand mistake and I’m not bored just yet.”

_________________________________________________________

“Can’t believe you’d be so idiotic to risk your life for something as stupid as this.”

“Don’t act like you know what I’m going through! It's deeper than just that!”

“Hush. Patients don’t talk during open heart surgery.”

“Hmph.”

He watched you roll your eyes and pout as you let him work. With careful precision, he rewelded the removed key notches to his decorative metal piece. Inspecting the key for any incongruencies he let it hang in front of his sight, conveniently framing you in its design. He often wondered if he regretted implementing such a system on you. Disrupting your perfectly functional body with an inbuilt harness to nurture your ever-growing soul. But he knew well and good he felt no remorse for doing so; after all, it was his way of claiming you. While some may be satisfied with pure DNA, he figured he needed something more. Something he knew you’d need help with. His help with.

Even if you denied it with all your might and abused it to lure unsuspecting weirdos, ultimately Stein had the key to your heart. More accurately your energy but he wasn’t one to be perfect.

“Are you done? I have things to do.”

He huffed sticking the key in its slot and turning it to the right. He continued winding it up with ease before shooting a spiteful gaze at the kid looking studiously through the window of his office. With a twitch in his eye, he turns the key abruptly to the left and officially presses it into you watching as it receded into your body; leaving only the filled lock on your chest.

You sat up buttoning your shirt and grabbing your blazer on your way to walk out.

“Thank you. Maybe next time don’t build with such faulty equipment.”

“Oh? Maybe next time don’t let random boys wind up your key. ”

“He’s not a random boy!”

“A random kid, who didn’t properly wind it up.”

“Whatever.”

You dismissed him ducking out of the room to wrap yourself around the arm of said Kid. The adoring pair of golden orbs flicking to him in distaste, as you both passed by the window, only hardened the meister’s resolve.

“It’d be interesting…to defeat the spawn of Death. Right?”

#yandere soul eater #Yandere Soul Eater #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere platonic #yandere stein #yandere father stein #yandere soul eater stein #death the kid x reader #yandere soul eater father stein #yandere franken stein

178 notes · View notes

onsunnyside · 2 years

Note

OMG OFFICER ARI HANDCUFFING YOU ?);;);?!

- stevie’s cream 🐰

Omg ok hear me out:

You’re at a Halloween party with your friends, drunk off your ass, flirty as hell, and begging your friends to take a picture with the cutie dressed like a cop.

(reader is not so smart ok) “look at him! It’s so detailed!” You trace all over his body, the badge and name tag that’s slightly blurry in the darkness. “And here I thought I’d never find my soulmate.” You blink up him in a daze, dressed in your tiny prisoner dress with fishnets and black boots.

The long haired man smiles politely, “Ma’am, I think you had too much to drink. Do you have someone to pick you up and take you home?”

“Ooh, he even talks like one!” One of your friends giggles.

“I don’t wanna go home, officer, I want you to arrest me.” You pout, “just for a itty bitty teeny tiny picture. My ex just dumped me and we were supposed to be matching… he was gonna arrest me, if you get what I mean.”

Your name is sharply scolded. “This guy doesn’t need to know your business!”

“I don’t care. It’s not like he’s a real cop.” You brush her off, still staring at the handsome stranger. “Pretty please, mister officer, I’ll be on my very best behaviour—I’ll be as good as a prisoner could be, just ‘cause you’re the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.”

He hooks his thumbs in his heavy belt, his firm arms straining against the navy fabric. God, you think it’ll burst at the seams. “Cutest you’ve ever seen, is that right?”

“Yeah and you should become a real cop, you look sexy in the uniform.” Your attention drops to his name tag again, you squint. “Mr. A-lem-oon, Mr. Officer A Lemon. I wanna be Mrs. Officer A Lemon someday.”

He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. It’s the prettiest sound in your drunken state. You’re actually upset when he stops and his laugh quiets to chuckles. He removes his hat and runs a hand through his long shoulder length hair. You swoon instantly.

“I don’t know if my folks would be happy with me marrying a criminal.”

“It’s only a costume! I’ve never committed a crime—well, I used to take plates and silverware from restaurants when I was younger, and flowers from my neighbours garden but that’s it!” You blabber as your friends slowly come to a realization. “Ugh, too bad you aren’t a real cop. I’ve always wanted to go for a joyride.��

You don’t know how, but it seems like you’ve just noticed the police car behind the man a few feet away. He holds up keys and presses a button before the lights flash.

You gasp. “Oh shit! Even a fake cop car! Wow, you’re dedicated to the whole officer persona… and I lost my striped hat…” you huff, “oh, I hope you don’t lose your car. If someone tries to take it, I’ll kill them.”

His eyes widen. “Okay, why don’t you stay here while I talk to your friends about getting you home?”

Your bottom lip trembles. “You’re gonna leave me here? All alone in the middle of a dark and scary street?” You exaggerate as if there isn’t a booming house party behind you. “I can’t protect myself, I’ll kill for you but I’m sensitive!”

#ask sonny #stevie’s cream 🐰 anon #sonny drabbles #ari loving hours #officer Ari au

416 notes · View notes

bajibitch · 1 year

Text

Interviewing the cast. actor au.

Ken, Nahoya, Rindou, Yuzuha, Souya, and Tetta

⚅ Ken ⚅

“How do you feel about the fans reactions to your character?”

“I’m the nice guy without weird intentions. I’m the one they’d marry but there’s always something that holds me back, and it’s Emma.”

“I love those! Not only for the angst, but it’s also nice seeing you be a piece of shit every once in a while.”

“Do you know what I’d do to someone who constantly brings up their dead crush? Not only that but the unrealistic expectation to be like them?”

“What would you do?”

“I’d throw their ashes on them and tell them it’s never going to happen.”

“I’m dead!” You smacked the armrest and leaned back in your chair cackling. “Leave the ashes alone.”

“No, a point has to be made.” He said. “But that’s better than beating someone after they lost their sister.”

“Your character lost a lot of my love and respect in that scene! Like, yes he loved her, but that was Manjiro’s sister at the end of the day!”

“I was surprised many people still loved him. That was a hard scene for me to shoot because Manjiro is a good actor. I felt bad swinging at him while he had that look on his face.”

“We know you cry during movies, so this wouldn’t be any different. It’d make sense if it was harder since you’re compassionate.”

“I had to give him a hug after we shot that scene.”

“How do you relate to your character?”

“My mouth gets me into a lot of trouble.”

“Ooo, tell me how!”

“You’re so nasty!” He laughed. “I’m talking about when I taunt people as were arguing. Like that scene where I get stabbed by Peh.”

“I knew his character wasn’t getting much love after that one.”

“It went up after he beat Shion.”

“Cause who doesn’t love a man that can knock someone out with one hit?”

“I don’t. My character got stabbed for respecting his friend's choice!”

“What would you change about your character?”

“I’d have him do his job the correct way. A lot could’ve been prevented if he spoke up, but he was like a bystander. He didn’t try hard enough for me.”

“Yeah, he just went along with it to make his friend happy. He didn’t want to go against them. It’d be fair to say he deserves some of the blame.”

“I get it wasn’t his gang, but he was high enough to give his advice and be heard.”

“He was just following the leader.”

⚄ Nahoya ⚄

“Did you miss me?” Nahoya kissed your cheek and you wiped it just as fast.

“Not really.”

“Don't be mean.”

“Last time we talked, you got me kicked out of an exclusive event.”

“I hated your plus one.”

“You could've avoided them!”

“You should've known better. I've been going back and forth with them online before the event.”

“It was a petty squabble, I thought you’d be over it. Besides it's easy to ignore them online, just block them.”

“Tell me how that block button works when people start blowing you up to hear about your night with Takemichi.”

“I didn't sleep with him.”

“I didn't say you did, but they’ll think so once I tweet it.”

“You bet-”

“Done. And you know Takemichi’s just gonna make it worst.” He laughed as your phone started to go off.

“Ugh. How do you feel about the fans reaction to your character?”

“I love that they know he's vicious and I encourage them to go darker. I love seeing the crazy shit they come up with! Hell, I add my own stories for them to enjoy.”

“Cool, what do you write? Angst, Horror...”

“Anything dark satiates my hunger. I love making the reader squirm and see my character as some monster, but I throw in some fluffy moments.”

“I have to read it sometime.” Your phone continues vibrating and chiming on the table.

“Hehehe. You gonna pick it up?”

“Shut up!” You cut your phone off and put it in your pocket.

“While we're still on it. I hate that people think he’ll just abuse the ones he loves. Like yeah he raises hell when it comes to his enemies, but he isn’t just abusing his brother.”

“You want them to see that he’s capable of love too?”

“Yeah because it adds to his character. He’s a nightmare to his enemies, but he can be a dream come true to his honey. I can be that. I’m not just a player! I love the thought of having a successful relationship!”

“Getting kinda personal aren’t ya?”

“Yes because I’m sick of people cheating on me because they think I’m cheating on them!”

“Haha, you should’ve confessed that before you sent a horde of people to harass me! But seriously, that’s not right. You should have a conversation with them at the start and be honest about your feelings.”

“No shit.”

“Smart ass. How do you relate to your character?”

“We’re everyone's obsession. I'm catnip to my peers, they can't get enough of me! If I ever stopped hanging around them they’d be devastated.”

“You're much more conceited than I remember. Is there anything you’d change about your character?”

“It's not him that's the problem. He needs more screen time and I want to see how he interacts with his twin. Or just outside of the gang shit in general.”

“That would be nice! Especially if he's much sweeter than you.”

“Eh?”

“Sou-sou said you would pick with him when you guys were younger.”

“We were kids. All kids are jerks.”

“He was an angel.”

“Have fun with the press.”

⚃ Rindou ⚃

“How do you feel about the fans reaction to your character?”

“It's funny,” he snickered into his arm. “They give me gifts because they think I get overshadowed by my brother.”

“How often do they send you gifts?”

“I'm always getting fan mail with food, letters, electronics, and accessories. You name it, I have it.”

“Can your fans cook?”

“I’ll never know. I'm not eating anything they send! If I take a bite I might see they put their hair in it or worse.”

“Makes sense, people do get attached to celebrities in an unhealthy way.”

“They do but I want them to know that, in reality, I'm the one that always got spoiled. I could do no wrong in my parent's eyes. Ran hated it, but he blamed my parents so I got to hang out with him still.”

“Aww, you wuved your big brother. He was just the coolest to you back then, huh?”

“You’re teasing, but yes, he was. I thought he was the coolest and no one could tell me otherwise. Even when he was walking around with the short hairstyle from the 1900s, I thought he badass.”

“How do you relate to your character?”

“We’re both sadistic, but that side comes out when I’m spending one on one time with a lucky person.”

“Would you ever do that with a fan?”

“They’d probably annoy me the whole time.”

“How?”

“Saying they can't believe it or asking me to say specific lines like, you're the only person I want to spend my life with. It would be fine if we were together, but they talk as if it's not a one-night stand.”

“What would you change about your character?”

“Hmm. Nothing. I like him how he is.”

“They show just enough of him and don't stretch it based of the fans reactions.”

⚂ Yuzuha ⚂

“Did you have fun with Takemichi? I heard you went home with him after the party?”

“I'm gonna wring that twerps neck if he keeps making a post.”

“He just tagged you in the latest one.”

“Ignore it.”

“He said you gave him a good time and he'd be happy to see you again!” She covered her mouth while she scanned the post. “I thought you hated him!”

“I do! He's wording it weirdly to get attention from the press!”

“Well, it’s working!” She yelled. “What’re you going to do to stop him?”

“I don't know!”

“Poor thing.”

“How do you feel about the fans reaction to your character?”

“I love that they appreciate her, but I don't think she’d agree with a lot of the things they say. I won't get into it unless it comes up later.” She waved her hand and you moved on to the next question.

“How do you relate to your character?

“I’d do anything to protect my family. Not kill them but anything else.”

“Why not?”

“I can't protect them if I'm locked up. I have to be free so I can be there for them.”

“Right. Since you're gone the offender will have a field day?”

“And we can't have that! Not everyone is strong like Taiju. My kicks will damage the average jerk bold enough to hurt my family.”

“You're just strong as your character?”

“Yep, I've always been interested in martial arts as a kid. It's lovely and dangerous depending on the fighter.”

“Is there you’d change about your character?”

“There's no way she had a shred of love for the guy who called her brother, a victim of domestic violence, a loser. That's what I was going to say earlier. I hate that people are still making statements about the situation and saying the wrong things.” She banged her fist on the table as she spoke.

“Yeah, they forget that it's a mental thing too. No matter how strong he was, he couldn't just step up to his brother. The abuser wears down your confidence until you're right where they want you.”

“Exactly! And no matter what they say, he was the youngest. As the older sibling of course I’d let him lie. With the way society is, they wouldn't care that he's the youngest or that he was scared. I wouldn't want them to know either.”

“It's bad enough he's puking blood, but you're gonna add to his trouble by calling him a loser. That helps a lot.”

“But I guess that just shows what they think about real victims because the writer did portray it well.” Her voice was much more cheerful as she gave praise.

“He did because no matter how strong you are, the chances of them being able to act like your character are lower than they think.”

“Yep, that's like when people say they could never be with someone who mistreats them but reality hits and they’re another statistic.”

“Sad really. Nothing will change if they don't try to learn the full extent of abuse and not see it as something you can just fix in a day.”

⚁ Souya ⚁

“It's nice to see you again.” He hugged you before sitting across from you. “I heard about you and Tak-”

“Lies, all lies. Let's not spread rumors. Spread the truth.” He giggled at your reaction. A flash of his silver grill blinded you for a second.

“That's why I'm here. First question.”

“How do you feel about the fans reaction to your character?”

“They’d hate me in real life because I’d...” He pressed his lips and balled his fist.

“You’d do what and why?”

“I’d be fighting because of Nahoya. It's always Nahoya. If he ever flirted with my partner, I’d beat his ass.”

“What if they were flirting, and he didn't entertain it.”

“I‘m the type to hurt those who hurt me. I don't care who you are, don't play with my heart. I don't deserve to be hurt. I'm a great lover.”

“Aww, I’d treat you nice.”

“You promise?”

“You’d want for nothing, but what else would make them hate you?”

“I don't cry every time there’s a problem. I'm vocal about my feelings and I often go too far.”

“Just like that?”

“Only if you're the reason we're arguing. If you do me dirty, I want to make you miserable.”

“I understand. That's why people take a minute to think about the situation before talking.”

“To those of you tuning in, send a text before you get home. Unless you want me to lash out.”

“Don’t warn them!”

“Either way, justice will be served.”

“Sou-sou, how do you relate to your character?”

“I love my brother.”

“Be for real.” You pushed his shoulder and he grabbed your hand.

“Welp. People think I'm rude, but unlike my character, I like it.”

“What?”

“It makes them change how they talk to me. They don't want to upset me because they think I’ll beat them up.”

“I'm sure it has its negative effects. Don't people assume you're being rude and try to argue?”

“Yeah, but I shut it down. If it escalates, that's their fault. They shouldn't assume how I am.”

“Is there anything you’d change about your character?”

“I don't know why he hasn't snapped yet.”

“Why would he? He's such a sweetie. He doesn't even like fighting.”

“He needs to start calling out his so-called friends. They treat him like a nurse but don't spend much time with him. It's obvious Nahoya’s their favorite and that hurts. Can you imagine being a twin and seeing everyone treat them better? And you're supposedly the nice one.”

“I see. Does that happen to you outside the series?”

“No, I'm loved by all my friends. Is that the last question?”

“Yep, we're all done.”

“Wanna grab something to eat?”

“After my interview with Tetta.”

⚀ Tetta ⚀

“How do you feel about the fans reaction to your character?” You asked.

“I don’t care, but it does irritate me since I know why it’s happening.” He rolled his eyes and groaned.

“What are they doing that bothers you, Tetta?”

“I feel as if people like me, who have similar experiences in life, understand what the fans are doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“You know.” He was right, but you wanted him to say it.

“I do, but some of the viewers don’t. Explain it for them.”

“Just know that if Shuji and I swapped roles, he’d have ten times the fans he does now.” The two of you laughed, the cameraman raised an eyebrow. “He’d become everyone’s favorite bad boy on screen. The viewers would make stories about him being the big bad mafia leader that takes care of them.”

“They don’t do that for you?”

“They do, but it's just a handful. However, the majority have me in their non-negotiable.”

“Meaning?”

“They won't write for my character at all. But my loyal follower, Shuji, gets a pass. He loved it a bit much, even got thrills from it, yet avoids the backlash.” You tried to hold back your laughter, but he made it hard.

“How do you relate to your character?”

“I know what it’s like to have the world against you. I grew up in a country that didn’t treat me well. It’s one thing to have other kids being mean to you, but another to have adults join in on the insults and mockery. It’s tough.”

“How did you manage to keep going and not crumble at the weight of their words?”

“My family made sure I knew that I mattered. When I would go home sad, they showed me in different ways that I’m loved. They went behind my bullies and gave me double the kindness. As a kid, it helped a lot. I’m grateful for their love and support.”

“That’s so sweet, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m the one that got bullied. You just heard the story.”

“The memory has me emotional.” You fanned your face with the note cards in your hand.

“Do you want a hug?”

“From you, of course.”

“Is there anything you’d change about your character?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“Language.” You joked.

“Haha, there’s nothing to change. He’s well-written. No matter how people feel or what they say, he carries out his plan because he knows if he puts his mind to it, it’s set in stone.”

“You’d leave him with the trait that has him kill his childhood friend in every universe?”

“Yeah, that’s what gives Takemichi purpose. Speaking of Takemichi, is it true you and him-“

“Thanks for your time. Hopefully, we can chat in the future.”

“No problem, I always have time for you.”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #draken x reader #ken ryuguji #nahoya x reader #nahoya kawata #rindou x reader #rindou haitani #yuzuha x reader #yuzuha shiba #souya x reader #souya kawata #tetta x reader #tetta kisaki

239 notes · View notes

celestie0 · 2 months

Note

Idk if this is weird to ask but can you tell more about your situationship?😭 I’m curious since it inspired the story idkkk

nooo not weird at all haha, i had plans to share more ab it once i was done w kickoff but i dont really mind sharing a bit now (will literally always take up any chance to talk ab it it’s an impulse i cannot resist)

basically i met this guy like halfway through my freshman year of college at a frat event, it was a bit different from kickoff dynamic in that we started hooking up pretty soon after that, just a casual thing, but then the pandemic hit and so he went back home to live w his grandpa/family in new york (i live in cali) once campus shut down and stuff. obviously we couldn’t hook up anymore LMFAO but we still talked a lot and i think it was during this time of just talking to one another that i really started to catch massive feelings for him :”)

i went through some bad anxiety during covid, struggling a lot w my career and if i still wanted to pursue the things i thought i wanted (i think a lot of college students went through this w the pandooski) but he would always be there for me and would stay on facetime calls w me if i was struggling to study, he’d cheer me up w pics of his tibetan dogs lol, just reallyyy sweet ugh when we were long distance i rly saw a side of him i didn’t before and i think that’s what made me fall for him

i confessed to him first, similar to reader in kickoff, n told him we could do long distance until he moved back here. but then he hit me with the “i’m sorry, i can’t date you, i’ve got commitment issues”. in his case, he had a long-term girlfriend in high school for four years who he also was dating into college (before he met me), but he found out she had been cheating on him for a long time w not just one but multiple of his friends 😭 so..he said he has really bad trust issues, and that he really wanted to try to date me, but he just felt like he couldn’t

i was really hurt, obviously, but i think in hindsight maybe it was a responsible decision on his part to not throw me into a mess of a relationship w him, one he knew he wasn’t ready for. but at the time, i just thought that it was bc i wasn’t good enough to change his mind. anyways, he asked if we could still talk and be friends, and i said sure bc i didn’t really want to lose him. i figured i could just wait for him (and i told him that i would)

yeahhh well the waiting was way more fucking painful than i thought. he flew to cali once to visit me when flights were sort of resuming, which is just fucking insane because you’ll fly to see me but you won’t date me 😭, and i told him that it’d be the last time he ever sees me! and it was :”) maybe it was an impulsive decision by me, but idk. yknow when you get stuck in a limbo for what feels like forever that you make a decision just for the sake of making one (it was such a short amt of time in reality, but it felt like forever) he made a comment to me in our last conversation about how he really wished he didn’t have to be someone i had to wait on to change, and that really fuckin stuck w me lmao i cried so hard the drive home from the airport. i think all the “what-ifs” kinda sunk in at that moment

ch7 of kickoff was basically me trying to get inside the head of the guy from my situationship, and see what it’s like to have fears hold you back from wanting to experience something for yourself, something that could be beautiful if you would just give it a chance. i felt like if i wrote it from that angle, i’d have more understanding of my situationship (i dont have commitment issues myself, tbh i’ve never rlly understood the concept. like, i’ve been fucked over by ppl in my life too but i’m never one to punish the next person for it. dealing w my situationship was really hard because of this, i would get really frustrated, but writing ch7 from gojo’s character’s perspective made situationship guy’s feelings make more sense to me, i think, there was a sense of closure in that)

but anyways, i was in love w him for sure. like, possibly infatuated. there was a time where we got into a big argument about something and i think i legit i cried myself into a fever 💀 it was all so crazy and powerful, the feelings, i’ve been involved w other guys since but of course none of it really compares. idk, i guess there are just some people that can make you feel that way, there’s really no use in understanding why.

this sounds so sappy, lmaoo i swear i truly am “over” him in that i hardly think of him that much anymore, n tbh i don’t think of him specifically all that much while i’m writing kickoff, but there are moments where i can’t help but bring those feelings into the story.

there’s a line in ch8, near the end of the bed scene, where reader has a thought like

“You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to.”

yeah. that’s basically how i felt about him.

#damn sorry this is long asf #kickoff #kickoff backstory #asks #anon

26 notes · View notes

b0nten · 5 months

Text

THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE STOPS AT DAWN AND SPINS BACK TO HOLD THE DEVIL

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ being one of five special grades, you learn how to deal with exorcisms, but rarely with loss.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ i was kinda skeptical to post this because i don’t rlly write for jjk but i had this planned out (sloppily) in my notes for so long. i would like to thank @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for inspiring me through their fic if i fell through the floor i’d keep falling to post this (i know we’ve never interacted before so i’m literally so sorry if this comes off as random & makes you uncomfortable) because a) of how much i love that fic and b) of how it reminded me of this and actually motivated me to finish and polish it. also big thanks to my shawtybae ray @httpshujii whom i left traumatized after i asked her to beta-read this fic😭😭

[EXTRAS] ˚⁀➷｡ timeline is probably WAAAAAAAAAY off, especially the shibuya incident/culling game. swearing, a lot of words.

24.12.2017

“you two can’t even tell good and evil apart.”

“doesn’t that guy piss you off, mimiko?”

“nanako, want me to hang him?” the brunette holds her rope tight around the dummy’s neck.

her sister, annoyed by the assistant’s words, hisses. “you guys don’t even know how sorcerers like us are treated in the shitty countryside that doesn’t show up on maps. you do all the good and evil you want. but for us, if geto-sama says so, then black is white and white is black. we believe in the world he sees; and we will hang everybody who gets in the way!” she threatens and they both take their combat positions, ready to strike when, suddenly, footsteps echo through the empty alleyway.

“cut it out, you three.” wind blows though silky hair and a perfume they all recognize takes over the air as all of their faces drop. “don’t bother, ijichi, they’re just as stubborn as their dad.” a smile glides across your lips, but disappears just a few moments later. “ew, my pants are stained with curse juice.”

“mom?” “y/n-san?” they gasp at the same time, and ijichi’s head turns back so fast you could swear you heard his neck snap.

“ ‘mom’ ? y/n-san, what’s going on?” he asks, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“that’s a long story i’ll tell you only if you promise not to snitch to the higher-ups.” you grin at him, patting him on his shoulder as you pass by. “don’t worry, i’m not switching sides.” you reassure, and hear him sigh in relief.

with the speed of light, the twins rush towards you, embracing you in a warm hug.

“miko, please don’t hang my friend, yeah? and you, young lady, what did we talk about, try to be a little less hostile!” you scold, ruffling their hair a little rougher than usual. then, a crash startles all four of you.

“miguel? what the hell are you doing!” the light-brunette shouts, rolling her eyes once the man’s ironic response reacher her ears.

“ugh, ” you can only do the same, brows furrowing when another familiar face pops up, “satoru, pipe down! and pleaaaaase try to not kill him!” you shout to grab gojo’s attention, dragging out the plead.

“when you ask me so nicely, i guess i can make an exception for you, bestie boo!” he shrugs, winking with his only uncovered eye.

ignoring the antics that you’re so used to, your attention falls back on the girls.

“you two, ” you start, clapping your hands closed and dragging your right hand as to conjure a katana. then, you scrape a circle with it in the cobblestone, “i’ll teleport you somewhere safe, i don’t like where this is going, and i gotta clean up some of the curses suguru let loose around here. be careful, i love you.” you wave as a big fire sphere rushes up from the ground, building a barrier between you. before the girls can say anything else, they disappear completely. “ijichi, text me the date and time and i’ll be there. gotta get to kusakabe as soon as i can or he may need to get his diaper changed.”

you laugh, dissipating into a puddle of black, while your underclassman still can’t believe what he’s witnessed.

15.10.2008

you know that what you’re about to do is rash and irrational, and possibly clearly also considered treachery in the jujutsu world. the fact that nobody had already caught wind of what you were up to was and still is in itself a miracle, but you could narrow it down to them thinking you were still grieving; and truth be told, you still kind of were, trying to do it the best you could. healing fresh wounds is never easy and recovering from a break-up that didn’t directly happen is sometimes like trying to sew shut a deep wound with cotton thread.

and that’s what kept you going in the most excruciating year of your life: your wounds deserve to close properly, and it is within your right to be able to run your fingers across your skin, without fearing they’ll plunge deep into your chest and dreading to take them out knowing they’ll be covered in blood and the smell of a broken heart.

so you step, determined and furious to get your cause across. you bang your fists on the big door, and a chubby man of middle age greets you at the entrance.

“what’s your name? do you have an appointment?” he questions, and you answer with the same western bullshit name you gave when you rang them up to book said ‘appointment’. he turns a few pages in his clipboard and finally his face lights up.

“yes, please, come in!” his arm is stretched out in a gentlemanly manner, signaling for you to enter. and you do, something bubbling in the pit of your stomach. excitement? no, that’s almost impossible. hate? hurt? the wish for vengeance you have so obsessively dreamed about? you’re not sure about any of those. when you step into the room, though, you feel nervous. like you’re walking on the thin glass shards of your broken youth — the one that got spat and shat on by the same world that made geto spiral into his madness — stolen mercilessly by the greediness of the higher-ups.

“geto-sama will come in shortly!” he explains, and you gather all your composure to ensure you won’t vomit right then and there.

“he calls himself geto-sama now?” you wonder, and although you haven’t said it out loud, the title still leaves a bitter feeling on your tongue. you imagine maybe that’s what curses taste like to suguru.

“welcome, miss— oh.“ full of confidence he struts from behind two curtains, and when he sees you, his gaze softens and you swear you can catch a glimpse of the boy you lost an autumn ago. “it’s so nice to see you, y/n!” he calls out and picks up his pace, almost rushing to you. “i’m so glad it’s not one of those monkeys! sometimes i get nauseous from seeing them all the time!” he face-palms, then beams, and takes your hands in his, leaving a kiss on your temple, lastly pulling you close to him like he always did, even before he vanished.

you think you’re going to be sick again, watching him act all nonchalant and normal, as if nothing has happened. “how dare he?” you think, feeling the anger pierce your stomach walls, and settling in your throat. how can he act like this? like you’re still high-school sweethearts, like he’s just come back from a mission and you’re standing at the school gates, ready to welcome him back. your brain almost freezes, heart urging you to stay like that, but mind screaming at you to pull away from him.

so, against your heart’s wishes, you tear away from him. “monkeys? that’s what you call them now, suguru?” you click your tongue in annoyance, a habit he knows you have whenever you’re about to get petty. “what happened to civilians, non-sorcerers, humans, people?” you ask, blank face staring daggers into his soul.

“my love, they’re all just monkeys.” your once-lover says with the same nonchalance, “don’t bother being all so formal with them. they can’t even use jujutsu, like we do, so—“ before he can say anything else, you cut him off, something similar to a mix of anger and sadness in your voice.

“don’t call me that, suguru.” your voice cracks a little, eyebrows furrow and your heartbeat picks up its pace, and you think maybe your legs are going to give out on you any minute now. “i’m not here to play happy family reuinted.” you almost choke on your words. “i—”

“geto-sama!!! geto-sama!!!” a panicked, feminine voice comes from behind the curtains, and soon enough, two young girls emerge from them. one has light brown hair, the other’s is a little darker than shoko’s. they can’t be older than 6, 5 if you dare to overthink. the former is dragging her sister by her hand, and the latter is holding a plushy tight against her chest, stumbling here and there.

“what’s wrong, you two?” he asks gently, crouching down to their level. you remember how he used to speak to you the same whenever you came back from a mission sad or displeased and your heart drops at how easy it is to break down your walls and have memories growing like ice flowers in the archives you vouched to burn off your mind.

“mimiko—“ her gaze averts to you and ricochets into the ground, small figure balancing from foot to foot as she apologizes, “oh, i’m sorry for interrupting.”

when you look at them, you can’t help but smile. they look so… sweet. so innocent. what are they doing here? “that’s alright, you don’t have to pardon yourself, it seemed urgent.” with a motherly sympathy you didn’t know you held within you, you explain. with the corner of your eye, you see a smile bloom on geto’s face.

“ohmygod!” the same one calls out to her sister in a not-so-subtle whisper. “that’s the lady whose picture geto-sama has! the one he told us about!”

“nanako… you can’t say that when she’s in front of us… it’s rude.” mimiko half-heartedly scolds her sister.

you can’t help the blush from creeping up your cheeks or the laugh from escaping your lips.

“y/n, these are nanako and mimiko.” suguru explains and nudges them forward. “girls, this is y/n, but you already knew.” he smiles again, abstaining himself from laughing at his own semi-bad joke. “they’re…” he continues. “they’re my epiphany, the reason i left the useless jujutsu world and started to make my own.”

you try to ignore the last part of his introduction and his sickeningly smug grin, and you crouch down too, in order to observe them from closer proximity. “nice to meet you both.” you say, warmly, and touch the floor with your hand. a puddle of black forms around it and you awkwardly rummage through the void. soon enough, you pull out two candy-bars.

“i hope you two like macadamia nuts and chocolate. unfortunately it’s all i have right now.” you apologize with a sheepish smile, handing them the sweets. they look at geto to seek approval, and when he nods enthusiastically, they accept your gift with lots of giggles and bright grins.

suguru’s heart skips a beat before it melts. he really is touched you’re showing his daughters so much kindness, but he’s even happier he sees the same candy-bars you ate in high school. he feel nostalgic, even though he knows it’s only been a year. but just like in his case, he thought a year might have been significant change for you too.

the tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the door. “geto-sama, i’m terribly sorry to disturb, but your next appointment is here.” an assistant calls out, and geto is visibly annoyed.

“tell them to wait for a little bit. we’re still not ready to wrap up.” he commands, outside going silent instantly. “i am so sorry to cut this short, y/n.” he says, admitting regret, “you are welcome to drop by any time you want. and you don’t have to use a fake name.” he’s hopeful now, he’s even more confident, and he steps closer to you.

but as if you two are magnets of the same polarity, your body forces you to take a step back. his gaze saddens and something like despair flashes briefly across his face. it almost reads like “please come by again. please.” almost like a desperate plead.

“i’ll see.” is the only response you can give before turning around and heading to the door. before you open it, you look back at the three of them. “nanako, mimiko, it was nice to meet you.” you say, softness for the two canceling out whatever uncomfortable feelings you had before.

“you too, y/n-sama! please come by again!” they both say back, waving as you leave the room. a peculiar tickle renders your body almost perplexed when you hear the honorific.

you navigate through the temple like you’re trying to find the exit of a maze, but when you’re outside, you take a deep breath of fresh air. your hand travels up to wipe the shells of the tears forming in your eyes and you swear you can smell the blood that’s gushing from your still unclosed wounds, sewn again with cotton thread.

“they’re my epiphany.”

they’re his epiphany.

you replay the scene in your head, and feel desperate the more you chant the mantra, as if your ego has not only been broken, but sanity stripped away from you. then, your thoughts are broken by your phone ringing. flipping up the cover, you try to play everything off as normal.

“shoko?” you say, “is everything alright?”

“i should be the one asking you that.” her tone is sharp, “is everything alright with you, y/n?” it softens, and like a dam about to break lose, you sniffle and answer out.

“no.” it’s clear, it’s there, you said it. you don’t have to pretend.

“come over. i miss having my girl around.” she says, and you giggle.

“you’re lucky i’m in the area. i’ll be there in fifteen, girlfriend. and stop talking to me like im one of your hoes.”

she just laughs manically before ending the call. you smile, and go.

10.04.2009

you don’t know for sure if whatever you feel against nanako and mimiko is compassion or pity. or maybe hatred, sometimes disguised as jealousy. but ever since geto said that, there is this little voice in the back of your head that keeps playing the same sentence, like your mind’s a broken record.

“he chose them over you.”

you’re not sure how to feel. they’re kids. they’re young, they didn’t coax him into starting this. maybe they were just caught in the crossfire, you like to guess. maybe they were the last straw.

or maybe, you were simply not good enough, which, in all honesty, was hard to accept. being a special-grade sorcerer that came from nothing isn’t easy. someone’s always on your back, refusing to get off; from the higher-ups to one’s parents. it’s hard to live up to pre-made expectations, and carry burdens on an already-cracked spine, but you’ve always been strong — so strong even gojo pissed his pants sometimes — so what happened? what made him resort to this?

finally, after looking through the things he left behind in his room, you came to understand geto didn’t leave because he wanted to, he left because that was what it came to. and slowly, you accepted that the twins really were nothing more than two girls caught in a crossfire, that geto somehow saved. his last mission, it must’ve been excruciating, he must’ve seen hell in its true form (again) or death itself in front of him (for the third time) when he went to that village and slaughtered it mercilessly.

that was actually the case, as you come to learn. after six months you build up the courage to visit again, this time unannounced, this time without a purpose. you were sure it’d be left unserved anyway, like the last one. so, when suguru welcomes you into the room once more, you make small talk. and ask about his life, sometimes trying not to gag when he makes disgusting remarks about “monkeys”.

and voluntarily, he tells you the girls’ story after they fall asleep on your lap, dead exhausted thanks to the running around they did. you learn their past, and see something ignite in suguru that makes you think. if you had been there, would you have done the same? would you have stopped him, or joined him? he did nothing wrong, he killed abusers. he killed people that beat two defenseless children, something he shouldn’t have been persecuted for, you thought. this whole monkey thing, tough, something else, another story. but maybe, just maybe had somebody heard him out, he wouldn’t be staying across from you dressed in robes but instead you would’ve been sitting in an apartment you bought with all the money you saved up, all four of you cradled next to the other watching tv with the volume off as to not wake up the sleeping girls. and maybe, just maybe, satoru would have found the fushiguro-zen’in boy and his sister that he’s so serious on finding and they’d come over and play together, while you, shoko and sometimes utahime and mei gossip on the couch and suguru, satoru, nanami and ijichi hang out in the kitchen.

if it weren’t for your teenage heart and forgiving soul, you wouldn’t have begged geto to consider your idea.

“i can try and negotiate a deal for you.” you’re serious, and not about to give up, no matter what he says. “i’ve been taking extra missions, suguru. they like me, they started to value my opinion in the last two years.” you say, and your eyes gloss over when you look at him.

“y/n…” he sighs. “this is my choice. i’m content living like this.”

you break a little.

“don’t say that suguru. it’s not too late, you know? i can vouch for you, i can make sure nanako and mimiko are safe, if that’s what you’re actually concerned about. i will take extra shifts, i will fight for you.” you start to crack and chip off at the edges. “in the end, you did nothing wrong killing those villagers, but that’s something they’re just gonna look away from because you killed non-sorcerers. hateful, filthy, non-sorcerers that deserved their fate.” you say, gritting and swearing behind teeth, jaw clenched and breathing like your lungs are glued together.

suguru always liked your sense of justice. it was always strong, defined, your moral compass was as clear as the sky on the first day you were transferred to jujutsu high. it was refreshing to see someone like you, that fought, no matter what; that gave herself up for the cause she wanted to prove. you would’ve killed yourself if it meant judgement had been served correctly, and even if it meant losing yourself on the way, you loved standing up for what was right. you’d tear at yourself so everybody could be happy. and he could see it in your eyes, the way they shine with the beauty of a thousand galaxies and the passion of a hundred suns, radiating hope, even after all that you’ve been through. you’re hope, you’re love, you’re light, ready to sacrifice herself just so others could grasp that spark even for a little while. ah, as long as…, like you said in your heydays, cigarette between teeth as geto lit it for you, shoko boo’d in the background and satoru annoyed nanami but entranced haibara, holding the world in your hands, ready to blast another wall, to save another soul, to make another life-source. you were temperance and the tower all in one, the embodiment of balanced destruction, the origin of damaged harmony. you ate, chewed and spit yourself out so everyone could see that you were raw — you were like them — you were all the same, kids with power and jobs too big for ages that didn’t even bloom correctly yet.

but this time, he can’t let you do that. you can’t be his divine intervention anymore, you can’t make a catastrophe of your life just to build his anew. he had chosen his way the day he committed mass murder, roots of his goal planted deep inside his hatred for non-sorcerers, and it was far too late to go back, no matter what you said or could have said or say, his life is now with his cult. and he looks at you, with his girls cradled in your lap and wonders of the life you could have had, had amanai’s death not taken such a toll on him. he never told you, but he wanted you to meet her. she would’ve absolutely adored you, no doubt, and vice-versa.

sometimes he wakes up in the morning and you’re not next to him and then he imagines it too: a little house in meguro, and he’d wake up at the crack of dawn and look at you sleeping peacefully beside him, then he’d get up and cook breakfast. he envisions evening walks in spring, when the cherry blossoms bloom, and nanako and mimiko running wildly along the river banks, and you shouting after them to be careful. his heart swells with what if’s and maybe’s but he remembers that in his world, he can achieve that. and he doesn’t have to worry about any of you three being in danger either.

you feel the need to change the topic. you feel the regret floating around in the air — you feel the wound you tried to sew shut so many times miserably — and it reeks of fresh blood and sweet tea and plum blossoms and the winter he confessed his feelings.

“let me help you get them to bed.” you smile, and he reciprocates. he takes nanako from your lap softly as not to disturb her sleep, and guides you to their room.

you find yourself kissing their foreheads as if they’re your daughters, as if you hadn’t met them only two times in your life, and suguru finds himself too close to you. you think he’s too close to you too, but right now, in this shit you’ve dragged yourself into, you don’t care at all anymore.

so you kiss him, you lift yourself up on your toes enough for him to already know what you’re doing and to bend down. electricity sparks and you see yourself in the middle of snowy shibuya crossing yet again, people going on about their day while you pour your hearts out to the other silently, carnally, with chapped lips falling against each other, devouring the curse of love with gluttony, and freezing hands tangled in the intimacy of two sixteen year olds dumb enough to think they’re able to write their own destiny.

that’s why you continue to visit. in the rest of 2009, 2010, 2011, and so on. between what you lost that you never even had, and the brief moment of serenity of feeling like a family with geto and the girls, you finally feel like you have something to live for.

it goes without saying that it still frightened you — if anyone were to find out where you were going, who you were going to — they all may have been put in danger. but the moment the big, wooden door to the temple opens and two smiley faces jump into your arms while the boyfriend you never had the guts to break up with greets you sweetly, all the worry dissipates. you were not there “to play happy family reunited”, you had found a family. and as twisted life had layed itself out for geto, maybe yours wasn’t that far from it either.

so, once a month you come, with gifts, with candy, with love and worry and whatnot. you’re there to see the twins grow up, sometimes you help suguru cut their hair, to navigate through all the stages of girlhood you experienced too — well, almost all, since it’s kind of hard to give them really everything when their dad is a wanted mass murderer in a world over half of the population doesn’t even know exists. but you’re there, and you’re happy when you’re with them. they’re your sun.

and it goes like that for years, you come, you laugh, and you leave. sometimes before you leave, geto kisses you chastely, and sometimes more, which means you stay the night, and he partially sees his dream come true the next morining; and he loves it, he can’t wait to get it done, but he feels guilty. guilty for the plan he’s come up with and guilty knowing you’re gonna be on the opposite side, no matter what.

when the girls turn eight, they start calling you ‘mom’, to your and geto’s surprise. but they like it, and honestly, so do you and so does their dad. it’s random, but it feels natural, it feels warm. suguru’s heart sinks, and he thinks he can keep his plan hidden and pushes it back a few more years, until he can’t anymore. so, on the twins’ eleventh birthday, a beautiful day of 2013, it’s the last time you come. you try to talk him out of it, but no matter how many pleads and promises and compromises, his decision is still the one he told you. that day, when you leave and look back with a fake smile at the kids waving at you from the door, the wind feels sharper on your face and the air is definitely colder than what it was supposed to ever be. you go to the bar and drown out your sorrows, glass after glass after glass after glass after glass until you’re numb. and even in the numbness, there’s still an aching pain, like a scorching dagger has been stabbed through your heart, burning the skin and muscle and everything in between on its way to bring you down. you wonder if that’s what curses feel when they’re exorcised.

so, while nanako and mimiko ask about you and why their mom isn’t coming anymore, you bury yoursef in work. you kill, you start to teach, you do paperwork. satoru comes over sometimes and when you look at him, you can only cry. shoko comes over more than sometimes, and when you look at her you can also only cry. they both hug you and sometimes cry with you too: a pity party. nanami writes to you a lot, and when you read his messages you also cry. sometimes you go to visit him, and he looks at you with a disgusting look. he knows you haven’t broken records these past few months because of your love for jujutsu, but because of the hate you bear for it. his heart shatters seeing his senior like this. so, he pours you tea and gets you the cookies you always loved, stashed next to a framed picture of you three — you, him and haibara.

kento always thought you were like glue. you kept everyone together. and although him and yu were only your juniors, you made them feel like they were your brothers. you brought together the jujutsu world so closely, you made it seem like it could work, until nobody was there to help you, even though you tried so hard. it was like a mirage, but so closely and delicately conjured one could swear it was real — maybe that was your true domain expansion — and you would’ve killed yourself if that meant it’d be kept intact, and you kind of did, because at the price of your own well-being, you took care of the others. you worked overtime so gojo had less missions to go on, helped nanami get out of jujutsu and welcomed him right back with open arms and broken heart that still needed mending desperately, and helped shoko with med school until she decided she’d just cheat herself into getting her eligibility.

and you’re a wreck, so you browse pictures in your phone of you, suguru and the girls, you frame them but keep them away from the world’s eyes, god knows who may find them and put you on death-row too. you look at them and feel like you’re mourning geto a second time around, but this time you’re also mourning.. your kids. the kids who called you mom, who sometimes called you up at night when they had some “girl problems” they couldn’t tell suguru right off the bat, the girls that asked you to sew their ripped clothes, and who watched you and geto do that side by side.

you didn’t understand how suguru came to that conclusion, to push you away for good. you never tried to erase his ideology from the girls’ minds, you simply mothered them. you loved them, trained them, you loved him, so what was up with him?

geto feels miserable too. he lost you once, and now he’s lost you twice. he’s rougher with his monkeys, he feels like he’s mourning once again too. and when he looks at nanako and mimiko he cannot stop his heart from ripping apart. they look at pictures of you. every single day, there’s not one that passes when he doesn’t want to call you and tell you to come back. to be the glue, to love him and his daughters, to make them laugh and jump and smile and make him feel warm and fuzzy inside all again. for the first time in his life, he has doubts about his dream world, because when he looks at the once so cheerful duo, sad while holding your picture, and when he remembers the tears in your eyes and how you wiped them away quickly when they came to hug you goodbye, he wants to kill himself like you always did for your cause. he wants to make the devil chew him and spit him out for forgetting you are just like him too — flesh, bones, and misery.

so, for once in his new life, geto does something he never thought he would do — he compromises. exactly 364 days after he forbids you from coming by again, he tells the twins they can go out in the world and enjoy their life. maybe they’ll go looking after you, he thinks, he hopes, and he sees their faces light up and they see his do the same. “but don’t talk to monkeys when it’s not necessary!” he orders, no, he asks. he can’t order his children around.

and mimiko and nanako go out in the world, alone, for the first time, the following day. geto asks them to buy any cake they want, to celebrate for when they come back. so they head to the bakery that breached the barriers of what they knew, once every thirty days: they mostly knew the universe geto had created for them, and once a month came clashing down an asteroid, with flowers, sweets and everything the cult didn’t really have, their mother.

so, after almost getting lost thrice on the metro, when they enter the minimalist store they searched on google maps because they kept a cardboard box of sweets you once brought over, and see your tired figure, tears in your eyes as you mouth and explain the kanji of their name to the lady with the piping bag in her hand, their eyes swell and they can only weakly sob “mom..?”, unsure if it’s actually you or a mirage.

when your head snaps in the direction of the door and you see the two kids you missed so badly in a year, you stare at them blankly. you’re afraid to get close to them, thinking maybe they’re just a shadow created by the months of exhaustion, but when mimiko asks if you remember them, you break down crying, embracing them while they weep on your shoulder too. “how could i not?” you stifle between sniffles and feel them hug you even tighter. it’s almost like movie scene, and even the cashier is on the verge of tears.

when you pull away, you’re all red-eyed and stuffy-nosed, hair a mess and hearts clammy. “let me pay for the cake first, and we can go to my place, yes?” you say and they both nod like they did when you weren’t quite as closely acquainted yet.

“we also have to buy a cake..” nanako says, “could you help us?”

you don’t hesitate and pull them to the refrigerator to chose. “what was the one you always bought?” mimiko asks, heart thumping in her chest. “well, it’s the one i have over there, but they’re actually order-only.” you say, eyeing the cake, sad. the twins bite their lips and scan whatever’s left in the display window.

“excuse me,” the lady jumps in, trying to regain composure too “we have cupcakes with that same filling, if it’s any better!” she says, “and they’re 20 percent off if you buy more than 10! and 50 for more than twenty!”

“then we’d like 24 of them, please.” you say, twins’ faces dropping.

“24? isn’t that too much?” nanako chokes out, and her sister giggles a bit at her expression.

“not at all, no, no!” you reassure, patting their heads. “and don’t even dare to pay me back.” you half-heartedly threaten when the other one reaches into her pocket to take out her wallet. “put it back, miko.”

and so, you get to patch up your heart a little bit. you buy them candles, and they blow them on the cupcakes, and take pictures and laugh about whatever.

and it was like this a lot, because whenever they came over to yours they begged you to tell them about your teenage years and show them everything you did. and, because you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away the years of beauty you had documented on film and paper, you showed them everything, accompanied by cups of tea from porcelain haibara bought you from missions he went on, and cakes and biscuits and all the snacks they asked for (thank god you always kept some stashed for satoru).

pictures of you, satoru, suguru, shoko, nanami, haibara, mei and utahime. they were all there — immortal in the plastic of the polaroids and untouchable in the albums — and no one could steal away those precious moments. you showed them pictures of every kind, going on missions and late night hang-outs in your dorms, they gasped at the sight of geto smoking and laughed at the hairstyles you did on him. in the span of weeks and months of two years, you showed them the person you had fallen in love with, and the friends that welcomed you with open arms in tokyo.

of course they were especially keen on pictures of you and geto, fangirling over the “couple pictures”, the ones shoko took of you both when you weren’t watching and later on gave to you. you showed them satoru’s first hangover, and how their dad held his hair back as he was vomiting his hollow purple into the toilet, and the selfie you and shoko took, a little less hungover, leaning against the stalls.

you showed them videos of you all rehearsing your techniques and geto protecting nanami from gojo’s annoying teenage ass.

you took them to disneyland and rode with them on all the rollercoasters they wanted, and took so many photos you bought nanako a picture-only phone. each of you hung them up in your homes, and sometimes suguru stumbled upon the girls’ pictures when he went into their room, and cried over your portrait upon seeing you in a winnie the pooh headband almost identical to the one he wore when he first took you there in high school.

and although, physically, it weren’t four of you gathered around the table anymore, you still laughed together and you felt free, until 2017 came along.

it was maybe early november when you got the call from satoru, away on business in sapporo. it sounded urgent, and first and foremost, he sounded scared. not frightened, but rather desperate, like he didn’t know what to do. therefore, on your first day back in tokyo, you went to see him.

“just rip the bandaid off, satoru.” you say, gently.

“geto has declared war on us.”

you’re left dumbfounded, tea cup shaking in your hand. you can only blink, awaiting gojo to say more. to give you more information.

“he came by the day i called you. said he’d unleash a thousand curses in kyoto and shinjuku on christmas eve. wanted yuta to join him and belittled maki.”

you put down your cup, head resting in your palms. it feels like a bad dream. you knew what to expect of him, that sooner or later he’d act on his crazy dreams of a non-sorcerer free world, but hoped it would be a lot later than this.

“was he alone?” you ask, gojo’s face making a funny look.

“no, two girls that wanted to eat crepes on takeshita and a shirtless guy.” he explains, “why do you ask?”

this time, you lie to him. you can’t let him know you’ve committed treachery for almost a decade now. “then we should also expect some counter-attack from them, not just some curses running loose.” you explain, and gojo nods approvingly.

“you’re right. we should be careful then, especially with the managers.” he says, and you only bob your head a ‘yes’. “y/n” his voice softens, and round shades peel from his face, “don’t do this to yourself.” he crouches down next to you, hand caressing your shoulder. when he feels your muscles tense, he welcomes you with open arms and you cry on his shoulder for a good ten minutes. when he feels you’ve calmed down, he unlocks his phone and dials a number. it doesn’t ring for long, and he speaks, “hey, emo girl. come over. we’re having a reunion.” he laughs, “y/n’s sad, so you do the maths on how manny bottles you bring.” he says, regretting instantly. “wait, don’t you think five is too much, shoko? hello? shoko? agh, fuck you, girl.” you laugh, and so does he, stroking your back once more. “everything’s gonna be okay, babygirl.”

“dont you ever call me that again.”

the next day, you wake up with your phone blowing up, next to shoko, in gojo’s bed. “answer the fucking phone already.” she groans, and you do, but not before kicking her side.

“yes?” without even looking at the caller id you speak, head spinning from all the alcohol (two bottles and a half, each) and voice hoarse from the packs of cigarettes each one of you smoked the previous night. (three, each.) there goes shoko’s quitting.

“mom? you’re not answering the door, are you okay?” nanako speaks from the other side and you instantly jump out of bed, startling your friend.

“i’ll be there in… fifteen. please wait.” you say and hang up after hearing a positive answer.

you dart from the apartment, hugging gojo on your way out, explaining something came up.

you drive through the city with the speed of light, getting home not just in time, but seven minutes early, and the twins hug you when you see them. when they sit you down on the couch to tell you something, your heart sinks, because you can already feel what it is.

“geto-sama declared war on the college last week.” the fawn haired admits, and the other just looks down at the ground.

“i know.” is all you say, trying to hold back tears.

“we’re really sorry. and if you don’t want to see us again, it’s alright, we, we get it.“ mimiko says, words pulled out of her mouth with prongs, almost unable to finish her sentence.

“don’t you ever think something like that.” you snap, dam breaking behind your eyes. “i saw you all this time despite not agreeing with suguru’s ideology, but you’re still my kids too, you know? i have also done some parenting these last ten years.”

it’s bittersweet, and they feel it too, and they cry too, because from being rescued by suguru to seeing the stranger lady walk into their temple every month and showing them the kindness only geto ever did, you became their mother. you stuck by them, always looking over your shoulder whenever you visited them and taking extra precautions whenever they visited you. you were their asteroid, you were their world, and although geto hurt you, not once, but twice, you still loved him and them like you were there when he saved them.

and they always saw the broken youth and undreamt dreams that hid behind your eyes, so motherly, so tender and reassuring albeit living no better than a fugitive. their lives were less stressful than yours, because you sacrificed yourself to come see them. maybe out of fear of losing geto yet again, or denial, but whatever you may have feared, you always put your little beautifully broken and beloved family above all else, bravely so.

“just promise me you’ll both be careful.” is all you say before they collapse in your arms. and you stand there, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes and the blood of the wound you thought closed up.

“we will, no matter what.”

24.12.2017

you walk into jujutsu high and can’t believe your eyes. you’re tired from killing curses and giving kusakabe a pep-talk every ten minutes, but you don’t think this is all in your mind: smashed cobblestone, holes in the ground. and blood, lots of blood.

you run into the infirmary, shoko’s door flying open as she lets out a half-scream.

“what’s your problem?” she asks, partly annoyed.

“i’m sorry for worrying about my students after i babysat a grown man all day.” you reply, and she laughs, “atsuya again, huh? too bad he’s actually talented, that crybaby persona gets too much somtimes. they’re all safe, yuta used rct on them, but gojo wants to talk to you.” she says.

“is he in the common lobby?” you ask, and she nods approvingly.

when you enter the room, you feel a chill creep up your spine. satoru is still, way too still.

“y/n.”

“satoru.”

he gulps down saliva before asking you the question. “did suguru have daughters?” he says, and you answer, mindless.

“yeah, he has tw—“ then it dawns on you. “satoru?” he sees it too. in the small crack of your voice, some glass shards hitting the linoleum. “satoru, don’t tell me,” you’re on the verge of tears. your throat is dry, stomach doing flips. “oh my god.” you gasp, legs turning into sand, and he rushes to catch you.

“he told me to take care of the three of you, and i didn’t understand and i thought about the crepe girls and then you of course and.. you and.. i… i’m sorry, y/n. i didn’t want it to end like this.” he spits out word after word, boulder rolling off his shoulder, letting himself cry in your embrace.

“no one did, satoru. i’m never gonna blame you for his death, yeah?” your eyes start to water too. he’s still the boy that lost his best friend, you’re still the girl that lost her boyfriend, shoko is still the one that lost a best friend, and you’re all three still teenagers, waiting for someone to guide you through the loss.

you stand like that for a while, until you both calm down.

“thank you.” gojo satoru, the strongest, smiles through tears he’d only ever shown a handful of people.

“thank you, boywonder.” you smile through tears you’d only ever shown a handful of people.

“i have to talk to yaga.” he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily before hugging you goodbye.

you sit down in your chair and watch the sun set. through the window, maki, yuta, panda and inumaki wave at you. you reciprocate, thankful they’re still alive, when all of a sudden your phone rings.

“mom?” the moment you answer, mimiko’s voice cracks on the other end. she usually isn’t one to call, so you’re guessing you know what this is about.

“i’m coming.” you say between your own small shallow breaths, waving the students goodbye through the window once again. you make another quick phone call before leaving campus.

“yes?”

“megumi, gojo’s had a rough day and i can’t spend time with him tonight. shoko also has to do overtime at the morgue. can you keep him company for a bit?”

he sighs. “yeah, i will.”

“thank you.”

“sensei… take care. you’re a great sorcerer…and a great person. just felt like you needed to hear that.”

“thank you, megumi. you too, kiddo.”

31.10.2018

“you know this was reckless, yeah?”

“we’re sorry for keeping you in the dark so long. it’s just — we knew you would’ve stopped us if we told you kenjaku took over geto-sama’s body, and we really want him to have a proper burial.” the brunette clutches her phone to her chest, eyes fixed on the ground.

“we didn’t mean to keep you in the dark so long, but you were already grieving geto-sama for the second time. we didn’t think you’d find out like you did.” mimiko apologizes too, and even though they stand in front of you, apologizing for the biggest mistake they have ever made, you can’t scold them. not when they thought about you, about easing your pain.

“you guys did a stupid thing, that’s all i’m gonna say.” the pause and sigh you take between sentences make them want to burry themselves into the ground, “but i’m not mad, because you did it with good intent.” your voice softens and their gazes come up, meeting your face. “i’m gonna help you, but please wait until i come back.”

their faces lighten as you stroke their hair, stopping when your phone rings.

“ijichi? itadori? alone? shibuya? what’s he doing there? he’s supposed to be in harajuku station with mei ” they read between the words, knowing exactly who this itadori is, “i can’t, i really have enough curses to fight, the meiji-jingu area by itself is packed.” you apologize with gritted teeth and exhausted breath, “i’ll enter the curtain when i’m done, and send you guys some back-up,yeah?”

you look at the twins again, wanting to instinctively crouch down to their level, but they’ve gotten too tall for that. “please, don’t go out. and if you do, be careful, and stay safe. don’t do anything rash.” you say, embracing them both. “i love you two so much.” you hold onto them a bit longer than usual, kissing their cheeks before unlocking the door.

“we love you too.” they say in unison, and smile.

“be careful, yeah? lock the door after i teleport.”

“always.” is the last thing you hear before disappearing.

9.11.2018

“come on, pick up, pick up, pick up…”

you bite your nails in frustration. it’s been a week since the culling game has started, a week since gojo got sealed, since nanami died. since maki got burned. and the biggest act of jujutsu terrorism happened in less than 24 hours under your very noses. a lethal battle royal, where everyone has to kill each other.

it’s been a full week since neither of the twins have contacted you. they don’t respond to their texts either. for mimiko it was normal, she didn’t really use her phone as much as her sister, but when nanako, whose cursed technique is all about using her phone, doesn’t have it, then that’s when you start to worry.

“sensei…” megumi walks up next to you, visibly worried, “who are you looking for? maybe we can help?”

you’ve known megumi ever since gojo found him, and met tsumiki a few times too. you helped gojo train him, something that turned out useful because of your somehow similar cursed techniques: his ten shadows and your use of void space were easy to adapt to the other. you had grown close, especially because of your shared annoyance for his guardian. yet, he never once met your daughters. you would’ve loved to introduce them to each other, mimiko would have been thrilled to have another just as quiet friend of her age and nanako would have loved to bother the two of them. still, you didn’t. you couldn’t, because that would mean explaining to gojo why you have two kids with you and (while still visiting the temple) possibly needing to convince suguru to let you take them out, and even a possible slip-up would’ve meant all hell breaking loose. though sometimes you thought maybe not, since it wasn’t non-sorcerers you were wanting to befriend them with, but it was still too risky. higher-ups had eyes everywhere, and you didn’t want to risk being labeled as foe.

“y/n-sensei, fushiguro’s right!” yuuji chimes in, making you laugh a little bit, “tell us, maybe we’ve seen the person!”

“and once we’re done speaking with master tengen, we can help you search for them.”

“you too, yuki?” you sigh, still spamming the call button.

“that’s tsukumo-senpai to you!” she jokes.

“ugh, someone, take this thing away already! it keeps buzzing way too much!” a hole opens on itadori’s hand, sukuna groaning some curse words and spitting a cell phone out, full of annoyance and disgust.

your heart drops and your mind blurs as you look at it. green, silicone, bunny ears.

“sensei?” yuuta now directs his attention to you too. “sensei, what’s wrong?” he seems worried, and so do the rest of them.

“what’s that?” choso points to the green rectangle on the ground, crouching and flipping it around. they all look at the screen, which reads “mom”.

“that’s a cellphone, choso!” yuki explains.

“that’s — that’s nanako’s cellphone.” you stammer, collapsing to your knees. “yuuji, when— how? this is bad, bad, bad, bad..” you think out loud, voice shakier with every word as you flip the phone from one side to the other. “she-she can’t use her technique without her phone, oh my god. but she’s definitely with mimiko, so maybe they can transfer points to each other, and her combat skills aren’t bad at all, maybe.. ”

“y/n-sensei, i don’t know how that got there.” itadori speaks, almost ashamed.

“i do!” another orifice opens on his hand, grinning. “i killed them.”

everybody’s in shock, you gasp, phone falling on the floor as both your hands cover your mouth.

“the dark haired’s head i blew off, the other’s i sliced.” the curse continues.

“itadori, please make that thing shut up.” maki orders harshly, expression softening when her gaze falls back on you.

“sukuna, this is not the time for jokes.” itadori intervenes.

“i’m not joking. they tried to boss me around, telling me they’ll give me another finger if i kill kenjaku. some brats, trying to command the king of curses around, pfft. i couldn’t give a damn about them wanting that body back or whatever.”

yuki and yuta help you up. megumi stares at you, and choso has partially read the air, pitiful expression plastered across his face. itadori’s head hangs low. yours does too. you don’t blame him, you could never, but you’d like to beat sukuna dead right then and there. exorcize him out of his mind, over and over again. your blood boils, and you feel the cursed energy forming in the pit of your stomach. the ground breaks beneath you, literally, and everybody watches the crack extend into the horizon. you feel like a part of you has died again. the first one died when geto committed mass murder and disappeared off of the face of earth, the second one died when he told you to stop visiting the temple. the third one died on christmas eve, with suguru, and two more parts, the fifth and sixth, died when you found out your girls were dead, a few moments ago. you didn’t even know you had that many in you, but you knew you needed an outlet.

so, you use the only one you have around, that is not fatal to anybody: you let the shards break, you let them explode, allow them to cut you — you scream. you scream, falling to the ground, hands gripping at your hair. and you scream, you scream for nanako and mimiko, for suguru, for satoru, for shoko, for nanami who could’ve escaped his destiny had he not come back, for haibara, for inumaki, for mai, for mechamaru, for nobara who’s fighting death, for the youth you had lost, for the kids that are next to you in this hellhole, for the youth they’ve been stripped of, you scream for your life and scream. and megumi sees one of the women he grew up around losing it, and yuta and itadori see their teacher in shambles, maki sees her role model falling apart; yuki sees the only other special-grade, that’s not a teenager, she has left fighting to not blow up the country, and choso sees a talented sorcerer with a good heart dying inside.

and you scream, you scream until your throat is dry and even dryer and you cough, cough dry, cough blood, cough until you just stop.

megumi kneels down in front of you, and you just stare at him. he looks back at you, eyelashes wet with tears he’d never admit of having shed, silently begging you to not leave him too. he grasps your hands softly like suguru did on the first day you showed up at his temple and pulls you in to hug you. and you see in him the boy suguru used to be, and in all your other students the group of teenagers you built a family with and your heart breaks because they built their own too.

maki kneels down too, and hugs you too, and so does yuta, and although, sheepishly, yuji does that too. choso thinks a bit but megumi nods in approval and he does join, and yuki also circles her arms around you as you cry. deep down you feel and know they’re scared of what you would do, so they hold you down.

megumi never saw you cry once. not because you weren’t a cryer, the three of swords was marked by scalding iron on your heart, but because you never really cried in front of people you didn’t know, or people you didn’t want to perceive you as weak. but he remembers the only time — once, when him and tsumiki were staying over at gojo’s for the weekend — he heard you through the walls. he was eleven, he believes, and he still remembers how you sounded. the memory is sewn into his brain, and whenever he remembers it, his stomach knots and his lymph nodes harden. since then, sometimes, when he saw you smiling, he only thought about what’s kept underneath your smile and your designer clothes and jujutsu records that you broke.

“i raised them, they were my girls too.” you whisper, “they only wanted their dad to have a proper burial, was that really so much to ask for?” your head shakes in disapproval to their fate, “curse users or not, i still carry their picture around in my wallet, i still have every inch of my home full of pictures of them.”

you stop to catch a breath. they’re all still around you, not letting go.

“if it means killing kenjaku, i’ll turn myself into a vengeful spirit if it has to come to that.”

45 notes · View notes

a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

Text

Ready When You Are

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader

Word Count: 1006

TW: Fluff, Kissing, Love Confession, Friends to Dating?

Top Gun Masterlist

Just as you are leaning on the arm of the couch trying to slip on your stiletto, there is a knock at the door. Still struggling with the shoe, you yell, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Can we talk?” Your best friend’s voice calls out from the other side of the door. He sounds tense like something is bothering him.

“Now’s not a good time, Rooster. I’m about to leave for my date with Hangman.”

“I know. That’s what I need to talk to you about. Can I please come in? Just for a minute.”

You sigh as you finally slip on the shoe and pick up the other one. “Yeah, whatever, it’s open.”

You just get the second shoe on and are straightening up when your door opens and Rooster walks in. “I’m sorry to bother you but I couldn’t wa-” He stops mid-sentence as he sees what you are wearing.

You straighten out your dress and look at him skeptically. “Too much?”

“No,” he breathes. “You look….”

“Ugh! I knew I should have gone with just a pair of jeans and a sweater. But Hangman said we were going to a nice restaurant, and I never get to wear this so-”

“No, I was going to say you look amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform or workout clothes.”

You shrug as you feel heat spread across your face. “Thank you. I thought I’d try something a little different. I haven’t been on a real date in almost a year, so I figured, why not?” You walk over to stand next to Rooster and, in your heels, you are actually standing eye level with him for the first time. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

He looks down at the floor and swallows heavily before blurting out, “Don’t go on this date!”

Your brow scrunches in confusion. “Why?”

“You know why,” he says.

You sigh. “Okay, I mean, you can say it. I know Hangman is a self-centered, arrogant, jackass but it’s not like I’m expecting this to turn into a long-lasting relationship or anything. It’s just been so long since I let loose and had fun. And if he’s proposing that, why not take him up on his offer? It’s not like I have a long line of guys asking me out.”

“What about me?” Rooster mumbles, still looking at the floor.

“You? What about you?”

There is a pause before his eyes lift to meet yours. All the shyness and insecurities he had been giving off up until this point are suddenly gone. “What if I were to ask you out? What would you say?”

“Rooster, I don’t have time for jokes. I’m going to be late as it is.” You start to walk away but he grabs your hand, holding you in place.

“This isn’t a joke. What would you say if I were to ask you out?”

You stare back into his eyes, neither one of you as much as blinks. “Well…. are you? Asking me out.”

“…… Yes. I want you to go with me tonight instead of Hangman. Not as friends. As my date.”

You pause a moment to consider before asking, “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to mess up what we have. Your friendship means everything to me and I can’t lose that.”

Rooster nods. “I agree. But what if we gain something even better? Just one date. If it’s too weird or we feel uncomfortable we can call it off at any point and just go back to being friends. No harm done.”

Once again, you consider his offer. “….. And you’re not just doing this because you don’t want me to go out with Jake?”

He holds up his hands, “No. I swear. I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while now, but I couldn’t find the right time. And while this isn’t what I was planning, I couldn’t watch you go out with Hangman without at least telling you how I feel. So, what do you say?”

“I say…. Yes. Let’s give this a try.”

Rooster’s eyes instantly light up as his face morphs into a look of disbelief. “Really? Okay, great!”

“My one condition is you have to call Hangman and explain why I won’t be showing up to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can do that.” An evil grin stretches across his lips at the thought of informing his rival about the situation.

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh and say, “I have to get something out of my room while you call, but I’ll be right back.”

As you disappear into the next room, you can hear him on the phone, “Hey, Hangman….. Yeah, I know, she told me. But about that-”

You chuckle softly as you close the door to your room and pull out your own phone. After dialing, you hold the phone to your ear. “Phoenix! It worked exactly like you said it would! The thought of me going out with Hangman was just the push he needed to finally grow a pair and ask me out…… I know, but you know how these military guys get. They have to be the dominant ones who make the first move but sometimes, they just need that little extra push……. Thanks, I’ll definitely tell you everything. But, uh, maybe don’t wait up tonight…… Hey, if he’s half as good in the bedroom as he is in a cockpit, I’m in for one wild ride…… Got it. Thanks again and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

As you hang up the phone, you try to contain the smile of absolute joy that is spread across your face. Your feelings for Rooster had shifted from friendship into something more a few months ago, but you hadn’t been able to make a move. However, thanks to Phoenix’s brilliant idea, things finally seemed like they were working out.

You take a deep breath and open the door. “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

#sfw repost #fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #f!reader #miles teller #fluff

1K notes · View notes

spookyscarydemonbabe · 2 years

Text

Adventures in Babysitting

A/N- I have never in my life wanted kids but Eddie gives me the WORST case of baby fever🫣

Summary- Eddie needs your help after he agrees to watch his neighbors kid

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- Mentions of pregnancy (not the reader)

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @hellfirewh0re @paola-carter @whiplaaaaaaaaash @ladyapplejackdnd @thatlonelypieceoftoast @efvyqrs

Words- 3.3k

(ugh i’m so upset i couldn’t find the gif i used before 😭 it was so cute)

You sat at the kitchen table finishing up whatever was left of your homework from yesterday. College was definitely a lot harder than all your teachers from high school said, but it made life a whole lot easier when you got to pick your classes. Thankfully during high school you were pretty responsible with your money, saving up whenever you could to afford to send yourself to college right after graduation. Nowhere too fancy, just a local community college, but it was nice being able to still hang out with your friends during the week and still have time to work and see Eddie.

You figured he was off with the guys, at band practice or doing one of their campaigns like they always did, it was Friday night after all. And those nerds did love getting deep into their campaigns and play late into the night. It was only about 7:30, so at this point they were probably at the halfway point.

Sighing, you closed your notebooks and put them back into your bag before the kitchen phone rang.

You stood from your seat and leaned onto the wall as you pulled it off of the handset and put it to your ear, furrowing your brow as you could hear a baby crying,

“Hello?”

“(y/n)? Oh thank god,” It was Eddie, and he sounded frantic, “listen i need you to come over and help me with this.”

You shook your head in disbelief, not fully understanding what was happening over on Eddie’s side,

“Help? With what? And why does it sound like you have a baby?! Are you babysitting?”

“I’m not babysitting! One of my neighbors asked if i’d watch her kid while she went out to do some stuff, she said she’d pay me so i told her i’d watch… I think her name’s Beth.”

You giggled to yourself,

“Sweetie… that’s babysitting. And it’s nice of you to watch her baby while she’s out but what do you need my help for?”

“You babysat a lot in high school, i figured you’d know how to stop her crying better than i can. She’s been like this nonstop for 10 minutes and i don’t know what’s wrong!”

You rolled your eyes and sighed,

“Ok fine, i’ll be over in 10 minutes. Just hold her and sit on the couch until i get there, gently rock her back and forth to try and calm her down.”

You hung up the phone and quickly grabbed your bag and keys, turning out the lights as you get into your car and sped down the road to the trailer park.

It was surprising that someone trusted Eddie with a baby, and you knew he really had no experience with kids. No one ever really trusted him as a babysitter until his name was cleared, but even still, people were wary of him. He had told you before about one of his neighbors, Jennifer, a young mom who was only a few years older than the two of you, and from everything he’s said she seemed like such a kind person. And she must trust Eddie a decent amount to leave her baby with him.

As you parked your car in front of the trailer, it was eerily quiet around. The gravel crunching under your shoes, the crickets chirping in the grass, it was the calm before the storm. You walked up the steps and knocked on the door, waiting for Eddie to let you in like he always did. He opened the door and your eyes widened.

His hair was pulled back but it was still messy on top of his head, the shirt he was wearing had a little bit of spit up on the shoulder, and a tiny baby was being held in his arms. Her little hands balled up into fists as she whined and cried in her purple onesie that was a bit dirtied up from her spit up. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes,

“Thank god you’re here, what do i do?” You stepped in and closed the door behind you as Eddie went back to sit on the couch, rocking her in his arms.

“How long have you had her?”

“Only an hour, she was fine earlier! I mean she pulled at my hair so i had to put it back but i don’t know what made her start crying-“

“Jennifer’s her mom right? Did she give you a diaper bag or something?” You looked around and spotted an unfamiliar bag on the kitchen counter, quickly going to grab it and bring it into the living room, rummaging through it. You pulled out a small, soft blanket, one of her baby bottles, a new onesie to change her into, and everything you would need to change out her diaper, “I’ll take her off your hands for a bit, you lay that mat out and get all the diaper stuff set up around it and i’ll try to calm her down a bit.” You gently scooped her up into your arms and Eddie did exactly as you said as you held her close to you, petting her back to calm her as you gently bounced up and down, softly whispering to her as Eddie finished up.

“Ok, it’s all set up. Now what?”

“Now, we’re gonna change her,” You gently laid her out onto the mat and undid the buttons on her onesie, “and you can change your shirt and feed her when we’re done.”

As you started to undo the little elastics on her diaper, Eddie cringed and covered his nose, making you giggle.

“Ugh, thats her?!”

“Yes it’s her! You have to check her diaper like every 30 minutes, babies can’t really control when they go.” You cleaned her up and handed him the dirty diaper to toss, “Here, go throw this one away while i get her dressed, and then you go change.”

As he walked back into his room after tossing the dirty diaper, you slipped Beth into a new, clean onesie and grabbed her a pacifier as you picked her back up. Her crying had stopped the moment you put her back into your arms, but she was still whining as you gave her the pacifier. Her little blue eyes opened finally and you smiled as she looked up at you, petting down the wisps of dark hair on her head, whispering softly down to her as you gently bounced her in your arms,

“Shh, it’s ok sweetie…”

“You’re really good with her. Well, better than me.” Eddie said with a laugh as he walked back into the living room in a fresh shirt, his hair retied and fixed up.

“You learn a thing or two after having to watch them all the time.”

He walked over and stood behind you, looking down at Beth with a smile as she looked up to him,

“She’s real cute when she’s not crying you know.”

You giggled and turned your head to kiss his cheek,

“And you’re cute when you don’t have baby vomit on your shirt. I’ll hold her for a few, you go warm up her bottle and then you can feed her.”

“Why don’t you feed her? She seems to like you a lot more.”

“Because her mom asked you to babysit, not me, so she’s your responsibility still. I’m just here to help.” You sat on the couch as Eddie went to the kitchen to warm her bottle, “And if you’re gonna babysit, you have to know how to take care of a baby.”

You looked down at her in your arms and smiled, her little eyes wandering all around the trailer before becoming fixed on Eddie as he walked back into the living room, sitting next to you with a bottle in his hand.

“Did you heat it up right?”

“I think so? What’s the right way to do it?”

“There’s really no ‘right’ way to do it, you just have to make sure it’s not too hot for her. Put a little bit of it on the back of your hand, if it’s warm then you should be ok.”

He did as you said and wiped the spot of milk off of his hand onto his shirt,

“Fells fine.”

“Good! Now you take her,” You carefully gave her to Eddie, making sure she was comfortable in his arms as he leaned back onto the couch, “and you’re gonna make sure her head it tilted up just a little bit while you feed her.” He was following your instructions very carefully, adjusting her head slightly as it rested in the crook of his elbow.

He took the pacifier out of her mouth and replaced it with the nipple of the bottle, holding it up for her. It was finally quiet in the trailer. Peaceful.

Seeing how Eddie was being so careful with the little baby in his arms made you smile. He’d been around kids before, and he was always great with them, but taking care of a baby was an entirely different story. As she was laid peacefully in his arms, he was thinking about how her mom must feel. He was exhausted after just an hour but he couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have to take care of something so small and fragile 24/7.

As Beth drank from the bottle Eddie was holding for her, her hands reached up and her little fingers wrapped around one of his and you could feel him tense up slightly.

“You ok?”

“Yeah…” He said quietly with a gentle smile, his eyes never leaving from the baby in his arms.

You leaned your head onto his shoulder,

“I think she likes you.”

“You think so?” He said with a laugh, “She really liked yanking on my hair earlier, she’s got a tight grip!”

“Well i’m sure you liked to pull your dads hair when you were a baby,” you said with a giggle, “babies don’t know it hurts when you pull on other peoples hair.”

He smiled, but stayed quiet for a moment, deep in thought.

“Do you think i’ll be a good dad?” His eyes finally looked up from the baby in his arms and met yours. You could hear the slightest bit of fear in his voice and his eyes were glossy. He was thinking about his childhood, his parents, everything that led up to him living with his uncle. He’d never been in a situation that made him think over something like this, but holding that little girl in his arms and having her finally be so peaceful around him made him realize he really didn’t know what he was doing when it came to kids, let alone babies. His parents definitely didn’t know what they were doing with him when he was a baby.

You gave him a gentle smile and softly kissed his lips,

“You’re gonna be a great dad. It takes a lot of learning when you’re a parent but i think you’re gonna do great when we have kids.”

“But my dad-“

“You’re not him.” You cut him off quickly, wanting to destroy any thoughts of him becoming like his dad. He wasn’t someone who scared easily, but you knew that becoming like his dad was something he feared more than anything else in the world. “You’re not anything like him, and you know you’re not.”

He said nothing, only nodding before giving you a quick kiss, looking back down at Beth as she finished her bottle.

“Looks like she’s all done,” he pulled the bottle from her lips and slowly lifted her from his arms and supported her head as he laid her over his shoulder, “and i’m supposed to pat her back right?”

You nodded and gave him a gentle smile,

“Yep, but be gentle, just do it until you hear her burp.”

He patted her back for a few moments and chuckled as he heard the tiniest squeak come from her over his shoulder,

“Man, i forgot how cute babies are,” he lifted her off of his shoulder and set her upright in his lap, her little hands balled up with one of them in her mouth, “they’re so tiny. We were this tiny once.”

You laughed and reached a finger out to tickle Beth’s tummy, making her smile in Eddie’s lap. He then did the same, moving his hand down to tickle her as she giggled again.

He moved himself down onto the floor with her still sitting in his lap,

“Hey, grab one of those bigger blankets from the bag would you?”

“Yeah sure,” you stood and walked back over to the diaper bag, taking out one of the larger blankets out and laying it onto the carpet, “what for?”

He gently set her down onto the floor on her tummy and sat down before her,

“Jen said to let her crawl around for a little bit before i put her to bed, and she was looking kinda sleepy,” you sat down on the floor across from him as he laid himself out on the carpet to face Beth, her little eyes peeking up at him made him smile, “i wanna see if she’ll crawl over to me.” You could hear a hint of excitement in his voice.

You watched as he laid out on his stomach, looking at Beth across the blanket on the floor,

“Come here Beth, come on…” He tapped the spot of blanket before him to get her attention and she slowly inched her way towards him, grabbing small spots of the blanket in her little hands and kicking out behind her to push herself forward. His smile got bigger and bigger as she came closer and closer, the littlest smile on her face as she kept pushing herself forward.

There was suddenly a gentle knock on the door and you stood up from your spot on the carpet,

“I’ll get it, you stay right there.”

As you opened the door, a woman just about your height was standing there before you. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, this had to be the Jennifer that Eddie had been telling you about.

“Hi! Are you (y/n)? I’m Jennifer, i’m Beth’s mom, i just came to pick her up.”

“Hi, yeah, it’s so nice to meet you! Come on in,” you let her inside and shut the door behind her, “they’re just over here in the living room.”

As the two of you stepped in, you could see Beth’s little hands gripping onto the hair on top of Eddie’s head. Jennifer rushed over to grab Beth,

“Oh gosh, i’m sorry Eddie, i should’ve warned you that she liked to pull hair.” She said with a laugh, taking Beth into her arms after removing Eddie’s hair from her grip.

“Oh it’s no problem.” He said laughing as he stood up from the floor, folding up the blanket and getting Beth’s things together into the bag, “I’m glad i was able to give you some time away from her for a little bit, she’s adorable but i know babies must be pretty stressful.”

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes, but me and Matt are managing. It’s just been tough since he switched over to the night shifts at work, it’s been hard to find time to run out and get errands done but i really appreciate you watching her Eddie, it means a lot.” she reached into her purse and pulled out a few $20’s, handing them to him, “Here, it’s the least i can i do for having you take her on such short notice. And (y/n), i’ve got some for you too, i hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to give me anything! Eddie did most of the work with her, i just came over to help, i hope you didn’t mind.”

“Of course not! To be honest, it’s the two of you i really trust with her out of everyone else in this park. Eddie was such a big help while i was pregnant and i really appreciate everything he’s done to help out me and Matt.”

You remembered a few times that Eddie told you about a couple months back. He would help her up the stairs to their door during the last few months of her pregnancy, and would even go over and mow the lawn for her while Matt was out at work, he was the only one out of everyone else in the park to help them out when they needed it.

Eddie finished gathering up Beth’s blankets and bottles into the diaper bag and handed it back over to Jennifer,

“Well, anytime you need someone to look after her, i’ll gladly take her off your hands.”

Jennifer slung the bag over her shoulder and held Beth with the other arm, her little hands reaching back out to grab for Eddie, making Jennifer giggle,

“Well it seems like she’s gonna want to see you again soon. Do you think you’d be able to watch her again next week?” She gently bounced Beth in her arm as she started to yawn, leaning her head onto her moms shoulder.

“Yeah, absolutely! I’m always here if you need a babysitter,” He said with a smile, “And don’t worry about paying me, you guys are stressed enough as it is with her and i know moneys probably pretty tight.”

“Eddie, you’re an angel, really you don’t know how much i appreciate you watching her.” Beth started to slowly drift to sleep in her moms arms, her little blue eyes closing and the pacifier in her mouth almost falling out, “I think i better get back home before she decides to wake up again, i think we both need some sleep. Thank you both again for watching her.”

“Of course! It’s no problem at all!” You said with a smile, walking with her to the front door and opening it for her, Eddie following soon after to say your goodbyes as Jennifer made her way back to her trailer with Beth over her shoulder.

You shut the door and turned back to face Eddie,

“You are too sweet, who knew ‘cult leader’ Eddie Munson was so good with babies.” You said with a giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Well like you said, i should probably learn how to take care of them, especially if i’m gonna be watching her a lot more.” He smiled down at you, arms going around your waist, pulling you in closer for a kiss, “You know when we were talking earlier while i was feeding her you said ‘when we have kids’, not ‘when i have kids’… Trying to tell me something?” He smirked and raised an eyebrow, making you laugh.

“No babies! Not right now at least, but i mean, we’ve been dating for how long now? And we’re getting older, and getting into the whole ‘domestic’ kinda thing, maybe eventually we’ll have one.”

“You think so?” He held you close by the waist, his forehead resting on yours, “Might be nice to have a little (y/n) or a little Eddie running around here.”

You giggled at the thought, a little curly haired toddler running around the trailer, Eddie holding them while playing his guitar, and you know he would be the best dad he could be.

“Maybe…” You smiled and leaned up to give him another kiss before he reached his hands down and hoisted your legs up onto his waist.

You giggled and wrapped your legs around his hips, his hands firmly holding onto your ass to keep you up,

“But we definitely don’t need something like that right now, taking care of a baby 24/7 doesn’t sound like that would be too fun. Besides…” He trailed kisses up and down your neck as he carried you into his bedroom, “i think making a baby sounds like a lot more fun.”

_______________________________________________

If you’d like to read more of my work, make sure to check out my masterlist 🥰

#stranger things 4 #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson fic

296 notes · View notes